She totally ignored his warning, but instead homed in on a tiny portion of what he’d said. “That’s the second time you’ve remarked on how I’m dressed. Well, I don’t like the way you’re dressed either. You look too damn sexy, if you must know. The way your jeans hug your legs and your butt, the way that blue shirt brings out the highlights in your dark eyes, the way your jacket shows off your broad shoulders, the way your belt calls attention to your narrow waist. Yep, every female within fifty miles will go on hormone alert. Men will be fighting with you because their wives or girlfriends have the hots for you. The police will be called. Nothing but trouble. Best you stay home, boy, and twiddle your thumbs.”
She was probably being sarcastic, but he couldn’t help himself. He grinned. Which caused Amelie to elbow him in the side and Charmaine to gloat and Linc and Clarence to slap their knees with glee. Dumb as a dingo, that’s what he was. Naturally, what came out of his mouth was dumb, too: “So, you think I look sexy?”
“As sin,” was her blunt reply.
I don’t care if she thinks I’m sexy. I don’t care if she thinks I’m sexy. I don’t care… much. He grinned some more.
She just looked sad all of a sudden.
Amelie was right. Charmaine was an adult. If she wanted to get herself killed, it was no skin off his nose. Or it shouldn’t be.
“Just be careful,” he cautioned Charmaine as he took Amelie’s hand and led her to the car.
Charmaine stared at them sadly as they pulled out of the yard. It was an image that stayed with him all night.
Cry me a river…
She cried buckets for the first hour after everyone had gone, having decided after all that it might be dangerous to be seen in public.
But Charmaine had never been one to wallow in self-pity for very long. It was, frankly, boring.
So she brushed out her hair and gave herself a hot-oil conditioning treatment.
Then she redid her fingernails and toenails with Peach Passion, no longer being in a Red-Hot Mama mood.
Then she made herself some Bananas Foster… and ate three of them, covered with vanilla ice cream and about a pound of whipped cream, all by herself, along with three cups of “burnt roast,” the thickest of Cajun coffees.
Then, on a sugar-and-coffee high, she decided to scrub the kitchen floor, pluck her eyebrows, rearrange the pantry, and order some cosmetics off the Internet.
Then, while she was still on the computer, she did about an hour’s worth of work, inputting information from the boxes of ranch paperwork that still lined the office in daunting piles.
Then she treated herself to a peach-scented bubble bath while sipping on a glass of beer, which was the only alcoholic beverage she’d been able to find in the house.
Since it was only ten o’clock, and she was still wide-awake, she put on her favorite cow pajamas and fuzzy cow slippers—comfort clothes—and slapped a peach mud facial on her face. Rusty probably wouldn’t be back from his date for another couple of hours, she figured, not that she was watching the clock. She expected to be snoring away in bed by then with a beer buzz.
To make sure of that, she went out on the back porch, carrying with her another beer and the portable radio tuned to a local Cajun music station. That was what she needed, a little Acadian joie de vivre to lighten her spirits.
“Hi, there, Jude,” she said to the plastic statue sitting in the other rocking chair. That was where Rusty had put it, after being tired of it being on the other porch. He claimed it watched him through the front window.
Jude didn’t answer her. Surprise, surprise.
“Welcome, folks, to our Cajun country dance party,” the announcer on the radio said. “We’re gonna have us a little fais do-do down on the bayou, guar-an-teed.”
Well, I wanted to dance tonight. Guess this is the next best thing. Charmaine loved to dance, and she’d been looking forward to going out tonight. Nothing bad. Just dancing. Her second husband, Justin, had been a really good dancer. His moves had been so smooth, people had stopped to watch. He’d been one good ol’ Cajun boy who could charm a woman up one side and down the other till she didn’t know her engine from her caboose. Unfortunately, Charmaine had found out that his smooth moves were being spread to engines and cabooses throughout Louisiana. Justin had been a larcenous rat, as well. When he’d left, he took everything, including the gumbo pot.