Charmaine’s face went from pink to bright red. First, she sliced him with a withering glower. Then, she slid off the bale of hay, grabbed her basket of eggs, and proceeded to stomp out of the barn.
As they both watched Charmaine’s rear sway from side to side in her short cutoffs—Remy with amazement, Raoul with appreciation—Remy commented to him, “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a thickheaded fool?”
“Only St. Jude.”
Pushing the limits…
Remy left a short time later, wanting to make sure he was home before dark.
Jimmy was a brat at the dinner table that night.
Charmaine couldn’t believe that the kid was behaving so badly, especially in front of Tante Lulu, whom he’d just met. He’d apparently been in a snit ever since his father returned him to the ranch that morning. Jimmy had wanted to stay at home and return to his old school and his old friends and probably his old patterns of trouble. When his father had refused, Jimmy had thrown a tantrum, which resulted in Rusty holding him back physically while his father drove off with tears rolling down his agonized face. There had been tears rolling down Charmaine’s face, as well.
Now, Jimmy refused to eat Tante Lulu’s Catfish Court Bouillion, saying, “I doan like no stinkin’ bottom feeders. And I ‘specially doan like no catfish stew. Oooh, is that okra floatin’ in there? Yuck!”
Charmaine was not fond of okra, either, but it was a staple of Cajun cooking. You could eat around it, without being offensive to the cook.
And talk about offending the cook! Tante Lulu took great pride in her Catfish Court Bouillion. To call it a mere stew had to be an insult to her culinary pride. But, while everyone else at the table—Charmaine, Rusty, Clarence and Linc—rose to their feet, about to chastise the boy on her behalf, her aunt just raised a halting hand in the air. “Everyone, sit down!” Then to Jimmy, she said, “Thass all right, boy. Have a hissy fit, iffen you wants. Ya doan have ta like everythin’ in the world. Have a piece of bread and butter.”
Jimmy proceeded to spread about a pound of butter on half a loaf of crusty French bread. Then he wolfed it down with crumbs flying everywhere and butter smeared all over his lips and chin. He was pushing the limits of everyone’s patience, and he did it deliberately.
Instead of walloping the boy with a wooden spoon, like she would have done to Charmaine or one of her half brothers when they were that age, Tante Lulu just ignored his boorish behavior. But there was an evil glint in her eyes.
Rusty glanced Charmaine’s way, and their gazes caught and held. He wore a black T-shirt tonight and old Wranglers. His hair remained too long on his neck, but she wasn’t about to suggest that he let her cut it. She didn’t dare get that close to him. Not when the expression in his beautiful eyes was so hungry. Not when she was feeling so hungry herself. And the appetite she referred to had nothing to do with food.
She’d changed from shorts to jeans before dinner because of the nightime chill, which had hit of a sudden, but she still wore the white blouse with the elastic neckline, which she had noticed Rusty noticing earlier. The capped sleeves weren’t pulled down off her shoulders anymore, but her neck and arms were exposed, and Rusty’s gaze kept drifting to those areas. If she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that she’d worn it deliberately, without a sweater, which was really more appropriate for the weather. But she’d wanted to tease him. Why, she couldn’t really say.
It was an impossible situation. Like Thomas Wolfe said long ago, “You can’t go home again.” That was for sure. Not that Rusty is home to me.
Not exactly.
Not hardly.
Well, maybe a teeny tiny bit.
Aaarrgh!
A voice in her head said, Ditto on the aaarrgh. Probably that pesky St. Jude again. They now had his statues on the front and back porches thanks to Tante Lulu’s latest addition. He was getting to be a real pain.