“No!” Charmaine said.
“Yes,” he said.
After the old lady left, he moved beside Charmaine in the booth, which required a little forceful pushing of his hips against hers. He put one arm over the back of the booth, just above her shoulders, and relished just for a brief moment the memory of how good Charmaine felt against him. Same perfume. Same big “Texas” hair as her beauty pageant days. Same sleek brunette color. Same soft-as-sin curves. “So, you haven’t had a date in six months, huh? Poor baby!”
She lifted her chin with that stubborn pride of hers. “It’s not because I haven’t been asked.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute, chère. And, hey, I haven’t had a date in two years, so we’re sort of even.”
“Go away, Rusty. I want to get plastered in private.”
He didn’t mind people calling him Rusty, except for Charmaine. He wanted her to call him Raoul, in that slow, breathy way she had of saying Raaa-oool. No, it was better that she called him Rusty. Besides, it was an apt description of his equipment these days—out of use and rusty as hell.
“I have a bit of good news for you, baby.” He could tell she didn’t like his calling her baby by the way her body stiffened up like a steer on branding day. That was probably why he added, “Real good news, baby.”
Her upper lip curled with disgust. She probably would have belted him one if she weren’t half-drunk. “There isn’t any news you could impart that I would be interested in hearing.”
Wanna bet? “You know how Tante Lulu said you were depressed over being married and divorced four times?”
“Yeah?” she said hesitantly.
“Well, no need to be depressed over that anymore. Guess what? You’re not.”
She blinked several times with confusion. “Not what?”
“Divorced four times.” He took a long swallow of his beer and waited.
It didn’t take Charmaine long to figure it out, even in her fuzzy state. Her big brown eyes went wider, and her flushed face got redder. “You mean… ?”
He nodded. “You’re not even a one-time divorcee, darlin’. You’ve never been divorced.” How do you like them apples, Mrs. Lanier?
She sat up straighter, turned slowly in her seat to look at him directly, and asked with unflattering horror, “Rusty, are you saying that you and I are still married?”
“Yep, and you can start callin’ me Raoul again anytime you want.” Dumb, dumb, dumb.
That was when Charmaine leaned against his chest and swooned. Okay, she passed out, but he was taking it as a good sign.
Charmaine Lanier was still his wife, and it was gonna be payback time at the Triple L Ranch. Guar-an-teed!
Chapter 2
Waking from the dead…
Charmaine awakened slowly.
She felt as if her body were cemented to the mattress, and her head pounded mercilessly, but she was in the bedroom of her own little house out on Bayou Black. Good news, that.
But then she glanced downward and saw that she was wearing the same red T-shirt over black thong panties. And that was all.
Uh-oh! She turned her head slowly on the pillow, noticing the bright explosion of orange, yellow, and blue outside her window—the light show of a bayou dawn—meaning she must have slept a full twelve hours since the previous afternoon when she’d started out at Swampy’s. She moaned then in remembrance. It all came back to her, even before the current bane of her existence walked in carrying a tray of strong-smelling Cajun coffee and whistling. Whistling when her head was about to explode!
“Hi, wifey,” he said with way too much cheeriness. “Did you know you snore?”
I do not snore. Do I? Well, maybe when I’m sleeping off a drunk, but I can’t remember the last time I did that. “Go away,” she groaned, pulling the sheet over her head. Under the linens, she swiped a hand across her mouth, just to make sure she hadn’t been drooling.
“Not till we talk,” he insisted, “and you sign some papers.”
That sounded reasonable. He must want her to sign the divorce papers, though she had done just that ten years ago when his father, the late Charlie Lanier, had brought them to her. She’d assumed that the divorce was formalized after that. She could swear she’d received documents to that effect, but maybe not. She had not been in a logical frame of mind, more like brain-splintering devastated.