“Sylvie! Are you all right? Is there a snake?” Luc was scrambling to his feet, as well.
She shook her head.
“A gator?”
She shook her head.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, then?” Luc asked, brushing off his boxers and giving undue attention to a scrape on his elbow. “I might have bruised some important body parts,” he added, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Sylvie motioned with a jerk of her head toward the porch. A young boy, about ten years old, stood leaning against a support post, chomping on an apple. A small pirogue was tied up in the stream next to Luc’s larger one.
“Tee-John! What are you doing here?” Luc stomped barefooted over the hard-packed dirt toward the cabin, then stood at the bottom of the steps, hands on hips, and glared at the kid.
It must be Luc’s runaway brother, Sylvie realized, the one Remy had mentioned. Even with his rumpled hair and filthy jeans and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt, he resembled a miniature version of Luc.
“Hey, Luc,” the boy said casually, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for him to show up in the middle of nowhere, uninvited.
“How did you get here?” Luc asked through gritted teeth.
“I flew my jet. Howdja think I got here?” he answered flippantly as he tossed the apple core in a perfect line toward the cypress tree at the edge of the stream. It hit dead center.
“You’ve got a smart tongue on you,” Luc snarled. “You’d better use it damn quick to explain yourself, or you’re gonna find yourself upside down in the stream gettin’ your mouth washed out with bayou slime.”
“I came in a pirogue,” he offered quickly. “Camped out yesterday and paddled all by myself. I remembered the way from that time you brought me las’ summer. I got here a couple of hours ago, but you two were makin’ kissy-face in the hammock; so, I jus’ went inside and slept on the bed.”
Kissy-face? If only the earth would open up and swallow her whole! She could only imagine what else the youngster had witnessed.
“You… you came here hours ago and didn’t inform me?” Luc sputtered with outrage.
Not to be put on the defensive, the kid threatened, “Wait till I tell Tante Lulu you were putting your hand in a girl’s naughty place. Whooee!”
With a gasp at the kid’s nerve, Luc sprinted up the steps and lunged forward. But the little brat was faster. He swerved to the side and ducked under the porch rail. The last thing Sylvie saw was his oversized T-shirt flapping behind him as he dashed into the trees.
Luc noticed Sylvie cowering with humiliation, and motioned for her to come up to the cabin. She complied because she had no choice, but her entire body—and there was a lot of it exposed—blushed with the indignity of her appearance. And Luc noticed, too. The lout! Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head, and commented, “You look great in red, chère. When we get out of here, I’m gonna take you to New Orleans and buy you a whole closetful of sexy, hooker red nothings.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, but her heart was warmed at Luc’s breezy reference to a future time when they would be together. Entering the cabin, she grabbed her silk blouse off the floor near the table that had been the scene of her downfall last night and slipped it on over the nightie. “Aren’t you worried about your brother? Shouldn’t you go after him?”
“Hah! The stinker managed to paddle his way here. He’ll be back.”
Sure enough, the boy was already back, pounding up the porch steps in his pricey athletic shoes. “Now, Luc, I didn’t mean nothin’. No need for fightin’ with your own flesh and blood.” The whole time the rascal was standing outside the screen door, brandishing an oar as a defensive weapon.
Luc laughed at the picture of the filthy imp who was no threat at all to his far superior size. “Put that paddle down before I break it over your behind. And apologize to Ms. Fontaine. Now.”