Going Home (The Green Bayou Novels Book 1) Read online

  I park behind the moving van and take a deep breath. Happy to finally get out of the car, I stretch a bit and give the place a quick once over. It still looks great. Dark green shutters line each window, adding definition and beauty to the white antebellum structure. I run up the matching dark green steps and fiddle with my keychain to find the right key.

  I open the massive wooden door, and I’m greeted by a soothing view of Bayou Assumption. I remember all the summers I’ve spent on that bayou. How could I let myself stay away for so long?

  There is a large, blue carpeted main stairway that leads to the second floor and a second stairway in the kitchen. The downstairs also has a rarely used parlor and formal dining room. Behind the dining room is a large gourmet kitchen, whereas, beyond the parlor is a huge living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the bayou.

  I bound the steps two at a time as I lead one of the movers to my bedroom. The brawny man is much less enthusiastic and is still at the bottom landing when I turn to show him my childhood room.

  His slothfulness gives me time to think. I’m the sole occupant, so I’ll take the master bedroom. My parents have only left behind a few things, so I decide to move them to one of the guest rooms. I point out the location for the boxes and leave the movers to do their thing. I take the back stairwell to the kitchen, and after a few minutes of looking around, I’m satisfied that everything is going smoothly. Making notes of what needs to be done, I scribble: groceries, explore town to see if it’s changed, and get in touch with Grant to finalize my new assignment.

  The movers finish quickly, and once I’ve tipped the last worker, I swing the front door closed. I make record time unpacking, but the position waiting in Bienville keeps nagging me. In an effort to put my mind at ease, I pick up the phone with the hopes of catching Grant in the office. His voicemail announces he is gone for the day, but should my call be an emergency to call 9-1-1. Nice touch. I don’t leave a message. Instead, I punch in the number to his cell phone.

  He answers right away, and I apologize for bothering him after office hours. He insists I’m doing no such thing, so I invite him to the house so we can discuss the job. He agrees to swing by tomorrow afternoon, and when I disconnect from the call, I can’t help but smile. Throwing myself onto the plush bed, I ponder my next move.

  Sick of unpacking, I jump into the shower, get dressed, and fire up the Camaro to set out for a shopping center along a more populated section of Highway 182. I pull the car into a parking spot in front of the store, anxious to buy the new romantic comedy everyone is talking about.

  Finding the “New Releases” section, I grab a DVD case here and there to scan the back. Walking further down the aisle, I don’t bother looking up from the back of the DVD case and plow right into one of the racks. I would’ve hit the ground hard, but a strong arm ensnares my waist. My face is seriously red from embarrassment when I raise my eyes to thank my savior.

  “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been watching where I was going,” I ramble to the tall, dark-haired stranger.

  He appears to be in his early thirties, and the slight scruffiness of his five o’clock shadow enhances his rugged features. He flashes his straight white teeth when he smiles. Not only is this guy sexy as hell, but he still hasn’t released me from his grip. Though my falling is on the awkward side of things, it’s pretty damn nice being wrapped in his arms.

  “That must be one hell of a movie,” he jokes. “What do you have there?” He holds onto me until he’s sure I’m steady on my feet, and then takes a scant step back.

  All I can do is smile back at him. For once in my life, I’m speechless. After a few awkward seconds, I open my mouth to speak. “A DVD,” I say, holding it up. “Yeah, I see that, but which one?” He touches my wrist to draw the DVD I’m holding closer, and smirks. “So you like those kinds of movies?”

  “What?” I turn the box to read the title. Shit! “No, I wasn’t going to buy this, I was just…”

  He arches an eyebrow. “You were just what? Buying it for a friend?”

  “No, I wasn’t going to buy it at all. I’m shopping for something else, and I’ve been absentmindedly looking at other DVDs because I’m just getting back to town, and I’m bored… Wait. Why am I telling you all of this? It’s none of your business.” I shove the DVD back onto the shelf. “Thanks for the help, but I should go.”

  “If you must,” he says with a grin.

  “I must.” Making my way further down the aisle, I scoop up the movie I originally came for and steal a glance backwards to see if the handsome stranger is still nearby. He picks that exact moment to look up. Dammit! Busted. I blush again and raise my hand in a quick wave, practically running out of the store. It isn’t until I’m nearly home that my brain finally engages. He was so gorgeous, and I didn’t even get his name!

  3

  I’m very nervous the day Grant comes to Greenleaf, even though I shouldn’t be. When the bell rings, I drop the wooden paddle I’m using to stir iced tea, wipe my hands on a nearby kitchen towel, and race to the door. I glance into the large, antique mirror in the entryway and try to capture a few stray ringlets that have escaped my hairclip. Satisfied with my appearance, I open the door fully expecting to find Grant standing there. Instead, I find myself face to face with a cop.

  “Pete Bergeron.” I gasp.

  He’s always been handsome, but he’s downright breathtaking with some years under his belt. His sandy blond hair has the slightest wave to it, and when he removes his aviator-style sunglasses, his hazel eyes make my heart beat a little faster. He’s tall, around six foot two, and his skin has a terrific golden tan. In my quick assessment, I notice he’s definitely been working out. He raises a hand to run it through his hair, and my eyes are level with one incredible bicep that strains the dark brown fabric of his uniform shirt. I hope I don’t flush.

  “It’s been too long, Emily. A lot has changed since high school,” he says with a smile.

  “Obviously!” I exclaim. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting company this soon. You work for the sheriff’s department? I didn’t know you left the state police. You look…so…wow…” I know I’m babbling, but I can’t help myself. He is freaking hot in that uniform.

  “You’re just being nice. But you, Em, you look amazing,” he starts. “I heard you were back in town, and I wanted to see for myself. Are you here for a visit or something more permanent?” he asks peering around the door I’m using to prop up myself.

  “I’m so sorry, Pete,” I say, rolling my eyes over my lack of manners. “Please come inside. I just made a pitcher of iced tea. Can I get you a glass?” I ask, holding the door wide.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, and yes, I’ll take you up on that tea.” He follows me into the kitchen.

  “It’s been a long time since we were in here together, huh?” I ask. Jeez, get a grip! I tell myself. I’m sounding like a teenager. “It’s been a very long time. The house looks really good. We ride by it regularly to keep an eye on the place.” He’s quiet for a bit, and then his tone turns devious. “Remember what we did in your dad’s boat house?”

  “Pete!” I scold. He laughs and picks up the tray from the kitchen counter.

  “Where do you want to go with this?” he inquires.

  “How about outside? There’s a nice breeze blowing in off the bayou.”

  “Baby, if you want to get me back in that boat shed, all you have to do is ask.” I slug him in the arm, and he laughs.

  “Give the boat shed a rest, already. That was ten years ago. Obviously, we’ve both moved on.”

  He waits for me to open the French doors so he can place the tray on the patio table. Once we sit, he apologizes.

  “I hope I didn’t upset you with my teasing. I didn’t even think to ask if you’re in a relationship or anything. I was just being silly.”

  “I’m not angry, and I’m not in a relationship. I’m embarrassed that you seem to remember it so vividly, but that’s all.”

 
He leans in close to me. “You’re right; I do remember it vividly, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  Redness stings my cheeks, and I busy myself pouring the tea. “Okay, moving on,” I say, with a grin. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since we last saw each other.” Probably the most important thing I discover is that he’s never married. I’m also surprised to hear that the accident we witnessed years ago changed him, too. I think back to the night Pete and I parted ways.

  It was unseasonably cool the March night we witnessed the accident ten years ago. Pete and I had watched a movie in DeSoto and were on our way back to Green Bayou. We were both seventeen and couldn’t so much as sneeze in Green Bayou without our parents finding out about it, so Pete and I escaped to the much larger town of DeSoto whenever his sports schedule allowed.

  We still had another twelve miles of curvy highway to travel on that nearly starless night. Every now and then, I could make out the moon’s reflection glistening off the water, but the view was marred by a thin fog that settled on the glassy surface of Bayou Assumption.

  Massive oak trees covered the strip of land between the bayou and the highway, while curtains of Spanish moss gently swirled in the slight breeze. The opposite side of the two-lane highway held alternating patterns of gravel, dirt, and asphalt in between patches of green grass. Generally, dirt drives signaled a cane field, whereas asphalt and gravel drives marked a residence or parish road. There weren’t many residences down this particular stretch of road.

  I felt the car begin to slow, so I looked for a landmark visible enough to get my bearings. Pete’s hand tightened on mine. Something on the roadway seemed out of the ordinary. Judging from the way Pete suddenly snapped to attention, I guessed it had caught his eye, too.

  Out of place in the dark landscape was a flashing light off in the distance. I sat a little forward in my seat in an attempt to get a better look. Pete slowed the car, and we watched as the light, which grew larger as we got closer, spun around and around like a lighthouse beacon. Eventually, it came to a complete stop facing us. By then, the car moved at barely a crawl.

  “What in the hell is that?” Pete questioned.

  He stopped the vehicle, but the roadway was so darkened by the rows of trees that all we could see was a thin beam of light. The glowing, circular orb flickered once more and went black. A chill ran up my spine. The look on Pete’s face showed that he was as unsure about what was happening as I was, and I swallowed hard to choke back the fear.

  “Do you have any idea what that is? Should we get out and see?” I asked cautiously, as scenes from every bad teenage horror movie suddenly popped into my head.

  “No. Don’t get out,” Pete said firmly. “I’m going to move the car so we can see what it is before we even think about leaving the car.” He swung the vehicle so the headlights lit up the area where the flickering light had recently vanished. It took a few seconds, but my brain finally registered what lay before us. I sucked in hard and covered my mouth to keep from screaming. Pete’s knuckles turned white from the grip he had on the steering wheel, and his breathing became more labored. We wanted to run, but running would not be an option. Fortunately, we had a phone with us. Without removing his eyes from the scene in front of us, Pete reached for it.

  “Call 911.” He tossed the phone into my lap.

  I was dialing the last 1 when he took a deep breath and slowly opened the car door. Instinctively, I reached out to pull him back inside, but he pushed my hand away and exited the car.

  “Yes ma’am, we were on Highway 182, eastbound. No ma’am, I don’t know how badly he’s hurt. Yes ma’am, my boyfriend is out there right now. Sure, we can wait to flag down the responding vehicles.”

  I completed the call to the 911 operator and pushed the End button. My heart pounded as if it would beat out of my chest. I wasn’t sure if I should get out of the car to help Pete, who was now near the back fender vomiting.

  The driver of the motorcycle was traveling at such a high speed that when he swerved from the roadway, he was propelled forward. His bike, freed from its passenger, had spun repeatedly in circles once it hit the ground. The rider’s attempt to land in the grass turned catastrophic for him because his body had obviously smashed against one of the low-hanging branches of an oak tree, and then slid onto a barbed-wire cattle fence. The rider’s back arched over the wire, and his hands hung so that they touched the ground. His neck was bent at a peculiar angle, and a steady trickle of blood flowed from every facial orifice. Since my stomach was churning, I decided to focus on Pete, who was hunched over the back of the car dry heaving.

  “Pete?” I asked cautiously. “Are you okay?” I gently rubbed his back in an effort to comfort him before broaching the subject of who should check on the victim. “One of us needs to see if he’s still alive, Pete,” I reasoned. The way he was doubled over told me that it wouldn’t be him. “Look Emily, I’m not a wimp or anything…” Heave.

  “Don’t worry, Pete. I can do it,” I insisted. I removed my hand from Pete’s back and slowly made my way to the front of the car. My knees were shaking, and my hands were quivering, but I continued to inch forward.

  I reached the victim, and from high school first aid class, I realized I needed to feel for a pulse. Carefully, I placed my two fingers onto his neck even though I was convinced he was long gone. At that exact moment, the man unexpectedly coughed, and a curtain of blood sprayed all over my shirt. I screamed, reeling backwards in a desperate attempt to get away.

  Tripping over one of the bulging roots of the oak tree, I landed flat on my backside and couldn’t seem to get my feet under me while desperately trying to scramble away. Pete came from behind and lifted me from the ground. Suddenly, flashing lights were all around us, and organized chaos ensued.

  Two medics came running out of an ambulance, one of them being Grant. They quickly assessed the situation, and I watched curiously as they treated the man. A police officer kept asking if I’d been involved in the accident, but I ignored him at first. He insisted I answer him.

  “No…no, I wasn’t involved. I’m fine,” I mumbled as my eyes remained on the medics.

  “But you have blood all over you.”

  “It’s not mine; it’s his,” I answered, pointing in the direction of the victim.

  The officer looked confused for a second, and then shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He went over to Pete and started questioning him. I found myself drifting forward until I was standing right beside Grant. He was a tall man, about six feet, and nearly as wide as he was tall. His dark brown hair was slicked back with so much gel that I doubted it would move in hurricane-force winds. His partner, a much shorter man who was balding, was getting more supplies from the back of the ambulance. Seeing the blood on my shirt and face, Grant asked if I was okay. I assured him I was fine, and I told him my version of what had happened.

  “You’re really brave to do that. Not many people your age would’ve had the courage. Will you help me for a second?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice.

  “Sure. What do you need?” I’m a little surprised but eager to help.

  “I need some more dressing. You see those rolls of gauze in the bag right there…no not there…there,” he nodded toward the open section of a dark blue duffle bag. I reached in and pulled out four of the rolls.

  “These?” I asked.

  “Yep. Will you open them for me?”

  I was pulling the plastic from the paper enclosing the rolls when I heard Grant grunt while glancing at the heart monitor. His face turned all business. “Ben! I need you. Now!”

  The victim’s clothing had been mostly cut off when they were checking for injuries, so it was easy to put the pads onto his chest. Grant looked up at me. “I’m going to shock him. You don’t want to be too close when I do, so make sure none of you is touching him,” he warned.

  “Sure…okay,” I said, standing up and stepping back. The rest of it happened like a movie played in slow motion. The medic
s defibrillated the man, performed CPR, pushed drugs, inserted tubes, and despite their best efforts, the man lay there dying.

  “We need to go. Now!” Grant called to Ben. Grant surveyed the scene and yelled to the police officer, “Jerry, you see any volunteers out there? I need somebody to do compressions for me.”

  The officer looked around and yelled back, “Surprisingly, no. Nobody else out here.”

  “I can do it,” I offered as I stepped up to the back door. “I learned CPR in school.”

  Without much hesitation, Grant told me to get in, and then looked toward Pete.

  “Follow us and pick her up at the hospital, okay?” he asked.

  Pete nodded that he would, and I lined up my hands, and started pushing on the man’s chest. It was the first time I had ever done compressions on a real person, and I was amazed by how much force and energy it took to perform the task I’d volunteered for. I hoped for enough endurance to keep it up the entire trip to the hospital. Sensing my apprehension, Grant suggested I should let him know if I get tired. I smiled appreciatively as I continued pumping on the man’s chest.

  “So what’s your name?” he asked while squeezing the clear bag that was supplying oxygen to the man.

  “Emily Boudreaux,” I answered a little breathlessly.

  “I’m Grant,” he said. “You ever think about becoming a medic, Emily?”

  “No. Not really,” I said still compressing.

  “You should,” he encouraged. “You’ve kept your head during all of this. If not a medic, maybe you should consider becoming a doctor or something. You would do well with trauma cases.”