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

  “Pete, you aren’t saying anything I haven’t already thought of myself. I feel to blame for her injuries. There are no hard feelings,” Jacob says, lowering his head.

  Pete gives him a light slap on the shoulder then announces he’s going out back to do a little fishing so Jacob and I can talk about the previous night’s call. A pang of guilt hits because I know the real reason Jacob wants to have a discussion with me. Pete takes a beer out of the fridge before leaving the kitchen and stops to ask Jacob if he’d like to join him once we finish talking. A wave of panic washes over me, but it subsides when Jacob declines. Pete makes his way toward the bayou, fishing pole and tackle box in hand. I look back toward Jacob.

  “That’s enough of the blame game. I mean it. You’re not responsible for any of this. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve been doing this job long enough to know the risks. You are my partner, not my bodyguard. Understand?” I say as sternly as possible.

  “Fine.” Jacob says forlornly. “I should probably go since the kiss is obviously a moot point now. By the way, how long have you been seeing Pete?” Ugh! The line of questioning I’d been hoping to avoid.

  “Pete and I were high school sweethearts, but we didn’t keep in touch after I moved away. When he found out I was back in town, he came by to visit. We’ve been seeing each other since.”

  “In all the weeks we’ve worked together, you never thought to mention it to me?”

  I don’t do a very good job of hiding my shock. “I didn’t realize I needed to run that by you.”

  He shakes his head then brushes his fingers through his hair. “I thought we were friends. Friends share that kind of thing. I came here hoping for something more because I’m pretty sure you kissed me back.” His words are clipped.

  “This is becoming a lot more complicated than it should be.” My eyes dart to the ground. His handsome face and hopeful eyes are more than I can handle at the moment.

  “You did feel something!”

  “Even if I admit I enjoyed it, it shouldn’t happen again. Things are going really well with Pete, okay? I didn’t even know you were interested until you showed up today. I thought the kiss thing might have been a near-death fluke.”

  He throws his hands in the air. “Oh, a fluke? Hell, I don’t know. Maybe it was. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

  Unsure what to say, I follow him through the foyer. “I’ll see you next shift?” I softly ask while turning the handle of the door to open it. Jacob thrusts his hand against it and holds it closed, and then pulls me to him, kissing me until I think my knees will buckle.

  “That’s so you can be sure it was simply a fluke,” he taunts before opening the door and walking away.

  I’m still trembling when he leaves. I look in the mirror to make sure it isn’t obvious Jacob has kissed me, and while I’m at it, I take a few minutes to ponder what happened. What did happen? My brain isn’t ready to go there, so I take a long swig from a beer and go outside to join Pete.

  “Already caught two catfish,” he yells when he sees me.

  “Really?”

  “Come see,” he calls. I join him on the dock and watch him cast his line into the water. “The fish are really biting today. How about we go out in the boat?”

  “Sounds like fun,” I answer. It’s a win-win to go out on the water. Talk is minimal because of the loud motor, and it’s easy to ponder things while out there. He opens the boat shed to get everything ready to go. Once I’m seated next to him in the boat, he pushes the throttle, and we’re off to explore the bayou and some of its side channels.

  As the wind whips through our hair, Pete turns to me and shouts, “You okay? Are you hurting? Should we go back?”

  I shake my head. “Just thinking about some things.”

  “That call?” he asks, as his smile turns into a worried frown.

  “Sort of. I’m good though,” I yell over the sound of the wind.

  He nods. How in the hell am I going to handle this situation with Jacob?

  7

  Several shifts pass, and for the most part, Jacob pretends nothing happened between us. At times I wonder if I imagined the whole thing, but there are things that keep me guessing. Sometimes it’s an extra sexy smirk he gives or how he’ll say something in a rather seductive tone. It’s a lingering touch or a gesture that rides the border between friendly and flirtatious. The signs are noticeable but not blatantly obvious. What I do know is if Jacob Templet is throwing out bait, this fish isn’t biting. Things are going far too well with Pete, and I’m not about to risk our relationship.

  We stick to our typical routine of conversation, card games, and movies, with a call thrown in here and there. November nights become dark much quicker, so when dispatch calls at seven-thirty to inform us that a car has been reported in the bayou, I actually dread going. Thinking about all of the creepy crawlies we might encounter while wading out in the murky water makes me shiver.

  Jacob drives the ambulance to the scene, and sure enough, about twenty feet from the bank, headlights illuminate the surrounding water. The local firefighters are there, and fortunately the car has landed in a shallow marshy part of the bayou and is not completely submerged. The downside is that even though the firefighters have agreed to perform the rescue, there is no getting around being wet and dirty by the end of the call. One of the firefighters paddles out in a small boat to reach the car. The spotlight strapped to his helmet temporarily blinds me when he turns to report that a single female is in the car and appears to be okay.

  “She’s talking to me just fine,” he yells to us. “She says she ain’t hurt at all, just scared.”

  Alphonse, who is pacing back and forth across the bank, announces his intention to wade out to lend a hand. We try our best to discourage him, yet he insists. Quick thinking Kent tells him he needs Alphonse to write up the report, and that diverts his attention. Clutching the waist of his pants so they won’t fall, he runs back to the site where the car left the roadway and begins making random patterns in the air with his outstretched arms.

  While Alphonse is busy, Bert, Kent, Jacob, Pete, and I huddle together and discuss meeting up since we all have the weekend off. We decide to meet in Green Bayou at the local watering hole, Chaisson’s, a place famous for karaoke and flaming shots. Surprisingly, the two things actually go together pretty well. Bert interrupts the conversation.

  “What the shit is he doing?” he asks Kent, nodding toward Alphonse, who is now running down the roadway with his hands on an invisible steering wheel.

  We take turns wincing as the weight from his belt threatens to make his pants drop to his knees, but each time we think they’re goners, he snaps his hand down to snatch them back up.

  “Aside from making me apprehensive with those near misses, I guess he’s recreating the scene of the accident, maybe?” Jacob says a little too loudly.

  Alphonse obviously feels the need to explain himself, so he joins our group. “Oh, no need to be apprehensive, Jacob. Those were just pretend cars, so they weren’t near misses. I knew what I was doing the whole time.”

  Jacob laughs while shaking his head. “No, I was talking about you almost showing your…” I put my hand on Jacob’s arm and shake my head to stop him from going on. Alphonse gives us a blank stare before proceeding to give a very animated account of his theory of how the accident happened.

  In his best CSI voice, he stresses that he feels certain the victim was contemplating suicide, and based upon the skid marks, had changed her mind at the last minute. We all sit silently exchanging glances, trying not to let the building laughter escape our bodies. Bert has to walk away, and Kent follows right behind to help the firefighters hoist the woman out of the boat. Alphonse looks proud as a peacock when he beams at me and Jacob. I announce that I need to get the stretcher closer to the victim.

  “I have to help her,” Jacob follows suit.

  Because of the sludge coating everything, it takes all of us to get the woman onto the stretcher and into th
e back of the ambulance. Every one of us is soaked with swamp water and bayou mud. We assess the patient and find she did have some injuries, but nothing life-threatening. I assume care of her.

  “I’m going to request recovery time from the dispatcher. We’ll definitely need it after this call,” Jacob says.

  Recovery time is essentially a half hour or so that a crew doesn’t respond to calls. It’s used for a variety of reasons, but the most common is to give medics time to clean up after a really messy call.

  Because Bienville is so small, the medics are sometimes called to assist the hospital staff. The place is usually staffed by one doctor and one nurse at night, and reinforcements can be called. However, when time is of the essence, it’s more practical for the hospital to call the ambulance crew located at the end of the parking lot. We turn the young woman over to the same ancient doctor and nurse combo who stitched me up the night the ax murderer struck.

  “You’re in good hands,” I assure the patient. “I’ve seen his work.” I point to my forehead and give her a wink; she seems a little more at ease. Despite Alphonse’s best estimate, she wasn’t attempting suicide. During her interview, we learn she’d fallen asleep at the wheel after working a twelve hour shift at a local gas station. Fortunately, she made it out with only a few bumps and bruises.

  I can’t wait to get the bayou funk off me. Bayou mud has a way of making my skin itch and burn, and as if that isn’t bad enough, it stinks—like putrid, rotting vegetation mixed with a smidgeon of decaying fish. I know it will be a race to see who can get to the shower first, and the loser is destined to sit in nasty, waterlogged clothing until the victor gets out of the bathroom. The punishment will continue when the loser is forced to take a cold shower because all the hot water will most assuredly be used by the first in the bathroom.

  I think about bailing from the cab of the ambulance before Jacob puts it into park, but I figure with my history of injuries, it’s best to wait. We trudge up the steps, and once we’re inside, we enter a staring contest. Jacob is the first to flinch, breaking into a full run. The bathroom door slams, and I bang on it while lacing a rant with a few select profanities.

  The door opens a crack, and Jacob’s half-naked body shows through the slit. I lose my train of thought.

  “You know, we can both have a hot shower and conserve water if we shower together,” Jacob suggests.

  “No way that’s happening, and you know it, fool. You will get paid back for making me sit in these wet nasty clothes, Jacob Templet. What ever happened to chivalry?” I ask jokingly.

  “Now you want to play the gender card! Nope, you took that one off the table after the Halloween fiasco.”

  “But it’s so cold out here, Jacob.” I whine, trying my best to get sympathy.

  “I know. I can tell.”

  “Jerk!” I gasp and cross my arms over my chest.

  “All I’m saying is chivalry isn’t dead. I volunteer to wash your back if you join me. That’s chivalrous.”

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind, and cut it out with the innuendos. You best save me some hot water.”

  “Oh well, a man can try, can’t he? Last chance,” he teases. The steam pouring from the bathroom tempts me, especially once the shivers start, but I shake my head. He shrugs his shoulders. “Your loss.”

  I skulk into the kitchen, water dripping onto the floor, when it occurs to me I don’t have to wallow in the gunk. I kick off my boots and socks then hesitate for a second. The shower is still going so I drop my pants and toss them into the sink. I consider removing my shirt too, but decide it’s better to wait until I get to my bedroom. Darting down the hallway as fast as possible, I yank the disgusting top over my head and wrap a bath towel around me, leaving my bra and panties on until I can get to the safety of the bathroom.

  I hear the water shut off, and Jacob’s heavy steps as he pads down the hall. I peep out the doorway of my bedroom and see he has one towel secured around his waist and another draped over his head.

  Making my move, I’m almost in the bathroom when he stops abruptly and turns around. A smile bigger and more devious than I’ve ever seen is plastered on his face when my towel snags on the doorframe. Ignoring it, I slide into the bathroom and crack the door.

  “Uh hum.” I noisily clear my throat while extending my hand into the hallway.

  “Yes?” Jacob asks coyly.

  “My towel, please.” I shove my arm further into the hall and snap my fingers.

  “Come and get it,” he teases, moving farther away.

  Oh here we go with the games! I’m cold, wet, and not in the mood. Knowing Jacob’s relentless streak, this could go on all night, and I’m determined to put an abrupt end to it. I’ll have to use shock as a weapon.

  I open the door fully, and march straight to Jacob. The look on his face quickly morphs from confusion, to astonishment, and finally to appreciation. I take the towel from his hand and slam the door in his face.

  “If you’re trying to make me want you less, you’re not doing a very good job!” he yells through the door.

  I crack the door. “You need this damn cold shower worse than I do. That’s it; I’m finding you a girlfriend.”

  “I love giving you a hard time,” he says with a chuckle. “Go get in the shower. I promise to leave you alone.” He smiles broadly, and I shake my head.

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” I say, sucking my teeth.

  “Seriously, I will. I just have one last thing to say.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask with a huff.

  “Mirror.”

  “Jacob!” I yell, slamming the door closed so he is no longer privy to my reflection.

  The rest of the shift is uneventful, so we watch a movie before heading to our separate bedrooms. Though I steal about a thousand curious glances in his direction while watching, Jacob pretends as if nothing ever happened. It isn’t until our night out on the town that excitement once again graces our presence.

  Pete is working late, so I drive myself to Chaisson’s bar. I spot Jacob’s black pickup on the other end of the lot, and I’m relieved to know I won’t be alone inside. Taking a second to check myself out in the mirrored tint of the barroom door, I’m happy everything seems to be in place. I tug the door and immediately notice Jacob and Bert shooting a game of pool. Kent, propped on a nearby table, talks to some random girl who fanatically flips her hair. A smile lights up all of their faces when they notice me walk in. Well, everyone except the obsessive hair flipper. Her look borders on a scowl. I give Kent a quick wave before making my way toward the pool table to give Jacob and Bert hugs.

  “Look at you all dressed up,” Bert yells over the blaring music. Some woman desperately tries to sing “Proud Mary,” but she is failing miserably. She sounds more like a howler monkey than a person. Sheer curiosity has me looking towards the stage, and thankfully she’s no one I recognize.

  “Yeah, I clean up okay every once in a while,” I tease. “Have you been here long? Where’s Connie?”

  “We’ve been here about a half hour. Connie’s at the bar getting some drinks. She’ll be back in a sec. Look Emily, she’s gonna try to hit you up for another shopping trip. You’re my friend, too. Please, for the love of god, tell her you’re busy. My credit cards are still smoking from the last trip.”

  I nod to acknowledge I’ve heard him over the screeching. “Fine. No shopping trips until you give the okay,” I say with a smile.

  “Bless you!” He jokingly falls to his knees, and I can’t help but laugh. Kent makes his way over with hair-flipping girl in tow.

  “Hey there, Emily,” he says, nearly smothering me with his bulk. “Remember that day I saved you from an ax murderer?”

  Strange question, but I figure he’s showing off for his conquest. “How could I possibly forget?” I answer nearly monotone.

  “Well, I was glad to do it. Let me get you a drink. What do you feel like tonight?”

  Kent’s friend shoots me a look of scorn, but
Kent never notices. My plans were to turn and walk away, but Miss Scowl has awakened my inner bitch. “Thanks, Kent. I’d love a beer.” I smile extra sweetly and aim it in her direction.

  “Good choice. Any particular brand?”

  “Surprise me,” I say. Kent wears a huge grin when he walks over to the bar.

  The line is short, so it isn’t long before he hands over an ice-cold bottle of Abita. I take it from him, down a long pull, and look around to see if I recognize anyone.

  “Thanks for the drink, Kent. I see a friend of mine over there, so I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Yeah, he might not be here later,” What’s-her-face says, suddenly reappearing from behind Kent. Fine by me. The dude really isn’t that much of a catch in my eyes, but to each her own.

  “Yeah, enjoy your night,” I say, mocking her tone. One last sneer in her direction, and I start making my way through the crowd to Connie. She puts her finger up to signal that she’s about to head my way, so I stop and take a look around.

  One side of the building houses a fairly decent stage, complete with overhead spotlights and huge television screens for karaoke. A new, much slower song is on tap, and unlike the last singer, this person is actually pretty good.

  The other side of the building has a long bar that is tended by two look-a-like males, one dark-headed guy in his mid-twenties, and an older man looking to be in his fifties. I’m pretty sure they are father and son, and I wonder if they are the Chaissons who own the place.

  All along the dance floor are table and chair sets of varying heights. Finally, against the far rear wall is another bar tended by a middle-aged, anorexic looking woman. I glance over to the dance floor, and there, right smack in the middle, is Alphonse. That’s the thing about small town living; you’re going to run into loads of familiar faces, however not all are welcome interactions.