Free Bayou My Love: A Novel by Lauren Faulkenberry

dog’s toenails clacking on the
floorboards. Barking, she ran into the hall. There was the sound of a key in
the lock.
    I
froze, though I knew it could only be Jack.
    The
door squeaked open. There was the flip of a switch, then a groan.
    “Hey,”
I called, “the power’s out.”
    “Jesus,”
he said, dropping his keys. “I didn’t know you’d be up.”
    I
could barely make out his silhouette as lightning flashed behind him.
    He
brushed past me and opened the pie safe, where he fished out a small
flashlight. “It’s probably just the breaker. Happens a lot when the window
units are running at the same time. Power surge.”
    Down
the hall, he opened the closet under the stairs and checked the breaker box.
After a couple of clicks, the lights came back on.
    He
ambled toward me, like he thought I might bolt. For a split second he looked
like he’d kiss me, but he stopped short. He smelled like a candle just blown
out.
    “Hi,”
I said.
    “Hi,
yourself.”
    “How
did it go?” As soon as I said it, it seemed like a ridiculous thing to ask.
    “I’ll
tell you over a beer,” he replied, walking into the kitchen. “You want one?”
    “No,
thanks. What time is it?”
    “Nearly
eleven.”
    I
sat on one end of the couch, studying the way he moved toward me. He looked
like he felt bad about earlier and wanted to take it back too. Even though it
was disappointing to think of him feeling that way, it was for the best.
    “It
was a warehouse,” he said. “Burned right to the ground. After two hours they
called us off.” He stretched out next to me, propping his feet on the coffee
table.
    “What
caused it?”
    He
shook his head, his hand resting next to my thigh. “No official word yet. The
chief thinks it’s squatters. I think it’s something else.”
    “Like
what?”
    He
took a long swallow. “Like an arsonist.”
    “Damn.
Was anybody hurt?”
    “No.
We got lucky.”
    “You’ve
been there all this time?”
    He
nodded, taking a long pull from the beer. His eyes were dark.
    “You
must be exhausted.”
    “Nothing
I’m not used to,” he said, sliding his hand over my knee. “What did you get
into around here? I know you didn’t just sit here eagerly awaiting my return.”
    I
felt a ripple of warmth pass over my skin. “Mostly finished the study.”
    He
stared at me, his fingers squeezing my knee. “You’re all I could think about.”
    The
starving, wanton part of me wanted him to pick up where he left off, slide his
hands all over me. But the practical, rational part of me said I should get a
hold of myself. Be professional.
    “I
figured you thought it was a mistake,” I said.
    “Why
would you say that?”
    “Well,
you did leave me naked and alone.”
    He
brought my hand to his lips. “You’re going to love the way I make that up to
you.”
    I
took a drink from his beer and said, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
    He
grinned. “Not as much as I have.”
    Easing
back to my side of the couch, I said, “I think we should cool it for a while.”
    He
stared at me like I’d just slapped him.
    “Let’s
take care of the house first,” I continued. “There’s a lot riding on this for
me. And it’s going to be impossible to do if I’m thinking more about you than
this job.”
    “You
can’t multi-task?”
    “I’m
serious, Jack. We could have a good time together—that much is obvious. But I
think we should call a time-out.”
    “Look,
I’m sorry I had to leave.” He leaned closer, his hand on my thigh. “But that’s
my job. I wasn’t trying to be an ass.”
    “I
know,” I said. “It’s not that.”
    “I
wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”
    “I’m
supposed to be down here working—not having a wild fling on the company tab.”
    “That’s
cold, cher.”
    “I
don’t mean it to be. I just think we need to keep this relationship
professional.”
    He
sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “So you still want my help.”
    “Well,
that was our agreement.”
    He
nodded.