until you give me back my bike, you thief.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” he retaliated.
“Raoul Fontenot!” A woman’s voice cut through the tension. “What are you doing with a woman in your bed and you nekkid as the day you were born?”
Shocked, Flame looked at the little old lady wrapped in a robe and holding a shotgun nearly as big as she was in her hands. Her silver-white hair was braided and looped in a neat bun at the back of her head. Her skin was paper thin and white, but her eyes were clear and steady, her lips compressed tightly in disapproval.
Gator scrambled to drag up a sheet, half standing as he did so. “ Grand-mere Nonny—”
His grandmother cut him off without a word sending him a glare. The older woman was magnificent. Flame would have given anything to be related to her. She sat up slowly, ignoring Gator’s hasty scramble to cover himself. She did sneak a peek though. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have come.” She lowered her gaze looking young and vulnerable, allowing her voice to tremble. “I sing in a club and he came in sweet-talkin’
and smiling at me and I know I was wrong. I’m really a good girl. And now there’s a baby on the way and I…“ She pressed a hand to her stomach as she stood up shakily. “I thought if I came, he’d do the right thing, but…“ she trailed off pathetically.
Nonny lowered the barrel of the shotgun to the floor, not appearing to notice as Wyatt took it out of her hand. He had a huge grin on his face.
“ Grand-mere ,” Gator protested. “Don’ be listenin’ to—“
Her hand came up sharply, palm flat and she waved him to silence with an imperious gesture, effectively cut ting him off from explaining that he couldn’t possibly have been there long enough to do what Flame accused him of.
His grandmother stepped forward and put her arm around Flame. “You poor child. You look very pale. Let me get you a cup of tea.”
“ Bien merci! You’re so kind.” Flame cast a small triumphant glance over her shoulder at Gator behind his grandmother’s back before putting her head down as she walked off.
“My family is going to disown me. I don’t know what to do, but I’m so sorry for coming here, I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake. Now he hates me more than ever.”
“He don’ hate you, child, He’s just shocked. Men never think their chickens is goin’ to come home to roost. Don’ you worry, cher , I’ll help you. We’ll get this straightened out fast. Gator, he lives up to his responsibilities. He’s been brought up right.”
“I need to leave. I can’t face him right now,” Flame said, flicking a glance toward the door. She’d have to leave without her bike, but she could make it to the Jeep before he could get dressed, pacify his grandmother and come after her.
“You look ill, child. Let me help you.”
Flame patted her arm, swallowed the sudden, unexpected lump forming in her throat.
Gator’s grandmother’s concern was genuine and there was no doubt in Flame’s mind that she would have done her best to help out a pregnant, unwed mother. Damn Gator for his selfish choices. This woman was to be treasured, his family valued. He had no right to sell himself as a Whitney puppet.
“ Merci. Bien merci.” She stammered it several times as she bolted toward the door and out into the heat and rain of the night. There were tears in her eves and she didn’t know why, refused to ask herself why. She dashed them away and ran for the Jeep.
CHAPTER 4
C:\DOCUME~1\Owner\LOCALS~1\Temp\Feehan, Christine - %5bGhost Walkers 3%5d
- Night Game (v1.5).html - chapter_3#chapter_3
The sun sank deep in the bayou, raining fire and pouring gold into the dark waters.
Several great blue herons silhouetted against the horizon appeared like enormous stick figures cut from black paper as they crept slowly through the shallower edges of the canal. Long ropes of moss dangled from cypress trees
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” he retaliated.
“Raoul Fontenot!” A woman’s voice cut through the tension. “What are you doing with a woman in your bed and you nekkid as the day you were born?”
Shocked, Flame looked at the little old lady wrapped in a robe and holding a shotgun nearly as big as she was in her hands. Her silver-white hair was braided and looped in a neat bun at the back of her head. Her skin was paper thin and white, but her eyes were clear and steady, her lips compressed tightly in disapproval.
Gator scrambled to drag up a sheet, half standing as he did so. “ Grand-mere Nonny—”
His grandmother cut him off without a word sending him a glare. The older woman was magnificent. Flame would have given anything to be related to her. She sat up slowly, ignoring Gator’s hasty scramble to cover himself. She did sneak a peek though. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have come.” She lowered her gaze looking young and vulnerable, allowing her voice to tremble. “I sing in a club and he came in sweet-talkin’
and smiling at me and I know I was wrong. I’m really a good girl. And now there’s a baby on the way and I…“ She pressed a hand to her stomach as she stood up shakily. “I thought if I came, he’d do the right thing, but…“ she trailed off pathetically.
Nonny lowered the barrel of the shotgun to the floor, not appearing to notice as Wyatt took it out of her hand. He had a huge grin on his face.
“ Grand-mere ,” Gator protested. “Don’ be listenin’ to—“
Her hand came up sharply, palm flat and she waved him to silence with an imperious gesture, effectively cut ting him off from explaining that he couldn’t possibly have been there long enough to do what Flame accused him of.
His grandmother stepped forward and put her arm around Flame. “You poor child. You look very pale. Let me get you a cup of tea.”
“ Bien merci! You’re so kind.” Flame cast a small triumphant glance over her shoulder at Gator behind his grandmother’s back before putting her head down as she walked off.
“My family is going to disown me. I don’t know what to do, but I’m so sorry for coming here, I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake. Now he hates me more than ever.”
“He don’ hate you, child, He’s just shocked. Men never think their chickens is goin’ to come home to roost. Don’ you worry, cher , I’ll help you. We’ll get this straightened out fast. Gator, he lives up to his responsibilities. He’s been brought up right.”
“I need to leave. I can’t face him right now,” Flame said, flicking a glance toward the door. She’d have to leave without her bike, but she could make it to the Jeep before he could get dressed, pacify his grandmother and come after her.
“You look ill, child. Let me help you.”
Flame patted her arm, swallowed the sudden, unexpected lump forming in her throat.
Gator’s grandmother’s concern was genuine and there was no doubt in Flame’s mind that she would have done her best to help out a pregnant, unwed mother. Damn Gator for his selfish choices. This woman was to be treasured, his family valued. He had no right to sell himself as a Whitney puppet.
“ Merci. Bien merci.” She stammered it several times as she bolted toward the door and out into the heat and rain of the night. There were tears in her eves and she didn’t know why, refused to ask herself why. She dashed them away and ran for the Jeep.
CHAPTER 4
C:\DOCUME~1\Owner\LOCALS~1\Temp\Feehan, Christine - %5bGhost Walkers 3%5d
- Night Game (v1.5).html - chapter_3#chapter_3
The sun sank deep in the bayou, raining fire and pouring gold into the dark waters.
Several great blue herons silhouetted against the horizon appeared like enormous stick figures cut from black paper as they crept slowly through the shallower edges of the canal. Long ropes of moss dangled from cypress trees
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