Bayou Sunset (Agents of HIS #4)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

DAISY MAE DETESTED the impersonal nature of scheduling charters online. She preferred the comfort of face-to-face interactions, where she could see and judge the character of the person she was booking. Something was reassuring about the old-school method, a sense of security that had safeguarded her for years, giving her the intuition to know when to decline a request.

Now, she had a request from one passenger who paid a substantial premium for her time and went by the name of John Smith. Though it was a common enough name, she doubted its authenticity, a suspicion that gnawed at her and added a layer of unease to the charter.

The past few months spent in the windswept, languidly charming town of Lake Charles, Louisiana, had been a tumultuous balm for her bruised heart. Well, if she were being honest, it hadn’t been healing at all—in fact, it had only deepened her sorrow and made the ache more acute. Her thoughts drifted often, wondering if Steve, with his rugged charm and piercing hazel eyes, had ever considered coming back for her. Doubt crept in like an uninvited guest, and this gnawing uncertainty amplified her heartache, a cruel reminder that, for him, their bond had never held the same weight it did for her.

As the two men approached her boat, she couldn’t help but notice the sizable cooler they were carrying. Immediately, her senses heightened, and she was poised, ready to react. Two men? The unsettling thought of a possible deception regarding the charter arrangement gnawed at her.

With an air of formality, the men requested permission to board and unload their cargo, gesturing towards the imposing white cooler.

Cargo? Her anxiety surged. Contemplating aborting the cruise, her attention was suddenly drawn to a familiar figure in a black baseball cap trailing behind the men. That recognizable cap could only belong to one person—Steve had tracked her down.

Her heart pounded like a drum reverberating in an empty hall, its rhythm quickening with each passing moment. An intense urge overwhelmed her, compelling her to sprint forward and throw herself into his arms. But then, a question shattered the tender fantasy. What was he doing here? Was he here to profess his undying love for her, to mend the broken pieces of her heart? Or had he been sent on a cold, calculated mission by her family to bring her back into their controlling grasp?

Doubt snaked through her veins, seeping into her very being and reviving the dormant ache of abandonment and uncertainty.

The two men grunted as they dropped the chest onto her vessel. Without uttering a word, they disembarked from her boat, their boots clanging against the metal gangplank. As they trudged away, they each patted Steve firmly on the shoulders, their hands lingering briefly, and offered a gruff, “Good luck.”

Steve stood on the edge of the pier and removed his black cap. “ Bonjour , Daisy Mae,” he called out, his voice carrying over the rhythmic lapping of the waves against her boat’s hull.

“Steve,” was all she could mutter, her voice barely above a whisper. Was he her John Smith for this charter, which she would conduct alone for two hours? The realization hit her like a tidal wave. She needed to cancel to end this before anything more was said or emotions became entangled. Yet, the words seemed to lodge in her throat, refusing to be spoken.

“May I board?” he asked.

Without hesitation, she nodded. Her heart raced, and she wanted to kick herself for the swift, almost automatic agreement. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him move.

Steve, a tall figure casting a long shadow in the morning sun, replaced the cap on his short-cropped hair and stepped onto the vessel. The boat swayed ever so slightly with his step, the wood groaning softly under his weight. The air felt cool against their skin, a sharp contrast to the warm hues of the dawn enveloping them.

“I have a charter scheduled. Sorry for the deception, but I feared ya might not speak with me since ya ran away,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of regret and concern as he approached her, his footsteps echoing softly.

Ire climbed up her body to rest on her shoulders like a weight pressing down, tightening her muscles. Run away? She did not run away. Okay, maybe she did, but she would not admit it, not even to herself. “I no run away, Steve. It be time to find a new bateau and place to dock it,” she stated, her voice firm yet betraying a hint of defensiveness, her eyes avoiding his.

“Why ya no do dat in Bayou Junction?” he asked, advancing methodically toward her.

She took a cautious step back, a wave of uncertainty mingling with the recollection of the fabricated story she’d devised for such an occasion. “Dere not be enough business dere,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly.

He closed the distance, compelling her to retreat further until her back pressed against the rough wood of the captain’s quarters door.

“And, ya had to do it without telling anyone where ya go?” he pressed, another step eliminating the space between them.

She’d loathed not informing her family of her new home, but she had resolved to disclose her whereabouts after a few more months. The fear of someone tracing her steps and persuading her to return to a place filled with sorrow weighed heavily on her mind.

“What do ya want, Steve?” she demanded curtly, her voice tinged with frustration.

“Well, Rocket, da answer be simple. I want ya,” he declared, enclosing her with his arms, one on each side of the wooden wall behind her head. “I’ve always wanted ya.”

Her heart soared like an eagle at his admission, an intoxicating mixture of joy and disbelief causing her to still. She longed to leap into his arms, to feel his reassuring embrace, but a whisper of caution anchored her feet to the ground. “Why now?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

“Because I only just found ya,” he replied with a hint of sorrow. “Ya be gone before.”

If she hadn’t rushed away, would he have sought her out? Would he have whisked her away to Maryland or remained steadfast in Bayou Junction? So many questions swirled like a storm in her mind. Now was the time to demand answers.

“So, ya found me. Now what?” she queried, her eyes searching his intently.

“Well, we go on dis here cruise and decide if ya come home wit me or if I move here wit ya. It be dat simple. We no return until it be decided one way or da other,” he stated firmly.

With a burst of emotion, she launched herself at him, almost knocking him to the ground. Her heart swelled with a profound love for this man, a love that seemed to defy ordinary bounds.

“We no need to go on da charter,” she murmured, her voice soft yet resolute. “I go with ya, wherever ya be.”

He wrapped her in a warm embrace, his lips hovering just above hers. “I love ya, Daisy Mae Robicheaux,” he whispered fervently.

“I love ya, Steve Smith. My Romeo,” she replied, her voice filled with tender affection.

His lips brushed hers in a searing kiss that ignited an undeniable spark and claimed her heart as his own. With a breathless fervor, she kissed him back, her senses belonging solely to him. Their passionate embrace only broke when a roar of cheers erupted from the dock, reverberating around them.

Embarrassed, she ducked her head, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, and peeked shyly up at the pier. There stood several men, the only familiar face being Grits. “What be going on?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

Steve’s grin radiated confidence. “Backup. Just in case ya no agree.”

A mix of confusion and curiosity swirled within her. “What were dey gonna do? Drag me away?”

Steve chuckled, a glint of determination in his eyes. “Well, they do have my six. They’d do whatever was necessary to ensure we be together.” He put his arm around her waist and turned her to the men. “Welcome to the family,” he told her.