The Bitter Heir and the Beauty (On the Hunt for Love #2)

9. Hurrican Hogan

Chapter 9

Hurrican Hogan

B uck says, “That last one wasn’t worthy of a name. I think they jumped the gun givin’ this one a moniker.”

“That’s because it’s your name,” Dick says, finishing his glass of sweet tea.

Hank asks, “Buck’s name isn’t Buck?”

It’s hard for my ears not to twitch at this information. Granted, it’s not Molly and Pest Digest-level gossip, but up until I was twenty-three years old, I knew Buck as Mr. Daley. I couldn’t conceive of the old farmer having a first name, no less it not being Buck.

Dick chuckles. “Head on over to the library. I think they have the old school yearbooks stashed somewhere.”

I inwardly groan. I hope that’s not true. My hair was about a mile high thanks to Betsy and Mama. To this day, I still call the former Miss Betsy.

Despite what Maddock might think, I do have manners ... and am not always sassy.

As I put away the clean coffee mugs, I go still.

What is he doing back here?

Well, not here here . But in my head.

“I charge rent, you know,” I murmur.

“What’s that?” Hank asks.

“Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.” Which is a new habit, along with thinking about Maddock. A habit I want to kick, thank you very much. I root around in the wooden drawer under the cash register for a lollipop.

“Let me guess,” Hank says. “Is it Wilbur? Elrod? Applesauce?”

“Ain’t no one who’d name their kid applesauce,” Buck fires back.

“I have an aunt Peaches,” Dick says.

They all laugh.

If I had more time on my hands, I’d get to the bottom of this. Across the street, Thelma locks up the Hogwash Hairwash early. She must be hunkering down for this storm that has the guys speculating about whether it’ll be named. The last one missed us—the night I went to Tickle’s estate and had dinner with Maddock.

That night, the baby spit-up didn’t make me bat an eyelash. No, my cheeks flushed for another reason. When I walked into the dining room wearing the fire department T-shirt, the way Maddock looked at me with longing gave me a full-body flush. And the way he looked all massive with broad shoulders and big hands holding Leonie took my breath away.

Or it could’ve been the ghosts haunting the old house. That’s what I keep telling myself.

“Ouch.”

The Klatch trio goes quiet and looks my way.

“Bumped into the pie case,” I mutter.

The wooden one that has been there all my life. The one that I can navigate around while holding six luncheon special plates or a tray full of large cups filled with sweet tea. Yeah, that one. The solid one that reminds me that ghosts aren’t real.

But the way my thoughts repeatedly loop back to Maddock like I’m doing laps on a race track is very much real.

I sigh.

“All the same, I say you haul in the last of that crop in case the field floods, Buck ... if that’s your real name,” Hank says.

“I’ve been Buck since I was old enough to answer my mama and that’s what you’re going to call me no matter what the yearbook says.”

I stifle a laugh. If nothing else, these guys keep me entertained. Well, the twenty dollars they leave me for occupying the counter for several hours each day and keeping my sweet tea the freshest in Cameron Parish helps, too.

It’s nearly November, which is late in storm season, so I’m guessing this one will bypass us, too. Hogwash residents used to have big storm parties, with everyone gathering at the largest homes or the community center. Funny that it could survive an atom bomb attack, but the swamp has just about reclaimed it. Then again, I did see a parish truck over there the other day, probably assessing how to best demolish it.

While Molly, with her loud mouth, broadcasts everyone’s business in town, I notice everything but keep my mouth shut—okay, maybe my lips are parted a little bit. Through the window, Maddock looks good this morning in dark jeans and a fitted flannel with thick hair that’s freshly trimmed—he must be coming from the salon. But he doesn’t cross the street. Instead, he struts into the Coffee Loft.

I stick my tongue out. “Traitor. Tallula is the real beauty queen in town. Sorry, Maddock, she’s taken. She and our sheriff are newly hitched.”

All three guys at the counter stare at me.

I realize I spoke all of that out loud.

“I’ll just go write the lunch special on the board now.”

Dick shakes his head. “Honey, I don’t like what I’m seeing to the east. I reckon you should close early today. Go home, kick up your feet, and watch the rain not rip off your roof.”

Last year, before Leonie came along, after a particularly wet fall, I came home to a tree branch, a nest, and a mama bird in my living room. Thankfully, my books were spared and not a soggy mess. At the time, second to the Porsche, the contents of my bookshelves were my most prized possessions—I should probably return a few of the first editions to the chateau’s library. Mama said to help myself, so I did, by learning all about ancient world history right up to the founding of this country. The lesson is history repeats itself and wisdom can prevent revisiting the bad parts.

Anyway, a week after the tree took the top off my house, the “Roof fairy” visited while I was here at the restaurant and replaced it. Good as new. I had a hunch these guys were behind it and refused to serve them sweet tea for a week.

Words were exchanged. They said not to kick a gift horse in the mouth. Not to bite the hand that feeds or some such nonsense.

Finally, Mrs. Daley left the farm to have a chat with me. She said it’s rude to turn down generosity. For instance, back in the day, she looked the other way when we used the paved road out by her house as a drag strip. My pride ripped and roared about that. But I got her point and reinstated sweet tea rights.

The guys get to their feet. Without a word, Hank starts sweeping up. Dick takes out the trash, and Hank is in the back talking to Antoine.

“I’ll have to ask Honey,” he says in his deep voice.

Hank hollers, “Did you ever get the generator repaired?”

“It’s on my to-do list,” I holler back. My mile-long to-do list.

“Then you’ll want to take anything perishable home.”

I pop my head into the food delivery window. “You think the power is going to go out?”

“Good chance. I’m going to bring my spare generator over for the freezer. But if there’s anything perishable in the fridge, I’d clear it out,” Hank says.

“Antoine, you have the biggest family, you take what you can.” I’ve ridden out countless storms, so I’m not nervous, except this will be a first with a baby if it comes to that.

I say, “The good thing is we won’t get our big delivery until Monday, so we’re fresh out of most things. But I’ll take the sandwich cold cuts and cheese. You take the eggs.”

I insist Buck, Dick, and Hank also take some food home, including the pies to their wives who I know will appreciate them—especially the apple which I only make seasonally.

By the time I pick Leonie up from Mara’s, the wind howls something fierce and the bare branches wave and scratch the dark gray sky like fingernails. The thick clouds roll closer with nothing to stop them.

Just past sunset, a loud pop explodes outside on the street, instantly submerging us in darkness. Leonie startles and cries with fright.

I pace and sing until she settles, watching the scene outside as the fire crew shows up, the wind and rain lashing them. Lights flash. A large truck appears. Voices rise and fall.

Someone bangs on the screen door. Leonie cries again. I kiss her fuzzy little head and sing until she’s quiet, wondering if this was what it was like for my mother, living in this very same trailer. What finally broke her? Or had she been that way all along?

Struggling against the wind to open the door, I find Jesse on the other side. Water drips from his broad sheriff’s hat.

“Honey, you alright in there?”

“We’re Hoggers. Of course we are,” I say as the storm whips up a fierce tantrum outside.

“Sorry to bother you this late. A transformer blew and a live line is down out on the street. We’re alerting all the residents to stay put or else risk electric shock.

“If that’s the case, why aren’t I looking at a BBQ deputy?”

“The area adjacent to your property and Shady Lane is clear. If residents want to leave, they’ll have to walk through your yard. I don’t advise that in this weather because of the way your property line comes up to those poles.”

I think about the layout and nod, understanding what he means.

“The power company probably won’t get out here until tomorrow, at least. You don’t happen to have a generator?”

I shake my head. “Not here or at the restaurant.” It’s on the to-do list too.

Footsteps thud on the two rickety steps that lead to my front door. I imagine it’s someone from the volunteer fire department.

Instead, Maddock fills the doorway, also dripping wet. “You’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs sheepishly, maybe having forgotten that this isn’t my first Gulf storm.

Jesse says, “I was going to offer to escort you to the restaurant if you wanted to weather things out over there. But if that generator is still?—”

I interrupt, “Someone stole the copper off it.”

His lips pinch with apology. “That was thirteen years ago.”

“These things don’t repair themselves, Jesse.”

He pulls out a little notebook with a spiral on top and jots something down.

“If that’s a Bail Honey Out Note, I don’t want it.”

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Jesse says.

Maddock’s mouth lowers as if surprised by Jesse’s audacity.

“Deputy Lawson, also make a note that you’re the only person on the planet who can talk to me like that, and make sure to spread the word.”

Jesse chortles. “It’s because I’m practically your brother.”

“From another mother.”

“Have you been answering her letters?” he asks.

“How do you know she’s been writing to me?”

“I saw her last month.”

I huff. “If you know me so well, you should realize where not to stick your nose, Lawson.”

“Isn’t she adorable when she’s mad?” Jesse asks Maddock.

As if he was just tagged to enter the fighting ring, Maddock looks up from my bookshelves, apparently noting my history book collection. “I definitely agree.”

“Don’t you dare start—” They’ve got me wound up. “Now, scram. You’re both dripping water all over the place.”

Jesse edges to the door as if knowing he’s close to pushing me too far. “That’s going to be the least of your problems come morning.”

Maddock straightens to his full height. “You can come to the chateau with me.”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t impose.”

“You and Leonie can and you will.”

Jesse says, “That’s a great idea. Pack up.”

Hands on my hips, I say, “Excuse me, boys, I won’t be told what to do.”

“There’s no power here. The pole is hung up in the tree that hangs over your roof?—”

“It’s a new roof.”

“It’s an old tree,” Maddock counters.

“We’re fine here.”

“Not with a baby and not without power or water.” Maddock’s jaw is set.

“I have some extra jugs.”

“Honey, this is Hurricane Hogan we’re talking about.”

“That’s not its name.”

Jesse intervenes, “Honest to goodness. I think it’s a good idea to go over to the chateau. That place has stood this long.”

“Are we really going to bring your judgment into this?”

“If you’re talking about jumping off Picklecrick’s Dam, that was fifteen years ago and a dare.”

“It was during a lightning storm. Also, that just goes to show you, I can handle myself in a little weather.”

“You were the one who jumped first,” Jesse mutters.

I jut my chin. It can’t be helped that I was a feral teenager. Leonie wiggles in my arms, bucking slightly as if she just now sees Maddock and wants him to hold her.

“I’d take her, but I’m all wet.”

“What happened to your baby allergy?”

“I took an antihistamine.”

I snort. “Well, I’m allergic to you.”

“I have a whole box in the truck. Works like a charm.” The corner of his lip jerks with a grin.

Jesse sputters with laughter. “Yep. Officer’s orders. You three are definitely shacking up over at the chateau. Pack up, Honey. This building is officially condemned until further notice.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Just did. Now, off with you before this place collapses on us.”

“It’s not going to?—”

The creaking sound of dead wood about to give way comes from outside. My gut twists.

Maddock grabs a blanket from the sofa and arranges it so he can take Leonie without getting her sopping wet. I hurry to the bedroom and pack a couple of bags, making sure to bring plenty of diapers. His shirt sits folded on top of my bureau and I consider taking it to return to him, but then I leave it ... and accidentally forget a pair of pajamas. He probably has another T-shirt I can borrow.

I go still in the doorway as my thoughts catch up with me. “Whoa, Honey. Easy does it.”

Jesse gives me a look as he packs up all the identifiable baby stuff, including the rocking chair Thelma gave me.

Yup. Still thinking about Maddock and talking to myself. I think he’s bad for my health. But I don’t need an antihistamine. More like a Maddock inoculation.

Just before I head outside, I double back and grab the carton of eggs that I took from the restaurant earlier. I have a recipe I can make that’s even better than crème br?lée.

Maddock has Leonie and her assortment of gear loaded into the truck, and I hop in the police SUV with Jesse and I follow right behind them with the rest of our stuff.

“She’s so small, yet she requires so much stuff,” he says.

Since he and Tallula are expecting, I say, “You’d better get prepared.”

Overhead, the canopy of trees over the road that leads to the chateau whips and snaps in the blustery wind as rain splatters the windshield making for slow going.

I say, “Thanks for helping me out.”

“The last time we were in a police cruiser together was after the drag race when Willy Spellman went in the ditch.”

“Yeah, but we were in the backseat.”

“That sounds?—”

I interrupt, “It sounds bad no matter how far your mind is in the gutter.”

“Thanks to Sawyer’s community service, Hogwash’s gutters are clear, which means we shouldn’t see much flooding. It’s the wind that’s the problem. Your house should be okay. This is just a precaution.”

And I should proceed with caution because Jesse is wrong. It isn’t only the wind that’s the problem. Maddock makes me feel like I’m caught in a hurricane, blowing this way and that, hot and cold air clashing, sending me into the center where it’s calm before thrusting me back into a storm of emotions.

“When you think about it, we both turned out okay,” he says, oddly sentimental. “It’s like God picked us up and turned us right around.”

“You did take a tumble in a graveyard,” I say.

“We call it an accident, but I think of it as an on-purpose because I found my purpose.”

“Senior year, I think you were voted least likely to become a police officer.”

He chuckles. “You mean most likely to go to jail. Who’d ever have thought you’d become a mother?”

“That was also an accident.” I stop myself, belatedly realizing his meaning. “I mean, for my cousin. Probably. You remember her.” Being Leonie’s mom feels very purposeful. A blessing even though times like these are hard.

“Ah yes. The Queen of Hearts. She was worse than the two of us combined. Leonie got lucky with you.”

“Yeah. An on-purpose.”

“Funny, I noticed when we were at your place, her eyes are so much like Maddock’s. What are the chances? You never know when some things are just meant to be.”

I shake my head because she doesn’t. Jesse is probably just playing matchmaker to take some of the pressure off of feeling obligated to look after me—Hogwash’s single mom charity case. No one knows how Leonie came into my care. I’ve even let Molly speculate. If my cousin wanted anyone to know, she would’ve broadcast it. She has a big enough mouth. My mother has her to thank for winding up in jail. Neither one of them has any allegiance—not even to their own kin.

But Jesse is absolutely right. God must’ve had a hand in this. It’s an on-purpose, and we both ended up with the better lot if you ask me.

I thank Deputy Lawson and am practically shoved inside the chateau—by the wind, not him. At the last moment, I catch the door behind me, keeping it from slamming and startling Leonie.

The scene in front of me takes my breath away.

There’s Maddock, hair dripping wet, his hulking figure poised over Leonie who rests safely on a blanket on the table, legs and arms waving happily. He’s like the Beast, only, his hand presses against his heart and liquid forms in his eyes.