Liz Talley - The Road to Bayou Bridge

Checkmate. Older brothers always had the last laugh. Darby huffed and got to his feet, heading toward the kitchen. “Annie?”

“Me, too.” She nodded. Nate hooked her around her neck and kissed the side of her mouth. Darby made a face but smiled as he turned toward the kitchen. Seeing his brother happy satisfied him on a lot of levels. Nate had suffered through so much guilt regarding Della and had shouldered much of the burden of dealing with the estate and their mother that Darby figured the man deserved some peace with his woman.

The kitchen was clean and modern with the smell of rich wood and laundry soap, and it had a specialty fridge built in for beer and wine. He grabbed three Abita Turbodogs and started back toward the den, wondering if he should confide in Annie and Nate about his strange marriage and ensuing divorce.

Nice to share a burden, but did he want the drama?

Because Picou would find out.

Maybe.

If he could keep it under wraps that would be best. Picou wanted a reason to keep him in Louisiana under her thumb. What better way to chain him here than to encourage some sort of romance between him and Renny?

He knew that’s what she’d do.

And there was a tiny part of him that wanted it, too.

But the grown-up part of him knew he needed to forget his past and move toward a future. In Seattle. With Shelby.

Damn it.

He couldn’t summon Shelby’s face. She had blond hair, a nice pair of blue eyes to match a nice pair of breasts that filled out tight sweaters, but her face escaped him at the moment. His thoughts were full of sun-kissed skin and golden-flecked eyes. God, he had to stop thinking of her.

“Lucille said you went to see Renny. Did you get to have that talk you wanted to have?” Nate held out an expectant hand.

Ah, there it was. The best reason to head to Seattle—nosy kinfolk. “Yeah, just some things from the past. An apology and all that.”

“For what?” Annie asked, accepting the cold bottle from him. “And we’re talking about Renny Latioles? The woman who lives in that restored gatehouse on the outskirts of town?”

“Yeah. Darby and Renny were an item in high school. In fact, they tried to run off and get married when they turned eighteen. They were seniors and Dad blew a gasket. Only thing that saved Darby’s ass was that wreck. Of course it screwed him, too, since he got sent to military school.”

“You tried to get married? At eighteen?”

Darby shrugged. “We were young and in love. When you’re eighteen you think anything is possible...even getting out of being sent away.”

“I thought I was in love with Lily Bamburg. We were going to get married and then breed and train lab puppies for hunters.” Nate ignored the bitterness in Darby’s voice, obviously not wanting to travel down that path of discord.

“The waitress at Marmalades?” Annie’s eyebrows arched into her bangs.

Nate laughed. “Two hundred pounds ago and before she had five kids, Lily was a looker. Plus she had an eye for a good retriever.”

Darby didn’t like the direction the conversation took. He didn’t want to talk about his father, marriage or past loves—it was all too close for comfort. “So tell me about Della. What’s the deal?”

Nate shrugged as Annie shifted her eyes away for a moment, growing contemplative as the conversation took a serious turn. “She’s scared...and she’s still grieving for Enola Cheramie.”

Nate nodded. “It’s been more difficult than I thought it would be to reconcile her to this family, and some of that might be because your twin sister is a Dufrene through and through. Nothing done the easy way.” Nate took another pull on his beer and curled his arm around his wife again. Annie settled against him, but not in a girlish way, merely in a comfortable way. Nothing girlish about Annie except for her size. She was barely five foot two.

Darby knew the MO of his family. They weren’t an easy lot. Fiercely loyal, insufferably headstrong and irrevocably passionate, the children of Martin and Picou Dufrene got their temperament honestly. Though his sister had been kidnapped and raised by an old bayou woman, she’d be no different. It was in her blood. “I guess I’m not good with understanding women, so I don’t know what help I can be. I—”

“This is not about gender,” Annie said, a furrow between those serious gray eyes. “This is about being part of a family that is, uh, difficult at times. She’s been thrust into this culture, this name, and that’s a hard thing. Trust me.”

Nate looked sharply at his wife. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know who your family is. Been here longer than any other family in the region. Your great-grandfather was mayor, your uncle ran the bank, streets are named after your great-grandmothers and there’s a statue of your cousin in front of the city hall. About forty percent of the lands surrounding Bayou Bridge bear the name Laborde or Dufrene. It’s unsettling at times.”

Darby’s gaze crashed into his brother’s. “Well, put like that...”

“And your mother is a most determined woman.” Annie propped her chin on her hand and leaned forward. “That’s been the hardest thing for Sally.”

“Is she still calling herself ‘Sally’?” Darby asked.

“Why wouldn’t she? That’s what she’s been called since she was a baby. It’s what she knows and right now she’s clinging to everything she’s ever been and running from who she’s likely to become. She doesn’t feel comfortable in her skin, so she damn sure doesn’t feel comfortable here at Beau Soleil.”

Darby sank back into the chair, knowing exactly how his sister felt, but even that might not be enough to put him on even keel with her. After all, he hadn’t seen Della since his parents had driven away that morning over twenty-six years ago to take him to town to see the doctor. He couldn’t remember that day without thinking about his mother’s face. It was all he could recall in his feverish state. His mother collapsing on the floor that night, holding the ransom letter left nailed to a tree in the garden. Something like that made an impression even on a three-year-old child.

He didn’t know the woman his sister had grown into, raised in the backwaters of Bayou Lafourche with a woman who made her living from the land and waters of South Louisiana. She would be a stranger to him, so he doubted anything he said to her would change the way she felt about the Dufrenes or Beau Soleil. He told his mother he would try, and he would. That was the reason he’d dug out that old book the therapist had him make. The grief book that was to have helped him cope with losing his twin—the book that had led him to the marriage certificate.

“I told Mom I would go down to Galliano and try to talk to her. I don’t know how she’ll react, but your insights help.” Darby rose from the cushioned leather depths of the chair and stretched. “I guess I should head back to the big house.”

“I’d recommend you don’t alert our sister that you’re coming,” Nate said.

“You don’t think?”

Annie nodded. “I agree. May be a little unfair, but you don’t want her prepared to meet you. She’s hiding...and that means she’s hiding her emotions. And what this family needs, what your mother needs, is for your sister to let go and feel. Until she does that, she’s never going to heal from Enola’s death and she’s never going to open her heart to our family.”

Nate smiled. “You said ‘our’ family.”

“And I meant it.” Annie reached over and rubbed her husband’s shoulders.

“If y’all start canoodling again, I may vomit.” Darby pulled on his boots and stood up, trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy vibes coming from the couch. “But thanks for the beers. I’ll let you know how it goes with Della. Sally. Whatever her name is.”