Suzanne Cox - A Different Kind of Man

Jackson, half-smiling, turned to answer, but froze at the sight of the pictures in her hand. An array of emotions contorted his face, making Emalea regret the question.

Returning the pictures to the table, she went into the kitchen, immediately noticing his white-knuckle grip. Tread carefully, she cautioned herself. This might be a subject that makes him angry.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Of course you did. But it’s okay. They died, back in Chicago two years ago, car accident.”

“I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know.”

He was quiet and she thought the conversation had ended.

“It should never have happened. It was my fault.”

The words were spoken so softly Emalea wasn’t sure if she’d actually heard them. If she considered what he said through the filter of her own past, she would run out the door. But she didn’t. She realized she desperately wanted Jackson not to be like other men she’d known.

Dear Reader,

Life in small Mississippi River towns has been fodder for books since Mark Twain wrote his stories about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Throw in the spice and character of Louisiana’s Cajun culture and you have a setting that simply asks for a story. This is what led me to create the town of Cypress Landing. I hope Louisiana residents will forgive any geographical liberties I have taken for the sake of this story and laissez les bon temps rouler!

I’ve always been awed by people who freely give of their time and talents to help others in distress. That’s why I wanted to tell the story of volunteer search and rescue member Emalea LeBlanc. Like many of us, her life hasn’t always been a bed of roses. But I hope that, like Emalea, we can learn there’s still a lot of good in the world and a lot of love. We simply have to learn to look for it without trying to paint everything with colors from our past. People sometimes ask if the things I’ve written are based on my life, and I have to admit that I only wish I were as capable as Emalea. I never did learn to ride the Harley by myself and although I can scuba dive, I’m not nearly as fearless as she is. The only true adventures are those of the real Jade, my sister-in-law’s cat, whose real-life exploits are quite bookworthy!

I hope you enjoy my first book. It’s been a long but thrilling ride to get here. I’d love to hear from readers. You can e-mail me at suzannecox@suzannecoxbooks.com, or by post at Suzanne Cox, P.O. Box 18836, Hattiesburg, MS 39404. You can visit me on the Web at www.suzannecoxbooks.com or at www.superauthors.com.

Hugs,

Suzanne Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I wrote my Dear Reader letter nearly three months before life in south Mississippi and New Orleans was irrevocably changed. My editor was kind enough to let me squeeze in this last piece. I hope you find the chapters in this book bring to life the image of small-town life, which I found greatly tested in these times. In the most frightening early days when water, gas and food were in short supply for many, those in the smallest communities depended on the help of their neighbors, churches and friends for survival and recovery. At the moment the chapters set in New Orleans are the most heartbreaking for me because we are yet to know what direction this beloved city will go. I am certain by the time you read this great strides will have been taken to restore the things along the Gulf Coast and in New Orleans that we loved most to something we will love even more. I am in even greater awe of the real-life heroes seen during this time, from the search-and-rescue teams to the everyday citizens who held out their hands to help one another. And again I say, laissez les bon temps rouler! For I know they will. It is the spirit of the people.

To my husband, Justin, for believing and being perfect without fail.

To my mom for all the reading.

I know you’ll always be my biggest fan.

To Lisa White, for the critiques that helped me get here.

To Jan Sears and Stephanie Buhrer, for all your help, support and trips to Maria’s.

To Kathy Harvey, for all your support over the years.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

THUNDERING MOTORCYCLE ENGINES caused Jackson’s beer mug to vibrate on the smeared copper bar. He twisted the frosty glass, then took a swig. Someone put money in the jukebox, sending an old Guns n’ Roses tune blasting. For a biker bar, Sal’s was all right.

From the road, it appeared to be a quaint restaurant, with French doors across the front and back walls. Maybe the place had once done time as a fine dining establishment, but now it was more of a beer, pizza and burger joint.

Outside, someone whooped as the definitive thump, thump of another arriving Harley-Davidson filled the air. Jackson glanced through one of the open doors just in time to see a motorcycle come to a stop in the parking lot. He sat up straighter, staring. Royal-blue paint etched with a red scrollwork design covered the gas tank and fenders. The rest of the bike sparkled with shining chrome. Whoever owned that bike certainly hadn’t purchased it straight from the store. At the moment, the owner, or at least the rider, of that racy machine claimed his undivided attention.

“Definitely, a custom job,” Jackson said under his breath.

“Doc ain’t gonna ride nothin’ but.”

He jerked around to see the large, burly bartender standing across from him. The guy scratched his ragged beard then leaned nearer. “I guess you were talkin’ ’bout the motorcycle. But now, Doc’s a custom job herself.” He winked then clomped to the other end of the bar to wait on someone.

Jackson couldn’t help but be captivated by the driver of the flashy motorcycle. She settled the kickstand in place and slung her leg over the bike. There was absolutely nothing but legs, forever. Bare legs. Her cutoff denim shorts were short. Not indecent, he had to admit, but really short. Underneath her thick leather jacket, he saw flashes of a blue-and-red shirt with the same design as the motorcycle. He wasn’t surprised at all to see that the bandanna tied around her head also matched the paint job.

Realizing he hadn’t breathed for a moment, Jackson gulped in air followed by beer. Checking out women was not why he was in this bar. He’d planned to ride his Harley and investigate his new hometown. Cypress Landing, Louisiana, was a far cry from Chicago, but it was just what he needed. Sitting high on the east bank of the Mississippi River, it was a place where people seemed to be able to know their neighbors. Calm and quiet, that’s what he wanted. Chicago held nothing but a life and memories better left behind.

The woman, along with the other riders, crowded inside, shoving tables together as the waitress chatted with them. The biker girl pulled off her jacket, dropping it on the back of her chair, then tossed her thick brown braid across her shoulder. Legs weren’t all she had going for her. She definitely had plenty of curves in all the right places. His hand tightened around his glass when a pair of almond-shaped green eyes caught him staring. Jackson realized he had spun sideways on his stool to watch her. Now, he was busted.