Midnight Bayou by Nora Roberts Page B

splinter out of his thumb, Declan decided it didn’t get much better.
    “What’s that bush blooming out there?” He gestured toward the wreck of gardens.
    “Camellia,” Effie told him. “These gardens are a sin, Dec.”
    “I know. I’ve got to get to them.”
    “You can’t get to everything. You ought to get someone out here to clean it up.”
    “Big Frank and Little Frankie.” Remy took a long swallow of beer. “They’d do the job for you. Do good work.”
    “Family business?” He always trusted family businesses. “Father and son?”
    “Brother and sister.”
    “A brother and sister, both named Frank?”
    “Yeah. Frank X.—that’s for Xavier—he’s got him some ego. Named both his kids after him. I’ll give you the number. You tell them Remy told you to call.”
    “I’m going to go clean up.” Effie looked down at her paint-speckled hands. “Is it all right if I wander around the house some?”
    “Sweetheart.” Declan took her hand, kissed it. “You can do anything you want.”
    “Good thing I saw her first,” Remy commented as Effie went inside.
    “Damn right.”
    “Seems to me you got your mind on another woman, the way you keep looking toward the bayou.”
    “I can’t have Effie unless I kill you, so I’m courting Miss Odette as a testament to our friendship.”
    “Yeah, you are.” With a laugh, Remy leaned back on his elbows. “That Lena, she tends to stir a man up, get him thinking all kinds of interesting things.”
    “You got a girl.”
    “Don’t mean my brain stopped working. Don’t you worry, though, Effie’s all I want.” He let out a long sigh of a contented man. “Besides, Lena and me, we did our round some time back.”
    “What do you mean?” Declan set his beer back down and stared at his friend. “You and Lena. You . . . and Lena?”
    Remy winked. “One hot, sweaty summer. Must’ve been close to fifteen years ago. Ouch.” He leaned up to rub his heart. “That hurts. I was about . . . yeah, I was seventeen, just graduated high school. That’d make her fifteen, seems to me. We spent some memorable evenings in the backseat of my old Chevy Camaro.”
    He noted Declan’s brooding look. “Hey, I saw her first, too. I was in a hot trance over that girl, a good six months. Thought I’d die if I didn’t have her. You know how it is at seventeen.”
    “Yeah. I know how it is at thirty-one, too.”
    Remy chuckled. “Well, I mooned over her, danced around her, sniffed at her heels. Took her to the movies, for long drives. To my senior prom. God, what a picture she was. Then one moonstruck June night, I finally got her clothes off in the back of that Camaro. It was her firsttime.” He shot Declan a look. “You know, they say a woman never forgets her first. You got your work cut out for you, cher .”
    “I think I can do better than a randy teenager.” Despite, he admitted, the fact that she made him feel like one. “What happened between you?”
    “Drifted is all. I went up North to school, she stayed here. Fever burned itself out, and we slid into being friends. We are friends, Dec. She’s one of my favorite people.”
    “I know a warning when I hear one. You want all the girls, Remy?”
    “Just thinking to myself that I’d hate to see two of my friends hurt each other. The two of you, boy, you come with a lot of baggage.”
    “I know how to store mine.”
    “Maybe. God knows she’s worked hard to keep hers locked in the attic. Her mother—” He broke off when Effie screamed.
    Beer spewed over the floor when Remy kicked the bottle over as he leaped up. He was through the kitchen door one stride ahead of Declan and shouting Effie’s name.
    “Upstairs.” Declan veered left and charged up the kitchen stairway. “She’s upstairs.”
    “Remy! Remy, come quick!”
    She sat on the floor, hugging her arms, and threw herself into Remy’s the instant he crouched beside her. “Baby, what happened? Are you hurt?”
    “No. No. I