Out of Control by Stephanie Feagan Page A

away.
    We spent several more hours cleaning up and loading the truck, and as soon as the
     crew from Odessa arrived to collect the equipment, we set off for the plane.
    The flight back was uneventful, particularly because Robichaud sat several seats away
     from me, saying there was no way he could sit next to me for four hours without kissing
     me again. I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until we landed.
    We arrived in New Orleans early in the morning and he asked if I was still up for
     breakfast. I knew if I said yes we’d wind up in bed, so I shook my head. “I’m going
     home to wash my hair.”
    He shot me a crooked smile. “You’re the first girl who ever gave me that excuse.”
    “You get a lot of excuses?”
    His smile faded. “Actually, no. Up ‘til now, women seem to like me.”
    No doubt. He was sexy and hot, smart and gentlemanly—in an alpha sort of way. Once
     a girl got past his I’m-the-cock-of-the-walk routine, he looked mighty fine as a potential
     love interest. I met his dark gaze. “You know it’s not a question of liking you.”
    “Yeah. I know.”
    So we parted ways and I went home and took the longest shower in history. I went through
     my mail, paid some bills, and did some laundry. I called Deke’s mom and we talked
     for over an hour. She said they buried him three days earlier, but the memorial wasn’t
     until tomorrow, that she’d waited until most of the Lacrouix and Book staff were back
     in town.
    Then she said, in her soft Cajun voice, “He was always talking about you, Blair, and
     I guess I can tell you now, I think he was half in love with you. But you bein’ a
     Drake and all, he never thought you’d give him the time of day.”
    I was surprised, I’ll admit. And not just at the thought of Deke being interested
     in me in a romantic way, although that did sort of blow my mind. So much for my feminine
     intuition. I was mostly surprised because never, in all the time we’d worked together,
     had I talked about my family. I assumed, naively, I guess, that no one knew I was
     one of those Drakes.
    “I told him it didn’t matter, that if he wanted you, he should go for it. How could
     he know how you felt if he never asked?” She sighed. “Life is so short. Think of all
     the things we miss because we’re afraid, or mad, or just plain lazy. I reckon we always
     think we’ll get a chance later, but maybe we don’t, and, well, that’s what gets me
     most about my Deke.” She started crying then.
    It was difficult to finish the conversation, I was so choked up. As soon as I hung
     up, I laid on my bed and let it all out. I’d planned to go to the office, but changed
     my mind. I couldn’t see Deke’s desk, or our friends, or anything that reminded me
     of him. All I wanted to do was lie there and stare at the ceiling and cry my heart
     out in private.
    By early the next morning, I felt a little better. At the office, I sat in on a meeting
     with Trick, Robichaud, and a couple of the guys who were going with us to Venezuela.
     We were scheduled to leave late in the afternoon, not long after Deke’s memorial service.
    When the meeting was over, Robichaud followed me to my desk. “Let me take you to the
     memorial,” he said in a quiet voice.
    “Look, Nick, this really isn’t—”
    “It’s going to be hard on you, Blair. Let me take you.”
    I looked in his dark eyes and saw a wealth of sympathy there. “Thank you.”
    “Come get me when you’re ready.”
    …
    He was right. I thought I’d cried all I could cry, but when Deke’s brother got up
     and spoke, I lost it all over again. Robichaud snaked an arm around my shoulders and
     handed me a handkerchief. I was too upset to be surprised that a thirty-ish guy, especially
     one as macho as Nick Robichaud, carried a handkerchief. Maybe it was just for the
     occasion.
    After the service there was a reception in the church fellowship hall. Nick left me
     to go talk to Deke’s brother, Cash wandered off to