The Red-Hot Cajun by Sandra Hill

could, you’d probably pull off your belt and try tobeat me into compliance. Well, not anymore!
    “Nice guy, your father,” Val commented.
    “Yeah, real nice,” he agreed with equal sarcasm.
    “Nice, huh? He’s a bastard and allus has been,” Tante Lulu said. She and his father were enemies from way back.
    On and on the phone messages went till Rene just erased them all. The bottom line was he was involved in this fiasco now, even if he didn’t want to be.
    “I could use a drink,” Val said, which pretty much reflected his own sentiments. “Is there any booze in this cabin?”
    Tante Lulu’s face lit up. “How ‘bout dandelion wine?”
    “Perfect,” Val said.
    Two hours later, they all sat at the kitchen / card table, which Tante Lulu had covered with a lace tablecloth from his hope chest. The red beans and rice, along with the broiled trout and crappies he’d caught this morning, had all been consumed. Mosquitoes, out in full force due to the earlier rain, did kamikaze dives against the screens, but none of them cared.
    All three of them were crocked.
    And Val was back to wearing just her tube top, sans shirt.
    And she was no longer looking at him as if he were soft stuff under her feet; instead, she kept licking her lips and staring at him as if he were covered with soft whipped cream that she wanted to lick off.
    A bad idea, that.
    Says who? His own brain countered.
    This woman is going to be out of here soon enough. Why give her more ammunition to useagainst me?
    Maybe I could charm her.
    He was laughing inside his head now, at his own idiocy.
    She is under the influence, just like that other time. No way would I take advantage of her.
    Maybe I could sober her up a bit first. Not too much, just a little.
    More mental laughter.
    It would be a mistake. Me and Val are like oil and water, like pigs in a parlor, like the princessand the farmer, like...
    Enough already! You are so hopeless, the voice in his head said. This time, he was pretty sure it was St. Jude and not his conscience, although they might be the same thing. Face it, boy, you are more like a match to kindling.
    But he’d already called Remy, told him to fly his copter in tomorrow morning and get Val. Tante Lulu would leave, too. And then he’d be alone.
    There is always tonight.
    That was the wine speaking in his head. He knew that. But, frankly, he didn’t give a damn.
    On the other hand, he did give a damn. He was not going to get intimate with Valerie Breaux; that would be comparable to skipping through a mine field. It would hurt him and the whole bayou environmental cause. He needed to be the one to take the high road here. He had to be the chivalrous knight who forsakes the fair maiden for a greater cause.
    How do I come up with this crap? I just wanna save my sorry ass.
    With that decision made, he slammed his glass down on the card table, which caused Val and Tante Lulu to jerk upright with surprise, and said, “Good night.”
    Except he knew without a doubt it was not going to be a good night for him. Chivalry suck s, he decided, slamming the screen door behind him.
    “What’s wrong with him?” he heard Val ask Tante Lulu.
    His aunt, bless her meddling heart, answered, “I ‘spect it’s the thunderbolt, honey.”
    “I didn’t hear any thunderbolts,” Val said, her voice a little slurred.
    “Ah, but thass the best part. You only feel ‘em.”
     

CHAPTER SIX
    Sleepless in the bayou . . .
    Two hours later Rene’s wine buzz had worn off, but buzzing surrounded him nonetheless.
    The mosquitoes, which abounded here in the swampland under any circumstances, were out in triple force after that soaking they’d had earlier. Inside his mosquito net tent on the porch, he lay sleepless on his sleeping bag, able to see by the light of the full moon the masses of the golf ball-size insects hanging onto the fabric.
    It had taken him a long time to bank down his testosterone level. Thank God, he’d succeeded. Now that he was