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A Forever Kind of Love
Farrah Rochon


Is he her favorite mistake?Fifteen years ago, Mya Dubois couldn’t get out of her small Louisiana town fast enough. Especially after Corey Anderson showed her what heartbreak really is. Now a family tragedy has brought Mya home to Gauthier—and the man she vowed to forget forever. But when memories flame into rekindled desire, Mya is ready to flee again…before Corey discovers her painful secret. Or the love of her life?In high school, Mya was Corey’s girl. Now she’s a sought-after Broadway designer who won’t give the former pro-baseball player the time of day. Until they’re brought together to revive their close-knit community…and their passion is reawakened.This time, Corey isn’t letting her get away. Not when he has a second chance to win back his first—and only—love… Bayou Dreams







Is he her favorite mistake?

Fifteen years ago, Mya Dubois couldn’t get out of her small Louisiana town fast enough. Especially after Corey Anderson showed her what heartbreak really was. Now a family tragedy has brought Mya home to Gauthier—and the man she vowed to forget forever. But when memories flame into rekindled desire, Mya is ready to flee again…before Corey discovers her painful secret.

Or the love of her life?

In high school, Mya was Corey’s girl. Now she’s a sought-after Broadway designer who won’t give the former pro-baseball player the time of day. Until they’re brought together to revive their close-knit community…and their passion is reawakened. This time, Corey isn’t letting her get away. Not when he has a second chance to win back his first—and only—love.


“We always did make a good team,” she said, her voice husky.

“Always,” he agreed. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

“Corey,” she whispered against his lips. But it was spoken too softly to be a protest. He took it as encouragement.

Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, reacquainting himself with a mouth he had not tasted in fifteen long years. He bathed her lips with his tongue, back and forth, molding his mouth to hers, urging her to open for him. With excruciating sweetness her resistance relented, making way for his tongue to sweep in.

Corey slipped an arm around her waist and settled his hand at the small of her back.

“God, you taste good,” he whispered against her lips.

The soft moan that rumbled deep in her throat traveled along his skin like a caress. She brought her hand up to the back of his head and held him in place.

Corey’s body ignited with sparks of desire. They ricocheted against the walls of his chest, imprisoning his breath. He clamped his palms on Mya’s firm backside and pulled her flush against him, nearly dying at how perfectly she fit into the cove of his body. She was soft and warm and woman, smelling like spring, tasting like heaven.

Just as he remembered.


FARRAH ROCHON

had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code. When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.


A Forever Kind of Love

Farrah Rochon













Dear Reader,

When I was a little girl I was fascinated by the big city, with its bright lights and tall buildings. It wasn’t until years later that I came to appreciate the true charm of small-town life. The mom-and-pop stores, friendly faces and yes, even the gossip—they all combine to create a sense of community that warms my heart.

That’s what I’ve tried to depict with the fictional town of Gauthier. I drew upon my own experiences growing up in a tiny town on the Louisiana bayou to show how supportive close-knit communities can be. May you feel as at home in Gauthier as I do.

I hope you enjoy this first book in my Bayou Dreams series. Look for Always and Forever, the second book in the series, in early 2013.

Be sure to look me up online at Facebook, Twitter and my website, www.farrahrochon.com. (http://www.farrahrochon.com)

Blessing,

Farrah Rochon


Many thanks to Pat Duncan at the Louisiana Office of Cultural Development: Division of Historic Preservation for generously providing her expertise.

Any mistakes regarding historic building preservation and the National Register are my own.


Dedicated to the residents of my small hometown.

The community of believers was one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had.

—Acts 4:32


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u9269aaf9-8511-5359-9462-de93ff4c7602)

Chapter 2 (#u4a202a39-96b7-5f0a-a63b-46798cfa6c9f)

Chapter 3 (#u19eb7655-51de-5f8a-bffd-4575c8bdc836)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1

The tips of black four-inch heels sank into the soft earth, blades of grass fanning around the base of the slim pedestals. The shoes were the first things he noticed about her, but now his eyes traveled upward, taking in the thin, gold ankle bracelet underneath stockings so sheer they were almost invisible.

Her black skirt was shorter than most in this small town deemed decent for such an occasion. It hugged her hips and cupped her perfect rear end. His eyes continued their slow trek, passed her delicately rounded shoulders, to her unyielding neck and finally to the wide-brimmed black hat tilted at an angle atop her proud head.

Mya Dubois stood before the charcoal-gray casket holding a single-stemmed white rose he’d seen her slip from the generous spray draping the head end of the casket. She’d stood in that same position for the past ten minutes, preventing the cemetery workers from lowering the coffin into the ground. He’d caught several shared looks of agitation between the workers, but they seemed resigned to it. They must be used to guilt-laden family members holding up their day.

Corey Anderson pushed away from the wall of the stone mausoleum he’d been resting against and walked over to where she stood, stopping a foot behind her.

“Welcome back home, Peaches.”

Her back became even straighter, that proud neck stiffening even more.

“And here I was hoping to get through the day without speaking to you,” Mya said without turning around, her bland words laced with sarcasm.

“And here I was hoping you’d left that sass back in New York City,” Corey replied, unable to keep the tinge of amusement from his voice. Not really appropriate given where they were standing. “Come on, Peaches. These guys need to finish their work.”

“Can I finish saying goodbye to my grandfather?” she snapped.

Corey looked over at the two workers. One held up his gloved hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. He heard a delicate sniff, and Corey’s heart softened just a bit as he saw Mya’s shaking hand wipe at the trail of tears that had begun cascading down her cheek.

She looked over at the two cemetery workers. “Thank you for waiting.” Then she did an about-face and headed in the direction of the church hall.

Corey was next to her in three strides. “Mind if I attempt to be a gentleman and escort you?”

“I can manage,” she answered.

“Peaches, don’t be this way.”

She stopped and turned. She sauntered up to him, one delicate brow raised over her topaz-colored eyes. “That’s the last time I hear you say the word peaches,” she said with quiet warning. “Even if you’re eating one, you’d better call it a plum. You hear me?”

This time Corey didn’t try to stop the smile from pulling at the corner of his mouth. Very few people in the small town of Gauthier, Louisiana, could talk to him in that tone of voice and get away with it.

And only one could look so good while doing it.

Damn, he’d missed her. As far as he knew, this was Mya’s first trip back to Gauthier since she’d left over fifteen years ago, and Corey doubted she would stay one minute longer than necessary. She probably had her boarding pass tucked inside that little black purse she’d been clutching throughout her grandfather’s funeral service.

Mya took off again for the church hall. Corey followed a few steps behind, admiring the view. How she managed to balance on those sexy heels once they reached the gravel parking lot was beyond his comprehension, but that was the case with just about everything Mya Dubois had ever done in her life. Why should this be any different?

* * *

Mya pushed off with her toe, setting the porch swing on a gentle sway. Her iced tea had grown watery, but she sipped anyway, hoping to quell the heat.

“Springtime in Louisiana,” Mya murmured as she used her forehead to wipe condensation from the glass. She could go back into the air-conditioned house, but the atmosphere in there was more oppressing than these record-high temperatures.

Mya knew she should have booked her flight for this afternoon. Guilt had forced her to add another day to her trip, but with Elizabeth milking the grieving-daughter role for all it was worth and the houseful of nosy neighbors prying into her life, Mya wanted nothing more than to be on a flight back to New York.

Maybe she could come back in a few weeks. Then she could sit back and enjoy a rare visit back home with her grandparents.

Her grandmother. Granddad was no longer here.

Mya took another sip of tea. It had a hard time flowing past the lump in her throat. Maybe she should go back in the house. She’d rather be curled up in Granddad’s old recliner, inhaling the scent of his pipe smoke. But the thought of facing the dozens of townsfolk who’d followed them back to the house after the repast at the church hall kept her butt planted firmly on the swing.

If she had to hear one more I’m so sorry for your loss, she would start screaming and never stop, which was why she’d changed into a pair of khaki capris and a sleeveless V-neck tee and had escaped to the porch nearly an hour ago. Mya welcomed the solitude like the unexpected breeze that blew every so often. She knew she should be social and help entertain the well-wishers who’d come to help her family grieve, but her grandma, Aunt Maureen and her mother, Elizabeth, were in there, and if there was one thing Elizabeth Dubois knew how to do, it was work a crowd.

Mya heard the squeak of the screen door’s hinges, followed moments later by, “What are you doing out here?”

Speak of the devil. Still wearing her Prada pumps, no doubt.

“I’m enjoying this nice spring day,” Mya answered with a drawl as her mother walked over to the swing.

“Nice?” Elizabeth scoffed. “It feels as if it’s a hundred degrees out here. Al Gore warned everyone about global warming.”

Mya rolled her eyes, placing her glass of iced tea on the thick railing that ran across the top of the porch.

Her mother waited for the swing to sway forward then sat on the opposite end from Mya. “So, how’s it been, honey?” She patted Mya’s knee as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to chitchat like a normal mother and daughter. Normal and Elizabeth Dubois should never be used in the same sentence.

“Let’s not do this,” Mya implored.

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” her mother said in that prim and proper way that went down Mya’s spine like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“When you have to try, that’s a good indication that two people probably shouldn’t be conversing.”

Elizabeth’s perfectly made-up face twisted with reproach. “When did you become so angry?”

Mya squinted as if thinking hard. “Around 2007 or so. March, if I remember correctly. Snagged my favorite panty hose on the subway. Everything’s just gone downhill since then.”

Her mother stood. “I don’t know why I even try to talk to you.”

“Makes two of us,” Mya murmured underneath her breath. She watched her mother walk back through the door she’d just come from, her entire body heaving a sigh of relief.

Even if she were up for drama today, she still wouldn’t give Elizabeth the satisfaction. A post-funeral catfight would be the hand her mother fanned. She would play the victim card until its edges were tattered.

Mya pushed the swing again, then brought her other leg up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on her knees.

She wasn’t an angry person; Elizabeth just brought out the worst in her. Always had. Mya knew it wasn’t healthy to hold such a long-standing grudge, but despite many attempts, she just could not let go of the resentment she felt toward her mother.

Maybe if she had ever, just once, sensed an ounce of regret in Elizabeth for walking away from her own child.

“Yeah, right,” Mya snorted.

The few times Elizabeth had bothered to visit after leaving Mya’s grandparents to raise her, she spent the entire time talking about the glamorous life she was leading with whomever happened to be her boyfriend at the time. She’d tell Mya she needed to straighten her hair, learn to flirt, do whatever it took to attract a man so he could rescue her away from this godforsaken town, before she ended up like her Aunt Maureen. Mya would prefer to be like Maureen over Elizabeth any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Mya had made it out of Gauthier, but she’d done it on her own. She hadn’t needed anyone to rescue her. And, unlike Elizabeth, she hadn’t left a baby for others to raise.

Even though she’d come close.

Mya shook off the disturbing thought. She continued to sway, pulling in deep breaths as the swing rocked back, letting them out when she went forward. She’d love to spend the rest of the afternoon out here, but it was time to go into the house and face the judgmental stares. Every expression said the same thing: it took her grandfather dying to bring Mya Dubois back to Gauthier.

Just as she reached out to grab the rail post, the swing stopped and Corey Anderson plopped down next to her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

She had managed to avoid him since their meet and greet in the cemetery. It was a trend Mya wanted to continue.

“Believe it or not, I was just leaving,” she said, rising from the swing.

“You don’t want to go in there,” he warned her.

She glanced at him and raised her brows in question.

“Act two,” Corey answered. “A solo performance by the great Elizabeth Dubois. Someone picked up one of your granddad’s pipes, and she went into hysterics. Last I saw, three people were holding her up and one was fanning her.”

Mya clenched her fists at her sides and opened her mouth in a silent scream toward the sky. She resumed her seat on the swing, bringing one leg up again and resting her chin against her knee.

“You think I could get away with shaking her senseless just one time, or would I go to jail for assault?” she asked.

Corey shrugged as he looked out over the yard. “Kandice Lewis is the district attorney now. Doesn’t she still owe you a favor for filling in on the cheerleading squad when she was too drunk to make the games?”

“Stop it.” Mya laughed. “She suffered from some kind of stomach thing. I doubt Kandice has ever been drunk a day in her life.”

“She was always one of the good girls.”

“Unlike me?”

“You said it,” Corey returned with a chuckle. Mya caught him with an elbow to the arm. “Hey.” He held up his hands. “I always liked the bad girls.”

“Only fair, since you’re the one who helped them earn their reputations in the first place.”

Mya watched his profile as a slow smile drew across his face. She could only imagine what was going through that pretty little head of his.

She couldn’t deny that he was still pretty, though Corey would throttle her for using that particular word to describe him. Mr. Macho Baseball Hero never considered himself pretty, but with that strong jaw and those signature light brown Anderson eyes, Corey was not just pretty, he was as gorgeous as ever.

Mya was touched that he’d returned for her granddad’s funeral. Coming back to Gauthier was probably as hard for Corey as it had been for her. As far as Mya knew, he no longer had family here. According to her grandmother, the last of the Andersons, his eldest brother, Leon, had moved somewhere up north after their father died of a heart attack a few years ago. It was the same thing that had taken their mother during Corey’s first year of high school. The two middle boys, the twins, Stefan and Shawn, had both left with the assistance of the legal system.

Baseball had saved Corey from a similar fate, but for most of his youth, he had been as bad as his twin brothers. Especially when it came to her. With her he had been deliciously bad. The kind of bad that made a girl’s toes curl and her skin tingle. God, it had been a long time since she’d had that kind of bad in her life.

If only things had ended differently.

Mya put a choke hold on those thoughts and wrestled them back to the corner of her mind she wasn’t allowed to visit unless she was drowning her sorrows in a glass of merlot. Today had been enough of an emotional brain suck; she didn’t need the ghosts of her past mistakes adding to her inevitable breakdown.

“Gosh, I’m just ready for this day to be over.” Mya pushed her fingers through the tight, springy ringlets that her naturally curly hair produced when dried by the sun.

“Been rough on you, huh?” Corey asked.

She hunched her shoulders. “I just thought he would be here longer, you know? He always used to say that dying wasn’t an option.”

“Sounds like something Big Harold would say.” Corey chuckled. He pushed the swing with his foot, then stretched his right arm across the back.

Mya let the motion lull her back to that calm place she’d found before her mother had interrupted her peace. Her bare foot lightly grazed the porch’s floorboards as it swayed back and forth. The paint had started to peel in spots, another indicator that Granddad had been suffering with cancer long before he let anyone know. There’s no way he would have allowed any part of this house to go downhill if he’d been feeling well enough to fix it.

If she had been here, maybe she would have seen the pain in his eyes.

Guilt twisted in her gut, but Mya accepted the pain as penance. She looked out over the yard of the house where she’d spent the first seventeen years of her life. Cars were parked haphazardly within the fenced-in portion, while others lined both sides of the street. Everyone had respected the side yard where Granddad’s vegetable garden brimmed with plump tomatoes drooping from the vine, flowering heads of cabbage, peppers, okra and about a dozen other vegetables that had fed the people in this small town for years.

Before she returned to New York she would pick the vegetables that were ready. She couldn’t stand the thought of the fruits of Granddad’s hard work falling to the ground and dying.

Mya blew out a shaky breath, willing the tears to remain at bay.

“It was a nice service,” Corey said after a stretch of surprisingly comfortable silence. Though it wasn’t all that surprising. She and Corey had always been at ease with each other. That had been part of her downfall.

“Granddad deserved it,” Mya said. “He’s probably walking around heaven with his chest sticking out, bragging about all the people who showed up for his funeral.”

“People around here loved Big Harold.”

Mya simply nodded. If she tried to speak, the tears would start flowing again.

Too late.

She swiped at the moisture that had collected in the corner of her eye. “Don’t even try it,” she said when she saw Corey’s hand reach for her. “Just because we’re talking, it doesn’t mean you can touch me. Keep those paws right where they are.”

He held his hands up, then placed them on his thighs. Mya studied the fingers fanned out across his black slacks. The nails were clean, cut nice and short. He’d always taken extra care in making sure he didn’t bear the telltale signs of an auto mechanic like his dad.

All those years ago, when they would lay wrapped in each other’s arms talking about their futures, Corey used to tell her that he refused to get trapped in the family tradition of fixing cars for a living. It’s what his twin brothers had done in between their many run-ins with the law.

After an incident that nearly landed him in jail, Corey had turned his life around in their senior year of high school. He did everything he could to show the people in Gauthier that he was not going to follow in Shawn and Stefan’s footsteps. Yet the people around here had lumped him in with his brothers anyway.

“Thanks for coming back here for Granddad’s funeral,” Mya felt the need to say. Facing the judgmental tongues of Gauthier could not have been easy for him.

He stared at her for a long, drawn-out moment before finally answering with a simple, “You’re welcome.”

She zoomed in on the curve of his jaw. His skin was still smooth, that beautiful, roasted pecan color. It was marred by a thin strip of pink that stretched from his ear almost to his neck.

“What happened here?” Mya asked, trailing her finger along the slightly puckered skin. Touching him was a mistake. Her finger burned hot.

He turned to her, those light, grayish-brown eyes taking on that smoldering look that was the precursor to her panties sliding off back in high school.

“Car accident,” Corey answered. “About three years ago.”

His voice had lowered. It had the same effect as his gaze. Both caused her heart to beat faster within the walls of her chest.

No way. She was not going there again with Corey Anderson.

Mya tore her eyes away and sat up straight. “I need to get inside.”

“I’ll come with you,” Corey said, pushing himself up from the swing.

“No.” She put a hand on his shoulder, then jerked it back. Stop touching him! “I don’t need you to follow me.”

“Peach—Mya,” he corrected. “I’m trying to be a nice guy. It’s been fifteen years. All that stuff should be behind us.”

That’s what scared her. It should be behind her. But one look at those sexy eyes and that just-right-for-her mouth and she was that stupid teenage girl who used to escape out the window of this very house to be with him.

“It is behind us,” Mya lied. “I’m just tired. It’s been a rough day. I’m going to go inside, kiss a few cheeks, say a few goodbyes and head to one of the back rooms for a nap.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. With a slight smile, she said, “It was good seeing you, Corey.” And she meant it. It was good to see him. Despite the agony Corey Anderson had unwittingly put her through, a part of her heart would always belong to him.

And if that wasn’t reason enough to get her butt back to New York, Mya didn’t know what was.

“Thanks again for coming to the funeral,” she said.

Against her better judgment, Mya leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. Then she quickly headed into the house, escaping temptation.

* * *

Corey watched Mya slip back into her grandparents’ house and had to force himself not to follow her. His skin tingled where her lips had touched, warming his body from the inside out.

How could she still have this effect on him?

His heart had started beating triple time when she’d walked through the doors of New Hope Baptist Church that morning. The small sanctuary seemed to have shrunk around him. Throughout the entire service, the only thing Corey could focus on was the woman who’d been a girl the last time he’d laid eyes on her.

There had been speculation over whether or not Mya would return to Gauthier for her grandfather’s funeral. Corey could not deny the bone-deep relief he’d felt the minute he set eyes on her in the church. He’d smiled at her—a smile she had not returned—and Corey figured that maybe fifteen years had not been enough time for Mya to get over what had happened the night of their high school graduation.

Not that he could blame her.

Regret lanced his chest as the image of her pained face jumped to the forefront of his mind. He would never forget the moment he’d looked up and found her staring at him through the window of his dad’s truck, where he’d sat half-naked with another girl’s legs wrapped around his waist. It was in that moment—when he knew he’d lost her—that Corey had realized just how lucky he had been to have her in the first place.

He had been a selfish, inconsiderate fool who deserved every dirty look Mya threw his way, even fifteen years later.

Corey had considered keeping his distance after the funeral. With half the town in attendance, it would have been easy to convince himself that there wasn’t an opportunity for any one-on-one time with her. But when had he ever chosen to take the easy path where Mya was concerned?

After that kiss, as innocent as it had been, Corey was happy he’d decided to seek her out. He rubbed his cheek, still experiencing the lingering effects of her soft lips on his skin. Despite how things had ended between them all those years ago, Mya Dubois could still affect him like no other woman could.


Chapter 2

A thick slice of sun slashed across the bed, warming her face and forcing one eye to open.

“Curtains, Gram. Curtains that close would be a nice touch,” Mya murmured into the pillow. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Someone had tried to paint over the brown water stain left from when the air-conditioning ducts had backed up, but Mya could still make out the faint edges. The stain had always reminded her of a bunny rabbit playing in the grass.

Mya reached for her eyeglasses from the nightstand. After sliding her feet into a pair of flip-flops, she didn’t bother to throw a robe on over her boy shorts and tank top. Now that Granddad was gone, there were only women in the house.

The aroma of sweet chicory coffee greeted her as she stepped into the hallway, along with the voices of her grandmother, Aunt Mo and her mother. Of course, Elizabeth was the loudest. Mya rushed through her morning bathroom routine and then headed straight for the liquid caffeine.

“Good morning,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

Aunt Mo was at the stove, stirring a pot of what looked like grits. Grandma and Elizabeth sat at the table. Her mother was dressed to the nines. Mya spotted a Christian Dior suitcase and a round hatbox just to the right of the door, and she nearly whooped with glee. She was more than ready to see Elizabeth board a plane back to San Francisco or Seattle or wherever it was she was living these days. Mya had stopped keeping track.

“You want breakfast?” Aunt Mo asked.

“No, thanks. The coffee’s enough for me.”

“You need more than just coffee,” her grandmother chastised.

“It’s better if she skips breakfast,” Elizabeth chimed in. “You don’t want to get fat. Right, baby?”

Deep breaths, Mya told herself. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

She grabbed a mug from the wooden mug tree and filled the cup almost to the brim. “Any sweetener?” she asked her aunt.

“I ran out of artificial sweetener last week,” Grandma said.

“Have you been eating sugar again?” Aunt Mo asked.

“Don’t start with me, Maureen.”

Her aunt plunked her free hand on her hip as the other continued to stir the grits. “That woman is too hardheaded for me.”

Mya winked at her grandmother as she walked past the table on her way to the smaller porch just off the kitchen. The morning was too pretty to take her coffee anywhere but outside. She sat on the wooden porch step and sipped her coffee, closing her eyes in pure ecstasy as the hot liquid slid down her throat.

“Thank God for coffee.” She sighed.

A motorized roar jolted Mya out of her relaxed, caffeine-induced bliss. She looked up to find Corey dressed in knee-length deck shorts—the kind with a dozen zippered pockets all over them—and a green T-shirt. He was pushing a lawn mower across the side lawn. He lifted his hand in a short wave, turned a tight corner with the lawn mower and headed back up toward the front yard.

“What the hell?” Mya muttered. She placed her coffee cup on the step and stomped across the yard.

“Corey!” she yelled.

He ignored her.

No, he hadn’t ignored her. Mya spotted the thin, white wires coming from his ears. She caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. The lawn mower sputtered to a stop as Corey let go of the handle. He turned, pulling the tiny speakers from his ears.

“Good morning,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“That question rhetorical?” he asked, motioning to the lawn mower. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be on a plane by now.”

“I fly out this afternoon,” Mya answered. “Now answer my question. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “It’s Saturday. I always cut your grandmother’s grass every other Saturday.”

Wait. What?

He folded his arms over his green Gauthier High School Fighting Lions T-shirt and things started to click into place.

“You live here?” she asked. “In Gauthier?”

He nodded, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Those eyes drifted a few degrees south and his smile widened. That’s when Mya remembered she was standing in the middle of the yard in boy shorts, a thin tank top and no bra. She crossed her arms over her breasts.

“When did you move back to Gauthier?” she asked.

Another shrug. “Last year.”

“Why?” She couldn’t keep the incredulousness from her voice. He’d retired from professional baseball a few years ago, but Mya knew Corey was still worth millions. Why would he choose to live in a small town like Gauthier when he could live anywhere he wanted to?

“It’s home,” he answered.

Before she could respond, a screech from inside the house stopped her.

“Mya!”

The panic in Aunt Mo’s scream caused instant fear to race down Mya’s spine. Corey had already taken off in a dead run for the house. She shook off her shock and followed, losing a flip-flop along the way.

Mya’s stomach bottomed out at the sight in the kitchen.

Her grandmother was slumped over in the chair, her mouth hanging open. Aunt Maureen had hooked her arms under Grandma’s, trying to lift her up. Corey was crouched on the floor in front of her, tapping on her cheek. Elizabeth was off to the side, wringing her hands and screaming uncontrollably.

“Would you shut up!” Mya yelled at her mother. She held her grandmother’s wrist to check for a pulse, enjoying a moment’s relief after finding one.

“She has these fainting spells, but never like this,” Aunt Mo said.

Mya leaned in. “Grandma, can you hear me?” The sickly sweet smell hovering in front of her grandmother’s face was all the answer Mya needed. “I don’t think this is a fainting spell. Mama, call 911.”

“What? Why?” Elizabeth cried.

Mya ran over to where her mother stood and pushed her aside so she could get to the phone mounted on the wall.

“I have a seventy-two-year-old female with diabetes,” she told the 911 operator. “She passed out and isn’t responding and her breath has a fruity smell.”

Mya rattled off the address. She hung up and ran back to the table, prying her Aunt Maureen from her grandmother. “Aunt Mo, get all of her medications. We’ll need to bring them to the hospital.” Mya took her place, slipping her arms underneath her grandmother’s armpits and holding her upright. She looked down at Corey who was still trying to get her to wake up.

He looked up at her and shook his head. Mya’s chest tightened.

“She’ll need her insulin,” Corey said. “Miss Elizabeth, look in the fridge. She keeps the insulin in a Tupperware container.”

How does he know that? The whirl of the ambulance sirens stopped Mya from voicing the question out loud.

Moments later, two uniformed EMS workers entered the kitchen carrying a gurney. Mya stood to the side, fear gripping her chest as they checked her grandmother’s vitals, then strapped her to the gurney. She felt warm, gritty arms surround her as Corey came up behind her, encircling her in his arms.

Mya could hardly comprehend the scene unfolding before her eyes. This could not be happening. She’d just buried her granddad yesterday. She was not staring at her grandmother on a hospital gurney.

But she was. This was real.

Mya snapped out of her trance and shook out of Corey’s embrace. “Aunt Mo, you ride in the ambulance. I’ll follow behind.”

They followed the gurney outside. Mya watched as they loaded her grandmother into the back of the ambulance, then she ran to her bedroom and stripped out of her shorts, pulling on a pair of jeans and a roomy T-shirt over her tank top. She was back in the kitchen in less than two minutes.

Corey was drying his hands on a dish towel. “You ready?” he asked.

“Uh, yes. Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked.

“She took Maureen’s car to the hospital. I told her I’d drive you.”

“Okay,” Mya said with a shaky breath. She looked around the kitchen, unsure of what she was searching for. Maybe there was something they would need at the hospital. Mya didn’t realize she was trembling until Corey caught her upper arms.

“She’s going to be okay,” he said.

She stared into his confident eyes. It was easy to believe words said with such conviction. Mya fed off of it.

“Yes, she will,” she answered.

Corey gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Then let’s get out of here. Your grandmother needs you.”

She nodded, for once grateful for his presence. “Let’s go.”

* * *

In the twenty minutes it had taken them to reach the small hospital in Maplesville, right outside of Gauthier, Mya had managed to work herself into another fit of nerves. They weighed heavy in her stomach, twisting and tangling like snakes in a hot skillet.

What if something happened to her grandmother?

“No,” Mya said out loud.

“What?” Corey asked from the driver’s seat. He’d driven fifteen miles over the posted speed limit from the moment they’d pulled away from the house, maneuvering his bulky Cadillac Escalade as if it were a sleek sports car. “Mya.” He waited for her to look at him. “She’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Mya said with a catch in her voice.

“Your grandmother is even more stubborn than Big Harold was. She’s not going anywhere for a long time.”

They pulled up to the hospital’s emergency room entrance, and Mya was out of the SUV before it came to a complete stop.

“Sir, you have to move your vehicle. This is a restricted area,” she heard someone tell Corey.

She ran to the nurses’ station. “Eloise Dubois?” she asked. “She was brought in after fainting.”

“Mya!” Maureen called.

Mya raced toward her aunt. “How is she?”

“I don’t know yet, but she was awake by the time we got here.”

“Thank God,” Mya cried.

“Come on.” Her aunt took her elbow. “The nurse said she’d come find us in the waiting room.”

Mya followed, anxiety still shooting through her veins. She crumpled into the closest chair, not trusting her legs to hold her up a second longer. She cradled her face in her hands and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. Aunt Mo sat in the chair next to her and rubbed her hand up and down Mya’s arm.

“How’d this happen, Aunt Mo?”

“Because she’s hardheaded and doesn’t like to take care of herself.” Maureen shook her head. “I know part of it is my fault. With everything going on this week with Daddy’s funeral, I haven’t been paying as much attention as I should. I usually make sure she checks her blood sugar.”

“Don’t start blaming yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not blaming myself entirely. She’s a grown woman, and she knows what she should and shouldn’t do. But like I said, she’s hardheaded. People have been bringing food over to the house around the clock, and she’s been nibbling on everything. I know they mean well, but it just makes it harder to keep the wrong foods out of Mama’s mouth.”

Familiar guilt assailed Mya once again. It wasn’t solely up to Aunt Maureen to take care of Grandma. Mya should have been here helping. Her grandparents had raised her since the age of three, after her mother had decided to leave Gauthier and make a life for herself with the first in a string of men.

It was the best thing that could have happened to Mya. Her grandparents had always been there for her, but she had not done the same in return.

Corey stalked into the waiting room. “How is she?” he asked.

“We’re still waiting on the nurse,” Aunt Mo answered.

He sat in the seat across from Mya, his knees braced apart. Snippets of grass clung to the short hairs on his legs.

“You don’t have to stay,” Mya told him.

“I’m not leaving until I know Mrs. Eloise is okay,” he answered.

“I can call—”

“Don’t try to explain anything to him,” Aunt Mo said. “He’s as stubborn as your grandmother, which is why they get along so well.”

“You and my grandmother get along?” Mya blurted. “She hated you when we were growing up.”

“She got over it,” Corey said in a clipped voice that clearly told Mya to do the same. He rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands together.

The aroma of sweat, grass and dirt hit Mya square in the face, reminding her of how he’d smelled when he would come to her after baseball practice, not bothering to take a shower. In her horny, sex-crazed teenage mind, it hadn’t mattered one bit. They would go at it like rabbits in the cab of his daddy’s dusty pickup, parked under that big pecan tree in old Mr. Herbert’s field.

Mya tore her eyes away from his toned brown legs. She didn’t need any reminders of those long-ago mistakes.

Corey rose. “I need coffee,” he said. “Anybody else want some?”

“I’d love some,” Maureen answered. “There isn’t any here, though. The nurse said the coffeemaker is broken.”

“There’s a little place right next door called Drusilla’s. They sell good egg-and-cheese sandwiches. You want something to eat?”

“Just the coffee,” Aunt Mo answered.

“Mya?” Corey asked.

She shook her head. “I’m fine.” Truth was Mya didn’t trust her stomach to keep anything down. She was a ball of nerves. She doubted the condition would improve until she saw her grandmother alert and well.

Minutes passed with only the low hum of a late-model television mounted in the corner making any noise. It was the quiet peacefulness that alerted Mya that something was missing. “Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked Aunt Mo.

“I don’t know,” her aunt said with an agitated wave of her hand. “The gift shop, I think.”

“She would find somewhere to shop,” Mya snorted.

“That’s how she calms herself down. Don’t complain. I’d rather her out there bothering those people than in here bothering me.”

“I know you had the chance to drown her at birth,” Mya said.

Aunt Mo nodded. “I should have taken it. Though you wouldn’t be here.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’d have made to save the planet from Elizabeth Dubois.”

As if she’d heard her name, her mother burst through the waiting room door, followed by a doctor in green scrubs and white tennis shoes.

“She’s going to be okay,” Elizabeth cried.

Mya jumped from her seat and rushed over to the doctor, trying not to hold her high blond ponytail and Hello Kitty earrings against her. Mya wasn’t too keen on her grandmother’s life resting in the hands of someone who looked barely out of medical school.

“How is she?” Mya asked. “Can we see her?”

“She’s going to be fine,” the doctor answered patiently. “You’ll be able to see her soon.”

“What happened?” Mya asked.

“Well, her blood glucose levels were extremely high—”

“But she’s okay now?” Maureen cut the doctor off.

The doctor nodded.

“Thank you, God.” Mya collapsed into the chair nearest the door. Elizabeth was the one who usually favored dramatics, but relief that she would not bury both grandparents within a week was so overwhelming, it knocked Mya’s legs right from under her.

“Can we bring her home today?” Aunt Mo asked.

The doctor’s eyes darted around the room. “Can you all follow me?” she asked.

Anxiety thrummed through Mya’s veins at the seriousness she sensed in the doctor’s voice. “What’s wrong? Is she really okay?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. There are a couple of things we need to discuss regarding Mrs. Dubois’s care, and patient confidentiality prevents us from discussing it here in the waiting room.”

Mya accepted the explanation with a nod, but still walked on shaky legs as they followed the doctor to a room two doors down. The square plaque next to the door had Privacy Room embossed on it in raised letters.

“Is my mother going to die?” Elizabeth asked as soon as the door closed.

“Not anytime soon,” the doctor answered. “If she continues to take her insulin and monitor her blood sugar levels. However, we did see an abnormality on her initial blood scan. We want to keep her to run a few more tests.”

“What type of abnormality?” Maureen asked.

“I don’t know enough yet. Any time flags are raised on the blood tests of a diabetic, we take it seriously. I’d rather be overly cautious than miss something and see her back here in a few weeks.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Mya said. “As long as she’s okay.”

“Absolutely,” the doctor answered with a smile. “I’ll send a nurse to the waiting room to let you all know when you can see her.”

The morning had been an emotional roller coaster, but at least they now had the doctor’s word that her grandmother would be okay. Mya welcomed the muscle-relaxing flood of relief that rushed through her body.

“Well, I guess I should call myself a cab. It’s time for me to get out of here,” Elizabeth announced.

The muscles in Mya’s neck and shoulders instantly tensed. “What do you mean it’s time for you to get out of here?”

“My plane leaves in three hours. I’m running late as it is. It’ll take me at least an hour to get to the airport, and I wanted to stop in New Orleans for a few things before I fly out.”

“Mother, are you seriously leaving while your mother is in the hospital? Before even going in to see her?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mya. I swear you should be on the theater stage instead of designing costumes for other actors.”

Mya turned to her aunt, who stood at the door to the privacy room, her hands crossed over her chest. “Did she just call me dramatic?” Mya asked.

“Just let it go, Mya. Let her go.”

“Yes, please, let me go,” Elizabeth said. “It’s time for me to get back to civilization. I swear I don’t know how you people in Gauthier can stand it. There’s not even a Starbucks.”

Anger simmered beneath Mya’s skin. She had been just as anxious to get back to New York, but there was no way she could leave with her grandmother in the hospital. Apparently, Elizabeth didn’t share the same sense of responsibility.

“You will never change,” Mya huffed with a disgusted snort. “I don’t know why I expected anything different from you.”

“Well, I certainly won’t stand here while you look down your nose at me.” Elizabeth stalked over to the door in her high-heeled sandals. “Tell Mama I’ll see her next time I’m in town. And take better care of her, Maureen.”

“You have the nerve—” Mya started, but her aunt raised her hand, cutting her off.

“I will take better care of her. Now go on. You’ve got a plane to catch.”

Elizabeth nodded and, without another word, turned and walked out of the privacy room.

As soon as she was gone, Mya stomped up to her aunt. “Why would you let her talk to you that way? As if it’s your fault that Grandma is in the hospital.”

“Haven’t you learned that the best way to deal with your mother is to say whatever is necessary to get her gone?”

“But Grandma is just as much her responsibility as she is yours,” Mya pointed out. “I hate how she treats you, Aunt Mo. And the way she walks around as if she’s better than everybody? It just sickens me.”

“Mya, your mother has been that way since she was a little girl. She has always been too good for this little town and the people in it. I learned a long time ago that the best thing to do as far as Elizabeth is concerned is to just ignore her. Just let her go,” her aunt stressed.

Mya clutched her hands at her sides, trying to release some of the pent-up anger coursing through her blood. Aunt Mo was right. Letting Elizabeth get on that plane was the best thing for all of them. Now they could focus on her grandmother.

“You have your own plane to catch, don’t you?” Aunt Mo asked.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know Grandma is okay. I can spare some time off,” Mya continued when she saw her aunt about to protest. “I’m between shows right now, and anything else I need to do can be accomplished via email.”

Maureen shrugged her shoulders as they exited the privacy room. “I won’t waste my time arguing. Lord knows you’re just as stubborn as Elizabeth.”

Mya gasped. “You would compare me to that woman?” She put her hand to her chest as if covering a wound. “Now that’s just mean, Aunt Mo.”

As soon as they reentered the waiting room, Corey shot up from his seat. “Is everything okay? I came back from Drusilla’s and you were both gone.”

“The doctor took us to another room to update us on Mama’s status,” Aunt Mo answered. “She’s fine, but they want to keep her to run additional tests.”

Mya saw the way his shoulders wilted with relief and she was struck again by this complete one-eighty. Fifteen years ago, Corey Anderson was enemy number one in her grandmother’s eyes. She’d claimed he was only after one thing and had forbidden Mya to see him. It hadn’t stopped her, of course. Mya had been intrigued; she had craved the taste of trouble.

As a cocky seventeen-year-old, Corey had done everything he could to live up to her grandmother’s low expectations of him. He’d encouraged Mya to sneak out of the house at all hours of the night. He’d snuck liquor from his daddy’s liquor cabinet and gotten her drunk on more than one occasion.

And let’s not forget the biggest trouble of all—her brush with the stork.

Corey had never learned of the pregnancy and, as far as Mya knew, her grandmother still thought the two nights Mya had spent in the hospital was from a vicious stomach bug that had been going around. Aunt Mo was the only one who knew about the baby she’d miscarried at seven weeks. She doubted her grandmother and Corey would be so chummy now if either of them knew about that little incident.

Mya pushed back against the wave of shame that threatened to crash through her whenever she thought of the child she’d never told Corey about, and the heartache it still summoned. It was too long ago to even matter anymore.

Corey’s cell phone trilled. He held up a finger and answered. “Yeah?...Tell me you’re lying.... Damn.” He pocketed the phone. “I need to go.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Aunt Mo said, giving him a hug. “Thanks for bringing Mya.”

Her aunt turned to her. “They’ll probably put Mama in her own room soon, so I’m going to run back to the house to get some clothes, and then come back here for the night. They’ll only let one family member stay, though.”

“I know,” Mya answered. “I’ll go home once visiting hours are over.”

“What time do you want me to come back and pick you up?” Corey asked.

“I’ll call Phil,” Mya answered, knowing her best friend, Phylicia, would drop whatever she was doing to be at her side. “I don’t plan to leave the hospital anytime soon anyway,” Mya said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

A smile, subtle though it was, inched up the corner of his mouth. “No one ever doubted you’d be fine, Peaches.” He kissed Aunt Mo on the cheek. “I’ll see you later. You tell Mrs. Eloise not to scare us like that anymore.”

Mya watched as Corey left the waiting room. She waited until she was sure he was out of earshot before turning to her aunt. “What’s going on here?”

“What?” Aunt Mo asked.

If Mya didn’t spend her life around the theater, she would have bought the innocent act. “Don’t even try it,” she said. “When did you, Corey and Grandma all become best friends? The two of you both hated him.”

“We did not hate him,” her aunt protested. “At least I didn’t. I was just concerned that he was a bit too fast for you. With good reason,” her aunt added with a pointed look. “But all of that is beside the point. Corey’s not the boy he was when you two were in high school.”

“How do you know that? He’s been gone from Gauthier nearly as long as I have.”

“That’s not entirely true,” her aunt said. “Corey visited several times a year when his daddy was still living. He moved back last year to coach the high school baseball team.”

“You still haven’t explained why he’s all of a sudden your new BFF,” Mya said.

“My what?”

“Forget it.” Mya sighed. “I just think it’s strange. Grandma thought those Anderson boys were nothing but trouble back when I was in high school, and now she’s got one cutting her grass? Why didn’t she ever mention him when I called home?”

Her aunt hunched her shoulders. “Maybe she didn’t think it was a big deal to you. As far as Mama is concerned, everything between you and Corey ended after you graduated from high school.”

“It did end after graduation,” Mya stated. “Still...”

Was there a “still”? Corey was nothing more than a guy she’d dated a long time ago. It had been years since she’d seen him, since she’d had anything to do with him. Why should it matter after all these years that he’d moved back to town and ingratiated himself to her family?

A nurse entered the waiting room. “Dubois family?”

“Right here,” Mya called. She and Aunt Mo sprung from their seats like coils in a new mattress. “How is she?” Mya asked the nurse.

“She’s doing well. She’s in room seventeen. Follow me—I’ll take you to her.”


Chapter 3

Corey pulled into an empty parking spot between two Gauthier P.D. cruisers. He noticed his friend Jamal’s shiny silver-and-black quad cab parked a couple of spaces down. He walked through the front doors of the brick building and was greeted by Manny Gilbert. Manny, who had spent his last two years of high school as shortstop for the Gauthier Fighting Lions baseball team, was now a cop.

“Where are they?” was Corey’s greeting.

“In the back. We left them in the cell.”

“Good,” Corey said. “Safer for them to have bars between us.”

“Don’t be too hard on them. We did much worse when we were on the team.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t coaching the team back then. Any stupid crap they get into reflects on me.”

By the time they reached the cell area, Corey could feel the vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing. The three knuckleheads sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench inside the cell. Jamal Johnson stood just outside the cell door.

He and Jamal had been friends for years, ever since they’d played collegiate ball together. Jamal had decided to make Gauthier his new home earlier this year, and he had offered to help Corey out with the baseball team since the school district had turned down Corey’s request to hire another assistant coach.

“So they called you first?” Corey asked Jamal.

His friend shrugged. “Guess they thought I’d go easier on them.”

He nodded toward Manny, then stood to the side as the man disengaged the lock. Corey stepped into the holding cell, bracing his feet apart and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You three really thought I wouldn’t hear about this?”

“Sorry, Coach,” they said in unison.

“What did they do to the house?” Corey directed his question to Jamal.

“Took the porch light out with a BB gun. Covered a few of the windows with black paint. Pissed on the back steps.”

“Junior high stuff,” Corey snorted, shaking his head. He turned to Manny, who had taken the spot next to Jamal outside of the cell. “How long are they in here for?”

“Coach!” Terrence Smith, his star outfielder, jumped up from the bench. “You can’t leave us here.”

“You did the crime, didn’t you?” Corey fired at him.

“And you were stupid enough to get caught,” Jamal added.

“We were just playing around,” Terrence maintained.

“By vandalizing the assistant principal’s house? You three couldn’t think of anything better to do?”

“They’re lucky Donaldson is out of town. He would demand you three be locked up,” Manny said.

“But, Coach, you can’t leave us in here. This’ll look bad to the scouts,” Pierre Jones, the centerfielder, said.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to act like a bunch of children instead of young men on their way to college next year.” Corey bore down on them, backing them to the bench. “You think you’ll be able to get away with stunts like this at LSU, or Tulane, or Alabama?” he roared at Andre Thomas, the pitcher and best player on the team. “They’ll kick you out of there so fast you won’t know what’s hit you.”

“I know, Coach,” Terrence said.

“We’re sorry,” Pierre added.

Corey knew he’d gotten his point across when they all crouched back. He noticed Andre Thomas’s chin remained defiantly stiff.

The boy’s recalcitrance incensed Corey even further. He had no doubt Andre had been the ringleader. The kid seemed hell-bent on causing as much trouble as he could around town. He had so much potential, but was flushing it down the toilet because he was more concerned with being a knucklehead. Corey refused to sit back and watch Andre ruin his future.

He cut another menacing glare at his players and stepped out of the holding cell. “It’s your call, Officer Gilbert.”

Manny glanced his way, and Corey knew they were on the same wavelength.

“Well, you know we don’t play favorites,” Manny said in his best take-no-crap police-officer voice. “Just because these guys are baseball players doesn’t mean they can get off scot-free.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Corey had to bite back a laugh. He and Manny had gotten away with more than they should have back in the day. Partly because Manny’s dad had been the police chief. The entire squad used to cut them slack, especially if they were playing Kentwood or Jesuit. Nothing got in the way of a big game against a known rival.

Jamal leaned to the side and whispered to Corey, “We’re not really leaving them in here, are we?”

“Hell no,” Corey whispered back. “We’re in the middle of the season.

“So, Officer Gilbert,” he called. “What’ll it be?”

The trio of hefty ballplayers looked as if they’d shrunk five inches over the past ten minutes. They sat hunched over. Corey was pretty sure Pierre Jones was trembling.

“They’re all still minors, right?” Manny asked.

“Yeah,” Corey answered.

“Since this is a first offense for all three...” Manny paused. One by one, the boys’ heads rose, as if sensing hope. “I’ll let them off with a warning. I’ll leave their punishment up to you.”

The three collapsed with relief, glancing at each other with conspiratorial grins.

“You three really think you just got the easier end of the bargain, don’t you?” Corey asked with deliberate softness as he stepped back into the cell. He closed the gap between them, bending down to eye level with his players before continuing. “By the end of the week, you’ll beg Officer Gilbert to let you back in here.”

The grins vanished.

Corey stood and jerked his head toward the open cell door. All three shot out of the cell so fast, one would have thought they were sleek marathoners instead of bulky baseball players.

As he walked out of the cell, Manny and Jamal were both trying like hell to hold in their grins, neither doing a good job of it. Manny broke first. “Man, you learned more from Coach Edwards than I thought you did.”

“I was channeling him for a bit there,” Corey said. He turned to Jamal. “You’ll never meet a hard-ass like our old coach.”

“Worse than Richards back when we were at Arizona State?” Jamal asked.

“Richards didn’t have a thing on Edwards.”

“He was a mean SOB.” Manny shook his head.

“But he saved my life,” Corey interjected. “If not for Edwards, I would probably be sitting in this jail, or in prison with Shawn and Stefan. I owe that old man everything.”

“I’m glad you came back to coach.” Manny clapped him on the shoulder. “That guy they brought in after Edwards retired wasn’t worth the starched khaki pants he used to model around in.”

“Some of the people around here wouldn’t agree with you on that one,” Corey reminded his ex-teammate. “In fact, I should probably sneak out the back door. If anyone sees me leaving here, news of my arrest will be the talk of the town by the end of the day.”

Manny just shook his head, but didn’t refute Corey’s claim. Corey knew it was because he spoke the truth. If he hadn’t been on national television and in sports magazines, half the people in this town would have probably thought he’d been in jail instead of playing in the major league. With good reason. He was, after all, one of those Anderson boys.

Because his eldest brother, Leon, was eight years older, he had avoided the stigma the twins had brought upon their family. Leon had been admired by many in Gauthier after he’d enlisted in the army straight out of high school, but the twins had wreaked havoc on this town. And since Corey was only a year younger than Stefan and Shawn, he’d quickly fallen in with his rowdy brothers.

Vandalism, breaking and entering, petty larceny, even taking Assistant Principal Donaldson’s car for a joyride—he’d done it all. Now that he was back in Gauthier, Corey was determined to show the town that he’d changed.

“Is there any paperwork to fill out?” he asked Manny.

“I didn’t process them.”

“Maybe they can clean up the mess they made of Donaldson’s house before he gets back,” Jamal said.

“I’d leave it there,” Manny grunted. “Serves him right for being such an idiot.”

“It’s been fifteen years.” Corey chuckled. “You need to let that stuff go. I have.”

“Let it go, my ass,” Manny mumbled.

“During our freshman year, Donaldson caught a bunch of us smoking behind the gymnasium,” Corey explained to Jamal. “He suspended us all for a week, but Manny got two weeks because he was the one who brought the cigarettes. Ever since then, the two of them have butted heads.”

Terrence, Andre and Pierre were waiting at the booking counter. Corey got back into character as he approached the boys. “When you leave here, go straight to Donaldson’s house. I want every window spotless, and not just the ones you painted. And you all better work fast, because you don’t know what time I’ll be there to inspect. You got me?”

Three heads bobbed in unison.

Corey turned and nodded at Manny, flashing his friend a knowing smile before leaving the station.

“How long you going to give them to clean the place up?” Jamal asked as they headed for their vehicles.

Corey shrugged. “I’ll swing by sometime tomorrow. I really don’t care what they did to Donaldson’s house. Manny’s right, the guy is an idiot.”

Jamal chuckled. “Gotta love a place where the police let you exact revenge.”

“Don’t mistake him for being a pushover. Manny can be hard-core when he needs to be. His dad was tough. He busted me and my two brothers more times than I can count.”

Soon after Jamal told him of his plans to move to Gauthier, Corey had clued him in on his family’s history in the town. Knowing the way folks here gossiped, Corey figured his friend would be regaled with stories of Decker Anderson’s troublemaking sons within ten minutes of his arrival anyway.

They reached Jamal’s truck first. “So, now that you don’t have to play bad-ass baseball coach anymore, you think you can swing by and help me with some sanding? I’m trying to refinish the banister on the front staircase.”

“Didn’t I warn you against buying that run-down house?” Corey laughed.

Jamal—an architect by trade—had bought a fixer-upper in the old part of Gauthier. Corey had tried to talk him into buying a house in one of the newer subdivisions, but Jamal said he hadn’t moved to a small town just to live in a house that looked as if it belonged in the city. Corey figured his friend was regretting that decision after losing his first several months in town to renovations.

“Don’t talk about my house, man.” Jamal punched him on the shoulder. “The work is going better than I thought. You think you can lend me a hand later today?”

An image of Mya’s distraught face flashed in his mind. Corey shook his head. “I’ll be tied up for the rest of the day. Maybe you should just get a professional over there. Why don’t you call Phil?”

“Who’s Phil?”

“One of the most talented home restoration specialists you’ll ever meet.” Corey pulled out his wallet and searched. “I thought I had a business card, but apparently not. Just do an internet search for Phillips’ Home Restoration.”

“You sure this Phil is good?” Jamal asked. “I want to make sure that banister is preserved. I need this done right.”

“Don’t worry.” Corey smiled. “You won’t be sorry with Phil.”

They bumped fists, then Corey headed for his SUV. He’d wanted to get a couple of projects done at his own place this weekend, but it looked as though he’d have to push those to the side for now. Starting up the Escalade, Corey pulled onto the street and headed for the Dubois house.

* * *

Mya waited at the four-way stop sign at the corner of Water Street and Pecan Drive as a line of kids on bicycles crossed the street. A straggler pedaled up to the edge of the curb. Mya waved him along, grinning as his little legs pumped to catch up with his friends.

She cranked up the air conditioner in Aunt Mo’s car and continued along Pecan Drive, on this all-important errand for her grandmother. The stately homes that lined the broad avenue stood like elegant Southern belles. Their well-kept yards were surrounded by short, wooden picket fences, while others had graduated to the vinyl fencing Mya would love to have installed out at her grandparents’.

Grandma had labeled this neighborhood pretentious, based on the fact that its residents were not allowed to grow vegetables in their backyards. Mya didn’t care how uptight they were. She used to love walking through this area on her way to work at Gauthier Pharmacy and Feed Store, imagining what it must be like to live in what had seemed like mansions to her young, unworldly mind.

Pecan Drive turned into Main Street after the intersection at Pecan and Shoal Creek Lane. As she cruised down Main, Mya was once again struck by how much everything looked the same. It was as if time had stopped.

Main Street had always been this town’s pride and joy. Back when she’d worked here after school, every proprietor had been required to sign an agreement stating that they would paint their storefronts every year. Littering had been a dirty word, and the Gauthier police department had responded to a call for loitering just as fast as one for shoplifting.

Mya pulled into a slanted parking spot in front of Claudette’s Beauty Parlor. Like the rest of the buildings on Main, Claudette’s looked as if it had been lifted from a painting entitled Small-Town Life.

She headed up the wooden steps that led to the wraparound porch. The beauty shop shared a porch with Lou Cannon’s Dry Cleaning and the Main Street Sweet Shop. Across the street was the pharmacy, post office and Emile’s Restaurant, Gauthier’s version of five-star dining.

Mya walked through the door of the beauty shop and smiled in remembrance as the familiar sounds and smells greeted her.

“Hello, everybody,” she called.

“Well, look who decided to step into my shop.” Claudette Robinson set down a curling iron and stepped from behind a salon chair, embracing Mya in a long hug.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk after the funeral,” Mya apologized.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Claudette said, adding an extra squeeze before letting Mya go. “There were so many people at the house, it was impossible to visit with everybody. How is Eloise doing? Did the doctor say when she’d be out of the hospital?”

“She should be home tomorrow. Monday at the latest,” Mya said.

“I knew something was wrong when she didn’t show up for her hair appointment this morning, especially since she knew her new wig was in. She’s been waiting for it for over a month. Deena is finishing it up right now.”

Mya spotted the young girl standing before the mannequin, a comb in one hand, a spray bottle in the other. She spritzed the salt-and-pepper wig and teased the tight curls out of their stubborn position.

“She’s laid up in a hospital bed. You would think she’d have other things on her mind,” Mya said.

“When the new wig she’s been waiting for is at my shop?” Claudette looked at her as if she were crazy. “That New York air has addled your mind, girl. I’m surprised Eloise didn’t order the paramedics to swing by on their way to the hospital.”

“If she were conscious, believe me, she would have.” Mya laughed.

Deena came over with her grandmother’s new wig, and Mya thanked her with a ten-dollar tip.

“You tell Eloise I’ll try to get over to the house once they let her out of that hospital,” Claudette said. “And tell her not to worry about the meeting Monday night. I’ll make sure Margery doesn’t go overboard.”

“You all have a deaconess board meeting?” Mya asked.

“No, that’s on Wednesday nights,” Claudette said. “This is for the civic association. A group of us started it a couple of years ago. Your grandmother is head of the committee for the town’s 175th-year celebration. She didn’t tell you?”

Mya shook her head. “We haven’t had much time to talk about anything outside of Granddad’s funeral.”

Claudette’s smile sobered.

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate you keeping Mrs. Margery in line,” Mya said. “It was good seeing you again, Claudette.”

“You too, honey.” Claudette winked as she returned to her customer.

Mya left the beauty shop and climbed back into the car, careful not to smash the curls as she placed the freshly styled wig on the passenger seat. She put the key in the ignition, but her hand halted when she looked up and saw the pharmacy in the rearview mirror. She got out of the car and, with a quick glance from left to right, crossed the two-way street and took a step back in time.

The same bell that had hung above the door when she’d last walked out of it chimed Mya’s entrance into the pharmacy. She’d worked the entire summer before her senior year, her plans for leaving Gauthier already firm in her mind. She’d saved up enough for first and last month’s rent and a plane ticket out of town.

The store hadn’t changed a bit. Next to the door was a hat and umbrella stand, and directly across from the front entrance was a display of the handmade soaps and lotions Mrs. Landry, the pharmacist’s wife, made in her kitchen. Mya picked up four bars of lemon verbena. God, that scent brought back memories.

She strolled down the aisle, picking up a few toiletries, extra moisturizer and a razor. Since she’d planned to be in Gauthier for only a couple of days she hadn’t bothered to bring most of this stuff.

Mya took her purchases to the counter, but stopped short as she noticed the woman standing behind the counter.

“Shelly?” Mya asked with a tentative step forward.

The woman blinked several times. “Mya? Oh, my goodness. How are you, girl?”

“I’m fine,” Mya said, trying to suppress the shock in her voice. “How are you doing?” Though what she really wanted to ask was “What are you doing?”

Shelly Hunt had graduated valedictorian of their high school class. Granted, it was a class of only seventy-eight students, but even so, Shelly had been destined for great things. She’d received full-ride scholarships to several universities. What was she doing working behind the counter at the pharmacy? Unless she’d bought it? Maybe she’d become a pharmacist?

Please, let that be the case.

“So, did Dr. Landry finally retire?” Mya asked, placing her items on the counter.

“Yeah, right. That man doesn’t know what retirement means.” Shelly laughed. “He’s having lunch over at Emile’s.” She rang up the soap. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t make your grandfather’s funeral yesterday. I had to take my youngest to the doctor. Turned out to be just a stomach bug, but you never know with the little ones. You have any kids?” Shelly asked.

Mya shook her head. “Nope, it’s just me.”

“Sometimes I wish.” Shelly grinned as she handed Mya the bag. “I have three. My oldest is trying out for the varsity baseball team, so if you talk to Corey, tell him to take it easy on my baby.”

“I will,” Mya said. “How old is he?”

“Almost fifteen,” Shelly answered.

“Wow, so you were pregnant when we graduated? I had no clue.”

“No one did, until the truth got too hard to hide.” Shelly chuckled, making a rounding motion over her belly. “I had Devon that September.”

“All this time I thought you’d started at Dillard University the fall after we graduated,” Mya said.

“I tried after Devon was born, but then I got pregnant with Angelica.” Shelly shrugged. “It just never worked out, and eventually they pulled the scholarship they offered me.”

Mya’s heart lurched at the regret that flashed across Shelly’s face. “Well, you know what they say, ‘It’s never too late.’ ”

“Yeah, right.” Shelly waved off the idea. “Can you imagine me in someone’s classroom? I’ll just make sure my little ones go on to college. Besides, Dr. Landry couldn’t run this place without me.”

“You’re probably right. I remember how scatterbrained he could be.” They shared a laugh. “Well, it was great seeing you again, Shelly.”

“You, too.”

By the time she walked out of the door, Mya could hardly breathe, so haunted was she by the fate she’d managed to escape. It was a travesty that someone with so much promise could end up working as the checkout girl at a small-town pharmacy.

That could have been you, a voice whispered in her head.

As she drove back to the hospital, Mya tried to imagine what her life would have been like if she had remained in Gauthier. The thought was so disturbing her mind refused to conjure a single image. Instead, a picture of her two-story Brooklyn apartment, with its exposed-brick walls, hardwood floors and view of lower Manhattan, traced across her mind’s eye. She visualized the diverse faces she passed as she went about her day in the city. The hodgepodge of ethnicities and cultures that had added such richness to her life was the antithesis of these same faces from her childhood.

Thank God this place hadn’t managed to get its hooks into her.

As the thought floated through her mind, Mya felt an uncomfortable mixture of shame and guilt stir in the pit of her stomach. It was unfair to lay all the blame at the town’s feet. Her actions fifteen years ago made her just as culpable in the trap that had nearly snared her.

Mya pulled into the parking lot and, grabbing her grandmother’s wig from the front seat, made her way to her grandmother’s hospital room. She learned that Grandma had been moved to another room on the hospital’s west side. Following the signs in the white, sterile hallways, Mya found her grandmother’s room.

She tapped lightly on the partially open door as she entered. “Knock, knock,” she called. The room was outfitted in much the same way as the previous one, but instead of two beds, the other half of the room contained two reclining chairs and a small table.

“Bring me my hair,” her grandmother said.

She walked over to the bed and handed her grandmother the wig. “Why did they have to move you?” Mya asked.

“They didn’t have to move her,” Aunt Mo drawled, coming out of the bathroom that Mya hadn’t noticed tucked behind the door. “But putting her in a private room was easier than arguing with her.”

“Are you making trouble already?” Mya gave her grandmother a stern look.

“My roommate snored,” she answered, fluffing the wig’s tight curls. “It looks even better in person. Here, help me get this on.”

Mya removed the hairpins and lifted the old wig from her grandmother’s head, replacing it with the one she’d just brought. “Claudette hasn’t changed a bit,” she laughed, tucking a curl behind her grandmother’s ear.

“Did you expect her to? She’s been the same way since we were in the sixth grade,” her grandmother answered.

Mya chuckled. “She said something about a meeting Monday night?”

“Oh, dammit,” Grandma cursed.

“Mama!” Aunt Mo screeched.

“Oh, calm down, Maureen. You’d think she’s never heard a dirty word before,” her grandmother griped. “They’ve got to let me out of this hospital. I need to be at that meeting Monday night.”

“That’s up to your doctor,” Mya said. “Claudette said you’re in charge of some celebration committee?”

Her grandmother straightened her shoulders. “I’m chairing the committee for the town’s 175th-year anniversary and the downtown revitalization project, which some people think is a waste of time.”

“She means Margery,” Aunt Mo said.

“I don’t care what Margery thinks. We need to do something,” her grandmother argued.

Mya folded her arms across her chest. “Grandma, what are you up to?”

“It’s not just me,” she said with an affronted pout. She pointed an accusing finger at Mya’s chest. “It’s that darn outlet mall in Maplesville that’s causing problems. That’s where everyone shops now, and what’s worse, the people who built the outlet mall have their sights set on Main Street. They’re trying to bring in one of those big-box stores. Can you imagine what would happen to the businesses on Main if they had to compete with a huge national chain?”

“So you came up with the idea for an anniversary celebration?”

“Yes.” Her grandmother nodded. “We figure the celebration will draw people back to Main Street and show those developers that we don’t need some megastore moving in. But how am I supposed to get any work done laid up in this hospital bed?”




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