Page 37 of Frankly, My Dear

“Sonofabitch! A water moccasin!” Even James’s eyes widened with concern, although Selene could see now that the snake was not as big as she’d originally thought.

She watched, fascinated, as the snake dipped soundlessly several inches below the water’s surface and headed toward its new prey—a young soft-shelled turtle. In a matter of a few seconds, the snake emerged, caught the unsuspecting turtle in its mouth, and carried it to the shore. The helpless turtle struggled frantically, trying to bite the snake, to no avail. With a skill as old as its species, the snake used its strong mouth and body muscles to swallow the turtle whole, squeezing it with internal spasms toward its stomach where the body parts would be digested over a period of time.

I want to go home, Selene thought. Back to nice, safe Manhattan where the only danger is from muggers, or terrorist bombers. She whimpered involuntarily in shock. Oh, Lord, I’m becoming hysterical.

Fergus walked up and lifted his wife down, crooning softly to her in comfort. Selene stood shaking, an apple still clutched in one hand. Tears streamed down her face.

“Come down, Selene,” James urged, not unkindly.

“I…I ca…can’t,” Selene stuttered, shaking uncontrollably as a delayed reaction to the danger settled in.

James felt a bit shaky himself. A cottonmouth! Bon Dieu! Why hadn’t the halfwit screamed? Then he remembered. He’d warned her not to raise her voice again or he’d throw her into the swamp.

Sacrebleu! The fool woman had tried to kill a water moccasin with an apple. An apple! He should be laughing, but he wasn’t, knowing full well how close she’d come to death just moments ago. Was she full-blown insane? No, he admitted right away, she was just a damn brave lady who was trying to survive the hand that life had dealt her. Like him.

He reached up and put his hands on her waist, pulling her forward into his arms, gently. Then, sitting on a wooden crate, he forced her into his lap and the cradle of his arms.

The woman was too tall, too skinny, too bony. But, damn, she fit just right against his body.

James closed his eyes to savor the feeling of rightness, to inhale the sweet floral scent of her wild hair that felt like silk against his lips. Protectively, he brushed wisps of damp hair off her forehead and cheeks and rubbed her back soothingly. Sweet heat emanated from her body, having nothing to do with the sun, and warmed his soul. Her heart thumped madly against his in perfect counterpoint.

And James realized in that moment that, frankly, he did give a damn.

Two days later, Selene took one look at the ramshackle Cajun house where they’d stopped and turned on James. “That’s where we’re stopping? That’s my big reward for behaving?”

He nodded. “Oui. The Gastoneaus have kindly offered us an opportunity to bathe and eat. And if I hear one more complaint from you, chérie, I swear you will be riding an alligator the rest of the way to Bayou Noir.” Selene made a face at him as he grabbed her hand, leading her toward the edge of the boat.

The unpainted plank structure sat high off the ground on lopsided stilts along the bayou shore. Filthy children of all ages, wearing little more than rags, peeked shyly from every corner of the long front porch, from behind bushes, even from above in centuries-old cypress tree branches.

After two days and nights of living on the flatboat as it wended its way through the bayou’s maze of interlocking waterways, Selene would give a fortune for a bath, a bed, and a gallon of calamine lotion. She’d never admit it to James, but she couldn’t have been more pleased to get off the rocking boat if the glorified shack had been the Plaza Hotel.

Even though she meticulously applied her makeup every morning, as always, she knew without seeing a mirror that she looked like hell. Her eyes burned grittily from lack of sleep. Who would be crazy enough to close their eyes with the danger of snakes and alligators lurking about? Dirt, grease, and probably a few dead bugs matted her tangled mass of hair.

A layer of protective mud covered her skin from forehead to toes, at James’s insistence after she had been bitten mercilessly by mosquitoes the size of mothballs. Someday James would pay for the pleasure he took in slathering that goop on her.

“Up you go, sweetheart,” he said with exaggerated cheerfulness, undoubtedly knowing his good mood would irritate her. To her chagrin, James had done a complete about-face from the tenderness with which he’d held her after the snake incident. He either ignored her or criticized her for every little thing. His flip-flopping moods were driving her mad.

Lifting her easily into his arms, James waded the short distance from the boat toward the river bank. Remembering the sweetness of his other soothing embrace, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head against his chest, uncaring of his sweat-soaked shirt, wanting to feel safe and cherished, even if only for a moment. She shifted slightly for comfort, and her innocent action caused a not-so-innocent response as her breasts brushed against his chest, and peaked.

James inhaled sharply and tripped, almost dropping Selene in the murky water. “Sacre bleu! Stop squirming,” he ordered in a husky voice. “I told you not to try your flirtation with me. I am not interested.”

Lowering her lashes to hide the hurt, she dug her now ragged, fifty-dollar sculptured nails into her palms and forced back the urge to claw his face. When would she learn? Every time she softened toward the jerk, he brought her quickly back to harsh reality with one of his caustic remarks. Just like Devon, he made her feel less than a woman, deficient, un-deserving of love.

She pinched her arm, hard, hoping against hope that this time she would awaken from this horrific joke that God, or Damballa, or whoever had played on her.

“Now what? Is this some magic trick where you pinch yourself black and blue, then turn into a beautiful princess?”

“Argh! I am beautiful.”

“You’re demented, that’s what you are,” he said. “Wait till you see a mirror.”

Selene blinked against the tears that smarted her eyes. “I may not look like a raving beauty right now, but I’ll tell you one thing. I am in desperate need of a Prince Charming to save me from this nightmare. Because you, my friend, are more like a…a frog.”

He made a low grunting sound of disgust that sounded an awful lot like a frog, then muttered something about women and foolish fairy tales.

“Heck, at this point,” she went on, “a modern-day Rhett would look mighty good.” She leaned her head back and studied his glowering face. “You can’t even be my Rhett, can you?”

James chuckled softly as he set her on the ground, but, she noted idly, even his laughter rarely warmed his sad eyes. It was probably a sign of her codependent personality—a need to be needed—that she was drawn to men with dark sides, like James, Selene mused.