Four

Theo climbed onto an abandoned kitchen chair and studied the old building’s rafters. Joe was right when he said the place stood as sturdy as the day it was built. Planed smooth and straight by hands long stilled in death, the wood held true and plumb. A job well done. Only the cobwebs that hung like Spanish moss in the corners gave away its age.

He stretched to reach the nearest cypress beam, then ran his hand over the aged timber. Nothing felt more permanent than a piece of wood well crafted.

“Help! Snake!”

The chair tumbled from beneath him as Theo tried to right himself. He landed with a crash and hit the ground running. As he careened off the porch, he grabbed the shovel off the top of the lumber pile.

“Where are you?”

“Over here!”

Following the sound, Theo crossed the clearing and bounded into the thicket only to stop short when he saw the woman—and the woman’s predicament. A rather small-sized female had attracted a big old snake. It sat on the hem of her skirt, mad as a hornet and perched to strike.

Theo smacked the ground with the shovel, and the black monster turned his attention away from the young lady. As soon as the snake moved, so did the woman. Using the tip of the shovel, Theo made short work of the cottonmouth. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the head flying into the thicket and watched it land, then bounce into the black water of the bayou.

When he glanced back at the terrified woman, he had to suppress a groan. She stared down at the twitching body of the snake as if she’d never seen one. The only thing worse than a riled-up cottonmouth was a riled-up woman.

And this one looked ready to strike.

Mouth covered by shaking hands, the woman began to cry. “I asked Him to be gentle, and He sent a snake.” She swiped at her tears with the hem of her apron, then thrust her hand toward him with a weak smile. “I’m sorry. My name is Clothilde, Clothilde Trahan. How do you do?”

“Theophile Breaux.” He handed her his handkerchief. “You must be Joe’s girl.”

“Oui,” she said as she dabbed at her cheeks. “I’m his niece.”

He shook her hand. She sure was a pretty little thing. No bigger than a minute and covered in pine straw, yet he couldn’t recall when he’d seen anyone more appealing. He frowned. Last thing he needed was a distraction, and this brown-eyed beauty sure looked to be one. With little encouragement, he just might fall in love, and then where would he be?

Just like his papa, that’s where.

Focus, Breaux. Think of something besides her broad smile and that upturned nose.

What had she said about the snake? That someone sent it? Was she loony? Joe had mentioned his niece was a bit of a challenge, but he never stated specifically what he meant.

“What are you talking about? Who sent a snake?”

“God, I think.” She spared another quick look at the twitching remains before meeting his gaze. Her lower lip quivered a bit, but at least her tears had stopped. “You see, I know God corrects us when we do wrong, and I was. . .”

Theo jammed the point of the shovel into the soft earth, then leaned on the handle. They were heading for dangerous territory. She’d been watching him from the thicket, and now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. A gentleman, especially one in a hurry to get on down the road, would walk away right now and leave the lady to her concerns.

Well, he’d rarely been accused of doing what he ought. What was the harm in just a little more conversation while he watched the sun glint off her blue-black hair?

“You were what?” he asked with a mind to tease just a bit before he sent her home to her uncle.

“I was. . .” Her face colored the prettiest shade of pink. “Well, never mind what I was doing.”

“You were eavesdropping.”

She had the decency to appear ashamed. “Oui,” she said slowly, “I was.”

“You were hiding in the thicket, listening to everything we said.” He gave her the look he generally reserved for his younger brothers and sisters. “I should tell your uncle.”

Brown eyes opened wide. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Rather than respond, he decided to say nothing and watch her squirm.

She offered a weak smile. “I have a good reason.”

“A good reason to do something wrong?” He leaned down to look her in the eyes. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes. I mean no.” She worried with the hem of her apron. “You see, I thought maybe I. . . Oh, goodness.”

“Goodness has got nothing to do with it, girl.” He tilted forward slightly and noted with satisfaction that the Trahan girl took a step back. “Was what you heard worth nearly getting snakebit?”

She shook her head.

“Was it worth whatever your uncle’s going to do when he hears about this?”

Again she shook her head. “No, but you don’t understand. If you tell him, it will ruin everything.”

There went the tears. Theo groaned. This girl shed more liquid than a rowboat with a plank missing.

Be strong, Breaux. Just walk away.

Of course, he ignored his own advice. “If I don’t tell your uncle, you’ll probably keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong until you run into something—or someone—worse than that snake there.”

“I think I already have.”

Theo grasped the end of the shovel and yanked hard to pull it out of the dirt. Slinging it over his shoulder, he turned and walked away.

❧

Why didn’t she keep her big mouth shut?

Cleo stepped over the carcass of the snake and headed after the Breaux fellow. If only she could make him see his way clear to keep quiet on her little indiscretion. Indiscretion? Who was she kidding? She’d blatantly ignored both her aunt and her uncle and hidden in a thicket like a common criminal, all in the hopes of learning whether or not a teacher had been chosen for the school.

She’d tried asking Tante Flo outright and Uncle Joe indirectly, but neither offered an answer as to who would be offered the task of teaching the children. Both knew she wanted the position, so repeating her wish would serve no purpose. It certainly hadn’t kept Uncle Joe from sending a letter to New Orleans to the teachers’ college to inquire about qualified applicants for the job.

Going to the reverend was out of the question because he would just inform Uncle Joe. If only she’d learned to take to heart some of the scriptures on patience she’d memorized through the years.

Cleo watched the broad back of the man who could single-handedly ruin her plans for the future. Stop him, Lord. Please.

Abruptly the man halted and whirled around to face her. “Get on home, little girl.”

Little girl? When would people see her as a full-grown woman of almost nineteen? Her uncle and aunt certainly didn’t, or they wouldn’t be ignoring her requests to hire on as a teacher for the bayou school. And this man. . .

Well, she would show them all.

She drew herself up to her full height and stalked toward Theophile Breaux. “Little girl?” she called as she closed the distance between them. “You think I am a little girl, Monsieur Breaux?”

By the time she asked the question, she stood inches away from him. He leaned toward her as if to study her a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest. A broad grin split his handsome face, and he broke out into laughter.

Laughter.

Cleo felt the heat flood her face. How dare he laugh at her? If she hadn’t been brought up to be a lady, she would certainly wipe the smile off his face with a choice word or two. Instead, she merely stood her ground and endured the humiliation until the Breaux fellow finally tired of his fun.

“Are you quite finished?” she asked as properly as she could.

The Breaux fellow’s face sobered, but traces of the grin remained. “I suppose I am.”

“Then may I ask you a question?”

He looked stunned. “I suppose so.”

“What will you accomplish by telling my uncle you found me out here?”

“Accomplish?” The Acadian seemed to consider the question a moment. “I don’t rightly know. You got the answer to that, eh?”

“Then don’t tell him.” She made an attempt to smile. “I have such plans, and all you will do is ruin them.”

“Well, of all the. . .” He shook his head. “You mean to try and tell me that even though you are in the wrong, I’m the one who’ll cause trouble by telling the truth? Little girl, you are something. Did you know that?” With those words, he turned and stormed away, crossing the distance to the cabin’s front porch with angry steps that raised little clouds of dust on the dry ground.

“I was just trying to figure out if they’d hired a teacher,” she called. “And you can believe that or not.”

“Why would you care about a teacher?” he asked without breaking his stride or looking her way. “You might be little bitty, but I know you’re past school age.” He glanced over his shoulder as he stomped up the porch steps. “At least I think you are, but then now that I—”

His leg disappeared into the porch step up to his knee. Catching the rail, he narrowly missed falling forward onto the porch. The big man leaned precariously against the rail, unable to lift his leg out of the crumbled wood that held it imprisoned.

“Are you all right?” Cleo picked up her skirts and raced toward the struggling man, climbing past him to stand on the porch. She offered her outstretched hand. “Here. Let me help.”

Gratitude was not written on his face as he looked up at her. “What in the world can a little thing like you do to help me, eh?”

“You never can tell.” She tried not to laugh at the bits of rotten wood and dead leaves decorating his dark curls. “Uncle Joe says I’m stronger than I look. I’ll pull, and you try to lift your foot over those boards.”

She grasped his hand and tugged. A moment later, he caught his balance. Unfortunately, she lost hers, tangled her feet in her skirts, and landed with a thud on her posterior.

The Breaux fellow completed his climb out of the rotten stairs, then pulled himself up on the porch beside her. He shook his head, and leaves and wood chips fell like the snowflakes in Tante Flo’s snow globe all around him, some decorating the hem of her skirt.

For a moment she thought he might see some humor in the situation. The wind kicked up, sending another shower of debris her way. She offered a smile in anticipation of the return of his good humor.

Return? When did she actually see any of it? A glance up at the frown on his face told her it would not be today.

What a shame that such a handsome man had such a sour disposition.

The object of her thoughts lumbered to his feet and reached for her hand, practically sending her airborne as he pulled her to a standing position. To his credit, he held her steady until she could regain her footing.

“Get on home now,” he said as he released his grip.

Cleo hesitated a moment before pressing past him to carefully make her way across the rickety porch. Head held high, she stepped onto solid ground and walked away from the most irritating man she’d ever met.