Early the following morning
“Where to, now?” Roche said.
Bleu crouched between Killer and Toadie, put an arm around each of them. “I guess I don’t know,” she said.
The quiet, the last breath of night on the early-morning air, not a building or a human in sight on this part of Parish Lane, just the two of them, she would settle for standing still in the moment—forever.
“We can keep hanging out here, looking at each other, I guess,” Roche said. He offered her a hand and, when she took it, pulled her up. “If that’s what you want to do.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Roche took the dogs’ leashes from her. “Two good ones I picked,” he said of the animals. “I know my dog flesh.”
She smiled. “Ozaire does, you mean. We got lucky.”
He pulled her in front of him, held her upper arms. “We are lucky, Bleu.”
Some would think his timing was weird, but it wouldn’t get any better and it could become worse if he allowed them to fall into any pattern but the one he wanted.
“I don’t feel muddled up anymore,” Bleu said. “Not at all.”
He smiled. She looked so serious, as serious as he felt. “That’s good, isn’t it?” he said.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m so grateful Sam came around. He’ll be okay, won’t he?”
Sam had rocky days ahead, but he’d been flown where he’d get the best of care and Roche had been assured the other man would make a full recovery.
“Yes,” he told her. “The swelling around his brain is more his body’s way of protecting him than anything else. He came around and he recognizes people. That’s what counts.”
“Thank God,” Bleu said. She and Wazoo had promised themselves they would be Sam’s slaves if only he got better. Now he was recovering, even if slightly, and Wazoo had already mentioned they might want to rethink the slave bit.
“Do you know what you want? Is that why you’re not muddled up?” Roche said.
Bleu looked away, toward Bayou Teche. If the trees weren’t so thick, they’d see it from here. “I know what I want,” she said.
“I talked to Cyrus already,” Roche said. The priest, and Madge, were waiting in the kitchen when Roche and Bleu got back from an FBI questioning session earlier. “He says—”
Bleu cut him off. “That they’ll want to carry on with the building projects, but not until after a decent interval. I heard him. I never did like that term too much. Who decides what’s decent?”
“I don’t know. I guess you just know when the time’s right.” He could almost feel the questions circling in Bleu’s head. She didn’t know if she had ongoing work here, at least for the moment, and she wasn’t sure what that meant for her.
“Cyrus and Madge have made peace,” she said. “I didn’t imagine that, did I?”
“I saw it, too.” Roche wanted peace, too, and he hoped he’d get it.
“You’ll need to get back and see if you can catnap before you start work,” Bleu said. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.
He tried a laugh. Not a good attempt. “Ever since we met, you’ve been telling me I need to go get some rest. Do I seem that infirm to you?”
She bowed her head. “I say it when I feel awkward, I guess. When I don’t know what else to say.”
The dogs had curled up together on the rough lane. They looked peaceful. “Look at that,” Roche said. “They’ve fitted right in and they don’t have a doubt in the world that they’re safe now.”
Bleu bit her lip hard. She couldn’t bear talking in circles.
“I had a chance to talk to Cyrus on his own,” Roche said. He wished he could calm his jumping nerves. “He’s a decent man.”
“The best,” Bleu said. “What did you talk about?”
“Getting married in the church.”
She felt blood leave her face. Not a word that came to mind suggested she should open her mouth.
Roche would not panic, even if she did look stricken. He dropped his hands to his sides. “Was that okay?”
Her voice came out in a squeak that embarrassed her. “Was what okay?”
“You know what I’m saying.”
“I know what you’re not saying,” she told him. But warmth swelled within her. Her skin tingled. And now, if she couldn’t control herself, she would cry.
“Madge thinks it’s a good idea,” Roche said. That had to be the lamest comment he’d ever made.
“I’m happy for her,” Bleu said.
“I think I’m making a mess of this,” he told her. “Cyrus says there’s some preparation, but he would see to that himself, so it didn’t have to be spread out over weeks.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“Madge was excited. She says she’s never been a bridesmaid. You would like a bridesmaid, wouldn’t you? Or more than one, if that’s what you want.”
Bleu, stamping a foot, stunned him.
“What?” he said. “What is it?”
She covered her mouth, horrified. “I never did that before. I’m sorry.”
“You’re frustrated. It’s okay.” He paused. “I’m frustrated, too. I never did this before.”
“You wouldn’t like it if I shook you, would you?” Bleu said.
He grinned. “I might.” She didn’t look too amused. “When do you think we should do it?”
Bleu raised her chin and closed her eyes. Why not be reasonable and let him do this his way—which was to not really do it at all?
“Oh!” He bent over and kissed her, hunching her shoulders with the power of his grasp.
Once wasn’t enough. When he pulled back a little, her eyes were still shut, but her lips were parted and shiny. Again, he kissed her, pushed his fingers through her hair and used his thumbs to keep her face turned up to his.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” he told her between kisses. “Let’s go back to your place.”
“For sex?” she said.
He grimaced. “Do you have to be that blunt?”
“Someone around here needs to be blunt. Remind me to tell you about my whipped cream experiment.”
Roche blinked and held her away. “I’m reminding you.”
“Good. I’ll keep it under consideration. But I’m not taking you home with me.”
He looked aghast and overheated. “Why?”
“You’re disappointing me.”
Now he looked devastated. “Bleu?”
“I’m glad you, Cyrus and Madge are all on the same page,” she said.
Roche frowned at her. Then he coughed and shook his head. “You women are so old-fashioned.” He got down on his knees. “Better?”
“You’re getting there.”
“I’ve got to spell it out, right?”
She kissed his forehead and jumped out of his way before he could grab her.
“I’m an idiot,” he said. “I thought I had said it right. I can’t be without you, Bleu. Stay with me. Forever.”
“That’s what I want, too.” With a hand either side of his face, she kissed his nose.
“Then say you’ll marry me.”
Dancing in place, landing pretend punches on the air, she said, “Of course I will. All you had to do was ask me. Get up and kiss me again, you fool.”
Half an hour later, Bleu leaned her head on Roche’s shoulder and they wandered slowly toward St. Cecil’s where Roche had parked his car.
“Will you tell me about the experiment now?” he asked. Once, he couldn’t have imagined being this happy, just because he was with a woman. That was before he’d met Bleu.
She looked up into his face. “If you fill a bathtub with whipped cream—from those aerosol cans—it melts after a bit. I thought I’d give it a dry—a wet run to see if I could surprise you with my daring ingenuity.” She giggled. “I got in and it just got less and less when the air started going out of it. In the end I was cold and covered with slippery white stuff. It didn’t cover me anywhere and I couldn’t get a handhold on anything.”
“I thought that was the point,” Roche told her. “Except you’ll need me for the handholds next time.”