Chapter Thirteen

Thoughts of Tom’s kiss kept Alix awake that night. How soft and gentle it had been as if she were tiny and precious and easily broken, not some big, sturdy girl whose past sexual encounters had always been athletic romps, enjoyable but soon over. She knew she didn’t read men very well. Her mother warned most of them only wanted sex, and that seemed to be true. Women could want just sex, too. Something her mother never mentioned. She liked intercourse, only not the stuff leading up to it. She didn’t flirt well, and obviously her attempt to tell Tom he had a green light fell flat as he hadn’t attempted to sneak away from Beck and be with her. Maybe he really had been thanking her for babysitting.

In the morning, she woke to the cry of the toddler, soon quieted, but she got up and dressed to see how she could help, maybe by making pancakes for all of them. As she clattered the pan and bowl from the cupboards, Tom appeared with Beck wearing only a sagging, bulging diaper and snuggling sleepy-eyed against his bare chest in the nest of rusty curls. How confidently and lovingly he held the boy. What a great father Tom Billodeaux would make—and between them, they might create a child who looked very much like this one, only in her fantasies, she favored red hair for her offspring. If Tom could read her mind, he’d probably thrust the kid into her arms and run like most men at the mention of children.

“Say, did Ilsa think to leave any clothes and diapers? He probably has some at Dean’s house, but I am clean out of nappies, and he is really, really soggy. So are his jammies and my sheets. Sorry about the partial nudity. I couldn’t see getting baby pee all over a clean T-shirt.” He shifted the child’s squishy bottom as if to cover more of himself.

“I’m sure I’ll see worse in the Sinners locker room. There’s a small bag by the sofa. Do you want me to change him?”

“Hey, I’m the second of twelve kids. A male Billodeaux in my family who can’t handle a diaper change is not considered a man.” Tom moved to retrieve the diaper bag with Beck now clinging to his chest hair like a little pet monkey and his big brown eyes peering over his shoulder at Alix.

She wiggled her fingers at him, but Beck didn’t release his grip to return the greeting. “I thought I could make pancakes.”

“No, as soon as I get both us cleaned up, we’ll go to the coffee shop. They actually make cups of oatmeal with chopped fruit for kids, I guess for anybody, and Stacy approves of that. We can have whatever we want.” Tom pried a few of his nephew’s fingers from their clutch. “That hurts some, buddy. I don’t know how orangutans do it.”

“Orangutans?” Alix questioned.

“Never mind. Let’s get you all nice and dry, Beck, and don’t you dare piss all over me.”

“Piss,” the boy said, savoring a new word. He did wave a bye-bye to Alix as they moved down the hall to Tom’s bedroom.

Alix put away her utensils and not long after, Tom appeared fully dressed and smelling sweetly of baby wipes. Beck wore tiny cargo pants, a bitty Sinners tee, and very small sneakers.

Tom held Beck’s hand as they all moved downward in the elevator after the child pushed the button. Once on the street, he mounted his nephew on his shoulders. “He likes it and can’t get away,” Tom said. Now the monkey clutch applied itself to his curly hair. “I think I need to get it cut before training camp.”

“Oh, I kind of like it long,” Alix said.

“I think I’ll be saving on barbershop visits then.”

They rounded the corner onto Canal Street. Passersby took them for a happy family and offered up benign smiles. Alix returned them as she strode along only realizing Tom and Beck had fallen behind when she reached the door of the shop. Her companions stood in front of the news and tobacco shop staring into the window. Beck poked a finger against the grimy glass and uttered, “Dat.” Exposing his little milk teeth, he looked at Alix and grinned.

“That’s Who Dat, little man,” Tom corrected, but he seemed to have gone a bit white under his freckles. “Let Auntie Alix hold you for a minute.” He deposited the boy into her arms. “Go ahead and order some oatmeal for him.”

Beck stuck out his lower lip. “Cookie!” he demanded.

“After the oatmeal. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Alix held onto Beck while she ordered the hot cereal, two grande coffees, and a large plate of mixed croissants: two almond, two chocolate, two plain. Fortunately, Tom appeared before she had to juggle all that to a table with a toddler in tow. He carried a bundle of magazines still in their strapping tape and a loose issue under his arm. Choosing a table deep within the shop, he set his burden on the floor and placed the last paper face down on top. He moved a wooden highchair in place and deposited his nephew.

Alix placated the boy with a half a chocolate croissant while Tom waited for the hot items to come up. Idly, she turned over the tabloid, and there she stood with Lorena draped over her arm like a dying black swan. The headline proclaimed, Sinners Amazon Saves a Sister.

“Oh, no!” she whispered to herself and glanced at Tom pouring almond milk over the oatmeal and mushing it around in the cup. She skimmed the article. The account sounded remarkably like the description she’d given her sisters when she’d talked to them while the bundt cakes baked yesterday. Okay, she’d been bragging, not about saving Lorena, anyone would have done that, but about being invited to the Billodeaux ranch and meeting all the famous people there. She wasn’t a big talker and never chattered like Tille and Rika, but she’d had something fabulous to share for once and hadn’t stinted on the details from the two roast pigs to the dragon boat collision.

Noting that Lorena Billodeaux had been rendered unconscious by an oar to the head and drifted downstream in her life jacket, the Sinners new female punter, Alix Lindstrom, courageously swam after her and rescued the young woman, towing her to shore. Mighty Alix carried her burden singlehandedly over a mile to a place where first aid could be applied and an ambulance called.

Alix doubted if the distance had been even a quarter mile, but what disturbed her the most was being called an Amazon. She always imagined them to be big, muscular women who hated men. What did Tom think of her now, especially when she’d refused his help in carrying Lorena?

He set down the three containers. “I fixed your coffee with lots of milk the way you like,” he said just before noticing the stricken look that must have covered her face like the chocolate streaks coating Beck as he reached for more croissants. Tom moved the plate out of reach and began shoveling oatmeal into the open maw of his nephew. “Damned vultures. Only two days, and they’ve already got the story. If my dad finds out who took and sold that picture, they will never be invited back to the ranch. I bought all the copies next door and the one in the window so we can at least have breakfast in peace before being recognized. Not that it isn’t a great picture.”

“Damn vullers,” Beck repeated with oatmeal oozing out both sides of his mouth.

Tom scooped up the dribbles and shoved them back between the toddler’s lips. He glanced back at Alix. “No need to be so upset. At least, they painted you as a heroine. Could be far, far worse. You should’ve seen what they did to Dean last year.”

Alix nodded. She had saved the clippings as she did all things Billodeaux. “Oh, Tom, this might be my fault. I-I told my sisters about the barbecue yesterday on the phone. I told them everything, and I wouldn’t put it above Tille not to sell the story. I simply didn’t think before opening my mouth. Now, your family will hate me.” She bent her head over her coffee cup so deeply it might have held consecrated wine. The wings of her pale, blonde hair swept forward hiding her face. Her shoulders shook though she tried to hold them still.

“Boo-boo?” Beck asked.

Tom raised her chin with the fingers not engaged in shoveling oatmeal and caught a few tears that hung there. “Hey, hey, Sinners do not cry, not about garbage like this. First of all, you certainly didn’t take your own picture and send it to anyone. I’d suspect Prince Dobbs of doing that, but that’s only because I don’t like him and he’s a publicity hound. Jude was chewing out him and Vince when this happened. They’re off the hook. My guess is one of my many Billodeaux cousins. You know my dad would, and has, put a bunch of them through college and trade school, but every family tree bears a few rotten apples.

“But they called me an Amazon. I’m not. I mean I know I’m big, but I do like men, to be with men.” She knew she blubbered and couldn’t seem to stop. A few people glanced their way, probably suspecting a public breakup scene, but Tom had chosen their table in the shady depths of the shop well for some privacy.

“Once I tried the other way with a coach I admired, and she knew exactly what to do. It felt good, but not right to me.” Alix ducked her head again, not able to meet his warm, brown eyes. “Only one time, Tom, I swear.”

“That’s how I thought of you when I saw you carrying Lorena, an Amazon, strong and beautiful like Wonder Woman. As for the rest, glad to know it, but your life is your life, Alix. You do what you want with it. I don’t judge. After all, I slept with Ilsa. Major lapse in taste. At least, you admired the woman.” He handed Alix a few paper napkins.

She tried to blow her nose like a lady, but the honk came out louder than intended and made Beck laugh. He buzzed his lips at her and blew oatmeal across the table. She managed a little smile as she cleaned up both her face and the bits of cereal.

“We good now? Okay, just remember what happens at the ranch stays at the ranch. But, if you go to Vegas, the paparazzi will find out everything you do.” Tom shoved more oatmeal at his nephew.

Beck clamped his mouth tight. “Cookie!” He pointed at the croissants.

Tom checked the contents of the cup. “Okay, kiddo, you’ve had enough healthy food. Here you go.” He turned over the second half of the pastry and watched the child lick out the chocolate filling. “I think I’ll have the other one unless you want it.”

“No, go right ahead.” Alix broke open a plain croissant and stuffed it with butter and a pat of jelly. She could still feel the warmth of Tom’s fingertips against her chin. Her appetite returned.

Tom finished his breakfast in big bites, one chocolate and an almond down the hatch, leaving half of a plain and one almond for Alix to finish. Then, he sat back and phoned Dean. “Where you at, bro?…Good, because I’ve got your kid, and I’m low on diapers…Yeah, Ilsa dumped him on Alix last night. Says the nanny is sick, but I think what she really means is, you missed four weekends with Beck while you were in Germany. She’s a piece of work, that woman. Anyhow, I fed him breakfast.” Tom leaned back and snapped a photo of the chocolate and crumb-covered boy. “I heard that gasp. Tell Stacy he had oatmeal first. Yeah, see you soon.”

Alix cleaned up the small, happy, besmirched face turning it into frowns. “Finish eating,” Tom directed her. “I’ll take care of the crevices. Dean and Stacy are about an hour out returning from the ranch. They’ll stop off here.”

“Oh, good, we can play with the baby some more.”

Beck scrunched his face, turned red, and grunted. “You might not say that when we get back to the condo. It’s your turn to change the diaper, and it’ll be nasty. Nothing cleans this boy’s pipes out up quicker than chocolate. We’d better go before management notices the stench isn’t coming from the homeless guy by the front door.”

“I’m ready.”

“Take Beck, would you? I have these tabloids to carry to the incinerator.”

The vagrant near the door turned out to be Big Lou, her shape disguised by a black knit Sinners hat and many sweltering layers despite a morning soaring into the high eighties. Before she could make any lewd offers, Tom shoved a twenty into her extended empty soda cup and kept on walking, though she shouted some filthy suggestions his way.

“That’s how it’s done. You just keep moving,” he coached Alix.

Alix kept up with him step for step. It was her life, he’d said so, and she wanted Tom Billodeaux more than ever.