“I didn’t know anyone was keeping track.” Romain had been sitting at the bar long enough to be drunk, but he wasn’t. He hoped that would soon change. Until Jasmine’s unexpected arrival, he’d been doing fine. If it wasn’t for the questions she’d stirred—and the holidays—he’d still be fine.
“I’m gonna have to drive you home again, aren’t I?” Croc said with a fatalistic frown.
Romain knew the old guy didn’t really object. “Maybe.”
“Once or twice a year isn’t bad, I guess.” Croc straightened the basket of peanuts and wiped the counter, although it was clean. Then he cleared his throat.
“You got something more to say to me?” Romain asked. It wasn’t like Croc to hover.
“I was hoping—wait a second.” He stalked off to handle an argument that’d broken out between the Gatlin twins over a game of darts. Although they were both in their mid-twenties, only ten years younger than Romain, they still lived at home.
They settled down when Croc threatened to call their parents, and he returned to the bar. “I hear you’re gonna order a bride,” he said to Romain.
Romain made an impatient motion. “One little joke, and now the whole town’s planning my wedding? I’m afraid you received unreliable information.”
“It’s a good idea. It’s not like you’re gonna meet anyone hiding out on the bayou. And you don’t wanna spend every Christmas with me, do ya?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Romain said. “I like it here.” He did mind, but he didn’t see how his life was going to change and figured he’d be better off accepting reality.
“I can tell you like it here.” Croc waved as someone else came in, then shifted his attention back to Romain. “Sometimes you like it so well you drink enough to risk alcohol poisoning. Then you stumble out to my truck, I drive you home, and you don’t show up for more than a beer or two until your daughter’s birthday or your wedding anniversary or the anniversary of your daughter’s death, and it’s time to drive you home again.”
“Thanks for reminding me. But in case you can’t tell, the point is to forget.”
Romain tossed another handful of peanuts into his mouth in a casual motion meant to disguise the fact that, thanks to Jasmine Stratford, this Christmas was even more difficult than the last.
It had to be Moreau who killed Adele. Romain had stared into the man’s flat, empty eyes, witnessed that taunting half smile and known on a bone-deep level.
Hadn’t he? Yes! So the rest didn’t matter. And yet, the questions Jasmine had raised continued to haunt him….
Croc wiped the counter again. “Why not create some new memories?”
“Why not mind your own business?”
The old man wrote something on a napkin and shoved it at him.
“What’s this?” Romain growled.
“A Web site where you’ll find lots of beautiful Russian women.”
“You’ve been online?” Romain would’ve been amused if he wasn’t so annoyed by the unwelcome interference. Croc wasn’t the type to familiarize himself with a computer.
The old man shrugged. “Casey and I checked out a few places.”
Meddlesome Casey again. Romain needed to be more careful about what he said to her. “Sorry, I’m not interested.” He pushed the napkin back.
“Why not?”
“It was a joke, okay? I don’t plan on ordering a bride.”
“You should. Think of what you’re missing.”
“A prostitute can take care of what I’m missing.”
With a scowl, Croc leaned close. “You know it wouldn’t be the same, my friend.”
Romain held up a hand. He’d heard enough. “This is all pretty ironic coming from you.”
“Why’s that?” Croc asked.
“You lost Marie what…twenty years ago?”
“Twenty-two. But that’s exactly my point.”
Romain met his meaningful stare.
“I don’t want you to turn out a lonely old man like me,” Croc said.
“Everyone has problems, Croc. There’s nothing wrong with the life you’re living.”
“But you could have something better. You’re still young. Why not start another family?”
It wasn’t like they were talking about growing vegetables. Your tomatoes died? Maybe you should try a different variety…. He’d had the only family he ever wanted. He couldn’t love another woman or have more children because he couldn’t bear the possibility of losing them, too. “Enough already.”
Croc lowered his voice. “Someone has to say it, T-Bone. It’s time to put the past behind you and move on. Let Pam and Adele go, let them rest in peace knowing you’ll be okay.”
Romain clenched his fists. Suddenly, he felt like fighting. He knew he was being rash even as he shoved away from the bar and faced the room, but the need for release goaded him on in spite of that. “A hundred bucks to anyone who can beat me in a freestyle boxing match,” he announced and pulled the bill from his wallet.
“Damn, T-Bone, you want to get busted up on Christmas Eve?” someone called out.
But the Gatlin boys exchanged a look of silent communication and smiled eagerly. They’d been angling for a match for months. “I’ll do it if you’ll let my brother help me out,” Terry said.
Romain weighed the odds. Two on one was a little more than he’d bargained for. The Gatlins were lean and mean and had a reputation for not fighting fair. But a fight was a fight. At least it would give him a chance to release the anger charging through him.
“Deal,” he said and threw the first punch.
The man’s hand closed over Jasmine’s ankle, dragging her back, scraping her cheek, hands and knees on the rough blacktop. She broke several fingernails clawing at the ground, searching for purchase, but it was no use. He had a sure grip. The only thing she could do was wait for a better opportunity, which came when he released her ankle to reach for her arm or her hair. Then she rolled over and kicked him in the groin, just as Skye had taught her.
With a gasp of pain, he crumpled to his knees, giving her the split second she needed to get to her feet.
Only problem was—her mind screamed “Run!” but her legs wouldn’t fully cooperate. It felt like she was moving in slow motion. She could hear him following her, could make out the tap…tap…tap…tap…tap-tap-tap of his footsteps gaining on her from behind. He seemed a little unsteady at first but was soon running at full speed.