Bayou Beginnings Read online

  Well, this was some news. Pretty as a newborn foal, and she could cook, too? Good thing he was sitting down. His knees were feeling a little wobbly.

  Fifteen

  “I love to cook. I do it every day.”

  What a dumb thing to say, Cleo thought. She sounded like a foolish girl trying her hand at flirting for the first time.

  Immediately ashamed, she looked away. While she could admit to cooking daily, saying she loved it was a bit of an exaggeration. She’d grown up at her aunt’s side, helping to cut buttermilk biscuit dough with an iced-tea glass and learning to stir up a roux for thickening before she could spell her own name.

  Cooking was, well, merely what ladies did. There was nothing remarkable about this, at least nothing worth mentioning. And yet she had mentioned it. Perhaps she was a foolish girl trying her hand at flirting.

  The carpenter nodded, seemingly interested. His grin made her toes tingle. “I like to eat every day, so I guess we’ve got that in common.”

  “Right.” She stretched her legs out in front of her and flexed her feet.

  A soft breeze blew past, on it the scent of spring and the promise of summer. Two tiny ladybugs landed on the toe of her shoe and began to crawl in circles. She wiggled her foot, and they flew off together.

  Cleo clamped her lips tight and fought the urge to offer any further attempts at conversation. Who knew what less-than-witty statement she might make next time?

  The man beside her said nothing but rather seemed to be studying a single fluffy cloud as it floated past above the tree line. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Can you bake a pie?”

  Startled, she nodded. “Sure. Why?”

  He shrugged and reached over to pick a strand of wild honeysuckle off the vine. “Just wondering.”

  “Oh. Any particular kind you like best?”

  “Nope.”

  So much for that discussion. Cleo drummed her fingers on the parcel in her lap and watched the bayou ripple past. Two marsh birds landed on the low-slung branch of a dogwood on the opposite bank, while a couple of fish jumped like synchronized swimmers.

  Cleo sighed. Was it her imagination, or was it true that everywhere she looked today, things seemed paired off?

  Sometimes it gave her pause to think what it might be like to be a part of a pair, maybe with someone big and handsome like the man seated next to her. Most days, however, she remembered that hers was a higher calling.

  To be a teacher meant she would have to give up any thoughts of pairing up with any man. A married teacher didn’t last long, for soon babies came along and the career was over.

  Uncle Joe had already proven that getting qualified teachers in Latagnier was a difficult proposition at best. Just because this woman from New Orleans agreed to come didn’t mean she would. And if she did take the job, how long would she stay?

  “Daydreaming?”

  Cleo startled, and the package landed at her feet. “I’m sorry. I do that sometimes. I was thinking about being a teacher.”

  He nodded. “From what I can tell, you think about that a lot.”

  “Oui.” She collected the gift and placed it in his hands. “Here. I brought you this.”

  At first he seemed reluctant, holding the item at arm’s length as if he were trying to recognize it. “What’s this for? It’s not my birthday, and Christmas is a long way off.”

  “Open it and see.” Her heart picked up its pace. What if coming here was a mistake? “Go ahead,” she added. “It won’t bite. I promise.”

  Weighing it in his hands, he turned to face her. “Well now, considering I’ve already braved a cottonmouth for you, I shouldn’t be surprised if it did bite.”

  He stood and reached into his pocket for a small knife, then settled back onto the log beside her to make short work of the string. The paper fell off, revealing his gift.

  Her father’s well-worn copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.

  “A book?” His tone was flat, his expression one of disbelief. “You gave me a book. Me?”

  “Not just any book. This one belonged to my father.” Cleo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Pilgrim’s Progress was one of his favorites, although I never did count it as one of mine. In any case, I wanted you to have it.”

  “Why?” Theo met her gaze, then leaned toward her. A flash of anger clouded his features. “Is this a joke?”

  “A joke? No.” She paused to compose her thoughts, then plunged headlong into the reason she’d invited herself to visit this afternoon. “You see, I thought that perhaps I could. . .well, that is, if you were willing, you could let me. . .”

  Understanding seemed to dawn. His features twisted into a smile, but there was no joy in his eyes. “You thought I might let you teach me to read. Is that it?”

  She nodded. Suddenly her brilliant idea didn’t sound so brilliant after all. “You’re an intelligent man, Theo. I think you’d learn quickly, even if you are a little more advanced in years than the others I’ll be teaching.”

  “Do you now?” He rose and turned to help her up. “Do you really think an old man like me capable of learning, Mademoiselle Teacher? After all, I’m considerably older than your average student.”

  “You’re not old. What are you, twenty-two, twenty-three?”

  Theo straightened his shoulders and looked away. “I’ll be twenty-seven come June.”

  Her expression of surprise gave him a certain satisfaction. Maybe now she would see that. . .that what? That he was old and ignorant? That she’d do better spending her time with people her own age instead of someone nearly nine years older?

  As much as this information might achieve his goal of running her off, it gave a certain sting to his pride. Theo decided to put an end to the foolishness and just state things as plainly as possible.

  “I can’t accept this gift.” He paused as he tried to think of the nicest way possible to get rid of the book—and of her. “So now that you know this, you can go on home.”

  She looked more stunned than hurt. “Is there a reason?”

  Other than his trampled dignity? “Merci beaucoup, Cleo,” he said as he thrust the book in her direction. “But you need to go home now.”

  She ignored the offer of the book and touched his sleeve. “Have I offended you?”

  How he longed to light into her, to scream and yell and make all sorts of noise letting her know just how she’d injured his pride. If only he hadn’t been raised a gentleman.

  “Pas du tout,” he said instead. “If I were offended, I would state so.”

  Afraid. Now that came closer to how he felt. Afraid of making a fool of himself, afraid of spending time with her, and afraid he might be giving up everything he wanted for something he never knew he needed.

  “So this was all just a misunderstanding.” She settled back on the log and gave him an expectant look, patting the empty place beside her. “Tante Flo’s not expecting me until suppertime. If you’d like, we could begin by learning the vowel sounds.”

  Her glee grated on his resolve. So did her enthusiasm. The urge to sit beside her on the log all afternoon, whether for learning vowels or just watching the clouds float by, hit him hard. He squeezed the book so hard he was afraid he might soon hear the pilgrim squeal in protest.

  “Come sit down, Theo, and we’ll get started.”

  He almost gave in, almost had himself convinced. Almost—but not quite.

  Taking a step back, Theo felt his mind reel with the possibility of what could happen to his dreams. His gaze scanned the perimeter, searching out any means of escape.

  He found none. Either he told her the truth and risked upsetting her, or he sat down beside her and risked his freedom.

  Whichever way he looked at it, spending another minute with Cleo Trahan was a bad idea. Time to get rid of her.

  Dumping the book into her lap, he took yet another step back. “Please just go.” He spoke the words through clenched jaw, unsure whether he’d said
them plainly enough to be understood. When the first tear glistened in the corner of her eye, he knew he’d been heard.

  “Stop that,” he demanded. “Take your book and your tears and go home.”

  Without looking back, he stalked away. Anger set him on the path for home, but his conscience put up a roadblock that his mind—and his feet—couldn’t get past.

  Theo stopped in his tracks and turned around. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he owed Cleo Trahan an apology. He also owed her an explanation, but only if she asked.

  Better she accept his apology and head for Joe’s place with the book in tow. Better yet if she were already on her way home.

  Even though Cleo might think otherwise, she really did not want him to tell her the why of things. Worse, he really did not want to admit it.

  Theo stalked down the path and pushed past the low-lying limbs and thicket, all the while daring to hope that he wouldn’t find the Trahan girl still waiting for him. His hopes were dashed when he spied her standing where he’d left her.

  Before he could say a word, she lifted her hand as if to silence him. “I just have one question. Answer it, and I’ll go.”

  He walked closer, dangerously closer, until she stood so near that he could reach out and. . .no, he didn’t dare think what he could do with her within arm’s reach. “Just one question?”

  Leaning back slightly to look up at him, she nodded.

  “All right,” he said slowly. “But even though I can’t read, I can count. You only get one chance, and I’m only going to answer one question. Now speak your piece so we can both get on home.”

  She blinked hard, then straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height—still pitifully less than his. “One question. Why? If it bothers you that you can’t read, and it obviously does, then why not let me teach you? It’s what I do.”

  Emotions swirled and seethed just beneath the surface. Wanting to say yes, needing to say no, wanting her to stay, needing her to leave. Theo’s skin tingled, and he felt hot and cold at the same time. He hadn’t been this miserable since he weathered the chicken pox nearly twenty years ago.

  “You want to know why I won’t let you teach me to read?”

  She nodded, and the sun caught her hair, glinting off the blue-black strands. “Yes, that’s all I want to know,” she said as she thrust the brown leather volume in his direction. “Take this book and look at it, then tell me you don’t want me to teach you to read what’s inside of it.”

  Theo removed the book from her hand and set it on the log without opening it. “I’m too old for this, Cleo. I’m heading for Canada first chance I get, and nothing’s going to interfere with that.”

  Dark brows drew together as his companion gave him a perplexed look. “I don’t understand what learning to read has to do with—”

  “You’re right. You don’t understand. You’re young and naive, and you don’t have any idea what you’re doing to me. I can’t spend five minutes with you and keep my conscience clear and my plans straight. Unless you can show me everything I need to know in under five minutes, teaching me to read is out of the question.”

  Taking two steps back, Theo stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, as much for his own protection as for hers. He would never hurt her, but at this moment, he couldn’t be held to any sort of proper conduct. His fingers itched to wrap her in his arms and hold her, and the way those lips pouted, why, he could hardly stand not kissing them.

  Of course, he could do neither.

  “There, I answered your question,” he said a might gentler. “Now go. Please.”

  “Please listen.”

  “Go home.” He barely spoke the words through his clenched jaw. Did he say them to Cleo or to himself?

  If she stayed, he might have to admit he loved her. If she left, well, that would be the best thing for both of them. Then she would merely be a fond memory instead of a serious problem.

  Theo caught his breath and held it. If only he could catch his feelings so easily. Cleo stepped toward him, arms outstretched, and the tightly strung wire that held his emotions in check snapped.

  “Theo, I—”

  Before she could complete the sentence, he took her in his arms. Just to hold her. No harm in that. Just for a second.

  And then he kissed her.

  Sixteen

  Cleo reeled back, her hand covering her mouth. Her first kiss, and it was awful.

  Well, not exactly awful, but it was uninvited and unexpected, and it served to awaken something inside her. Never again could she wonder what her first kiss would be like.

  Theo held her against him, her ear pressed against his chest such that she could hear his heart thumping wildly. Hers took up the pace until she felt it might burst.

  So this was how love felt. She looked up into the eyes of the carpenter, expecting to find some sign that the kiss had changed him. That he felt the same.

  Instead she saw a blank stare followed in quick succession by what looked like anger and then regret—none of the tender emotions she expected. Whatever the reason he might claim for kissing her, it certainly did not seem like love.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his voice husky and deep. “Please. . .just. . .go. . .now.”

  She willed the tears not to fall as she pulled away from his grasp. Just wait, Cleo. You can’t cry in front of him.

  Straightening her spine, she turned and walked away with what little pride she had left. As soon as she knew he could no longer see her, she picked up her skirts and broke into a run.

  With tears staining her face, she knew she couldn’t go home. Instead, she headed for the only other place of solace she could think of on a Sunday afternoon besides the church—the schoolhouse. No one would look for her there.

  Racing up the steps, she threw open the door, then stepped inside and slammed it shut. The place smelled like new wood and old paint, a strange but comfortable combination. Cleo leaned against the wall. Finally the emotions proved too much. She sank to the floor and cried like a baby.

  Somewhere along the way, the door must have opened, for Cleo opened her eyes to see Theo standing there. Silhouetted by the brilliant sunshine behind him, he looked like a dark and ominous shadow. How fitting, she thought.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Gone was the voice made deep and husky by emotion. In its place was the flat and cold sound of a man without feeling. Cleo could find no answer for his statement, so she remained silent.

  He moved closer but only slightly so, edging to within reach of her. Setting the book beside her, he straightened and looked away.

  “Arête. Please don’t cry.”

  She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to give in to what she knew came next—the forgiveness. Again, she said nothing, although she did swipe at her tear-stained cheeks with the hem of her apron.

  He began to pace, then stopped short. “Cleo, I don’t know what happened.” Shaking his head, he pounded his fist against the door. “That’s not true. I do know what happened.”

  Cleo watched him as he stood looking out the window. He grimaced, then turned his attention to her.

  “I’m a fool, Cleo, and I know that,” he said as he crossed the distance to her and offered his hand to pull her into a standing position.

  She accepted his help with caution, pulling away as soon as he released his grip. Standing so close brought the fresh memories back, first of the kiss and then of the regret she saw on his face immediately afterward.

  He still wore that regret.

  Cleo wrapped her hands around her waist and fixed her gaze on his eyes, fighting the urge to look away. “I’m going to give you the same advice you gave me, Theo,” she somehow managed to say. “Advice I should have taken.”

  Regret shifted to confusion, and he shook his head. “What’s that?”

  “Go home.”

  She turned to walk away only to see that she had nowhere to go. A large desk that had been partially di
smantled blocked the back door. Several long benches were stacked atop its expansive surface. The furnishings of her schoolroom, she realized.

  Escaping with what little remained of her dignity seemed the only route to take. Cleo squared her shoulders and walked back into the main room, where Theo waited. He’d begun to pace again but halted when he caught sight of her.

  “I’m leaving,” she said. “Do follow my advice and go home.” She reached down to snatch up the book and cradle it in her arm.

  Theo stepped between her and freedom. “Just hear me out,” he said. “I’m real bad at this, but I’d like to try and make sense of things before you run off mad.”

  “Mad?” She fought for control of her voice. “You think I’m mad?”

  He shrugged. “Well, if I were in your place, I’d be mad as a hornet. I mean, a man takes liberties—”

  “Who is taking liberties?”

  Cleo looked past to see Uncle Joe and the pastor standing in the door. She pasted on a smile and sashayed past Theo to head toward the pair. When she reached her uncle, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, being careful to keep her red-rimmed eyes closed until she’d safely passed him.

  “No one’s taking liberties, Uncle Joe,” she said over her shoulder. “Theo and I were just discussing a book.”

  She stopped to turn and face the three men. Of the trio, the carpenter was the only one whose face wore no expression. The other two smiled as if they shared a secret.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking this book back home.” She gave Theo a direct look. “Wouldn’t want something so special to end up in the hands of someone who didn’t appreciate it.”

  As her feet hit the dirt and pointed toward home, she wondered why she’d bothered to save Theophile Breaux’s hide. One word to Uncle Joe and the pastor about the kiss and the carpenter would have been in trouble up to his eyeballs.

  She didn’t have to wonder long. The truth caught up with her before she reached the front porch of Uncle Joe’s place. She didn’t tell on Theo because she wanted him to kiss her again.

  And again.

  “Oh my,” she said as she climbed the porch steps. “Well, that will never do.”