Page 15 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
“I just had a late night is all,” I said around a mouthful of succulent eggs.
The Colonel drawled, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your visit from a certain Mr. Jackson Boudreaux, would it?”
“Jackson Boudreaux!” Eyes wide, my mother whirled around and stared at me. “Good Lord in heaven, what were you doing with him? I hear that boy’s meaner than a wet panther!”
I shot a sour glance at the Colonel, who lifted a shoulder unapologetically.
He said, “Word gets around this town fast, sugar, ’specially when it has to do with the most eligible bachelor in the state gettin’ a tongue-lashin’ in public from the owner of the hottest new restaurant in the French Quarter.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Rumor has it you nearly snapped that boy’s head clean off.”
I winced at the memory. “Not my best moment, for sure. But he deserved it. I’ve never met a more asinine, self-important, son of a—”
“Keep it up and I’ll cancel your birth certificate!” my mother warned.
“—rabid crawdad in my life,” I finished, smiling.
Even at thirty-one, I wasn’t allowed to curse in her presence. Some things never changed.
The Colonel chuckled. “You didn’t think the boy got the nickname ‘the Beast’ by bein’ all rainbows and butterflies, did you?”
A beast he is, but a boy he most certainly is not. I remembered the breadth of Jackson’s shoulders, the deep rumble of his voice, that hard, burning stare. The thought of it made me squirm in my seat.
Because I hated him, not because I found him attractive. Obviously.
My cheeks burning again, I stuffed another forkful of eggs into my mouth.
“Snapped his head off?” Mama pushed her glasses up her nose, took a seat opposite me, and leaned over the table, all ears.
I told a shortened version of the events at the restaurant last night. When I was finished, she took her glasses off, tsked, and patted my hand.
“Just goes to show that money is no substitute for class, chère. The true measure of a man is how he treats those less fortunate than him, make no mistake.”
That was a reference to my late father, a Harvard-educated attorney who disappointed his wealthy parents when he decided to dedicate his life to helping minorities in the poorest communities of Louisiana instead of following in his father’s footsteps and pursuing corporate law, and then a spot on the judicial bench. His parents’ disappointment turned to outrage when he married my mother. Marrying “down” simply wasn’t done by a Hardwick, especially when “down” included brown.
My mother was the first woman of color to marry into the Hardwick family tree.
Soon after I was born, my father was cut from his parents’ wills. I’d never met my paternal grandparents, and God help them if I ever did. The tongue-lashing I gave Jackson Boudreaux would sound like a love song in comparison.
“Anyway it doesn’t matter because I’ll never see him again,” I said, finishing my food. “Now I really need to get a move on or I’ll be late for the produce shipment—”
Mama started to cough. Violent, dry, hacking coughs that racked her body and made her eyes water and her face turn scarlet.
“Mama!” I jumped to my feet and went to her. Gripping her shoulder, I was surprised by how frail the bones felt under my hand.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, waving me away. “I’m just a little dry, chère, I need a glass of—”
A second round of coughing stole her words and bent her in half at the waist.
As I started to panic, the Colonel went to her other side and gently rubbed her back. “Easy, now, Davina, just take it easy, girl,” he said softly. He glanced up and met my gaze.
I knew from his look that this coughing fit wasn’t the first she’d had today. My body went cold. What was she hiding from me?
I rushed to the sink and poured water from the tap into a glass. My hand shook when I offered it to her.
“Thank you, baby,” she said weakly after she’d swallowed it. “That’s better.”
I sat across from her again. Her skin had taken on an unhealthy ashen hue, and little beads of perspiration glistened at her hairline. Like mine, her hands were trembling.
I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but something about this smelled bad enough to gag a maggot.
