It was a simple matter of physical needs, she rationalized, needs too long ignored and a handsome man all too willing to rectify the situation.
"You think too much, angel," Jack said, replacing his cigarette. She was as transparent as glass, working out in her mind a logical excuse for the physical attraction that arced between them like electric sparks. He bumped her glass closer. "Have a drink. Have a good time. Lighten up."
His philosophy in a nutshell, Laurel thought. She was about to give him her opinion on the subject when Savannah appeared to her right, draped all over the Cro-Magnon pool player like a vine.
"Baby," she drawled, her gaze fastened hungrily on Mr. Cuestick as she rubbed the flat of her hand over his chest. "Me and Ronnie got plans for the evening."
She sounded drunk, though they hadn't been in the bar long enough for that to have been the case. Drunk on arousal. Drunk on the need for sex. Laurel sighed and glanced down, finding no relief as Savannah 's bare knee came into view-sliding up and down Ronnie's muscular thigh.
"What about supper?" she asked shortly.
"Oh… we'll eat later." The pair of would-be lovers shared a laugh over that, ending the joke with a kiss, open mouths meeting briefly, tongues teasing. Ronnie's hand slid down from the small of Savannah 's back to grope her ass, and she groaned deep in her throat.
"Fine," Laurel murmured, turning to stare at her untouched beer. "Just how am I supposed to get home?"
"Here. You can take the 'Vette." The keys landed on the bar with a rattle. "I'll get my own ride."
Another round of salacious laughter. Laurel shook her head.
Savannah caught the action from the corner of her eye. Putting her enjoyment of Ronnie on hold for an instant, she turned her head, taking in the total package of sisterly disapproval.
"Don't knock it till you've tried it," she said peevishly, forgetting about love, forgetting about Laurel's current state of frailty and her own vow to help her baby sister through it all. Right now her needs were all that mattered, and what she needed most was to get naked with Ronnie Peltier and forget all about her good girl sister and Conroy Cooper and wanting to be something she wasn't. "Loosen up, Laurel. Have a little fun of your own for a change.
"Come on, Ronnie, sweetie," she said, disentangling herself from him and taking him by the hand to lead him away like a prized stallion. "Let's go."
Laurel didn't turn to watch her leave. She sat staring at her drink, staring at Savannah 's key ring with the little rubber alligator hanging from it by his tail. The gator looked up at her, jaws open, with a tiny boot lying on its red tongue. It was supposed to be a joke, but she didn't feel like laughing. There wasn't anything funny about people being swallowed up-by alligators or by their own demons.
The noise level in the bar suddenly seemed to increase in volume, the clank of glasses, the noise of the jukebox, the sounds of voices all becoming too loud for her ears. She grabbed the keys and pushed herself away from the bar.
Outside, the protesters had gone, and the news van with them. There was no sign of Savannah and Ronnie Beefcake. Out on the bayou someone was fishing among the spider lilies and water lettuce along the far bank. The sky that had been a fine clear blue earlier was now striped with clouds tumbling up from the Gulf. The wind had come up as well and shook the heart-shaped leaves of a redbud tree that grew at the edge of the parking lot, flipping them inside out.
Laurel stood for a long moment beside the door of the Corvette, just staring across the bayou, wondering if she'd made a mistake in coming back here. Time away had somehow softened memories of Savannah 's penchant for self-destruction. The lure of familiar faces had outweighed the potential for resurrecting old pains, old guilt.
"It's not your fault, Baby."
"But he doesn't hurt me."
"You're lucky and I'm not, that's all. Besides, I'd never let him hurt you. I'd kill him first."
"Killing's wrong."
"Lots of things are wrong. That doesn't stop people from doing them."
She raked a hand through her hair and rubbed at the tension in the back of her neck. She should have stayed home, stayed in the quiet seclusion of the courtyard at Belle Rivière. Maybe she could have talked Savannah into it, and they would still be there now as afternoon edged toward evening, sipping iced tea and lounging on the chaises, talking of nothing important. Or she could have taken her sister up on the idea of shopping. Anything would have been better than this outcome.
The if onlys piled up one atop the other, adding to the pile she'd started as a child, like live coral settling on dead to form a reef. The layers below were thick with remorse, hard with guilt. If only she had stopped Daddy from going out in the field that day… If only she could make Mama see the truth… If only she could make the attorney general believe…
If only she weren't so powerless, so weak…
She hung her head and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she was staring at the foot pedals of the Corvette-all three of them-and yet another wave of impotence crashed through her. She had never learned to drive a standard transmission.
"Come on, angel," Jack said as he materialized beside her. She shied away from him, but not before he slipped the keys from her limp fingers. He tossed them up in the air, catching them with one hand, and grinned like a pirate. "Let's go for a spin."
Chapter Six
He hopped over the door and settled easily into the driver's seat, his graceful hands smoothing over the leather-wrapped steering wheel. Huey bounded over the passenger door and sat in the bucket seat, head up, mismatched eyes bright, ears perked, alert, and eager for adventure.
Laurel rushed around the hood of the car. "Get that mangy hound out of my sister's car!" she demanded, yanking the door open. She tried to shoo the dog, but he only thought it was a game and yipped at her and wagged his tail in Jack's face as he play-bowed and batted a big paw at the hand she was waving.
"Get out, you flea-bitten, garden-digging, contrary mutt!" She leaned into the car and tried to haul him out bodily, straining and swearing as the dog wriggled and twisted and got his head up in her face and started to lick her.
"Uck!" Laurel jumped back, wiping slime off her face, shooting a glare at Jack. "You could be a little more helpful."
He shrugged and grinned. "He's not my dog."
A growl rumbled between Laurel 's teeth. Huey gave her an incredulous look, whined a little, and jumped out of the 'Vette. Jack laughed, amused by her pique and glad to see something in her expression other than the bleakness that had been there a moment ago as she'd stood looking out at the bayou.
He had followed her out of the bar, intrigued by her reaction to Savannah 's sudden "date." After the way she'd torn into Jimmy Lee Baldwin, he fully expected to see her chasing her sister down to give her what-for. He hadn't expected to see her standing by the car looking lost and in pain.
Not that that was the reason he had stepped forward and taken the keys from her hand. He wanted to put the Corvette through its paces, that was all. He had given up his Porsche when Evie died. It was too much a symbol of the attitude that had led to her death. He didn't miss the car, but he sometimes missed the raw power, the feel of a sleek machine jumping beneath him, hugging the curves, roaring down the highway. His Jeep got him where he was going, but there was nothing quite like a hot sports car for unleashing something wild in a man.
That was the reason he had snatched the keys from Laurel 's hand. It wasn't because he wanted to offer her any kind of comfort. Hell, he wasn't even sure what her problem was. And he didn't want to know. He didn't get involved. If she had a beef with Savannah 's taste in men-which encompassed almost the whole of the gender-then she would just have to take it up with Savannah. All he wanted from her was a little fun and the chance to study an intriguing character.
She stood looking at him with stern expectation, her small hand extended. "The keys, Mr. Boudreaux."
He had already put the key in the ignition and looked down now, flicking the little alligator into motion. "But you can't drive this car, can you, sugar?"
"What makes you say that?"