Son of a Sinner Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Lynn Shurr

  Son of a Sinner

  Copyright

  Dedication

  A SINNER’S LEGACY

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Dean returned, phone in hand, shucked his jeans, and got back into bed. Stacy read the text message typed all in lower case and without punctuation as if the person on the other end didn’t know where the shift key was located.

  return my call right now important.

  “Aunt Nell. I guess I should get this over with.”

  “Right now?” Dean covered his face with the pillow as if hiding from his all-knowing, all-seeing mother.

  “Hi, Aunt Nell. I guess you saw those pictures in the tabloids. No, I won’t deny I have feelings for Dean. Yes, I’m on the pill. No, I won’t break your son’s heart. Yes, I do know marriage between us is legal. I looked it up on the internet when I was fourteen.” She listened quietly to the rest of the lecture and half-hoped Dean hadn’t heard that bit about how she’d known they could marry since she’d been a kid, information he did not need right now. At last, the conversation ended. “Love you, Aunt Nell. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

  The pillow over Dean’s face shook. She raised it to find him laughing.

  “So you’ve wanted to marry me since you were fourteen.”

  “I had a crush, a silly childish crush!” She socked him with the pillow. He wrested it away and hit her back but not very hard. This could be fun, or would have been. Xochi pattered up the stairs calling out, “Anyone home?”

  Praise for Lynn Shurr

  “Shurr is a wonderful storyteller.”

  ~The Romance Studio

  ~*~

  “Very easy reads, well written, combined with conflict, believable plots and secondary characters that make the story come alive.”

  ~Jane Lange, Romances, Reads and Reviews

  ~*~

  “What I love about these books is that they appeal to any audience, not just those that love sports…Another theme I would say plays heavily into the books is love and acceptance. I love how deep and well written the characters are.”

  ~Juliette Brandt, Paperbacks And Frosting

  ~*~

  “Lynn Shurr stories have that distinctive Louisiana flavor…and make you eager for another taste.”

  ~J. L.Salter, Author

  ~*~

  “Lynn Shurr’s sinfully delightful New Orleans Sinners series is sure to please both non-sports fans and sport fans alike. Do yourself a favor and dive into the world of the Sinners.”

  ~Farrah Rochon, USA Today Bestselling author

  of the New York Sabers football series

  Son of a Sinner

  by

  Lynn Shurr

  A Sinner’s Legacy, Book One

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Son of a Sinner

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Carla S. Hostetter

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-812-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-813-6

  A Sinner’s Legacy, Book One

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Barbara Gautreaux,

  who always makes me feel like a writing rock star.

  A SINNER’S LEGACY

  The children of Joe and Nell Billodeaux

  who fulfilled the prophecy that they would have

  twelve offspring, this way, that way, all ways

  Dean Joseph Billodeaux—Joe’s illegitimate son by a one-night stand with a woman who planned to shake him down for money. He is adopted by Nell, who believes she cannot have children of her own. Current Sinners quarterback. (Wish for a Sinner)

  Thomas Cassidy Billodeaux—a redheaded son who enters the family through an open adoption with a teenage mother. His birth father is Joe’s no-good cousin. He is a kicker for the Sinners. (Wish for a Sinner)

  Jude Emily Billodeaux—twin of Ann, conceived by in vitro fertilization using eggs purchased from Nell’s sister, Emily. (Wish for a Sinner)

  Ann Marie Billodeaux (Annie)—Jude’s quiet twin. (Wish for a Sinner)

  Lorena Renee Billodeaux (Lori)—First of Nell’s little frozen babies to be born, one of triplets. (Kicks for a Sinner)

  Mack Coy Christopher Billodeaux—Second of the triplets to be born. (Kicks for a Sinner)

  Trinity Billodeaux - Youngest of the triplets and named for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Smallest of the three and in need of a powerful saintly help to survive. (Kicks for a Sinner)

  Xochi Maria Billodeaux—child of Joe’s no-good cousin by a young Mexican woman. She is Tom’s half-sister and is adopted into the family after the terrifying deaths of her parents. Her name means “blossom” in Aztec. (Kicks for a Sinner)

  Teddy Wilkes Billodeaux—a child with spina bifida, abandoned by his mother at Nell’s health care center and adopted by the family. He believed himself to be Joe’s natural son. (Paradise for a Sinner)

  Anastasia Marya Polasky (Stacy)—daughter of Nell’s sister, Emily, and a bogus Polish prince. She becomes a ward of the Billodeauxs upon her parents’ deaths, but by her own wish is never adopted. She arrives on their doorstep the same day as Teddy. (Paradise for a Sinner)

  Edith Patricia Billodeaux (Edie)—a normally conceived child, twin of Rex. (Love Letter for a Sinner)

  Rex Worthy Billodeaux (T-Rex)—Edie’s twin brother and future Sinner’s quarterback, maybe. (Love Letter for a Sinner)

  Chapter One

  Mariah’s Place, the French Quarter, New Orleans

  Tourist guides touted this venue as the best place to spot members of the Sinners football team sitting at the long, brass-railed bar o
r occupying one of the bentwood chairs around a table for four just off the small, checkered dance floor. Be careful to approach the players respectfully and not monopolize them, they cautioned, or one of Mariah’s two big bouncers would surely see you on your way outside. Despite a rather sketchy past of her own, Mariah did not appreciate low women, hootchie-mamas, or working girls, coming into the club to approach “her boys”. She’d discovered her motherly instincts late in life, and they had come on fierce. One other caveat—never, never sit in a more substantial seat marked with a plate reading “Billy’s Chair”. You will be asked to move no matter how big the crowd. Otherwise, relax and enjoy the smoke-free atmosphere and some damn good jazz and singing.

  Dean Billodeaux sprawled at the far end of the bar and chilled out early on a Friday evening before the place became really jammed. He appreciated the new cigarette ban but swore Mariah’s years of smokes had permeated all the wood and tainted the air permanently. Right now, his brother Tom worked backstage helping the aged star with her oxygen tanks. She’d huff enough air into her damaged lungs to get through her signature opening version of Fever and allow dry ice to substitute for the former natural haze in the room. Good old Mariah—his surrogate grandmother and one tough babe.

  Dean sipped his first beer and gazed in the mirror lined with bottles behind the bar. He saw the face belonging to his father, the legendary quarterback Joe Dean Billodeaux, in his youth. Same black hair worn short and that unruly curl that fell across his forehead, a heredity cowlick his mom called it. Other women referred to it as sexy. Thinking he needed to use more hair gel or spray, he pushed it away. Same dark chocolate eyes stared at him, too, along with a strong jaw—always clean-shaven—wide shoulders, and long legs that shot him up to six-foot-four, one whole inch taller than his old man. He’d have his usual two beers and be gone by midnight. He favored Mariah’s Place for another reason other than sentiment. If a fan cornered him and just had to say Dean hadn’t proven himself yet as the Sinner’s latest quarterback and wasn’t half the fun as his daddy back in the day, the bouncers would nudge the pest away with one autographed napkin in hand.

  Hell, the fans should give him a break. He’d graduated from college, been drafted in the top ten, took over as quarterback that same year when Rex Worthy retired suddenly to take care of his cancer-stricken wife and two young sons. He’d gotten the team to the playoffs, maybe just barely, but still there, twice at an age when his own father still warmed the bench as a backup and spent his spare time womanizing and drinking.

  His focus on the mirror gave him an early warning. All heads in the club turned toward the entry where a little sunlight spilled into the darkened room this early in the evening. In that pool of radiance stood two striking blondes. The first, tall, thin, and pale with light eyes and very straight white-blonde hair flowing down her back, took in the sights as she adjusted to the dimness. The second, equally long-legged, her rich yellow curls spilling over her shoulders and a know-it-all look in her wide, baby blue eyes, hunted the midnight corners of the place—his nemesis and cousin-by-marriage, Anastasia Marya Polasky, better known as Stacy. Without turning his head, Dean drew in his legs and hunched over his drink. Maybe she wouldn’t see him.

  Not like Stacy to appear at Mariah’s on a Friday night though she did visit the old broad from time to time. Dean took a quick glance in the mirror to see if she’d spotted him. Not yet. Neither woman appeared dressed for clubbing. Both wore sensible heels and slim gray suits accessorized with plum-colored scarves streaked with gold, though Stacy’s flowed freely over breasts even that serious jacket could not suppress. The unfamiliar woman in her company had knotted hers in some complicated arrangement only women knew how to achieve and proudly showed off her own substantial, but probably enhanced, chest. Stacy definitely had the better rack, though he would never, ever tell her that. He stayed completely still, like a squirrel on a tree limb when a cat prowled below. Shutting his eyes might help make him invisible, too.

  Nope. He heard the tandem rhythm of their high heels approach his corner.

  “Hey, you big lout. Is Tom around?” Stacy asked in a low-timbered voice issuing from pouty lips that could make mostly anything sound sexy in several languages.

  He’d never backed down from his cousin unless his parents made him, so he straightened his shoulders, opened his eyes, and looked straight into hers. “He’s backstage helping Mariah. You slumming tonight, Princess?”

  “I would never call a visit to Mariah’s Place slumming,” she answered, putting some frostbite into her words. “Really, it’s a great place to come for the music and very safe. Of course, it is overrun with football players.” Stacy, her blue eyes gone narrow, told her companion.

  The other woman stared at him wide-eyed. She waved a long-fingered hand in front of her face and said in a strong German accent, “You are the famous footballer, the-the—how you say it?”

  “Quarterback,” Dean supplied with a grin, his father’s grin. He didn’t mean it to be a come-on, but it always turned out that way. He couldn’t seem to help himself, and often got this flustered reaction, like it or not.

  Stacy sighed as if deeply resigned to having to introduce him. “My sorta-cousin, Dean Billodeaux. Dean, meet Ilsa Beckmann, our newest member at Anchi: Translating and Interpreting Services. She’s going to cover German and Russian for us since Xochi and I handle French, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Beckmann.” He took the translator’s hand and caged it top and bottom within his own more to annoy know-it-all Stacy than for any other reason, though Ilsa certainly was very attractive—and completely star-struck.

  “Ach, you must call me Ilsa. Why you have not told me this man is your cousin, Stacy?”

  “Because I wanted you to meet Tom. He’s a wonderful guy.”

  “He is also a footballer?”

  “Kind of,” Dean supplied. “He’s the kicker for the Sinners, a really outstanding one, and my brother.”

  “Is he as handsome as you?” Ilsa had moved away from star-struck toward flirtatious.

  Dean removed his hands from hers. “Tom is adopted. We don’t look alike except around the eyes.”

  “I see. Stacy hired me from my resumé and a FaceTime interview, and so I am new to the city. She said this Tom might show me around the town. Perhaps, you could do that job? I will make it a joy for you, nein?” Ilsa tossed her white-blonde hair, a sure sign of interest.

  “Well, I have a home game on Sunday, but I guess we could do an early dinner and maybe a carriage ride around the quarter tomorrow. Where should I pick you up?” He hated to disappoint a lady so eager to please him. Aggravating Stacy simply came as an added bonus. She had a snarl on her very pretty face that Ilsa failed to notice.

  “Right now I stay with the girls. You know where Xochi and Anastasia live?”

  “Xochi is my adopted sister. I helped haul their furniture up those stairs when they moved in. Is six okay?”

  “Ja! I am so excited!” Ilsa leaned closer to Stacy’s ear and whispered over the bar noise. “Wo ist die Toilette?”

  Stacy flipped a finger that might as well have been the bird in the general direction. “The ladies room is over there.”

  Dean watched Ilsa work that slim gray skirt with her narrow hips like a runway fashion model as she crossed the empty dance floor. With her long legs and great looks, she might want to consider applying to the Amberello Modeling Agency here in town instead of slaving for Stacy. He’d suggest it.

  When he brought his attention back to Stace, she had her hands on her shapely hips, not a good sign.

  “How could you do that!” she exploded, her cheeks turning bright pink in that perfect complexion.

  “Do what?” Feign innocence, or she’ll attack.

  “Come on to Ilsa when you knew I wanted to fix her up with Tom.”

  “I believe she came on to me. I didn’t want to mess up your deal with her by brushing her off. Hey, it’s just dinner and a carriage rid
e. If she likes Tom better, I’ll step aside, no problem. You look overheated. Want a cold drink? Jackson, a ginger ale with a twist for the lady,” he ordered. He knew very well she wouldn’t accept any alcohol when she wore her self-imposed business uniform.

  “I don’t want a drink. I want to…” She balled her fists. In her fury, she’d failed to notice Tom’s approach. He touched her arm, and she jumped a little.

  “What’s up, Stace? What did Dean do now?” Tom, long and lanky, his fiery red hair combed back and tucked behind his ears because he’d forgotten to get it cut lately, gave her an understanding smile. He had those dark brown Billodeaux eyes, but they came across as warm and friendly, not smoldering hot. A million freckles inherited from his birth mother made him seem harmless and boyish.

  “Dean stole away a woman I wanted you to meet. We just get here, and they already have a date for tomorrow.”

  Tom raised his russet brows. “Really? Dean doesn’t usually…ah, go out the night before a game.”

  “Well, he is tomorrow. Here comes Ilsa. Maybe she’ll be so disappointed in Dean she’ll want to meet someone else, someone nice like you.”

  “Hey, Dean is a good guy, too.” Then, Tom’s sincere brown eyes caught a glimpse of what he’d missed out on by a few minutes. “Wow, gorgeous. You lucky dog, you.” He punched Dean lightly on the arm.

  Ilsa heard the last remark. “The Lucky Dogs, they are like wurst, nein?”

  “Sure, hot dogs they sell on the street. I’m Tom Billodeaux by the way.” He offered his hand, and Ilsa shook it slightly before seating herself next to Dean.