Sinners Football 02- Wish for a Sinner Page 30

  Nell succeeded in getting to her feet by the time the company made it to the balcony. She glanced at the road and hoped Joe Dean had been stopped for speeding along the way. By the time he talked himself out of the ticket and signed a few autographs, she would have Norma Jean out of St. Jeanne d’Arc Parish. Why couldn’t this hootchie mama have shown up in June when Nell’s breasts were getting bigger and her clothes tighter or in September when although large, she’d felt so very loved?

  “Nice to see you again, Miss Scruggs. Come to return Copperhead? Corazon, would you bring some iced tea—or would you prefer coffee?” Nell offered, hoping her guest would refuse both.

  Corazon set down a matching wicker chair carried from the bedroom for the guest and waited for the woman to express her preference in beverages.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Mrs. Joe Dean. Sorry, didn’t catch your first name last spring. What I could really go for is a nice, cold Dr. Pepper with plenty of ice, but if you don’t have that, sweet tea will be fine.” Norma Jean sprawled into the chair, her long, slim legs outstretched.

  “I’m cramped up from drivin’ all the way from the Texas border. Then, I got lost a few times on these back roads. Those danged cane carts are everywhere. Can’t pass for miles. I called that number Joe gave me for directions, but the signal was busy.”

  “Oh, Corazon turns off the phone when the children are napping.”

  Norma Jean eyed Nell’s big belly. “Children? How many you got? Looks like that big stud of yours knocked you up but good around the time we met and you say you got others? Did you have ’em before you got married? I seem to recall something in the tabloids about a love child, but not more than one.”

  “We have two adopted boys,” Nell replied tersely when she really wanted to say it was none of the barrel racer’s business. Then, an idea zipped into her had. “Joe Dean wants a dozen kids before he turns forty. He loves children and doesn’t believe in birth control. He’s very, very Catholic.”

  Norma Jean wrinkled her nose. “Honey, you can train ’em to wear a condom. No condom, no nookie. If they won’t listen, I keep a pistol under my pillow. I don’t threaten to kill ’em. I threaten to blow their balls off. Works every time. Haven’t had to castrate one yet.”

  She stroked her long, black braid and crinkled her deep blue eyes when she smiled at Nell. “Where is that gorgeous bastard you got for a husband, anyway?”

  Corazon set down a cut crystal tumbler chock full of crushed ice from the bar and a Dr. Pepper next to Nell’s half glass of lukewarm milk. “More milk, mamacita? You have not finished your lunch,” the maid asked with concern.

  “Heartburn, but thank you. I’m fine.” Nell faced her guest. “Joe is on the road right now. He’ll be sorry he missed you. I’ll have Knox unload Copperhead so you can be on your way as soon as possible.”

  “No rush now I’ve come this far. I’ll tell you, I kept stoppin’ to ask directions. Everyone knew where Joe Dean Billodeaux lived, but no one could tell me how to get here. When I finally found the place, I overshot the drive and had to go clear into that little burg, Chapelle, before I found a parking lot big enough to turn my rig around. I never seen roads so narrow or ditches so deep. Nice place you got here.” Norma Jean settled back in her chair, raised her arms above her head and stretched, raising her shapely breasts and showing off her flat stomach.

  Nell looked at her own set of boobs. They had gotten bigger but had long since been surpassed by the size of her belly. Now, they just lay there like two goose eggs sitting atop a prize watermelon.

  “Knox could show you around, then give you directions back to the highway. You don’t want to be caught here after dark with the roads so bad.”

  “It’s only one p. m. I was hopin’ to make another offer on the paint. My quarter horse mare has mended fine, but she’s getting older. Might be time to breed her before it’s too late. Too bad Copperhead is a gelding. He’s lookin’ good since his coat grew out. Very flashy. Speaking of which…” Norma Jean tilted her head at the lane where Joe’s Porsche revved toward the house.

  So intent on getting rid of the rodeo queen, Nell hadn’t even heard the engine. Too late. She sank back into her cushions and listened to the sound of Joe’s feet taking the steps two at a time. He was with the ladies in moments.

  Joe raised his wife’s small, unhappy face and kissed her lips lightly. “Got here as fast as I could, Tink.”

  He turned to the barrel racer. “A woman as good as her word. A pleasure to see you again, cher.” He air kissed the back of Norma Jean’s tanned hand.

  “I know it’s all bullshit, but that still gives me butterflies deep down, Joe Dean.”

  Nell’s daughters kicked up a storm in sympathy with their mother’s agitation. Joe patted the quivering belly. “Settle down girls. You’ll make your mama nauseous. She hasn’t finished her lunch.”

  Joe broke off a corner of the congealed cheese sandwich and fed it to Nell. “Eat, my sweet petite.”

  “Petite! That’s more bull,” Nell pouted.

  “She’s cranky,” Joe told Norma Jean as if his wife wasn’t sitting right there. “Not sleeping, I can tell by those dark circles under her eyes. Tink, why don’t you go and lie down like the doctor wants you to? I’ll unload Copperhead and show our guest around.” He offered Norma Jean his arm.

  “Knox can do that. I want you to rub my feet,” Nell said petulantly.

  Joe shuffled his own feet in embarrassment. “I won’t be gone long, sugar.”

  “Don’t call me sugar!”

  “I forgot. You just rest until I get back.”

  The tall, fine-looking couple made their escape from the shrewish wife. At least, that was how Nell viewed it. She teared up. Hormones, simply hormones. She felt unattractive and highly emotional at this stage of the pregnancy game—in other words, completely normal. Still, she had no excuse for being bitchy to Joe after his three-hour drive. She heard the beautiful people emerge from the front door and stand a minute beneath the balcony.

  “I’m sorry, sugar. The babies are making my wife crazy. She’s due in three weeks. Sorry, I shouldn’t be calling you sugar either, Miss Norma Jean. I’m trying to give up the habit.”

  “I think it’s kind of sweet.”

  They laughed out loud at that lame joke and sauntered off toward the horse trailer. Joe fooled around with the ramp and finally led Copperhead out into the mild winter sunshine. The horse gleamed from his mahogany head to his burnished black, copper and white spotted sides. The animal took a good look around the ranch, then head-butted Norma Jean.

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll miss you, too, my pretty boy.”

  Norma Jean unbuttoned a flap on her western shirt and reached deep down inside for a sugar cube. From Nell’s vantage on the balcony, the woman could have been massaging her own breast or at least, showing one of them off.

  “Here you go, lover, a little sugar.”

  Was Norma Jean staring at Joe while she said that? Nell couldn’t quite tell. Joe let loose with one of his deep laughs. Norma Jean put a hand on Joe’s upper arm much the way her sister had in the barn last year, and looked straight into his chocolate brown eyes. He was supposed to have eyes only for his wife.

  “Would you consider sellin’ this ole boy to me again? I’d go up to thirty-thousand.”

  Had she actually fluttered her eyelashes? Nell raised herself from the loveseat and put her back up against the verandah pillar closest to the trailer. She couldn’t very well spy standing sideways in her condition, now could she?

  “Sorry, can’t. There’s a lady would be very upset with me if I did,” Joe answered, his voice a little huskier than usual.

  Damned right, thought Nell. That lady was her, and she wasn’t giving Norma Jean anything.

  “Cassie has been fretting about this animal ever since my no-good cousin sold you a stolen horse.”

  “How is the kid? I take it you found her?”

  “Yeah, pregnant and scared. Nell and me, we adopted her baby
.”

  “You have a good heart, Joe Dean Billodeaux.”

  Nell peeked around the column. Those eyelashes went a-fluttering again. Nell was surprised they didn’t stir up a breeze. She half expected Joe to duck his head and say, “T’weren’t nothing” like some old time cowboy. Instead, he glanced at the horse trailer.

  “I see you have your other mount with you. She mend all right?”

  “Good as new, but I been thinkin’ about breeding her. I don’t want to miss the chance to get some good barrel horses out of her. As I was telling your little wife, it’s just too bad this here gentleman is gelded.” Norma Jean stroked her braid, up and down, up and down.

  “I think I can take care of your problem. Come see what I’ve got in the barn, Miss Norma Jean.” Joe led the way with Copperhead in hand.

  Nell ground her teeth. That did it! She knew what Joe liked to show women in the barn. She’d been there rolling in the hay enough times with him. No, she was being paranoid. Knox was working in the stables. Still, Joe Dean had sent Bijou home when he wanted to be alone with his girlfriend. Bed rest or no bed rest, she’d make sure her husband remained faithful.

  Nell made her way quietly to the carpeted staircase and unlatched the baby gate at its top. Very aware of being off-balance, she clung to the banister and took each step carefully. The doctor said she was dilating faster and sooner than he liked. Corazon would give her hell if she caught mamacita out of bed.

  Once down the stairs, she made for the barn to break up any clinches. She got as far as Norma Jean’s motor home. Still on the far side of the vehicle, she heard footsteps approaching. So, that gorgeous couple came looking for a more comfortable place than the stable.

  “He’s fast and proven. He even got ahold of my wife’s Arabian. She’s due soon to produce a little half-Arab. Maybe we should call the foal a Quarter-Arab.”

  They laughed together over some horsey joke Nell didn’t get.

  “When your mare comes into season, you can bring her by, or I can arrange for a shipment of L.B.’s best if you want to inseminate. I’ll give you my special stud fee.”

  Nell sucked in her breath as best she could. She imagined her husband’s leer when he said that. Joe Dean Billodeaux hadn’t changed at all. He was still a womanizing son of a bitch.

  “It’s a deal. I’ll call when she’s ready. Could you give me another number? This one is always busy,” Norma Jean asked.

  Joe was probably giving Norma Jean his private number and underlining it with a devil’s tail heart this very minute. Why didn’t they just back up against the trailer and start banging each other right now?

  “Well, you showed me your barn, Joe. Would you like to see my rig? It’s better than a motel when I’m on the circuit. I call her the Cactus Blossom ’cause she’s tough but sweet,” Norma Jean said breathily.

  “Ah, sure. Why not? Maybe I should get one of these for family vacations.”

  They probably thought no one would catch on to the sexual innuendo in their conversation. Ha! Clearly, they’d settled on the privacy of Norma Jean’s home on wheels as a trysting place. The door to the motor home stood open. Nell pulled herself up the steps and inside. She sucked in her gut as far as possible, got past the front seats and scuttled as low as she could past the tinted windows toward the rear bathroom. When the lovers unfolded the bed, she would jump out at them. In her condition, the bathroom was a tight fit, but she could always stand in the shower stall until the right moment if necessary. Nell pulled the door shut and settled on the commode as the couple entered.

  “Now I know you like Sinners’ red. Even this fuzzy stuff on the walls is red. Used to be my favorite color, too,” Nell heard Joe remark.

  “I adore red. I have a nightie to match,” Norman Jean replied, her voice sultry. “The couch folds out into a queen-sized bed. Very handy idea, don’t you think?”

  “This is an impressive place, but I need to check on Nell. She doesn’t always do as she’s told.”

  “Right, you’re supposed to rub her feet. Big as she is, I’ll bet you haven’t had any sexual relief in quite some time, honey.”

  From her cramped space in the bathroom, Nell envisioned Norma Jean twining her long lean body around Joe like the snake in the Garden of Eden. Right at this moment, the barrel racer probably had one hand in Joe’s curls and the other down the front of his pants.

  “Playing football takes the edge off. I’m kind of tired. We got in late last night and had a long meeting and practice this morning. Then I drove three hours to get here—to be with my wife—who is expecting my twins.”

  “Yeah, yeah, all the good ones are taken. Shit. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little fun.”

  “Used to be my philosophy, too. In another place, another time, I’d be all over you, sugar, but I got to leave.”

  In the bathroom, Nell put her head in her hands. How could she be so untrusting, so suspicious?

  “Would you at least guide me to the highway, Joe Dean? Got lost a few times tryin’ to find this place. Maybe I’ll stop at one of those mini-casinos I saw on the way here because I sure had no luck with you, gorgeous.”

  “No trouble. Follow my Porsche. I’ll get you on the right road in no time.”

  Nell’s head shot up in her bathroom hiding place. Right road, my ass! They were probably going to signal each other to pull over at one of the mini-casino parking lots and have at it right there.

  The motor home engine fired up and the big vehicle swung in a wide arc. Unprepared, Nell slid from the commode and bumped to the floor. The engine went to idle.

  Norma Jean shouted out a window to Joe, “Hey, wait up! I heard something bump in the back. Let me check my trailer hitch.”

  Afraid to move, Nell stayed on the floor. She’d been feeling off all morning and now felt just plain sick, whether from her lunch or from anxiety, she didn’t know. The huge bus moved forward again. It bumped out on to the rutted blacktop parish road and swayed along presumably behind Joe’s Porsche. Nell could tell where they were when the motor home took a long curve—still a few miles from the highway in that stretch with cane fields on one side and the wooded bank of the bayou on the other. Wouldn’t be long before she caught Joe Dean Billodeaux up to his old tricks again.

  Trying to get Norma Jean out of his life, Joe drove along quickly in his Porsche. She surely was a temptation and used to getting what she wanted. His resistance ran low after the hard game this weekend, the chewing out this morning and Nell’s less than cordial welcome home. Still, he recognized the black-haired woman as just another test sent by St. Jude. At the highway, he’d wave her on to the road and not get out of his sports car. He put his foot on the accelerator and picked up speed in the long turn instead of slowing down.

  Up ahead still on the curve, a massive silver pickup truck with an extended cab and bed passed a tractor hauling a load of cane at twenty miles an hour. The truck crossed the solid yellow center line and swerved for the Porsche. Joe Dean held the sports car steady as close to the edge of the road as he could, but the damned truck came right at him with the driver laying on the horn.

  Joe mashed his foot against the gas pedal as he came out of the curve and gave the truck a narrow miss. He fought the wheel, but the right front tire caught in the edge of the road and steered the Porsche on to the soft narrow shoulder. Ground gave way. The sports car went airborne and descended into a steep-banked ditch. Joe braked as the car skidded along in six inches of water and came to a standstill a foot from a concrete culvert draining the cane field into the bayou.

  He took a few seconds to throw his head back on the neck rest, still his shaking hands and think about Nell and the babies, born and unborn. In that brief moment, Joe witnessed the second crash in his rearview mirror. The great red motor home careened nose first down the bank and in slow motion fell on to its side. The horse trailer jackknifed, rammed the rear of the coach protruding from the ditch and miraculously rebounded still erect across the road.

  Joe punched h
is safety belt, scrambled from his own wreck and sloughed through the muddy ditch. He rapped on the driver’s side of the Cactus Blossom.

  “Norma Jean, you okay? Speak to me, sugar.”

  The driver’s window slid open. “I’m fine, just real shook up. Help pull me out. No way I can use the door.”

  Joe braced himself against the bank and grabbed Norma Jean’s shoulders as she slithered head first through the window. Her feet came free and she bounced hard against his body.

  “Thanks for the help, handsome.”

  The cowgirl’s wet, red mouth came down on his with a hard, appreciative kiss. In the back of his adrenaline-clouded mind, he thought he heard Nell calling, “Joe, Joe, Joe!” He shook his head and freed his lips.

  “No need to be that thankful, Norma Jean.”

  “Y’all hurt?” An old black man, his yellowed eyeballs wide, peered into the ditch. “Wasn’t my fault. Can’t make dat tractor go no faster. Peoples here know to watch for cane carts dis time o’ year. Dat silver truck—was his doing.”

  “We know,” Joe said. “Give me a hand up.”

  The driver of the tractor held out a callused palm to Joe who clambered up on to the road. Joe offered Norma Jean an assist and she scrambled after him. Down the road, the tractor and cane cart sat parked half on the road, half on the siding, its engine still chugging away. Norma Jean clung to Joe’s arm.

  Again, Joe swore he heard Nell calling his name. Connor had told him once when he was about to lose his temper on the field, he imagined hearing Stevie’s voice calming him down. Joe thought his own illusion came more likely from guilt over that unsolicited kiss.

  “Better go check on your mare, Norma Jean. Either of you have a cell phone? I left mine on the hall table.” Taking command did help, he found. For the moment, the voice inside his head stopped calling.

  “No, sir, ain’t got no phone,” the farm hand answered.