“It doan matter who with. Death can insinuate it as much as he likes, but nothing went on between me and her.”
I wished I could believe every word that came out of his mouth; I wished my mistrust would fade.
But I couldn’t; and it didn’t. “At any rate, I still think it’s wrong to involve you with Arcana.”
“This is all bigger than you and other cards. The Lovers are connected to the largest fighting force in the South. Maybe even in the world.”
The Flash itself could have been a tribute to the Sun Card, gone wrong.
“The stakes are higher than just this game.” He crossed to me. “They’re the highest they’ve ever been. We’re on the brink.” Our eyes met. “Bébé, you can deny me for other reasons, but not because you’re Arcana.”
“What about because I can’t trust you?”
He knelt before me, putting his forehead to mine, his warm hands covering my shoulders. “I’m goan to earn your trust. You give me the time, and it will happen. Evangeline, what we got together”—his gaze was slate gray—“ça vaut la peine.” It’s worth the trouble.
Jack was rugged and rough around the edges, filled with fierce passions and needs that called to my own. My hard-living Cajun. His hands began to move, rubbing my shoulders, my arms.
He was going to kiss me. Though I craved for him to, I drew back. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Jack studied my face. “You worried Death’ll come back in and fight me?”
Yes! “We can talk, or I can go to sleep. Those are your options.”
With clear reluctance, he let me go. “Talk about what?”
“Uh, what else has been happening in your life?” Lame.
“Something big.” He sat beside me on the hearth. “Coo-yôn hinted that I need to head home, that I could do some good there. Once we get Selena back and the Lovers are dead, you’re coming to Louisiana with me.”
“Louisiana,” I breathed, the word raising a tumult of emotions.
“If that army wants me to lead them, they’re goan to march south at the first opportunity. I told you I’d rebuild Haven for you. Why not settle the area around your farm, establish a new Acadiana? It could be a place of refuge for survivors.”
I’d wanted a home! “You really think we could?” The urge to return clamored inside me.
“Mais yeah, we’ve got this. Doan you know? Together we can do anything.”
“Even end the game?” My excitement dwindled. “Jack, I need to find my grandmother.” Though I had doubts that Gran would help me in my quest (in fact might goad me to play), she was still my last living relative.
“You got to accept that she might be dead.”
“I don’t believe that.” I felt that she lived—against all odds. “And I promised my mother that I’d get to her.”
“Then let’s make a deal. After we ride this route, if you tell me you think we can make it for months out here with no shelter, I’ll set out with you. We’ll take a contingent from the army.”
In a way, agreeing to this would be like making a commitment to him. Again, I glanced toward the door. Aric was out there alone. A memory arose of him staring out into the night, murmuring, “I was called Aric. It means a ruler, forever alone.”
“Can we table that for now?” I asked Jack.
After a hesitation, he said, “We’ll figure this out, peekôn. But in the meantime, I got something for you.” He grabbed his pack and dug out an orange from my recent crop. “Tess gave this to me for good luck. I want you and me to share it.”
“Like we did the Sprite you gave me.”
He slid me that heart-stopping grin of his, still so sexy, though his face was bruised. “Ouais. I ain’t had fresh fruit since I can remember.” He started peeling.
“You should take it all.”
“Merci, non. I missed your birthday. Consider this a belated party.” He handed me half of the succulent fruit.
His lightheartedness began working its magic on me, my tension easing. “Did I miss yours too?” I suspected so.
He shrugged, taking a bite. “God almighty, woman, you’re a great cook, you know that? Whipped up this orange from scratch.”
I quirked my brows. “You should see what I can do with a pineapple.”
We sat in front of the fire, across from each other, eating that orange. It was like we hadn’t missed any time, hadn’t missed a beat.
“Tell me what’s goan on in that head of yours.” He tossed the peels away, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Keep talking to me.”
“Why have you never shown me the photos in your bag?”
“You went through my pack? Guess I deserved that, non?” When I nodded, he said, “Did you see the book you gave me? The phone with your pictures? I about wore that thing out trying to get my fix of you.”
“Answer the question.”
“I want to look at those photos, but I never do.” Gazing to the right of me, he said, “Doan know if I could hold my emotions.”
“My mom once told me that sometimes you just need to be mad or sad. Sometimes you just need to let it happen.”
The wind picked up, rain pelting the windows. Where was Aric? Over the last three months, when storms had howled, he and I had sat by the fire, reading together.
“Let’s look at them, then,” Jack said, probably to distract me from Death. He moved to sit with his back against the hearth.
Reminding myself how invincible Aric was, I settled in beside Jack.
He offered me his flask.
Oh, screw it. I could die tomorrow. I was severely confused and doubted that my mental state could actually decline. I accepted the whiskey, taking a long swig. Burn. Gasp.
He drew the envelope from his pack, opened it. The first picture was of his mother, sitting with other women around a card table. “Ma mère, Hélène. She was at a boo-ray hall.” Bourré, a gambling card game popular with Cajuns. “This was a few years ago, before things got real bad with her.”
“She was so beautiful, Jack.” With those cheekbones and storm gray eyes, she could’ve been a model.
“Ouais. Pauvre défunte Maman.” That meant poor late mother, but Cajuns used the phrase to say dearly departed, or sainted.