Cajun Hideaway

By Jo Anne Barnes

Two sisters embark on a fateful vacation that tests their notions of love, happiness, and personal growth. As Callie falls for Kathy's fiance', their forbidden love tests their loyalty. Can love triumph over betrayal? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Anne Barnes
• Release date: Jun 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223321026

Jo Anne Barnes

/Users/joannebarnes/Desktop/JO ANNE BARNES grew up in a small parish in northeastern Louisiana 2.docx

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Excuse me, miss. Before you fasten your seat belt, I want to request a favor. Will you exchange seats with me? I'd like to sit by the window.

Callie St. Clair glanced upward into a broad, tanned face with piercing blue eyes. The man smiled, his lips revealing even, white teeth. Sorry, she said, I prefer the window myself. Perhaps you can find another window seat?

Tall and commanding, he curtly shoved a leather attaché case into the storage compartment above them, his raven hair brushing the ceiling of the airplane. Callie found it impossible to avert her eyes from his powerful frame as he snapped the door shut and slid into the seat beside her. The sleeve of his double-breasted navy suit brushed her arm as he leaned forward and placed a sketch pad in the vinyl pocket in front of him.

Stubborn, aren't you? he said.

Did she detect a slight trace of an exotic accent? French? His low, vibrant voice was a bit too mocking to sound friendly. Not at all. You can't expect people to jump whenever you snap your fingers.

That point has been well-taken, he said, reaching for a magazine as though ending the conversation on his terms.

She chose to ignore his abrupt dismissal. Tossing her head in an indignant gesture that sent her hair swishing about her shoulders, Callie turned toward the window and watched the buildings of Dallas disappear from sight.

She would be arriving in Shreveport at about three o’clock, then she would change planes for a short jaunt to Monroe where her sister was planning to meet her.

Hopefully, she would be on time. Kathy was driving from the university she was attending in Ruston, so that shouldn't be more than a thirty-minute drive. Callie crossed her ankles, wondering how long the drive to Kathy's fiancé’s lake house on Lake Bruin would take. Kathy said his name was Hunter Broussard, someone she met during the Christmas holidays at a professor's house. Callie found it difficult to understand how her younger sister got engaged to a man she'd only known for three months. It would be good to meet this guy and find out if Kathy was choosing a mate wisely. Though twenty-two years old, only three years younger than Callie, Kathy tended to be a daydreamer and sometimes impulsive about things. Frankly, the whole idea of a three-week vacation on a lake with the two of them didn't sound very exciting. But she loved to fish and swim and wouldn't mind being left alone while Kathy and Hunter did whatever they were accustomed to doing together.

Would you care for a drink? the flight attendant asked.

Yes, we'll have a couple of Bloody Marys, the man said, darting a smile at Callie. And be sure to include a twist of lime.

Callie's mouth flew open in surprise. If he was ordering for her, he could drink it himself. He was quite arrogant, she thought as she watched his mouth move to form a cryptic smile. You really have your nerve, she hissed after the stewardess walked away. I don't care for a drink.

The tiny network of creases at the corners of his fierce eyes crinkled as the laughter lines around his mouth deepened into a lazy smile. A peace offering, he said, his voice warm and sincere. I'm sorry I was so rude about the window.

A darting glance at his ruggedly handsome face cautioned her that here was a man capable of charming his way out of tight situations. But his smile was hard to resist, and Callie found herself responding with a smile of her own. I guess I really would like something to drink, she admitted. Thank you for ordering one for me. Perhaps the drink would lead to an idle conversation as she really didn't look forward to staring out the window for the remainder of the flight.

To her disappointment, the man removed his sketchbook from its resting place, slid a pair of tortoise-shelled glasses over his ears, and began sketching on the pad. He only stopped long enough to thank the stewardess when she returned with their drinks.

Crossing her legs and impatiently swinging her foot, Callie's sidelong glance took in the doodling the man was covering the art paper with. He was talented. The sheet was covered with sketches of beautiful women in numerous poses and angles--all with classical good looks. There were no women with tender, soft, or delicate features. Scattered among the women were drawings of trees, geometric designs, and even spider webs. What a strange canvas, she thought, as she watched intrigued.

When he turned the page, her gaze traveled to his strong jawline and to the chiseled planes and angles of his cheeks. At his temples, were streaks of silver that served to accent jet-black hair curling seductively just at the collar of his dress shirt. A face reflecting power, she mused. There was no reason why an attractive face should send her heart pounding away at her chest, and it was disconcerting that it did so.

Her gaze shifted back to the sketch pad and waited for a strong hand with a sprinkling of crisp, black curls to uncover his most recent creation. At the moment of the unveiling, Callie's heart skipped a beat. She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them, shocked by what she was seeing.

He's sketching me, she told herself. There's no doubt in my mind. She straightened in the padded seat and leaned sideways to get a better view.

The face on the paper was pouty and petulant, but not in a sulky way. Parted lips revealed charmingly crooked teeth. A thick mass of hair cascaded around the woman's shoulders in soft waves, framing an oval face and a slightly upturned nose. Even the sun streaks of her honey-blonde hair were accented. Aware that her portrait contrasted sharply with the women on the other page, she eyed the man as he continued with the feathery strokes of his pencil.

Would he dress her in the latest high-fashioned clothing as he had the other women on the paper or would he dress her in the simple white linen dress she chose for the trip? Callie watched intensely as the man's pencil sketched in her shoulders, then skipped down the paper to block off areas where her breasts and waistline belonged. Damn it, she thought, hurry up and clothe me!

But he didn't. Skillfully, his pencil caressed the peaks and valleys of her breasts with light and dark shadows. She turned her head as she felt her face redden from embarrassment.

I should say something, she thought, but what in the hell would I say?

Unable to help herself, she slowly turned her head back to the paper in time to see him complete a quick line drawing of the long length of her legs. Just as rapidly, firm strokes added shapeliness to her calves and thighs. He was getting too familiar with his pencil. Seething, Callie yanked an airline magazine from the elastic-topped pocket in front of her. She forced herself to thumb nervously through the pages, directing her attention to them.

But she didn't miss the mocking line of a thick eyebrow directed at her actions that told her he hadn't missed her agitation. She felt the palms of her hands moisten from anger. Surely it was a coincidence that the girl in the picture resembled her so strongly. Not resembled—an exact replication! She shot another glance at the paper to be sure of her own conviction.

There was no doubt. None whatsoever. The nude body of the girl contained a small birthmark on her left side, inches below her waistline...a tiny, white patch of skin that no amount of sunning would ever cause to tan. How in the world did he know about her birthmark? No one knew, except her immediate family.

Slamming the covers of the magazine together, she heard the flight attendant's voice float over the air. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with us today. We hope you enjoy your stay in Shreveport, Louisiana.

Placing the magazine back in the pocket, Callie unbuckled her seatbelt and stood behind the broad shoulders of the man, noticing how much he towered above her. Standing so near, she breathed in the fragrant aroma of his aftershave lotion. She missed her chance to tell him what was on her mind. Perhaps it was best. She would never see him again.

He broke in front of the unending line and flashing a lazy smile motioned for her to join him. Lifting a brow, Callie glanced back at the mass of people filling the aisle. Begrudgingly, she stepped in front of him. It was easy for her petite frame to dart in and out of people, losing him as they deboarded.

Callie went straight to the loading gate to change planes. Among the first to arrive, she was fortunate enough to sit near the front and next to a window. She settled herself in the rather cramped seat of the prop plane and closed her eyes. Heaving a heavy sigh, she wondered about the strange encounter.

Who was this man who drew her picture so intimately? And how was it he knew about her birthmark? I've never seen him in my entire life, she thought. I'm certain of that. He's so attractive, he would be difficult to forget. If I ever see him again, I'm not going to let him off the hook by declining to tell him off. No, don't think of that. We'll never meet again.

We meet again, a sexy male's voice said.

Startled, she opened her eyes wide and peered up at him through thick lashes. He had removed the jacket of his suit and was about to place it above the seat. You're not sitting here, she flared.

He sat down beside her, a hint of a tease in his smile. This time, I hold the cards. I can sit in any unoccupied seat. You've got the window, so that should make you happy.

She looked daggers at him while she tried to compose herself. Maybe it was to her advantage he was sitting there. Now she would be able to give him a piece of her mind. Proud of her reputation for not mincing words, Callie blurted out a reprimand. Look, sir, I don't know who you are or where you're from, but you sketched a picture of me that I don't appreciate very much.

His sensuous lips curled into a mocking grin. His eyes glittered with feigned innocence. I don't recall including you in my sketches. He paused, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. I was simply doodling, my mind on something else at the time. Would you care to point out the picture that's supposed to be you? With a shrug of his shoulder, he offered her the sketchbook.

No, she hissed in a breath of fire. I don't want to ever see that picture again as long as I live. But it is of me and you damn well know it.

As though amused, he said, All the pictures in this pad have no existence outside the imagination of myself and have no relation whatsoever to anyone they happen to resemble. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to me.

That's not true, she shot back. You're quoting words from the copyright page of a novel. I'm surprised you didn't maintain that any resemblance to actual persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

He leaned back his head and laughed resoundingly. Wiping away the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes, he said, "You flatter me, my dear. I'm not that great an artist. And you flatter yourself. All the women in my sketch pad are undeniably beautiful." Again he slid the glasses on and opened his sketch pad.

Callie felt her face flush as the plane lifted into the air. Somehow she failed to tell him off in the manner she planned. She could mention the birthmark, which was a good point, but she had the feeling she was going to lose the battle. Besides, she would soon be rid of him. The flight to Monroe couldn't be longer than twenty minutes.

Unable to deny herself one more peek, she glanced out of the corner of her eye and almost gasped, but caught herself in time. Undaunted, he was working on the sketch of her again which left nothing to be filled in by imagination. This time though, he was experimenting with the expression on her face. Sparks of fire were shooting from her eyes very effectively. Callie turned her head to hide the glint of a smile that suddenly appeared on her lips. For a brief instant, a very brief instant, it was downright funny. This outlandish man just denied that the girl in the picture was her, yet he continued to work on it as though determined the sketch would capture even her fiery mood.

When the plane landed, he closed the pad and stepped into the aisle. Ladies first, he said politely.

Not missing the penetrating gaze of his eyes, Callie remained seated and shook her head at his offer to break in line in front of him.

Suit yourself, he said. The politeness in his voice was replaced by a tone of amusement.

As he turned to leave, his mocking smile expanded a degree while his gaze lingered briefly on the cleavage of her breasts. She chastised herself for remaining seated until the last passenger got off the airplane. Why did she let him see she was bothered so much that she would refuse to walk in front of him? She should never have given him that much satisfaction.

Her wobbly feet carried her to the baggage claim area where she was to meet Kathy. Not surprisingly, Kathy wasn't there. What excuse will she use to explain her delay, Callie wondered as she wrestled her baggage from the rotating conveyor belt.

A navy-covered arm shot from behind her, lifting her heavy, two-piece luggage with no apparent effort. I'll get that for you, the man attached to the arm said.

She bridled but didn't have to turn to know who the voice belonged to. I'm meeting someone. I can carry my own luggage.

Kathy's waiting for you in the car.

Unable to speak, she turned to stare into his face fixedly. How did he know she was waiting for Kathy? There was silence while he met her stare, a wry expression on his face.

You’re Callie St. Clair?

A quizzical look wrinkled her high brow. After a moment when she had regained her speech, she asked, But...but who are you?

I'm Hunter Broussard, a friend of Kathy's.

His teasing smile was warm and all-knowing. He knows who I am, she thought. He knew all the time. He's Kathy's fiance’. How could she possibly spend three weeks under the same roof with a man who knew she was his fiancee's sister yet persisted in sketching a nude picture of her? Kathy has gotten herself engaged to a real prize!

She could feel muscles in her stomach tie in knots as anger pumped through her veins. And the difficult part was the fact she could never tell her sister. Kathy wouldn't be angry with him, she would be mad at Callie. How did you know I was Kathy's sister?

Turning to leave the baggage area, the same haunting laughter echoed against the walls of the corridor. It wasn't difficult, you look just like her, he said. "She's four or five inches taller though and has a little more meat on her bones. Kathy has brown eyes and yours are as green