The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance Read online

She wondered why Eric decided to run down to The Red Hen. Any man who’d just been beaten in a fight should have slunk off home so no one saw a thing. Waving a hand, she turned toward her desk. “Doesn’t matter. Something Eric said.”

  “And it had nothing to do with you?” Bix was honestly confused. “Paul doesn’t seem like the kinda guy who cares if someone’s tryin’ to jerk a knot in his tail.”

  Alice cleared her throat and settled at her desk. She shuffled a few stacks of paper and gave Van Winkle a pat. The kitty raised his head and blinked, then went back to sleep. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Well, to be fair, it involved both of us… about Paul renting the apartment above the shop.”

  Bix let out a low whistle. “Just like that little snake to cast aspersions on your character because he’s jealous.”

  She let a hand drop to the desk and said, “Jealous? It wasn’t working between us and that had nothing to do with Paul.”

  “It sure wasn’t,” Bix said. He shot her a glance. “But sha, even though I got bad eyes, what I saw when I walked in here was enough. I wager Paul wouldn’t say no to a chance at getting to know you better.” He gave a wink, then called out, “Miss Elizabeth, where are you? We’ve got work to do.” Miss Elizabeth trotted out and Bix picked her up, carrying her toward the back room where the paperbacks were stacked.

  Alice couldn’t find a thing to say to that. Of course Paul was handsome, funny, and seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her head. But the logical part of her could list ten reasons that Paul should be avoided at all costs. She’s perfect just the way she is. Paul’s words echoed back at her. The idea made her chest go tight. She’d never been one to take chances, in business or in love. And a relationship with Paul wasn’t just risky, it was doomed.

  She straightened her shoulders and shook off the swirling emotions. Who knew, maybe Paul was putting on the charm to distract her from her protesting his store. He knew she loved books, so he was trying to reach her that way. He was probably used to women falling all over him, begging for his attention.

  Well, he was about to discover she was a lot harder to distract than he thought. Nothing came before her town and her people. Not even a man like Paul Olivier.

  Chapter Twelve

  In software systems, it is often the early bird

  that makes the worm. ― Alan Perlis

  Paul walked toward the diner, dodging pedestrians and the occasional dog, his thoughts back in the little bookstore he’d just exited. That had been a stupid, sloppy mistake. He’d gotten caught up in convincing her that Heinlein was a genius and had referenced a book they’d already discussed. Unfortunately, he was Browning Wordsworth Keats when they’d discussed it. And now she was wondering why everyone in the world was discussing Beau Geste at the same time. He wanted to tell her, but not like that. Not out of the blue and right after punching her ex-boyfriend.

  He trudged down the sidewalk, wondering if he was losing his sanity. His knuckles throbbed, reminding him of the moment he’d opened himself up for the mother of all lawsuits. More than that, an assault charge wasn’t good PR, and PR was something he’d always been good at. When Andy heard the story, Paul was going to get an earful. Or maybe just a look of total disbelief. He couldn’t believe it himself.

  He crossed the street, barely hearing the honking of a slow-moving vehicle as it turned the corner. He’d never punched another person in his life. He wasn’t a fighter. He’d had his share of battles against prejudicial people who only saw a quiet nerd from a tiny Southern town, but his battles had never gotten physical. Maybe Andy was right. Maybe this whole idea was doomed from the beginning. There was too much bad history in Cane River. If he’d wanted to open a store, he should have left the supervising to someone else. Nothing good could come from his returning to Natchitoches.

  “Excuse me,” a young man’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you Paul Olivier? I heard a rumor you were in town, but I told my buddy he was full of it.”

  A gawky teenage boy grabbed his hand and shook it before Paul could even focus on the kid’s wide-eyed expression. His T-shirt read ‘Home is Where the WiFi Connects Automatically’ and his red hair had outgrown a crew cut a few months ago.

  “Yes, I’m just here for a little while.”

  “Dude,” the kid whispered. “You’re, like, the most epic game creator ever.”

  “Thank you.” Paul glanced down the street. “We’re opening a new store here. Be sure to come to the grand opening. We’ll have some really good door prizes and―” His stomach was growling in earnest now. He glanced back and for just a moment, he saw himself. He’d spent years as the awkward teenager nobody really listened to, the kid everyone avoided because all he could talk about was gaming and always at the worst times. Paul looked the kid in the eye and gave him his undivided attention. “And what do like the most about our games?”

  “You did such a great job with War of the Universe. People don’t always get that it’s not just the graphics. It’s the story,” the kid said. “The best part was the way Reena used the evil Commander Lorfan’s secret past to bring him down. The dude woulda been totally invincible if he hadn’t been obsessed with getting revenge.”

  Paul started to agree, when something else occurred to him. Flannery O’Conner once said that she wrote to discover what she knew. Paul wrote the script for War of the Universe while thinking about all the greatest morality tales--Greek myths and the tragedy of humanity. He’d never considered that he could turn into one of the bad guys, so focused on revenge and proving he was right that he doomed himself and everything he loved. He looked back at By the Book, and saw his violent actions in a whole new light.

  “What’s your name?” Paul asked.

  “Tater Leaf, sir.” The kid grinned hugely.

  Paul blinked, trying to decipher why any parent would name their child Tater and pair it with the last name Leaf. He decided it most likely linked to some long history that would take ten minutes and a diagram of the kid’s family tree to explain.

  “Nice to meet you, Tater. I’ll be in town for a while,” Paul said. “If you’re ever interested in joining our team of beta testers, we have a small group that runs through the very first versions of a game.”

  “Wow,” Tater breathed. “The very first people to try it out?”

  “Just to work out the bugs. Sometimes the final version is pretty different.”

  “Absolutely. Really. I would.” Tater was nodding and grinning.

  “Cool. Here’s my card.” Paul scribbled his cell phone on the back. “And now, I have to get some breakfast before I start eating my own hand.”

  “Sure,” Tater said. He stepped out of the way, still grinning. “See you around.”

  Paul managed to make it the rest of the block without anyone else stopping him, although he did hear a few whispers and the quiet click of people taking pictures. Any other time, he’d have stopped, or at least flashed a smile. But he was focused on getting breakfast and getting back to the privacy of his apartment, where he could take a few minutes to process what he’d just realized about himself.

  Babet’s Diner was packed to the gills with hungry customers. Paul hovered near the door, breathing in the smell of bacon and eggs. The conversation ebbed for a moment when he walked in, but then picked back up to a respectable level. Although he felt more than a few pairs of eyes on him, he didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he did walking around big tech conventions. You knew your fame had passed the comfort level when you needed a security detail to go to the bathroom.

  He leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone, sending Andy a quick text. Looking around at the crowd, he wasn’t sure take out was an option. A lot of these old tourist places were sit down only. While he waited to see if Andy was awake, he clicked on the Browning Wordsworth Keats site, then to his email. Scrolling through the mail, his heart rate started to rise. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but as soon as he saw Alice’s name, he almost stopped breat
hing.

  It took several seconds to decide whether to open it. If she didn’t want to meet him, this awkward double life would continue. Things were happening faster than he could predict and who knew what tomorrow would bring? He hoped not another fistfight. He took a steadying breath and opened the note. Red boots. He’d never been a great dancer, but he was more than willing to dance with Alice.

  He hit reply and pecked out a short reply.

  Dear Miss Alice,

  I’ll be there. Looking forward to hearing the story of EBB and your youthful outrage.

  Your BWK

  “Paul? Is that you?” A woman’s voice cut into his thoughts.

  He turned. “Mrs. Joubert?” He started laughing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “I haven’t seen you since sixth grade.”

  She looked the same, except for the streaks of silver in her curly dark hair, and she looked thinner, more fragile. Memories washed over him. He used to pepper Mrs. Joubert with questions that she couldn’t answer during their science classes. She never got angry, and would return the next day with everything she’d discovered. Now she reached out, pulling him close, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Paul,” she breathed. “Gimme a Yankee dime.” She turned her cheek and he kissed her. He felt her shoulders shaking under his hands.

  Were those tears in her eyes? “Mrs. Joubert, is everything okay?” He hadn’t kept up on the local gossip. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she had lost a spouse. Or a child. The thought made his heart drop in his chest.

  “Sorry, sorry, it’s just a surprise seeing you,” she said, wiping her eyes. She stepped back. “Look at you, so handsome. And I always knew you’d do real well just soon as you got turned loose. I knew it, Paul.”

  He nodded. He heard that kind of thing all the time. People who couldn’t be bothered to give him the time of day when he was younger liked to tell him how they’d always been his most ardent supporters. But Mrs. Joubert was different. “I remember you telling me that. Sometimes more than once a day.”

  “You took a lot of convincing.” She was still blinking back tears. She held onto his hands and leaned close. “Tell me the truth, son. Beyond all the money and the fame, are you doing well? Are you happy? When I see you in the news, I’m right worried about you. I want you to be happy, Paul.”

  Her words touched him deep inside, in a place he kept hidden from the rest of the world. Standing in an old diner, surrounded by chattering tourists enjoying their enormous platters of bacon and grits, Paul felt as if he were being asked to review the last ten years of his life. And he found it wanting.

  “I’m doing fine. My mother has a nice farmhouse out of town. My company has branches in every major city and offers some of the best benefits around,” he said. She cocked her head and said nothing. He went on, “I have a good friend. I’m not completely alone.” He realized how pathetic it sounded.

  She smiled. “One good friend is better than a hundred admirers.”

  “You’ve got that right,” he said, not returning her smile.

  “So what are you doing in here? Didn’t you bring your own cook to make you grits? I know you have a jet. We all saw pictures of it on the front page of paper this morning.”

  “Nope, no cook. We just got in yesterday.”

  “Oh, not even enough time to get make groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. You and your friend come to dinner tomorrow after church. You still go to church, right?” She turned and gave him the eye.

  Paul wanted to laugh but knew it was in his best interests to just nod. “Sure do.”

  “Good. I have another question maybe you could shed some light on. I hope you can forgive me for being nosy.”

  “Go ahead,” he said. He couldn’t imagine a nosier question than whether he was happy or if he was still attending church.

  “I heard you’re in town for a while. Now, my son lives in Atlanta and he said when a ScreenStop opened there, you came just for the day and then went back to the city.”

  “That’s true,” Paul said.

  “Are you working on another project in these here parts?” She held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I was hoping you’d heard about our problem and were coming to lend a hand.” Her cheeks went pink. Paul realized that she wanted to ask him for a favor, but was worried he would be offended.

  “Mrs. Joubert, anything you need. Please just ask. I’ll do anything I can.”

  She swallowed. “We were tryin’ to get a grant for a new computer lab for the elementary and middle school but it went to a bigger school in New Orleans. A lot of our kids don’t have a computer at home. They think computer tech is all about getting on the Internet on their phones. They go on to the high school and the computer classes are so below standard that they’re not worth a plugged nickel.” Mrs. Joubert shook her head. “Our kids just can’t compete, Paul. The ones who get into college are struggling from the moment they set foot on campus. They don’t understand basic word processing, programming, web design, or graphic design.”

  “So the school needs help? Mrs. Joubert, whatever I can do, I’ll be happy to pitch in.” He felt the truth of it deep in his soul. She had believed in him when he was just a scrawny kid who carried a chip the size of a cinder block on his shoulder. “You made everything seem possible, if I worked hard enough.”

  She gripped his hand. “Yes! These kids could make the same sort of difference in science or technology in these here parts, if they got the chance. There are so many who need basic skills that they can only get with labs that are properly equipped. I had real hope that if we got the grant we could shore up the city, keep the young folks from movin’ away, but…”

  He understood. It was the age-old dilemma of a small town: stay or go. Those on the edge of technological innovation never got a choice. They always had to go. “Tell me what I can do. What do you need?”

  She took a few deep breaths, as if struggling for control. “I knew you would help. I knew, if I just asked, you would…” Her voice trailed away as her dark eyes filled with tears.

  “Can you get a copy of the grant application? We could work from there.”

  She nodded. “Sure can.”

  He reached for his wallet, getting out his business card. “My email address is there. Send the application to me and I’ll find out where to go from there.” He shifted uncomfortably as Mrs. Joubert wiped her cheeks with both hands. “I’m glad I can help. It’s really nothing.”

  Shaking her head, Mrs. Joubert reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You were always such a good boy, Paul. You’ve grown into a wonderful man. Your mama must be so proud.”

  He patted her awkwardly on the arm and waved as she left the diner, still sniffing, although she was smiling.

  The conversation in the diner had dropped while they were talking, and Paul looked up to see more than several pairs of curious eyes on him. He turned to the side, leaning against the wall, and took out his phone. He really didn’t want anyone asking what that was all about. In fact, he wished he’d remembered to tell Mrs. Joubert not to say anything. Paul stared unseeing at his phone’s screen, hoping the line would get significantly shorter in the next few minutes.

  The door opened and Andy stepped through, glancing around the diner. His expression was a combination of determination and discomfort. “I’m guessing they’re not going to have my favorite organic, free-trade, Honduran coffee beans here.”

  “Probably not.” Paul was relieved to see Andy. He was showered, shaved, and had on jeans and a button-up shirt with a tie. The guy looked like he wasn’t sure if he was on vacation or going to work. “I just ran into my sixth grade teacher.”

  Andy let out a bark of laughter. “Did she say she always knew you’d make it big?” It was a joke between them. Andy knew exactly what it was like to excel in a field. Everyone and their cousin wanted to say they called it way back when, all the way to infancy.

  He nodded. “Actually, she did.” At Andy’s look of disgust, Paul held up
a hand. “And she’s the only person who can say that honestly, besides my own mother.”

  “Well, I’m glad you got to see her, then.” He shrugged, looking around the diner. “You’re going to get a lot more where that came from, the longer we stay here.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “Also, I may have promised to build them a technology center for the elementary, middle, and high schools. And pay for the teachers they hire.”

  Andy made a noise that was between a gasp and a cough. “Build a what? Where?” His face drained of color. “Oh, man. I knew letting you come back here was a mistake.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely horrified.

  “I didn’t make that promise lightly.”

  “No, I’m sure you meant every word of it. And I’m sure you plan on following through.” Andy blew out a breath. “This isn’t how it works, Paul. You don’t just start handing out money. The company should really set up a charity arm, and then you make sure the taxes are straight, and then you―”

  “I know. It’s going to be a long process. And I didn’t just hand her a check.” He stared out at the tables of tourists and locals, watched the faces, sure for the first time in a long while that he was doing the right thing.

  A waitress appeared and greeted them, her blond ponytail swinging from side to side as she led them to a tiny table near the back. Her pink-check dress was a little too big, as if she’d borrowed someone else’s uniform. She handed them menus. “I’m Jenny and I’ll be your waitress today. I’ll get you some water while you take a peek at the menus.”

  “I think we already know what we want,” Paul said, smiling. He was going to die of starvation if he had to wait much longer. “We’ll both have whatever special comes with hash browns, bacon and eggs.”

  She frowned, her pretty face scrunched up in confusion. “Sure, we can get you somethin’ like that. There’s the California special that starts with a braised romaine salad with fresh figs, or there’s the Mediterranean smoked ribs with Texas caviar.”