Page 11 of Landry (Bayou Brotherhood Protectors #7)

Camille frowned. If the boy was real, his parents might not know of his nightly excursions.

Moving around at night, especially along the banks of the bayou, wasn’t always safe.

Besides the occasional alligator, there were the occasional drug runners who passed through the area. “Where does Billy Ray live, Ava?”

“In the bayou,” Ava answered without hesitation.

“With his parents?” Camille persisted.

Ava shook her head. “Billy Ray doesn’t have parents.”

“Does he live alone in the bayou?” Landry asked.

Ava shook her head. “No. He has me. He doesn’t like talking to anyone else.”

“I’d like to meet Billy Ray,” Camille said.

Again, Ava shook her head. “I told him you were nice and would never hurt anyone, but he doesn’t like adults. Whenever one comes around, he disappears.

Which, to Camille, sounded like an imaginary friend. “I’d still like to meet him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Ava said.

By that time, they’d arrived at the cottage.

Camille unlocked the front door.

As she reached out to twist the doorknob, Landry’s hand closed over hers. “Mind if I check the interior before you go in?”

Camille’s brow dipped. Maybe it was overkill, but better safe than sorry. She stepped back and waved him toward the door. “Knock yourself out.”

He quietly slipped through the door.

Camille and Ava stood on the porch for the full minute Landry was gone.

When he returned, he pushed the door open wide. “All clear.”

As Camille had expected. She walked past him into her house. When he didn’t follow her, she glanced over her shoulder.

He tipped his chin toward his SUV. “I’ll get the groceries out of my vehicle.”

“Sounds good. You’re welcome to make yourself at home in my kitchen,” she said. “I can help chop vegetables.”

“Even onions?” he said with a wink.

She nodded. “Even onions. Though there’s not a dry eye in the house when I’m done.”

He grinned. “Deal. I’ll be right back.”

Camille entered the house and hurried through, picking up toys, straightening pillows on the sofa and tossing old magazines in the trash. Yeah, he’d already been through her house and seen that it wasn’t exactly pristine, but she felt better when it looked a little more presentable.

She’d loaded the few breakfast dishes from the sink into the dishwasher by the time Landry came in with two bags full of groceries.

Camille blinked. “Wow. Does it really take that many groceries to make a pot of gumbo?”

He gave her a crooked grin and raised the bag in his right hand. “This bag is for the gumbo. The other is a six-pack of beer and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc wine.”

“My favorite.” Camille raised her eyebrows. “How did you know?”

“I’d like to say I made a good guess, but I actually ran into Shelby at Broussard's. She told me what to get.”

As much as she didn’t want to like this man, as dangerous as it might be to let him under her skin, Camille couldn’t help herself. She was a little impressed with the lengths he’d gone to. At the same time, she reminded herself that he was there to see to her safety. It was his job.

Still, the bottle of her favorite wine was a nice touch.

“Thank you,” she said and took the bag of groceries from him.

After laying the items out on the counter, she reached into the cupboard for a wine glass. “Do you need a glass for your beer?”

“Not necessary.” He twisted the top of one of the beer bottles and waited until she’d poured herself a glass of wine.

She held up her glass. “Here’s to not burning the rice.”

“To not burning the rice.” Landry touched his bottle lightly against her wine glass and drank a long swallow of his beer.

Camille sipped her wine, letting the cool liquid slide down her throat, easing some of the tension of the day.

While Landry got the chicken cooking in one pan and stirred the roux in another, Camille chopped onions, celery and bell peppers.

Over the next hour, they worked together, adding the vegetables, chicken, shrimp and sausage, along with Cajun seasoning, salt and pepper, letting it all simmer while they steamed the rice. Several times, they bumped into each other, reaching for spices or the wooden spoon to stir the soup.

Each time Camille touched Landry, that sock of electricity zipped through her system, making her increasingly aware of the man. How could she be comfortable at the same time as she was excited by merely being in the same room with a man?

She’d never felt this way with Richard. Then again, he’d never offered to cook or do anything else that resembled housework or yardwork.

Camille set places for three at the kitchen table, poured a cup of milk for Ava and refilled her glass with wine.

When she turned back to Landry, he wasn’t where she’d left him by the stove or anywhere else in the small kitchen. How did he move so silently?

Voices sounded from down the hallway.

She found Landry with Ava in the cottage’s only bathroom. Ava stood on her booster step, her hands frothy with soapsuds.

Landry stood beside her, his hands also covered in soap bubbles.

“I made more bubbles than Mr. Landry.” Ava held up her hands, soap and water dripping down her arms.

“Yes, you did,” Camille said. “Better rinse them before you drop any more on the floor.”

Ava dipped her hands beneath the running water.

Landry helped make sure she got all the suds and all of his before turning off the water. Then he grabbed the hand towel and dried her hands and arms, touching the towel to the tip of her nose. “Good job.”

Ava touched her finger to his nose. “Good job,” and laughed.

The two looked so natural together, making Camille’s heart pinch just a little. By swearing off men, was she cheating Ava out of the love and understanding a father could give her?

Camille had told herself that Ava was better off without a father like Richard. What could he have taught her? How to sneak into people’s houses and steal their belongings?

No. Ava was a good girl with a kind heart. She didn’t need that kind of influence in her life.

What she needed was the influence of someone who was caring and morally sound.

Someone who taught her how to wash her hands like a pro, how to bait a fishhook, change a tire and share in household responsibilities.

She needed a father figure to set the bar for any future relationship she might have with a man.

Someone like Landry.

As soon as the thought popped into her head, Camille squashed it firmly.

Landry was just being nice. He couldn’t possibly be interested in a ready-made family. What man would want that?

Camille led the way into the kitchen.

Landry held out Ava’s chair as she climbed up on it. Once she was seated, he pushed the chair forward until she was close enough to reach for her fork and spoon. “Bon appétit,” he said and ruffled her hair.

Landry returned to the stove, where he scooped rice into a small bowl and poured half of a ladle of gumbo over it.

He filled two more bowls with the gumbo and carried all three to the table.

“The toast worked. We averted burning the rice,” he said

They ate their gumbo, talking about fishing and the upcoming parish fair.

Camille was struck by how easy it was for Landry to blend into her very small family.

She could get used to having this man around.

She liked how he listened to her and Ava and engaged in the conversation, asking questions and making comments that showed that he was truly interested in what they had to say.

By the time the meal was over, Camille felt strangely content, as if having dinner with Landry was the most natural thing in the world.

He even helped put away the food and wash the dishes. Ava hadn’t finished her gumbo, claiming it was more than she could eat. Landry covered the bowl with plastic wrap and put it away in the refrigerator. “You can eat it later if you’re still hungry or for breakfast tomorrow.”

Ava laughed. “Breakfast?”

Landry appeared shocked. “You haven’t had gumbo for breakfast?”

Ava shook her head.

He winked. “You should try it sometime.”

They took a walk around the yard, down to the shore of the bayou and out onto the rickety dock that had come with a small, motorized fishing boat that wouldn’t win any speed competitions.

Camille wasn’t even sure the motor would start. She hadn’t cranked it up in months. Her neighbor had used the boat a couple of times to drag his over to the marina for repairs.

Landry stared at the pathetic little boat, shaking his head. “And you don’t fish?”

“Never have,” Camille admitted.

“We’ll have to remedy that situation,” Landry said. “Ava and I will take you out with us,” he said. “Can we bring your mom?” he asked the child.

“Yes, please,” she said, clapping her hands. “Can we go tomorrow?”

Landry cocked an eyebrow at Camille.

Caught up in his trance, she opened her mouth to say yes.

At the last moment, she remembered she’d promised to meet Mark at the fair.

If she'd had his phone number, she’d have called and canceled.

Alas, she did not have his number and couldn’t tell him that she’d made a mistake and couldn’t join him there.

“I can’t,” she said with a sigh. “I have a previous engagement.”

“We’ll do it another day,” Landry promised.

“For now, I need to get Ava through a bath and into bed.”

Ava tugged on Camille’s hand. “Can Mr. Landry read me a bedtime story?”

As she stared down into her daughter’s hopeful face, she realized this was why introducing men to her daughter was a bad idea.

Landry was there to protect them. When there was no longer a threat, he’d move on to his next assignment.

Ava would be crushed when he quit coming by, when he stopped taking her fishing, when he forgot about the little girl who hero-worshipped him for giving her a little bit of attention.

But in that moment, with Ava staring up at her with all the hope of a five-year-old in her eyes, she couldn’t crush her spirit.

Camille glanced across to Landry, knowing she was putting him on the spot. “It’s up to Mr. Landry.”

Ava turned to Landry. “Will you read my bedtime story? Please?”

Landry smiled gently. “I’d be honored.”

Camille let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

The man was doing all the right things to get completely under her skin. She’d do well to keep her perspective and expectations in check.

“Come on, princess,” she said. “If you want a story, you have to get a bath and into your PJs before it can start.”

Ava spun and half-ran, half-skipped toward the house, singing all the way.

Camille fell in step with Landry as they followed Ava to the house. “You don’t have to read her a story if you need to go.”

Landry reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d be honored.”

Instead of letting go of her hand, he held it in his all the way back to the house and up the steps to the porch.

The gesture had Camille’s heart racing and a flock of butterflies flapping frantically in her belly. The man who’d been sent to check her window and door locks was holding her hand.

What did it mean?

Alternating between ragged breathing and holding her breath, Camille almost hyperventilated.

If Landry hadn’t released her hand to open the door, Camille might have embarrassed herself by collapsing in a heap at his feet.

As soon as he released her hand, she sucked in a breath, filled her lungs and revied her oxygen-starved braincells.

Holy hell. Was this what it would be like if she decided to start dating again?

Geez. This hadn’t even been a date.

Camille dove through the door, mumbling some excuse about hurrying her daughter through her bath. The truth was that she was terrified.

Not of Landry, or the fact he’d held her hand. She was terrified of the way her mind and body reacted to everything Landry had done that evening. She was even more panicked at how close she’d been to throwing herself into his arms and kissing him like there might not be a tomorrow.

Which might be the case at least for any kind of relationship between them.