Page 125 of The Cajun Doctor

“I might shock you,” Samantha confessed.

“Girl, ya cain’t shock me,” Louise asserted.

“Me, neither,” Charmaine said. “Wait ’til I tell ya ’bout the time I became a born again virgin. ’Bout ta gave Rusty a heart attack.”

“My sexual fantasies allus centered on my crush, Richard Simmons. But before that, they starred Phillippe, of course,” Louise told them.

“Mine were about Rusty, from the first time I met him. There’s somethin’ ’bout cowboys that get a girl’s juices goin’,” Charmaine disclosed.

“What about you, sweetie?” Tante Lulu asked.

“First of all, I need a harem girl outfit,” Samantha revealed. “I have no idea where I would even look for one. The Internet, I suppose. But that would take too long to get here.”

“Oooh, oooh, ooh. Wait jist a minute.” Louise rushed out of the room and pulled out a box from under her bed. When she returned she showed them the belly dancing outfit she’d bought in the old days, like ten years ago, when she and Charmaine had been entering belly dancing contests. She spread it out on the table in front of Samantha. All sheer fabric and sequins and little bells along the hem of the pants. “It might be a little small fer you, but it’s supposed ta be one size fits all.”

Charmaine said, “I’d lend you mine, but I wore it out from overuse.”

Samantha said, “This is perfect. But I need some other things, besides. Tools of the trade.” She was blushing redder than a June bride now.

“Tools?” Charmaine asked.

“Velvet handcuffs, that kind of thing.” If her face got any redder, she was gonna explode.

“I allus wanted to get me a pair of velvet handcuffs.”

“I already have a pair. Two pairs, actually. One set fer me, and one fer Rusty,” Charmaine said.

Samantha looked at them both as if they were crazy.

“Well, there’s only one answer to the dilemma. We gotta go shoppin’,” Charmaine said.

“Shopping? Where?” Samantha asked.

“The Frisky Fun Boutique in Houma,” Charmaine answered.

“Whoo-ee, I allus wanted ta go there,” Louise said.

Thus it was that, three hours later, after another cup of strong chicory coffee and slices of the marmalade cake, which was, indeed, a big hit, Samantha was driving back to New Orleans with not just velvet handcuffs, but vibrating thingees, a strange whip made with feathers, some kind of balls, and nipple rings made of flexible brass, which didn’t require piercing. Ouch!

Louise had also made some purchases for herself, but she wasn’t telling. There might be crotchless panties involved.

Who says big boys don’t cry? . . .

Friday night, and he was alone at Bayou Rose.

Daniel thought about moving all his stuff back to the garconniére, but he would do that tomorrow. He was, frankly, beat after a day of hard labor with Edgar. With shovels and a small rented backhoe manned by Edgar, they’d managed to trench plumbing lines from the mansion to the cabin. They would cover the pipes with dirt tomorrow, and then Edgar could begin the inside plumbing work, installing a bathroom sink, shower, and toilet, plus the kitchen sink.

The inside and exterior painting had been completed, and it did look nice and cheerful. Tante Lulu had sent over some extra curtains she just happened to have.

Daniel was thankful for all the help, and he was very impressed with Edgar’s expertise and work ethic. Next week, the carpenters and painters would return to renovations on the mansion. Daniel had already decided to hire Edgar to work with them, perhaps oversee the whole project.

No matter what use the cabins were put to finally, they would have had to be updated anyhow. The mansion renovations, however, were on hold. He kept picturing Samantha, who got a dreamy look in her eyes every time she talked about this or that historical detail.

There he went again. Samantha on his mind. Wasn’t there a song about that? No, that was Georgia. But it could have been Samantha. Aaarrgh!

Daniel had already decided that he was going to have to dump his pride and approach Samantha. Lay his feelings out before her. And see what happened. If he got shot down again, so be it. But at least he will have tried. Maybe he would see her at Tante Lulu’s birthday party. Then he could appear sort of casual and not have to humble himself.

Who was he kidding? If he was in love, like he was ninety-nine percent sure he was, humble was the least of his problems. He should be crawling on his knees, begging her to . . . what? That was the question. What did he want?