Page 86 of The Cajun Doctor

She was still eyeing him suspiciously, or maybe like he’d lost a few marbles. Enough of this madness! They had work to do. She oversaw the installation of the new fridge (which did fit, hallelujah!) and the removal of the old, while he directed the two delivery men. Afterward, while Samantha put the food from the old fridge into the new, he prepared to go outside with Angus and unload the furniture from the truck.

“Just put those twin mattresses in the front parlor for now,” Samantha suggested. “I don’t like the idea of Lily Beth having to get up and down from that air mattress on the floor. Did you bring any twin bed frames?”

“No. They’re in the back of the unit. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Well, then, maybe you should set up the double bed in there, for now, since you have a frame for it.”

The infamous rice bed. He thought about asking what a rice bed was, but decided he didn’t really care. “Okay,” he said, his mind elsewhere. Again! He was looking at the freezer on the bigass fridge and thinking about buying some ice cream. Not because the cold ice cream would be welcome on this hot day, but because of the kinds of thing a creative man could do with ice cream. And they wouldn’t even have to leave the kitchen. There was that table, and—

“You’re looking at me like that again,” she pointed out.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a cold drink on a sizzling Louisiana day, and you’d like to suck me up.”

He laughed. “You got that right, babe.” Then, he went back outside with Angus. It was best he got out of her sight before he acted on his fantasies. Not that he didn’t intend to act on them at some point. Just waiting for the right time. On second thought, he went back inside, pressed her up against the fridge and kissed her, openmouthed and hungry, with his hard-on obvious and hard against her belly. She was so surprised, she still held a carton of orange juice in one hand, and a package of cheese in the other. Then, without saying a word, he turned again and left.

Yep, drowning! Either in lust, or stupidity, or both.

It was a hundred degrees in the shade today, and he was feeling every bit of the heat. And, yes, he meant that as a double entendre.

No mission was impossible for this old lady . . .

Louise awakened from an afternoon nap to the sound of thunder clapping in her head. She imagined that St. Jude was tapping her on the shoulder, not to come to the Pearly Gates, but to start on a new heavenly mission. “Tante Lulu, thou art needed!” the heavenly voice said in her head.

Yes, even St. Jude called her Tante Lulu.

She tried to go back to sleep, but the thunder kept a-clappin’. She checked the bedside clock and saw that it was four o’clock. Time to get up and work on some of her herbs before dinner. Leftover gumbo. The best kind!

She didn’t get up yet. It was so comfy in her small bed.

Her family always acted worried when they walked in on her sleeping during the daytime, like the next step would be her napping in a coffin. Holy crawfish! Young folks didn’t understand that naps energized a person . . . persons of any age. You didn’t need any of that Red Bull stuff when you took a daily nap.

“It’s a power nap, fer heaven’s sake, not one of those old age, fuddy duddy naps,” she told the naysayers, repeatedly. “Doan be puttin’ me in no grave yet. Age is what ya want it ta be, and I ain’t old yet. I still got giddyup in my heart and juice in my lady parts.”

That always caught their attention and they tsk-tsked at her for speaking her mind. “Who else’ll speak iffen I don’t?” Not a bit of humor in the whole lot, ’cept for Tee-John and Charmaine.

Her knees creaked as she eased her way off the bed. Not from old age, mind. Just a little cramp from sleeping in one position.

But back to the thunderbolt that had awakened her. The sky was clear blue, no storm in sight. She grinned then and did a little Snoopy dance around her bedroom. I cain’t be old iffen I kin still dance. To prove her point, to herself, she added a little spin to her dance, and almost fell on her hiney.

She knew exactly what the thunderbolt meant. The thunderbolt of love was hitting someone she knew, and they needed her help to recognize it for what it was . . . a heavenly gift. And she knew exactly who it had hit, too. That stubborn, grouchy, too-sensitive-to-live Daniel LeDeux.

She already had his hope chest made. She made hope chests for all the men in her family, and the men who were close to her family. She would have to check and see if she had enough embroidered pillowcases, and doilies, and St. Jude place mats for Daniel’s. Maybe she should start on a bride quilt for Samantha, who was no doubt being hit by the thunderbolt, too.

The phone rang, and she picked it up right away.

“Tante Lulu?” her nephew Luc asked.

“Who else would it be? Richard Simmons? Not that I would mind if he were here takin’ a nap with me.”

Luc groaned. “I’m calling ta remind you about your birthday party here on Saturday.”

“How could I forget? Ya keep callin’ me every day ta remind me. Do ya think I got de-men-chah jist cause I’m approachin’ eighty.”

Luc made a snorting sound at that number. Louise never disclosed her true age. It was nobody’s bizness. But Luc was a lawyer. He could count.

“Anyways, I was jist about to call you. I’m thinkin’ about goin’ over ta Bayou Rose Plantation t’morrow ta help Daniel with his . . . uh, problem. And I was wonderin’—”