Acadian Waltz Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t give a
damn? You think I like playing boss man around here, or is this tension between
us attributed to something else entirely?”
    His filthy body
shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, accentuating the numerous muscles in his
arms and chest. I quickly diverted my eyes to the blue water beside the dock.
    “Why don’t you
just admit it? Your family has always hated mine,” I declared, folding my arms
across my chest.
    “You still think
after all these years that me, or any of my family, give a damn about your
mother and what she did?”
    “Your father
never forgave her for marrying his brother,” I replied, raising my voice.
    “My father
always spoke fondly about your mother, even after she left Uncle Etienne. No
one ever blamed her for leaving the man. Hell, he was never any good. Everyone
in Manchac knew that.”
    I glared at him.
“But you always held it against her and me.”
    “What? How could
I hold it against you when you never knew my uncle?” Jean Marc impatiently
waved his hand at me. “He shot himself years before you were even born.”
    “He shot himself
because my mother left him for my father. You and your whole family hate her
for that.”
    “My uncle shot
himself because he was dead drunk while trying to clean a loaded shotgun. Etienne
Gaspard never wanted to kill himself.”
    “That’s not what
my mother heard at the funeral,” I argued.
    “That was
thirty-five years ago, Nora. Who in the hell even remembers that far back?”
    I held my head
up and, deciding it better not to press the matter further, proceeded toward
the parking lot.
    “Nora, I’m not
the one hung up on the past here,” he shouted behind me. “You had better get
rid of that big chip on your shoulder if you plan on spending any more time
around my docks. And if you ask me, you’re acting like a spoiled brat!”
    I spun around to
face him. “You arrogant piece of shit! Where in the hell do—”
    “Piece of shit?”
he bellowed, coming up to me. “What kind of language is that for a good girl
like you? They teach you to speak like that in the city?”
    “I’m not a
little girl, Jean Marc. Stop treating me like one.”
    He moved in
closer to me, his face inches from mine. I could smell the sweat and grease on
him as the heat radiated from his skin. For a moment my stomach did a few
nervous flips, but then I had to remind myself of my feelings for Jean Marc.
    “I know you’re
not a little girl,” he whispered to me. “It’s been real damned obvious to me
for quite a while that—” He abruptly stepped back from me. “Just watch your
language. You shouldn’t be cursing like that. Your momma wouldn’t approve.”
    I snickered at
him. “Then you don’t know Mother; foulest mouth this side of the Mississippi,
even if she does still curse in French.”
    Jean Marc raised
his head and scanned the dock surrounding us. “Well, best you not be following
her example. You’re better than that, Nora. You’ve always been better than
that.”
    I tried to think
of some pithy reply, but my nerves were so rattled that nothing came to mind.
Instead, I turned on my heels and quickly headed for my car. Once inside the
safety of my Honda, I looked back to see Jean Marc still watching me from the
edge of the parking lot. I gunned the engine and peeled out of the lot, wanting
to put as much distance as possible between the infuriating Jean Marc Gaspard
and me.

Chapter 3
     
    The next day at
work I forced myself to forget about my encounter with Jean Marc, and once
again basked in the thrill of my coming date. I tried to think ahead to
Saturday night and let the usual female matters of what to wear and how to do
my hair and make up cloud my judgment. I even decided to consult with an expert
about my approaching evening with the good doctor.    
    “John Blessing?”
a wiry, silver-haired man commented as his penetrating blue eyes studied mine.
“I don’t remember him.”
    I took in my
secretary’s frown. “Come on,