One in Waiting (Reedsville Roosters Book 2), page 1
ONE IN WAITING
Seventeen years ago, Emilie Beaudelaire left New Orleans carrying a dirty little secret. When her uncle has a brush with death, she’s forced to return home to lend her support…only to come face to face with the man half responsible for her leaving in the first place.
For Leary Marshall, running into his high school sweetheart rips open old wounds…but reignites former passions, too. But Leary’s been in a committed relationship to his minor league teammate Ren Thompson for a year. He loves Ren, but Emilie’s allure as “the one who got away” is impossible to ignore.
When Emilie turns out to be a convenient teacher for Ren’s BDSM curiosity, Leary wonders if the three of them could each have it all. They could make a perfectly balanced trio, but first, Emilie has to accept that the cause of her newest scandal may be the perfect cure for what ails her.
CHAPTER ONE
There were a myriad of other things Emilie Baudelaire could have been doing besides haunting hospital halls and waiting on a response to that age-old will he or won’t he? question. She could have been curled up on the window seat at her West Texas ranch working on a cross-stitch. She could have been watching a Real Housewives marathon.
Hell, she could have been cleaning her stove’s goddamned grease trap or mucking out her horses’ stalls.
Any of those things would have been better than the reality of the moment. She’d had enough reality for a lifetime, and had left for Texas seventeen years ago to get away from it. She should have known the blissful, Beaudelaire-free interlude wouldn’t last. Someone had to go and die.
Or was he dead?
“Is he dead?” She crossed her pantyhose-covered legs and bobbed her top knee. Too damned hot for pantyhose in Texas and in New Orleans, but nice ladies still wore pantyhose with dresses.
Or did they?
She scoffed. She’d stopped caring about Southern gentility right around the same time she stopped being a nice young lady. Her horses didn’t give a damn what she wore, and neither did the ranch hands—on the rare occasion they actually saw her. She hadn’t picked that pesky “propriety” habit back up by any means, but was merely pretending for an afternoon. An afternoon of phoniness was nothing compared to sixteen consecutive years of it.
In no time at all—she hoped—she’d be on a plane heading back to the sanctuary where no Beaudelaires visited or even called. They’d stopped trying, and she liked it that way. With all the cows on her property, she had enough bullshit to deal with already.
“Well, is he?” she asked by way of nudging.
Her assistant-slash-public stand-in Ceria lifted her gaze from her cellphone and pushed up an eyebrow. “I heard you the first time.”
“Just making sure.”
“I was hoping you didn’t really want an answer.”
Emilie shrugged. “I don’t know what they expect me to do here. I don’t even know why I came.”
“Because I made you.”
Emilie pointed at her and clucked her tongue. “Right. Why did I agree? Did I get into the whiskey that night?”
“No, you were sober enough. Distracted, though.”
“Hmm.” Emilie crossed her numb legs in the other direction and wriggled her toes in her uncomfortable stilettos. The shoes were actually Ceria’s. Emile had returned to New Orleans in scuffed-up cowboy boots and thought they looked fine with the one dress she owned, but Ceria hadn’t agreed. Ceria didn’t agree with much that Emilie did, and that was why Emilie kept her on her payroll. “What on earth could have possibly distracted me this time?”
Ceria cringed as she adjusted her over-the-ear hearing aid, and the thing chirped indignantly as she unseated the ear mold. “Same as always, I imagine.”
“Probably so.” Nowadays, Emilie rarely knew what she was anxious about, only that she was anxious. She was either her therapist’s worst nightmare or his dream come true, depending on whether he valued his sanity or his bottom line more.
“And no, your uncle Sebastian is not dead. That tight-lipped doctor said your uncle should pull through fine.”
“Good. So I can leave?”
“You should stay,” came her brother Henri’s deep voice behind her.
God. She closed her eyes and sank a bit farther in the hard, plastic chair. Her oldest sibling always managed to sound authoritative without raising his voice. So fucking staid. Of course, good breeding and lots of money probably lent a good deal to his air of confidence. Emilie had been at least a little confident once. Before she’d had to leave.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled as he loomed behind her. He leaned onto the back of her seat and stood quietly. Waiting for her to open her mouth and let some garbage fall out, probably. Well, she wasn’t going to step into that trap this time. She’d wait it out just as long as him.
She watched the second hand on the big white clock on the waiting room wall. It swept past fifty-five little tick marks, and she kept her lips sealed. Letting out a long breath, Henri walked around and sat on the institutional coffee table in front of her.
Same old Henri, just older. The Baudelaire dark hair. The piercing eyes. The elegance that disguised so many sins. Not that she was a saint, but at least she was upfront about how trifling she was.
“You weren’t really going to leave without saying hello to everyone, were you?” he asked.
“Yes. I was. Tell Daddy you saw me. He’ll believe you, I suppose.”
Henri ground his jaw and stared down at his steepled fingers. “I’m trying to choose my words carefully. I don’t want to minimize how difficult this is for you, or that you feel you’re not welcome here.”
She leaned forward and gave her brother’s shoulder a poke. “No, no, no. Don’t say feel. Don’t make it seem like it’s all in my imagination. It may have been a lot of years ago, but I haven’t forgotten a damned thing. Actions speak louder than words, and y’all ran me out of town.”
“We didn’t—”
She laid a finger over his lips. “Nope. Y’all ran me out then expected me to come back when all was said and done. After I evicted the baby from my womb and handed her over to strangers I was supposed to come back and act like nothing had happened, right?”
“I know it was a difficult choice.”
“Define it.”
He furrowed his brow.
“Go on. What’s it? Leaving New Orleans to get put up by strangers who could keep their mouths shut about how I couldn’t keep my legs closed, or handing her over? Which one?”
“Both, Emilie. Both.”
“I’m not seeing where I had choices with either. The only real choice I had in the matter was not to come back, and if you search your memory real well, you’ll know that no one tried all that hard to go get me.”
“We did try.”
“Oh? You remember that so accurately? You were in college. Barely home. How could you possibly know what was happening? I didn’t hear from you until I got that graduation invitation in the mail. Now that’s what I call brotherly love.”
Ceria stood and shot daggers at Emilie with her gaze. She tamped her hearing aid back into her ear and nudged her hair over it.
“What?” Emilie asked.
Ceria put up placating hands. “Perhaps this isn’t the place for this conversation.”
“There’s no good place for this conversation, ’cause it’s over.” Emilie stood. “No reason for me to be here. Uncle Sebastian’s gonna live, so I’m going to take off these shoes and these fucking pantyhose and this dress, and I’m going to see if the airline can get me on a plane tonight. I’m going to go home to my ranch.” She gave Henri another poke. “You know, the one I inherited ’cause those old folks actually liked me a little and wanted me to have something.”
“Nothing I can say right now is going to change your impression of what happened. It’s been seventeen years and we’re not going to fix that rift in an afternoon.”
“Nothing’s going to fix that rift except me drawing my last breath. Don’t tell me I’m being overly dramatic. I can tell the words are on your tongue and you’re just dying to spit them out.”
“I wasn’t, but I do think you’re being rash. A good night’s sleep might help you think.”
“What should I be thinking about?”
He ground his teeth some more, and then let out the tiniest, most stylish groan she’d ever heard. “I don’t know. I’m not so callous I would ask you to forgive and forget. I’d like us to reconnect.”
“Why? You’ve got substitute siblings for that.”
“They’re your siblings, too.”
“Halfsies.”
“They’re whole people, and they’re here, or at least in New Orleans. You could say hello.”
“Or not.”
Ceria cleared her throat.
“What now?”
She held up her phone screen. “I just checked the flight timetables. There’s nothing available into Dallas tonight.”
“How about Oklahoma City?”
“I checked that next. We can get a flight first thing in the morning, though.”
“Book the first available flight to Dallas, then.”
Henri stood and turned to Ceria. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Henri Baudelaire. Emilie’s—”
“Older brother. Yes, I know.” She let Henri shake her hand and cleared her throat. “I know the entire family tree. Had to memorize it so I understood who all her rants were about.”
“I don’t rant,” Emilie said. She crossed her legs in the other direction yet again and bobbed her knee some more.
Ceria nodded acquiescently. “You’re right. Do you want me to book a room near the airport?”
“No need,” Henri said. “There are a couple of events occurring at The Beaudelaire right now, but I’m certain we can find you a room. You staying off-property wouldn’t make sense when the family owns a hotel.”
“The word family doesn’t mean a whole heap to me, Henri,” Emilie said.
“And I’m sorry for that. Still. It’s just a night. We can talk more, or not, but I’d least like a chance to explain my side of things before you leave.”
Emilie looked at Ceria, who gave an I don’t see why not shrug. “You sure, girlie? You know I depend on you to be my stand-in common sense. Is this common sensical?”
Ceria narrowed her dark eyes and nodded. “I’d say so, assuming your brother isn’t going to charge us for the room.”
Henri sighed and pulled his vibrating phone out of his slacks pocket. “Complimentary, of course.”
“And you’ll arrange car service for us to the airport in the morning?”
He looked up from his phone screen, his expression a curious mask Emilie knew all too well. No one questioned Henri. Ceria, of course, hadn’t gotten that memo. “I’ll have someone arrange it for you.”
Ceria opened her mouth to rebut, but before she could, Emilie waved her off. “Don’t waste your energy negotiating with Henri.”
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“Took a cab from the airport.”
“Then I’ll call you one to get to The Beaudelaire. I would drive you myself, but—”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s your duty to be here, right?” She stood, picked up her overnight tote, and nodded toward the door. Ceria grabbed her own bag and laptop case. “We’ll wait downstairs. No need to walk with me. I wouldn’t want you to turn over any new leaves before you’re ready, after all.”
“Emilie.” His voice held a note of warning.
Same old Henri. Nothing really ever changed.
CHAPTER TWO
Emilie waved away the bellman and kept her bag clutched tight to her side as she ogled the grand entryway and reception area of The Hotel Beaudelaire. The property had been in the family for over two hundred years. It’d started off as a plantation like so many other grand, old properties in New Orleans, and after the Civil War was converted into a hotel of some renown.
Emilie had never wanted anything to do with the place. Felt like the family money was dirty. She wasn’t necessarily alone in that sentiment, but none of her siblings had been as vocal about it. Her mother had tried to justify it all by saying everyone back then in New Orleans was all mixed up, anyway. As if having one or two dark faces amongst all the French and Spanish ones legitimized the system.
She couldn’t deny the mansion was beautiful. She couldn’t deny she felt some pride for the place—its loving construction that had held up so well through battles and storms. But at the same time, in her mind, she couldn’t separate out what it was back then from what it was now.
Ceria pressed her hands to Emilie’s cheeks and tipped her face so her gaze was horizontal. “You’re fixating again. Cut it out. You don’t need any new triggers.”
Oh, triggers. She had so many. Anything and everything could set off that feeling of generalized anxiety that was so fucking hard to shake. Ceria probably thought Emilie believed the beautifully plastered old ceiling would cave in on them.
Great. Now she really did wonder…
She sighed, and curled her fingers around Ceria’s wrists, giving them a squeeze. “I wasn’t thinking that. I was just thinking about history.”
“Push it to the back of your mind and think about the upcoming Camp Out.”
Emilie cringed. Yeah, that’d distract her all right. The Camp Out was one of Ceria’s projects. She’d specifically created the annual event three years ago to give Emilie something productive to think about, and it certainly required a lot of thought. She opened up part of her ranch for a four-day weekend for what amounted to an outdoor festival-barbeque competition-tent camping experience. Folks of all ages swarmed in for the late-summer event. It’d become a place for families spread far and wide to meet up and reconnect, and Emilie loved seeing them all, smiling and having fun. Being busy kept her from thinking too hard about things beyond her control.
Or things that had been in her control once that she’d made regretful decisions about.
“You’re doing it again,” Ceria whispered.
“Sorry. Let’s just…check in. Feet are killing me. I want to soak them.”
“You really know how to party.” Ceria chuckled as they edged up to the counter.
The clerk looked up, smiled at the two of them, and folded her fingers. “Are you checking in for a room or for an event? We’re at capacity for rooms right now. I hate to send you away, but we’re always tight during…” Her cheek twitched. “Convention season.”
Emilie sighed and rolled her eyes. “There’s a Den event going on right now, isn’t there?”
The clerk’s wide brown eyes went very round. Apparently, she wasn’t used to being asked outright.
“You don’t need to tiptoe around it. I know all about what happens here.” She plucked her Texas drivers’ license out of her raggedy wallet and held it up for the clerk, tapping the line her name was on.
“What do you mean by Den event?” Ceria asked.
Emilie took her license back from the stunned clerk and leaned her side against the counter. “I never told you about that?”
“You’ve certainly told me a lot about the Beaudelaires and the hotel, but nothing about a den.”
“Oh. Well, you’re in for a treat if you love being in the company of sex fiends and exhibitionists.”
Ceria’s forehead furrowed and she tapped her left hearing aid. The damned thing had been on the fritz for three weeks, and she wouldn’t let Emilie give her the money to replace it outright. “Repeat that?”
“Best that you didn’t hear it.” Emilie turned back to the clerk. “My brother should have communicated that I was on the way. He said there’d be a room for me. Hopefully one on a quiet hall.”
Hard to come by during Den times, but not impossible to get. The Den of Sin was an event that occurred a few times per year at The Beaudelaire. Invitation only. Folks flew in for casual or kinky sex, and everyone was in on the secret. Well, mostly everyone. Usually, Henri closed off the hotel to other guests when Den events happened, but during summer convention season, rooms were in high demand and low supply. People were willing to pay a premium to stay at the five-star Beaudelaire, and staff had to scramble to keep them shielded from the debauchery.
“We don’t have any non-Den guests at the moment,” the clerk said as if reading her mind. “Except for some players from the minor league baseball team the hotel sponsors. They’re in town in between games and had a reception here yesterday. The four still here should be heading out tomorrow, but…they know what’s going on.” She pressed a couple of keycards across the counter. “Gold suite. We usually hold a couple open just in case parties end up…” She paused and swallowed hard enough for Emilie to see the lump travel down her throat. “Merging.”
“Well, well, a suite. Fancy. Are my siblings so lucky?”
The clerk tapped some information into her computer and shook her head. “No one else has checked in yet, but there’s a note not to assign any overflow rooms until we know whether or not your siblings will be staying.”
“Do me a favor and don’t tell them I’m here if they do check in, okay?”
“I’ll do that. Would you like a copy of the events schedule?”
“No, I don’t thi—”
Ceria reached across the counter and took it from her. “Thank you for that. I’m sure we’ll be starving and wanting to eat soon, so this’ll help us plan our evening.”
“No problem,” the clerk said. “Call down if you need anything at all.”
Ceria got Emilie moving toward the grand staircase. Once they were out of earshot of everyone in the lobby, she hissed, “You didn’t tell me your brother was some kind of freak.”
Emilie shrugged and shifted her bag to her other shoulder. “He’s not. He’s got a stick up his ass the size of the Oklahoma panhandle. He inherited his Den responsibilities. Wasn’t his idea. He just keeps it running.”
