Page 33 of The Cajun Doctor

“Why are you worried about Richard Simmons?”

“I haven’t seen him on TV lately. Mebbe he’s sick. Mebbe he got fat and doesn’t want anyone ta see him. Mebbe terrorists are holdin’ him fer ransom. Mebbe aliens have come down and kidnapped him. Mebbe we should go to Hollywood and check it out.”

“No! Absolutely not! This is where I draw the line. No Richard Simmons. No Hollywood. No whacko road trips.”

“Whatever ya say, Charmaine,” Louise agreed.

“Yeah, right.” Charmaine sighed. “You got any bourbon fer this tea?”

Chapter Seven

There was no escaping him anywhere . . .

When Samantha’s alarm went off that morning, she realized that she’d been in the midst of yet another of the alarming sex dreams that had been plaguing her lately. Nightmares, really, because they starred that irritating, full-of-himself, condescending Daniel LeDeux, of all people.

Ever since she’d met the twins at John LeDeux’s wedding a few years back, she intermittently ran into the evil twin, Daniel. Hard to avoid anyone named LeDeux here in the South, but especially hard for Samantha, who had so many personal connections with Luc and with Tante Lulu through their joint efforts in the Hope Foundation.

Daniel wasn’t really evil, of course, but he was irritating to the point of madness. Usually, Samantha would avoid someone so toxic to her well-being, but she couldn’t avoid running into the man every couple months as he bee-bopped in and out of Louisiana . . . when he wasn’t holed up in that old fishing camp like a self-absorbed hermit. When it came to brooding, he gave Heathcliff a bad name.

Just being a doctor was bad enough in her book, of course, because of her experience with Nick and his buddies who obsessed over material things . . . biggest boat, most expensive car, higher income. Yes, she knew it was unfair to lump all physicians together. She couldn’t help herself, though.

As for Daniel, she hadn’t seen any evidence of greed . . . so far. But each time they met, like at the periodic meetings of the Hope Foundation board on which they both served, thanks to Tante Lulu’s bulldozer persuasion methods, he said or did something to annoy her, deliberately.

So why would she be having erotic dreams about such a man?

It was a puzzle.

Freud would have a field day analyzing the whys and wherefores of her apparently hidden attraction to the man.

The more likely scenario was that the meddling maniac of the bayou, Tante Lulu, had probably put some kind of curse on her. Not that Samantha believed in curses, or voodoo, or even the old lady’s faith in St. Jude miracles.

She was over thirty years old. No longer a slave to her hormones like she’d been when she’d gone brain dead and married Nick more than ten years ago while he’d still been in medical school. Hard to believe the gall of the jerk to demand alimony at their divorce trial seven years ago, but she’d thought that was all over two years ago when Judge Pitre, bless her heart, had denied his request for additional alimony and issued a temporary restraining order because of his harassment. Now, it was starting all over again. The man never gave up!

Last week he’d reached new lows by filing yet another court petition, this time a lawsuit, claiming she’d lied in initial hearings regarding her financial statements and demanding a million dollars in punitive damages.

“That guy must have balls the size of soccer balls,” Luc had remarked on relaying that latest news.

To which she had responded, “Yeah, but an itty bitty penis.”

“We should put that in an amended reply.” Luc had been half serious.

“Can we?” she’d asked.

“Unfortunately, no.” Luc had grinned at her. “But maybe you could accidentally blurt it out at our next hearing.”

She should have known better than to marry Nick. Really. What man with movie star good looks and enough charm to peel a grape would look twice at an overly tall, auburn-haired woman with splotchy freckles all over her body? He’d pointed out her shortcomings ad nauseam, but only after the wedding certificates had been signed, and then only in the slyest manner. Like, “Do you really think you should wear that red dress, darlin’? It makes your freckles look like zits.” Or, “Have you gained weight, honey?” Or, “A woman as big . . . um, as tall as you . . . really should avoid heels.”

So, why was she dreaming about another too good-looking man who clearly did not like her any more than she liked him? Shaking her head with disgust, she sat up and turned off the still shrilling alarm.

But then, cued by the alarm clock, her family began to awaken and come to say “hello.”

“Woof, woof!” said Axel, her German Shepherd the size of a pony, who’d been ancient when she adopted him two years ago and was even more ancient now. He would have jumped up onto the bed beside her if he was able. Axel had recovered from his broken hip; German Shepherds were genetically predisposed to hip problems anyway, but the wise ol’ guy knew his limitations and avoided jumping wherever possible. His bald patches had filled in. And she no longer noticed that half of one ear was gone. Despite being in better health, he would not be winning the Westminster dog show anytime soon.

“Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!” Five orphaned, thankfully crate-trained, three-month-old puppies of indeterminate breed announced their presence from their downstairs cage. Adoptions had already been arranged for the cuties. So many abused and abandoned animals to be rescued! Her fostering efforts had started two years ago as a security measure, but she had discovered she was a soft touch for animals about to be put down for lack of adoptive owners. Who was she kidding? It probably fed some maternal yearning of hers for children.

Axel would miss this particular bunch of puppies. He’d taken over their care from the beginning, almost like a mother dog with its litter, which was a miracle considering Axel was a castrated male.

“Meow!” Sleeping at the foot of the bed, but now yawning awake, was Madeline, her gorgeous Savannah cat. Maddie, also one of her initial adoptees, had been a hard animal to adopt out, despite her beauty, because she resembled a small cheetah and scared families with children. Savannahs were hybrid cats with both domestic and wild blood. Although Savannahs could be sweet and affectionate, Maddie had been mistreated, causing her to have trust issues. Samantha liked to think she and Maddie, now a permanent member of her “family,” were soul sisters.