Must Love Alligators Read online

  Must Love Alligators

  A Boys of the Bayou Christmas

  Erin Nicholas

  Copyright © 2019 by Erin Nicholas

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  More from Erin

  About the Author

  1

  “Get it!”

  “I’m trying to get it. What do you think I’m doing?”

  “It’s an otter. Just grab it!”

  “Yeah, it’s an otter! They wiggle!”

  Chase Dawson rolled over and blinked at the ceiling. He’d been awakened by alarm clocks, phone calls, sirens. Even roaming female hands. But never by an otter. Or, more specifically, by two big, loud Cajuns yelling at each other about an otter.

  Yeah, he knew those voices. Josh and Owen Landry were banging around outside the house Chase was staying in. Sounded like they were in the backyard. Right under his window.

  It was Louisiana, not Virginia, and even though it was December, he had these bedroom windows wide open. He couldn’t do that in D.C. He’d freeze his nuts off. But down here, at least for this Yankee, the crisp fifty-degree weather overnight was bliss.

  “Son of a bitch! They also bite!”

  Chase sighed. Being awakened in that cool morning air by the two guys who were, at least in part, responsible for his hangover, however, was not bliss. Chase pulled a pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Apparently, they’d found the otter. Now they just needed to grab it and get the hell out of here. Then he could go back to sleep for a couple of hours before he headed to Ellie’s bar for some good old cheesy grits to soak up the poison they called bayou whiskey. It was really just homemade moonshine. And it was evil.

  But of course he hadn’t been able to resist their taunts that he’d been “up north” for so long that he’d forgotten how to hang with the bayou boys. A jar and a half of moonshine later and Chase regretted everything. Including the fried alligator and boudin balls he’d consumed for the first time in four months. He’d eaten them like he was a starving man.

  ‘Round about two a.m. he’d sworn to never eat a fried ball of anything ever again.

  “Dammit, you scared him! We’ll never find him now!”

  Chase groaned.

  “Tori is going to freak out,” Josh, Tori’s fiancé, said.

  “You can handle Tori,” Owen said. “Bailey is the one we should be worried about.”

  Chase sat straight up in bed. Then realized what he’d done. Damn. His head pounded and his stomach roiled with the motion, but that wasn’t the worst part.

  He’d reacted. At the mention—and not even a mention directed at him—of her name. Just her name. Just her first name.

  But here he was, now wide awake, sitting up straight, heart pounding.

  Son of a bitch.

  Bailey Wilcox.

  The last woman on earth he should be reacting to.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a more awkward interaction with a female in his life. And that included the great-aunt of the girl he’d gone home with in college. The girl who had left for class the next morning without waking him up—or warning him that she lived with her great-aunt, who only spoke German, and swung a baseball bat like a major leaguer. He was still thankful for exceptionally good reflexes and that, even half-asleep, he could outrun a riled up sixty-something-year-old.

  * * *

  August…

  * * *

  “If you need any help studying for an anatomy exam, I’d be happy to help.”

  Chase looked down at the gorgeous blonde in front of him. Fuck yeah. He’d love to go over her dips and curves. Carefully. With particular focus on how auditory stimulation—aka, dirty talk—affected her heart rate and skin temperature.

  At least that should have been what he was thinking. Her beautiful anatomy was showcased in a tight tank top that left her stomach bare and short shorts that put her long, smooth legs on display. She was not only beautiful, she was clearly into the idea of a weekend fling with the Yankee visiting from D.C.

  But no. All he could focus on was why Bailey Wilcox was still wearing the dark green polo shirt that had Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries embroidered on the left side? Her khaki pants that were at least a size too big on her. She also still wore the brown work boots she wore to tromp around studying fish and frogs and whatever else she did all day with her job.

  She hadn’t even wanted to change her shoes before going out?

  She didn’t seem to really be out though. She was sitting at the end of the bar, alone—except for the two guys who’d tried to talk to her before she’d waved off their offers to buy her a drink—cradling a mug of beer in one hand while she bent over a small stack of papers. She had a plastic basket of something on her left side and a yellow highlighter in her right hand. She alternated taking a bite, then a drink, then running the highlighter over something on the page she was reading. Bite, drink, highlight. Over and over. She didn’t look up. She didn’t even make eye contact with the bartender. She seemed totally lost in her own little world.

  She clearly didn’t want company.

  So why the fuck was he watching her, rather than focusing on the friendly, curvy blonde in front of him? Why did he know that Bailey was now on page six of whatever that was but he didn’t even remember the blonde’s name? Had she told him her name?

  He made himself smile down at her. “Darlin’”—Yeah, he’d learned quickly that dropping those g’s and adding a little drawl, even to his definitely-not-Louisiana accent, had an effect on women—“I’d love nothin’ more than to fully study every one of your dermatomes, up close and personal.”

  The blonde wrinkled her nose. “What’s a dermatome?”

  Okay, maybe not the sexiest of the terms he could have pulled out. Then again, most of the actual terms for body parts weren’t all that hot. Plus, what he did know had come from undergrad anatomy and biology. He started med school in about a month. Maybe he’d learn some better stuff there.

  As the words homunculus and brachial and carotid tripped through his mind, he thought, then again, maybe not.

  He ran a single finger up the girl’s arm to her shoulder and she gave a cute little shiver. “A dermatome is an area of skin that’s innervated by the cutaneous branches of…” He looked at her puzzled expression and shook his head. “Never mind. Maybe we should talk about something else.”

  “Or maybe we should stop talking,” she suggested.

  That was a good idea. He didn’t need to be thinking about all of this right now. Medical school was going to consume all of his time, thoughts, and energy soon enough. He glanced over at Mitch Landry, the guy who’d—for some reason—taken Chase under his wing these past several days. Mitch lived and worked along the bayou, helping out at Boys of the Bayou and, as far as Chase could tell, living a life that was full of beer, fishing, beautiful women, and a big, boisterous family. Chase wouldn’t lie—he kind of wanted to be Mitch.

  Too bad Chase’s sister, Juliet, had made him want to be a doctor since he was about eight. He’d asked for a model brain for Christmas when he was ten and it had come with a full-color book. He’d been hooked and his path had been set.

  Which was fortunate. Otherwise, he would have ended up in business with their father like their older brothers had and likely would have turne
d into a giant, selfish dickhead like they had, too.

  Medicine was an acceptable alternative in their father’s eyes, so Chase had mostly been left alone about his decision. And, mostly, saved from becoming a dickhead. Though Juliet had needed to intervene a few times in that regard. Hence why he was in Autre, Louisiana, during the hottest part of the freaking year after his fraternity brothers had gone back home after their week trip to New Orleans.

  Chase and his buddies had stolen an airboat from Boys of the Bayou and, not knowing the first thing about driving an airboat—or the fact that airboats didn’t have brakes—had crashed the damned thing into one of the tour company’s docks. So Juliet, being Juliet, had dragged him back to Autre with a pledge to rebuild the dock. With her help. Not that either of them knew a damned thing about building a dock. But Juliet Dawson never let a little thing like lack of knowledge or experience stop her.

  Much to Chase’s amazement, and relief, the Landry family had actually been very cool with them both and instead of treating Chase like someone who’d stolen from them and wreaked havoc on their business, they’d welcomed him, taught him about building, and a hell of a lot more. They’d taught him Cajun culture, Louisiana history, and the true meaning of family and friendship.

  The blonde moved closer, sliding her arms around Chase’s waist and pressing her breasts against his chest. Automatically Chase’s hands found her ass. She put her lips against his neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Five of the best words a gorgeous woman could say to a man.

  Stupidly, however, Chase’s gaze again went to Bailey Wilcox.

  Why? Why, why, why?

  He only knew who she was because a couple of nights ago a few of her co-workers were here, too. Mitch knew them because they routinely patrolled the bayou. They’d all had a beer together and talked for a while.

  Except Bailey. She’d just sat there, listening, chewing on her bottom lip, and sipping her beer. There was nothing about her that should have caught his attention. She’d been in her work clothes that night, too. She was pretty enough. In a natural, low-maintenance, I’ve-never-even-heard-of-Sephora way. But she was quiet, maybe even shy, and hadn’t said a peep.

  Then she’d spilled her beer down her front.

  On purpose.

  For some reason, Chase had been watching her that night, too. He had no idea what it was about her that drew him, but if he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have seen the way her glass “accidentally” tipped over, sending beer into her lap.

  It had been right after one of her co-workers, a guy named Heath, had said something about his last hunting trip.

  She’d shot up from her chair, made some bumbling excuse and apology, and then disappeared. Chase had gone after her a few minutes later, to see if she was all right. Or something. He still wasn’t entirely clear on what he’d been intending. It was beer, and she was a grown woman. He didn’t think she actually needed his help. And what was he going to do? Head into the women’s restroom with a towel?

  He’d caught up with her just as she was at the front door, leaving. When he’d asked if she was okay, she’d frowned as if she had no idea what he was talking about and as if she wasn’t sure who he was.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” But why wouldn’t she have been okay? It was beer, not acid or even hot coffee. And she was clearly on her way home. She had her car keys in hand and, if he wasn’t mistaken, was holding them in a way that could easily make them a weapon if needed. Against him. He’d taken a step back.

  “I’m completely sure.”

  “You spilled that beer on purpose,” he’d pointed out. For some reason.

  “Yes.”

  Okay, so she didn’t lie. Or even act sheepish for getting caught faking a reason to leave.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to leave and that seemed a lot easier than explaining all the reasons why.”

  She gave Chase a look that clearly indicated his following her and asking her why she was leaving was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid.

  Right. Got it. “So, yeah, okay. Have a great night.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Okay.”

  On his way back to the table, Chase realized that he had been kind of an ass because he was very unused to women treating him as annoying or suspicious. He was pretty used to women treating him like they wanted to be around him and that having him follow them would have been welcome.

  Bailey Wilcox acted as if she’d barely registered his presence.

  Huh. That was…interesting.

  And now tonight it was happening again. She was still reading and highlighting and Chase was ninety percent sure that she had no idea he was here. Hell, she probably didn’t even know the color of the bartender’s shirt.

  Her hair was falling out of her ponytail, her glasses were sliding down her nose, and her baggy clothes gave no indication about any of her curves. She was little. Shorter than him. Slim. Those were the only physical details he could really discern.

  Okay, so he’d also noticed the freckles that danced across her nose and cheeks. And that her eyes were a very interesting green-blue color. And that there was tiny bit of pink on the skin in the V of her shirt indicating a slight sunburn. And seriously, why did her hair not stay up in the ponytail? The ponytail holder had slipped at least two inches down, the ponytail hanging at a weird angle, long silky brown strands escaping to fall against her neck and cheek. She had one tucked behind her ear right now, in fact. Why not just put it back up? It was as if she didn’t even notice.

  It also looked like someone had just held her head or even that fucking ponytail while kissing the hell out of her.

  It was driving him crazy.

  But none of it was any of his business. She clearly didn’t want company, and it would be a definite asshole move to go over there and insinuate himself into her evening.

  “My roommate’s out for the night.”

  Chase looked back down at the blonde. She was pressed up against him. Completely. How had he forgotten about her? But he’d been lost in thought about Bailey Wilcox. He shook the nerdy wildlife girl out of his head and grinned at… He was really going to need to figure out the blonde’s name at some point.

  “Sounds good,” he told her.

  It did. A hot one-night stand with this southern sweetheart? Of course that sounded good.

  “Great.” She slipped her hand into his and started for the door.

  Chase looked over to where Mitch was holding court to let his friend know what was going on. Unfortunately, before his gaze got to Mitch, it skimmed by Bailey again.

  Who was no longer sitting and reading by herself at the end of the bar.

  Now there was a guy leaning on the bar next to her. Very much in her personal space and clearly not taking the hint that she was busy and didn’t want to talk. She was frowning. Then she shook her head. The guy lifted a brow and reached for the folder she was working on, trying to pull it away.

  Her frown deepened and she refused to let go of the folder. She said something to the guy that Chase couldn’t make out and then the guy put his hand down on top of the folder, leaning in slightly, and saying something Chase couldn’t make out.

  What was not an asshole move? Helping a woman get away from an asshole who didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

  Chase had already let go of the blonde and started toward Bailey when his would-be date asked, “What’s going on?”

  He looked back. “Sorry. Something came up.”

  He didn’t want to go home with her. That was definitely a shock. But he didn’t really have time to analyze it beyond acknowledging it was true.

  “You’re not coming?” she asked, looking confused.

  Yeah, he was sure she was confused. He doubted men said no to her very often. Or ever.

  “No. I have…something else I need to take care of.”

  The blonde narrowed her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “I—” He h
ad nothing else to add. And he was needed at the end of the bar. “See ya.”

  The blonde shook her head. “Not as much of me as you could have.”

  Chase actually chuckled at that. Touché. He turned and headed straight for Bailey and the jerk who was still leaning into her space.

  Chase moved in behind her, put his hands on her shoulder, and said, “Hey, babe, sorry I’m late.”

  Bailey stiffened, obviously in shock. Chase stiffened—particularly below his belt—because…damn. She smelled fucking amazing. He wanted to know how she tasted now..

  Fortunately, he was only part asshole, and he realized immediately that all of that was super creepy to be thinking when he was over here to help her get away from the other asshole who was likely thinking about how delicious she’d taste, too.

  He straightened and met the other guy’s stare.

  “Who are you?”

  “Chase Dawson. Who are you?”

  “Justin Banks.”

  “Well, Justin, I’m going to need Bailey to come with me now.”

  “Is that right?” Justin looked down at Bailey.

  But Bailey had craned her neck and was looking up at Chase. Her expression was…befuddled. That was the best way to describe it. Chase grinned at her.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Had his voice just gotten a little husky? It had. Not on purpose, but he did like the way her lips parted slightly at the sound.

  Was she ready? Was he? He had no idea what this even was but, yeah. He was ready.

  “I um…” She trailed off, took a deep breath, glanced at Justin, then back to Chase. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  “Wait a second,” Justin said. “You’re going with him?”

  “Well, that’s really none of your business,” Bailey said, before Chase could cut in.

  Chase watched Justin. His jaw tensed and he took a deep breath. “Bailey—”