Chapter 3 #2
Remy stepped forward. “My team of Brotherhood Protectors would like to assist you in bringing in your crop of watermelons, Ms. Bellamy.”
She shook her head. “It’s back-breaking work,” she warned.
“We’re all strong and ready to help,” their leader said. “All you have to do is let us know how you want it done and where to load all the watermelons.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, a frown pinching the skin over the bridge of her nose.
“If you’d rather we didn’t—” Romeo started.
Gerard elbowed the man in the gut. “What my friend here meant is we’d be glad to help. Right, Romeo?”
Romeo pressed a hand to his belly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth as he doubled over. “Looking forward to helping out.”
A smile spread slowly across Bernie’s face, changing her from plain to beautiful. The late afternoon sunshine added to her glow. “Thank you.” She turned to Gerard and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
His breath caught as her lips brushed across his skin. Heat rose up his neck and sank down into his groin. For a moment, he couldn’t put two words together to form anything that would make sense.
“Hey, we’re all going to help, not just Gerard,” Romeo said and turned his face to the side, presenting his cheek.
Gerard glared at his friend.
Before he could say anything, Remy clapped his hands together. “When do you want to start?”
Bernie stared out at the field of melons.
“If we start now, we can get through half the field tonight and finish the other half tomorrow after the morning dew has burned off. That will give me time to deliver the first load to my distributor in New Orleans and get back. Then we can finish loading the rest tomorrow afternoon. We should be finished well before dark, in time for me to take the second load to New Orleans.”
Beaux raised a hand to shade his eyes. “How many melons do you think you have here?”
“I planted one acre at a projected yield of about fifteen tons per acre. I’m not sure how much damage Penelope did.”
“Penelope?” Lucas asked.
“One of her pigs,” Gerard said.
“My breeder sow,” Bernie added. “As for how many melons are out there...” She tipped her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “At maybe 50-100 melons per ton, there should be around a thousand melons or more, minus the ones Penelope destroyed on her midnight binge.”
Gerard blinked. “A thousand?”
She nodded. “My pickers would’ve harvested them all today had they been allowed to start when they arrived earlier. I had the boxes ready and waiting. All we have to do is load the boxes onto this trailer, and we can start—if your guys are serious.”
“Oh, we’re serious,” Remy said. “Aren’t we, team?”
“Sure,” Jacques said.
Romeo grumbled under his breath before saying, “Right. Who doesn’t love watermelon?”
Sin planted his hands on his hips. “Where do we start?”
“A couple of you can help me load the cardboard boxes onto the trailer. The rest can begin picking and lining the melons up, ready to put them in the boxes when we get back with the trailer.”
“How do we know which melons to pick?” Sin asked.
“Follow me.” Bernie walked out among the watermelon vines.
Gerard admired the woman’s no-nonsense approach to farming and the way she patiently showed the men how to determine if a melon was ripe enough to pick. She pulled a pocketknife out of her jeans pocket and sliced through a stem. She held up her pocketknife. “Who needs a knife?”
Each man pulled a knife from a scabbard on his belt and flipped it open.
Bernie chuckled. “Always prepared, huh? You all must have been good Boy Scouts.”
“No, ma’am,” Remy said. “Navy SEAL, here.”
She grinned.
The way her face lit up made Gerard’s blood run hot through his veins.
“All right,” Bernie crossed her arms over her chest. “Remy, show me a ripe melon.”
One by one, she had each guy identify a ripe melon before she turned them loose to start picking.
When she was satisfied they knew a ripe melon from a green one, Bernie climbed onto the tractor, turned it around and headed for the barn.
Gerard, Remy and Landry followed. At the barn, they loaded large, sturdy cardboard boxes onto the flatbed trailer and rode with them back out to the field.
Valentin, Romeo and Beaux turned out to be the best at picking the ripe melons. They passed the melons in bucket-brigade style from one man to the next, handing the heavy fruit up to Gerard and Bernie, who then set them gently into the cardboard boxes until each box was full.
The work was strenuous, the heat and humidity making them sweat.
By the time the trailer was full, Gerard was tired, his muscles sore, and he was ready for a shower, a beer and food, but not necessarily in that order.
He jumped down from his position on the trailer and stretched his arms above his head, working the kinks out of his back.
Bernie drove the tractor back to the barn, pulling the heavily loaded trailer along behind her. She’d worked as hard as the rest of them without once grumbling about the heat, the backbreaking task or the fact that they had to do it all again the next day.
Gerard suspected his teammates had stopped grumbling when they’d realized Bernie was keeping up with them without complaint.
And to think, she’d been running the farm single-handed.
Gerard’s respect for the woman ratcheted up significantly.
He walked with his team back to the barn behind the tractor and helped Bernie unhitch the trailer from the tractor and hitch it to her truck for the drive into New Orleans the following morning.
Bernie nodded toward the house. “There’s beer in the refrigerator in the kitchen. Help yourself. I have a huge pot of gumbo already cooked. All I have to do is warm it up if you’d like to stay for dinner.”
“You don’t have to go to the trouble,” Remy said. “We can get something to eat in town.”
“And leave me with all that gumbo?” Bernie shook her head. “I made it for the pickers. I always provide a meal for them when they come. I make a pretty decent gumbo if I say so myself.”
“Count me in.” Romeo rubbed his belly. “I could eat a whole pig after that workout.”
“Shh.” Lucas grinned. “Don’t let Penelope hear you say that. She might take offense.”
“It shouldn’t take me fifteen minutes to warm it up,” Bernie said. “I have plenty of beer in the refrigerator for those interested and bottled water for everyone else.”
Gerard followed her into the kitchen, grabbed the case of beer she had chilling in the fridge and carried it out to the team.
The men took turns rinsing their hands and faces under the spigot at the side of the house. Once they’d dripped dry, they each grabbed a beer from the case and settled on the porch steps, the swing or leaned against the railing, sipping beer and poking fun at each other.
“I think Delta Force training was easier than harvesting a field of watermelons,” Lucas said, rolling his shoulders.
Sin shook his head. “I don’t know what Delta Force training you went through, man, but it couldn’t have been the same as mine.”
“I don’t know,” Beaux said. “We’d only loaded one box with melons when I started looking for a bell to ring.”
Gerard laughed with the rest of the men, remembering how many of his fellow trainees had rung the bell, signaling the end of their training, having given up.
Even at his worst, he’d never considered quitting.
He’d suffered worse at the hands of his father.
Delta Force training had been a walk in the park.
Dusk was settling on the farm when the crime scene investigators wrapped up their work in the pig enclosure and made their way back to their vehicles parked in the barnyard.
While the investigators loaded into their cars and drove away, Sheriff Bergeron stepped onto the porch.
Bernie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the sides of her jeans. “Well? Did they find anything else?”
The sheriff sighed. “Not much. Definitely no more body parts.” He pulled out his cell phone and brought up a photo. “They used a metal detector and found a men’s silver ring in the muck.” He passed his cell phone to Bernie. “Do you recognize this ring?”
Bernie studied the image, her brow furrowing.
“It’s not mine. I doubt it was my husband’s.
He never wore any kind of jewelry. He refused to wear a wedding band because he worked around so much farm machinery, and he didn’t want to get one caught in anything and lose a finger.
” She tipped her head, her frown deepening. “The symbol is a fleur-de-lis.”
“It was inscribed on the inside.” The sheriff scrolled to another photo.
“I can barely make out the letters,” Bernie said.
Gerard leaned over Bernie’s shoulder. After a second or two, he read it out loud.
“ Je t’taime . It’s French for I love you.
” As he realized just how close he was to Bernie, Gerard’s pulse beat faster.
Heat burned through his body that had nothing to do with the oppressive humidity and air temperature.
Bernie turned her head, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes flared, and her cheeks pinkened,
Gerard’s breath lodged in his chest. He took a quick step backward, putting a safe distance between himself and his client.
“I’ve seen those words before...” Bernie whispered. “And that symbol.” She covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. “But where?” A moment later, her eyes popped open, and she dove for the door, disappearing into the farmhouse.
Gerard assumed she’d just remembered that she had food on the stove and had gone inside to check on it.
“How was the watermelon picking?” the sheriff asked.
A collective groan rose from the men on the porch.
Sheriff Bergeron chuckled. “You made good progress, considering you got a late start this afternoon. I remember working one summer for a farmer who grew watermelons and cantaloupes. That’s why I chose to go into law enforcement.”
“I have a whole new respect for the men and women who do this for a living,” Remy said.
The sheriff grinned. “I’ll bet you do.”
Bernie stepped out onto the porch. “I thought I’d seen that symbol and inscription before. It finally dawned on me where.” She held out her hand and dropped a necklace into the sheriff’s palm. “This was my mother’s necklace. She wore it all the time. She gave it to me before she died.”
The necklace was a simple silver chain with a pendant bearing the fleur-de-lis symbol on one side.
When the sheriff turned it over, Gerard could see the same inscription on the back of the pendant as was on the inside of the ring.
The sheriff held the necklace next to the image on his phone. “Was your mother ever near the pigpen?”
Bernie shook her head. “I didn’t marry Ray until after my mother passed due to cancer. As far as I know, she never visited Bellamy Farm.”
“Hmm.” Sheriff Bergeron’s lips pressed together. “Do you mind if I take this into evidence? I promise you’ll get it back. This is too much of a coincidence.”
“Of course,” Bernie said. “And yes, it’s too much of a coincidence. Why would a ring matching the necklace my mother wore end up in a pigpen she’d never come near?”
“Good question.” The sheriff pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket, deposited the necklace inside and nodded at Bernie. “I’m sorry this is all coming at a bad time, with harvest and all.”
Bernie’s lips twisted. “Is there ever a good time to find a foot in your pigpen?”
“No,” the sheriff said. “If I hear anything useful, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, lock your doors and carry a gun.”
“Yes, sir,” Bernie said.
“I can have a unit check on your place periodically,” he pushed a hand through his hair. “Sorry, but I don’t have the staff to post someone here twenty-four-seven.”
“Sir,” Gerard stepped forward. “We’ve got Ms. Bellamy covered.”
The sheriff frowned. “We?” He turned toward Remy. “As in your team? The Brotherhood Protectors?”
Remy nodded. “Gerard will be with her twenty-four-seven until this situation is resolved.”
“Excellent.” Sheriff Bergeron smiled at Bernie. “Remy and Gerard proved themselves keeping Deputy Taylor and her family safe when a drug cartel tried to set up shop in our neighborhood. You’re in good hands.”
Bernie shot a quick glance in Gerard’s direction, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. “Mr. Guidry has already been a big help on the farm. I’m afraid I’m taking advantage of him.”
Gerard shook his head. “Not at all. Anything I can do to help.”
She grinned. “You might regret those words when you get up tomorrow morning, sore as hell from lifting hundreds of watermelons.”
He suspected he’d hurt, but he had no regrets. This woman needed help on the farm and keeping her safe from whoever had disposed of a body in a pigpen. Well, at least a foot.
“I hope your evening improves,” the sheriff said.
“It already has,” Bernie responded with a smile. “Half of my crop is ready to market despite losing my pickers today.”
Her happiness made Gerard’s aching back worth the pain. He liked the way her face glowed when she was happy and wanted to be the one who brought out that glow.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sheriff Bergeron said. “Let us know if you find anything interesting while harvesting the remainder of your field.”
Bernie nodded. “Will do.”
After the sheriff drove off, Bernie dashed into the house to rescue the warming gumbo.
Seconds later, she came back through the door, her face white.
Gerard hurried forward and gripped her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She raised her hand and stared down at the cell phone in her palm. “I got a text message from an unknown caller.”
He took the cell phone from her.
Remy and the other men on the porch gathered around as he read the message aloud.
WE WANT WHAT YOU HAVE
GIVE IT UP OR DIE