The car filled with tension
And it was all Juliette could do not to unroll her window, just so she could breathe.
âYouâve changed,â Tyler said.
âYou havenât.â
âYou havenât spent ten minutes with me, Jules. How could you possibly know that?â
âItâs Juliette.â
He laughed and she glared at him hard.
âOkay,â he said, âitâs Juliette. Howâd you know I was back?â
âThis is Bonne Terre, Tyler. The second you set foot inside the parish about twenty people called me.â As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished them back. No way did she want Tyler OâNeill to think sheâd wasted a single thought on him after heâd walked out on her. No way did he need to think he meant more to her than he did. âIâm the chief here, Tyler. Itâs my job to know what potentially corrupting influences are hanging around.â
Dear Reader,
I was working on Tyler OâNeillâs Redemption when Paul Newman passed away. I spent days watching movies, reading articles and looking at pictures of this rare and talented man. I was amazed at his charity, his strength of purpose, his commitment to his wife and family. And thatâs not even talking about his acting or legendary blue eyes. Clearly there will never be another Paul Newman.
But I must admit, all those photos and movies seeped into my brain and onto the page and Tyler OâNeill started taking on some of Newmanâs real and fictionalized characteristics. Tyler has the eyes and the grin from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The scorching sideways glances from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. And the devil-may-care attitude and propensity for trouble inspired by Cool Hand Luke. How irresistible is that combination?
Itâs been fun getting Tyler OâNeill out of trouble with the help of Juliette Tremblantâa dangerous woman Tyler loved and left behind. For me, the sparks flew off the page. Please drop me a line at [email protected] and let me know if they did for you, too. I love to hear from readers.
Happy reading!
Molly OâKeefe
TYLER OâNEILL WAS WELCOMED back to Bonne Terre the same way heâd been kicked out of it.
With a mouthful of dirt from outside St. Patâs Church.
âI never did like you,â Lou Brandt whispered in Tylerâs ear while Tyler spit out gravel. âOr your family.â
Tyler rolled over and grinned, wincing slightly when his lip split and hot copper blood flooded his mouth. âIâve always liked you, Lou,â he wheezed. âAnd your wife.â
Lou reared back, his steel-toed work boot poised for another introduction to Tylerâs rib cage, but Gaetan Bourdage got a thick arm around Louâs barrel chest. âCome on, now, Lou,â he said. Lou strained against Gaetanâs arm, his big fat head turning red and purple.
âYouâre trash,â Lou snarled. âYou think winning all that money changes things?â
âNo, actually,â Tyler said, checking to make sure he still had his back teeth. âIt just makes me rich trash.â
âYouâre a cheat!â Lou cried.
âOh, shut up,â Tyler moaned. âYouâre a crappy card player, Lou. You always were and the ten years Iâve been gone, youâve just gotten worse.â
Lou strained against Gaetanâs arm with renewed fury. âSomeone should have shut your mouth for you years ago.â
âThey tried,â Tyler muttered.
âGo on inside,â Gaetan said, his Cajun accent thick as the swamp air. âThis boy just ainât worth it.â If Tyler didnât know Gaetan, he might just be hurt.
Instead he searched for his cap, finding it trampled in the dust behind him.
âYouâre right,â Lou said, finally easing off. He spit and the thick glob landed in the dirt near Tylerâs hand, causing his own temper to flare.
He reared up off the ground, but Gaetanâs gaze nailed him to the dirt.
Stay put, his eyes said. I can only save your sorry ass so many times.
Lou wandered back to the church and the Sunday night poker game that had been going on in the basement ever since the church had been built, and Tyler hung his pounding head between his knees.
âWelcome home,â he muttered.
âWhatchu doing back here, Ty?â Gaetan asked. The old man crouched, his thick silver mustache trembling with anger.