Swamp Tour Quotes

Some nasty old fart and his weird wife died, but the airboat swamp tour was awesome.” She

Owen felt his mouth curve into a grin as he heard the familiar clap, clap, clap behind him. That was one of his favorite sounds—high heels on the wooden dock of the Boys of the Bayou swamp boat tour company. He took his time turning and once he did, he started at the shoes. They were black and showed off bright red toenails. The straps wrapped sexily around trim ankles and led the eye right up to smooth, toned calves. The heels matched the black polka dots on the white skirt that thankfully didn’t start until mid-thigh, and showed off more tanned skin. He straightened from his kneeling position in one of the boats as his eyes kept moving up past the skirt to the bright red belt that accentuated a narrow waist and then to the silky black tank that molded to a pair of perfect breasts. He was fully anticipating her lips being bright red to go with that belt and her toenail polish. God, he loved red lipstick. And high heels. In any color. But before he could get to those lips, she used them, to say, “Oh, dammit, it’s you.” Owen’s gaze bypassed her mouth to fly to her eyes. Because he’d know that voice anywhere. Madison Allain was home. A day early. Not that an extra day would have helped him prepare. He’d been thinking about her visit for a week and was still as wound tight about it as he’d been when Sawyer, his business partner and cousin, had told him that she was coming home. For a month. Owen stood just watching her, fighting back all of the first words that he was tempted to say. Like, “Damn, you’re even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.” Or, “I haven’t put anyone in the hospital lately.” Or, “I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Just for instance.

I mean that after the little accident with your mom, you'd think you'd never come out here again." My heart stops. I'm not exaggerating. I swear, for a pure second, my chest seized and all the blood flowing in my veins pauses. I can't believe he would say something like that. From the look on everyone's faces, they can't believe it either. Aidan's the first to react as he growls, "Shut up! You jerk...how can you say something like that?" Dunstan ignores Aidan's outburst as he keeps his eyes trained on me. His face is indifferent, but I know he's smirking on the inside. Why's he doing this? What does he want me to do? React? I would, if I could get any movement back in my freakin' legs. However, they seem to be paralyzed at the moment. I settle for glaring at him. "Don't tell me you haven't gotten over it. It's been, what? Ten years since?" "He said shut up!" Nadia snarls. She bares her teeth in primal fury and seems almost ready to pounce on him. But if he catches on, Dunstan doesn't show it. "I just think it's amazing you'd still come out here. I know I wouldn't." "Mr. Lebelle, it is in my power to turn this boat around and end this tour early. So I suggest that you stop this conversation at once," Babette threatens him. She doesn't shout, but her iron tone is just as—if not more—frightening as any yelling could be.

one of the swamp tours

It’s a kind of no man’s land, a clammy corridor, part of the muddy mess left behind by the Mississippi slidin’ out into the Gulf. So don’t blink or you’ll pass it. There were no wilderness tours and jazz music and dancin’ and jambalaya tastin’ and boat rides coming through where we used to live, cos many people didn’t expect nobody to be all the way out there. All you’d see out there was wheezin’ trees, ankle-deep in the swamp. Most days, nothin’ moved except for maybe a dragonfly testin’ the water with its toes,

He and his mama run swamp tours back in the bayou.” Roo flicked ashes into the trampled weeds. “Tourists really like that kind of thing, don’t ask me why. He works construction jobs, too. Mows lawns, cuts trees, takes fishermen out in his boat. Stuff like that.” “Quite a résumé.” “And not bad to look at either.” Roo arched an eyebrow. “Or haven’t you noticed?” “I don’t even know him.” “You don’t have to know him to notice.” Miranda hedged. “Well…sure. I guess he’s kind of cute.” “Cute? Kind of? I’d say that’s the understatement of the century.” “Does he have a girlfriend or something?” As Roo flicked her an inquisitive glance, she added quickly, “He keeps calling me Cher.” Clearly amused, Roo shook her head. “It’s not a name, it’s a…” She thought a minute. “It’s like a nickname…like what you call somebody when you like them. Like ‘hey, love’ or ‘hey, honey’ or ‘hey, darlin’. It’s sort of a Cajun thing.” Miranda felt like a total fool. No wonder Etienne had gotten that look on his face when she’d corrected him about her name. “His dad’s side is Cajun,” Roo explained. “That’s where Etienne gets that great accent.” Miranda’s curiosity was now bordering on fascination. She knew very little about Cajuns--only the few facts Aunt Teeta had given her. Something about the original Acadians being expelled from Novia Scotia in the eighteenth century, and how they’d finally ended up settling all over south Louisiana. And how they’d come to be so well known for their hardy French pioneer stock, tight family bonds, strong faith, and the best food this side of heaven. “Before?” Roo went on. “When he walked by? He was talking to you in French. Well…Cajun French, actually.” “He was?” Miranda wanted to let it go, but the temptation was just too great. “What’d he say?” “He said, ‘Let’s get to know each other.’” A hot flush crept up Miranda’s cheeks. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear, and she was totally flustered. Maybe Roo was making it up, just poking fun at her--after all, she didn’t quite know what to make of Roo. “Oh,” was the only response Miranda could think of.

She groaned again as a knock sounded at the door, and she stumbled over to answer it. “Roo said you’d forget,” Etienne greeted her. “I didn’t forget.” Conscious of her thin nightgown, Miranda stepped behind the door. “And Roo said even if you didn’t forget, you still wouldn’t be there on time.” His hair was damp, as though he’d just washed it. His black jeans fit casually over his narrow hips, and his black T-shirt had BOUCHER SWAMP TOURS stamped across the front in faded red letters. “You should be feeling proud of yourself,” he added offhandedly. “So far she hasn’t told me one word about boiling you in oil. Not many people can pass the Roo test.” “Is that supposed to thrill me?” “It thrills me. You sure don’t want Roo putting a gris-gris on you. Very bad luck, cher.” “I have to get dressed,” Miranda grumbled. “I’ll wait.” “I don’t need you to wait for me.” “You might get lost.” “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the inn, right? How lost could I get?” She felt his eyes rake over her. She doubted if those eyes ever missed much. “Bad night?” he asked her. Miranda hesitated. Was he trying to be funny? Self-righteous? But the expression on his face wasn’t joking or smug, and she didn’t feel like answering any questions right now. “I’ll be out in a minute.” “Your grand-père? Miss Teeta says he’s better,” Etienne said. “Just in case you were wondering.” “Great. Maybe today he’ll do something else for the whole town to talk about.” “The town, it won’t talk if it doesn’t know.” Etienne’s voice hardened. “I don’t think you give your friends enough credit.” “What friends?” But she shut the door before he had a chance to respond.