A Christmas Kiss by Caroline Burnes

enough to know that the French Acadian immigrants who fled Canada and settled in the area had lived in near isolation for decades, harvesting the riches of the Gulf of Mexico and the sugar cane, rice and salt that were the backbone of the agricultural economy.
    "We were a very strong community, until oil and television." Joey spoke as if he read her mind.
    "Now things are changing. I sound like the old folks, but it isn't all for the best."
    "Do you get home often?"
    "Not often enough. It seems my work wraps around my ankles and holds me here.'' He pointed to a small tug headed through the fog. "Look, there's a band."
    Cori saw the figures with their instruments on the deck of the barge just as four men struck a few chords and sent the rock 'n' roll reverberating off the fog and water. They broke into a rendition of
    "Proud Mary."
    Joey groaned. "Every band in the world has to play that song."
    "Especially when they're rolling on the Mississippi." Cori laughed at his mock anguish. "Do you play an instrument?" She knew that he did. She guessed guitar.
    "Fiddle," he said, grinning with a streak of shyness. "My father taught me when I was younger. We used to play every Saturday night. For the dances." His face lit with the memory. "Everyone danced. My father was the singer, and he sang only in French. We never spoke English in our home, just French.
    When I started school, Laurette gave me English lessons in the afternoon."
    "Your parents didn't speak English?" Cori found it fascinating.

    "The whole community spoke French, mostly. Everyone could speak English, but it was a second language. In school we all spoke English, but the home language was French." He looked down at her and his smile gave him away as teasing. "We all speak French, and we all dance. The true prerequisites for being Cajun."
    "Well, I can't do either," Cori confessed. "My tongue and my feet are clumsy."
    In the soft morning light, filtered through the fog, Joey could not resist the softness of her cheek. He touched her, a feather-light brush. "I could teach you to dance," he said.
    For a few seconds, Cori enjoyed the image that flitted into her brain. She could feel Joey's arms around her, holding her, guiding her in the lovely dipping and turning step called the Cajun Waltz. She had seen it performed, by octogenarians and grammar school children. It had always seemed so magical to her, a dance of laughter and fun where everyone seemed to have a good time. "That would be wonderful," she said.
    "Let's start back toward town." He took her elbow and led her down from the levee. The intensity of his feelings for her had unsettled him. He'd always been able to differentiate between work and play. If there was any problem, it was that he worked all the time and played hardly at all. Now he was asking a witness in his program to dance. A widowed woman, to boot. He felt a wave of concern at his own emotional state. And he'd thought she was coming unhinged!
    He checked the time. He'd fibbed about Blake. The man was in his office by now, but he didn't want Cori along. It was decision time. Since he knew she'd never agree to go back to Texas until he talked with Blake and Dupray, he had to think of something to occupy her time and keep her out of trouble. Unfortunately, he hadn't come up with a single thing.
    "Joey, I know you won't let me go with you. Why don't you leave me at the federal building. I'll stay in the Marshals office while you talk to Captain Blake and Danny."
    He glanced at her, seeing only sincerity in her eyes. This was a little too easy.
    "When you're done, I'd like to walk down by my old studio." Cori looked up at him. "Not to go in or anything, just to see what type of work they're showing. I've heard, through the grapevine, the new owner is successful."
    So, she still had plans to visit the Quarter. That was more in line with her character. "Let me talk to Blake and Dupray, and then we'll see about going to your studio. Maybe we could drive by."