“Yes, sir.” I lead him out back and we set off down a paved path between more massive oak trees. I take a deep breath and sigh happily. “I love the way it smells out here.”
“The fresh air is nice.”
“So, these small buildings out here were once slave quarters,” I begin and point to the simple wood buildings not far down the path. “Gabby had them moved from out in the fields and renovated so guests could see them. We used to play in them as kids.”
“Are these lists of slaves who lived here?” Simon asks, pointing to a placard in front of the quarters.
“They are. These journals were found in the attic when Gabby dug in to renovate for the inn. My great-great-great grandfather was good at keeping records. These have their name, age, who he bought them from, and for how much.”
“Incredible,” Simon murmurs, reading the pages. “I’m assuming these are copies.”
“Yes. The originals are in a safety deposit box.”
He nods. “It looks like, despite being a slave owner, he was a fair man.”
“From what I understand, ours was not a cruel plantation. The hours were long, and it was hard work, but they were given homes, food, clothes. And they were never separated from their families while they lived here. Meaning, one or two members weren’t sold while the others stayed here.”
“Amazing.”
“As kids, we would play in the slave quarters, but as I got older, and could read well, I found the carvings inside to be fascinating. Of course, we understood what slavery meant, and that it wasn’t something to take lightly, and we didn’t. I just found it interesting.”
“Show me.”
I grin and take his hand, leading him inside. “There are carvings in here, of names and dates. Some couldn’t read or write, but others could.”
“Your history is a rich one,” Simon says and pulls me in for a big hug. “And I don’t mean money.”
“I know,” I reply and bury my face in his chest, breathing him in. He smells even better than the bayou. “There’s more to show you, but Sam is probably ready by now, and we don’t want to be late.”
“Another time then.” He tips my chin up and lays his lips gently on mine, sweeping back and forth, then sinks in and kisses me long and deep. “We’d better go before I take you against the wall here.”
“Another time then,” I reply, echoing his words and grin when lust flashes in his blue eyes. “Come on. We have a date with a gator.”
“We haven’t seen any gators yet,” Sam says with a frown as he scours the swamp. “Where are they, mister?”
“We’ll see some,” the guide replies with a wink. He’s an older guy, probably running tours through the swamp in his retirement. His voice is as rough as his skin, but he’s gentle and good with the kids.
“I hope so,” Sam says and glances up at me. “I promised to show you some.”
“Well, we’ve already seen a few snakes,” Simon says, not at all helpfully and grins at me when I wince.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I mumble and glare at the sexy man who simply laughs.
“That was pretty cool,” Sam says. “But I don’t think they were poisonous.”
“Oh darn.”
“Look what I found,” the old guide says as he leans over the side of the boat and pulls up a small gator, making me grab onto Simon. “This little fella is just a baby.”
“Oh God.” I swallow hard as Sam stands up excitedly. “Sam, don’t get too close.”
“You can hold ’em!” Sam says. “Ain’t that right, mister?”
“Isn’t that right,” I correct him, still clinging to Simon. “Why did I agree to come again?”
“Because you love him,” Simon says simply and kisses my forehead. “And you’re an excellent aunt.”
“I’m okay,” I reply with a shrug, then cringe again when Sam turns to me. “You can hold him too!”
“Oh, that’s okay.”
But the guide comes at me with the little gator, holding him out to me.
“I’m really fine.”
“Come on, Aunt Charly, you’re not scared of a baby.”
“Yeah, Aunt Charly,” Simon says. He loves to tease me. “It’s just a baby.”
“Oh.” I look between all three men, and feel trapped. Sam has such hope in his eyes, I can’t let him down. So, I reach out, and just before the guide puts it in my hands, I squeeze my eyes shut.
Hard.
Suddenly, something scaly and wet is in my hands. It’s lighter than I expected, but I just keep reciting to myself: I’m not holding a reptile. I’m not holding a reptile.