To Kiss A Frog

by Elle James

  Uncle Joe tapped a finger to his temple. “You got a point, son. But you better try, unless you fancy flies and bugs for dinner every night.”

  Craig sat down on the hard metal seat of the little boat and buried his face in his hands. “Great, I'm screwed.”

  Uncle Joe scratched the whiskers on his chin and stared up at the stars. “What about the scientist lady? Can't you make her fall for you?”

  Craig looked up and snorted. “She's not my type.” Although, with eyes the color of Spanish moss and soft curls framing her face, Elaine had her appeal, in a subtle way. She'd come across as vulnerable instead of intimidating like he suspected she'd been aiming for.

  “And you've been more successful with the women you usually go out with?”

  Craig's lips tightened.

  Uncle Joe folded his aims across his chest. “Exactly. Maybe Madame LeBieu has a point.”

  Disgusted, Craig threw his hands in the air. “Oh, don't tell me you're on her side!”

  “No, but you gotta admit, your track record isn't so great.”

  “And since when have you started keeping score?”

  “Since you first started noticing girls back when you were a smart-mouthed teenager comin' to visit me on your summer vacations. That's when. And don't tell me you're here strictly for work. I know you had a run-in with a woman back in New Orleans and don't try to tell me different. Your daddy and I still talk, even though I don't know what he's saying half the time with all that lawyer jargon.”

  “I didn't come here to get away from a woman,” Craig grumbled. “I have legitimate business with Jason Littington.”

  “Yeah, and I ain't partial to beer. Since when do you lawyers perform house-calls? And when do you plan to head back to New Orleans?”

  Craig climbed out of the boat and walked a few steps toward the bait shop before he answered. “I'm not sure. Considering my present circumstances, I'm not certain I'll ever go back. You've got to help me out of this mess.”

  “You're ignoring my question.”

  “Look, if it bothers you for me to be here, I'll leave.”

  “Dug a finger in a festering wound, did I?” Uncle Joe dropped his arms to his side. “You know you're welcome to stay as long as you like. I can always use the help with the marina.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Joe,” Craig said. “But that still doesn't fix my problem.”

  “Maybe an apology to Madame LeBieu and her granddaughter would be the place to start.”

  Craig ground his teeth. “The thought of apologizing to that old witch goes against the grain. I acted like a gentleman with her granddaughter and she considers that cause enough to sentence me to being a frog? I don't get it. But if apologizing will get her to lift the spell, I'll do it. Anything to keep from changing back into a frog.”

  “That's more like it. Sometimes you got to get humble. And in the meantime, be nice to the lady scientist. She might be your salvation.”

  Craig stomped back to the bait shop for bug repellent. He'd have to hurry if he planned to talk with Madame LeBieu before sunup. And he'd thought his law practice was stressful. So much for coming to Bayou Miste to conduct a little business and snatch a bit of peace and quiet.

  “My words stand.” Madame LeBieu's melodious voice held a hint of steel. She stood with her arms crossed over her massive bosom and her lips pressed into a stubborn tine. The skirt of her Hawaiian-patterned muumuu billowed in the breeze blowing in off the gulf. “You must find a woman to love you before de next full moon, or your skinny little butt be a green hoppin' one forever.”

  “You can't be serious.” Craig flung a hand in the air and paced the ground in front of the rickety porch. “How am I supposed to get a woman to love me when I'm a frog?”

  “You got all night long to work yer magic, my friend.”

  He stopped in front of Madame LeBlieu. “Most people sleep at night.”

  “Dat be your problem.”

  “And where am I supposed to find an eligible woman in the swamps?”

  “Bayou Miste has plenty single women. What about de scientist lady I sent - what come here on a mission? You be sure and help her find what she be lookin' for. Her heart is true and she cares, unlike you!”

  Craig stood at the foot of the warped wooden steps, holding a lantern high to size up his adversary. He'd argued in some of the most hostile courtrooms and won cases against the best attorneys, but Madame LeBieu was in a league all her own. “I don't have time to date swamp women. I've got to complete the deal with Littington and get back to New Orleans. I can't go as a frog. Be reasonable.”

  “Looks to me as if your priorities have changed. If you don't do as I say, you won't have to worry 'bout going to work no mo'.”

  “I could sue you.” He cringed as he said the words.

  Madame LeBieu snorted. “Go ahead. No judge will take you seriously if you can't even show up in court.” She laughed and turned to reenter her ramshackle clapboard house. “Sue me, ha!” Her chuckles could be heard even as the screen door slammed behind her.

  “I'm doomed,” Craig moaned. He glanced at his watch. The sun would rise in less than an hour. He'd have to hurry to get back to the marina before the transformation.

  The screen pushed open again and Madame LeBieu stood with one chubby finger raised. “One other ting. The magic don't work if she know about your problem.”

  On the ride back through the swamps, he considered his options. Some options. He could do as Madame LeBieu said or stay a frog the rest of his life.

  From where he sat, the vote was unanimous. He had to find a woman and make her fall in love with him in less than two weeks. Simple, right?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ************************************************************************************************

  Whoever said it was quiet in the country obviously hadn't spent time in the swamps. The raucous sounds of crickets, cicadas and frogs were every bit as loud as the traffic outside Elaine's hale house in the suburbs of New Orleans.

  Due to the strange bed and all the unfamiliar sounds and smells, Elaine had spent a restless night tossing and turning. When she'd managed to sleep in short spurts, her dreams had run the gamut from scenes of Brian and the secretary to dark and sinister swamps filled with eerie croaking frogs. A steady thrumming laced each dream, as if drums beat to the rhythm of her heart.

  When the predawn grayness heralded the sun's rising,

  Elaine slipped out of bed and padded into the tiny kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Since she wasn't sleeping, she might as well start the day.

  She'd unpacked only the necessities the night before, one of which was the coffeemaker. While the machine heated water, she returned to the bedroom to change into khaki slacks and a ribbed T-shirt. She was tugging a brush through her tangled hair when she heard a knock at the front door.

  With a quick glance in the mirror, she sighed. What was the use in this humidity? Her hair bushed around her face in wild, wavy abandon. In a few swift motions, she swept the tresses back into a wide-toothed clip and raced for the door.

  She turned the deadbolt and swung the door wide.

  “Mornin' neighbor.” A diminutive woman with hair the color of warm honey sailed through the door, a cloth-covered basket dangling from her arm.

  Elaine stepped back, unsure how to react to someone barging into her home, temporary though it was.

  “I smelled coffee a-brewin' and figured you were finally awake. Mind if I join you? I brought breakfast." The woman didn't seem to care that Elaine hadn't responded to her first words. She plunked the basket on the table and bustled around the kitchen like she knew it well.

  The aroma of hot muffins filled the room, reminding Elaine she hadn't eaten. “Excuse me, should I know you?”

  “Oh, bless my soul.” The woman pressed a hand to her chest and then held it out to Elaine. “I'm Mozelle Reneau. I live right next door to you. I just finished bakin' a batch of the best blueberry muffins you'll taste in the entire pa
rish, if I say so myself, and I thought, 'Mozelle, it wouldn't be neighborly of you to keep them all to yourself now, would it?' So I marched myself right on over here to see if my new neighbor would be interested in sharin' a muffin and a chat with a stranger, although I hope we're not strangers for long.”

  Elaine's eyes widened and she inhaled deeply along with Ms. Reneau. How could any one person talk so long, and fast, without taking a breath?

  “And you are?” Ms. Reneau waited with eyebrows raised as if poised to pounce.

  “Elaine,” she managed to sputter before extending her own hand and saying more calmly, “Elaine Smith.”

  "And where might you be from, Ms. Smith?

  “New Orleans. And, please, call me Elaine.”

  “Why thank you. I'd be pleased to call you Elaine and I insist you call me Mozelle. There! Now that we're properly introduced, we can become quite chummy over a hot, fresh muffin and...” she sniffed, eyed the coffeepot and smiled,“... coffee.”

  Mozelle moved around the tiny kitchen, taking down clean plates and coffee mugs from cabinets, more at home than Elaine. “We have an occasional visitor to these parts from New Orleans. Mostly, they come to fish. Once in a while, they like it so much here, they stay.”

  “Really?” Elaine asked politely, when Mozelle paused to breathe.

  “Certainly. Why, our own Mr. Thibodeaux is a New Orleans transplant to these swamps. He and that nephew of his are quite the scoundrels. I like sugar in my coffee, no cream. What's your preference?”

  Elaine sat at the small dinette table with the white-speckled Formica top. “The younger one.”

  “Pardon?”

  Elaine's face burned and she mumbled, “Only sugar, please.”

  “Me too. I like mine hot and black with a couple of spoonfuls of the sweet stuff. As I was sayin', Joseph Thibodeaux is the black sheep, if ever there was one in the Thibodeaux family. And by the looks of it, that young nephew of his could be followin' in his footsteps.”

  “Why do you say that?” Elaine shifted in her seat, slightly embarrassed to be encouraging the gossipy Ms. Reneau.

  “Craig used to come visit his uncle durin' the summer. He and his friends were always pullin' pranks and into things they ought not to be. Why one time, I had to shoo them away from my peach orchard. They must've thought I was a crazy woman swingin' my broom and whoopin' like there was no tomorrow. Good thing I did. As it was, they got a good bellyful of green peaches. Had them sicker'n dogs for a day or two.”

  A smile tilted the corner of Elaine's lips. She could visualize a younger version of Craig racing through the peach orchard with a broom-wielding Mozelle close on his heels.

  Mozelle glanced over her shoulder toward the door. “Why speak of the devil, there's Mr. Thibodeaux now.”

  Elaine's blood jolted through her veins and she reached a hand up to smooth her uncooperative hair before she turned.

  “Ms. Smith, you up and about?”

  At the sound of Joe Thibodeaux's husky voice calling to her from the porch, Elaine's heart skidded into a slower rate. “I'm up, Mr. Thibodeaux; come on in.”

  He pulled the screen door open and stepped into the kitchen. When he spied the two lathes sitting at the table, he scraped the floppy fishing hat from his head. He crushed the hat in one hand, pushed his other hand through his wild white hair and dipped his head in theft direction. “Miss Smith, Ms. Reneau.”

  Mozelle popped out of her seat, fluffed her not-so-natural strawberry-blond hair and pulled a mug out of the cabinet. “I'm glad you took my advice and stocked this house with a matchin' set of dishes and silverware. Makes it mighty homelike for such a nice visitor as Miss Smith. Come join us for a cup of coffee.”

  Joe hovered by the door, frowned and stared down at his flip-flop-clad feet. “I just came to see if Miss Smith wanted help unloadin' her car.”

  Elaine jumped up from her chair. “Oh yes, thank you. I could use a hand. Some of the items are heavy Students at the university helped me load the trunk and I'm sure I could unload it by myself. But your help would be greatly appreciated.” Elaine's lungs gasped for air and she shook her head. What had gotten into her? She sounded as loose-jawed as the sweet Ms. Reneau.

  “Joseph, are you gonna stand there, or come in and have a cup of coffee with us?” Mozelle stood with a mug in one hand and the coffeepot in the other, poised to pour.

  No, thank you. I have to get back to the marina. Got a fishing tournament to launch. Can you wait for an how, Miss Smith? I'll be back to help then."

  “Certainly.” Elaine's gaze traveled around the room.

  "It'll give me time to figure out where I can put every -

  “Good enough.” Joe nodded to Elaine and Mozelle and then backed out of the house. The door thumped loudly in its frame.

  “Well, how do you like that? He took off outta here faster than a scalded cat. There's no gettin' into that man's head, now, is there? U he were any kind of gentleman, he'd have sat down with us for a cup of coffee. Those Thibodeauxs need lessons in manners. You'd think with their background and schoolin' they'd have learned a few by now.”

  Elaine leaned against the front-door frame and stared at the marina a few buildings away. Indeed, the Thibodeauxs could use a set of manners. What with the one rushing out the door as fast as he could and the other running around half naked in a place of business.

  With the rambling prattle of Mozelle in the background, Elaine allowed her memory to recreate the image of Craig standing behind the counter in the bait shop. As a scientist, she couldn't deny the kinematical perfection of the muscles rippling across his back when he flexed his arms high over his head.

  With her lips compressed, Elaine mentally shook herself. But as a woman, she could certainly tighten the reins on her own chemical reaction to the man. He was not her type, and she had no desire to plunge into another relationship doomed to go nowhere. Her low of science would stand in the way every time. No use going there.

  “...I' ll be glad when he settles down to one woman, me and every mother of unwed girls in the parish. What that man needs is a woman who can knock his socks off. You know, rock his boat until he can't see straight.”

  Elaine's attention jerked back to Mozelle. “I'm sorry; who were you talking about?”

  “Craig Thibodeaux, as if anyone wouldn't know. He's hell bent on sleepin' with every woman who catches his eye. Has every addlepated female around vyin' for his attention.”

  The sudden disappointment settling over Elaine's sunny day startled her. Why should it bother her to hear every woman around wanted to crawl into bed with Craig Thibodeaux? She didn't even know the man.

  “Well, I'd best be moseying along.” Mozelle set her cup in the sink. “I have a bridge game over at my house in one hour. Join us if you have a hankering to play a hand of cards.”

  “Thank you, Mozelle.” Elaine walked the older woman to the door. “And thank you for the muffins.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after a few accounts of how Mozelle had trumped Louella Landau in last week's bridge game, and a list of the ingredients she'd used in the blueberry muffins, and Mozeile finally made it through the door and on her way.

  Elaine collapsed on the couch, winded by her encounter with the gregarious Mozelle Reneau. She couldn't help but smile, though. Her new neighbor's constant chatter and enthusiasm, while wearing, were also welcoming. For the first time since she'd arrived in Bayou Miste Elaine relaxed a little. Maybe this trip had been a good idea. The little cottage held a sense of home to her.

  Not two minutes later, a tapping sounded at the door. Elaine pulled herself off the old couch. Joe Thibodeaux hovered on the other side of the screen, staring over his shoulder in the direction Ms. Reneau had disappeared.

  “Hello, again.”

  “Thank God, she's gone.” Joe swept his hat off his head and ran a hind through his thick white hair. “That woman could talk the ear off a fish.”

  A hound dog the size of a horse nudged the door open.

 
Elaine smiled. “Does he belong to you?”

  Joe turned and frowned. “Nope. He belongs to my nephew. Stay, Dawg.”

  “What's his name?”

  “Dawg.” Joe shot a stem look at the animal. “Stay out here and behave yourself.” Joe muttered something else, but not quite loud enough for Elaine to hear.

  To Elaine, it sounded like “I'll handle this.” She shrugged. Now she was hearing things. “Just a minute and I'll get my keys.”

  Between Joe and Elaine, they had the supplies unloaded and stacked in the living room in less than twenty minutes. The entire time, Dawg lay on the front porch, chin on his paws, his soulful brown eyes the only part of his body moving.

  Elaine could understand why. After the first five minutes, the heat and humidity had her sweating like a horse.

  When Joe laid the last box on the floor, he straightened. “Need anything else?”

  “I could use a little help setting up that folding table.”

  “Sure.” While unfolding the legs of the table, Joe cleared his throat. “So, you got anyone back in New Orleans?”

  Elaine's head shot up. “Excuse me?”

  Joe's face flushed red. “You know, got a husband or fiancé back in New Orleans?”

  Elaine studied Joe through her peripheral vision while shoving the brace into place on the table legs. “Why do you ask?”

  Joe jerked the other leg out and smacked the brace before he answered. “Just curious. Not many young females come out this way by themselves. Seems kinda strange.” Joe tugged at the collar of his T-shirt.

  Elaine couldn't tell what he was getting at, but relented and answered. “No, I don't have anyone special in my life back in New Orleans.” Boy, that sounded pathetic. She felt awkward in a small town where everyone was probably spoken for. And Elaine, from a city full of people, couldn't even claim to have a relationship with anyone. Yeah, she truly sounded pathetic. But what did it matter? She had her career, science, a cause to champion. What more could a woman want?