Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series)

by Linda Joyce

  “Well, there’s not enough pie for all of them, so we won’t share. And what exactly is Fleur de Lis?”

  “Home. It’s an antebellum estate built by the Old Aunts’ grandfather before the War Between the States. Don’t think there’s money just because it’s a grand old house. It’s our family legacy. My family works hard, and everyone contributes to upkeep, but each family also has a home of their own—some in Mississippi and others in Louisiana. My parents live at the beach in Biloxi. Fleur de Lis barely pays for itself. For example, we remodeled a couple of years ago with the help of an architect. We added an elevator when it became clear the Old Aunts found navigating stairs a problem. That construction project was a huge ordeal because the house is on the historic register. We put the elevator in the old cistern and built a connector to each floor between it and the house. The architect designed the connectors and made them look as though they’d always been there. That wisdom about remodeling—expect to pay twenty percent over the quote and double the time to finish the project—we had overruns and missed deadlines.”

  “Estate equals land. Does your family farm or something?” He took another bite of pie and said a silent prayer of thanks for Sadie’s baking skills.

  “Over the years, most of the land was sold off to provide funds for upkeep of the house. Any day now, I expect to get a call about the heating and A/C problems. That’ll be twenty thousand dollars or more. Just keeping the house clean is a full time job. We have Greta, she’s part of the family after all these years, and she takes care of the Old Aunts who are, right now, the only permanent residents in the house, since I’m gone. The house is too large for one woman to clean, so Greta hires help now and then, more frequently when the entire family is in residence.”

  “The entire family? That must be some house.”

  “Not everyone makes it all the time, but mostly for the big days. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and Mardi Gras. Oh, and everyone is always there for the Valentine’s ball.”

  Her family had sounded very Normal Rockwell. “So, I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall. The downside of this life is?”

  “Can you imagine how much laundry there is after the family vacates? Do you know, we put in a second dishwasher to handle dishwashing for family weekends? Even that’s not enough. Without multiples, someone would slave in the kitchen washing dishes and glasses. Missing out on fun.”

  “Your problem is laundry and dirty dishes?”

  “The responsibility for the house belongs to my mother right now. She had passed the baton to me. I’ve been groomed for the job since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

  He chuckled. He hadn’t heard anyone use that expression in a very long time.

  “It’s not funny. How would you like to be saddled with a property that you had to care for and preserve, not just for your immediate family, but for generations to come? How about holding a position that requires committee approval to do anything. You’re just the minion with the elbow-grease to carry out the committee’s commands.” She yawned.

  He knew all too well. He’d grown up on a farm. One that his much-older brother stood to inherit. “What I don’t understand is why you’re here, if your life is already planned.”

  “My mother, my beautiful mother whose shoes I’m supposed to fill, drives me crazy. She expects me to take over, but refuses to face the fact that she really still wants to run the place. She orders me around as though I’m a junior-lady-in-waiting. She called me from her nursery, the plant kind, at least twice a day when I lived at Fleur de Lis to check up on things.

  “Sorry, but that doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “I had to get away...to know that I’m capable of making good decisions. After all, my choice of potential groom flopped dismally.” She fidgeted with the edge of the quilt covering her lap. “There’s more.”

  “I’ve got all night.”

  “My breakup was acrimonious. I have called that man names in my head that I didn’t even know I knew. He made me doubt myself. Made me question things I’ve never questioned before. I’ve always done the expected thing. If I’m going to run Fleur de Lis, I have to know I can handle my own life, one that’s never truly been my own. Until now, every decision I’ve ever made put family first. It got to the point that I wondered if I existed other than to serve my home. And, there’s so much I’ve never done because it was done for me. Like bake a cake. Mow a lawn.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “That’s all you can say? Hmmm?” She yawned again.

  “Hmmm, for you and the pie. Take another bite. Breathe. I see your point. But that still doesn’t explain about the guy and the car.”

  “The guy is the ex-fiancé. Our parents pushed us together for years. I haven’t told anyone what happened. Let’s just say I discovered that his desires were varied. He’s not who everyone thinks he is. And, I’m not keeping the car. If you don’t believe me. Just wait and see.” Branna’s body sagged. She lowered her gaze. Her eyelids closed as though she’d lost the last reserves of her energy.

  “I believe you.”

  When she didn’t answer, he had touched her arm. She had fallen.

  Last night gave him a lot to think about. More than how much he wanted to kiss her silly, or when he could tangle in sheets with her next, which he intended to, just as soon as she was well. In the meantime, he would ensure she healed and would protect her at all cost.

  But how would he ever compete with the magnetic pull of Fleur de Lis? Was there anything he could do to make her stay with him? He’d willing follow her back to Mississippi, if she wanted. If not, what the hell would he do?

  Chapter 28

  “Clack. Clack. Clack.”

  Branna woke. Confused, she sat up and shook her head to clear the fuzziness away. How did she get in her bed? Her last memory was drifting off to sleep on the couch cuddled next to James. The pounding in her head made her lie back again and close her eyes.

  Surprised to hear a soft snore, she peered through the dimness in her room. James sat in a chair pulled close to her bed. His feet rested on top of the covers near hers.

  “Clack. Clack. Clack.”

  “Huh? What?” James muttered.

  “What is that noise?” she asked.

  It sounded again.

  “The painter. I think he’s playing with his ladder. Raising and lowering it to get it to the right height.” James stretched his arms and yawned.

  “How did I get in bed?”

  “The painter woke me up at six thirty this morning. I brought you in here so you could sleep undisturbed.”

  “I must have been really out of it.”

  “Lots happened since six thirty. The plumber came and left. He brought a faucet and installed it. Said it went with the house. He also said he saw you on TV last night, which made him think that you wouldn’t be running out to get a new faucet at the store.”

  “Thoughtful man,” she yawned. “What time is it now?”

  “About time for me to go. Near 10 a.m. Do you need food before I go? I can scramble an egg. Do you want me to have Sadie come sit with you for the afternoon?”

  Her stomach rumbled. “I’m feeling well enough to get up. I can manage. I don’t want to impose on you more.”

  “Dr. Brown called. He’s covered your classes for the rest of the week. Wishes you a speedy recovery.”

  “I hate missing work. I’ll manage fine this afternoon. Maybe I’ll feel well enough to return to classes tomorrow. Maybe—”

  The doorbell interrupted her.

  “I’ll get that.” James rose and left the room.

  As she pulled her robe tighter around her, she heard the front door open, then James said, “Come on in.”

  Moving slowly, she shuffled down the hall. When she made it to the living room, a jean-clad guy with a t-shirt showing off the college’s logo set two plotted plants decorated with big yellow bows on the floor by the door. On the coffee table, four large flower arrangements hid the entire tabletop. The fragra
nce of roses wafted to her nose. Then, as if on cue, the sound of Fur Elise floated around the flowers. Somewhere hidden beneath the arrangements, her cell phone rang.

  She started toward the table, but stopped. James closed the door behind the departing delivery guy, then reached between the flower pots and vases and retrieved her ringing phone. He handed it over.

  Without looking at the number, intuition told her that her mother called.

  She was right. “Hello, Momma.”

  “Branna! How are you feeling this morning?” Her mother’s voice sounded a pitch too high and too bright. Something was up.

  “Good. Momma, let me call you right back.” Branna closed her phone and turned to James. “I’m grateful for the help. You’ve got stuff to do, so please don’t feel obligated to stay.” In truth, she hated to see him leave. Being close to him, despite her injuries, made her pulse beat stronger. Faster. Harder. She could finally admit to herself, there was only one reason for it, even if she wasn’t ready to speak the words aloud.

  “I’ll have some food delivered for you. I’ve a class this afternoon. I’ll call you later this evening.”

  He surprised her when he moved close and cradled her face with his hands. His warm lips pressed firmly against hers. She leaned in and kissed him back, wishing she could melt into his arms and hold him tight forever. The accident had brought focus to her mind and clarity to her heart. Being near him heightened each of her senses. Her toes curled. In his arms, the connection to him ran deep.

  He touched her as though he cherished her. Tender and light. She loved that about him. Her heart skipped several beats. Her pulse pounded faster. Quivering sensations flooded her body.

  This was love. The real thing.

  James owned her heart.

  When he pulled back, his eyes reflected puzzlement, or maybe surprise. She hated coolness touching her where he had touched before. He pulled back farther until an arm’s length separated them, but held her hands. Was he as reluctant to leave her as she was to have him go?

  Before he let himself out, he turned back to her. She blew him a kiss. He beamed. Was that true happiness on his face?

  What type was she now?

  After the click of the front door closing, she turned her attention back to her mother. When the phone’s ringing stopped, but before her mother could answer, she said, “Sorry for the wait. How are you?” If she kept the conversation routine, her mother would hopefully remain calm.

  “Honey, Steven called.”

  The hair on the back of Branna’s neck prickled. That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Oh?”

  “He’s very concerned about you. Your accident yesterday hit the internet news. He mentioned something about it being a good thing that he gave you a car...and he’s optimistic that the two of you might reconcile. He said the car was one you’d admired.”

  “Momma, don’t build false hopes. Steven and I won’t, under any terms, ever be Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.”

  “I would like to understand what came between the two of you. Steven said—”

  “The painter needs me, Momma. I’ll call you back later.”

  “All right. I’m happy to know you’re okay.”

  Branna pushed the “end” button and wished there was one she could use on Steven. If she ever saw that man again, she’d probably need an attorney, because she’d be going to jail for murder. What nerve to involve her family!

  Of course he did. He was Steven Sterling. He’d do anything to win his case. She was nothing more than a challenge to conquer, then pushed aside for the next. She knew his routine.

  After a cup of tea and a small bowl of cheese grits, she popped a classical CD into the stereo and laid on the couch to rest. Her body ached. Heaviness in her limbs made it hard to want to lift a hand. Her muscles argued when she fought against relaxing.

  She focused on the melody. In her mind’s eye, she read the individual notes on sheet music. She flexed her fingers as though she played the piano and hoped losing herself to the sounds of piano and strings would erase the sadness embedded in her chest. When she broke her engagement to Steven, she hadn’t considered how hard it was for her mother, and now that Steven had planted hope, she had to be the one squash it. How would her mother feel about Steven and Camilla?

  When the home phone rang, she looked at caller ID. She reconsidered before answering. How did he get her number? What lie had he told to some unsuspecting person to gain the information? Or had her mother caved?

  The ringing stopped as she reached for the phone. Then started immediately again. If she didn’t pick up, he’d call back again and again, ruining any chance of resting. Maybe call blocking was the answer.

  She grabbed the phone and firmly pushed the “talk” button. “Hello, Steven.”

  “Branna, I’m so relieved to hear your voice. Your mother said you were fine, but after seeing the photos of your Volvo on the national news...anyway. You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I wanted to fly out there the minute I heard, but...”

  “But what? You were too tangled up with your current lover?”

  “That’s not nice. There’s no one but you, Branna. I never loved another woman.”

  “Don’t you mean, ‘other women’? As in the plural form of the word. Are you so in the habit of lying, Steven, that you’re incapable of honesty? I know your clients benefit from your skill at side-stepping the truth, but it doesn’t work with me.”

  “Baby Doll, I’m sorry about the past. I’m asking you to forgive me. I thought you might have since you never told your family—at least not as far as I can tell—about our little issue. All of your family still talks to me.”

  “As long as they don’t talk to you about me, I’m fine. Besides, you have a professional relationship with Uncle Peter. I didn’t want your Robin-Hood lawyer image ruined just because you can’t keep your pants zipped.”

  “It was one time, Branna. It’s not like you to carry a grudge. The Branna I know would forgive me.”

  “That naïve girl is gone. Had it only been once, I might have forgiven you. But Steven, I know the whole truth. And I will not let you destroy my family. Words of warning. Stay away from me. Stay away from my family.” She ended the call.

  Calmness claimed her. No more uncontrollable rage. Only serenity, like gentle waves lapping against white sand on a sunny day at the beach. Sure, she had a touch of anger, a cupful compared to an ocean, but Steven no longer had a hold on her heart. She was completely free.

  “Freedom!”

  She’d experienced it with James. Her one night with him had been the exact opposite of anything she’d ever done before. In James’ arms, inhibitions dissolved, spontaneity and desire flowed. She was a woman who knew her own mind and understood she had value as a person. They were equals and lovers. Well, one night together might not make them lovers. She’d have to work on that.

  She’d never enjoyed a sense of ease with Steven even though she’d known him forever. Looking back, a much-defined set of expectations came with a relationship with him. Much like a checklist of acceptable behavior with a report card given once a week.

  “Proper. Pretty. Propriety,” she repeated to herself.

  Maybe he felt as trapped as she had? Maybe that was the reason for his wandering, and he just didn’t understand the root problem. He hadn’t always been so heartless.

  “A devilish smile, seducing eyes and athletic body...and those first twinges of real desire,” she muttered, remembering him in high school.

  But he was two years ahead of her. They only dated in her mind. She worshiped him from afar. During her final year of grad school, they worked together on a charity fundraiser—one of his mother’s famous causes. Steven had noticed her then.

  Their chemistry left her breathless. The Prim Princess—folks called her that behind her back—bent herself into a pretzel to please him. How could she have been so stupid? The result of naiveté? Having never been in l
ove before Steven, he consumed her world. A few weeks after they started dating, he had called late at night and woke her. He whispered as she lay in bed cocooned by darkness. His soothing voice directed her where and how to touch herself. He made her whisper where and how she would touch him. Hearing his climax shook her as much as the intensity of her own. Afterward, there was an awkwardness between them that never truly went away.

  The first time they made love, it was hot and fast, and over too soon. His touch made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. He ridiculed her lack of experience. She had blamed herself.

  How sad that their best lovemaking had been that one time of phone sex.

  Still, nothing had prepared her for the letter she’d accidentally found when she’d gone to clean out her things from his condo in New Orleans. Steven’s current legal case had taken him out town for depositions, which allowed her privacy to pack. She’d loved the cozy intimate space in the heart of thriving French-Quarter action. She took her time and prepared a farewell dinner for one. While chopping vegetables, she managed to slice her finger. When she searched the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for a bandage, a letter fell out. She opened it.

  In a feminine scrolled handwriting, a woman begged Steven not to let his engagement stand in the way of their relationship. After all, she had a husband. The woman still wanted him, and had forgiven him. She’d seen him in April at the beach with yet another woman—a woman who wasn’t Branna.

  The woman confessed to being pregnant and not knowing the true paternity of the unborn baby. The letter closed with a threat. As long as Steven remained in her life, she wouldn’t tell his ex-fiancée’s family about him sleeping with both sisters.

  The news had knocked Branna to her knees. The paper slipped through her hands. She knelt in front of the commode, not sure if she would be sick or not. The question of the pregnancy mattered nothing compared to the reference of “another woman last April” and “sisters.”

  That April-woman referenced in the letter was Camilla. Her sister. She knew exactly when it happened—during Camilla’s spring break.