Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series)

by Linda Joyce

  Branna leaned in close and whispered. “I saw you the day you borrowed the nail polish.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Branna reached into her purse and pulled out a lace hanky. The blood-red smear couldn’t be missed. “Look familiar? So, how about some honesty?”

  “I’m honestly bored,” Ida said, taking the hanky and stuffing it into her pocket.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Branna tried to sound cheery.

  Ida’s elbows thumped the counter. She cradled her jaw in her hands, and looked straight ahead, instead of at Branna. “I’m an only child. I don’t have anyone to play with me.”

  Branna’s heart pinched. How often had she wished to be an only child? Then she wouldn’t have the words, “You must live by example,” imprinted on her psyche. There would be time alone and holidays devoid of chaos. She wouldn’t have had to worry about anyone but herself.

  However, she missed her family so badly she ached. Missed them so much, the silence of her home drove her to town in search of human interaction. Sad thing when the sound of strangers’ voices provided comfort.

  And, she missed James. Was his trip going as planned? Would he call her from the road? What would he think if she suggested something closely resembling phone sex? Her cheeks heated at the thought.

  Beside her, Ida grunted, then poured sugar on the five-dollar bill. Teenage mischief that passed for entertainment? Loneliness appeared to be the girl’s only friend. Branna’s large-family problem looked different through an only child’s eyes.

  “How old are you, Ida?”

  “Ten, almost eleven, but people think I’m older because I’m so tall.”

  “Yes, I imagined that you were maybe thirteen. Do you know anything about pulling weeds? Would you be interested in a part-time job helping out with my flower garden?”

  Ida straightened. She looked from side to side, then swiveled on the stool to face Branna. “I’ve got a green thumb. I can make things grow.”

  The child’s enthusiasm made Branna smile.

  “Yes, well, I’m trying to stop the weeds from growing.”

  “I can do that, too.” Ida nodded. Her braids bounced.

  “I live on Townsend Street. Do you live near there?” She was hopeful the girl lived nearby. She recognized Ida as the child that had darted into the street and caused her to spill tea on Meredith’s skirt on her final day of house hunting. She had to remember to contact her Realtor. Meredith had never sent her a cleaning bill.

  “I live two streets over.”

  “How about if we sip our shakes and wait for your mother to return? Then, I’ll ask her if she’ll allow you to help me a few hours a week.”

  “Okay.”

  After the shakes arrived, Ida chatted about gardening. Most of her knowledge fell into the category of farming.

  “Daddy grows watermelons and corn. Sometimes he stays all night in the country with granddaddy at his farm. Momma works part-time at the bank. So I stay in town with her because I have to practice the piano every day.”

  The child talked nonstop and made Branna think of the going, going, going Eveready Bunny.

  Branna understood Ida’s loneliness. Or the opposite of it. Peace and quiet were a rare commodity at Fleur de Lis. It made her feel selfish and small. Here this girl wanted a big family, or at least a sibling to play with, while she’d grown up surrounded with playmates and had taken them for granted.

  “Wednesdays would work good. What’s your name again?” Ida asked.

  “Branna Lind.”

  “Miss Branna, I could come to your house before it gets really hot.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  When Mrs. Walker returned, Ida was grinning from ear to ear.

  Branna rose to meet the woman. “Mrs. Walker, I’m Branna Lind.”

  “I hope Ida wasn’t a bother.”

  “No. Actually, I think she might be a big help to me. I’m an instructor at the community college. Based on what Ida says, I live about three blocks away from you. With your permission, I’d like to hire her to help me in my garden on Wednesday mornings.”

  Mrs. Walker’s face transformed from stern to glowing. “Ida can be a handful. She’s very willful. You, a successful teacher, I’ll bet you never gave your mother any problems.”

  “Ah, I think my momma would emphatically disagree.”

  “A bit of responsibility might be good for Ida.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walker. My garden thanks you even more than I do.”

  “We’ll give it try. Sometimes her attention span doesn’t last. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  “See you on Wednesday,” she told Ida as the girl left the store with her mother. At the door, Ida turned back and waved. A smile replaced the girl’s earlier frown.

  Invigorated by her good deed, Branna drove home and decided on a walk around the lake. She changed into shorts and a t-shirt, then grabbed her sunglasses.

  Afternoon temperatures had peaked early. Humidity made the air liquid and walking outside was like strolling in a steam bath with no exit. She wiped sweat from her forehead using the edge of her t-shirt. Sweat dripped from every pore like a block of ice melting in hell. She was thankful for the tree-cover that protected her skin from burning. The lack of physical activity for the last couple of days made her body ache, more than the discomfort of her injuries.

  With purposeful strides, she walked halfway around the lake moving in a quick clip. Tall oaks with long limbs and lush dogwoods provided a partial barrier between the street and the trail. Reaching the halfway point, she stopped and rested on a bench beneath a stately magnolia, it had to be close to a hundred years old. Nearby, a group of men set up chairs around the large white gazebo. She’d seen the posted flyers for the Friday night, outdoor concerts and guessed that night would be the inaugural event of the season. Spring had rolled into summer despite the fact that summer was officially a few weeks away.

  Across the lake, above the trees, she caught a glimpse of the yellow Victorian on the hill, the one Meredith had owned. Whoever bought the house had done some sprucing. Maybe she’d continue the walk around and take a closer look. It was stubborn of her to refuse to tour the house when Meredith had offered to show it. But it reminded her too much of Fleur de Lis, then and now. She hated to admit it, but she missed home.

  As she cooled down, a black sedan with darkly tinted windows rolled by on the road that circled the lake. The car stopped and made a U-turn in the street, then pulled into the nearest parking space about a hundred feet away. It looked familiar. Like the one that almost hit Meredith’s car. She paused to see if anyone stepped out. Would she at least recognize them? Her wait was in vain. No one appeared.

  Maybe the person in the car was waiting for someone else. Maybe a lunch rendezvous. The lake was a pretty spot for a picnic, or even a ten-minute work break with a view.

  When she rose, tiredness washed over her. The heat had drained her energy. She began the trek homeward, retracing her steps. The Victorian would have to wait for another day.

  Meandering more than walking, she stopped to read the inscription carved into a large stone marker. The black sedan came into her peripheral view. It headed in her same direction at a slow roll, and then stopped nearby.

  A prickly tingle ran down the back of her neck. She quickened her pace, then jogged, cutting through the parking lot and over to the street near her house. Out of breath, she paused, bending at the waist, and rested her hands on her knees.

  The sedan rounded the corner.

  Breathing deeply, she waited, never taking her eyes off the car. Across the street, an older woman rolled a large garbage can to the curb. Branna waved to the woman and started to cross the street, seeking safety in numbers. If anything was about to happen, at least she’d have a witness. When she reached the middle of the road, the sedan raced by. She jumped back. The darkened windows prevented her from making a visual ID of the driver, and after she’d steadied herself, the car
had traveled too far down the street for her to read the tag number.

  “Crazy driver!” the woman shouted. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Branna said, walking toward the woman. “I live on the next street. Moved in recently. By chance, do you recognize the black car? Maybe you know the driver?”

  “Never saw it before,” the woman said, then headed back toward her house. Over her shoulder she said, “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  “Thanks,” Branna answered, but the woman disappeared into the house.

  “A shower. That’s what I need.” She trudged the rest of the way home with uneasiness settling into her gut. “Why would anyone follow me?”

  Chapter 32

  Restless from laying on the couch with nothing to do, Branna tossed a blanket aside and headed for the garden, which had grown to the edge of over-grown. On Wednesday, she’d have a helper to tame the unruly weeds. Another step in building her own life. The carefree one she’d planned.

  So how was it that she had nothing to do on a Friday night? That was as foreign as crossing paths with a Loup Garou, that mythical beast her Cajun relatives threatened would “git her” if she ever did anything wrong. No need for Santa and his “Naughty or Nice” list with a Loup Garou around.

  The silence throughout her house rattled her nerves. She was accustomed to scents wafting from the kitchen. Greta was a fine cook, and folks vied for dinner invitations. She missed the background noise of sliding walkers and thumping canes. There was nothing quiet about G.G. Marie and Great Aunt Grace.

  Usually she spent Friday evenings working—planning details of upcoming events or handling last minute must-do’s for an already-scheduled one. If not working, she played Scrabble or cards with the Old Aunts, or drove to Picayune with Greta to catch a movie. Only once in a while did she see Steven on a Friday night—his night to play poker with his old fraternity brothers.

  On the rare occasion when she had time to herself, a good book and a cup of tea provided the purest pleasure.

  Yet, after hours spent reading and sipping, too much pleasure all at once had overloaded her senses. She wandered the backyard searching for the right spot for stargazing. She plopped into an Adirondack chair, pulled her legs close, and looked up.

  The twinkling lights that illuminated the sky made her feel closer to home. If anyone in her family gazed up at the stars right then, they’d see the same night sky and share that moment with her, though miles away. That thought comforted her.

  Maybe James was looking at the stars. She could hope. And that he was thinking of her, too.

  She hadn’t heard from him all day, not that he said he would call, but she’d hoped.

  The house seemed empty without him. Her day seemed less bright. She enjoyed his company, even when they were verbally sparring. Something magical had happened between them the day of the storm. It had to be fate that made them cross paths like that at the bookstore. After all, he’d been avoiding her—noticeably absent at each of the organized functions up to that point.

  Was their connection growing toward a relationship? That was the last thing she’d wanted when she moved to Lakeview. But now? She didn’t want to live without him.

  The plan had been—career. Dating. Fun. Her job had to remain a priority. However, coming to Lakeview, she’d hoped to meet a few nice men with whom she had some shared interest. Have fun with no serious commitment.

  Balancing a career and a relationship was doable. Momma was the perfect role model for work and love, but for some reason Momma had always stressed duty and honor with her, more than with Camilla and Carson. Maybe Momma took falling in love and marriage for granted. She made it all look so simple. Or maybe Momma thought Steven filled that spot in her life, therefore there was no need to focus on it any more. But of course, Momma didn’t know the truth about the man.

  Branna looked skyward at a falling star that streaked in the darkness, then disappeared. She stared at the spot in the dark sky where it had last been. She didn’t want what happened to the star to happen to her relationship with James. Streak brightly, then burn out.

  If the connection they shared continued to grow, would he consider leaving Lakeview for Fleur de Lis? There were jobs in Mississippi. Otherwise, what compromise could she make for her family and James?

  But what did James want?

  A phone ringing, a faint wail in the distance, sent her running for the house. She raced across the grass and jerked on the back door before the last ring. Breathless she said, “Hello?”

  “Miss Lind, its Sadie. Have you seen the news?”

  “No.”

  “Dr. Newbern was shot. It’s on all the channels.”

  Branna clutched the phone and grabbed the remote. The TV popped on. She flipped through the stations. “What happened?” she asked impatiently. “Crap! What station?”

  “It’s on the eleven o’clock news. There was a shootout.”

  Her heart stopped. “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, they say he’s fine.”

  “I’ve got it!” She watched a replay of the video taken by a security camera.

  “It happened earlier today,” Sadie said.

  “He’s alive,” Branna murmured.

  “Yes. He. Is.” Sadie sounded amused.

  “Ah, thanks for letting me know, Sadie.”

  “I also called to check on you. Need anything?”

  She started to ask if Sadie knew anyone who drove a black sedan with darkly tinted windows and who might have a reason to follow her, after all, Sadie did know everyone. But she decided against it. As quiet as the house was, if she mentioned it to Sadie, she feared the woman would return with an army for protection.

  No need to make a fuss...yet. Maybe she’d never see the car again. “I’m fine. Thanks for letting me know about Dr. Newbern.”

  “I figured you would want to know.”

  She hung up after Sadie said good night.

  “Do I call him or not?”

  She paced in front of the couch. It didn’t matter if he thought her too pushy or that she was sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. If he had wanted her to know, he would have called, right? After all, he wasn’t laid up in a hospital hooked up to machines.

  The image of James on his deathbed brought wetness to her eyes. Nothing bad could happen to him, she’d just found him. Just found love. Overwhelmed, she let tears fall. They flowed freely.

  She’d sworn she would never cry over a man after Steven, but James wasn’t just any man. He was the dream of her heart.

  No, she wouldn’t call. That would make her needy, right?

  She flipped channels and caught the same taped footage on national news. She flinched as a young man fell to the ground after taking a bullet to his shoulder.

  No, she wouldn’t call James.

  But he’d been shot too!

  She paced more, but pacing wouldn’t solve the problem. She could wear a hole in the floor while wondering about his injury. She needed to talk to him. Could he be out on a date? He’d said he made frequent runs to south Florida to deliver hay. Maybe he had someone he saw down there? A quick stab went straight to her heart. What if he wasn’t interested in a committed relationship with her? What if he only wanted casual? This was a man who “typed” everyone. Maybe he had a “like type” and a “not-so-much type.”

  What if their relationship was exactly like the falling star?

  The star’s fate had already been determined, but she’d be damned if she would—without a fight—allow her relationship with James to streak and flameout.

  Plopping on the couch, she cradled her cell phone. Eleven p.m. What if he did have a date tonight? Then what? She’d deal with it. A phone call would take only a moment of his time. As long as she could know that he was okay, she’d handle any feelings about female competition later.

  Punching in his number, she waited. He answered in two rings.

  “Branna?”

  Just hearing his voice over the phone all
owed her to breathe deeply. “James, I don’t mean to disturb you. I won’t take but a moment of your time. I’m sure you’re—”

  “It’s good to hear from you.” His voice sounded warm like whisky going down and smooth like velvet. He also sounded genuinely glad to hear from her.

  “I saw the news.”

  “Ah. TV.”

  “Yes, the shootout made the news. I had to know that you’re okay.” Did she sound whiney? Too concerned?

  “I’m doing fine, now that I’m talking to you.” Was he drinking? Or flirting? Maybe he wasn’t out on a date after all. Her imagination had worked overtime.

  “I am happy to hear your fine. I won’t keep you.”

  “I’m just hoisting a few brews with Bobby at our fleabag motel.”

  “Have a good—”

  “I’ve been thinking about you.” His voice was low and sultry. Seductive.

  Quivers raced from her head to her toes. She wanted to crawl into bed with the phone and have James whisper to her all night.

  “Good thoughts?” Dare she ask for the truth?

  “Oh, yeah. You could say that. Miss Lind, would you go out on an official date with me tomorrow night?”

  “Official?”

  “This is me asking you proper for a Saturday-night date.”

  Her heart pounded. Loud. The sound roared in her ears.

  Hearing his voice provided great relief, however, the offer of a date made her giddy.

  “Branna?”

  “Yes. James.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear your dancing shoes.”

  Chapter 33

  The next morning, Branna’s bedroom showed no bare spot. Skirts and tops and dresses laid strewn across the bed, the dresser, and a chair. A Neiman Marcus dollar-sale couldn’t have resulted in greater chaos. She wanted nothing more than perfection for her date that night with James; which required trying on every item of clothing she owned.

  Why she thought she could put together a jaw-dropping outfit remained a mystery. Always saddled with “reputation” and “family honor” the best she could manage was “conservative” and “tailored.” A tired image she wanted to shake.