by Maggie James
Ida Duval, Raymond’s mother, insisted Anjele start learning to play the piano, something Anjele had resisted in the past. Miss Ida felt it was a nice touch for a hostess to be able to entertain her guests after dinner and, since Anjele’s mother was much too busy to give Anjele lessons, Mrs. Melora Rabine was sent twice a week to teach.
Anjele smiled to think how surprised everyone was to discover she had a natural talent. In no time at all, she was able to play anything by ear, after hearing the melody only once or twice. But Claudia, her adopted sister, had been studying for years and accused her of having been practicing secretly, declaring it was not possible to master the piano so fast. Anjele neither denied nor confirmed.
Long ago, she’d learned there was no getting along with Claudia.
Ida also sent someone to instruct in needlework, and Twyla turned a deaf ear to Anjele’s protests. Anjele suspected the real reason her mother was going along with everything Ida wanted was to keep her busy so she wouldn’t have time to slip away and be with Simona and Emalee. Acadian girls. Her mother didn’t approve of them but wasn’t as vocal as Claudia, who warned that Ida Duval would have a fit if she knew Anjele socialized with the lower classes.
Anjele was well aware that lots of other people looked down their noses at the Acadians due to the mixed heritage of some, but it didn’t matter one bit to her. She felt sorry for the way their ancestors, French Canadians, had been driven from their colony of Acadia by the British, forcing them to find new homes in unfamiliar territories. Many, like the families of Emalee and Simona, had chosen to settle in the fertile bayou lands of southern Louisiana. They lived in small, compact, self-contained communities deep in the swamps. When they sought work, it was in the cane or cotton fields. But, unlike the Negro slaves, the Cajuns were paid wages and free to leave at quitting time to return to their bayou homes.
Anjele envied them their happy, carefree lives as she listened to Emalee and Simona and the other girls describe the merriment that went on in their compounds as they cooked their supper. Cauldrons of turtle soup or crawfish gumbo bubbled deliciously while fiddlers played rousing Cajun tunes in an effort to ease their weary spirits after a hard day. They would sing, and sometimes, on the banks of the shadow-silent waters of the mysterious bayou, and even though she wasn’t allowed, Anjele longed to be a part of it all.
Two years ago, Simona had married, when she was only fourteen. But that hadn’t stopped her from spending time with Anjele whenever possible. Anjele would slip down to the edge of the cane fields and wait till the overseer wasn’t looking, so both Simona and Emalee could dart away. The trio would then disappear into the moss-shrouded forest for a few stolen hours at their secret pool, treasured memories that now filled Anjele with longing on the hot and humid afternoon.
Suddenly she was torn from reverie by the sound of the door from the outside hall opening. She watched as Claudia crept stealthily into the room. Seeing Anjele’s empty bed, she glanced about wildly, spotting her at the open French doors. “You’re supposed to rest until two o’clock, and it’s only half past one,” she said sharply.
“So are you,” Anjele reminded her. Dear Lord, she couldn’t remember a time in her life when they weren’t sparring. She honestly felt she had tried through the years to get along, but it was a hopeless situation. Claudia despised her and always would.
Claudia’s ice blue eyes flashed with defiance as she lifted her chin and smiled gloatingly. “Mother said I could go with her to take tea at Miss Ida’s. We’re going to be leaving soon.” She was also wearing a chemise but several ruffled petticoats covered her pantalets. She crossed the room to a large mahogany armoire and jerked open the mirrored doors.
Anjele, stunned by her nerve, demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Claudia ignored her as she pawed impatiently through the gowns hanging inside till she found what she was looking for and yanked it out in triumph.
“I’m wearing this. It’s cooler than anything I have, and it will look better on me than you, anyway.”
Anjele shook her head in firm denial. “I’m wearing that to Rebecca Saunders’s birthday ball tonight.”
“So? Wear it. We’ll be home around five.” Draping the garment over her arm, she started out.
Anjele ran to block her path. She hated to have an argument, but every time Claudia borrowed her clothes, they were brought back mussed. And the dress was a favorite for the sweltering weather—a cool, pale green color, fashioned of light lace and chiffon and draped off the shoulder with a scooped bodice.
She knew Claudia was only using the heat as an excuse. The real reason was her larger bosom, which would be more revealing in Anjele’s smaller bodice—and all for Raymond’s benefit. Claudia had never made a secret of the way she felt about him. Not that Anjele was jealous. Actually, it concerned her that she wasn’t.
Anjele repeated her objection, adding, in an effort to pacify, “I’ll be glad to let you wear it another time.”
Claudia’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be sorry.”
“You have other dresses.” She bit back the impulse to point out that Claudia actually had a much nicer wardrobe than she did. It was merely another way her mother made sure she could not be accused of favoring her natural daughter over the adopted one.
“It’s because of Raymond, isn’t it?” Claudia challenged. “You’re afraid he’ll think I’m prettier than you, so you don’t want me to look nice.”
Quietly, Anjele yielded, “You are prettier than me, Claudia.” And she believed that to be so. Anjele envied her cousin’s naturally curly golden-blond hair and limpid blue eyes, while thinking her own appearance to be a bit on the plain side.
Her mother said it was because she didn’t try to be glamorous, which was true. Anjele much preferred her long hair blowing in the breeze when she went riding, and it was too much trouble to sponge her skin with rosewater and lemon juice. She saw nothing wrong with tanned flesh and sunburned cheeks.
Claudia was getting angrier by the minute. “If I’m so pretty, then how come it’s you Raymond is going to marry?”
Anjele sighed and shook her head, wondering once more why it had to be this way between them. Claudia knew as well as she how it all came to be but pushed back impatience as she reminded, “Ida and Vinson have been friends with Momma and Poppa forever. It was always understood.”
“But you don’t love him…” Her words trailed off as Jobie, the little servant girl, appeared in the doorway.
Looking fearfully from one to the other, Jobie finally held out the tray she was carrying and said to Anjele, “I got yo’ lemonade, missy.”
Anjele stepped back long enough to allow her to place it on the table by the window but made sure Claudia did not rush by with the dress.
When they were once more alone, Anjele saw no need to continue the subject of Raymond and tried to end the conversation. She held out her hands to take the garment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you borrow it, Claudia. Not this time.”
Claudia was silent for a moment, then whirled around as she cried, “Very well. But if I can’t wear it, neither will you. Not tonight, anyway.”
Before Anjele could make a move to stop her, she ran to where Jobie had left the pitcher of lemonade and quickly snatched it up to pour the liquid on the dress.
When dark forces want you dead, sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.
Tule Witch
© 2013 Jane Toombs
Having survived a devastating attack, Bebe is working hard to get her life back together. Taken under the wing of an elderly doctor, Bebe has begun work as an RN, determined to make something of her life.
Helping to run an emergency room in California’s Central Valley, Bebe is on duty when a dead man is brought in. At least, they all believe he is dead… But really, he is just the first sign of what is to come. For the evil that stalked Bebe has returned, and this time she may not escape.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Tule Witch:
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sp; Bebe shifted a little on the hard oak chair—you couldn’t get comfortable on the damn thing no matter how tired you were. She looked at the papers in front of her and sighed. The emergency room had been busy tonight; she was behind in her charting. She tucked a straying black tendril more firmly into her bun and resettled her cap in front.
A drop of water fell from overhead and missed her narrowly, hitting the papers on the charting table. She shivered and glanced up at the network of pipes that hid the ceiling. Depressing place to put the ER, in this damp basement.
And old tule fog was outside the bolted door. Waiting out there. Old tule fog pressing down. Didn’t swirl around wet like the ocean fog—oh no, old tule just smashed you down, just hung heavy.
The ER was due to move over to the new building next month—and a good thing. If the rest of the hospital didn’t fall into this basement before they got that new unit finished. Ought to have built it years ago. And yet the idea of moving made her uneasy. This basement ER was her hideaway; nothing could get you here. No one could find you.
The town had pushed the county hospital out to the edge of itself. Didn’t want to acknowledge it—didn’t want to see the misery that came in to be treated. Not for the first time Bebe wished she didn’t have to stay. She hated the town. The country made her nervous, too. All those mountains staring down like they were passing a kind of judgment on a person. It had been all right when she’d lived snuggled up next to the mountains. But out here on the flat—out here they saw you. And the hell with the mountains. The hell with Grandma, too. What else could have been done with the kid? What did anyone expect her to do?
She shivered again. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, her nape pricked with rising hairs. Must be thinking of Grandma made her feel this way. Cold in this old basement—but it was always cold down here. Must be Grandma in her head made her feel so uneasy. She could hear Grandma, hear her clear:
“When the soul gets out, a haunt gets in
Hair prickle
Sweat trickle
Shiver and shake in your skin.”
No. She wouldn’t think about Grandma. She was Bebe Thomasen, RN, now—not Grandma’s puppet. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the power. If anyone knew the power existed, Bebe did. But it was better forgotten. Grandma was dead and so was he. Nothing left but the kid.
Bebe picked up her pen and stared at it, seeing nothing. If she closed her eyes, the altar would be there, gray-flecked in the moonlight. The sycamores would be standing like ghostly guards and Red Gill somewhere in the darkness behind her. It would be the time and she too dazed, too spaced out to try to evade him. Her witch knife in her hand, useless against his power. He would compel her to turn, to come to him on the altar. And the words, the horrible words would creep along her flesh, into her ears, her mind…
Bebe shuddered violently. No. He was dead; he had to be dead. She tried to look at the papers in front of her, but couldn’t seem to focus her eyes. Why was she bringing back old ghosts? Why were the evil things in her mind? She took a deep breath. It wasn’t all in her head. She was having the feeling again—the knowing that something bad was going to happen. There was something going on out there in that fog. There was something out there.
She looked over her shoulder nervously. Where was that damn orderly—that Jo-Jo? Most useless one in the place and she had to get him nights. Trust that day shift to get rid of the no-goods. He’d taken that accident case up to surgery a good hour ago. He ought to be back down here—she wasn’t supposed to be in the ER alone. If there was something out in the fog, it must be another emergency. She’d need help. She stood up, waiting for the outside emergency buzzer to sound.
The overhead pipes moaned and shuddered, but the buzzer stayed silent. Bebe took a step toward the door that opened onto the outside ramp. It wasn’t exactly hearing—she could feel something on the other side, outside. She took another reluctant step and then whirled, going back to the phone. Get the operator to find Jo-Jo. “That worthless, freaky creep,” she muttered to herself.
She waited, sitting uneasily at the table and trying to chart. The lines before her stayed blank and she kept glancing sidelong at the door. Finally she flung down the pen, jumped up and strode rapidly across to the emergency door, heart beating faster than her steps. She shot the night bolt, tugged at the knob and, ponderously, the heavy door swung open.
The outside light was smothered in fog—there was nothing out there at all but fog. It seemed to push against her, forcing her back. Nothing was there. Nothing but what old tule wanted you to see. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, clutching herself, trying to stop the shivering. Nothing at all except that thing on the ground. It caught her eye because it moved. A dog? She stepped out of the protective doorway reluctantly. Wrong shape for a dog. She knew it was human before she knelt, feeling for a pulse.
Cold skin, sticky. Soft bubbling cough. Blood both places—outside and in the lungs. Get him in, get help… A mumble held her back an instant. What was he saying? Made no sense. Did he really say it or was it Grandma in her own head again? She flew back inside, yelling for Jo-Jo, grabbed up the phone to tell the operator to find a doctor. And in the ordered confusion that followed, she tried to bury the mumbled words. “Witch doctor…” Crazy.
Texas Lucky
Maggie James
An unexpected journey leads to the love of her life…
On her way out West to marry a man she had never met, Tess Partridge found herself a prisoner in a makeshift jail. Her cellmate, darkly handsome Curt Hammond, was a man accused of cold-blooded murder. Bonded together through their captivity, they must go their separate ways when they make their escape.
Alone on a strange, unforgiving frontier, Tess must find a way to survive—and thrive. And when chance brings Curt back into her life, Tess is no longer able to deny her love for him.
This Retro Romance reprint was originally published in February 1998 by Topaz Books.
eBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Texas Lucky
Copyright © 2013 by Maggie James
ISBN: 978-1-61921-847-5
Edited by Heather Osborn
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Original Publication by Topaz Books: February 1998
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2013
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chap
ter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
About the Author
Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan
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