Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series) (25 page)

“I’ve got biscuits in the car. Sweet potato pecan pie, too,” Sadie said.

“Let’s wait a while, wait for the van to leave. You know food won’t cure what ails her.”

“Maybe not, but it can’t hurt.”

The doorbell interrupted them. “What now? If it’s that TV reporter, I’m going to call the police.”

Sadie grinned, “You know my cousin on the force. I’ll call him while you answer the door.”

“Who aren’t you related to in this town?”

James looked through a side window. It presented the perfect vantage point to observe anyone on the front porch without being noticed. Cars lined the driveway and blocked his car, while others parked at the curb near Sadie’s minivan. A contingent of women, most of whom he recognized from the society page of the newspaper, stood on the porch.

“Sadie, you field this crowd. Don’t let them in. I’m going to check on Branna. Then, I’m going to find a screwdriver and dismantle that damn doorbell.”

Sadie headed for the door as he eased down the hall toward Branna’s bedroom. Turning the knob gently, he opened the door. Branna still slept. He sat in the chair across from the bed. The bedroom faced the back of the house and with the door closed, most of the exchange between Sadie and Lakeview’s social elite do-gooders sounded only a decibel above a whisper.

He squinted and waited for his eyes to adjust more to the darkness. Outside, the setting sun had slipped below the horizon and the treed lot blocked most of the final rays of light. Blinking again, he fixed his attention on Branna, who struggled to sit up. Jumping up to assist, he grabbed an unused pillow and plopped it on top of the one behind her back.

“I thought it was all a bad dream,” Branna murmured.

“For your sake, I wish it was.” He hunkered into a squat beside the bed, because sitting beside her on the bed seemed too personal when she was hurting.

“How did I get in here?”

“I thought you might rest more comfortably in your own bed. You were asleep when I carried you in.”

“Professor, for someone who doesn’t like my ‘type,’ you’ve been most gallant. Thank you. Thank you for your help before, and thank you for now.”

“Well, let’s just say it’s part of the service. After all, Dr. Brown assigned me to mentor you through your adjustment period.”

“I doubt he ever intended
this
kind of service.”

Her chuckle set him at ease. Humor was a cure-all, as much as chicken soup. If Branna could joke, she must be on the road to recovery.

“If you’re hungry, Sadie brought soup. Better than the broth I heated up. She says she’s got biscuits and pie in the car.”

“Sadie’s here?”

“Yeah. She’s outside with local ladies of charity who’ve come to crown the town’s newest heroine.”

“Her family needs her. Please encourage her to go home. I’ll be fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m here.” Sadie appeared in the bedroom doorway. Light from the hallway fell across the bed. She flipped on the lights.

“Oh! Turn it off. Please,” Branna cried. “The light hurts my eyes.”

James rose and turned off the bright overhead light and switched on the lamp beside her bed.

“See, you do need me. I brought the rest of the food in from the car. Would you like a bite to eat?”

“No. Not now. Sadie, your family needs you. Thank you for the food, but please go home.”

“Not until you’re up and out bed.”

“Well, I think I can do that.”

Branna gently moved the covers aside. She planted her feet in the spot where he’d been sitting. Under her own power, she rose to standing, more mechanical-like than with fluidity. She looked at her feet, shuffled a few short steps, and grabbed for the door jam. “There, I’m up and out of bed. I’ll see you out.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” James cautioned.

“Please, let me try.” Branna’s imploring eyes made him move out of the way. He offered his arm for support, but she pulled away.

Sadie took the lead and headed down the hall. Branna followed, mostly sliding along the wall, using it for support. He trailed one-step behind, ready to catch her if she tumbled, all the while praying she wouldn’t.

Helpless, he maintained a watchful lookout as she reached the living room. With steadier feet than he’d imagined, she crossed the space, grabbed for the back of the couch, and followed it like a railing. About fifteen feet separated the couch from the door. She managed the expanse a half step at a time. When she reached the door where Sadie waited, he let out a breath in relief.

“Sadie, thank you again. I’m sure the food is wonderful. You’re very thoughtful.” Branna flipped the switch for the front porch light and opened the door. James stood beside her, willing her strength, though he didn’t dare touch her. If she fell and injured herself again, what would he tell her parents?

Sadie hugged Branna tight. “So, you’re tougher than you look, I’ll give you that. But I think Dr. Newbern should leave, and I should stay.”

Branna closed her eyes. She sucked on her bottom lip.

He couldn’t decide if she was about to explode or cry.

Rather than wait for Branna’s reply, he jumped in. “Sadie, I’ve got this covered. I have to call Dr. Brown back, and I promised Branna’s parents I’d call them back, too.” He used his professorial-lecture tone, one that he knew Sadie wouldn’t argue against.

“I promise, I’m fine.” Branna smiled weakly.

“All right.” Sadie frowned, apparently reluctant to leave. “You’ve got my number Dr. Newbern, if you need me.”

After Sadie was safely in her car, he turned off the front porch light, closed the door, and then assisted Branna in her shuffle to the couch. He located her cell phone in the kitchen, intending to make good on his promise. “I answered your cell phone earlier.”

“My cell?”

“I didn’t want it to wake you up.”

“Ever hear of voice mail?”

Sarcasm was a type of humor. He hoped a sign of her continued recovery.

“Your mother called. Then your father got on the line. They’re worried. They want to talk with you. Especially since I told them what happened. And...if you don’t call them, I have to. If you truly don’t want your mother hiring a pilot to bring her here, you’ll talk to her.”

Branna heaved a sigh. “You told them? Oh. You don’t understand,” she wailed.

“I know that I’m a man of my word.”

“Maybe so, but
your word
created an obligation for me.”

“Just call them. Tell them you’re fine. What’s the big deal?”

“My family’s complicated.”

Branna held out her hand, and he plopped the phone into her open palm. She pushed a button on the keypad. She had the phone on speaker. He listened to the other line ring and Mrs. Lind answer.

“Momma? It’s Branna.”

“Branna!” Her mother called for her father. Then, her mother continued, “I’m coming as soon as I can get there.”

“No, Momma. James may have exaggerated a bit out of concern for me. I’m fine. Not that I wouldn’t love to see you, but how about next weekend? Could we plan for that?

“I don’t know...how about this weekend?” Her mother’s concern came through loud and clear.

“Momma, I swear I’m fine.”

James glared at her. “You have—” he pointed to her head “—a concussion. Not to mention bruises and other small cuts. And, that thing on the side of your neck.”

“You’re being hard headed,” her father insisted.

Astonished that Branna would lie to her parents about her injures, he rose to leave the room, wanting to give her privacy. Branna tugged on his sleeve, then patted the couch beside her. He gave in and sat.

“You have to trust me when I say, I’m fine. If you don’t trust me about this, how will you ever trust me to run Fleur de Lis?”

“That’s different, Branna.”

“No Momma, it’s not. If I can’t run my own life, stand on my own and make solid decisions for myself, how can the family ever trust me to be a good steward of the estate? You want me to lead, but you don’t let me.”

James cocked his head. Had he overheard correctly? Estate? Well, that answered a number of things. Estates usually equaled big money. Branna an heiress? If so, an expensive car as a gift was something she probably expected in life. But then, why did she drive an old Volvo?

Sitting beside her made eavesdropping unavoidable. He turned his attention to the photos on the side table. He guessed the group shot was of her family—a very big family. He picked up the framed photograph and studied the faces. She looked a lot like her mother. The two could just about pass for sisters. And there was another woman who closely resembled Branna. A sister, maybe. She and Branna looked to be close in age. The two elderly women in the center caught his attention. Twins?

“James?”

“Yeah?” he said distractedly. When she tilted her head and peered at him with the phone resting in her lap, he asked, “Is your mother placated?”

“For the moment. Could I bother you for some tea? This,” she said lifting the cup from earlier, “is cold. And it needs sugar. Would you like something?”

“A little Captain Morgan to take the edge off,” he muttered. “I’ll make tea. Would you like some of Sadie’s soup? I’ll ladle you a bowl.”

“Just tea. I’m tried.”

He slapped his thighs and rose. Branna stretched out on the couch. He covered her with the quilt, tucking it under her feet.

“I didn’t mean to complicate things when I answered your phone. And, darn. I didn’t think to lie to the folks on the other end of the line.”

“I didn’t lie. I played the incident down. My family is—”

“Don’t say complicated again.”

“So much is expected of me. They treat me like I’m...in need of a nursemaid and in line for the throne, when what is needed is a strong leadership.”

“But aren’t you?” he called from the kitchen.

“I’m the proverbial good girl. I’ve
never
colored outside the lines until I dumped Steven and moved here.”

“So, you’re saying you hit your rebellious streak late? That happens to the good-girl types. I hear it’s not fatal. Cream? Sugar?” he called over the kettle’s whistle.

No answer.

“Branna? Do you want something in your tea?”

Was that a sob?

“Branna?”

Yep. Definitely a sob.

He moved the whistling kettle from the stove, turned off the gas, and quickly made his way to her.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sitting on the floor, he was eye to eye with her as she lay on her side with only her face peering out from beneath the quilt. She looked like a lost soul.

The depth of her fragility hit him. His gut tightened. Branna’s tears were drops of pain and each one branded his heart.

“You don’t understand anything about my life. Yet you keep judging me. I’m this
type
or
that
type. Your low opinion oozes out. You don’t even bother to try to hide it.”

“Wait. Look—”

“Are you always so harsh?” Branna sniffed.

Harsh? No. Cautious. Yes. Judgments weren’t always a bad thing. In the past, an error in judgment had cost him dearly. But Branna wasn’t Caroline. His head had taken a while to catch up with his heart. “I’m sorry I seem harsh.”

Their gazes locked.

Branna nodded. “Apology accepted. One sugar and one cream, please.”

Had that been Caroline... No. He had to stop that. No more comparisons of anyone to Caroline. That was a piece of bad luck he could finally shake off.

He returned with mugs of tea, steam rising from each and curling together. Branna scooted and leaned against the armrest of the couch. She took a mug and blew on the liquid. Traces of tears had made barely visible tracks down her face.

He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, near her feet. “Branna, if you’d like to talk about...” He started to mention her parents, but changed his mind. “The accident or anything else, I’ll listen.”

“Oh James.” Branna plopped the mug down on the coffee table. Tea sloshed over the side.

She pushed her feet out from beneath her and surprised him by cuddling close, practically gluing herself to his side. Soft sobs started. Her body trembled. Tears soaked the front of his shirt. The helplessness that had engulfed him when Katie died now blanketed his heart.

He put his arm around her and hugged her close. What could he do? What should he do? Was her flow of emotion the result of the concussion? Did he need to call the doctor, or better yet, rush her back the hospital?

“Branna, it’s okay. Whatever it is, I promise, it’ll be fine.” Maybe she needed more rest. A good night’s sleep cured many things. Could make the world a wonderful place.

“I’m here. Let it all go.”

He let her cry. After several minutes, when his shirt was soaked and her tears lessened to a slow dribble, she sniffled. He offered her a tissue from the box next to him, then turned and patted her shoulder as she held the tissue to her nose.

If blowing one’s nose could ever be described as dainty, Branna managed it.

“Another tissue please.”

He pulled four from the box and handed them over.

Branna’s gaze met his. “So what type am I now? The foolish-crying type?” she whispered.