Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series) (3 page)

“The house is at least four thousand square feet. Sits on over an acre. I’m sure it will appraise for more than that amount, even in these real estate times. The family thing. Meredith says the house needs a family. I told her if I bought the house, someday I’d have that.”

“Shower. Now.” His mother’s fists were planted firmly on her hips as she stood between the dining and living room.

“I’m going,” he told her.

His father tapped him on the arm. “Son, she has one condition. You and your family must have a housewarming party within a year and invite her.”

“I can’t believe that’s what she wants for the house. It’s below market value,” James said, ignoring any mention of family, though suspicion rubbed his conscience. Did the house need a lot of work, and she knew it? Did she think because he looked like a redneck that he couldn’t afford the house at any price? And why hadn’t Wade called his cell phone rather than calling the house and leaving this information? “I want the place, but it’s still contingent on an inspection and an appraisal. Have to have the due diligence.” He’d been fooled once by a pretty face. Houses, like women, might look great on the outside, but dig a few inches and looks could be deceiving. His hard-earned cash wouldn’t leave the bank a moment before he had a complete status and hard numbers for repairs.

“Son, Wade said it needs some minor work. Insisted that Meredith had a contractor look at it when she inherited it. They say the needed work is only cosmetic.”

Papa rose slowly from his chair, hobbled over to him, and slapped him on the back. “I answered the phone and reminded Wade of our family’s long-time connection. But I’m so hard of hearing, even with that darn speakerphone, couldn’t understand half of what he was saying. Had to get your dad involved.”

“Dinner is ready,” his mother called from the dining room.

James glanced in her direction. She stood behind her chair waiting as she always did whenever they had a formal meal. His father would pull out her chair and she would sit, then place the cloth napkin in her lap. Family traditions learned from his grandparents.

Not wanting to irritate his mother, he sprinted down the hall. By the time everyone had a beverage of their choice, he’d be done and ready to eat.

“Finally,” his mother said when he returned. “Your grandmother was kind enough to get you sweet tea.” She pointed to the glass next to his plate.

His mother ladled gravy over roast beef and handed the first plate to him. “James is this really necessary?” she asked.

“The house, you mean?” He knew she wasn’t asking about the food, but he wanted to tease her. Had she made his favorite meal as a bribe to make him stay or as a farewell dinner?

“Yes, this house business.” She sniffed. “How can you afford this? I don’t think you should buy a house until you can afford it.”

“She means that she’s worried that once you move to town permanently, you’ll get too busy to come see us,” Granny said.

He took a bite of the meat and chewed. “This is great, Mom. With cooking like this, I’ll come every time I’m invited.” He hoped flattery might distract her, and then he could change the subject. One of his mother’s...interesting…pastimes was gossiping after church on Sunday with the church’s ladies’ committee. Unfortunately, they viewed gossip as a sport or competition. He wanted his private life to remain off limits to the ears of those with loose lips. He’d learned a hard lesson very well when he and Caroline broke up. And, old men, gossiped just as much as old women.

“I’m glad you like the food. I made all your favorites.” She smiled modestly. “But what about the house?”

“Now Emme, stop that,” Granny said gently. “Leave the boy alone. If he says he wants to buy the house, then he must have a way to work it out.”

Granny corrected his mother? In front of others? Usually, she played the gentle mediator, always finding something good to say about everything, smoothing over any potential conflict.

“Momma,” his mother whined, “I don’t know how he could possibly afford it with all of his education loans.”

“Your son’s a grown man with a doctorate degree. If he says he can afford it, then you should believe him.” Papa’s low tone carried a sharp threat. Emmeline squared her shoulders, lowered her eyes, and picked at the food on her plate.

Staying out of the fray, intent on enjoying the feast of his favorites, he kept his attention on his food, took a fork full of zipper peas, and savored the flavor. No matter what, his mother could cook.

He shrugged off the family debate. In truth, he could afford it. No one knew that but his grandfather, who had taught him the value of money at an early age. However, if it hadn’t been for his father’s heart attack five years ago, he would’ve bought a house in town when he first accepted the teaching job at the community college. A thirty mile, one-way commute every day, mostly traveling a two-lane blacktop, got old.

“Great biscuits, Granny.” He smeared butter between two halves.

Granny beamed. “Emmeline, if the boy buys the house, maybe that’s a signal that he’s ready to find the right woman and settle down. Maybe this time, he’ll do it—house, marriage,
then
baby.”

His mother brightened. “Grandchildren?”

The ringing telephone interrupted the banter. Silence smothered all conversation. The house rule—no one answered the phone during a family meal. His father always enforced it. Especially after Caroline had started calling whenever his truck was parked in the driveway at his parents’ house. At first, her calls had been pleading, she wanted him back, but when he ignored her, she turned to issuing threats never meant for his mother or grandmother’s ears. It wasn’t that he wanted to purposefully hurt her, he’d just been too hurt by her to care how she felt now. She was none of his business.

After five long rings, the phone turned silent. Papa launched into a joke, a corny one that only an old man could pull off, and everyone laughed.

Caroline.
James pushed the pain of the past from his mind. After dinner, Granny and Papa would stay “at the big house” with his parents for a while and listen to his mother play the piano. They’d sing hymns to practice for Sunday services at the Baptist Church. Meanwhile, he’d take Beau for a run down the sandy limestone road to Papa’s and back. Beau needed a workout, and James needed the exercise to clear his head. It was bothersome that a woman he’d met only once had captured his fascination. And that irritated him. After all, a woman in pearls and jeans with high heels shouted pampered and spoiled. Branna had to be the “high-maintenance” type. She’d kept her eyes trained on his boots the whole time, as though he wasn’t good enough somehow. He couldn’t name the color of her eyes, but he expected they would be as hypnotic as she was seductive. Still, the pulsing sensation between them mystified him. He had to shake it off.

A run with Beau would do him good. Afterward, he’d join the family, listen to his mother play...and begin to plan his future.

One without Caroline or baby Katie.

Chapter 3

The phone rang in the kitchen.

Branna jiggled the key in the door lock, praying it would turn the first time. She shifted the grocery bags in her arms when the lock wouldn’t open.

“I’m coming!” Lowering the bags on her right arm to the ground, she jiggled the key harder. The ringing continued.

“I said, I’m coming!”

When the lock finally turned, the door opened, and she tripped across the threshold, barely staying upright. Her sunglasses slid down her nose. She grabbed for the phone.

“Yes?” she said, then set the three bags hanging from her wrist on the counter and shook out the pain in her hand.

“You must come. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Why did Momma always think that being chipper when issuing a command would make everyone snap-to and do her bidding?

“Momma, I’m sorry. We talked about this already. I
can’t
make it for Memorial weekend.” She picked up the bag she’d left at the threshold and nudged the door closed with her foot. She hoped that WD-40 in the lock would fix the ingress problem. She pulled the can from the bag and set it on the counter.

“The Mayor has agreed to speak. I hired that blues band you used for that wedding on New Year’s Eve. The Mayor and I decided that the cover charge for the event is a minimum of five-cans-of-food per-person to replenish the food bank. However, I need your help.”

“I know this is your first run at handling a charity Memorial Day picnic, and I’m here for moral support. You can bounce any new ideas off me. But this isn’t your first outing, and I’m sure you’ve got it under control.”

Every day, she’d been on the phone with Momma about one or another function scheduled at Fleur de Lis. Often more than once a day. Her mother had suddenly bumped the charity-hosting schedule from one big event a year—the Valentine Auction and Valentine’s Day Dance—to three, with under a month before the date of the first new one. Which meant flyers and invitations needed to be designed, printed, and then mailed, along with contacting local vendors to secure their financial support.

Was Momma purposely trying to drive her crazy?

“You know the family’s gathering schedule. It’s
tradition
we count on.” Momma sounded disappointed, and but did she have to played the tradition card?

“I am the face of family tradition. I’m the one deeded the duty to keep all Fleur de Lis traditions alive—in the future. I can recite the schedule in my sleep, but I can’t put aside my work responsibilities here.” She wouldn’t allow Momma’s tone to sway her from her focus. She couldn’t be running back and forth to Mississippi if she ever intended to have a life of her own, to learn that she was strong enough and truly worthy of the Keeper’s role. Birth order didn’t guarantee she had the talent to protect the legacy.

“Branna Noël Lind, I can’t believe my ears. Are you suggesting that blood isn’t thicker than water? Being Keeper is an honor, not prison time. Do I need to remind you of the benefits you have reaped because you are the first great grandchild?”

“I moved. I didn’t lose my memory,” she muttered. “I have a
job
, Momma.” With the phone scrunched between her shoulder and ear, she put a milk carton in the fridge.

“Attitude? From you? I expect that from Camilla or one of your cousins, but you?”

The demure, compliant teenager Momma sent off to college years before had grown up. Unlike her siblings and cousins, she had never rebelled. Ever. She always did all that was expected of her. Including caving about going out-of-state for college. That scholarship she gave up had been a huge source of pride. It was awarded because of her work, not because of her family name or due to family influence. But Momma insisted that she had to keep with tradition and attend college in state.

In truth, the disappointment that shrouded her life came when she ended her engagement to Steven. She was still learning to live with embarrassment and humiliation. If she wanted to feel different, only she had the ability to change her life. And that’s what she was trying to do.

Yet, as far as her parents were concerned, her recent departure meant she’d said to hell with rules, and order, and decades of tradition. But that wasn’t true. She took the role of Keeper seriously. She’d worked hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations of an estate manager. But she wasn’t her mother, and she didn’t just love planning weddings. They were a necessary evil that brought in extra revenue to support the estate, which belonged to all of them, though the future care of it rested with her. Beneath her façade of self-confidence, she feared the weight of the entire family’s future on her shoulders.

She feared failure.

After all, she’d chosen poorly when accepting a proposal of marriage. Ending the engagement brought embarrassment to her entire family. Though folks in Bayou Petite had touted her wedding as the event of the decade, that wasn’t reason enough to marry misery. Wanting to spare her loved ones the pain of her humiliation, she had told no one, not Momma or even Biloxi, the reason she’d called it quits with Mr. Steven Sterling.

His betrayal had dumped chaos into her life and rocked the very core of her self-confidence. Would she ever trust herself to lead at Fleur de Lis? Would she ever trust a man again?

“Forgive me, Momma. My schedule is backwards from what the family’s accustomed to. Is Camilla coming home?” She didn’t wait for an answer. It didn’t matter. She’d forgiven her sister, but wasn’t ready for a face-to-face encounter. Camilla’s lack of sisterly loyalty hurt more than she’d ever imagined. It went beyond words. Like a bell, Camilla’s actions couldn’t be unrung. “I’ll be home for the Fourth July and Christmas, but I can’t make it for Memorial weekend, and unless a miracle happens, you can’t count on me for Thanksgiving. Hopefully, next year will be different. Be that as it may, how may I help now?” She pulled food from the grocery bags, setting the items on the counter.

“Design the flyers. I’ll get them printed here.”

“I can do that.”

“Two years, Branna. The clock is already ticking down.”

There was an unmistakable hint of glee in her mother’s voice. “We agreed on two years for your...sabbatical from home. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She clicked the “end” button on the phone, but before she could put it down, it rang again. “What now?”

“Hmm. I’m guessing you’ve been talking with your mother?”

Branna sighed. “Biloxi, you and your ESP. She’s trying the guilt-trip of the century. Are you going home for Memorial weekend?”

“No. These days, I’m lucky to make it to the big thing—Mardi Gras.”