Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series) (31 page)

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 allowed 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.

A black dress with black low heels, a clutch and pearls might work at the country club, but it didn’t inspire anyone, most of all her, to dance...
and more
. Bless James for his courage. The man wanted to take her dancing, even after experiencing her total ineptitude. In the future, maybe she could limit the damage to his feet by taking a few dance classes. Surely, she wasn’t a hopeless case. She prided herself on being a good student.

But that didn’t solve the immediate problem. How to look amazing. She needed that to balance out the number of times she’d be saying “sorry” to his toes.

She remembered seeing several women carrying shopping bags with the logo from the dress shop downtown. Shopping local would be her contribution to the economy. She reached for the phonebook. Flipping through the pages, she found the advertisement she sought, then punched the number into her phone and waited for someone to answer.

“Lovely Ladies. This is Clara.”

“I need a dancing dress for tonight. Might you have something that fits that bill?”

“We have a few spring dresses remaining. Our summer collection just came out. Our previews usually run closer to the actual season than stores in big cities. You could take a look online—” A beeping sound blocked out Clara’s voice. Branna looked at caller ID. When she didn’t recognize the number, she ignored the call.

“—come in now, our seamstress is here to make any needed alterations, especially if you need a dress for tonight.”

“I need a dress that says,
fun
. I’ll be down in a little while. This is a special occasion, and I need a
wow
outfit. Size eight.”

She pulled on a t-shirt and jeans and slid into sandals. Fumbling underneath the stack of clothes on her dresser, she tried to find her keys. Her fingers wrapped around a set, not for the Volvo, but the Mercedes. The car made her think of her sister.

She still hadn’t reached Camilla. It appeared that the mountains of Wyoming hampered cell service. Did some version of the pony express still exist there? Otherwise, how did people communicate? It saddened her that her relationship with her sister had become mostly non-existent in the last eight months. It was one thing for them to disagree about any given topic, but betrayal? Disloyalty so harsh that it would hurt everyone one in the family. Could Camilla be so selfish? When they were younger, they shared with each other after each of their dates. Camilla was always competitive. She had even tried to steal a boyfriend or two when they were in their early teens. Hadn’t they outgrown that childishness? But there were good growing-up memories also. Back before Steven.