Bayou Born

chapter 10

The tall wood-framed etched glass doors created an elegant entrance to the bar at the only hotel in town.

“Wow. The newspaper said this had a five-star rating.” Branna stared at the beautifully crafted doors.

She’d read about the hotel’s restaurant and bar in a local survey. That seemed like a reliable recommendation. After all, options weren’t endless in Lakeview. Five miles west near the interstate, a handful of cut-rate motels for one-night-only tourists flashed No Occupancy signs on Saturday nights. None of them served food or adult-only beverages.

She spotted the Historic Register plaque on the brick wall beside the tall doors. The lodging establishment had remained locally owned since its opening. She had researched the place after James suggested meeting there, wanting to know what to expect, since she shied away from surprises. The building had antique character, and Lakeview folks might consider the 1900’s construction ancient; however, Bayou Petite had signed its city charter almost a hundred years earlier than when Lakeview called itself a town.

James had made it clear their outing tonight fell under the heading of “colleagues bonding.” It wasn’t a date, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to accuse her of not being a team player. A drive in the country would better acquaint her with Lakeview. The sooner she learned her way around, the more it would feel like home. She couldn’t admit it to anyone, not even her cousin Biloxi, that she missed Fleur de Lis, the chaos of her large family, and Greta’s cooking. She pulled the door handle to the hotel, grunting softly under its heaviness, and wondered if Dr. Brown had urged James to be more sociable to make up for his less-than-hospitable past.

Arriving early allowed her time to take in the surroundings and to nurse a drink before a drive into the countryside. The information on the hotel’s website boasted a full-bar menu. Having one cocktail and a protein-laden appetizer would ensure that when she drove home in a few hours there would be little, if any, trace of alcohol in her blood. Just in case she was pulled over, though, that had never happened before. She always took every precaution. The world might end if she fell from her family’s “good-example” pedestal. She didn’t need that on her guilt-ridden conscience.

Besides, one drink would calm her rattled nerves, and she would insist that James drive.

Inside the bar, shelves crammed with leather-bound books lined the walls of The Library. A half-dozen pub tables filled the space between the shelves and the carved wooden bar. The scene transported her back in time to an old saloon, only one with books. The look of it appeared as though it had been plucked from an old movie set. The bartender in his white shirt, silver and black striped vest, and black bolo tie looked perfectly cast, just like gamblers she’d seen in old black and whites who won every hand of cards, swilled whiskey from a bottle, and drew can-can girls to them like miners seeking gold.

The only difference between the movies she’d seen and the place where she stood—smooth jazz floated around her as if moved by air conditioning.

The bartender winked. “What’ll ya have, little lady?”

She smiled and hiked onto a tall barstool. “Gin and tonic with a lemon twist, please.”

“Happy to oblige you, sugar.” Then he muttered something under his breath she couldn’t quite make out about her and a “twist.”

“Is there an appetizer menu?” she asked when he returned with her drink and set it on a square napkin in front of her.

“You could nibble on me, darl’n, anytime.” He flashed a grin and raised an eyebrow, then leaned on his forearm on the bar top as if posing for a headshot.

“Excuse me?” Though raised in the south where “honey, darl’n, babe and sugar” were not usually considered insults, but friendly greetings between those well acquainted—her practice was to ignore men who used those terms of endearment to suggest an intimacy that simply didn’t exist. And while she hated confrontation, when the bartender licked his lips, she snapped.

“Do your regular customers like to be verbally mauled by you, darl’n?”

His grin dropped. His eyes narrowed. “Sorry.” He pulled out a menu from behind the bar and slapped it on the bar top in front of her. “Order away, ma’am.”

“Hey, Dave.”

Startled by a voice behind her, she swiveled on the barstool to find James approaching.

“Is that anyway to treat my newest colleague?” James’ voice was more teasing than chastising.

“Branna Lind, meet Dave. Dave, meet Branna Lind. Nachos, barkeep, and a beer.”

Dave nodded, popped caps on two longneck bottles, placed them on the bar in front of James, and then snorted loudly and walked away.

“Be gentle with the natives.” James chuckled. “Retract those Mississippi claws. We’re civilized here. I promise.”

“Hard to tell by that one.” She scowled in hopes of driving her point home.

“Well, Dave took one look at you and saw a challenge.”

“What?”

“An attractive woman comes into the bar alone, no wedding ring or engagement diamond.”

She looked down at her left hand, then instinctively rubbed where a band no longer circled her ring finger. “I’m a target because I’m alone with no ring?”

“The combination is like waving a red flag at a bull. This is a small town. You’re new and attractive.”

“Women were liberated years ago, you know. What about just getting to know someone? Why is it men still have to act like Bubbas?”

James cocked his head, his brow furrowed deeply. “You don’t look like that type.”

“I’ll probably regret this, but what type is that?”

Dave appeared and delivered a platter of nachos. He waited, clearly to hear James’ reply.

“The militant-feminist type.”

“Ya didn’t look like that type to me, either. But it’s true. Can’t tell a book by its cover.” Dave brandished his arms in a grand display noting the library of books around him. He shook his head and walked away muttering something she couldn’t hear.

“Liberation doesn’t mean militant.” Her earlier snappy retort to Dave was the first time she’d ever done that, instead she usually played peacekeeper and example setter for her siblings and cousins. Maybe she could do with a little more feminist energy.

“So, you grew up here,” she said, intent on changing the subject.

James slid the platter of nachos between them and placed one of the bottles beside her cocktail. “For you. Who drinks...” James pointed to her glass.

“Gin and tonic with a lemon twist.”

“Yeah, that.”

“A perfectly civilized cocktail.”

“Who drinks that with nachos? The beer is Dave’s way of making it up to you. He won’t put it on the bill.”

“I’ll thank him when he comes back. Do I look like kiss-and-makeup type?” She didn’t bother to contain her sarcasm.

“Yep.” James said before taking a bite of the nachos.

Well, he probably had that right. She’d made up with Steven more than once. What she didn’t know back then, Steven was also making up or making out with someone else at the same time. Steven and Dave were linked by the same gene pool in her book. Then, she reconsidered. Dave was probably more evolved than Steven.

“So you grew up here. We never finished that conversation.”

“Not Lakeview exactly.” James took a bite of another laden chip. The remaining filling fell back onto his plate. She tried not to laugh when he scooped up the filling with yet another chip and popped the mess in his mouth. He certainly enjoyed his food.

“I grew up west of here in the next county. It was one of the last dry ones in Florida.”

“Is that where we’re going this evening?”

“No. Mostly for a ride to show you the countryside—that, and where and how your students live. Maybe we’ll go over to the springs. Have you seen much of the area?”

“Very little.” She’d visited her brother at college a few times, everyone there wore orange and blue, about fifty miles south of Lakeview. She’d heard about the crystalline natural springs nearby with their constant seventy-two degree temperature. Unlike her brother’s time at college, she never had a free moment. Responsibilities at home directed how and where she spent time. Holiday and celebration parties to host at Fleur de Lis. Those events helped pay the bills. Family tradition and family responsibility claimed all of her time. After college, Steven became a fixture in her world. Once engaged, she’d spent what precious few minutes she used to have to herself on planning her wedding with her mother. She and Steven weren’t just getting married; their two families were merging as well. Between her extended family and his, the guest list had hit five hundred.

What a fool she’d been.

Thinking about it made her blood pressure rise. She downed her cocktail hoping the tang would wash away the residue of anger. A drive through the country sounded appealing, far more desirable than haunting old history.

She reached for a nacho and slid it into her mouth and chewed.

“Come on, woman. Eat up.”

She clinked the longneck against James’ bottle. “Just remember, I have to be home before I turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”