Bayou Born

chapter 23

As she pulled her purse from her desk drawer, someone in the doorway cleared their throat. Branna looked up. James leaned casually against the door jam, but his furrowed brow and frown looked anything but relaxed.

“You’re really taking that present home. Interesting. It’s none of my business. I just didn’t think you were one of those women.”

She wanted to scream that he was wrong, she wasn’t that type—the kind to accept expensive presents from a man she abhorred, but since she wasn’t the “screaming type,” she picked up the keys from her desk hoping to convey an air of calm control. James backed out of the office as she approached the doorway. Too angry to speak, she wore her poker face, the one she’d perfected that showed no hurt or pain, the one she owed to Steven.

James puzzled her. Away from work he was fun and engaging. Yet, for such a smart guy, he lived in a world of absolutes, little room for shades of gray. She could understand if he was one way or the other. The duality left her confused.

Until her split with Steven, rules ruled her life. Only recently, since her break with family tradition had she discovered how colorful life could be when one colored outside the lines. James would have to discover that on his own. No books...or woman could teach him that lesson.

“Sadie, I’ll be back. Going to meet the plumber,” she called out as she left the office tugging securely on the purse strap hanging over her shoulder.

James’ words ran through her brain, up and back, like a pianist practicing a musical scale. She’d refused his offer of a ride, choosing to take the Mercedes—her choice was not to inconvenience him. Not be a burden. His response hit her like a punch.

“It’s none of my business. I just didn’t take you for being one of “those” women.”

His tone rubbed her wrong.

Judgmental.

Opinionated.

Dismissive.

What she hated was the fact that in the green polo shirt that hugged his chest so well, his eyes looked a deeper brown. The timbre of his voice vibrated in her gut. He was way too sexy for his own good. That’s what she hated.

“He’s right! It’s none of his damn business,” she gritted out, then tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “A car is just a car. Just transportation. And mine’s been hijacked by a manipulating jerk. Steven Sterling, you’re vile.”

Turning the corner on to her street, she spotted a plumber’s truck parked by the curb. She pulled the Mercedes in front of it and sighed with relief at the sight of her Volvo. The tow-truck driver had unloaded it in the drive, but close to the street, far enough away to avoid any painting mishaps. Now all she had to do was show the plumber inside, store the Mercedes in the garage—until she figured out what to do with it—and make it back in time for her next class.

She parked and climbed out of the car. Maybe the plumber would ratchet up her low opinion of men. The male species had three strikes for today—the painter, the ex-fiancé, and the college professor.

“You’d be Miss Lind?” A man approached, carrying a battered toolbox. His shirt showed a white embroidered “Sullivan’s Plumbing” insignia.

“Yes. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“I heard your house might be flooded.”

“Not exactly. That’s what I’m hoping to avoid. I turned off the water before it made too much of a mess.” Had Sadie exaggerated the circumstances to get her brother-in-law to drop everything to make this appointment? “I’ll show you.”

She stood outside the bathroom door and let the plumber enter.

“Ah.” He nodded. “You need to replace the faucet. I can remove this one. In order for you to use the sink, you’ll need to provide a new one for me to install. I don’t carry that kind of stuff on my truck.”

“Oh. Hadn’t thought of that.”

“This job won’t take long, but...”

“You need the new faucet.”

The man grinned. “Sadie said you were smart.”

“And I thought I left household repairs behind in Mississippi. Fleur de Lis was always in need of something,” she muttered under her breath. Then, brightening she asked, “If I pick up a new one after school, when would you come back and fix this?”

“I’ll be here before you leave for work in the morning.”

“That’s a plan. Thanks for your help.”

The man let himself out while she rushed to her bedroom for a dry bra. Then she searched her closet for a blouse. In the past, any public embarrassment would’ve put her over the edge. Too much had happened in such a short time. That left no opportunity for a mental flogging about her impropriety. After all, it wasn’t like she could hide from her students. She had to roll with the scene. She conducted herself professionally, and since she acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, most of her students took the cue. If she ever looked backed on today, surely she would laugh. Surely.

Crystal deserved a reward for her quick thinking. A gift card in the pocket? Branna planned for it when she returned the jacket to the student tomorrow.

Heading back to campus, she patted the top of the dash of her Volvo. “I won’t part with you. You’ve been steady and reliable. Never left me stranded. You’ve listened to me complain. Never judged or offered unsolicited advice.”

She turned on classical music and watched her speed. “But what do I do about that silver thing in the garage?”

The corner of the red envelop that the security officer left for her peeked out from her purse. Red made her think of red eyes and all the tears she’d shed after she discovered Steven’s betrayal. Knowing him, he considered the red envelop to be a romantic gesture. But red matched the color of blood, and it was the color of a matador’s cape used to piss-off a bull. At the moment, she’d match her anger with any angry bovine. The note said that the car was intended as a wedding present, however, he hoped she’d accept it now—as a re-engagement present.

“Not before he crawls over glass on his hands and knees down Main Street!”

And then...

Not even then.

But she had to find a way to deal with the deeper pain injected into her family. The ragged rip in their lives left by Camilla. She had to call her sister. Camilla had to know that she had forgiven her.

As Branna drove east bound on Highway 90 and approached the turn-off for the college, the roar of a small jet buzzed in her ears like the whir of a blender. She made a right on red as the plane’s continued drone hit her last nerve. The noise grew louder and louder. Whenever she traveled the road to and from the college, planes racing down the runway—taking off or landing—made her flinch. The short distance between the end of the runway and the road was too short for comfort.

Barely able to think over the noise, she glanced to the right just in time to see a small plane bump off the runway.

It headed straight for the road.

Her car.

She slammed on the brakes. Braced her grip on the steering wheel. Where to go? Not to the right—into the plane. Trees loomed on the left. Stomping her foot harder on the brakes, she covered her face with her hands.

Whamp!

A tree stopped the car. The impact jerked her forward hard. She struggled for breath as force flung her backward in her seat. Her neck burned against the seatbelt. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spider’s web that looked like a mosaic. The tip of the plane’s wing protruded inside her car on the passenger’s side.

She gasped for a full breath and panted. Her chest hurt. Head throbbed. Stunned, she couldn’t move.

A buzzing grew louder. The plane’s engine still rattled, along with sirens and clanging bells. An acid taste clotted at the back of her throat. Her hand trembled as she tried to unbuckle the seatbelt. A blur of black popped down on the hood of her car, jumped to the ground, and raced away into the woods. She blinked. Her eyes refocused, but the throb in head made her squint.

“Over here!” a voice shouted next to her car.

She looked in the direction of the shout. A man yanked on her door. Two more men appeared.

“Unlock the door! Unlock the door!”

Hot tears slid down her cheeks. Twisting slowly, she tried to open the door. Before managing the orders, a crash exploded behind her. She jerked against her seatbelt. Wrapping her hands around the back of her head, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel as a man bashed out the window of her Volvo.

Beside her, the door opened. Someone fumbled with the seatbelt. Two men reached for her. Gingerly they helped her out of the car and to her feet. When she turned to look at her Volvo, she crumbled. Strong arms on either side of her carried her away from the crash and set her down on the ground.

“Branna!”

She couldn’t see him, but heard James’ voice.

“Where is she?” he shouted.

“Over there,” someone shouted back. “Ambulance is on the way.”

Detached, she observed the activity before her as though watching a play. More men appeared on the scene. Men in black jackets, a few with guns drawn. They headed into the woods. Overhead, a helicopter thwarped through the air, hovering above treetops.

Had someone forgotten to tell her about filming of a new Bond movie? She laid back and covered her eyes with her hands to block out the sunlight. Her body ached. Her head hurt. Her neck burned.

She would definitely be late for class.