Bayou Born

chapter 27

Loud banging woke James. Disoriented, he pushed up from the floor to a sitting position, and then rested his back against the couch. Morning rays of light seeped in from around the drapes, but gave no clue as to the time. He glanced at his watch. It showed six thirty a.m. He’d slept all night on the floor.

A soft low groan behind him drew his attention. He turned and looked over his shoulder. Branna appeared deep in sleep, though agitated by a dream. Sleeping had brought color back to her cheeks. She looked irresistible. Sweet. Warm. Womanly. Dare he sneak a kiss? He could enjoy waking up beside her each morning. He craved a deeper connection with the woman who had haunted his dreams.

Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a low growl. Who was he kidding? He wanted more than a kiss. He wanted to pick her up, take her to bed, and make love to her—all day. Some knight in shining armor, taking advantage of a helpless injured woman.

What was wrong with him? She needed help, not lust.

When the banging started again, he jumped up and ran for the front door. Whoever was making the noise had to stop. Branna needed sleep. They’d talked off-and-on until two in the morning, until neither of them could stay awake.

He yanked open the front door, stepped outside, and pulled the door closed. “Stop that!”

The banging continued.

“What the hell are you doing?” he called to Bill, who pounded the rim of a gallon-sized bucket of paint.

The painter stood at the rear of his van, the back doors opened wide. Several five-gallon paint buckets surrounded him like a drum set. Inside the van, a blend of colored paints puddled on the floor.

“Sorry, man. Did I wake you?”

“Never mind me. Branna’s sleeping.”

The painter eyed him up and down. “Yah, man, whatever you say.”

“Don’t give me crap. Paint if you’re going to, but stop the banging noise. The lady’s had a rough night. Yesterday was tough business.”

“Is she doing okay? That was something, though. Did you see the video of the crash on the news last night?”

“No. What video?”

“Some college kid films planes taking off and landing for some docudrama he’s making. He happened to be in the right place at the right time. Got it all on tape. Miss Lind will be the FBI’s star witness in the drug smuggling case.”

“I don’t know if she saw anything other than the plane. Anyway, look, no noise. Okay? Let’s let her sleep.”

“Sure. No noise.”

When he returned to the house, Branna remained asleep on the couch. The aroma of brewing coffee greeted him, and he followed his nose to the kitchen. Last night, he’d set the timer on the coffee maker after Branna directed him to coffee and filters.

Anticipating the hot dark liquid that dripped into a glass carafe, the fog in his brain started to push aside. Black and strong. That’s how he wanted his coffee this morning. He needed a full-caffeine jolt if he intended to make it through the day. Waiting for his liquid addiction-of-choice, he thought about the things Branna had shared between her catnaps and bites of Sadie’s biscuits.

At first, it was uncomfortable to hear such intimate personal information about her. He’d resisted intimacy for so long. He engaged in deep discussions about politics, philosophy, books, and even religion once in a while, though he usually avoided those discussions also. Never had a woman exposed her most deep-seated emotions and layered them with logic as Branna had done.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” she said.

“Well, this one isn’t silver either. However, the pecan pie is gold-medal worthy. Take a bite.” He held the spoon to her lips, and she tasted the pie.

“Mmm, this is good. I was born with a yoke of responsibility. I’m the oldest female in my generation of the family. Do you know how many generations are living right now on my mother’s side?”

“No.”

“Four. We’re a huge group. I have a sister and brother. Then, there are five cousins. There’s my parents’ generation, a total of eight adults. My grandparents’ generation. There are three of them. And finally, there are the Old Aunts. My great grandmother and her twin sister are the matriarchs of our family.” Branna pointed at the family photo on the table next to him. “And I’m expected to run Fleur de Lis and pass it on to future generations. Until me, every previous Keeper had the benefit of the Old Aunt’s wisdom. In my lifetime, at some point, the Old Aunts will pass away. They are, after all, in their nineties.”

“Well, there’s not enough pie for all of them, so we won’t share. And what exactly is Fleur de Lis?”

“Home. It’s an antebellum estate built by the Old Aunts’ grandfather before the War Between the States. Don’t think there’s money just because it’s a grand old house. It’s our family legacy. My family works hard, and everyone contributes to upkeep, but each family also has a home of their own—some in Mississippi and others in Louisiana. My parents live at the beach in Biloxi. Fleur de Lis barely pays for itself. For example, we remodeled a couple of years ago with the help of an architect. We added an elevator when it became clear the Old Aunts found navigating stairs a problem. That construction project was a huge ordeal because the house is on the historic register. We put the elevator in the old cistern and built a connector to each floor between it and the house. The architect designed the connectors and made them look as though they’d always been there. That wisdom about remodeling—expect to pay twenty percent over the quote and double the time to finish the project—we had overruns and missed deadlines.”

“Estate equals land. Does your family farm or something?” He took another bite of pie and said a silent prayer of thanks for Sadie’s baking skills.

“Over the years, most of the land was sold off to provide funds for upkeep of the house. Any day now, I expect to get a call about the heating and A/C problems. That’ll be twenty thousand dollars or more. Just keeping the house clean is a full time job. We have Greta, she’s part of the family after all these years, and she takes care of the Old Aunts who are, right now, the only permanent residents in the house, since I’m gone. The house is too large for one woman to clean, so Greta hires help now and then, more frequently when the entire family is in residence.”

“The entire family? That must be some house.”

“Not everyone makes it all the time, but mostly for the big days. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and Mardi Gras. Oh, and everyone is always there for the Valentine’s ball.”

Her family had sounded very Normal Rockwell. “So, I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall. The downside of this life is?”

“Can you imagine how much laundry there is after the family vacates? Do you know, we put in a second dishwasher to handle dishwashing for family weekends? Even that’s not enough. Without multiples, someone would slave in the kitchen washing dishes and glasses. Missing out on fun.”

“Your problem is laundry and dirty dishes?”

“The responsibility for the house belongs to my mother right now. She had passed the baton to me. I’ve been groomed for the job since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

He chuckled. He hadn’t heard anyone use that expression in a very long time.

“It’s not funny. How would you like to be saddled with a property that you had to care for and preserve, not just for your immediate family, but for generations to come? How about holding a position that requires committee approval to do anything. You’re just the minion with the elbow-grease to carry out the committee’s commands.” She yawned.

He knew all too well. He’d grown up on a farm. One that his much-older brother stood to inherit. “What I don’t understand is why you’re here, if your life is already planned.”

“My mother, my beautiful mother whose shoes I’m supposed to fill, drives me crazy. She expects me to take over, but refuses to face the fact that she really still wants to run the place. She orders me around as though I’m a junior-lady-in-waiting. She called me from her nursery, the plant kind, at least twice a day when I lived at Fleur de Lis to check up on things.

“Sorry, but that doesn’t seem so bad.”

“I had to get away...to know that I’m capable of making good decisions. After all, my choice of potential groom flopped dismally.” She fidgeted with the edge of the quilt covering her lap. “There’s more.”

“I’ve got all night.”

“My breakup was acrimonious. I have called that man names in my head that I didn’t even know I knew. He made me doubt myself. Made me question things I’ve never questioned before. I’ve always done the expected thing. If I’m going to run Fleur de Lis, I have to know I can handle my own life, one that’s never truly been my own. Until now, every decision I’ve ever made put family first. It got to the point that I wondered if I existed other than to serve my home. And, there’s so much I’ve never done because it was done for me. Like bake a cake. Mow a lawn.”

“Hmmm.”

“That’s all you can say? Hmmm?” She yawned again.

“Hmmm, for you and the pie. Take another bite. Breathe. I see your point. But that still doesn’t explain about the guy and the car.”

“The guy is the ex-fiancé. Our parents pushed us together for years. I haven’t told anyone what happened. Let’s just say I discovered that his desires were varied. He’s not who everyone thinks he is. And, I’m not keeping the car. If you don’t believe me. Just wait and see.” Branna’s body sagged. She lowered her gaze. Her eyelids closed as though she’d lost the last reserves of her energy.

“I believe you.”

When she didn’t answer, he had touched her arm. She had fallen.

Last night gave him a lot to think about. More than how much he wanted to kiss her silly, or when he could tangle in sheets with her next, which he intended to, just as soon as she was well. In the meantime, he would ensure she healed and would protect her at all cost.

But how would he ever compete with the magnetic pull of Fleur de Lis? Was there anything he could do to make her stay with him? He’d willing follow her back to Mississippi, if she wanted. If not, what the hell would he do?