Bayou Born

chapter 7

Unwelcomed hints of morning slipped between the slats of the plantation shutters in Branna’s bedroom. She groaned. It was Saturday, and she wanted to sleep in. At home, the day always started early because of a wedding or a ladies’ tea. She’d escaped all of that by moving, but there was no escaping her internal clock. Years of conditioning could not be undone in mere weeks.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

She reached for her phone and checked caller ID.

“Momma?”

“Good morning, Sunshine. I knew you’d be up.”

“Of course,” she said brightly as she snuggled down into the covers.

“I spoke to your sister, finally.”

“And?”

“She says she’s fine. Loving the wild west. However, she wants to talk to you.”

Branna rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I heard that. Branna, when are you going to tell me what’s going on? You and Ste—”

“Don’t say his name!”

“You’re being silly. What did Steven do that was so horrendous? You know, his mother keeps asking me what happened with the two of you. I’m embarrassed to repeat each month at bridge that I don’t know. However, it seems Steven isn’t talking either. Although, he’s saying he still wants to patch things up.”

“With me or Camilla?” she muttered.

“What does Camilla have to do with this?”

“She took his side.” The words sounded childish even to her, but she couldn’t begin to utter the ugly truth to her mother. If she had her way, Momma would never know the depths to which Camilla had taken their sibling-rivalry.

“You’re the oldest, Branna. You—”

“—have to set the example,” she said, finishing her mother’s sentence. She hated those words.

“If you won’t talk to me, will you at least call your sister back?”

She hesitated. Taking the high road was expected of her, but she was sick of family expectations weighing her down. If her mother only knew the truth….she’d refuse to play bridge with Steven’s mother ever again. Though that would only add fuel to the gossip about the breakup. How dare he try to cause a permanent rift in her family.

After months of dealing with warring emotions, she’d given up battling her pain and forgiven Camilla. She worried about her being so far away, but hadn’t taken any steps the close the chasm between them. However, moving completely past Steven’s betrayal...she’d failed that emotional mission so far. That battle still raged, but with much less fury than before.

“Of course. I’ll call her.”

“Today,” her mother prodded.

“Yes. I promise, today.”

“Someday you’ll understand. As a mother, I want my family together. If I can’t have them all together in a physical location, I at least want to know we’re connected by love. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she grumbled. So much for beauty rest and Saturday morning freedom.

She padded to the kitchen for coffee. At home, Greta made sure it waited in the pot, and no one ever had caffeine withdrawal. How that happened, she’d never given it any thought. Until now.

Brewed coffee produced a deeply satisfying aroma. She carried a mug on a plate with two chocolate-covered biscotti and wished for beignets. Making a mental note, she planned to check at the grocery store. Maybe they carried Café du Monde’s beignet mix.

Snuggled in the covers, she relaxed. The call to Camilla could wait. She wanted to enjoy the serenity of her bedroom, which hadn’t happened by accident. She’d scoured magazines and websites for just the right decorating ideas. Modern mixed with traditional, rather than only period antiques, the décor that marked every single room at Fleur de Lis. And here, she had managed it all on a sliver of a budget.

Restless, she sat up, adjusted the covers, then sipped her coffee. Waking up slow and unhurried was luxurious. Today, there’d be no household emergencies before any scheduled event. She could even go back to sleep.

She dunked biscotti in her coffee and pulled the plate beneath her chin to catch crumbs before biting into the biscuit. The flavors melted together in her mouth, and she savored the texture of the melting chocolate. After setting the plate back on her nightstand, she pulled the sheet over her shoulder, turned on her side, and hugged her pillow close.

For one summer, between her junior and senior year of high school, she had freedom. She split her time between her Lind relatives, who lived on the island south of Slidell, Louisiana, and the small beach house her parents owned in Biloxi, Mississippi. After that, college, and then Fleur de Lis always took priority.

But this was her new life.

She wiggled her toes, and then slowly pulled her hands from beneath the sheet to examine them. The quivering tingle every time she touched James was weird. Had the lightning strike at the bookstore somehow messed up her nervous system? She’d seen something on NAT GEO about a man and his oddities after lightning struck him. But she hadn’t taken an actual hit. Plus, there was the same sensation with the other guy, the pickup one. There had to be a reasonable explanation, right?

She traced the lines in her palm with her right index finger. She’d had her palm read once by a woman in a caftan and turban outside St. Louis cathedral in New Orleans. The woman told her things, many of which she couldn’t remember. However, though she wasn’t a palmist, a fortuneteller or a medium, pure physics told her that she and James channeled some sort of weird current. An energy. Only, it made her want to touch James more.

“Dr. Newbern,” she corrected. They were only colleagues. She had to remember his interest in her was merely professional. His job was to mentor her, and he was only doing his job. Maybe the whole thing was a test? Maybe because this was her first fulltime teaching job, Dr. Newbern was assigned to ensure her success? Or what if her success, or lack thereof, reflected on him? That could be a problem. She had to do well at work, not only for herself, but to make sure she reflected well on him.

James. The man had danced her off her feet. She hadn’t played coy with him. Nor made excuses about her dancing abilities. He had no way of knowing that it wasn’t her forte and that she’d failed dancing lessons 101 with a big fat F. After that, her mother had finally let her take up piano instead. She should have warned him that her dancing partners usually wore steel-toed boots. Instead, she abandoned her inhibitions and let him lead her to the dance floor. For once, she enjoyed the delight of someone asking her to dance. That was part of the new and improved Branna Lind.

“James Newbern, Doctor James Newbern.” She chuckled. “Are you what the doctored ordered?”

His chocolate brown eyes had glinted with humor and tried to mask pain each time she stepped on his toes. Steven would have criticized once, then endured the rest of a dance in silence, always the gentleman he was raised to be when in the public’s eye. After that, he’d make excuses not to dance with her again. It became a running joke between them. Usually Camilla or Biloxi, if she happened to be around, kept him occupied on the dance floor. That man loved to dance.

James, on the other hand, had been patient while she swallowed her embarrassment. The most magical moment of the night—when they danced until the drummer shimmered the cymbals to close out a song. James had twirled her one last time as if she were a princess at the ball.

But the picture fixed in her mind based on Dr. Brown’s earlier glowing remarks, and the man last night, didn’t exactly fit. She’d thought Dr. Newbern was older and conservative, the tweed-jacket type.

She’d know more in time. Meanwhile, she had the whole weekend to herself. A luxury extraordinaire.

Rolling over, pulling the sheet over her shoulder, she drifted off to sleep.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

She jumped. Wading through the fog of sleep, she grabbed for the phone.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Good morning. If you change into a pumpkin at midnight, what time do you change back?”

“Uh? What?” she stammered. “Who’s speaking?” She tried to kick her brain into gear.

“James Newbern.”

She sat up and clutched the sheet to cover herself, then rolled her eyes. For Pete’s sake, he couldn’t see her.

“What time is it?” she asked dragging her fingers through her hair.

“About ten.”

“I won’t become human again until noon.” She stuffed another pillow behind her and leaned back.

“Wonder if the New Rag would be interested in an exclusive on you.”

“Huh?”

“Well, then again, maybe they’ll think I’m the crazy one for talking with a pumpkin.”

“Ahh, a man who jokes before noon. I knew you were too good to be true.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. Had she actually said those words aloud?

“You thought of me, too.”

Her eyes grew wide. Was he flirting with her? Couldn’t be. They were colleagues. Crap! How did she reply to that?

“I’m calling to invite you for a meal.”

“Any meal or one in particular?”

“I’m trying to be nice. Trying to live up to the hype Dr. Brown’s been feeding you about me. If you aren’t busy, I’ll give you a tour of the town. After all, its small, it won’t take long. Then, a quick run to the college.”

She looked at the clock. She could shower, change, and meet him at noon. She could delay painting her home office until later that afternoon.

“It’s all about southern hospitality.” His drawl drug out every syllable of every word.

She snorted. “Are you mocking my accent?”

“Now, why would I do that? Why would I insult you after inviting you out? I’m trying to be professionally sociable.”

“I’ve been here for almost month. Whenever I came to campus, you were never around. So much for southern hospitality.

“Hold on. Let’s rewind. My peace offering is food. I feel bad we didn’t meet before, but I wasn’t dodging you. I have a busy schedule. Very tight deadline. Let me make it up to you. Lunch?”

“Well, maybe one o’clock?” She couldn’t refuse. After all, they had to work together. No need to get off on a bad foot, especially after she had mangled all of his toes last night.

“Do you like bar-b-que?” he asked.

“Not so much.” Just what she needed—up to her elbows in sauce and wearing it on her shirt.

“Fried chicken?”

“Um, well, yes, but too many calories.”

“Well, how about a good ol’ fashion home style meal at the Magnolia Café?”

She’d heard it was downtown on the square where old-timers hung out and rubbed elbows with the lawyers and judges in town.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you there at one fifteen.” She hung up before he had a chance to change the time.