Bayou Born(12)

“I believe you’ll benefit from Dr. Newbern’s assistance. The goal is to ease the transition of our new instructors.”

Dr. Brown shook his hand, leaned close, and whispered, “She’s got a lot of potential. A great asset to the college. Do your best, but keep it professional.”

With a wave, Dr. Brown and Vivian left them. Alone with Branna, James offered her the bottle of water. “You promised me one more dance.”

Branna drank slowly, smiled, then replied, “Really, Dr. Newbern? You want more?” She didn’t sound like she was into the dancing idea, but she held out her hand. He wouldn’t let her glare stand in the way of holding her in his arms one last time. Maybe he could convince her he wasn’t a total ass. Maybe.

This time when they danced, she moved mechanically in his arms, keeping a distance between them. She gazed at some faraway spot over his shoulder, rather than look him in the eyes. She stepped on his toes multiple times. Payback for his deception, he assumed. For once in his life, he could read a woman’s mind. Hers flashed—anger.

The moment the band stopped playing, Branna dropped her grasp of his hand and left the dance floor.

“Well, thanks for the dance.” Hoofing it to catch up to her, he was certain a different type of storm was heading his way. Had a hurricane ever started as tropical storm Branna?

“So you are the famous Dr. Newbern.” Her smile was saccharine-sweet, and her voice smacked with accusation.

“I don’t know about famous.”

“Dr. Brown said you’ve been dodging him for a couple of weeks.”

“Not dodging. Attending to personal business,” he corrected.

Her smile fell. “Oh. Well, that explains it. I guess I shouldn’t take it personally. Dr. Newbern, would you mind walking me out? In case someone’s blocked my car? You can use your disappearing powers to make it move out of the way.”

“Sure.”

He stood at the top of the steps as Branna thanked the Westcotts, then gathered a wooden salad bowl from the table. The crowd’s laughter drifted on the breeze. The white tents glowed red, green, blue, and yellow from the hanging colored lanterns. The break in the weather had made the festivities enjoyable. Mrs. Westcott had probably ordered that, too. From where he stood, surveying the party below, it looked like a spread from a magazine. Mrs. Westcott had done it again.

“Thanks for waiting,” Branna said. She climbed the back steps.

They walked in silence, making their way through the house out to the horseshoe drive.

“I’m being nosy,” Branna said, hitting the key remote for her car. The trunk of an old Volvo popped open, and she placed her bowl inside. “Do you see that truck over there?” She pointed to an old white pickup as she closed the trunk.

“Yeah.”

“Do you know the guy that owns that truck?” Her gaze remained on the vehicle. “Was he here tonight?”

Her thoughtful gaze made him wonder about her speculation regarding that guy, and her question solidly confirmed what he already knew. She hadn’t put two and two together. “He was there.”

“Is he a friend of the Westcotts? Does he work at the college?”

Was she fishing for something? “Yes, he’s acquainted with the Westcotts. Why?”

The dimly lit driveway made it difficult to see her face, but he hadn’t imagined her grimace.

“I met him once. I think he bought the Victorian by the lake. I thought maybe...” her words drifted off, and then her face brightened. “Oh, I just wanted to say, hello. That’s all.”

“Well, I’ll try to remember to introduce the two of you the next time you’re both in the same place.”

He closed her car door once she was inside. She waved good-bye before driving away.

The evening had surprised him. She had surprised him more. But what would she do when she learned he and that guy were one and the same?





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?