Bayou Born(30)

“Naw. I’ll do it. Some friend you are, never invite me over to your new mansion unless you need a favor.”

“Stop whining. We’ll go south on Friday. No partying this time. Then you spend Sunday indentured to me.”

“Okay, but Charlene wants us to go out next Saturday night. You been nice to any ladies lately? One that might wanna go dancing with you?”

“You tell your bride that I’ll call her. If I don’t have a date of my choosing a few days in advance, I’ll let her set me up. Again. God help me.”

After the last disaster, he swore he’d never ever agree to another blind date. Charlene meant well, but she didn’t understand that when he said he wanted to discuss books with a woman, he hadn’t meant cookbooks. He hoped Branna would not demur.

“You outta thank my wife for caring enough about your sorry ass to try to find you a girlfriend.”

“I appreciate her efforts. I’ll buy her flowers or something.”

Charlene had always set him up with good-looking women. And she tried for substance to go along with the outer package, but he’d decided that the women Charlene knew fell into only two types. The obvious ones on the troll for marriage, or the secretly manipulative ones hoping to hook a husband. Either way, those women reminded him too much of Caroline.

“See you this Friday before dawn.”

He hung up the phone. Would Branna have an interest in experiencing more local color Saturday night? She and Charlene might not have much in common, but Charlene had never met a stranger. She made friends like bunnies reproduced. And she was the most loyal, faithful woman he’d ever known.

But maybe Bobby hadn’t snagged the last good one.

Maybe.





Chapter 21

Pine-bark mulch crunched beneath Branna’s shoes as she picked her way beside James. They headed to the Eatery in the Student Union. Her sandals were not a good choice for walking on the uneven surface.

“Let’s slow down,” James said.

“No need. I can keep up.” She stepped carefully, looking down to watch where she placed her feet. The last thing she needed was to fall face first. With her luck, if she fell, some student would capture it on video with their phone, and she’d make a splash on evening news. Or even worse, on YouTube. The only alternate way to the Union was the long continuous sidewalk connecting each building on campus, however, that would make the trip longer. By then she’d be completely melted from the rising humidity. She refocused her attention on the information James was dispensing.

“The student’s Halloween Ball is our most popular and well-attended event. We banned cellophane as a costume a few years ago. Students from the golf course program—big city, south Florida types rather than local ones—had the idea to use cellophane as a costume.”

“Cellophane?” He had to be kidding, right? She patted the moisture on her forehead. Though pine branches shaded the path and protected her from the hot noontime sun, the humidity made her wish for an old-fashioned lace hankie. That would look far more feminine than wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Air conditioning couldn’t be reached fast enough. The thought of cellophane against her body made her shudder. Was she sweating more?

“Hard to believe.” James held the door open to the Student Union for her. A blast of cool air brought her temperature down a notch.

“In this swamp? At least in Bayou Petite, evening breezes coming up from the Gulf cool things down.”

They stepped to the end of the food line and waited their turn to order. The aromas of fried chicken, sizzling burgers and hot grease made her stomach rumble.

In front of them, a female student turned to James. “Dr. Newbern, I heard you’re going to take over as faculty consultant to the student newspaper.”

“Not exactly. I’ve volunteered to assist Ms. Moore with production—layout and design—if she needs it. Reporting assignments will remain between her and the new student Editor.”

“I’m thinking about joining the staff in the fall. I was hoping I would be able to—” the girl flashed a coy grin, “learn from you.”

“Working on the paper is a great experience-building opportunity. I’m sure Ms. Moore would love to have an interested and dedicated student like you, Beth. Have you met Ms. Lind? She’s teaching Interpersonal Communications this summer.”

Beth’s composure shift from demure to annoyed as she adjusted her books in her arms.

“Hi, Ms. Lind. I took that class last semester. I have only one more semester after the summer and I’m done.” The young blonde looked more like a junior high girl with her plaid shorts and pink polo shirt than a young woman headed for her junior year in college.

“It’s nice to meet you, Beth.” Student-teacher relations were a serious matter, and she watched the changing expressions on Beth’s face with curiosity. The young woman’s behavior bordered on inappropriate as she tried flirting with Dr. Newbern. It was painful to watch.

“What are your plans after graduation?” Branna asked. She hoped her insertion would distract the student.

“Next!” the counter help barked at Beth.

Beth gave a weak shoulder shrug, then turned to face the counter and give her order. Afterwards she said, “See ya later, Dr. Newbern.”

Branna grabbed a tray and handed it to James before pulling one from the pile for herself. She gave her order to the woman behind the counter before the woman barked, “next” to avoid the annoyance.

“Adoring co-eds must be an ego boost. Benefit of a small town campus?” she muttered, fully expecting James to hear.

“I heard that. I’m not that type. Nor is anyone on this faculty that I know of. There are rules, and then there are laws. This institution upholds both. “

“Have you seen someone for your affliction?”

“What affliction?”

“Typing.”

“Like on a keyboard?”

She counted to ten. “Is everyone a type to you? Is each person you meet stuffed into a cubbyhole with a label for future reference? You just described yourself as not being ‘that type.’ For the record, I’m more than a type. More than some label you want to pin on me.”

The food-service worker gave her a curious glance when handing over her plate. Branna set it on the tray next to her drink, shrugged, then paid the cashier and headed for the dining area already crowded with students and other faculty members.

In the far corner, she spied an empty table. She made her way through the maze and sat. When James arrived, a table of co-eds erupted into giggles. They whispered and cast glances in his direction.

“You asked me to join you for lunch, not psychoanalysis, Branna. I’m not willing to discuss your theory here. Let’s find something else to talk about for now.”

“Like the giggling co-eds eyeing you?” She smiled brightly at the girls sneaking glances.

“No.”

“Like the silver baby rattle on your desk?”

He straightened in his chair. Had she hit a nerve?

“No.”

“Then, what would you like to talk about?”

“Do you want to meet some friends of mine for a beer next Saturday night?”

“Is it a date?”

“Just a night out with friends.”

“Not a date? Then exactly what type of evening are you talking about?”

He clearly ignored her dig. His eyes twinkled, though he tried to hide a grin. “I guess you’ll just have to come along and find out.”





Chapter 22

Branna jerked back the shower curtain and yanked a bath towel off the shelf. Last night, she’d fallen asleep before setting the alarm. She hated being late for anything; it was a sign of disrespect.

Wrapping the towel around her body, she stepped from the tub and grabbed a hand towel for her dripping hair. From her bedroom, her cell phone chimed. Clutching the towel to her body, she dashed to check caller ID, but she had no time talk to anyone, including her cousin, who hadn’t called back last night.

She blamed Biloxi for her need to rush. “If you’d have called me back, I wouldn’t have forgotten to set my alarm,” she muttered tersely.

The phone chimed again. As she reached for it, movement outside her bedroom window stopped her cold—a silhouette of a man. In a few quick steps to the window, she intended to flip the plantation shutters closed. She recognized the person peering inside, his nose pressed against the glass.

“Oh Lordy! You scared the crap out of me!” She hollered at Bill, the painting contractor. Yesterday afternoon, she’d inked her signature on a contract for him to paint the outside of the house.

“I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I knocked. You didn’t come to the door. Your car’s still in the drive. I knew you had to be here. I came to see if you were dead or something.”