Bayou Born(36)

Forever might not be long enough.





Chapter 26

James closed the shutters in Branna’s bedroom and pulled back the covers on the bed. He returned to the living room and carried her back to her room. Hopefully the prescription drugs would do their job, and she’d sleep undisturbed. At least until he had to wake her according to doctor’s orders. As he pulled a sheet and blanket to her chin, she puffed out little breaths while lost in deep sleep. She’d never looked as vulnerable as she did then. That vulnerability tugged hard at his heart. The usually commanding Branna Lind now looked angelic, and that pushed all of his protective buttons.

“Sleep, sugar. I’ll be right out there,” he whispered for his ears only.

He’d done everything backward with this woman. They were lovers when they were barely friends and barely friends before they were technically colleagues. Their night of lovemaking was more than a one-night stand to him. But could he convince her of that?

“Christ, we were supposed to be only colleagues,” he muttered.

Walking back to the living room, he looked for insights into the woman that had given his heart a jolt. Everything in view appeared in its proper place. She was neat and organized. A decorator probably had a clever technical word for Branna’s style. A mix of modern and antiques furnishing. The room exuded comfortableness without being feminine fussy. A place where a guy could hang and feel at home, even put his feet on the old trunk used as coffee table.

The artwork over the fireplace drew his attention. Vibrant colors, a type of abstract. A street scene obviously in New Orleans’ French Quarter. A Creole cottage with shutters next to a two-story building with lacy ironwork rails. The painting reminded him of Branna. Colorful, detailed, and full of movement.

With nothing else to do, he settled on the couch, picked up the newspaper, and started to read. The letters blurred. His eyes couldn’t follow the words. He leaned his head on the back of the couch to rest.

When the phone rang, he snapped awake, then sprinted toward the kitchen to find it, hoping it wouldn’t wake Branna.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Brown here. Branna was gone by the time I arrived at crash site. How is she now? May I speak with her?”

“She’s sleeping.”

James noted the long pause on the other end of the line. He wondered what Dr. Brown was surmising. About Branna. About him.

“I see. Tell her I’ve worked out a schedule to cover her classes for the rest of the week. Do you know anything about her condition? Will she be back next week?”

A muffled ring caught James’ attention.

“Gotta go. Her cell phone’s ringing. Don’t want it to wake her up.”

“Call me back if I can do anything.”

James hung up and sought out the sound, hunting it like a bird dog follows a scent. He ran to the bedroom and closed the door, not wanting anything to disturb her. Grabbing Branna’s purse from the chair, he pulled the ringing phone from it. The shrill of Fur Elise blasted louder.

“Hello. Branna’s phone.”

“Who is this?” a woman’s voice on the other end demanded.

“James Newbern. A friend of Branna’s. To whom am I speaking?”

“I’m looking for my daughter.”

“Ah, Mrs. Lind. Well, she’s had a slight accident.”

“An accident? No. How is she? Who-who did you say you are?”

He kept his tone level in hopes of conveying the information so she wouldn’t be alarmed. No need to frighten Branna’s mother.

“I’m James. Branna and I are colleagues at the college. She’s going to be fine, but she’s sleeping right now. She sustained some minor cuts and bruises, and a mild concussion. Mostly, she’s shook up from the car accident.”

“Oh, God! Where is she? In the hospital? How’d this happen? When?” Then he heard a muffled plea on the other end of the phone. “Charles, come quick. Branna’s been hurt.”

“You’re on speaker phone,” a man’s voice said. “Who are you?”

“I work with your daughter. I’m Dr. James Newbern. Professor. Branna is resting at home. She’s asleep. The doctors say she’ll be fine in a few days. She needs some rest.”

“You’re sure?” Mrs. Lind clearly doubted his word.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“This is Charles Lind, Branna’s father. How did this happen?”

“Well sir, I didn’t witness the accident. Came upon it afterward. A plane ran off the runway and hit Branna’s car.”

“A plane!”

“As I understand it, she swerved to avoid it, left the road, and the impact happened at the tree line. Branna’s car hit a tree, and the plane hit her Volvo.”

“Oh, Charles! I can’t believe this. I have to go to her.”

“This happened on the road to the college?” Mr. Lind asked.

“How seriously is she hurt?” Mrs. Lind pressed.

“She needs a few days to recover. No complications are expected. Mr. Lind, an airport runway runs perpendicular to the road leading to the college. You’ll both be happy to know, Branna’s become a local celeb—” The doorbell interrupted him. “Hang on. Someone’s at the door. I don’t want them to wake Branna up.”

He raced to the front door and opened it, ready to tell the intruder to lay off the bell. Sadie smiled wide and offered up a pot that smelled a lot like chicken soup.

“Let me in. A van pulled up. There’s a reporter and camera crew on my heels. We can talk to them together after I put this pot down.”

James moved aside. Sadie slid past him as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He tried to wave away the TV crew rushing at him.

“Peter Simmons with WTFL news. I would like to speak with Ms. Lind.”

“She’s not available.”

“What’s your name?” The news reporter asked as he stuck a microphone in James’ face.

“Ms. Lind isn’t at home. I suggest you call before coming back. Please leave.”

“Who was that woman who just entered? Was that her?”

“No. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” James turned to open the door.

“Aw, c’mon man. The lady’s a hero! It’s not often a woman single-handedly stops a drug smuggler’s plane in our neck of the woods.”

“You aren’t from our neck of the woods. You’re from a TV station down in Gainesville. We do watch TV up here. Now, once again, call before you come back. If the lady wants to talk with you, she’ll let you know.”

“Give her my card.”

James took the card, then entered the house. Sadie met him with a frown. “Why didn’t you wait for me? They could have interviewed us together.”

“They didn’t interview me. I’ve got Branna’s parents on the phone.” He spoke into the receiver. “Sorry about that, Mr. and Mrs. Lind. I guess you heard most of it. Our administrative assistant, Sadie McGee, is here. As soon as your daughter wakes up, I’ll have her call you.”

“Yes, please do. It doesn’t matter the time,” Mr. Lind said.

“Charles, I’m going to her as soon as I can pack a bag. I’ll have Gill fly me over. I can’t wait for a phone call.”

“James, we’ll call you back if Mrs. Lind decides to come.”

“I want to assure you, she’ll be fine. However, I’ll help on this end in any way I’m able.” He closed the phone when Branna’s parents ended the connection.

“I’ve got biscuits in the car. Sweet potato pecan pie, too,” Sadie said.

“Let’s wait a while, wait for the van to leave. You know food won’t cure what ails her.”

“Maybe not, but it can’t hurt.”

The doorbell interrupted them. “What now? If it’s that TV reporter, I’m going to call the police.”

Sadie grinned, “You know my cousin on the force. I’ll call him while you answer the door.”

“Who aren’t you related to in this town?”

James looked through a side window. It presented the perfect vantage point to observe anyone on the front porch without being noticed. Cars lined the driveway and blocked his car, while others parked at the curb near Sadie’s minivan. A contingent of women, most of whom he recognized from the society page of the newspaper, stood on the porch.

“Sadie, you field this crowd. Don’t let them in. I’m going to check on Branna. Then, I’m going to find a screwdriver and dismantle that damn doorbell.”

Sadie headed for the door as he eased down the hall toward Branna’s bedroom. Turning the knob gently, he opened the door. Branna still slept. He sat in the chair across from the bed. The bedroom faced the back of the house and with the door closed, most of the exchange between Sadie and Lakeview’s social elite do-gooders sounded only a decibel above a whisper.