Bayou Born(41)

In a feminine scrolled handwriting, a woman begged Steven not to let his engagement stand in the way of their relationship. After all, she had a husband. The woman still wanted him, and had forgiven him. She’d seen him in April at the beach with yet another woman—a woman who wasn’t Branna.

The woman confessed to being pregnant and not knowing the true paternity of the unborn baby. The letter closed with a threat. As long as Steven remained in her life, she wouldn’t tell his ex-fiancée’s family about him sleeping with both sisters.

The news had knocked Branna to her knees. The paper slipped through her hands. She knelt in front of the commode, not sure if she would be sick or not. The question of the pregnancy mattered nothing compared to the reference of “another woman last April” and “sisters.”

That April-woman referenced in the letter was Camilla. Her sister. She knew exactly when it happened—during Camilla’s spring break.

Steven slept with her sister while she’d been buried in wedding plans. Camilla had acted strange, but she chalked it up to her sister’s changeable moods. Then, after she called it quits with Steven, Camilla disappeared. Her sister had hinted about an incident, but when she pressed her for details, Camilla had shut her out and taken off.

She could never reveal Camilla’s involvement with Steven. Never tell her parents or any of the family not only the reason for the breakup, nor why there was no chance of any reconciliation ever. Camilla’s betrayal would pit family members against family members and destroy the family bond. Everything in her upbringing honed her instincts to protect family and Fleur de Lis. A split in the clan could be fatal to their legacy. She wouldn’t allow that.

Steven had used Camilla.

Eventually everyone would discover Steven’s predilection for indiscretions. As Granddaddy Lind said, “A leopard doesn’t change its spots.” Steve’s true nature would be revealed someday by a woman claiming child support. Or a jealous husband. Branna had decided long ago to take the high road and remain silent.

And, now she could see the amazing grace of her loving family. Everyone questioned, but no one pushed. Well, no one except her mother. No one judged. Why couldn’t she see that at the time? They would have protected her and Camilla from him.

She missed her sister. Ending the engagement had been painful, yet the true deep sadness came from the rip in the relationship with her younger sister. Branna had stayed at Fleur de Lis longer than she wanted, hoping Camilla would come home. She’d forgiven her, though the wound still needed more healing time. Camilla was just a pawn in Steven’s world, and her sister, even with her wild ways, hadn’t stood a chance against skilled seduction.

Could she have possibly forgiven Steve for an affair? Maybe. But never could she look at him again knowing he’d seduced Camilla.

Moving to Lakeview had brought the closure she needed, given her heart wings. Steven no longer had a hold on her. In time, she’d rebuild the damaged relationship with her sister.

First, she had to find her.

She chuckled and murmured, “Will Steven see the humor in my decision if I give his car to Camilla?”





Chapter 29

Hot water, Epsom salts, and aroma-therapy oils that Momma had guaranteed would relieve aches and pains filled the tub. Branna slid down in the luxurious water. Drifting scents of wintergreen, peppermint, and eucalyptus relaxed her. She dunked a sponge and squeezed it, sluicing water over her body. If the salts worked their magic, she’d feel like a new woman by the time she got out of the tub. All except for the cut at her hairline and the healing abrasions on her neck. She winced when she patted her neck with the sponge.

Thursday had stretched long. She napped between watching replays of the accident recorded on a DVD. After viewing the same footage for hours, the time spent had lessened her panic. It wasn’t that she had PTSD, still, desensitization to the accident had to be a good thing, especially when catching a glimpse of the bruises on her body made her squeamish.

Reporters doing follow-up stories had interrupted her self-therapy. Finally, she’d unplugged the phone when people she didn’t know called to talk about the accident. Some were certain she should have died. Several people were looking to find a way to grab fifteen seconds of fame at her expense.

Sadie had dropped by after work to check on her and brought ice cream to share, then insisted on inspecting Bill’s paint job when he finished for the day. He got Sadie’s final approval, and only then did Sadie let her write the check, after which, Sadie confided that reporters were still calling the office seeking interviews.

The accident was more than seventy-two hours old. It must have been a slow news day if they were looking to drag out leftovers.

Branna soaked the sponge again and squeezed. The warmth from the water ran over her. “Ahh. It’s heavenly to be alive.”

She slipped lower into the tub until the water covered her body and closed her eyes to let her imagination carry her away. She imagined James in the tub facing her, her foot seductively stroking his inner thigh, inching higher and higher, hoping for hard evidence of his desire. It was her tub fantasy. Anything she wanted could happen, right?

Next, he would take her foot in his hands and begin to massage, massage his way up her leg pulling her closer and closer to him. He’d massage all the way up to...there.

She squeezed her legs together tightly, and a shudder ran through her. She ran her hands over her chest and breasts and lower to her stomach, resting her hands on the insides of her thighs. She massaged until the tension melted away.

If she could make James appear, she’d make sure they’d share a bath he’d never forget.

When the doorbell chimed, she jumped and splashed water over the side of the tub. The clock on the counter showed eight p.m. She wasn’t up for visitors. Maybe if she ignored the noise, whoever would leave her alone.

“Bang. Bang.”

Clearly, whoever was insistent. Reluctant to leave her watery cocoon, she rose and toweled off, still hoping the annoyance at the front door would disappear.

“Bang. Bang. Bang.”

“All right! I’m coming.”

She slipped on a sage green robe she’d brought at the day spa in New Orleans. With another towel, she dried the wet ends of her hair as she walked to the front door. There, she peered through the peephole, then drew back. The one person in the world she wanted to see stood on her porch.

“Hello? Branna? It’s James. Are you okay?”

She flipped the towel over her shoulder, then opened the door before he could bang again.

“Whew. You’re okay. I tried to call several time, but the phone went directly to voicemail.”

“I turned it off. Too many interruptions.”

He hoisted a grocery bag before her. “You’ve got plenty of flowers already, so I thought—food. I know you haven’t had a decent meal since before the accident. I brought steak and salad.”

“Then get in here and cook for me,” she teased and grabbed for his arm. “And they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. My masculine-side needs some attention. Flowers, even the edible ones, aren’t very filling. I need protein, then chocolate. Steak. Is. Good.” Her stomach rumbled loudly as if to second her decision.

James closed the door behind him. “I’m glad I got here in time.”

“I’m so hungry I could probably eat half a cow.”

“That could be arranged. I know a farmer. But for now, sit at the counter and direct me. I’ll take care of everything.”

A jolt spread through her when James put his hand in the small of her back and guided her toward the kitchen. Despite her hunger pangs, she had the urge to throw open her robe and ask him to devour her. In the past, that notion would have lived only in the fringes of her mind and never lingered. G.G. Marie would call her a hussy or a floozy, if she knew. And, she wouldn’t. Which was good, since not only did the image of her and James linger the forefront of her brain, she also pictured herself in a cowgirl hat straddling his buff, nude body. They could play her version of “ride’em cowboy.” Her cousin would be shocked to know that she could tell Santa she’d been naughty and nice this year when they made their annual Christmas Eve birthday photo with the red-suited man who came to Fleur de Lis’ holiday party each year.

“I’ll be right back,” she told him. She detoured to the bathroom to wait for the heat of her blush to cool. She fluffed her short damp hair, then placed the towel on the rack.

“I found the frying pan,” James called out.

“Yee Haw,” she said low enough to ensure that he couldn’t hear. Wetting a washcloth, then covering her face with it, she hoped the cool dampness would lower the heat of her blush. If he had noticed, he hadn’t commented.

On her way back to the kitchen, she grabbed a box of matches from the hall closet. Candlelight ambiance with dinner would create the mood she wanted. Life had to be lived to the fullest.