Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series) (8 page)

And the most attractive woman he’d met in a very long while.

Had Dr. Brown set him up?

“Are you one of those guys who doesn’t eat anything green?” she asked. She dished salad from a wooden bowl onto her plate.

“No. I eat green. Why?”

“Then, try this.” With odd wooden paddles, she scooped up a pile of salad and plopped it onto his plate. “I happen to have it on good authority that it tastes great.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he told her skeptically.

As they navigated the rest of the food line, he couldn’t stop sneaking glances in her direction. Was Newton’s Third Law at play? “Force is a push or a pull that results from its interaction with another.” Despite the strong magnetic pull from her that said, “
come hither
,” usually, her kind of woman made him want to run for cover. Caroline had taught him that. Her kind fished for a guy, held him on her line, and after playing the line for a while, dumped him cold. Catch and release. Only Caroline had caught, released, then tried to hook him again. He wasn’t a slow study. One “Caroline” experience was enough to last any man a lifetime.

In Branna’s case, the worst of it was, she had beauty and brains, too. That made her more dangerous than the average high-maintenance type. He had to admit, the woman had a lot going in her favor. He’d read her resume and credentials before Dr. Brown hired her, though he still wondered why she had worked as an event planner in some small hole-of-a-nothing town. In Mississippi. For the last several years. And, why teach adult education classes at night?

Not his problem. Who understood a woman’s mind, anyway?

“Any idea what this is?” Branna asked. She peered into a chafing dish where something had been topped with toasted breadcrumbs.

“Nope,” he said. “And I don’t eat mystery food.”

Her laugh reminded him of soft tinkling wind chimes.

“Hmm. I would’ve guessed quite the opposite...coming from a mystery man.” She placed a dollop from the dish onto his plate. Rather than argue, it was his turn to shrug.

When they neared the end of the food line, their plates groaning, Bitsy made a beeline toward them. He frowned, and tried to wave her away without Branna noticing. It didn’t work.

“I see you’ve met our most eligible bachelor,” Bitsy said coyly to Branna. She tilted her head, motioning toward him as though he wasn’t standing there with a loaded dinner plate.

“Yes. Yes, she has,” he interrupted, hoping Bitsy wouldn’t blow his cover.

“Branna, you’re in good hands.”

“And, whose hands would those be, exactly?” Branna smiled sweetly.

“Why—”

“Bitsy, I see Fred over there by the bar.” He alerted the older woman. She always kept a watchful eye on her husband. Fred’s prescription caused unpleasant side effects if combined with alcohol. When Bitsy took off in Fred’s direction, he motioned for Branna to join him in the other tent. He set his plate in front of an empty chair and held the next one out for her.

“You’re good. But you know, I’ll find out your name sooner than later.”

She sat, and then he seated himself beside her.

“Hey, this salad is really good.” He hoped to distract her from the topic she appeared bent on pursuing. The mystery kept them on an even playing field. Once his identity was revealed, he’d be her mentor and her colleague, and flirting would be off the table. He wasn’t ready for that yet.

What had Dr. Brown been thinking? The man had listed an inventory of Ms. Lind’s accomplishments and noted her background, then suggested that James and Ms. Lind had a lot in common. School, career, and old southern families. He should have been suspicious when Dr. Brown hadn’t segued into a lecture about finding the right woman and creating a whole, fulfilling life. Nothing like an old reformed bachelor trying his hand at matchmaking.

Had Dr. Brown created this mentor program to push Branna at him? Couldn’t be. But, if so, Dr. Brown needed to stick to college matters, he wasn’t qualified to play cupid. That arrow was bound to go astray, and someone could get seriously hurt. And, while the woman in question oozed with charm that drew him irrationally like a fish to a shiny lure, that same charm could be a Pandora’s box of trouble. Trouble he didn’t want.

“I think this is green bean casserole,” he said, tasting the mystery food on his plate, courtesy of Branna.

She grinned at him.

They finished their food, and a server came to clear their plates. When the young woman reached for his, he touched her hand, trying to make it look like an accident.

No tingle.

No shimmer.

No pulsing sensation.

Nothing.

What was the thing happening between him and Branna?

“It’s getting late. I need to be going.” Branna started to rise.

“One more dance?” He hooked his little finger with hers. The mere connection of a finger looped with a finger started a rhythmic pulsating beat. It made him want to run, but the attraction to stay was stronger. He needed to look up Newton’s Laws to understand the phenomena. There had to be an explanation. Otherwise, Monday could be a problem. A big one.

No. He would put aside his personal issues and conduct himself as a professional. Helping Branna learn the lay of the land, helping her understand about the college and her job, was something he could handle with politeness. Anything more—beyond another dance tonight—was out.

“Okay, one more dance. Are you a glutton for punishment or what?” Branna giggled. She glanced at his feet pityingly and shook her head, then maneuvered through the crowd.

He followed, admiring the view.

One dance turned into four.

And he never knew the power of a scowl until that night. It kept several people from blowing his cover. But his time was running out. Soon, he had to tell her. Soon.

“How ’bout a drink?” Branna asked, touching her fingers to her flushed cheeks.

He caught her around the waist for one last twirl. His feet could use a break; his toes would be black and blue tomorrow. Tonight it didn’t matter.

“I know the bartender personally. He’ll give us a free drink.” Branna winked.

“Wine? Or Hard liquor?” He gave her a once over, trying to guess her preference.

“Well, what do you think?”

He studied her intently. “I think...you’re probably both. But it’s not yet a tequila night. Wine,” he finally decided.

She laughed. “Water will do me fine. No alcohol when I drive. I’m leaving in a bit.”

“What? The night is young!”

“Ah, but this girl turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“Don’t you have your fairytales mixed up? Cinderella fled. The coach turned into a pumpkin. I’m a guy, and I know that.”

“I don’t think Coach,” she nodded her head in Riggs’ direction, “would appreciate knowing he might be a pumpkin at midnight.”

“Cute. Cinderella, I’ll want another dance before I put you in your coach. Wait right here. I’ll get you that drink.”

He wrangled his way through the crowd, grabbed two bottles of water, and returned to find Branna deep in conversation with Dr. Brown. As he approached, the glint in Branna’s eye said his identity had been revealed.

“I see you found him, Ms. Lind. This is the guy I wanted you to meet. The one who’s been dodging me,” Dr. Brown said gruffly.

“Yes, it does appear that I’ve found the famous Dr. James Newbern.” Branna’s grin was forced.

“Busted,” James said sheepishly, disappointed he’d been found out. He had no excuse for being an ass. Except as long as she didn’t know who he was, he hadn’t broken his rule of no fraternization. He could get to know her freely without any expectations.

“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.