Bayou Born - By Linda Joyce Page 0,1

She’d been rude to him, but not intentionally. Her bad mood was the direct result of her mental comparisons of the Victorian to her family’s old home, which she’d chosen to leave behind...because of a man.

Pickup-guy would never know that her behavior had nothing to do with him personally. Men were the enemy, and he was guilty by association. But still...he plagued her mind.

She sighed. She might not know him on sight, but she’d sure recognize his rust-bucket ride. That was one truck she could spot anywhere, more rust than paint on metal.

Out of politeness, she’d accepted his extended hand when Meredith made introductions, but she refused to make eye contact with the shaggy, good ol’ boy, instead choosing to focus on his old, scuffed work boots.

She stopped short from jerking away when a too-warm sensation surged as their fingers met. He held her hand way too long to be polite, which made her even more uncomfortable, but her good manners had operated on autopilot. After that, she had refused a tour of the inside of house and waited in the car. She wasn’t interested in the house, or the man.

But for some reason, she couldn’t seem to escape from him. What would her therapist make of that?

“We’re almost there, Branna.” Meredith continued northbound on the four-lane, then stopped before making a left turn off the main road. As she crossed the two southbound lanes, a girl darted in front of the car.

“Watch out!” Branna cried.

Meredith slammed on the brakes.

Tires squealed.

An oncoming black car stopped only inches away, avoiding an impact to the passenger side of Meredith’s car, but the terror of the vehicle headed straight at Branna caused her to squeeze her drink cup tightly. The top popped. Brown liquid sloshed and spattered the side of Meredith’s white skirt. The girl in overalls who had put everything into motion raced away, her long brown braids beating against her back.

“Darn kid,” Meredith complained, flicking an ice cube off her lap.

The driver in the black car blew the horn and waved at them to get out of the road.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll have your skirt cleaned, or replace it if it’s stained.” Branna shoved napkins in Meredith’s direction.

“Serves me right for wearing white before Memorial Day.” Meredith sounded disgusted as she cleared the intersection and pulled the car to the side of the road.

Branna chuckled nervously. “It’s not like breaking the rule is a bad omen or anything.”

Except that in her world it was.

G.G. Marie—the G.G. was short for Great Grandmother—would naturally agree with Meredith’s conclusion. White before Memorial Day? Never! G.G. Marie was no different from other southern great grandmothers who stuck to tradition.

However, Branna disagreed. With the first day of summer countable in weeks rather months, she would argue that temperatures outside were the deciding factor of when summer began, rather than a date on a calendar. Though she often disagreed with G.G. Marie, she always counted on the old woman’s wisdom.

“I’m sure the skirt will be fine,” Meredith said calmly as she started to drive again.

“I can understand if you want to change. We could look at this place tomorrow.” Would Meredith take the hint? The shock of the almost-accident frayed her nerves more than she cared to admit.

“We’re so close. And I’ve got a really good feeling about this one.”

As much as she wanted to end the search, she had to find a place to live. Weary or not. Besides, good manners dictated that she follow Meredith’s lead. “All right, let’s go see.”

They drove another block before Meredith pulled onto a wide concrete driveway. “Here we are.”

Branna looked up. The cottage looked like something from a Thomas Kincade painting with its sloping roofline, carved shutters, and arched front door. “Interesting.”

The well-tended flower garden in the front and the window boxes with trailing greens and sprouting purple and white flowers provided attractive curb appeal. One word came to mind. Charming.

Meredith pulled a listing sheet from a folder. “One car garage converted from a carport. Spacious two bedrooms, two and a half baths. One could be an office-slash-guest room. Not tiny rooms with no closet space in this home, which is an usual footprint in a house of this age. Not a cookie-cutter when built, however, the spacious master bath is a recent add-on.”

“It makes a nice first impression.” Branna stepped out of the car slowly, captivated by the view. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her sundress. “This one, I’m anxious to see