Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (4 page)

Craig pushed his hand through his hair again. “You’re not going to believe this.”

With a frown, Uncle Joe laid a hand on his shoulder, concern reflecting in his pale blue eyes. “Try me.”

How did he tell his uncle that he was related to an amphibian? “Have you ever heard of Madame LeBieu?”

Uncle Joe nodded. “Seen her once or twice out in the swamps. She’s been known to practice Voodoo on occasion. Had a buddy of mine who swore he’d never get hitched. Said he had too many women to love before he saddled himself with a ball and chain. But Madame LeBieu slipped him a love potion and he went and married dog-faced Darlene Dubois.” Uncle Joe smiled. “Dangedest thang. Every one of their poor kids looks just like Darlene.”

“Well, I had a personal invitation to visit with the priestess last night.”

Uncle Joe’s shaggy brows climbed up his forehead. “She asked for you in person?”

“No, she insisted on my coming. Mo and Larry delivered an invitation I couldn’t refuse.”

“Holy cypress knees.” Uncle Joe clapped a hand to the top of his head, looking worried. “Did you do something to piss her off?”

Craig paced a few steps away. “Not that I can remember. I went out with her granddaughter, Lisa LeBieu, earlier that evening. When Lisa came on to me a little too strong, I took her home.”

Uncle Joe scratched his whiskers. “That’s gotta be a first.”

“That’s just it.” Craig smacked his fist into his palm. “Lisa was mad I didn’t take her up on what she was offering, so she got her Voodoo-practicing grandmother involved.”

“Not good.”

“No, it’s not.” An image of the old Voodoo witch materialized in his head along with the thrumming of the drums tapping a tattoo at his temples. He pinched the bridge of his nose to dispel the picture. “It’s real bad. I think she put a spell on me. Last night when I went to bed I was a man. This afternoon when I woke up, I was a frog.” His lips tipped in an ironic smirk. Jesus. He sounded crazy even to himself.

“Say again?”

Craig looked his uncle in the eye. “That old witch put a spell on me. When I woke up earlier, I was a frog.”

“You don’t say.” Uncle Joe slapped his hand against his leg and hooted with laughter.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” Craig frowned as his uncle chuckled. “When I woke up this afternoon, I was a
frog
. As soon as the sun set, I turned back into a man.”

“Got to admit that’s the lamest excuse I ever heard for not showing up for your meeting with Littington this morning. Not sure I liked that guy, but I do like your story.”

Frustration slammed through Craig. “I’m not kidding, Uncle Joe. I was as ugly a green water frog as you’ve ever seen in the swamp, and about this tall.” He held his thumb and forefinger two inches apart. “Hell, you almost stepped on me a while ago when you poked your finger on that fishhook.

“That was you?” Uncle Joe scratched his head. “Didn’t look much like you. Thought it was a stray from the swamps that got into the shop. Good thing I didn’t step on you. How would I explain to your parents, I killed their only son when I stepped on him?”

“Uncle Joe.” Craig’s patience wore thin. “Perhaps you don’t understand. This spell makes me a frog by day and a man by night. The old bat said something about having until the next full moon to figure out how to break it. That’s less than two weeks.” He snorted. “Otherwise, you’re stuck with a frog for a nephew, forever. Hell, this sounds like some sick fairytale.”

“Yeah, boy. You done messed with the wrong Voodoo queen. She don’t give up until she gets what she wants,” Uncle Joe said. “What’d she say she wanted?”

Apparently, living in the bayou made even the most down-to-earth men, like his uncle, believe in magic. Thank God. “I’m supposed to find someone who’ll fall in love with me by the next full moon or I’m stuck being a frog.”

Uncle Joe crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side. “Better get crackin’.”

“What do you mean, get cracking?” Was his uncle insane? “You aren’t suggesting I go along with this crazy swamp woman?”

“Don’t see as you got much of a choice.”

“I’ve got a choice, all right.” Craig climbed into the skiff. “I’m going to find that witch and make her undo what she did to me.”

“Won’t do you no good.” Uncle Joe lips twisted. “My cousin begged and begged, but when Madame LeBieu sets her mind to something, not even a hurricane as powerful as Katrina can budge her.”

With his hand poised to yank the pull string on the motor, Craig paused. “What do you mean?”

“Only way you’re gonna fix this mess is to follow her instructions.”

Craig laughed without humor and rolled his eyes. “Like I’m going to find someone to love me in that short a time? Hell, I haven’t found anyone in the past twenty-eight years. How will I find someone in less than two weeks?”

Uncle Joe tapped a finger to his temple. “You got a point, son. But you better try, unless you fancy flies and bugs for breakfast every morning.”

Craig sat down on the hard metal seat of the little boat and buried his face in his hands. “Great, I’m screwed.”

Uncle Joe scratched the whiskers on his chin. “What about the scientist lady? Can’t you make her fall for you?”

Craig looked up and snorted. “She’s not my type.” Although, with eyes the color of Spanish moss and soft curls framing her face, Elaine had her own appeal, in a subtle way. She’d come across as vulnerable instead of the intimidating he suspected she’d been aiming for.

“And you’ve been more successful with the women you usually go out with?”

Craig’s lips tightened.

Uncle Joe folded his arms across his chest. “Exactly. Maybe Madame LeBieu has a point.”

Disgusted, Craig threw his hands in the air. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re on her side.”

“No, but you gotta admit, your track record ain’t so great.”

“And since when have you started keeping score?”

“Since you first started noticing girls back when you were a smart-mouthed teenager comin’ to visit me on your summer vacations. That’s when. And don’t tell me you’re here strictly for work. I know you had a run-in with a woman back in New Orleans, and don’t try to tell me different. Your daddy and I still talk, even though I don’t know what he’s saying half the time with all that lawyer jargon.”

“I didn’t come here to get away from a woman,” Craig grumbled. “I have legitimate business with Jason Littington.”

“Yeah, and I ain’t partial to beer. Since when do you lawyers perform house calls? And when do you plan to head back to New Orleans?”

Resigned, Craig climbed out of the boat and walked a few steps toward the bait shop before he answered. “I’m not sure. Considering my present circumstances, I’m not certain I’ll ever go back. You have got to help me out of this mess.”

“You’re ignoring my question.”

“Look, if it bothers you for me to be here, I’ll leave.”

“Dug a finger in a festering wound, did I?” Uncle Joe dropped his arms to his side. “You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I can always use the help with the marina.”

“Thanks, Uncle Joe,” Craig said. “But that still doesn’t fix my problem.”

“Maybe an apology to Madame LeBieu and her granddaughter would be the place to start.”

Craig ground his teeth. “The thought of apologizing to that old witch goes against the grain. I acted like a gentleman with her granddaughter and she considers that cause enough to sentence me to being a frog? I don’t get it.” His shoulders sagged and he sighed. “But if apologizing will get her to lift the spell, I’ll do it. Anything to keep from changing back into a frog.”

“That’s more like it. Sometimes you got to get humble. And in the meantime, be nice to the lady scientist. She might be your salvation, the one to fall in love with you and break the spell.”

Uncle Joe didn’t seem to understand. Craig wasn’t interested in love. As a high-dollar attorney-for-hire, he’d represented the gamut of divorce cases. He’d witnessed what he’d thought were reasonable adults do cruel and ugly things to each other in the name of revenge and greed.

Disillusioned, he had sworn to avoid the “D” word the only way he knew how…by thoroughly avoiding the “M” word. With his job and his life-style, he couldn’t picture any one woman sharing his life for longer than half a year—max. And then what? Divorce, raked over the coals, dragged through the quagmire of he-said-she-said court.

No thanks, not for him.

Craig stomped back to the bait shop for bug repellent. He’d have to hurry if he planned to talk with Madame LeBieu before sunup.

Hell. And he’d thought his law practice was stressful. So much for coming to Bayou Miste to conduct a little business and snatch a bit of peace and quiet.

…

“My words stand.” Madame LeBieu’s melodious voice held a hint of steel. She stood with her arms crossed over her massive bosoms and her lips pressed into a stubborn line. The skirt of her Hawaiian-print muumuu billowed in the breeze blowing in off the gulf. “You must find a woman to love you before de next full moon, or you’re skinny little butt be a green hoppin’ one forever.”

“You can’t be serious.” Craig flung a hand in the air and paced the ground in front of the rickety porch. “How am I supposed to get a woman to love me when I’m a frog?”

“You got all night long to work yer magic, my friend.”

He stopped in front of Madame LeBieu. “Most people sleep at night.”

“Dat be
your
problem.”

“And where am I supposed to find an eligible woman in the swamps?”

“Bayou Miste has plenty single women. What about de scientist lady I sent f—what come here on a mission? You be sure and help her find what she be lookin’ for. Her heart is true and she cares, unlike you.”

Craig stood at the foot of the warped wooden steps holding a lantern high to size up his adversary. He’d argued in some of the most hostile courtrooms and won cases against the best attorneys, but Madame LeBieu was in a league all her own. “I don’t have time to date swamp women. I’ve got to complete the deal with Littington and get back to New Orleans. I can’t go as a frog. Be reasonable.”

“Looks to me as if your priorities have changed. If you dôn do as I say, you won’t have to worry ‘bout going to work no mo’.”

“I could sue you.” He cringed as he said the words.

Madame LeBieu snorted. “Go ahead. No judge will take you seriously if you can’t even show up in court.” She laughed and turned to reenter her ramshackle clapboard house. “Sue me, ha!” Her chuckles could be heard even as the screen door slammed behind her.

“I’m doomed,” he moaned. He glanced at his watch. The sun would rise in less than an hour. He’d have to hurry to get back to the marina before the transformation.

The screen pushed open again and Madame LeBieu stood with one chubby finger raised. “One other ting. The magic dôn work if she know ‘bout your problem.”

On the ride back through the swamps, he thought through his options. Some options. He could do as Madame LeBieu said or stay a frog the rest of his life.

From where he sat, the vote was unanimous. He had to find a woman and make her fall in love with him in less than two weeks. Simple, right?

Chapter Four

Whoever said it was quiet in the country obviously hadn’t spent time in the bayou. The raucous sounds of crickets, cicadas, and frogs were every bit as loud as the traffic outside Elaine’s cosy house in the suburbs of New Orleans.

In a strange place with all new and sometimes frightening sounds and smells, Elaine spent a restless night tossing and turning. When she’d managed to sleep in short spurts, her dreams had run the gamut from scenes of Brian and the secretary to dark and sinister swamps filled with eerie croaking frogs. A steady thrumming laced each dream, as if drums beat to the rhythm of her heart.

When the pre-dawn grayness heralded the sun’s rising, she slipped out of bed and padded into the tiny kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Since she wasn’t sleeping, she might as well get started.

She’d unpacked only the necessities the night before, one of which was the coffee maker. While the machine heated the water, she returned to the bedroom to change into khaki slacks and a ribbed-knit T-shirt. She was tugging a brush through her tangled hair when she heard a knock at the front door.

With a quick glance in the mirror, she sighed. What was the use anyway, in this humidity? Her hair bushed around her in wild, wavy abandon. In a few swift motions, she swept the tresses back into a wide-toothed clip and raced for the door.

She turned the deadbolt and swung the door wide.

“Mornin’, neighbor.” A diminutive, older woman with hair the color of warm honey sailed into the room, a cloth-covered basket dangling from her arm.

Elaine stepped back, unsure how to react to someone barging into her home, temporary though it was.

“I smelled coffee a-brewin’ and figured you were finally awake. Mind if I join you? I brought breakfast.” The woman didn’t seem to care that Elaine hadn’t responded to her first words. She plunked the basket on the table and bustled through the kitchen as though she knew her way around.

The aroma of hot muffins wafted through the air, reminding Elaine she hadn’t eaten. “Excuse me, should I know you?”

“Oh, bless my soul.” The other woman held out to her hand. “I’m Mozelle Reneau. I live right next door to you. I just finished bakin’ a batch of the best blueberry muffins you’ll taste in the entire parish, if I say so myself, and I thought, ‘Mozelle, it wouldn’t be neighborly of you to keep them all to yourself, now would it?’ So I marched myself right on over here to see if my new neighbor would be interested in sharin’ a muffin and a chat with a stranger, although I hope we’re not strangers for long.”

How could any one person talk so long, and so fast, without taking a breath?

“And you are?” Ms. Reneau waited as if poised to pounce.

“Elaine,” she gasped. She held out her hand and said more calmly, “Elaine Smith.”

“And where might you be from, Ms. Smith?”

“New Orleans. And, please, call me Elaine.”

“Why thank you. I’d be pleased to call you Elaine and I insist you call me Mozelle. The local boys and girls call me Miz Mozelle, if you’re more comfortable with that. I don’t mind, either way. There. Now that we’re properly introduced, we can become quite chummy over a hot, fresh muffin and—” she sniffed, eyed the coffee pot and smiled “ —coffee.”

Miz Mozelle moved around the tiny kitchen pulling down clean plates and coffee mugs from cabinets, more at home than Elaine. “We have an occasional visitor to these parts from New Orleans. Mostly, they come to fish. Once in a while, they like it so much here, they stay.”

“Really?” Elaine asked politely when Mozelle paused to breathe.

“Certainly. Why our own Mr. Thibodeaux is a New Orleans transplant to these swamps. He and that nephew of his are quite the scoundrels. I like sugar in my coffee, no cream. Which do you prefer?”

Elaine sat at the small dinette table with a white-speckled Formica top. “The younger one.”

“Pardon?”

Elaine’s face burned and she mumbled, “Only sugar, please.”

“Me, too. I like mine hot and black with a couple spoons full of the sweet stuff. As I was sayin’, Joseph Thibodeaux is the black sheep, if ever there was one in the Thibodeaux family. And by the looks of it, that young nephew of his could be followin’ in his footsteps.”

“Why do you say that?” Elaine shifted in her seat, embarrassed by her bold encouragement of the gossip. But she could swear she saw a sparkle in the older woman’s eyes when she said Joe’s name and curiosity got the better of her.

“Craig used to come visit his uncle durin’ the summer. He and his friends were always pullin’ pranks and into things they ought not to be. Why, one time I had to shoo them away from my peach orchard. They must’ve thought I was a crazy woman swingin’ my broom and whoopin’ like there was no tomorrow. Good thing I did. As it was, they got a good bellyful of green peaches. Had them sicker’n dogs for a day or two.”

A smile tilted the corner of Elaine’s lips. She could visualize a younger version of Craig, racing through the peach orchards with a broom-wielding Mozelle close on his heels.

Miz Mozelle glanced over her shoulder toward the door. “Why, speak of the devil, there’s Mr. Thibodeaux now.”

Elaine’s blood jolted through her veins and she reached a hand up to smooth her uncooperative hair before she turned.

“Ms. Smith, you up and about?”

At the sound of Joe Thibodeaux’s husky voice calling to her from the porch, Elaine’s heart skidded into a slower rate. She turned to answer, “I’m up, Mr. Thibodeaux, come on in.”

He pulled the screen door open and stepped in. When he spied them sitting at the table, he scraped the floppy fishing hat from his head. He crushed the hat in his hand, raked his other hand through his wild, white hair and dipped his head politely in their direction. “Dr. Smith, Miz Reneau.”

Mozelle popped out of her seat, smoothed her not-so-natural strawberry blond hair, and pulled a cup out of the cabinet. “I’m glad you took my advice and stocked this house with a matchin’ set of dishes and silverware. Makes it mighty homelike for such a nice visitor as Miss Smith. Come join us for a cup of coffee.”

Joe hovered by the front door, frowned, and stared down at his flip-flop-clad feet. “I just came to see if Dr. Smith wanted help unloadin’ her car.”

Elaine jumped up from her chair. “Oh yes, thank you. I could use a hand. Some of the items are heavy. Students at the university helped me load. I’m sure I could unload by myself, but your help would be greatly appreciated.” Her lungs gasped for air. What had gotten in to her? She sounded as loose-jawed as the sweet Mozelle Reneau.

“Joseph, are you gonna stand there, or come in and have a cup of coffee with us?” Miz Mozelle stood with a cup in one hand and the coffee pot in the other, poised to pour.

He looked acutely uncomfortable. “No, thank you. I have to get back to the marina. Got a fishing tournament to launch. Can you wait for an hour, Dr. Smith? I’ll be back to help then.”

“Certainly.” Elaine glanced around the room. “It’ll give me time to figure out where I can put everything.”

“Good enough.” Joe nodded to her and Miz Mozelle, then backed out of the house. The door thumped loudly in its frame.

“
Mais, jamais d’la vie!
He took off outta here faster than a scalded cat. There’s no gettin’ into that man’s head, now is there? If he were any kind of gentleman, he’d have sat down with us for a cup of coffee. Those Thibodeauxs need lessons in manners. You’d think with their background and schoolin’ they’d have learned some by now.”

Elaine leaned against the front door frame.

The marina stood a few buildings away. Indeed, the Thibodeauxs could use a set of manners. What with the one rushing out the door as fast as he could, and the other running around half-naked in a place of business.

With the rambling prattle of Miz Mozelle in the background, Elaine allowed her memory to recreate the image of Craig standing behind the counter in the bait shop. As a scientist, she couldn’t deny the kinematical perfection of the muscles rippling across his back when he’d flexed his arms high over his head. With her lips compressed, she mentally shook herself. But as a woman, she could certainly tighten the reins on her own chemical reaction to the man.

He was not her type, and she had no desire to plunge into another relationship doomed to go nowhere. Her love of science would stand in the way every time. No use going there.

“I’ll be glad when he settles down with one woman. Me, and every mother of unwed girls in the parish. What that man needs is a woman who can knock his socks off. You know, rock his boat until he can’t see straight.”

Elaine’s attention jerked back to Mozelle. “I’m sorry, who are you talking about?”

“Craig Thibodeaux, as if anyone wouldn’t know. He’s hell bent on sleepin’ with every woman who catches his eye. Has every addlepated female around here vyin’ for his attention.”

A sudden disappointment settled over Elaine’s sunny day, startling her. Why should it bother her to hear every woman around wanted to crawl into bed with Craig Thibodeaux? She didn’t even know the man.

“Well, I’d best be moseying along.” Mozelle set her cup in the sink. “I have a bridge game over at my house in one hour. Join us if you have a hankering to play a hand of cards.”

“Thank you, Miz Mozelle.” Elaine walked the older woman to the door. “And thank you for the muffins.”

Fifteen minutes later, after a few accounts of how she’d trumped Louella Landau in last week’s bridge game, and reciting a list of the ingredients she’d used in the blueberry muffins, Mozelle finally made it out the door and on her way.

Elaine collapsed on the couch, winded by her encounter with the loquacious Mozelle Reneau. But, despite her new neighbor’s constant chatter and enthusiasm, she was more relaxed now. The little cottage held a sense of home to her.

Not two minutes after Mozelle left, a tapping alerted Elaine to company at the door. She pulled herself off the old couch. Joe Thibodeaux hovered on the other side of the screen staring over his shoulder in the direction Miz Mozelle had disappeared.

“Hello, again.”

“Thank God, she’s gone.” Joe swept his hat off his head and ran a hand through his thick, white hair. “That woman could talk the ear off a fish.”

A hound dog the size of a horse nudged the door open.

Elaine smiled. “Does he belong to you?”

Joe turned and frowned. “Nope. He belongs to my nephew. Stay, Dawg.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dawg.” Joe shot a stern look at the animal. “Stay out here and behave yourself.” Joe muttered something else, but not quite loud enough for Elaine to hear. It sounded like “I’ll handle this.”

Now she was hearing things. “Just a minute and I’ll get my keys.”

Between her and Joe, they had the supplies unloaded and stacked in the living room in less than twenty minutes. The entire time, Dawg lay on the front porch, chin on his paws, his soulful brown eyes the only part of his body moving.

Elaine could understand why. After the first five minutes, the heat and humidity had her sweating profusely.

When Joe laid the last box on the floor, he straightened. “Need anything else?”

“I could use a little help setting up that folding table.”

“Sure.” While unfolding the legs of the table, Joe cleared his throat. “So, you got anyone back in New Orleans?”

Elaine blinked. “Excuse me?”

Joe’s face flushed red. “You know, got a husband or fiancé back in New Orleans?”

Elaine studied Joe through her peripheral vision while shoving the brace into place on the table legs. “Why do you ask?”

Joe jerked the other leg out and smacked the brace before he answered. “Just curious. Not many young females come out this way by themselves. Seems kinda strange.” Joe tugged at the collar of his T-shirt.

She couldn’t tell what he was getting at, but relented and answered. “No, I don’t have anyone special in my life back in New Orleans.” Boy, that sounded pathetic. She felt awkward in a community where everyone was probably spoken for. And she, from a whole city full of people, couldn’t even claim to have a serious relationship. Yeah, she truly sounded pathetic. Still. She had her career, science, and a cause to champion. What more could a woman want?

“My nephew, Craig…” Joe started.

She swiveled her gaze back to the older man and groaned inwardly. Why, when she thought she had her act together, did she continue to run into reminders of the half-naked Cajun with the coal-black hair and ice-blue eyes? Had it been so long since she’s had hot, steamy sex that the first really good-looking man she saw had her ready to jump his bones?

She recalled sex with Brian. Those experiences had been nice, but hardly hot and steamy.

But here in the sultry swamp lands where beads of perspiration pooled between her breasts and rolled downward to the band of her trousers, all kinds of slippery images slid through her imagination. All of them included gliding her naked skin against Craig Thibodeaux’s smooth, incredibly taut and bulging muscles.

“So, what do you think?”

She wasn’t sure what Joe wanted. Was he asking her a question? “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Joe’s blush deepened to a ruddy russet. “Would you consider going out with my nephew?”

His words slammed into her gut and plummeted lower where they had no business plummeting. “Go out with your nephew? Craig?”

“Yeah.” Joe looked up and smiled, his expression as pleading as Dawg’s had been out on the porch. “He really is a nice guy, once you get to know him.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to go out with your nephew, Craig?”

Joe nodded, twisting his hat in his hand.

“Not that I’m interested, but why doesn’t he ask me himself?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know I’m asking for him. And, frankly, I don’t think he’d be pleased to find out I had. But if he does ask you, will you give him the benefit of the doubt and say yes?”

Her breath quickened at the thought of being alone with Craig. “I’m going out on a boat with him tonight. Isn’t that enough?”

“I know this may sound strange, but try to get to know him.” Joe’s gaze fixed on the hat scrunched in his fingers. “He’s a little shy around the girls.”