Mimosa Grove (15 page)

Justin pushed Aaron’s hand aside as he stepped between them.

“No. You’re the one who’s going to be sorry if you ever threaten her again.” Then he grabbed Aaron by the shoulders and shook him, desperate to make him believe. “For God’s sake, man. Even if you don’t believe…what’s it going to hurt to be safe rather than sorry? Take Mattie home with you. Her husband is gone. What can it hurt?”

“You heard me,” Aaron said, casting a furious look toward Laurel, then propelled his sister out the door.

Justin started after them when Laurel stopped him with a touch.

“Let them go,” she said. “I’ve been through this before. There’s nothing else to be done.”

Before Justin could answer, the baby on the love seat started to fuss. Laurel wiped away the tears on her face and straightened her shoulders, then picked up the child.

“Shh, little darling,” she said softly, then put the baby on her shoulder, sat down in the rocker and started to rock.

But Justin wasn’t ready to give up.

“Laurel, we can’t just let her—”

Laurel looked at him then, and the pain in her eyes stopped him cold.

“Welcome to my world,” she said, her words tinged with bitterness and defeat.

Justin didn’t know what to say. The little he knew about Laurel told him that she was right, but that tiny part of him that still didn’t understand how she did it wanted to believe she could be wrong—at least just this once.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

The baby in Laurel’s arms was starting to fuss.

“Go find this little girl’s mama,” Laurel said. “She needs to be home in her own bed.”

Justin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. At last he was beginning to understand the responsibilities that went with this kind of power. Seeing death before it came and not being able to stop it could make a sane person mad. How she still maintained even a semblance of normalcy was beyond him.

He bent down and kissed her cheek, then rubbed the soft hair on the top of the little baby’s head.

“I’ll be right back,” he said gently.

“Don’t worry,” Laurel said. “This one is safe from my voodoo.”

Justin flinched. “That’s not fair,” he said shortly. “I don’t doubt you. Don’t blame me for the ones who do.”

He was gone before she could apologize, and it was just as well. If she’d had to talk again right then, she would have wound up bawling instead.

She cupped the back of the baby’s head with one hand while cradling her little bottom with the other and started to sing, hoping it would soothe the fussy child until the mother could appear.

And that was how Justin found her when he returned with Lorraine—slowly rocking, with her mouth next to the baby’s ear, humming a scattered little melody that had no words.

“I’m so sorry,” Lorraine said as she hurried into the room. “I didn’t realize Mattie had left. I don’t know why she didn’t bring the baby back to me.”

“It was my pleasure,” Laurel said, and reluctantly handed the baby back to her mother. “By the way, what’s her name?”

Lorraine smiled. “Genevieve, after my grandmother, but I think we’re going to call her Ginny.”

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful little girl,” Laurel said. “You’re a blessed woman.”

Lorraine nodded. “Yes, I am.” Then it dawned on her what Laurel had just said and wondered if there had been a hidden meaning. “Am I…I mean, are my children going to…”

Laurel sighed. “I can’t just see the future and tell you your life will be perfect, but I can say truthfully that I didn’t see anything at all, which, in my case, usually means everything is okay.”

“Oh, thank you!” Lorraine gushed, then looked at Justin and blushed. “I’m being all silly and all, aren’t I, but we’re just so glad that Miz Marcella’s granddaughter is going to live at Mimosa Grove, just like Miz Marcella did.”

“Yes, I’m glad she’s there, too,” Justin said, and then took Laurel by the hand, giving her fingers a slight squeeze as Lorraine breezed out of the house with her child. The moment she was gone, he turned to Laurel. She was pale and shaking.

“Take me home,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Just let me tell Cheryl Ann and Tommy we’re leaving.”

“I couldn’t see the face of the man who does it,” Laurel said.

The hopelessness in her voice sent cold chills up Justin’s spine.

“I’ll call Harper Fonteneau, tell him what you saw. He can swing by the Lewis farm and check on her.”

“Call whoever you want. Tell them whatever you want to say. It won’t change what’s going to happen.”

Justin took her in his arms.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said softly, then rocked her where they stood. “So, so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me,” Laurel said, and then started to cry. “Be sorry for Mattie. This was her last party.”

J
ustin’s call to Harper Fonteneau went as far as the night dispatcher, who informed Justin that the police chief was working a wreck with injuries. Justin left his number with an urgent message to call as Laurel buckled herself into his truck.

The dispatcher tossed the message on Fonteneau’s desk and went to pour himself another cup of coffee, while Mattie Lewis cried all the way home, despite her brother’s assurances that she was going to be fine. In a culture where voodoo and people who claimed to see spirits were everyday business, some were still skeptics, and her brother was one.

Justin knew Aaron Clement well enough to know that he wasn’t going to give any credence to Laurel’s vision. And although Laurel was sitting quietly in the passenger seat of his truck, he knew she was anything but serene. Her fingers were curled into fists in her lap, and her eyes still glistened from some unshed tears. The few times he’d spoken to her, she had been unable to answer with anything other than a shake or a nod of her head. He didn’t know how to deal with her like this, but he knew who would.

Marie LeFleur.

And in his urgency to get Laurel home to Mimosa Grove, he found himself driving on the high side of the speed limit, taking curves in the road close to the inside and wide at the corners. The desperation in Laurel’s eyes was catching. He felt her anxiety and, at the same time, her defeat. It occurred to him then why, upon her arrival, Mimosa Grove must have seemed like the answer to a prayer. She’d thought she was coming to a place where nobody knew her or expected anything from her except being the new woman in town. How shocked, then disappointed, she must have been to find out that Marcella Campion had been Bayou Jean’s Taj Mahal—their eighth wonder of the world, so to speak.

Lose a pig. Call Marcella.

Lose a child. Call Marcella.

Suspect a spouse was cheating. Call Marcella.

And Laurel had walked into all that completely unaware.

As sympathetic as he was to her predicament, he couldn’t regret that she’d come, because if she hadn’t, his niece would most likely be dead. And selfishly, he was most grateful that his dream woman had become a reality. But at what cost? Her happiness for his own?

Laurel was paying a high price for his peace of mind. But, though their relationship was new, never seeing her again would be a tragedy he didn’t want to face.

He was still lost in thought when, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the darkness to his left. His foot was already on the brake when a deer bounded out of the woods and then froze in the headlights of his truck.

“Hang on,” he yelled at Laurel, then swerved to keep from hitting the doe.

The truck slid sideways on the road, breaking the headlights’ mesmerizing glare. The deer disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving Justin and Laurel shaking where they sat. He slammed the truck into Park and then reached for Laurel’s arm.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so.” She combed her fingers through her disheveled hair, moving it away from her face, then leaned against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. “That was close.”

Justin scooted toward her, then pulled her into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “That was my fault. I was driving too fast.”

Laurel shook her head. “It was no one’s fault. It just happened.” Then she looked into his eyes, unaware that the lights from the dashboard mirrored her sadness. “You would never have hit the deer.”

“I almost did,” Justin said. “I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t, because it wasn’t meant to be. You can’t change your own fate, you know.”

Justin frowned. He knew she wasn’t talking about the deer. She was thinking of Mattie Lewis.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you saw what’s going to happen to Mattie? Even though you warned her and she believed what you’d said?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s also surrounded by people and things that play a part in her fate. She can believe anything she hears, but unless she acts on it, it’s as if it was never said. Because of the way she was raised, she will not question a man’s decision.”

“That would make me crazy,” he muttered.

“Yes, sometimes that happens, too.”

His eyes widened as he remembered the gossip he’d heard about Marcella’s daughter, Phoebe, and where she’d ended up before she’d died. He felt sick that he’d spoken so casually about something that had been a tragedy in her family.

“Oh, honey…I’m sorry. I forgot about your mother. I didn’t mean—”

Laurel put a finger on Justin’s lips, then shook her head.

“It’s okay. Just take me home, will you?”

He took his foot off the brake, shifted into Drive and accelerated slowly.

Laurel scooted away from the door and closer to Justin. As the truck began to gain a little speed, she laid her head on his shoulder and started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart, and I’m the one who’s sorry. If I hadn’t insisted on taking you to Tommy and Cheryl Ann’s party, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yes, it would,” she said. “I learned a long time ago that I have only two choices about how I live my life.”

“Like what?” Justin asked.

“I can hide away from the world, never coming in contact with anyone or anything that could bring on my visions, or I can live like a normal person and deal with what that means. And for me, I’d rather deal than hide. It’s that simple.”

Justin squeezed her fingers, then took his eyes from the road only long enough to give her a swift kiss on the forehead.

“And the world benefits from your bravery at your expense.”

“Sometimes I can make a difference.”

“Like with Rachelle.”

“Yes…like Rachelle.”

Justin frowned as he drove, staring through the windshield into the darkness and taking comfort from the limited illumination of the headlights, realizing that was the way everyone except Laurel lived their lives. They reacted and acted only upon what they saw, never having to deal with, or accept, the fact that there was more to the world than what they could see. But Laurel’s world was, at times, a 360-degree sphere of pure light, where nothing was sacred or secret, and where only she had to cope with the consequences. His heart hurt for her, thinking of how isolated and lonely she had to feel, especially when others doubted her vision.

A short while later, he pulled off the road and started down the long driveway leading to the mansion. The front of the old house was brightly lit. He pointed and smiled.

“Looks like Marie left the lights on for you.”

Laurel’s anxiety began to ease.

“It’s a comforting sight,” she said, and then sighed.

Justin glanced at her, then back to the road, slowing down to allow a small opossum to pass before accelerating again.

“So you aren’t going to pack up and leave?”

Laurel looked at him and then frowned.

“Of course not. Why would you think something like that?”

His chin jutted slightly, as if bracing himself for an answer he might not want to hear.

“I don’t know…maybe because you’ve had nothing but trouble since you got here?”

Laurel laid a hand on his thigh. His muscles were as tense as the tone of his voice.

“That’s not entirely true,” she said softly. “
You’re
here.”

He braked near the front steps, then killed the engine before taking her in his arms.

“
Chère,
you take my breath away.”

Suddenly the air inside the truck felt too thick to breathe. Laurel ached for him—wanted him, to be with him—needing the passionate cleansing of a physical release to assuage the sadness within her.

“I want to make love to you,” she whispered.

“No more than I want you,” he murmured, then cupped her face with his hands. “Let me come in?”

She hesitated, glancing toward the house and thinking of Marie and what she might say, then shrugged off the thought. She was a grown woman. It shouldn’t matter what anyone thought.

“Yes.”

Justin opened the door and got out, then took Laurel by the hand. She slid across the seat, then held his hand all the way up the steps.

The front door was unlocked. She opened it and walked in, half expecting Marie to be standing in the hallway with a judgmental expression on her face. To her relief, there was no one there. Justin locked the door behind them, then turned off the lights. For a moment they were left in utter darkness; then, slowly, their eyes adjusted, and they took to the stairs.

Halfway up, Laurel heard a door open downstairs; then Marie called out, “Laurel, honey, do you need anything?”

Laurel glanced at Justin, then smiled.

“No, Mamárie, we’re fine. We’re going to bed. See you in the morning.”

There was a distinct moment of silence, then a soft chuckle.

“I’ll make extra biscuits.”

“Sounds good,” Laurel said. “Sleep tight.”

“Mmm-hmm. I probably be the only one sleep-in’,” they heard Marie mutter.

She shut her door with just enough force to shatter the quiet within the old house, and then there was silence.

Justin heard Laurel sigh.

“It’s all right, baby,” he said softly.

Laurel turned to face him on the stairs, then put her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Justin…sometimes you almost make me believe that’s true.”

The despair in her voice was his undoing. Unwilling to wait any longer, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs.

“Which door?” he asked as they reached the first landing.

She pointed to the one that was slightly ajar.

He strode toward it, still carrying her in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, then pushed the door inward.

He passed through the small sitting room into the bedroom. On the other side of the room, the parted curtains let in just enough moonlight to bathe the interior in a pale eerie glow. The covers on the old four-poster bed were turned back. Her robe and nightgown had been draped across the back of an old velvet settee beneath the window, while her slippers sat side by side near the foot, awaiting her pleasure. Marie had left a night-light burning in the adjoining bathroom, as well as a small lamp on a table beside the door. It was a scene straight out of the past, only Laurel and Justin were very definitely real.

Justin kissed the side of Laurel’s cheek, laid her down on the bed, then crawled onto the mattress beside her. As he began to undress, he took his cell phone from his pocket. They both looked at the phone, then at each other.

“I’ll leave it on in case Harper calls,” he said.

Laurel shut her mind against what she already knew. No one was going to call, and Mattie Lewis was going to die. It was enough to drive her mad. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Justin’s neck and pulled him down.

“Help me,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think about anything but the way you make me feel.”

Justin thrust his fingers through her hair, raking them close to her scalp as he swallowed her sigh with a kiss.

“Ah, baby, this is heaven,” he said softly, then began to take off her clothes.

When she was completely naked, he looked down upon her, marveling at the beauty before him.

“What is it?” Laurel asked.

He shook his head, almost smiling as he trailed a finger across the curve of her breast.

“We’ve been this way so many times before, but the real you is so much better than the dream.”

Laurel shifted beneath his gaze, wanting to feel the weight of him, aching for the moment when he filled the emptiness inside her, then reached for him.

“Take off your clothes.”

He heard the hunger in her voice and answered with a soft groan as he yanked his shirt over his head, then stepped out of his boots. By the time he came out of his jeans, Laurel was on her knees, helping him disrobe.

Her hands were shaking, her breath coming in short, urgent gasps. The need in her belly was coiling tighter and tighter. The ache between her legs was turning into real pain. She wanted him now, hard and fast.

Justin saw the urgency in her eyes, felt the thunder of her heart beneath his hands, and kicked out of the last of his clothes. Within seconds, he was on the bed, with her beneath him.

“Now, Justin…please,” Laurel begged, and opened her legs for him to come in.

He took her without hesitation, piercing her warmth and then swallowing back a groan. So hot. So tight. So unbelievably good.

Laurel wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up to meet the first thrust. Soon she was coming undone.

“Oh…oh…oh, Justin…oh, God.”

He hadn’t known she was this far gone, but the tight, sweet pull of her body and the urgency in her voice were as potent an aphrodisiac as any drug could have been. He began to move, even as he felt the tremors of her first climax and laughed aloud from sheer joy.

“Ah,
chère,
he said softly. “The
petite morte
is so beautiful on you.”

Laurel’s mind was still floating, trying to catch up with what he’d done to her body, so it took her a few moments to catch on to what he’d said. When it connected, she had to ask, “
Petite morte?
What is the
petite morte?
”

Still inside her and throbbing with unspent passion, he raised himself up on his elbows, then thumbed the curve of her lower lip. It was damp and swollen. He traced the shape with the tip of his tongue, tasting her, knowing that, with her, his life could be complete.

“The little death? My darling Laurel, we have so much to share.”

“So tell me,” she pleaded.

He traced the shape of her nose from the bridge to the tip, then gently bit her bottom lip. When she groaned, he stopped.

“So…there are those who adhere to the theory that we are as close to death at the moment of climax as we will ever be without actually dying. For one fleeting moment, when we are undone by ecstasy, our heart pauses, as does our breath, thus the little death.”