If You Could Read My Mind...

Raphael frowned, an expression that bore so much responsibility for a boy who should have been exploring his youth with laughter. She wished he could bridge the distance between pride and his rejection of their family.

“For the record, I don’t practice hoodoo. I’m a God-fearing woman through and through. Just like the rest of your family.”

Baptistes were Baptistes were Baptistes. Life would be simpler all the way around if Virginie’s brood would accept they had people who cared for them. If they’d make an effort to fit in and accept a little help and guidance, they might just stand a chance of making something of their lives. That’s exactly what her baby sister had wanted, Serafine knew.

Virginie had known her eldest sister would feel obligated to do right by these kids, whether she’d admitted the truth to Raphael or not. There’d been bad blood between Serafine and her baby sister. Not intentional, of course. Serafine hadn’t wanted to marry Virginie’s beloved no more than Virginie had wanted to fall in love with the dashing politician from New Iberia Parish.

Neither sister had had a choice.

Not Serafine, whose daddy had decreed his eldest daughter should marry the boy he thought destined to become the next Louisiana governor.

Not Virginie, who’d been in love with falling in love and had used the whole situation as an excuse to break free of the bayou with the next rogue who’d sailed through their swamp.

Serafine had stood by her man’s side until the day he died, not because she’d loved Laurent Mercier but because that had been her duty.

Once she’d pressed her lips to the cool granite of his tomb, her duty had been done. She’d adopted the sobriquet of Widow, stepped into her husband’s place to rule their brood and refused to marry again.

This time her daddy hadn’t insisted otherwise.

He’d left Serafine free to do what she did best—set people to rights. And here she was in Natchez, doing just that. She’d thought only Virginie’s brood needed setting, but after eavesdropping on the Landrys, she knew more than three young ’uns needed her help.

She only wished Raphael would accept the situation so easily, and if his scowl was any indication…

“If you’re going to meddle, maybe me and my kin should keep moving on to Shreveport,” he said grimly. “Marie-Louise will turn eighteen soon.”

The reminder irked Serafine. Raphael and Philip had only stayed in Bayou Doré because they wouldn’t leave their sister behind. Once Marie-Louise reached the age of majority, the girl could make her own choices. No question she’d follow her brothers wherever they wanted to go.

“What are you planning to do in Shreveport, boy? Keep working on your jobs that take from sunup to sundown and barely pay the bills? You want a better life for your kin, but with you working so hard, you can’t keep your eyes on them. Philip’s already running wild, and Marie-Louise hasn’t turned up with a big belly yet because she’s holding out for true love—like your granny did. Better hope true love doesn’t turn out to be a scoundrel like your granddaddy. He spirited my baby sister from the bayou with his smooth talk and pretty smiles then left her breeding and too proud to come home.”

Raphael speared his fingers through his hair. To the boy’s credit, he didn’t deny her claims, though Serafine knew he wanted to. But Raphael had been privy to that part of his grandparents’ history, at least. He’d been reared without parents for the very same reason and was smart enough to know that, left to run wild, Philip and Marie-Louise would get themselves into trouble.

“You’re their only hope and you know it,” Serafine pointed out. “They listen to you. Your fortune’s going to change in Natchez, boy. I feel it. We’re here for a reason, and if you’re smart, you’ll keep that chip on your shoulder under your collar. For your kin’s sake. Your own, too.”

Raphael narrowed his gaze, but Serafine only clapped a hand on his back and smiled.

“Like it or not, boy, I love you and your kin. You remind me of my baby sister. I lost too many years with her. I plan to make the most of what I can get with you. You hear me?”

“I hear you, Widow.”

“Good. Then you might try working with me instead of against me for a change. Together, we might work some magic around here.”

Raphael met her gaze with those eyes that saw so much more than she’d wanted to reveal, a look that was pure Virginie. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

But not all magic was hoodoo. Not all magic need be feared. A lesson Raphael was about to learn.

3

Several days later

“JILLIAN.” Charlotte poked her head through the open office door. “I’ve got a woman in the reception area who doesn’t have an appointment, but says you’ll squeeze her in. Do you know a Serafine Baptiste-Mercier?”

Jillian nodded and rolled the chair away from the desk. “Why does she need an appointment?”

“Broken bridge.”

Darn. This was the absolute last thing that needed to happen right now. As was typical, the clinic was busy, but worse than that, there was an oppressive tension in the air. Primarily because she and Michael weren’t right. She was still angry—at him for being so selfish and at herself for placing the status of their marriage in question.

There was a reason she didn’t like to argue, and Jillian had remembered it—somewhere between the drive back from camp the other night and the drive to work the following morning. Arguments fueled hurt feelings and fighting words—and statements made in anger affected everything and proved hard to take back.

But for now, she had to wedge another appointment into a crammed schedule. What else could she do about Widow Serafine—tell her brand-new caretaker to find another dentist?

With a sigh, Jillian glanced at the computer monitor. “Michael did book some extra time this afternoon to get that temporary crown out of his mouth. He might be able to squeeze her in.”

“Glad you mentioned it. I assume he’s expecting me to put his new crown in.”

Jillian recognized a rhetorical question and didn’t bother with a reply.

“So who’s this woman?”

“Widow Serafine, my new camp caretaker. She’s only been in town a few days.”

“Why do you look so stressed? You know Michael will take care of her.”

“I know.” She must have sounded as indecisive as she felt because Charlotte eyed her narrowly.

“I knew it. You two have been parading around here all week like strangers. Why haven’t you patched things up yet, Jillian?”

“It was a pretty nasty argument.”

“You’re going to make me stressed if you don’t get this thing all settled. You’re my favorite couple, you know?”

Jillian shrugged, not sure what to say. Some things just weren’t a quick fix. This situation had risen like the river during a hurricane. Up and over the levee then right through their lives.

“Well, I’m no marriage counselor, but I’m here if you want someone to listen,” Charlotte said. “Now you better go deal with your new caretaker. She’s a character, that’s for sure. I left her chatting it up with the Baker twins.”

“Oh, my.”

The Baker twins were the owners of an antebellum house that sat majestically on the bluff overlooking Natchez Under-the-Hill. Descended from a family that had grown wealthy during the cotton boom of the early nineteenth century, the Baker twins considered themselves Natchez royalty.

They lived in the upper stories of their family home and had opened the lower to the public. A cherished stop on the National Register tour, the Baker family home gave guests the opportunity to explore the nearby historic district. Under-the-Hill offered carriage rides with coachmen who could talk about the Cotton Kingdom origins and steamboat traffic as if they’d lived the lives of wealthy plantation owners.

As far as Jillian knew, these two eccentric old ladies didn’t talk to anyone but each other, their tour guests and their fourteen cats. They’d deigned to grace Michael with their business only after failing eyesight had finally forced Dr. Cavanaugh, the town’s long-time dentist, into retirement.

Following Charlotte toward the reception area, Jillian noted that Michael was inside exam room two, complimenting his young patient on her oral hygiene after her first month in braces. He didn’t look up as she passed.

Neither did Widow Serafine. But Jillian did a double take in the doorway of the reception area when she found her caretaker had actually sandwiched herself between the Baker twins on the leather sofa. Eugenie and Eulalie looked more than a bit shell-shocked with this striking stranger between them.

The scene could have been a skit from Comedy Central. The two wispy old ladies in their impeccable vintage dresses looked on the verge of swooning. By comparison Widow Serafine could have blown in on a hurricane squall. Not only did she equal the size of both Baker sisters combined, but her ensemble was as bright as a carnival tent.