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  Synopsis

  Delora November is a survivor—ask anyone in Redstar, Alabama, and they will tell you that. Her ex-husband put her in a burn ward and she came fighting back. She works three jobs and on the surface she’s keeping it together.

  Redstar itself works its own magic. When the thought of yet another hospital is too much, Delora turns to healer women she’s heard might help. In the quiet, breathing depths of Bayou Lisse she meets Sophie Cofe.

  It seems like magic indeed when Delora finds answers to questions she had yet to ask and cures for ills she had thought beyond fixing. But underneath her happiness there is still a lurking evil that can take away everything Delora—and Sophie—hold dear.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Bella Books by Nat Burns

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Bella Books

  Copyright © 2015 by Nat Burns

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2015

  eBook released 2015

  Editor: Medora MacDougall

  Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-434-6

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Bella Books by Nat Burns

  Two Weeks in August

  House of Cards

  The Quality of Blue

  Identity

  The Book of Eleanor

  Poison Flowers

  Acknowledgements

  I offer many thanks to my editor, Medora MacDougall. She enjoys my work almost as much as I do and makes the alterations a joy.

  I need, also, to acknowledge the southern half of the United States. Your magic and mystery speak to me. Your hidden beauty and amazing people have inspired this book.

  About the Author

  Author Nat Burns is a writer and editor who now lives in Albuquerque, NM after retiring from a medical publishing career in Virginia. She is primarily a romance novelist but has been known to pen some sci-fi and horror from time to time under several pseudonyms. Nine novels have been published in the past three years and her work has appeared in numerous anthologies. Complete information and samples of her work can be found at www.natburns.com.

  Dedication

  This work is dedicated to my family, friends and faithful readers—those who always love me and support me as I travel absently through my fictional worlds.

  Chapter One

  Summer in Redstar, Alabama, usually settled in for a long, unwelcome stay. The people of the town regarded summer as an intruding mother-in-law dragging suitcases packed with heat and suffocating humidity. And though the sin of rudeness was employed by mid-July, there was no relief until her departure in mid-October.

  Delora November was already harboring her own rude thoughts about the weather, even though by early May it had yet to sear the tiny leaves of the willow tree into brown ash. The thought of another long, humid summer of work and more work was almost more than she could tolerate. She wished she could leave, could shake the dust of this town off her discount store-brand athletic shoes. And she would, really, if only Louie would let go of her life.

  The thought of Louie made nausea steal over her and she moved quickly from the back door into the relative gloom of Blossom’s Diner. Ancient Johnny Pellen was telling the story about the black bear again and the comforting cadence of it soothed Delora’s roiling stomach. She fetched herself a short glass of unsweetened iced tea from the urn and downed it fast, no sugar.

  “Well, it weighed in at might near six hundred pounds and they say bears in that part of ’Bama never get that big,” Johnny summed up.

  The tourist who was listening to Johnny ramble merely shook the USA Today he was perusing and made polite noises of interest.

  Delora wiped an already gleaming counter and let her eyes roam the diner. The Jacksons were still okay over in the smoking section. Marina had given them the bill and they were lingering over a meal-ending cigarette. They were regulars and would let Marina or Delora know if they needed anything else.

  She was most concerned about the family of five that was occupying booth eight. The booth abutted one of the huge panes of glass that made up the front wall and she was worried about young Jimmy’s airplane. It was a giant plastic jet airliner, and she was just waiting for one of the wings to take out the window. Jimmy was piloting in earnest too, even climbing onto the seat next to his bedraggled moth
er and banking the jet over her head and the head of his little sister as well.

  The father, a quiet older man, was trying to study the menu while dealing with Jimmy’s younger brother who was about eighteen months old and experiencing everything on the table. The father would read one sentence of the menu, grab little brother’s hand, pry something from his clenched fingertips, then intone, “Jimmy, son, will you please sit down!” before returning to try the menu again.

  “Want me to get them?” Marina asked, coming up close behind her.

  “No, I already got them coffee. My table, I’ll do it.”

  Concern sparked in Marina’s dark eyes. “You don’t look so good. Are you sick today?” Her accent was a pleasant blend of America and her native Mexico.

  Delora took a minute to admire Marina’s inky black hair and finely defined features. “Nope, I went outside for a minute and the heat got to me. I’m fine.”

  She fetched the tattered order book from her pocket, checked to make sure she had a pen, then moved with expert grace across the floor.

  “So, have y’all had a chance to decide?” she asked, reaching to right the saltshaker the baby had tumbled. She absently tossed some of the spilled salt over her left shoulder and caught Jimmy’s eye, giving him such a look that he parked the airliner and sat next to his sister, pretending to peer at the menu.

  “I’ll have two Bright-Eyes for the kids, with milk, and I’ll have the Hearty Breakfast platter.” The mother had probably been up since dawn. Traveling with a family this young couldn’t be easy.

  “And the baby?” She made a face at the toddler and he giggled and squirmed on his father’s lap.

  “The baby can just eat off my plate, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. And you, sir?”

  “I think I’ll have the Hearty as well, but can I have sausage instead of the bacon?”

  “Absolutely,” Delora said as she gathered up the menus. “You’ll like our sausage. It’s local and fresh ground. Good and spicy.”

  Interpreting her comment as interest, the man transformed before her eyes, changing from a tired, beaten-down father into the young rapscallion he must have been before settling down and raising a trio of children.

  “I do like it spicy. Just how spicy is this local grind?” he asked, his voice light and flirtatious.

  Delora sighed. There was something too compelling about conquering new territory for most men. She had no doubt that Mr. Tired Face would step out on Mrs. Tired Face the first real opportunity offered him. She glanced at Mrs. Tired Face and saw her shuttered disgust at her husband’s behavior. The kids all sensed the change in Daddy as well, for they had stilled to watch the exchange.

  “Not too spicy, don’t worry,” she said as she left the table.

  She tore off the middle copy of their order and placed it on the carousel for Tommy Jay, then started a run of fresh coffee. The Jacksons left, still talking animatedly, and Delora wondered how their marriage had lasted so long. Maybe it was because they had so much in common. Tyrone Jackson was a professor at the University of South Alabama over in Fairhope, and his wife, Sharell, was a librarian. It seemed they always had something interesting to talk about.

  The fragrance of newly brewed coffee washed across her and she felt strangely at peace. Her marriage to Louie was over, in fact, if not in the Alabama legal system, and she felt good not having to analyze why it wasn’t working anymore.

  “It’s done, honey,” Marina said as she slid by carrying a new order of eggs for Johnny.

  Surprised, Delora looked down and realized she’d stood idle while the whole carafe of coffee filled. She glanced to the kitchen access and saw the steaming plates awaiting her. Lifting the coffeepot, she hurried back to the Tired Face parents and refilled their cups, assuring them that their food would be right out. Her left hand deposited more plastic containers of creamer even as she hurried away. With speed born from years of practice, she filled small glasses with milk from the cooler and, with the glasses balanced in one hand and the two children’s pancakes and sausage links in the other, raced them back to the booth. One more trip and she had the parents served and made sure they were settled with plenty of ketchup and warm syrup.

  As she turned to return to the kitchen she heard a loud expletive and whirled to find that young Jimmy’s jet airliner, in the hands of his sister, had veered and dumped milk across the table. Since the father was trying to rise to help the mother mop up the table, Delora automatically leaned to take the baby even as she murmured assurances that there was no harm done. The baby watched his parents clean up the milk, his hands sticky and clasped around a mottled mess of pancake. He continued to chew as Delora leaned with her free hand to pile the milk-soaked napkins into an empty coffee cup.

  “It’s okay,” she assured the apologetic parents. “Accidents happen. Don’t worry yourself about it.”

  The young girl huddled, as if ashamed, against the pocked vinyl of the booth seat. “It’s all right, honey,” Delora said directly to her. “We know you didn’t mean to do it.”

  Delora shifted the baby against her hip and smiled when he presented a gap-toothed, pancake-filled grin. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” she teased, poking a finger into the baby’s round tummy.

  “Oh, here, I’ll take him,” the mother said, brushing her disarrayed hair from her forehead. “You’re good with kids. How many do you have?”

  Delora stiffened and quickly returned the child to his mother. “None. Nope. Just helped my mom with foster kids is all,” she explained as she removed the overflowing coffee cup and emptied milk glass. “I’ll get you a new cup of coffee.”

  Feeling their curious stares heating her back, Delora faced the concerned eyes of Marina in front of her. It was too much. She dumped the dishes into the cavernous kitchen sinks, waved apologetically to Marina and went out the back door still wearing her apron. She just needed a minute—just a minute or two—alone. With dismay she saw Hinchey Barlowe getting out of his pickup.

  “Hey, hold up, slick.” Hinchey caught up with Delora as she stepped into the late morning sunlight. “What’s the matter?”

  Delora wasn’t crying, would not cry no matter what, but she was shook hard by what the woman had asked her. She was good with children, by golly, always had been, but now all that was over with. It was a fact best not thought about too much.

  “Nothing. Nothing to worry about. How are you, Hinchey?”

  Hinchey’s pink face pinched with worry as he studied her. Delora knew how much Hinchey cared for her, and pangs of guilt nagged at her every time they were together. He was always a comfort, however, and she considered him a dear friend. His face relaxed and he took a deep breath before speaking.

  “Okay. I’m okay, but there must have been something going on for you to have come out that way. What happened?”

  “Nothing really. This family in there just got to be too much for me.”

  She chewed a thumbnail, her eyes looking along the long slope of I-65 leading out of town. “I just needed a minute.”

  He watched her a long while, until Delora started worrying about him noting the shadows beneath her eyes and her disgracefully chewed nails.

  “I sure do worry about you sometimes, Delora.”

  She smiled and raised her eyes to look at him. “I worry about me too, Hinchey. I do. Seems like the good Lord has a whole different plan for me than what I had set aside for myself.”

  “How do you mean?” He cocked his head to one side.

  “I mean,” she straightened her apron and smoothed her hair, “I got a living to earn. Come on in and I’ll get you some breakfast. Do you know what you want?”

  He grinned, his gaze going all befuddled. “Yeah, but I’m not so sure the state of Alabama would look kindly on me having my way with a married woman.”

  Delora laughed hollowly, envisioning Mr. Tired Face in her mind, and moved through the door he held open for her. “How you do go on, Hinchey Barlowe.”

  She fetc
hed more milk, poured a new cup of coffee for Mrs. Tired Face and motioned for Hinchey to sit at the counter. The Tired Face Family was just as she left them—as if she’d never left their side.

  Chapter Two

  Sometimes at night, especially on dark nights unlit by the light of the moon and stars, Sophie swore the bayou gave off its own glow from deep within the watery depths. The bayou was a living creature, breathing with each inhalation and exhalation of the tide, and the glow, like bright eyes, seemed to follow this tide. Perhaps the bayou was female, for it was brightest once a month, just after the new moon.

  Sophie, watching the water from a slatted rocking chair on the porch, rocked and lazily wondered if the swamp water was like a rechargeable battery, storing so much moon and sun energy over time that it glowed when there was no other light source.

  She pushed a bundle of thick blond curls from her cheek and studied the emanated light. Perhaps there was a whole world down there with its own photoelectric infrastructure. A fairyland. A marine fairy glen.

  Smiling at her flight of fancy, Sophie lifted slim arms above her head and jutted her chest to give her back a good stretch. She’d spent most of the afternoon mixing potions and that always made her back feel twisted in knots. The potions were good though—especially a powerful tincture for Anna Michael’s cramps. Anna had fibroids and, to date, had refused surgery. Sophie didn’t blame her; surgery was expensive. Most of the people in Bayou Lisse lived paycheck to paycheck, and health insurance was a true luxury. Anna was far too busy looking after four children anyway. Her man was pretty much useless, so everything fell back on her.

  “‘Your sons and daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams and your young shall see visions,’” Sophie’s grandmother said as she settled into the chair next to her.