Byrd's Desire

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2014
Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

ISBN: 978-1-77130-740-6

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor:
Lisa Petrocelli

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For my friend, Odile, who taught me to cook Cajun and add a little Louisiana spice to life!

BYRD’S DESIRE

Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

With the first hint of dawn breaking over the eastern horizon
, Celia headed out of Natchitoches on Highway 71.  She didn’t need a map as she headed for Shreveport.  She paused for a quick breakfast in an out-of-the-way diner and trekked northward.  The scenery shifted from flat country, punctuated with nodding donkeys pumping oil, as she climbed into the edge of the Ouachita Mountains.  Celia gawked, worse than a tourist, at the heavy forest on both sides of the road and the scenic views, so different from her native habitat.  At Fort Smith, the next town of any size after Shreveport, she veered west into Oklahoma.

The midsummer heat
rose as she traveled and exchanged the Ouachitas for the Cookson Hills.  Somewhere outside of Sallisaw, the air-conditioning in her worn-out Cadillac quit so she rolled down the windows.  A hot breeze blew into her face and before she stopped for a quick lunch—a chicken sandwich and iced tea—her hair tangled and her makeup melted.  She didn’t dare check her reflection in a mirror or she might turn tail back to Louisiana.   An hour or so northwest of Sallisaw, she turned from the highway onto a narrow ribbon of blacktop, then five miles later exchanged it for a hard-packed gravel road.  Celia slowed as she entered the ranch proper and winced as the cattle guard rattled beneath the Caddy. At the same time, the fuel gauge dropped to “Empty” and she hoped she wouldn’t run out of gas until she reached the house. Although she never went to church anymore, Celia’s lips moved in a brief but heartfelt plea to the Virgin. To her right, vast acres stretched out toward a large pond and cattle grazed across the rolling grasslands.

She glanced
left and spotted the ranch house, tucked atop a hill.  Tall old trees surrounded it and if she didn’t know better, Celia would’ve sworn it’d been in the same spot for a century.  A wide porch covered the front and a stone chimney rose high into the sky.  It looks like something from the pioneer days, or the set for a classic Western movie.  A windmill behind the house spun with slow, lazy turns in the slight breeze.  The house loomed larger than she’d expected and the location was far more remote than she had thought.  But here she was and here she’d stay.

With a sigh, she pushed back her wild hair and blotted her face with a ti
ssue.  Sweat turned her light yellow T-shirt to gold and on impulse she pulled some cheap cologne from her purse and dabbed both wrists, then her throat.  With false bravado, Celia picked up her purse and sauntered up to the front door.  Before she could knock, the door opened and her cousin, Angelique Lecompte Broussard, faced her.   Angie could’ve stepped out of a fashion magazine layout, with her hair upswept in a perfect do, and her casual clothing beautiful and obviously expensive.  Waves of expensive perfume wafted toward Celia and she struggled against the urge to skedaddle until Angie’s perfect deep pink lips curved into a smile.

“It’s about time,
cher, you showed up,” she said, her voice rich with the musical notes of the bayous. “I’d about given up on you.  Come in, come in.  It’s hot.”

Celia stepped inside and stifled a gasp.  Above her, the ceiling stretche
d two stories high with open beams and a rustic look that she liked.  The large room had been furnished with a distinct but subtle Western flavor.  It radiated cozy comfort and whispered money.  The gray fieldstone mantle above the fireplace held a pair of matching kerosene lamps and a sculpture of a pioneer woman holding a child’s hand.  Plush, plump couches and overstuffed chairs were grouped before the hearth and in another corner, a large-screen television loomed.   Navajo rugs on the walls and some Remington paintings added to the ambiance. 
Ben Cartwright and the boys would feel right at home here
, Celia mused,
and so would John Wayne
.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Angie said with a laugh.

“No.” Celia found her voice. “I’m just awestruck, I guess.  You said ‘ranch’ and I imagined something more
Ma and Pa Kettle
, not so much
Legends of the Fall.
It’s a bit much for a little ol’ swamp rat like me.  I’m not used to anything like this.”

Her little apartment
she’d had back in Natchitoches was small and simple.  She’d grown up in a three-bedroom narrow shotgun house on the back side of Lafayette, Louisiana, with a rusted tin roof and more love than money.  Angie’s family had lived nearby but their grandparents lived out toward Breaux Bridge Swamp in a house so old it had a dogtrot between the two main rooms.  The upstairs had been added on later and the swamp, teeming with wild things, provided the scenic view.  The cypress trees reached up out of the deep waters and it wasn’t uncommon for a gator to crawl up into the yard.  Granma Odile spoke French first, English as a learned tongue, as did Granpa.

“It’s easy to acclimate yourself to, let me tell you, Tee-doo,” Angie said as she settled down onto one of the couches. The old
Cajun nickname meant “sweet little thing.” “You’ll like it here, I guarantee.”

If she didn’t, Celia faced a long year ahead. “I hope so.  It’s a lot farther out in the boonies than I expected.  I wanted solitude but this is way beyond it.”

Angie waved a hand to dismiss the idea. “You won’t be totally alone.  Chuck’s here, out in the bunkhouse to take care of the stock, and he’s got two teens coming in on weekends to help.  If you want, I’ll ask Nina to come out daily.”

“Nina?” The long drive combined with getting up too early and the new place affected her brain. “Who’s she?”

“Cher, she’s my housekeeper and cook.  You don’t think I sweep and dust this place, do you?” Angie flung her arms wide. “I’ve already asked her to come out once a week.  If you’ll leave a list, she’ll bring back anything you need.”

Celia loathed charity and she wrinkled up her nose. “I can go grocery shopping.  There’s got to be a supermarket and discount store in Sallisaw.”

Angie met her gaze. “Of course there are, several in fact.  Don’t get your drawers in a knot.  I asked you to house-sit for Justin’s year abroad, right? And I’m paying you a salary but it includes room and board.  And I bet you’re down to your last few dollars after losing your job.  I wouldn’t doubt you ran your car in here on Empty.  So don’t get all pissy, okay?”

She choked down her pride and sighed. “
Oui, Angelique.
You know me too well.”

Her cousin grinned. “’Course I do.  Now let me show you around
—soon as Justin gets back from giving Chuck his orders, we’re out of here.”

Celia nodded.  Beyond the great room, a large dining area decorated in warm Southwestern colors reminded her of an upscale Mexican restaurant.  The kitchen tucked in beside it offered every state
-of-the-art convenience but managed to be homey too.  One open side faced out to the living room over a built-in room divider.  Stools bellied up to it and offered a more casual place to dine. Celia spotted a thick notebook on the granite countertop and Angie pointed to it. “Everything you need to know should be in that,” she said. “Emergency numbers, ranch stuff, local lists of businesses, who to call if the lights go out or the commode backs up.  It’s all there but you can read it later.  Come on, this way.” A mudroom led out onto a back porch and a laundry room, complete with appliances and a linen closet beside it.  “This door opens into the downstairs bath,” Angie said and showed Celia.

They backtracked through the great room and Celia noticed the open stairs ascending beside the entrance.  Angie led her into a spacious master bedroom with a king-sized bed, a long dresser with
a mirror, another big-screen TV, several comfortable chairs, and a desk.  “I already changed the sheets,” Angie said. “Make yourself at home.  I cleared out closet and drawer space for you.  I think we’re still the same size, so wear anything you want.  “The bath is in here.”

“Wow,” Celia said with a low whistle. “I’m impressed.”

His and her sinks were at opposite ends of a long vanity.  A huge sunken bathtub filled one corner and a Jacuzzi sat in the other.  A glass shower stall stood against one wall and there were two commodes, each with a privacy screen, at opposite ends of the room.  The cool light green color scheme relaxed Celia and she decided first thing she’d do after her cousin left would be to take a long, satisfying bath in the tub.

Angie giggled. “Don’t tell anyone
, but I am, too.  Here’s the walk-in closet.” She opened the door to a space larger than Celia’s childhood bedroom. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Once they climbed the steps, Celia realized the second floor wasn’t as large as she’d thought.  Half of the space remained open over the great room but two large bedrooms were against the south wall, each decorated with an earth tone color scheme.  “The bath’s at the end of the hall,” Angie told her. “There’s loft space to make another bedroom someday.  Justin swears he’ll build me an office downstairs if I want
, but I’ve got plenty of room.  His office space is in the main barn—you’ll have to check it out.  I swear it’s as big as the Oval Office at the White House.”

“That’s not true, girl.”

Celia grinned.  She recognized Justin Broussard’s voice, richer than caramel, deeper than swamp water.

“Don’t be lying to Celia already.”

Unlike the two cousins, Justin grew up in New Orleans, the son of “old money.”  His prosperous banking family was Creole, not Cajun.  His older brother inherited the bank a Broussard founded before the Civil War but Justin’s Grand’Mere bought her favorite grandchild a bank in Sallisaw, Oklahoma.  He’d chosen it and done well enough to buy the ranch, then build Angie’s dream house.  Angie squealed and dashed down the last few steps into his arms.

Celia watched with a mixture of delight and envy.  They were a pair, she thought, made for each other despite their d
iverse upbringing.  After a long kiss, the couple stepped apart and Justin opened his arms to hug Celia.  She embraced him and inhaled the scent of the Aramis he favored.  If she hadn’t known better, though, she’d have taken him for an ordinary Oklahoma rancher in his worn blue jeans, scuffed boots, and plaid shirt.  “I hate to say ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ in one sentence, but we need to head out or we’ll never get to the airport in Tulsa in time to catch our flight.”

“You’re leaving now?” Weary as she was, Celia had hoped to spend a little while catching up with her cousin.  They’d grown up close as sisters but before they could say howdy-do, Angie would be heading off to
China for a year.

“We have to,
cher,”
Angie told her. “Our bags are all packed and Chuck’s ready to drive us.  He’ll be back here later this evening with the car but I doubt you’ll hear him.  All the vehicles are in the garage behind the main barn.”

“He’s the farm guy?”

“Ranch manager,” Angie corrected. “And the bunkhouse is a ways past the barns.  You’ll cross paths sooner or later but that’s about it.”

Justin checked his watch. “It’s time, girl,” he said. “Take care, Celia.  If you need anything, just call the satellite phone.  Angie can give you the number and as soon as we’re settled in
Beijing, she’ll give you our number there.”

Angie chimed in. “And I’ll email you, just like we always do.  You’ll hardly know I’m gone.”  Celia doubted it but nodded.  “Okay, anything else I need to know about the place
?  Are there snakes or anything?”

“No more than anywhere else and less than in the swamps down home,” Angie said with a grin. “Now we do get some pretty wild storms sometimes
, but there’s a full basement and if it’s tornado weather, it wouldn’t hurt you to head downstairs.  I forgot to show you around but there’s a family room, a rec room, an exercise room, the pantry, and a half bath. The house faces west so you’ll be able to watch any storms coming in.”

“Great. I’ll explore the basement later.” The sharp blast of a horn broke into their conversation.  Celia glanced outside and saw the brand new SUV pull up.  “There’s Chuck,” Justin said. “I’m going on out.  Hurry up, Angie.”

“I will,” her cousin said. Celia read her expression and frowned. “What?” she said. “I know that look.  You’re going to tell me there’s a ghost or a werewolf who prowls the hills or something.”

“Cross my heart, I swear there isn’t a werewolf or ghost around here.” Under her make-up, Angie turned pale. “And there’s nothing to worry about.  It’s just I noticed something a time or two in a bad storm and I thought you should be aware.”

“What?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy but I think I saw the
Thunderbird, you know, from Native American legends.” Celia snorted. “Yeah, and I saw Bigfoot last time I went down to Granma’s place too,” she told her cousin with a smirk.

“I’m not kidding,” Angie said.  Three more toots of the horn echoed. “I have to go,
cher
.
  Take care, though. Don’t forget to read the notebook I left. I’ll see you in a year.”

They hugged
, then with the speed of a whirlwind, Angie dashed out to the waiting vehicle.  She waved only once.  Celia walked out to the porch and watched the Chevy grow smaller as it drove toward the gate.  She waited until it vanished and then sat down on the porch to survey the scenery.  Alone on a vast acreage, far from any town or city, and marooned in a country strange to her, Celia noticed how huge the sky appeared, and how blue.  It reminded her of a giant bowl.  A whisper of wind brushed her cheek and she noticed the clouds gathering on the far horizon.  “Shit,” she said aloud. “I think it’s going to storm.” And by the time she’d brought in her luggage and settled down at the dining room table to read Angie’s notebook, it did.