Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (9 page)

She pressed a hand to her abdomen.
Omigod. What am I thinking
? She fumbled in her satchel for the keys, jammed them in the lock, and raced through the door. “Bye,” she said without looking back into those mesmerizing blue eyes.

Oh, lord
.

Perhaps having Craig’s uncle take her out was a much better idea, after all.

…

The door shut behind the intriguing Dr. Smith, yet Craig found it difficult to leave. What was it about the scientist lady that riveted him to the spot?

Must be getting punchy thinking about all that Voodoo witch’s talk of love. He had to remind himself Elaine was probably a woman who fell hard for a guy. It wouldn’t be fair to use her to get him out of this mess.

Her pretty green eyes staring up at him from behind those disguising glasses left him feeling a little unsteady. No other woman had ever had that effect on him.
Damn
. Should he go after her to break the spell? Or set his sights on a local girl as he’d planned?

The lights switched on one by one inside the house. He could see Elaine’s shape silhouetted against the window shades as she moved around.

It would be wrong to woo her. Not that he’d committed to that route. There were plenty other fish in the swamp. He could check them out as well. But he was running out of time…and he actually
liked
her. God, which made it worse. How could he even consider making her fall in love with him and then dumping her?

He glanced at his watch and his heart jumped in his chest. One o’clock. Four hours to sunup.

Craig strode to the end of the road and turned into his uncle’s yard. Much like every other structure in the small community, the little clapboard house had seen better days. A fresh coat of paint held the harsh effects of mold and humidity at bay. Two whitewashed rocking chairs sat on the porch in the moonlight, as a welcome to visitors.

He knocked on the door. No answer.

He knocked louder. Still no answer.

Where the heck could Uncle Joe be? He never stayed out late except on Saturday night.

For that matter, what day was it? Craig prided himself in controlling his schedule. Not knowing what day it was added another stick to his frustration bonfire. He rubbed his chin. What did he do yesterday? He’d taken Lisa out on Thursday, which would make that Voodoo-day. Friday, he’d spent the day as a frog, and that would make today Saturday, or early Sunday morning.

How many days had already passed since the Voodoo queen cursed him? Too many, out of the two weeks he had to undo the damage. Geez, time was running out.

Catching flies for the rest of his life was not an option.

Speaking of options, now would be a good time to contact Cassandra. He swung by his car for his cell phone. On the fourth ring, her answering machine picked up.

“Hi, this is Cassandra. I’ll be out of the country for a couple days. Leave a message and I’ll return your call when I get back.”

Damn
. He didn’t have a couple days to waste. Still, if it came down to the wire and she was his only option…

“Hi, Cassandra. I know we didn’t part on good terms, and I’m sorry about that. Maybe I can make it up to you. I’m in Bayou Miste. Call me as soon as you can.” He hung up, his gut churning. He didn’t love Cassandra, but what else could he do?

Now for Uncle Joe. He had to be at his favorite honky-tonk on the outskirts of Bayou Miste. Craig debated driving his BMW, but the two-mile walk would do him good. Enjoying the feel of human leg muscles propelling him forward in an upright position, he walked faster and faster until he broke out in a run. Damn, it felt good to jog again. He hadn’t exercised much since he arrived at Bayou Miste.

He missed his usual early morning run through the streets of New Orleans. The brightly painted houses and a cup of his favorite coffee always helped to jumpstart his day.

He raised his arms and jabbed at the air. He couldn’t do this as a frog. The best he could hope for was a decent leap without splatting into a wall. He had to get a handle on frog movements. Not that he planned to be one for long.

Craig heard the music before he’d come within two hundred yards of the Raccoon Saloon. The parking lot was jammed with nice cars, old pickups, and a few rusty bangers. Yeah, the locals liked their beer and music. The die-hards turned out like clockwork on Saturday night.

He stepped into the smoke-filled bar and practically gagged. The smoke bothered him more than usual tonight. He scanned the room looking for Joe’s scraggly white hair. With the small bar so packed and hazy, he couldn’t see him right away.

A meaty palm smacked him on the back.

He staggered under the force.

“Hey, Craig.” Mo stood with a beer can in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Good to see you, man.
Mais
, I mean, it be good to see you as a man, anyway.” He tipped the can, draining the contents in two gulping swallows, then crushed the aluminum in his fist.

“Hi, Mo.” Craig continued his perusal of the room’s occupants. “Seen Uncle Joe?”

“Yup.” Mo jerked his head to the left corner. “Back dere with Bernie and Oscar.”

“Thanks.” Craig squinted through the tobacco fog until he located the table. The three older men sat at the back of the room as far away from the speakers as they could get.

“You know, Craig,” Mo said. “Larry’s right. You should go after his sister. She’s had a crush on you since practically forever.”

Craig’s heart raced at the thought. Not out of anticipation, but panic. She was nice, but he liked choosing his own dates. The thought of Mo and Larry finding women for him curled his intestines. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Besides, there was that bro-code friend’s-sister thing…

“Dôn wait too long. Afore ya know it, dat full moon will be a-risin’.”

“Craig, honey.” A thin hand slipped under Craig’s elbow and a buxom breast pressed to his arm.

Hell
.

“Hello, Lisa.”

Lisa LeBieu, with her long straight black hair and olive skin, would turn any man’s head, but Craig had been scorched once already. He didn’t feel comfortable standing in the same room with her, much less with her lounging all over his arm.

She walked two fingers up his chest and tapped his chin. “I hear Mamere LeBieu put a hex on you.”

Craig extricated his arm from her clutches. “Back off, Lisa.”

She tried to hook his arm again.

With another backward step, he came flush up against a wall, his head bumping a sconce, causing the light to shimmer.

“What’s the matter, Craig?” She stalked him until her full breasts pressed against his chest. “Afraid of poor little me?”

“Yup.” Her approach reminded him of a black widow spider. Black hair, red lips, all the soft feminine curves luring a man into her trap, then
zap
! Just like the bug zapper on his uncle’s back porch. “Do you mind? I’m here to see my uncle.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she purred, running her fingers across his shoulders. Her hand stopped and she plucked something off his shirt. “What’s this?”

Craig stared down at her hand. In the light from over his head, a long wavy hair glimmered.
Elaine’s hair
. His mind conjured the image of her against the bottom of the boat, her hair spreading wildly around her. Although he willed it not to, his groin tightened.

Lisa’s eyebrows snapped to a V. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Inside, he cringed. God forbid Lisa LeBieu should get her claws into Elaine. The shy scientist wouldn’t even know what hit her until Lisa had her stunned and cocooned. Protective instincts surged within him—something he hadn’t felt toward a woman since his mother.
Damn
. This was not good. He didn’t want to feel that way, and she sure as hell didn’t need his protection.

Lisa’s eyes narrowed even more, and he could swear she read his every thought. The room closed in on him. He had to get away from her, find Uncle Joe, and get the hell out of there.

With a smile forced to his lips, he played Lisa. “Sweetheart, I really need to see my uncle. Would you excuse me, please?” He laid his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away.

Then he ducked and ran.

Right into his uncle.

“Craig, there you are. Been wonderin’ when you’d get off the swamp with that scientist lady.”

Craig stifled a groan. As vindictive as Lisa was, all she needed was the identity of the hair’s owner and she’d be wreaking havoc all over the parish. He turned to gauge her response.

She focused down at the hair between her fingers, a corner of her lip curling upward, and not in a pretty, sassy way.

“Leave her alone,” Craig warned.

Lisa’s eyes rolled up to gaze into his. “A little too punchy, aren’t we, frog man? What were you two doin’ out on the swamp at night? Catchin’ a little swamp nooky?”

A slow burn rose around Craig’s collar and up the back of his neck. What had he been thinking when he’d asked Lisa out in the first place? Sure, she was cute and had a great body, but she was trouble with a capital “T”. As his uncle had told him so eloquently when he was a young teen, “Think with your brain, not with your balls, and you’ll stay right with the girls.”

With Lisa and those cute curves, he hadn’t been thinking with his brain.

“Did you come lookin’ for me?” Uncle Joe stepped in between Lisa and Craig.

“Yeah. We’ve got to talk.”

“What’s eatin’ you, son? Besides that mangy beagle?” Joe snickered. When he saw the look on Craig’s face, he coughed and straightened. “No, really. Whatcha need?”

“Can we get out of here?”

“What, and miss the two-bit beer from two to four a.m.?”

Craig frowned.

“Okay, okay. The one day a month they offer beer at a tenth of the cost and you have to go and be a frog about it.” Uncle Joe burst out laughing at his own joke, slapping his knee and doubling over with the force of his guffaws.

At the moment, Craig saw no humor in his uncle’s words. “I’ll meet you back at the bait shop when you’re finished cracking jokes.”

“Did you walk?”

“Yeah.”

Uncle Joe swayed and lurched toward the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No, I’ll drive
you
home.” Craig snatched the keys and stalked toward the door.

“Spoilsport. Won’t even let a man have a little fun. Can’t enjoy a good buzz without someone ruinin’ it for me.”

“My heart bleeds for you.” Craig’s retort dripped with sarcasm.

“No heart. None whatsoever. Drag me off in the middle of night to talk to me and won’t let me drive. It’s not as if the Raccoon Saloon has two-bit beer every night.”

“Only every Saturday night.”

“The highlight of my week.” His uncle belched.

“Come on, Uncle Joe.”

Before they’d gone a mile, Uncle Joe lay fast asleep against the passenger seat door, snoring loud enough to rival the cicadas.

Craig parked the truck in his uncle’s driveway. When he got out and opened the passenger seat door, the inebriated old man almost fell out. With an arm hooked under an elbow, Craig helped his uncle into the house and to the kitchen table.

Uncle Joe slumped onto the speckled Formica tabletop and continued where he left off in the truck, snoring loud enough to shake the eaves.

“Uncle Joe?” He shook him anxiously. He needed Uncle Joe to wake up long enough to listen. “Uncle Joe.”

Joe lifted his head.

“Listen to me,” Craig shouted loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Whadda you want?” Joe said, his voice slurred, his eyes barely open.

“You have to watch out for the scientist lady. I think she might be in danger.”

He blinked. “From what?”

“Well, Lisa, for one. I don’t like the way she looked at me in the bar. She’s trouble.” Lisa’s evil smirk worried him. “Elaine’s also investigating toxins in the swamp. There may be someone dumping stuff in there. If they find out she’s snooping around, they might come after her.”

“Whadda you want me to do?”

“Just keep an eye on her. Don’t let her go out on that swamp alone.”

“Okay.” Joe’s head slumped back to the table, hitting it with a thump.

Craig clenched his teeth and counted ten. Then he hefted his Uncle out of the chair and dragged him into the bedroom, dumping him on the bed and slipping off his shoes. He was out like a light.
Damn
. The bait shop wouldn’t open early this Sunday.

“Never mind. I’ll keep an eye on her myself.”

But how he’d keep her safe as a two-inch tall frog, God only knew.

Chapter Nine

Elaine slept like the dead until the sun crept into her window and warmed her face. With her eyes still closed, she savored the feel of clean sheets, country air, and a late-night kiss from a tantalizing Cajun. The mattress in the rental house was soft and comfortable. A bed made for lying in later than usual, preferably with the one you love.

Her eyes popped open. What was she thinking? As if love and Craig were at all compatible. They’d mix like oil and water.

Completely awake, she sat up and swung her legs out of the bed. No time for fantasies, she had work to do. The fact that her mind had superimposed Craig’s naked body in the sheets beside her had nothing to do with her rapid ascent from the bed.

Needing caffeine to help her maintain focus, she trudged barefoot into the kitchen wearing a short nightie and not much else. Two scoops of coffee in the filter, water in the top, and she was on her way to a luscious cup of go-juice.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch
.

Through the glass of the kitchen door, she could see the screen door wobble.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch
.

She crossed to the door and peered out. Dawg stared up at her, droopy brown eyes imploring her to let him in. She cracked the door and peeked through the screen. “What do you want?”

“
Woof!
” The dog tapped the screen door again with his toenails.

“You want to come inside?” She opened the door wide enough for the dog to slip past. When she would have let the screen slam shut, the dog twisted around and stuck his nose in it.

“So what’s it to be, in or out?”

The dog stood still, his nose holding the door ajar. Then a mottled green bullfrog hopped over the threshold and into the kitchen.

She darted her gaze from the dog to the frog and back again. “Is this bullfrog a friend of yours?”

As if in answer to her question, Dawg wagged his tail all the way up to his nose and swiped his tongue over the frog, knocking the amphibian over on his side.

“Yeah, and with friends like you, who needs enemies? I get it.” She knelt close to the frog and scooped him up in her hand, bringing him to eyelevel. “Can’t say I’ve ever known a dog to have his own pet bullfrog, but I’m told anything can happen in the bayou.” She studied the creature. “Do you have a name?”

“
Woof!
” Dawg, nudged her hand, licked her cheek, and wagged his tail so hard his body whipped from side to side.

“His name is Woof?”

Dawg nudged her hand again.

“Oh, you don’t like me holding your friend, do you?” Elaine carefully placed the frog on the floor and patted Dawg.

The big dog lapped at her cheek and sat, pounding the floor with his tail.

“You’re easy to please.” She shoved the dog out of her face and laughed, feeling light and carefree. Is that what a couple days away from the university could do for you? What Brian was talking about? Had she gotten too carried away in her work and forgotten how to smell the stump water?

She rose and glanced down at the pair. A dog and a bullfrog. “You two can stay, as long as you don’t leave me any yucky presents.”

“
Woof!
” Dawg gave his standard reply, licked her knee, and flopped on the nearest rug, as if all that wagging and woofing had worn him out. But the frog still stood where she’d set him on the floor. He seemed to stare up at her legs.

She swore she saw a hint of intelligence in his little black eyes. She frowned.
Wow
. Bayou Miste was really getting to her. “If you’re staying, you have to have a name other than Woof.” She tapped a bare toe and tilted her chin. “Freddy?” She waited. What was she expecting? A reaction?

The frog’s head swayed side to side.

Holy crap.
Was that a “no”? She studied the frog, never having known a frog to answer questions. Had she hit on some type of intra-species communication?
Nah
. She was so losing it. “How about Bully?”

Again, the frog swayed side to side.

She crossed her arms over her chest. This type of frog must have a natural swaying motion. “This is really strange. I’m talking to a frog.” She wagged a finger at the creature. “See what you’re doing to me? I’m calling you Todd, like it or not.”

The bullfrog didn’t sway this time, instead its front legs jerked in a shrugging motion.

“Good. Now, I need to get a shower and get to work. Make yourself at home.”

She headed for the bathroom, but something made her turn to check the frog. Sure enough, he’d taken a hop after her.

She gave him a withering look. “And no peeking.”

…

Grinning, Craig tilted backward to take in all of a giant Elaine sashaying from the room. Ah, well. It had been worth a shot. Her short, filmy pink nightgown did nothing to hide long, silky legs—legs smoother than whipped cream and probably as tasty. The cheeks of her pretty backside peeked from beneath the hem of her babydoll, encased in black silk panties—a naughty contrast to the innocence of her top.

She disappeared through the bedroom door and soon the rush of water could be heard from the bathroom.

When Elaine had squatted next to him, all he could think of was licking her knees. Damned if Dawg didn’t get that pleasure.

Dawg had stood by him at sunrise when he’d transformed back into the frog. He’d decided it was a good idea to have the dog close as protection against snakes and other creatures. But Dawg had proven even more useful when he’d helped him gain access to the scientist’s house.

Note to self: Tonight, give Dawg a nice, juicy steak.

Craig hopped around the room, hoping to get an idea of what Elaine was like by the things she’d brought with her. But all personal items were either high on a couch or table. He couldn’t see a thing.

He glanced toward the open bedroom door. Should he? Craig hopped by and shot a quick look inside. The light from the bathroom door shone like a beacon guiding a ship in the fog.

A quick tour of her bedroom while she was showering wouldn’t hurt. He wouldn’t peek. Honest. He hopped into the room and began his search for some insight into this woman who talked to dogs and frogs. When he hopped around the side of the bed, he landed square in the middle of her pink nightgown.

He froze, wrapped in the tantalizing scent of a flower garden.
The same aroma the Voodoo queen had sprayed in his face
. What kind of coincidence was that? The silky nightgown felt good to his sensitive frog skin. For a few brief moments, he languished in the folds, imagining Elaine still inside the babydoll.

Water splashed enticingly in the bathroom. More than anything, he wanted to sneak a peek. But what kind of man would he be if he did that? He’d promised not to.

Sort of.

He stared down at his green skin. As a frog, what harm would come of his seeing the scientist in the shower? She’d never know “Todd” wasn’t a real frog unless he told her after he turned back into a man, and he had no intention of doing that.

But his conscience warred with his desire and won.

The water shut off and he heard the plastic against metal sound of the shower curtain rings sliding across the curtain rod. He could imagine her reaching for her towel, stepping from the tub onto the mat and wrapping the terry cloth around her body. Even as a frog, his body tightened.

Quick, so as not to arouse her suspicions, he hopped off her nightgown and made for the door.

“Hey, little guy,” her soft voice called out behind him.

He stopped, frozen to the spot. Caught sniffing around a woman’s bedroom.

“Did you get lost, or something?” She stepped up beside him and crouched down.

He ventured a sideways glance and saw soft, creamy white feet with pink toenail polish. Her skin smelled of fragrant soap and radiated heat from her shower. His cool amphibian body leaned closer to her warmth. Then he looked up.

Tight calves crooked at the knee, turning into smooth, naked thighs. A fluffy white towel wrapped precariously around her hips and breasts did little to dispel his rising awareness. He opened his mouth to growl in frustration.

“
Gribbit
.” Now that was about as satisfying as getting a splinter in one’s webbed foot. He squatted next to a woman whose body could start a riot and all he could do was croak.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to dissect you. You’re welcome to stay here and visit with me. I’m just going to get dressed.”

She stood, her hands rising to the edge of her towel, opening…

Conscience overruled and Craig spun away, but not before he saw the rounded swell of her breast. Unable to take any more, he beat a hasty retreat through the bedroom door. How much more exciting this scene would have been, if he were in his man-form.

Then again, she wouldn’t have let him past her bedroom door.

Guilt weighed heavily on his mind. He felt like a damn peeping Tom. Elaine deserved better. At least she was fighting for a worthy, unselfish cause—the environment. He was just fighting to save his own skin, and not of the green variety.

Was spying on her fair? No. So why the hell was he lurking in her home?

Just admit it
.

He still needed to find someone to fall in love with him to break the spell, and Elaine Smith was a prime candidate.
Damn the situation. And damn that Voodoo priestess.

Dawg rose from the rug and trotted over to him.

“
Woof!
”

I know, I know. I got myself into this situation. If I had taken the women I dated more seriously, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

“
Woof!
”

Dawg trotted past him to the door.

Knock, knock, knock
.

“
Woof!
”

“Now who could that be?” Elaine walked out of the bedroom, tugging a pale blue, snug-fitting shirt down over a lacy white bra, smoothing it over the top of her khaki shorts. Her hair was combed straight back from her forehead, and hung in loose, wet ringlets past her shoulders to the middle of her back. She slipped her owl glasses onto her nose and reached for the doorknob.

“Well, now, what have we got here? Good morning, beautiful.” The oily, cocky words oozed out of the one person in the parish Craig had always wanted to smash in the nose—Randall Pratt.

Her back stiffened and she peered at him through her glasses like a stern schoolmarm. “Excuse me, should I know you?”

Randall pushed past her into the small living room. “Absolutely, you should know me. I’m the most eligible bachelor in the parish, Randall Pratt. And you are?”

Elaine gave him an even look, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Not impressed.”

Chalk one up for the scientist
. Craig liked her more and more every minute. She wasn’t quite as naïve as he’d originally thought. And she could spot a snake when he walked through her door.

“
Tsk, tsk
.” Randall walked around the room, fingering books on the coffee table. “We don’t want to start out on the wrong foot, now do we? I came to see if I could help you with anything. Unloading your car, moving furniture in the bedroom. You name it, I’m your man.”

“Unless you like scrambling frog brains and dissecting stinky dead fish, I don’t think so.”

Randall looked up, his nose wrinkled. “That’s an exciting occupation for a woman. What are you some kind of frogtologist? Or are you dreaming up new recipes for a cookbook?”

“The cookbook, definitely, the cookbook.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Throw the bastard out, Elaine
. Craig wished he could do it for her. If he were in human form, he would.

The snake drifted over to her worktable and leaned over her microscope. “What’s this, a microscope?”

“No, it’s a frying pan.” Elaine marched over to stand in between Randall and her equipment. “Yes, it’s a microscope. If you’re through with your inspection, I have work to do.”

Yeah, buster, beat it
. Craig hopped over to stand next to Elaine.

Randall leaned closer and touched a finger to her collarbone. “Why don’t you and me go by Maggie’s Café for a bite to eat?”

Elaine slapped his hand away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, come on, you have to eat sometime.” He slid a finger down her arm. “How about for dinner tonight?”

Craig’s blood boiled. If the man didn’t get his filthy paws of the scientist, he’d…

He’d…what? Croak?

“No thanks,” Elaine replied, ducking around Randall to march over to the door. “Besides, I already have a date.”

Craig did a double-take. She had a date?

Randall frowned. “With who?”

Yeah, with who?
Craig couldn’t think of a single man of Elaine’s level of intellect in the entire parish, barring his truly. He didn’t like that she’d agreed to go out with someone else. The thought curdled his insides. He didn’t like the idea at all.

“Who I go out with is none of your business.” She opened the door and motioned for him to leave.

Randall swaggered toward her, stopping short of the door. “I make everything that goes on in this parish my business.”

Yeah, Randall had a knack for getting into everyone’s business, all right. A couple years younger than Craig, he had been a real pest growing up. He’d found pleasure in tagging along behind Larry, Mo, and Craig, and anytime he had the chance, he got them in trouble. Like the time he’d sunk the fishing boat at the marina. Since Craig and Larry had been the last ones to use it, they’d gotten the blame. Later, they’d caught him with the plug in his pocket.

“Mr. Pratt,” Elaine began.

“Call me Randall.”

“Mr.
Pratt
,” Elaine repeated with more emphasis. “Please leave.”

Craig and Dawg hopped and trotted to stand beside her. The dog growled low in his chest. Craig found himself wishing the old Voodoo queen had changed him into a dog, instead of a defenseless frog. He could have sunk his canine cutlery into the jerk to speed him along his way.

“I don’t take no for an answer. I’ll be back.” Randall leaned forward and kissed Elaine’s surprised lips.