Jeanie London - If You Could Read My Mind...

“Your goal, you mean.”

That’s what the whole situation really all boiled down to—Michael was only interested in what he wanted.

The realization felt like a slap in the face, when she supposed it shouldn’t. Suddenly, she could see the emerging pattern so clearly.

She lived with him, worked with him, slept with him—it had always been about him. Ever since they were young, their lives had always been about what Michael wanted.

Michael, Michael, Michael!

She’d always gone along because she knew successful couples didn’t argue—they negotiated and compromised.

Jillian was getting tired of compromising.

“You know, Michael, that’s the real problem here. Life is fine as long as you get what you want, but the second you have to return the favor, you can’t be counted on.”

“That’s not fair—”

“I don’t know why I’ve let this be okay for so long, but this isn’t fair. I refuse to be married to a man who only thinks about himself.”

Now it was Michael’s turn to reel as if he’d been slapped, and mingled with her horror over what had degenerated into a nasty fight was satisfaction that she’d shocked him.

It was an unfamiliar, ugly feeling.

“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.

“It means I’m too upset to continue this. We need to table this conversation until we’ve both had a chance to think about how we want to handle this.”

Because if she didn’t get in the car and have time to cool off on the drive home, she was going to say something that would end her marriage right here and now.

“YOU’RE EAVESDROPPING, Widow,” Raphael announced as he stepped through the cottage door to find Serafine sitting in the porch swing, rocking herself to the music of the rushing river.

Back home in Bayou Doré the nights were already sultry and hot, even after the sun went down. Here in Mississippi, darkness cooled the air, and the Landrys’ voices carried on the breeze.

“Need to test the water around here, don’t you think?”

“The Landrys seemed like nice enough people until you got them arguing.”

“That argument’s been brewing a lot longer than I been in Natchez,” Serafine scoffed. “Y’know, boy, I’ve got a really good feeling about this place. I knew as soon I read Mrs. Jillian’s advertisement we were meant to be here. Didn’t question it for a second. I just wasn’t sure why. I mean I knew the obvious—this job is a perfect fit for you and your kin, but there was more.”

“Don’t be meddling with these people.”

The warning in Raphael’s voice made her smile. He didn’t quite come out and argue, and that show of respect—however slight—marked a self-discipline she was happy to see finally in this young man.

“Haven’t been here long enough to be meddling with anyone, I just said.”

“You bullied Mrs. Jillian into giving us these jobs. You made her feel guilty, and she was nice enough to let you.”

“Ah, Raphael. You know how it is. I know we’re here for a purpose. Just have to figure out what it is, and how to do the job. Can’t get about business if Mrs. Jillian kept with her ideas about interviews and reference-checking. Why should we waste time when Mrs. Jillian only needed a bit of convincing?”

“I’d say you’ve been here long enough to meddle.”

“I’m only moving things along in the direction they’re meant to be moving. Your granny had the gift of knowing even stronger than I do. And Marie-Louise, too, even though you tell her to keep her feelings to herself.”

“My granny didn’t take with your hoodoo ways, Widow. You know that.”

“Your granny couldn’t deny who she was no matter how far and fast she ran from the bayou. She finally accepted it, too. Why do you think she sent you back to the family for rearing when she passed?”

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.”