Debbie Herbert - Bayou Shadow Hunter

Annie curled into the sofa. The cushions were still warm from her grandma’s fever and smelled like her special scent of cinnamon and sandalwood. She punched a throw pillow, aching with the need to follow her grandma.

But she’d promised.

She gave in to her grief and sobbed into the battered pillow.

A warm hand touched her shoulder. “Annie?”

She jumped. She’d completely forgotten Tombi was present.

“You,” she spat.

A flinch danced across the hard planes of his face, so fleeting that she wondered if she’d misread it. He withdrew his hand.

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.” He stood erect and awkward, as if unsure what to do or say.

Annie swiped her eyes and edged away from his presence. She tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest. “Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”

She didn’t care if she looked or sounded childish. Grandma Tia was gone. And it was all his fault. If she’d never met him, never made the mistake of following the will-o’-the-wisps into the woods, her grandma would still be here.

I’m going where you can’t follow. Was Tia talking about her death? Or something else?

“Is there someone I can call?” Tombi asked. “Family? A friend?”

Annie didn’t want to call her mom. It would take her hours to drive down from the north Georgia mountains. That was, if she came. And she’d be impatient and cross that Annie hadn’t gone to the hospital. No matter that she’d shirked her own daughterly duties. Best to wait a bit for some news on her grandma’s condition before calling.

Annie nodded at the desk by the far wall. “Open up that middle drawer. There’s a blue address book in it.”

She watched as Tombi rummaged in the drawer. His green T-shirt was streaked with red clay dirt, as were his blue jeans. It reminded her that he’d been lying on the ground deathly ill less than an hour ago. She shouldn’t care but...

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked reluctantly. “Maybe you should have gone to the ER, too.”

He shut the desk drawer and came toward her. One side of his mouth twitched upward. “Nice to know you care.”

He handed over the battered book, which was crammed with names and addresses scribbled in Tia’s large, dramatic script. Grandma wasn’t one to trust computers for storing information.

Annie found Verbena Holley’s name and picked up her cell phone. Verbena was a longtime family friend who would drop everything and stay with Tia at the hospital. She also wouldn’t question Annie about Tia’s demand that she remain at home. Verbena was almost as eccentric as Tia and possessed absolute faith in Tia’s wisdom.

That done, Annie hung up and let out a deep breath. She felt a fraction better that her grandma would have a familiar face by her side this evening. Outside, shadows lengthened, and twilight wouldn’t be far behind.

Tombi paced their small den looking large and out of place. He belonged to the night and to the swampland, not here in this mystical room with its herbal sachets, saint statues and candles. His stride was cramped, his posture rigid. He kept his eyes to the ground, hands tightly interlaced behind his back.

“You don’t have to stay,” Annie said. “You should go back to your friends.” After all, Grandma Tia hadn’t said she had to help him immediately. It would be best if he left, and she could gather her wits and form a plan. “They probably wonder what’s taking you so long to return.” And no doubt would blame her for his injury.

He stopped pacing and gave her a ferocious stare. “I’m not going back without you.”

Beneath the glare of his eyes, exhaustion and pain had left a faint trace. Annie wanted nothing more than to demand he leave, but she couldn’t send out a man who had been so near death.

My destiny. Was her grandma just being fanciful?

Annie stood and pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll fix some tea. Something to make sure the fever lessens.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of tea?”

“A little this, a little that.” Realization struck. “What did you think I’d put in your drink?”

“Poison, perhaps.” He arched a brow. “What do witches brew? Toadstool soup with dragon blood and gator claws?”

That was rich. The guy practically killed her grandma and then suggested he didn’t trust her? “Don’t forget magic mushrooms and bat whiskers,” she drawled.

Too bad she didn’t have access to something like truth serum to find out more about his background and intentions. Still, her healing nature couldn’t ignore Tombi’s underlying suffering. And keeping busy was her preferred method for dealing with sorrow and worry.

In the kitchen, her safe haven, Annie set the iron teakettle on the stove and mixed together a pinch of elderberry, angelica and feverfew for taking out any underlying fever, plus a dash of chamomile for relaxing. Not truth serum, but maybe if Tombi relaxed he would open up more. Couldn’t hurt.

She reached up on tiptoes for the container of stevia.

“Interesting place.”

Annie spun around like a ballerina en pointe. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she sputtered. “Sneaking up on me?”

“No. It’s just my way. The way of most hunters. I came to see if I could help.”

Annie leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “I think you wanted to keep an eye on me.” She waved a hand around the kitchen. “Go on and look. We’re fresh out of arsenic and eye of newt.”

Tombi squinted at the jars of dried spices and roots lining the countertops, the basket of pink mojo bags she’d assembled earlier that morning and the bunches of dried herbs hanging above on the ceiling. “Unusual, but nothing overtly suspicious, like a box of rat poison.”

Was he serious? Annie frowned. “Now, look here, you can’t just—”

Tombi opened the pantry door, and she drew away from the counter, spine stiffening. “Who said you could go poking about everywhere?” she demanded.

“You said I could look around.” He stepped in the pantry and ran a finger over the shelves. “Ah, now it’s getting interesting. Graveyard dirt, coffin nails and—” he picked up a sealed jar and turned “—swamp juice?” His nose crinkled at the puke-green cloudiness. “Looks like it could kill someone. Bacterial infection would be a gruesome death.”

“Put it back, and mind your own business.”

He returned it to the shelf, and Annie poured steaming tea into two mugs. She lifted the silver ball that held the loose ingredients in the teapot and waggled it. “We’re drinking from the same pot. Just so you know.”

Tombi sank into one of the cane-backed kitchen chairs, and Annie sat across from him at the table. He filled the room with his strong presence, overpowered what was once her peaceful sanctuary. Made it disturbing.

Exciting.

Even the air she breathed reeked of masculinity and testosterone—forceful and heady.

Annie slid the ceramic bowl filled with packets of sugar to the middle of the table. “You’ll want to sweeten up that brew. It’s a bit bitter. If you’d rather use honey, we have some.”

“This will do.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at his lean, muscled forearms and large hands as he ripped open a sugar packet and stirred his tea. What would it be like to have his hands touching her all over? A warm flush blossomed on her cheeks, and she gripped her mug with both hands to steady the turmoil Tombi awoke in her body.