If You Could Read My Mind...

Michael’s expression darkened into a scowl that transformed his face into a stranger’s. She’d known her good-natured husband most of her life but always found herself shaken by the heat of his anger when it reared its head, which wasn’t often.

They didn’t argue.

They discussed. They negotiated. They compromised.

But there didn’t seem to be any compromise with Camp Cavalier.

Michael liked to think he was the perfect husband. He always felt bad whenever he didn’t live up to his expectations. Unfortunately, she was too angry about his tardiness, and his disinterest in her mammogram appointment—not to mention a host of other things she usually dismissed—to let him feel no guilt. She should have reassured him. Reassurance would have taken so much less energy than this argument.

“Michael, I’m sorry I asked you to come tonight.” She didn’t make much of an effort to tone down her resignation. “I know it’s difficult for you to know exactly when you can get out of the office. I do understand.”

But there was no retreat from the road they’d started down. Especially not with such a half-hearted attempt.

“Jillian, the problem isn’t me getting out of the office. It’s you taking on this camp.”

Ouch. He’d made it clear from the start he wasn’t gung-ho about the whole idea, yet hearing him toss it out in anger still stung. “I know you had concerns, but I thought you loved this place as much as I do.”

“Not enough to run it.”

She came to a stop and stared. “It’s not as if I’ve asked you to do a whole lot. You make it sound as if you don’t think I can handle it alone.”

“Camp Cavelier is a full-time job. You’ve already got one of those. So do I—a practice and more patients than I know what to do with.”

“Now there’s the truth. It’s a catch-22. We shouldn’t work all the time, but you know as well as I do that if we didn’t work together, we’d never see each other.”

He arched a dark eyebrow in a look that she’d once thought was sexy. Now the expression only cut his point deep. “You don’t call running this camp work?”

“Not once we get good people hired and a feel for what needs to be done. I was hoping to renovate Bernice and Carl’s cottage. Then we’d have a great weekend getaway. We’ve wanted one for a while but have been too busy to find one. The camp is the perfect compromise. It’s an easy drive from the office. We won’t have to maintain the place, or a boat or a stable. All that’s already here. Yet, we’ll still be able to do all the things we enjoy and don’t have time to care for.”

“We’re caring for the whole damn camp, Jillian. A boat doesn’t sound like such a big deal by comparison.”

She didn’t know why she was trying to sway him to her side, but couldn’t seem to stop. “What about our children? Shouldn’t we make the effort to preserve history for them? I’d hate for them not to spend their summers at Camp Cavelier.”

“What children? We didn’t have time to make any even before we bought the camp.” He gave a sharp laugh. “But you’ve solved that problem. You’ll have kids swarming all over this place in a few weeks. How many are coming this season—eighty, ninety?”

One hundred and three, but she managed the impulse control not to admit it. Not when Michael was looking all inconvenienced and superior, as if he’d been the one doing all the work around here when he couldn’t even make an interview on time.

“I admit this place gets crazy in the summer, but the campers are only here for two months.” She tried to interject reason into a subject that didn’t feel reasonable tonight. “We still have the rest of the year. Spring and fall are gorgeous. Winter can be, too. Can you imagine celebrating Christmas here?”

“I can imagine celebrating selling this land to a development company and making a fortune. Then you can spend Christmas on that Tahitian island you’re always talking about.”

“I haven’t mentioned visiting a Tahitian island since we were planning our honeymoon. Are you saying you’d actually leave your office long enough to take a vacation?”

He scowled harder and didn’t answer.

She scowled right back. Of all the low blows…

“I can’t believe you’d even bring up developing this land. You know I promised Bernice and Carl. That was the whole reason they sold it to me for the price they did.”

“There’s nothing in the contract prohibiting us—”

“It was a verbal agreement I took seriously. Bernice and Carl trusted us to bring the camp into the twenty-first century. They had enough heartache losing their only son in the Vietnam War. Doesn’t trust mean anything to you?”

Her reminder fell flat between them. She could see Michael trying to rein in his anger, recognized how much effort it took, effort that felt as hurtful as his whole uncaring attitude.

What did he have to feel angry about?

She hadn’t asked anything of him except for a little support. She’d honestly thought he’d come through. And not the half-hearted, whenever-it’s-convenient efforts he’d been making. Not when she’d always done her one-hundred-and-ten-percent best to support everything he’d ever wanted.

Why else would she have given up a full ride to Duke if not to accompany him to college?

Why would she have crammed her course load into half the time if not to accompany him to dental school?

Why would she have turned down so many job opportunities if not to start up his practice?

Folding her arms over her chest as if that would help her keep her mouth shut, Jillian glared at him.

“Camp Cavelier is a life calling, not a hobby,” Michael said through clenched teeth. “Look at the Virgils. Look at Ike. Unless you want to close my practice and relocate here to do this job right then developing this land only makes sense. Bernice and Carl couldn’t find anyone to buy the place because it’s a lot of damn work.”

“That’s why I hired caretakers.” She shoved the words through teeth as tightly clenched. “We chose to return to Natchez to start up your practice and rear our family, so shouldn’t we be willing to put some effort into steering Natchez into the future? Life might be a little hectic for a while, Michael, but how is that any different than it’s ever been to reach our goals?”

“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.”

Raphael narrowed his gaze, but Serafine only clapped a hand on his back and smiled.

“Like it or not, boy, I love you and your kin. You remind me of my baby sister. I lost too many years with her. I plan to make the most of what I can get with you. You hear me?”

“I hear you, Widow.”

“Good. Then you might try working with me instead of against me for a change. Together, we might work some magic around here.”

Raphael met her gaze with those eyes that saw so much more than she’d wanted to reveal, a look that was pure Virginie. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

But not all magic was hoodoo. Not all magic need be feared. A lesson Raphael was about to learn.

3

Several days later

“JILLIAN.” Charlotte poked her head through the open office door. “I’ve got a woman in the reception area who doesn’t have an appointment, but says you’ll squeeze her in. Do you know a Serafine Baptiste-Mercier?”

Jillian nodded and rolled the chair away from the desk. “Why does she need an appointment?”

“Broken bridge.”

Darn. This was the absolute last thing that needed to happen right now. As was typical, the clinic was busy, but worse than that, there was an oppressive tension in the air. Primarily because she and Michael weren’t right. She was still angry—at him for being so selfish and at herself for placing the status of their marriage in question.

There was a reason she didn’t like to argue, and Jillian had remembered it—somewhere between the drive back from camp the other night and the drive to work the following morning. Arguments fueled hurt feelings and fighting words—and statements made in anger affected everything and proved hard to take back.

But for now, she had to wedge another appointment into a crammed schedule. What else could she do about Widow Serafine—tell her brand-new caretaker to find another dentist?

With a sigh, Jillian glanced at the computer monitor. “Michael did book some extra time this afternoon to get that temporary crown out of his mouth. He might be able to squeeze her in.”

“Glad you mentioned it. I assume he’s expecting me to put his new crown in.”

Jillian recognized a rhetorical question and didn’t bother with a reply.

“So who’s this woman?”

“Widow Serafine, my new camp caretaker. She’s only been in town a few days.”

“Why do you look so stressed? You know Michael will take care of her.”

“I know.” She must have sounded as indecisive as she felt because Charlotte eyed her narrowly.

“I knew it. You two have been parading around here all week like strangers. Why haven’t you patched things up yet, Jillian?”

“It was a pretty nasty argument.”

“You’re going to make me stressed if you don’t get this thing all settled. You’re my favorite couple, you know?”

Jillian shrugged, not sure what to say. Some things just weren’t a quick fix. This situation had risen like the river during a hurricane. Up and over the levee then right through their lives.

“Well, I’m no marriage counselor, but I’m here if you want someone to listen,” Charlotte said. “Now you better go deal with your new caretaker. She’s a character, that’s for sure. I left her chatting it up with the Baker twins.”

“Oh, my.”

The Baker twins were the owners of an antebellum house that sat majestically on the bluff overlooking Natchez Under-the-Hill. Descended from a family that had grown wealthy during the cotton boom of the early nineteenth century, the Baker twins considered themselves Natchez royalty.

They lived in the upper stories of their family home and had opened the lower to the public. A cherished stop on the National Register tour, the Baker family home gave guests the opportunity to explore the nearby historic district. Under-the-Hill offered carriage rides with coachmen who could talk about the Cotton Kingdom origins and steamboat traffic as if they’d lived the lives of wealthy plantation owners.

As far as Jillian knew, these two eccentric old ladies didn’t talk to anyone but each other, their tour guests and their fourteen cats. They’d deigned to grace Michael with their business only after failing eyesight had finally forced Dr. Cavanaugh, the town’s long-time dentist, into retirement.

Following Charlotte toward the reception area, Jillian noted that Michael was inside exam room two, complimenting his young patient on her oral hygiene after her first month in braces. He didn’t look up as she passed.

Neither did Widow Serafine. But Jillian did a double take in the doorway of the reception area when she found her caretaker had actually sandwiched herself between the Baker twins on the leather sofa. Eugenie and Eulalie looked more than a bit shell-shocked with this striking stranger between them.

The scene could have been a skit from Comedy Central. The two wispy old ladies in their impeccable vintage dresses looked on the verge of swooning. By comparison Widow Serafine could have blown in on a hurricane squall. Not only did she equal the size of both Baker sisters combined, but her ensemble was as bright as a carnival tent.

After asking and answering her own question, Widow Serafine’s laughter rang out, too big for what Jillian had always considered a spacious and comfortable waiting room.

The Baker twins clearly didn’t know what to make of their new acquaintance, so Jillian jumped to the rescue.

“Widow Serafine, I see you’ve met Natchez’s ladies of distinction. Eugenie and Eulalie Baker own that gorgeous antebellum house on the bluff. They’re an important part of our heritage around here.” She hoped a deferential introduction would shake the twins from their daze and smooth any ruffled feathers. “Ladies, Widow Serafine is the new caretaker at Camp Cavelier. She’s newly arrived from New Orleans with her family.”

Two identical watery blue gazes focused in a disbelieving look that anyone would actually invite this woman to town. Jillian shut down any further conversation by reassuring the twins that Charlotte would retrieve them shortly.

“You can come with me, so I can get some information,” she told Widow Serafine, who swept past in a cloud of inviting lavender scent.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you fitting me in today.” She smiled a crooked smile to reveal the empty space where two upper molars should have been. “I couldn’t believe the luck. Marie-Louise and I were scrubbing out the shower stalls in the girls’ cabins when the darn thing broke clean in two. Had it been any smaller, I’d have swallowed it.”

She extended a hand to reveal the offending bit of dentistry, which was exactly in the condition she claimed.

“I’m sure Michael won’t have any trouble repairing it.” Settling Widow Serafine into her office guest chair, Jillian learned that she was the one in for trouble after asking for a dental insurance card.

“Dental coverage is one of the perks that comes with the caretaker job, isn’t it?” Widow Serafine asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“And when does that coverage kick in?”

“Ninety days.”

Widow Serafine placed the broken bridge on the desk and eyed the dislodged teeth with a contemplative expression. “I suppose I can come back then.”

“You don’t have any dental coverage?”

“Not since my husband died. God bless his soul. The government doesn’t keep providing for his widow, and those monthly payments were more than my mortgage. Wish I didn’t have to keep paying for a house that’s been blown away, truth be told.” Widow Serafine beamed a smile that revealed her missing molars. “Think you could hang on to the bill for ninety days until the coverage kicks in?”

Not unless she wanted to perpetrate insurance fraud. Jillian kept that to herself, but for a woman who normally handled her husband’s business efficiently, she found herself back to being speechless again.

Which gave Widow Serafine the upper hand.

“Back home old Doc Roup lets my kin work off my bill,” she explained. “My boy Denis is a carpenter. He fixes up whatever Doc needs fixing. My girl Lucie trims his hair—well, what little he has left, anyway. If I just need a filling, Doc’ll settle up for a big pot of my gumbo. Or bouillabaisse when Lucie’s husband goes out fishing. Says I make the best bouillabaisse in the whole parish. And I do, Mrs. Jillian. Do you like bouillabaisse?”

Jillian wondered what it was about this woman that kept catching her off guard. She ran into her fair share of characters around here. Michael was well-loved in town, which translated into a patient base of diverse demography—from eccentric old-timers like the Baker twins to members of local law-enforcement agencies and philanthropists like Amelia Preston.

Jillian knew Michael wouldn’t think twice about accepting a pot of whatever the widow might be cooking as repayment for her bridge. But this wasn’t exactly the best of times to be asking him for a freebie connected to Camp Cavelier.

But as she saw Widow Serafine’s newly imperfect smile reflected in her dark eyes, Jillian didn’t have a choice. She wouldn’t suggest the woman make the nearly four-hour drive to visit old Doc Roup. Nor did she feel right about taking the widow up on her suggestion to walk around without her bridge until her dental coverage kicked in.

No, the only way Jillian could look herself in the mirror meant forcing a smile and saying, “Actually, I think the office staff might enjoy a pot of gumbo for lunch one day.”

“BITE DOWN,” Michael said.

Widow Serafine did as he asked, and he inspected the impression, pleased with a job well done.

“There you go. Good as new.”

He stripped off sanitary gloves while Charlotte unfastened the paper bib from around Widow Serafine’s neck.

“You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Michael,” the widow said as he shifted the dental chair into an upright position.

Michael smiled, appreciating the sentiment even if he hadn’t exactly earned such accolades. The repair job had been simple.

“Now, you’re sure I didn’t run you too far off your schedule?” Widow Serafine asked. “You got plenty of time to get that crown of yours in your own mouth, right?”