Butterfly Bayou (Butterfly Bayou 1)

Whoa. Mabel and Miranda weren’t in the fight. She was. How had she managed to get into a fight with some woman she’d never met before? “I didn’t invite him. I called 911 and he showed up.”

The first expression that crossed Miranda’s face was one of surprise. Like she’d never thought to do that and what a great idea. The second was a smug grin that came from pure self-satisfaction. “I suspected as much. Armie is very careful about who he’s seen with and how he conducts himself. He’s got a daughter. I’ll let everyone know it was a purely professional visit and they got it all wrong. I’m sorry about that confusion. It’s a small town and you would do well to remember that people talk.”

She honestly didn’t care what people had to say. It was odd but she was remembering more and more shitty things about her childhood, and she wasn’t reacting the way she had before. Back in Dallas, she would have thoughtfully gone over what to say and how to smooth over the situation because relationships were important and how the people around her viewed her had been important, too. Now she wondered why she cared. She was smart and worked hard and she wasn’t mean. That should be enough. She shouldn’t have to spend her whole life being worried about how every single person was going to interpret her actions.

Dallas? It hadn’t been Dallas. It had been that night. It had been that night when she’d watched her friend die. It had been the knowledge that Maryanne had done everything she could, everything right, and she’d still died.

“I didn’t sleep with the sheriff but I did kiss him, and I’m probably going to do it again. I don’t know. He was a great kisser and I’m still considering it this morning, but I think he might be clingy. I might like him being clingy, but am I ready for that? If you’re in a relationship with him, you should rethink because he is looking to cheat on you. He asked me out a bunch of times. Wore me down, to tell you the truth. If people are going to talk, they should talk about that.”

Miranda gasped, an offended sound. “I never . . .”

“You certainly didn’t with Armie,” Lila pointed out because it didn’t matter. They were already gossiping. They might as well know the facts and gossip properly. “According to him he’s hit a dry spell.”

Miranda put a hand on her chest like she was looking for pearls to clutch. “I never said I slept with him. We have a platonic relationship, and I know he’s merely waiting for his daughter to graduate and then we can be together.”

“His daughter is sixteen. She’s not a kid who doesn’t know her father probably wants to date and do all the other things that go with dating.” Remy wouldn’t have pointed her in Armie’s direction if Armie had a girlfriend. Honestly, she didn’t think Armie was the type who would cheat on a girlfriend. He seemed . . . honorable. He certainly didn’t seem like the type who would be platonic around a woman he wanted. He would be frustrating. Demanding. But the way he’d touched her the night before had told her the man would likely be very enthusiastic in bed. “I know this is the country, but it’s not Victorian England. Adults can sleep together without a bunch of societal consequences.”

“Except gossip,” Mabel pointed out. “And babies, if they don’t protect themselves. Ask Seraphina Guidry about that one.”

“Except gossip and babies and potential STIs.” She’d come here to live a nice, quiet life, but apparently she was going to have to make a little noise. And she was serious about a community discussion of STIs. They were completely avoidable, and she would be the one who would have to deal with all the nasty things that came with curing them. “If you have a problem with Armie, I suggest you take it up with him. If you think to punish me in some way for being attracted to a man you have no real claim on, then we should talk about that. Well, we shouldn’t because I’m not licensed to practice psychology. But I can refer you to a couple of great therapists.”

“I came here to be nice,” Miranda said.

Mabel shook her head and wagged a finger Miranda’s way. “You did not. You think I don’t know your tricks? Those are your chocolate chip cookies. They are your second-best cookies. Everyone in town knows when you want to impress someone or be nice to them you bake lemon meltaways. Everyone knows you consider chocolate chip to be for children and people with no taste buds.”

“I like chocolate chip.” The cookies hadn’t offended her. And she was hungry. Since she’d gotten to Papillon, she’d been hungrier than usual, the likely result of having nothing else to do. Usually she was so busy she forgot to eat. Now those cookies looked pretty good. Cookies couldn’t be full of malice. Poison, maybe, but she was willing to take the chance.