Free Mischief in Mudbug by Jana DeLeon Page B

informing me you have a lead tells me you’re not happy with the direction the lead is taking you.”
    “No. I’m not.”
    “I wish I could tell you I didn’t care and just let the whole thing drop, but that’s just not possible. I know you’re trying to protect me and that’s very sweet, but the reality is, not finding my family could be far more detrimental to me than anything you come up with.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “Thank you for caring. Most people wouldn’t even have given it a second thought.”
    The skin on Beau’s hand tingled under Sabine’s gentle touch, and he fought the urge to pull his hand out from under hers before he did or said something he’d regret. “I’ve had nothing but second thoughts since the moment I met you,” Beau muttered, then sucked in a breath. “Oh hell, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
    Sabine stared at him, her eyes wide. “I’ve thought of you, too.”
    Beau felt a queasiness in his stomach. Back out while there’s still room. “So what are we going to do about it?” Shit.
    The color rushed from Sabine’s face. She pulled her hand away from Beau’s and jumped up from the booth.“We’re going to pretend this conversation never happened. Thank you for the update, Mr. Villeneuve. I hope the file helps.” She spun around and hurried out of the café without ever looking back.
    What the hell? Beau watched the door shut behind her, then slumped back in the booth, replaying the conversation and Sabine’s response over and over in his mind. Unbelievable. All those years of carefully guarding himself from crossing that line with a woman and the one time his resistance was too low, he’d run into the only person in the world more scared of relationships than he was.

Chapter Six
    Sabine rushed out of the restaurant and crossed the street to her shop. She let herself inside and hurried upstairs without turning the sign out front to “Open.” She didn’t have any appointments that afternoon and anyone important had her cell phone number. In her tiny kitchen, she pulled a bottled water from the refrigerator and twisted off the top. Her hands shook as she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a drink.
    “It’s official,” she said to the empty room, “you are a nutbag.”
    She dropped into a chair at her kitchen table and set the water down. Beau Villeneuve was the best-looking man she’d ever met in real life, and he was nice. He’d actually tried to talk her out of locating her family because he was afraid she’d get hurt. Even worse, most improbably, he was interested in her. Helena’s rise from the dead had surprised her far less.
    And you ran. Idiot.
    She propped her elbows on the table, covered her face with her hands and groaned. A twenty-year search for her family she could handle. Helena Henry rising from the dead she could handle. Heck, she’d been teasing Maryse when she suggested bungee jumping, but even that she could have handled. But apparently a date was out of the question. Maryse was right—she was already dead.
    She reached for the water and knocked a stack of her aunt’s journals onto the floor. With a sigh, she reached over to pick them up. A sentence in one of the open books caught her eye. She lifted the journal and started to read.
    September 2, 1963
A peculiar thing happened at work today. A woman and her husband came into the hospital with an infant who had an ear infection. I did my normal check on the baby, a beautiful little boy, while asking the mother our standard questions. When I asked her about breast-feeding, she got flustered, then looked at her husband. I’m not for certain as I could only see him out of the corner of my eye, but I swear he shook his head.
    Although she’d been chatty before, the woman immediately clammed up and simply said no, she wasn’t breast-feeding, with no further explanation. She answered the remainder of the questions with clipped responses, her gaze