Free Bayou Fairy Tale by Lex Chase Page A

and down his spine.
    “She and I had a hard time getting on at first,” he said as he concentrated on making his back relax.
    He made the correct decision to leave out the crucial details of how he and Phillipa had played cat and mouse for years. He, a hunter after a beast; she, a beast after her prey. In the end, he wasn’t sure if he was the hunter or the hunted. Just when he almost had her, she struck back. Phillipa had left him with more scars than the miles he’d traveled in his lifetime. “Once we made amends….” He snapped his wet fingers. “Gone. Just like that.”
    Ramona lowered her gaze to the grass, remaining silent. He was grateful for the silence. It was a small reprieve where he could work through processing it all. His grief of losing not only his greatest nemesis, the beautiful beast, but understanding he had been wrong about her.
    “Life is a precious thing,” she said. Her voice was barely a whisper over the pitter-pat of water pooling at Corentin’s feet. “I lost my fiancé in Afghanistan.”
    That caught his attention. The war, he recalled. Or a war. There had been a few. He turned to her, watching the distant sadness flow into her features. She wrapped her arms around herself for a lover’s embrace she’d never have again.
    “I didn’t want him to go. We fought. I found out I was pregnant when his boots hit the ground.” She looked into the sky, her grief deep on her face. She turned into an old widow far before her time. She gave a small broken smile.
    The water splashed and collected into a puddle between them, but it was an ocean between their worlds.
    “You remind me of him.” She shrugged and talked to the clouds. “You have his eyes. His kindness.”
    Corentin shut off the hose without a word. This was going to get awkward. He knew what she wanted. If his notes were any indication, he had known for quite some time. Why else would someone shove inappropriate objects into the septic system three times in two months?
    Corentin flexed his fingers. He had to clear the air. “Ramona, I—”
    “I know about you and Taylor.”
    The hose hit the ground. Corentin swallowed. But her smile was brighter than before.
    “It’s not a bad thing. You two are good for each other.”
    He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” He chuckled with his embarrassment. “I guess I had it all wrong.”
    Ramona laughed. “Well, can you blame me? At least you don’t have to act around me, like with your little fan club.” She held up her hand as if to indicate the width and breadth of Hancock County. “You do realize how much money you’d make if you did more than plumbing and roofing.”
    “Taylor and Devon make constant jokes at my expense about what I should be doing for a living. I get it, okay?” He smirked, but his face heated before he could hide it.
    “It’s the Southern thing,” she said, shifting her weight. She seemed to appraise him. “The accent. The tattoo. The lack of a ring.”
    Corentin looked up into the clear skies and held out his hands. He internally begged Mother Storyteller for a message. He sighed with the lack of response. Thank you for praying to the Mother Storyteller Hotline. All of our agents are currently taking other calls, please enjoy the Muzak.
    They laughed together. His troubles washed away into the muddy puddles at his feet. Would it have been like this with Phillipa? The easiness? The laughter? After all his discomfort and uncertainty, Ramona only wanted his friendship.
    “You are married, right? You just don’t wear a ring.” Her words hit him like a shot between the eyes.
    “Um….” She had put him on the spot, and his stomach dropped to his feet. Mother Storyteller abandoned him in his moment of need. “It’s a bit complicated,” he said, then coughed into his fist. He thought if he gave her the right stare, she’d pick up the hint to let it drop.
    “How so?”
    Shit. She was a pushy one.
    Corentin rolled his shoulders and popped