Free Bayou Corruption by Robin Caroll Page B

You never did.”
    She couldn’t argue that point even if she wanted to—her tongue felt four sizes too big for her mouth. Alyssa swallowed and cleared her throat. “It’s not that I don’t care about y’all—” there she went again, resorting to the slang she detested “—I just don’t care for this backwoods town.”
    â€œYou proved that by running away as soon as you could.” Tara’s eyes, so similar to Alyssa’s own, were nothing more than slits in her smooth, tanned face.
    â€œThat’s not fair. I had to get out, do something, make something of myself.”
    â€œBecause you always thought you were too good for Lagniappe.”
    â€œWe’re all too good for this hick town. Can’t you see that?” Alyssa’s voice went up an octave.
    â€œNo, this is my home, Al. It’s a pity you never understood that.”
    â€œIt’s not home. We were all born and raised in New Orleans, Tara. Even you, although you like to pretend you were born in this forsaken bayou. Playing around with Grandmere’s voodoo and such.” Alyssa shook her head. “Momee would be ashamed of you and CoCo. She wanted more for us, all of us. She set out to make something of herself. Something big. Why do you think she never moved here after she and Papa married?”
    â€œFor someone who belongs to an organization that thrives on heritage, you sure want to bury yours.”
    Ouch. That hurt. “The United Daughters of the Confederacy are committed to preserving the heritage of our ancestors who fought for the Confederacy, and—”
    Tara held up her hand. “Stop. I’ve heard your spiel already. You’d think with what CoCo uncovered about Grandpere’s heritage, you’d steer clear of all that.”
    Of course, the revelation a couple of months ago about her grandfather’s involvement in the Ku Klux Klan had been a cause of embarrassment to her, but she didn’t want to share that with Tara now. “Just because Grandpere belonged to the Klan doesn’t mean we should ignore the men who stood up for—”
    â€œYou go play in your white dresses, hats and gloves, and I’ll deal with the spirits. Let’s just leave it at that.”
    Alyssa opened her mouth to argue, but Tara had already spun around and stormed from the kitchen. The screen door slamming indicated she’d left.
    That went well. Alyssa had wanted to reach out to her younger sister, show her that she’d waste away in this horrid place. And the influence of Grandmere’s voodoo ways were corrupting her little sister’s mind, just as it had CoCo’s. Fortunately, CoCo had come to her senses a few years ago and stopped dabbling in such nonsense. But not Tara. She’d taken up experimenting full force.
    Alyssa sighed. She’d managed to anger Tara, further alienating herself. Why did this family thing have to be so hard? Was she some kind of reject, not even able to bond with her sisters, her own flesh and blood?
    She threw Tara’s soda can into the trash and passed a towel over the already clean counter. A glance at the clock told her CoCo would be back from her morning bayou run soon. Should she start something for breakfast? Alyssa hadn’t ever been the cook in the family. CoCo, now that girl could cook. Tara wasn’t so bad, either, but Alyssa was a misfit in the kitchen.
    Bam! Bam! Bam!
    Alyssa started, then marched into the hallway where she could see the front door. Tara had only closed the screen, leaving her a view of the veranda and its occupant.
    Jackson Devereaux stood in the frame, filling the space. Did he have to look so devastatingly handsome this early in the morning?
    He smiled as he spied her. “Hi. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
    Rats. Too late to pretend she hadn’t heard him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have anything to say to