Bayou Paradox by Robin Caroll

around here?” The bushes sure didn’t look like she did, but the ground right next to the shed was softer, damp.
    â€œI dump my excess liquid out the window.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “I like to think it makes up for not watering the plants as often as I should. Why?”
    He couldn’t swallow back the smile. “Looks like it’s paid off. I found a footprint next to the bush.”
    She took a step forward. He grabbed her elbow as gently as possible, remembering how she had pulled away the last time he’d tried to touch her. He softly tugged her back. “I need to photograph it.”
    â€œOh.”
    He passed her the flashlight. “Hold this and stay put. I’ll grab my digital and be right back.”
    All but sprinting to his truck, he retrieved his camera and hurried back to Tara. She hadn’t moved an inch, thank goodness. He carefully pushed aside the bushes and aimed the lens. “Can you shine the flashlight over my shoulder, please?”
    He felt more than saw or heard her move closer. Her intoxicating perfume filled the air with a fresh spicy smell. The urge to take her in his arms rose. He shook off the thought and focused the camera. Just take the pictures. Gather the evidence and get out.
    Click. Click.
    He turned the camera and bent, taking pictures at different angles. Five, six more. His finger froze before he pushed it a seventh time. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Taking more pictures than necessary, just so he could keep Tara close. Stupid.
    Straightening, he studied the print.
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    â€œAh…” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Looks to be about a size eleven or twelve. Steel-toed.”
    â€œHow can you tell?”
    He bent and pointed around the toe of the print. “See how this is a bit wider and deeper? Means it was heavier. Most people don’t walk on their toes. But steel toes mean more pressure at the top.”
    She nodded and smiled. Was that admiration glistening in her eyes?
    He needed to snap out of this crazy thinking. Taking the flashlight, he surveyed the surrounding ground. Not a single other print. “When was the last time you tossed something out this window?”
    â€œHmm.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Last night when I finished brewing the heal—”
    He hitched a brow when she didn’t finish.
    â€œLast night. I mean, the night before Grandmere woke up. Came out of a coma. Whatever.”
    What had she been brewing in her little shed? Something she didn’t want to share with the class, that much was certain. “So, whoever stepped here had to have done so within the past twenty-four hours.”
    â€œI’d think so.”
    He made a final notation in his notebook and glanced toward the house. A single light burned in the kitchen. “I’m assuming Jacks and Alyssa were fine.”
    â€œThey’re still asleep.” She brushed her hands over her shorts. “I don’t want to wake them. They’re exhausted.”
    And Alyssa would probably still give Tara an earful. He couldn’t blame Tara for trying to avoid that. “Well, I’ll file my report and see what the lab can come up with on the bottle and footprint.”
    She walked him to his truck. “I appreciate it, Sheriff.”
    â€œYou can call me Bubba, you know.” He hadn’t the first clue why those words had jumped out of his mouth. He certainly hadn’t intended to say such a thing.
    She smiled. “I think I’d rather call you Sheriff.” She turned and took two steps toward the house before glancing back over her shoulder. “Or René.” She winked before opening the door and sliding inside.
    He froze. Her soft chuckle drifted to him on the morning breeze. What was he getting himself into? Lord, give me wisdom here.
    Â 
    Godly Women.
    Morning sunlight peeked around the curtain, filling the