Fever Moon by Carolyn Haines Page A

got railroad and oil concerns. A little of this and a little of that. I expect my fortunes to grow in the near future.”
    “Congratulations are in order then. Are you here to see Madame? Are you ill?” she asked, a thin layer of concern in her voice. She could feel her heart beating too fast, but she knew he had no inkling of her dislike for him. Nor would he. The trick to men was to smile as you looked in their eyes, to flatter even when it stretched the biggest imagination. Her mother had taught her survival skills in a world dominated by men. She was no physical match for Praytor and though he’d done nothing untoward, she felt uneasy around him.
    “No, ma’am. I just wanted to talk to Madame about some medicine for my sister. She’s taken poorly and can’t seem to pull out of a slump.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she recovers.” She tried to recall if she’d ever seen Praytor’s sister and came up with a negative.
    “She just needs a tonic to build her blood. Mrs. Dumont will be able to help her, I’m sure.”
    “Are you having car trouble?” Chula pointed to his vehicle as she passed.
    “Not at all. That Ford runs like clockwork. I stopped to see if there were any crayfish in the slough there. I was thinkin’ Mama might boil us up some with some potatoes and corn. Maybe pull out my fiddle for a bit of dancin’.” He opened her car door. “Would you care to come to dinner?”
    She pasted a smile, fighting against revulsion. “How kind of you, but I have plans.”
    “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.” His tone was sharp.
    Praytor Bless had money and influence. He wasn’t a man to toy with. “I have plans with Mother.” She got in and pulled her skirt in before closing the door. “But your invitation is kind, Praytor. I hope you enjoy the crayfish and the music.”
    She started the car, focusing her attention on the road, hoping he would take the hint and move his vehicle so she could pass.
    For a long moment he stared in the window at her, at last walking to his car and moving it to the side of the road so she could drive by.
    She gave him a nod as she passed, her foot heavier on the gas than normal as the first blue notes of dusk seeped through the thick woods.
    The sun had set when Raymond watched Praytor Bless exit the road that led to Madame Louiselle’s. First Chula Baker had pulled out, going a bit faster than advisable. Then, fifteen minutes later, Praytor. Instead of turning toward home, Praytor headed north, toward town.
    Raymond eased down the road and parked at Madame’s. He gathered the quilts he’d had Pinkney wash and dry and took them up the stairs. Madame signaled him inside without a word, taking the bedcovers from him.
    “How is she?” he asked. His own observations told him that Adele was neither better nor worse.
    “She suffers.” Madame led him into the kitchen. A large glass bowl contained leaves and brown berries that Raymond had never seen. Madame poured an amber liquid from the bowl into tiny bottles.
    “Chula Baker was here.” He made it a statement. “And Praytor, too.”
    “Chula brought my mail, and Praytor came to see what he could learn.” Madame wiped her forehead with the back of one hand. She put the bowl down and walked behind him. “He’s a nosy man, but Chula is like you, Raymond, out of time and place here. Once she was good company for you.”
    Raymond leaned his weight on the back of a chair. “I’m not good company for anyone, Madame.”
    He felt her light touch trace across his lower back, moving along his hip. A tingle flickered up his spine.
    “The pain is like a fire, burning low and then growing with new fuel. You live in the shadow of it,” Madame said.
    He didn’t want to talk about his wound. “The pain reminds me of who I used to be and how much I’ve changed. If I didn’t have it, I might forget.” He walked to the window to escape her touch. “I’ll bring some of Adele’s clothes