Hiss and Make Up Read online

  Hiss & Make Up

  The Bayou Rescue Series #1

  Leigh Landry

  HISS AND MAKE UP by Leigh Landry

  Published by Leigh Landry

  Lafayette, LA, USA

  © 2020 Leigh Landry

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art by LLewellenDesigns.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Smolder

  About the Author

  Also by Leigh Landry:

  1

  Sierra examined the bone in her palm. Stubby, twisted, and bulbous. A turtle humerus. Probably a red-eared slider.

  Pocketing her treasure, she headed back to the Nature Station. Sunlight sprinkled on her through the canopy still filled with green leaves. A gorgeous early fall day. As much as she’d love to stay outside, Sierra had to meet twenty-five fourth graders—all high on the promise of woodsy freedom—in half an hour for their guided hike.

  Thirty minutes. A whole lot of time to think about how she’d screwed over her own life and her best friend’s life this time.

  On the way up the stairs, Sierra smacked a mosquito snacking on her neck. She couldn’t wait for a cold snap, but a decent one would be at least a couple months away.

  The wood and screen door banged behind her. Laminated feathers danced in the A/C breeze above Dale’s head. He looked up from his ancient, dusty computer, set his I heart anoles mug on the desk, and scratched his shaggy beard.

  “What’s got you down?”

  Sierra placed an elbow on the half-wall separating their office space from the rest of the room. “The restaurant fired me. I guess I can’t get any extra hours?”

  He raised a bushy eyebrow. “What happened?”

  “I salted a guy’s beer.”

  Dale cleared his throat. “I’m sure you must have had a good reason.” He examined her, tilting his head. “Or not?”

  “It wasn’t that much salt.”

  He raised that eyebrow again.

  “Fine. I dumped half a shaker in his bottle. But he was asking for it.”

  “Now that I believe.”

  Sierra worked nights as a bartender for a local tourist restaurant and regularly complained about the self-entitled out-of-towners. They stop in looking for the full Cajun experience: live music, warm French bread, and a quick grope up their server’s leg. The place attracted a lot of jerks, so this wasn’t her first encounter.

  The worst part was that she’d told Liz she had the mortgage covered this month. Liz had been covering for Sierra for the past two months while Sierra had unexpected car repairs and was out of work with bronchitis and a cracked rib. So when Liz’s daughter, Luna, was referred for expensive therapy sessions, Sierra insisted she could pay this month’s bill and pay Liz back.

  And she would have. She’d taken on every extra shift she could at the restaurant this month, and she almost had the money.

  Almost.

  Liz would never forgive her if she couldn’t come up with the money fast, and Sierra couldn’t blame her. If the world had proven one thing to Sierra, it was that second chances were nothing but false hope.

  “Sorry, kiddo.” Dale averted his gaze and sifted through a stack of mail. He wore the same faded jeans and wrinkled, blue, button-down shirt every day. For the five years she’d worked here, his hair had remained the same length, color, and style—soft, curly mountain man chic with a beard that blanketed half his face. It had been that way ever since her dad used to take her to the station for hikes when she was a kid. “You know it’s not in the budget. Unless you can convince Kurt to hand over some of his shifts, I can’t do much for you.”

  She did know. The budget for part-time naturalists shrank every few years. Sierra also knew she’d have to pry Kurt’s hours from his cold, lifeless fingers if she wanted them.

  Dale smiled, a helpless, pitying smile, then said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He dug in his pocket and handed her a scrap of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it. “Found a message when I got in this morning. Mrs. Doucet’s class can’t make it today. Something about a drug dog and cough drops, so they’re stuck at the school and need to reschedule.”

  Sierra took the paper. With no hike, she’d have more time to consider her options. Maybe she could even browse some job ads online or make a list of places to drop off her resume. Someone had to need a recently fired, bartending naturalist, right?

  “And since you don’t have a class this morning, how do you feel about a field trip of your own?”

  “A field trip?”

  Dale moved aside and gestured at his dusty computer screen. “First email.”

  She leaned over the desk to click the email and squint at the screen.

  “What the hell happened to it?”

  “A shovel, I imagine,” Dale said. “Can your eyes see anything mine can’t?”

  Sierra tilted her head for a better view of the distant, blurry, overexposed photo of a smashed snake. The banding indicated a typical water snake. But without a close-up of the head or tail, she couldn’t rule out a young moccasin.

  “I was thinking you could go out there,” he said. “No sense in both of us hanging around here. Might as well ease this guy’s mind or tell him to keep an eye out for more.”

  They didn’t do house calls, and the snake in the photo was obviously dead, but Dale had a point. One young venomous snake could mean more. If this was a family with kids, they should be alert if this was a moccasin.

  “Fine.” She pulled out her phone to type in the guy’s phone number. “But you’re paying for my gas.”

  Dale grabbed the plastic container of birdseed behind her and smiled. “I’ll even buy you lunch.”

  “Deal!”

  Dale left to fill the feeders around the building, while Sierra hit the call button. The guy answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, is this Marc? This is Sierra. I’m a naturalist at the Nature Station.”

  There was a long pause. Long enough that Sierra thought the call dropped.

  “Sierra? Uh, yeah, thanks for calling,” he stammered. “Did, um, can you guys tell what it is?”

  She held her breath for a second, resisting the urge to ask why on earth he couldn’t bring the thing to them. Or why he couldn’t at least take a decent photo of it. “Not from that photo. But I can go over this morning to look at it. Will someone be there?”

  “That would be great.”'

  “Text me the address,” she said. “I’ll head over there right now.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  She swore she could hear him exhaling as he hung up. Like she’d agreed to save his favorite puppy. It was just a snake, dude.

  When his text c
ame in a few seconds later, she bobbled the phone.

  “Problem?” Dale asked, walking past her to put the birdseed bucket back on its shelf.

  Sierra stared at the address on her phone. It was in a little town in a parish neighboring Lafayette where the Nature Station was located and where Sierra now lived.

  Marc. She didn’t recognize the name, but the address was only one number off from the location of a thousand memories currently flooding her brain.

  “No,” she said. “It’s fine.”

  “Do you need to look up the address?”

  She laughed. She’d grown up on that street. She ought to know how to get there.

  “I know where it is.” She put the phone in her back pocket and grabbed her bag from under the desk. “I’m taking my time getting back here, just so you know.”

  He waved. “Have fun.”

  She zipped down the stairs and walked across the gravel to her beat-up, old Forerunner. A clacking sound approached from the Iris Circle path. Sierra turned to find a scrawny, brown mutt with dark eyes and a sloppy smile trotting toward her. His long, ratty tail perked up when he made eye contact, then his head and tail both drooped as he slowed his approach. Sierra looked around for an owner before she bent to let him sniff her hand and check for a collar. The park allowed leashed dogs, but they occasionally broke free from campsites.

  No collar. Sierra scratched his ear and examined him.

  A little scraggly, but relatively healthy. Friendly, with no obvious signs of neglect or abuse. Could be from the neighborhood across the street.

  A squirrel jumped from a nearby tree to the top of the hand railing, and the dog startled and trotted a few feet away.

  “It’s just a squirrel, no big deal.”

  She held out her hand again. The dog looked back and forth between her hand and the squirrel, now chattering at both of them. The dog decided Sierra wasn’t worth the squirrel’s wrath, and he headed off toward the campground.

  At least the dog was going back where he came from, not into the woods. If he was still wandering in a day or two nosing around the campsites for food, they’d get a call. She might have to borrow the microchip scanner Liz used for her cat rescue.

  Sierra slammed the heavy, creaking door shut and begged the motor to turn over. After a bit of protest, the vehicle heaved to a start. She shifted in her seat, and the bone poked her leg from inside her pocket. As she waited for the car to warm up, she pulled the bone out to examine it again and debated how long she could put off talking to Liz. But she couldn’t stop thinking about how happy Luna would be with this treasure.

  After four long rings, Liz answered. “Yeah, kind of busy.”

  “You’re always busy.”

  “I’ve got a client about to walk in.”

  “Inking more butts today?”

  “Nope. Next one’s real classy,” Liz said. “Finishing up a full sleeve with—get this—a toilet.”

  “Nice. Sounds like a real charming fellow.”

  “Girl.”

  “Even better,” Sierra said. “I’ve got something for Luna I want to drop off later. Just making sure you’ll be there.”

  She could have waited until tonight, but she hoped this might make Luna’s afternoon therapy appointment a little less awful. While she had firm plans to not have kids of her own, Sierra adored Liz’s daughter. The kid was smart and curious and resilient as hell, and she’d been dealt a kind of shitty hand already in her short life.

  “Yup,” Liz said. “Got a full schedule until I get Luna.”

  “I have to drive out to Breaux Bridge, then I’ll swing by on my way back to work.”

  “Breaux Bridge?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you later.” She took a deep breath and ripped off the bandage. “It’ll tag on nicely to my story about how I lost my job last night.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I have to do this thing and look for another job later. But I’ll figure it out.”

  “I can’t wait to hear this one,” Liz said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, a painful pause. “Do I need to cancel Luna’s appointment?”

  “No,” she insisted. “Absolutely not. I’m telling you, I’ll figure something out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’ll be fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping she wasn’t lying. “But first, I’ve gotta check out this guy’s snake.”

  “Um—”

  “Sadly, no,” she said, ignoring the flutter taking hold in her stomach at the thought of her destination. “I’ll see you later. Have fun with the toilet.”

  As much as she didn’t want to disappoint Liz, she couldn’t keep the truth from her. Liz was her only real friend, and they’d been sharing all their secrets for years.

  Sierra meant what she’d said. She’d figure this out. She’d get the money. Somehow.

  But she’d have to figure out how later. For now, she had to see a guy about a bashed up snake.

  Marc stared wide-eyed at the surrounding chaos. Tiny shoes and socks tossed across every inch of carpet. Two little girls running in their pajamas screaming that they already brushed their teeth and hair. And his sister Denise—the calm epicenter of it all—commanding the troops.

  They had a group scavenger hunt at the university art museum that morning. A convenient exit while Marc dealt with their unexpected guest.

  The dead guest in the shed.

  "I can't put on my sock, Uncle Marc," whined Hannah, the oldest, and the only one dressed to leave the house.

  "Okay, sit still," he told her, squatting to stretch the socks over her feet. "There. Now, where's my hug?"

  Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck, then skipped off to find her backpack. A few moments later, the two younger girls returned with long shirts and leggings instead of pajamas. Marc hugged each as they rushed to wait by the door.

  Since he lived across the empty lot, he came over as often as he could. He’d play with his nieces or help Denise when her husband was out of town. No matter how many times he came over though, he still wasn’t used to this scene when they had to leave the house.

  Denise homeschooled all three of the older kids, even with a new baby, so the house was in a permanent state of organized chaos. He’d mucked up Denise’s systems enough times to learn that he wasn’t very good at helping out. His main contribution was listening to the girls ramble on about whatever they were growing or collecting that week—rocks, butterflies, old maps, germs.

  Still, something about this tornado of children soothed him. Every time he visited, the girls would squeal and spin around him as they asked his favorite color or what kind of pretend soup he’d like them to make. They wrapped him in their playtime like a cozy old quilt.

  He took the baby from Denise and placed her in the car seat. "Where's Josh again?"

  "Houston." Denise shoved a long sleeve T-shirt over little Alexi's head, only to struggle even more matching arms with sleeves.

  "Again? Didn't he just get back from there last week?"

  Sure, his brother-in-law worked for an oil company. Sure, Josh had long hours. Sure, he had to travel a lot. Lots of people around here did. But even when the guy was home and off work he never seemed to be around. Marc could never shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with the whole situation. Something Marc swore to figure out one day.

  "Not now.” Denise brought Alexi to Hannah and Carly who were waiting to help with their little sister's sandals. "Does it look like I'm in the mood to have that argument this morning?"

  Marc let out a slow whistle and rolled his eyes. It was a dangerous move, but Denise was far too busy to deal with him. He double-checked the baby’s carrier straps and made silly faces at her.

  "Fine. Change of subject,” he said. There would be plenty of time to discuss his brother-in-law’s absence later. “Guess who I spoke to this morning and who’s coming out to see about the s-n-a—"

  Denise waved her arms, desperately
signaling for him to stop. "Hannah can s-p-e-l-l now."

  "Spell! Mommy spelled 'spell’." Hannah giggled.

  "Very good!" Marc high-fived his niece. "Anyway, guess who."

  "Do I look like I have time to guess?” She opened the door and directed the three girls to the van.

  Marc took a deep breath and steadied his voice. "Sierra."

  "Sierra?" Denise froze halfway through the door. "Sierra Menard? That little troublemaker from down the street? The one who could never keep herself out of a muddy ditch or a brawl with some boy twice her size? The one who somehow always blamed everything on you? That Sierra?"

  "She never blamed anything on me.” It had been fifteen years since Sierra moved from the house down the road. Marc couldn’t believe he was still having to defend her, or why Denise still felt the urge to protect him from Sierra. He was the one who was supposed to be protecting Denise here. Not the other way around.

  Denise frowned and returned her attention to getting her crew into the van. "How’d she get the luxurious task of coming out to see the you-know-what?"

  "I don't know. Short straw? I guess she works for the Nature Station. She called this morning after they got my email."

  They walked past the shed where the snake lay dead on the other side of the thick door. Even knowing its head was smashed to pieces, Marc swore he could feel it glaring at him. Like it might call its snake buddies to come out and finish the job. Like some serpentine mafia. For all he knew, they traveled in packs like wolves. Or baboons. Baboons were even worse. Didn't they travel in groups of like a hundred or something? Troops. His middle school animal science notes were coming in handy for once. If only they had told him in sixth grade if the animal kingdom included a serpentine mafia.