Hiss and Make Up Read online

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “How many women do you know around here named Sierra who would make a career out of woods and snakes?”

  "Point,” she said. “Did she know it was you?"

  "I don't think so.” The real question was why it had disappointed him that she hadn’t recognized his voice. Not that he’d expected her to. But now he was wondering if she would remember him at all, and that opened a giant, unwelcome pit in his stomach.

  Denise picked up the baby carrier and shook her head. "Don't even think about it."

  “Don’t think about what?”

  She smacked him on the arm with her free hand and followed the girls to the van. "Shall we examine your pitiful track record in this department?”

  “Ow.” He rubbed his arm in exaggerated pain. “That was like fifteen years ago. We were kids.”

  “And what about everyone since then?” she asked. “You try on girls like shoes. You slip them all on to see how they feel when you’re happiest running around barefoot.” She put the car seat on the gravel to help the girls climb inside the van. “Save yourself the trouble. She won’t fit."

  Marc winced. "Ouch. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  His sister wasn’t wrong. He went on dates, mostly because people insisted he needed to date more, but he didn’t enjoy it. In fact, he hated dating. First dates were the worst. Polite and awkward. Which was why he rarely asked for a second.

  But Denise was wrong about him wanting to be barefoot. While he wasn’t itching to have kids of his own, Marc wanted that feeling he got from being with his family. He was looking for that comfy, perfect pair of worn-in sneakers.

  “I mean it. That girl was trouble.”

  "Why? Just because she broke your key chain thingy doesn't mean she's destined to be a serial killer or whatever is running through your head."

  Denise activated her death stare. Then she inspected each of the girls’ seat belts and snapped the carrier into its base. "She killed my Tamagotchi, and I'm not ruling out serial killer yet." She slid the van door closed and kissed Marc on the cheek. "But I’m more worried about your heart than any psychotic dismemberment. I mean it. She's no good for you."

  "She's just coming to look at the snake," he whispered. "It's not like we're gonna elope or do it on your front lawn while you’re gone.”

  Denise shuddered and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Besides,” he said, “I’ve got a high school game to cover tonight, so it would only be a lawn quickie.”

  Denise groaned, but it came out more like a growl. "Whatever. Just lock up before you leave."

  Marc waved to the girls as they drove down the long gravel driveway, leaving Marc alone in the front yard. Struggling to not think about what was in that shed. To not think about what could have happened if one of the kids had found it instead of Denise.

  He walked through the grass to sit on the hood of his car and soak up some warm, early fall sunshine. The pecan trees lining the driveway stood still in the midday lack of breeze. As usual, the acre-sized plot of land Denise’s house sat on offered a welcome bubble of peace. Too much peace, because now his brain had nothing to do but process what had happened so far today.

  A thrilling wave of nausea and tingles had washed over him the second he’d heard Sierra’s voice on the other end of that call. How, after fifteen years, could someone have that effect on him? Especially someone who didn’t even remember him.

  Denise was only partially right about Sierra. True, she’d gotten herself in more trouble than most kids. But what Denise left out—and in most instances didn’t know about—was the trouble usually came from defending Marc or getting him out of some mess. Marc had been a smallish kid, quiet and an easy target. They’d spent most of their days together exploring the nearby fields and bayou. They jumped ditches, climbed trees, and searched for critters. That last part wasn’t Marc’s idea of fun. But since he didn’t want to lose the only friend he had, he went along with it. Despite his aversion to all things slimy, scaly, or fuzzy. But Sierra loved every living creature she could find. The uglier and grosser the better.

  Then her dad got a new job and moved them thirty minutes away the summer before high school. Might as well have been thirty thousand miles. They lived in different neighborhoods. Went to different schools. Made different friends. Dated different people.

  They kept in touch for a while, but it wasn’t the same. Eventually, Sierra stopped returning his calls. Then he stopped texting. They just…ended.

  He stared at the end of the road, wondering if she’d look the same. Sound the same. Smile at him the same way.

  He wondered if she’d even remember him. Fifteen years was a long time. She couldn’t be expected to remember every guy she’d ever met. Or even every guy she’d kissed.

  Not that it mattered. Denise was right about his track record. He didn’t need to go down this road with Sierra. Better to keep his memories intact than have another failed experiment replace them.

  His phone buzzed on the hood next to him.

  Marc had left the radio station so fast that he’d asked his friend, the station engineer, to wrap up for him. Freddy agreed for the steep price of a local IPA and a burger later. He was texting to say he’d taken care of everything and to remind Marc of their deal. Marc thanked him for picking up his slack and promised to buy him lunch the next day.

  A red Forerunner turned onto his street, and Marc hopped off the hood. He didn’t know what she drove, but something told him this was her. His stomach twisted and fluttered as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

  Ready or not, it was time to show his first crush a crushed reptile.

  2

  Sierra’s Forerunner rattled over the long gravel driveway toward a guy standing near a pecan tree. She’d never seen this particular house before, and it looked fairly new. The rest of this town and this street in particular were familiar territory.

  She’d passed her own childhood home at the end of the road, almost hitting a mailbox while she stared at it. And she definitely recognized that house across the field. The house on the edge of the bayou with ghosts on that back porch swing.

  Shaking the past from her head, Sierra returned her attention to the driveway so she wouldn’t ram into a tree. She had a job to do, and she had to do it fast if she wanted to drop off Luna’s gift and make it back in time for a free lunch with Dale. It shouldn’t take much time to identify this snake, as long as she didn’t zone out with more trips down memory lane.

  She parked behind a black sedan and crunched across the gravel, ready to meet this snake-smashing idiot. He looked nice enough. Thick, shaggy, dark hair. Sun-darkened skin. A wide smile. And just enough facial hair to make her want to rub her hand along the side of his face.

  Focus, Sierra.

  But when she managed to settle on his eyes, her knees threatened to give out on her.

  She knew those eyes. Those thick eyebrows and dark eyes had an intimate familiarity.

  But those couldn’t be the same eyes. This guy was Marc. Those eyes belonged to someone else.

  After propping her sunglasses on top of her head, Sierra held out her hand. “Sierra Menard. Are you the guy with the snake? Marc?”

  He looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. The smile shifted from welcoming to sly. “Yep.”

  “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand. Those…eyes. “Do I know you?”

  “You don’t remember me.”

  “Should I?”

  “Marc Dugas.”

  Dugas. A cousin, maybe?

  Then again, it was a ridiculously common name in this area. She examined the man in front of her. He wore a knit polo shirt over strong arms and loose-fitting jeans. She wished like hell she had a reason to remember this particular Dugas.

  But no. She didn’t know a Marc. It was only this neighborhood playing tricks on her memory.

  She shook her head.

  “Oh, sorry.” He closed his eyes an
d shook his head, wagging his dark hair. “Scott. Scott Dugas. You used to live at the end of this street with your dad, right?”

  She braced herself with her fingertips against the hood of her Forerunner. “Scott…right. I thought you looked familiar.”

  In truth, only the eyes gave him away.

  She looked him up and down again. Holy cow. Not that awkward boy from down the road anymore. He had definitely grown up.

  What surprised her most, though, was that she hadn’t recognized his smile. Especially since that mouth had been the last thing she’d seen before leaving this neighborhood forever. Or what they’d both thought was forever. Until he’d gone and made it forever.

  He cleared his throat. “You look great, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned and nodded at his head. “You still need a haircut.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, and the edges curled around his fingers. “Some things never change, right?”

  “What’s with the new name? You in some kind of coon-ass witness protection program?”

  He laughed. “Marc’s my middle name.”

  Sierra recalled the shrill screech of Mrs. Dugas’ voice cutting across the fields every time they got in trouble. “Right. I forgot.”

  “I started using my middle name when I got into radio. Cuts down on the crazies tracking me down.”

  “Radio?”

  “Talk radio. Local sports show.”

  “Ah.” She paused. “You live here? Next door to your parents?”

  It was better than his parents’ attic, on the creepy scale, but still a major red flag. No girl wants to move in next to her in-laws.

  Not that she was thinking about moving in with Scott. Er, Marc. Not at all.

  Crap. Her head was pounding in this heat, no thanks to the healthy dose of wine and self-pity she’d had the night before. She needed ibuprofen and a nap.

  Marc shook his head. “Denise and her family live here. She called me over this morning when she found the…uh…snake.”

  Yup, this was the Scott she knew.

  She grinned. “I should have known it was you. Still chicken, huh?”

  He rolled his eyes. Suddenly she was twelve again, arguing over who would carry the frog to school in their backpack.

  Marc swept his arm to the side and pointed at a large shed. “In there.”

  After leading her across the pea gravel walkway, Marc opened the big wooden door. The shed was huge, but it only contained three kids’ bikes, a half-empty bag of ant poison, and an ancient quart of oil.

  And a dead snake curled in the center of the cement floor.

  Sierra squatted beside it and shook her head. What a mess.

  She uncoiled the snake and stretched her hands along its back down to the end of it. The tail seemed to be missing too.

  “So you’re still living in Lafayette?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes stayed on the remains in her hands.

  “Keep in touch with anyone from back then?”

  “No.” She bit her tongue so she didn’t ask him how Kassie Bergeron was doing these days. There was no way those words could come out of her mouth without sounding petty or jealous. And she wasn’t. Either of those. Mostly. “Look, do you want me to figure out what this snake is or not?”

  A pang of guilt hit her when she snapped at him, but it wasn’t like she could think with him yapping at her the whole time. And she really didn’t want to stroll down memory lane. She shouldn't be thinking about him at all—past or present version.

  Besides, they’d had their chance.

  She examined the coloration and pattern. Brown, with dark gray and light brown bands covering the length. Due to the damage Marc had inflicted on it, that was all she had to go on.

  “Is this where you found it?” she asked, turning to find him still in the doorway, staring at the ceiling.

  He looked down at her squatting beside the snake and flinched. “No. In a deck box.”

  She frowned at what was left of the snake. She’d hoped to finish here quickly and get on with her day, but it didn’t look like that would happen now. She was missing one key piece of snake evidence.

  Marc ran his hand over his head, shaking his curls. “Dang thing was in with the kids’ toys. It’s a good thing Denise found it in there instead of one of them.”

  Sierra stood and wiped her hands together. There was only one place she could go to figure out what this was.

  “Show me.”

  Sierra surveyed the surrounding properties. The Bayou Teche sat past a hundred yards of open fields and tall, skinny trees flanking the water. It was possible to have a rogue snake in a yard, but that kind of thing wasn’t as common as most people think. Not in an area with a steady stream of activity from kids and dogs and cars.

  When she first examined it in the shed, she couldn’t identify it with any confidence. He’d bashed the poor thing beyond belief. It was even worse in person than in that blurry photo. But she’d found the key clue inside the deck box—the yellow tip of its tail left behind when Marc hacked at it with a shovel. He explained how he’d stabbed in there, then slid it out on the end of the shovel to finish the job on the ground. Only bits of scale and skull remained mashed into the dirt and grass after he scooped the carcass away.

  She twisted the tail between her fingers as she walked the property line. Her eyes avoided the bayou banks to her left and all the memories they held. Years of navigating around water oaks and cypress trees. Balancing on the muddy edges. Pulling each other back from the edge. Their own game of chicken, which she always won.

  Her instincts now told her that someone was playing a more dangerous game out here.

  Unless some minor flooding had disturbed its natural habitat, a water snake wouldn’t want to wander this far from the bayou. September had been pretty dry so far, so that ruled out that theory.

  The biggest problem with this whole scenario was that the snake should not have been in that box. The lid was too heavy and the gap between the lid and box was way too small for a snake that size to squeeze through.

  “Am I missing something?” Marc asked. He’d been following her silently, several feet back. Sierra didn’t miss the fact that he had pointed her in the direction of the deck box but stayed clear himself.

  “What?”

  “That look.” He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. “Ever since I brought you in the shed, you’ve looked like some Sherlock mystery has you stumped.”

  He’d been fidgeting since she got there, and the distraction was beginning to annoy her. New Marc might be adorable, but beneath that sexy-as-hell stubble and those dark, soulful eyes, he was still squirmy, old Scott.

  “I only wanted to know if I needed to look out for more of these and if they were poisonous.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and ruffled his hair again. “I didn’t think I’d be bringing in some major inquisition.”

  “Why don’t you go piss your pants somewhere else and let me handle the grown-up stuff, okay?”

  Another pang of guilt smacked her. But being around this guy made her feel—and apparently act—like a kid again.

  Well, a kid was some very grown-up feelings.

  She should go easy on him, but this was Scott. Or Marc. Or whatever his name was. The same smart-mouthed, goody-goody kid. The one who wouldn’t tell his mom they were playing in the ditch and that Sierra cut her leg there. No, he had to tell the truth. He had to tell his mom that Sierra followed the boys out to the coulee and slid down the side. Of course, then his mom had to call Sierra’s dad and get her in trouble.

  To keep herself from staring at him, she kept reminding herself that this was the same guy who didn’t listen to her. Ever. Not even after she moved.

  He couldn’t just let her go. He had to drag it out and ruin everything. To say goodbye. To kiss her.

  Then go out with Kassie Bergeron and not even bother to tell her about it.

  Not that Sierra gave a rat’s butt about that. Not now, at
least.

  “Hey, cut me some slack.” A smirk crept onto his face. “I haven’t done that since fifth grade when you put that lizard in my book sack. Remember? It crawled right across my desk in the middle of Mrs. Hebert’s class.”

  Sierra laughed. That had been so worth the ten minutes it took her to catch it. And the hour of detention. “Skink,” she corrected.

  “What?”

  “It was a skink.”

  “What was?”

  “The lizard. It wasn’t a lizard. It was a skink.”

  He smiled. “Yep. Same old Sierra.”

  She smiled too, caught in those dark brown eyes and remembering the last time they were together. The two of them face to face. Closer than they were now. Saying goodbye. She had a sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair, but she shook her head and brought herself back to a rational line of thinking.

  Snake. Think, snake.

  “It shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “What? The skink?”

  “No, forget the skink. Your snake. I can’t figure out how or why a water snake got inside that deck box.”

  “So that’s what it was, just some water snake?”

  “No, not just some water snake. It looked like maybe a broad-banded from your photo, but I couldn’t be sure. When I saw it in the shed, the banding and coloration still could have gone either way. When I found the tail, that’s when I was sure. You killed a water moccasin. A young one, but still a moccasin.”

  He took a step back, and his face paled. After she followed his line of sight, she realized she’d been waving the tail in front of him.

  Smooth, Sierra. Smooth.

  “Sorry.” She hid it behind her back.

  The color returned to his cheeks. “Are you sure?”

  “I’d be a lot surer if you hadn’t smashed the head.” She doubted he'd looked close enough to describe its pupils. Or that he'd paid attention to the size of the head relative to the neck. Besides, a banded water snake could flatten and widen itself when threatened. “When you found it, did it pull back or did it flash its mouth at you?”