Page 68 of The Cajun Doctor

Samantha sat down on the bench next to him, but not too close.

He eyed her mug and said, “You could have brought me another cup of coffee.”

“I didn’t know you were out here.” She handed him her mug and let him take a long drink of coffee, an oddly intimate gesture that came out of nowhere. To cut the alarming connection between them, she added, “I thought maybe you were out at the St. Jude birdbath, praying for deliverance from me and my brood.”

“Wish I’d thought of that.” He was looking at her in a way that made her really uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with prayer.

“You know this tree we’re sitting under is a real treasure,” she said.

“A treasure, huh?” he gazed upward, clearly skeptical. “Aaron mentioned something about having the tree removed and putting a swimming pool here, instead. Not right away, but later.”

She stared at him, aghast. “This is a white tupelo, for heaven’s sake, a rarity. This species almost never grows this far inland. In fact, they flourish in swamps. You ought to contact the state horticulture society to have them come take a look at it. You’d probably get this plantation written up in some journals.”

“That’s what we need. Publicity.”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

“Sorry. The only benefit I can see for publicity would be if we were going to flip this house after the renovations.”

That idea dismayed her, for some reason. It wasn’t her property. She shouldn’t care. But she did.

“Tell me more about my too-puh-loh tree.” He grinned at her.

She ignored his teasing. “Have you ever heard of tupelo honey?”

“Sure. Van Morrison.”

She was taken aback that he’d be familiar with that old song. Somehow, his personality and demeanor were more in line with classical music, or maybe highbrow jazz.

“As sweet as tupelo honey,” he crooned.

“You are full of surprises today, Daniel.”

“Why? Because I’ve heard of tupelo honey, or Van Morrison?”

“Both,” she said. “Of course, you’ll get no honey from the blossoms of this tree unless you plan on starting some beehives nearby.” She tilted her head. “Now that I think about it—”

“Don’t you dare suggest beekeeping. I’ve got enough to do dissuading Tante Lulu and Aaron and you from dog kennels and animal rescue.”

She blushed because she had, in fact, discussed the possibility with Tante Lulu. And she had, in fact, deliberately not discussed it with Daniel because she’d known how he would react.

“Is this fruit edible?” Daniel asked.

She looked at the dark green, oval object in his palm, about an inch or two long.

“Not really. It will eventually turn red, and can be used as a substitute for limes, in a pinch, but they’re too sour and bitter by themselves. Some people use them for preserves, though. The Native Americans were the first to make use of the tree. In fact, the name tupelo comes from the Creek word for swamp tree.”

“You are just a font of information.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or mocking. She shrugged. “You can’t live in the South and not glean all this information.”

“I’m just teasing, Samantha. I like learning about Louisiana and the bayous. Have you ever read Odd Leaves from the Life of a Louisiana Swamp Doctor?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s about this pre-Civil War dude, a young doctor, and his misadventures practicing medicine in the bayou. Very funny in parts, especially the dialect.” He shrugged, rather embarrassed to have revealed so much. “Anyhow, even though I didn’t grow up here, I feel a connection.”

“Really?”