Read Make You Mine for Free Online Page B

“Reverse it!”
    She pushed Alex aside and skirted Phil’s body until she settled behind him. Steeling herself, she wrapped both arms around his belly, situated her fist beneath his rib cage, clapped the opposite hand over it, and heaved backward.
    Nothing happened.
    “Oh, my God,” Alex cried. “He’s gonna die!” He frantically made the sign of the cross over Phil, mumbling a Hail Mary in disjointed Latin.
    Allie tensed her muscles to try again. This time, she inched her fist upward and planted her feet hip-width apart for better leverage. With a mighty tug, she squeezed Phil’s girth with all her strength and heard a light
oof
of air in response. She glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the dislodged almond smack an old man in the eye.
    “Couillon!”
the old man swore, clapping one hand over his injury. Then he turned his good eye on her and lowered the brow above it. “Is that a Mauvais? Aboard my ship
?
”
    He had to be Marc’s pawpaw. Allie hadn’t seen him since she’d moved away from the bayou, but apparently he recognized her easily enough.
    Before anyone could respond, Phillip growled and shoved Allie into the hall, thanking her for saving his life by slamming the door in her face. Again.
    Ten frantic minutes later, after she and Alex had tried tag-teaming his pawpaw into accepting her aboard the
Belle,
the old man stalked away.
    “Over my dead carcass!” he hollered. “I’m havin’ words with Marc. But first, I’m pourin’ a line of salt at my door, so she can’t curse the bed while I’m outside!” He pointed at Alex and warned, “You best do the same, boy!”
    “That only works for those who mean you harm,” she called after him. “I’m here to help.”
    As he charged down the hall, she thought she heard him mutter, “Damn straight. Help us all to hell.”
    Alex rushed after his pawpaw, leaving Allie alone to wonder if the Dumonts had it all wrong. Because if the day’s events were any indication, it seemed Memère had jinxed her own line instead of theirs.

Chapter 4
    Sliding on his sunglasses, Marc peered through the pilothouse window at the murky Mississippi, as the
Belle
sluiced through her currents like a hot knife through butter. Nice and smooth, just the way he liked it. He touched the throttle to open it up to a leisurely seven knots and enjoyed the manufactured breeze from a nearby oscillating fan affixed to the wall. Overhead, the clouds parted and bathed the deck in golden rays as if the Man Upstairs had personally blessed this voyage.
    It was a good day.
    The engine hummed flawlessly, propelling the newly repaired paddle wheel into a lazy rotation while his passengers milled about the multistory decks, sipping their mint juleps. Even the finicky sonar equipment had decided to play nice this afternoon in celebration of Marc’s first day as captain. The only part of the
Belle
giving him any grief was of the living, breathing variety.
    Which was usually the case.
    “You’re thinkin’ with your tallywhacker,” Pawpaw accused from his seat on the defunct side control panel. “If you have a lick of sense, you’ll drop that witch at the next port.”
    Marc cringed inwardly.
Witch, siren, devil, sorceress
. When Allie had said she’d been called worse than his teasing nickname, she was likely referring to the slurs his own family had hurled at her over the years.
    And yet here she was, taking the abuse with a weary smile while saving Marc’s bacon. Last he’d seen her, she’d stacked out a corner of Regale’s kitchen to fix a batch of berry cobbler. Her bronze cheeks had been dewy with perspiration, her adorable nose smudged with flour, but despite Chef’s demands to get the hell out of his way, she’d tossed a handful of blackberries into her mouth and soldiered on. Allie was a damned hard worker, and she deserved respect from the crew.
    “Put a lid on that nonsense,” Marc said. “I need a pastry chef a whole lot more than I need an
Onboard