Bayou Baby

By Raven Gray

I wasn't looking for a relationship, and even if I was, Michael Bayou Brown was not my type. He was too skinny, too annoying and too good-looking, and a former gang member, and drug dealer. He was not the kind of man I could trust with my scarred heart, although my body had no problem craving him. That had to be it; five years single and my body was happy with any excitement it could get. That was the only reason this white boy had me losing my mind.


Sia Smith acted as if she hated the sight of me, which was a serious problem since I wanted her from the second I laid eyes on her. She'd made it plain that I wasn't her type, however, even with my past, I was better than her last boyfriend. He'd messed her up so badly she couldn't see how amazing we would be together, and I'd resort to anything, even murder, to show Sia how badly I wanted her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Midnight Books
• Release date: Mar 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201148928

Raven Gray

Raven Gray writes romance books about curvy women and the hot men who love them. She became hooked on the genre from the first Mills & Boon she read from her mom's collection when she was far too young to know anything about love. Through the decades and innumerable stories, there was a very narrow view of what was considered beautiful. The romance landscape has made progress over the years but there is still a need for more amazing stories featuring diverse characters and standards of beauty.

Book preview

BAYOU BABY

BWWM ROMANCE

Do you want more stories like this one? Or perhaps you’re a fan of steamy interracial romance, or sensual, romantic stories featuring plus-sized heroines. I love writing them all. I write PNR under Garnell Wallace, plus-size romance under Raven Gray, and interracial romance under the name Jubilee Brown. Subscribe to my newsletter for updates on all new books and novellas and my backlist titles. Hopefully, you will enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing them.

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1-SIA

2-BAYOU

3-SIA

4-BAYOU

5-SIA

6-BAYOU

7-SIA

8-BAYOU

9-SIA

1-SIA

S ia, wake up.

My eyes flew open. My mother, Justine, sat on the edge of my bed. She wore her favorite white dress and white hat, which she usually only wore to church on special occasions like Easter Sunday and Mother’s Day.

I tried to sit up and found I couldn’t move. I lay on my back with hands at my sides and my legs sticking out under the sheet. My feet felt ice-cold even though it was the middle of August in New Orleans. I couldn’t move my head and my entire body felt numb.

Mom smiled and her cheeks were more plump and rosy than I remembered. It’s time for me to go, baby.

Her soft, tranquil voice still filled me with dread. I shook my head as best I could.

She touched my hand. I’ve been with you long enough. It’s time to go home.

Her hand was cold, so cold. I felt a tear slide down my right cheek as I realized what was happening. My mother was dying and had come to say goodbye. I wasn’t afraid because I’d experienced sleep paralysis while talking to the dead before and growing up in New Orleans, the lines between the living and the dead were blurred.

Still, this was my mother, and although she’d been inching closer to the other side for years, my emotions bubbled up in my chest and stomach and made me want to wretch. The only fear came from the possibility of choking on my vomit. In contrast to my panic, mom appeared calm, as if she’d already surrendered to the inevitable. She had a long time to think about her mortality.

Type 1 diabetes had been trying to kill her for most of her life and it’d finally succeeded at sixty despite my best efforts to keep her alive. The last five years of her life had required me to take over her restaurant and her life after her disease had become more aggressive. I’d always believed we could beat it, and I couldn’t believe that we were here now. I wasn’t prepared for this. If I could’ve moved, I would’ve held her in my arms and told her how much I loved her. That’s what I’d done every time I’d thought I would lose her.

You’ve taken very good care of me, but it’s time for me to move on. She leaned over and kissed my forehead and I smelled White Diamonds. The smell of bergamot, Turkish rose, and sandalwood was as much a part of my mother as her deep voice and dark-chocolate skin.

Her lips felt cold, even though they weren’t really there. Her body was in the next room and her spirit, which had already left it, was in my room, saying goodbye. I’d feared waking up every morning and going into her and finding out she’d passed during the night. I was happy she’d come to say goodbye even though I wasn’t ready to let her go.

Stay, I pleaded.

She squeezed my hand. I can’t stay.

She stood and started walking toward the door. Mom, don’t leave! I screamed.

She stopped. Do you want me to stay here and suffer just so you can have me in your life? We both know this is for the best.

Tears streamed down my face. It didn’t matter that I knew she needed to leave, and there’d been times I’d wanted her to leave. Those weakened moments when I was tired of taking care of her were my secret shame, and it bubbled to the surface. I burst into tears.

She turned at the door and smiled again. I will always love you, baby.

I stayed trapped in my bed and cried while she disappeared through the door.

Mama! I hadn’t called her mama since I was twelve and the endearment ricocheted around my brain until it felt like my head would explode. It took a moment for me to become aware of my flailing arms and legs, and when I realized I could move, I scrambled out of bed and fell to the ground. I crawled across my bedroom floor and out into the small corridor that separated my room from my mother’s. We’d always slept with the doors open so I could hear if she got sick and I also had a baby monitor in case my tired brain didn’t hear her. I crawled into her room and onto her bed.

She lay on her back in the white nightgown I’d put her in after her bath. I’d rubbed her body with pure cocoa butter and brushed the gray fuzz on her head which was all that was left of her long, thick coils. The ravages of her battle with diabetes were clearly visible. Her cheeks were gaunt, not like they’d been in my dream and the veins in her neck stood out. She’d fought valiantly for over ten years and I’d fought at her side as best I could. I’d been her caregiver, best friend, and confidant, business partner, and punching bag for the times when it was just too much.

I lay beside her and rested my head on her bony chest. She used to be a big woman with massive breasts that would comfort me. Now they were like deflated airbags. Her disease had eaten away at her until she’d been little more than skin and bones.

I preferred the memory of the woman with the plump cheeks in her Sunday best and that’s who I saw when I closed my eyes and privately mourned my mother before picking up the phone and calling Cameo, my best friend, and business advisor.

Cameo walking through my door gave me permission to wallow in my pain. The next few weeks would be rough even though mom had planned and paid for her funeral. We’d had time to take care of everything that needed to be taken care of except the pain of losing her which slammed into me like a freight train.

I was happy to hand over my tight control to Cameo for a while I tried to process who the hell I was without my mother.

Three Months Later

Are you ready to do this? Cameo asked me.

We stood in front of Mama J’s, the restaurant my mother had opened when I was ten years old. So much of my life was wrapped up in that building which was a mix of French, Spanish and Caribbean styles that melded together in New Orleans. It sported black columns and window panes which stood out against the dark-green walls. Inside my mother and I had made a business and a home.

I’m more than ready for this, I answered.

Five years ago, when my mother’s old lease had expired, I’d negotiated a new lease-to-own five-year contract with the landlord and now this beautiful building close to the French Quarter would soon be mine. All I had to do was sign the final papers and pay the remaining balance which I could now afford to do.

I’d been able to save more money since we’d lived at the restaurant the last three years of mom’s life. I’d first converted a back room into a bedroom where she could rest when she became tired during the day