“Don’t say that out loud. My ancestors can hear you, and they’re flipping over in their tombs.”

She banged the spoon against the edge of the pot. “Hear that, Delisles? That’s the sound of your family reputation biting the dust. Right here, right now.” She reached out with the same spoon and prodded her garlic experiment to check it.

He groaned as he came up behind her to steal the spoon. “I can’t stand it. You’re boiling garlic with the skins on, girl! Boiling it!”

“Damn right I am.” She did a little shimmy. “Take that, old fogy Delisles.”

“Haven’t you heard of New Orleans voodoo?”

“I’ll voodoo your—”

He laughed, cupping a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say it! Talking like that, you’ll raise the spirits right up and—” All her weight dropped, and he broke off, catching her by instinct as she fell.

Thirteen

LJ’s first clue to what had happened was the choking gasp that fell from Andra’s lips. He lowered them both to the kitchen floor, her tensed body half in his lap.

“Shit. I’m sorry, that was stupid as hell. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Why had he put his hand over her mouth? There were about a hundred different ways she might have ended up cuffed to a bed, and at least fifty of them started with somebody coming up behind her and covering her mouth. “Shh,” he murmured, stroking his hands slowly down her arms. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Last time this happened, she was rigid as a bridge beam. This time, she trembled so hard she was almost convulsing. It was so erratic that at first he didn’t realize the fluttering movements of her hands were pushing at him. She was trying to get away from him.

He let her go, flinching back. She curled against the cabinets, the ends of her hair catching a stray wisp of onion skin from the floor. Her arms locked against her chest, her lips starting to tinge with blue as her mouth gaped open and she tried to pull in air her lungs wouldn’t accept. She was going to suffocate right there while he watched.

“Andra? What do I do?” he begged.

Her eyes widened a little more, like his panic was contagious.

If he called her dad to pull her out of this, he’d kick LJ off the ranch, maybe worse. Think, damn it. “Hey, you left the burner on,” he attempted, remembering how her father had reminded her of her loose horse to pull her out of her other attack.

Andra didn’t answer, her lips twitching in airless gulps.

He reached to comfort her, and when she flinched, he bunched his hands into fists and shoved them against his thighs. “You’ve got to breathe, sweetheart. One breath, please. Just one.”