Praise for Lenora Worth and her novels “Lacey’s Retreat by Lenora Worth is rich in characterization and romance with an...
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Praise for Lenora Worth and her novels “Lacey’s Retreat by Lenora Worth is rich in characterization and romance with an endearing hero.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews “Lenora Worth’s A Perfect Love is a beautiful testimony to the true meaning of family and forgiveness. The romantic pacing is just perfect, and the faith message is subtle but heartfelt.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews “Lenora Worth creates a character with a Heart of Stone that will have readers longing to melt it. Her best story yet, it is filled with spiritual depth and hidden meaning, including an interesting bit of history.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews “Easter Blessings: The Lily Field by Lenora Worth is perhaps the most beautiful and moving Love Inspired book I’ve read.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Published by Steeple Hill Books™
CONTENTS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL LACEY’S RETREAT
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Books by Lenora Worth Love Inspired The Wedding Quilt #12 Logan’s Child #26 I’ll Be Home for Christmas #44 Wedding at Wildwood #53 His Brother’s Wife #82 Ben’s Bundle of Joy #99 The Reluctant Hero #108 One Golden Christmas #122 †When Love Came to Town #142 †Something Beautiful #169 †Lacey’s Retreat #184 ‡The Carpenter’s Wife #211 ‡Heart of Stone #227 ‡A Tender Touch #269 *A Certain Hope #311 *A Perfect Love #330 Christmas Homecoming #376 Mountain Sanctuary #437
Steeple Hill Books After the Storm
Love Inspired Suspense Fatal Image #38 Secret Agent Minister #68
†In the Garden ‡Sunset Island *Texas Hearts
LENORA WORTH has written more than thirty books, most of those for the Steeple Hill line. In addition, she works freelance for a local magazine, where she has written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for five years for the local paper. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-two years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.
SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
So we do not lose heart…. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. —2 Corinthians 4:16–18
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In memory of my mother-in-law, Patsy. And to all the breast cancer survivors out there.
Chapter One
She was a vision in the mist. Lucas Dorsette quietly eased his pirogue through the dark, brackish swamp waters, maneuvering the long paddle pole around blue-blossomed water hyacinths and gnarled gray cypress stumps until he reached the boathouse nestled between the back garden and the bayou. But he stopped before anchoring the small canoelike boat against the weathered dock. He looked again through the low mist, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining the woman who stood under the ancient weeping willow tree on the shore, her head turned so he could see her profile as she looked over the dark, chocolate waters of the bayou. No, he wasn’t seeing things. This vision was real. And she was exactly his type. She was tall and slender, with a classic face that spoke of strong bone structure. She held her arms
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Something Beautiful
wrapped against her midsection, as if to ward off the humid chill the rising dawn had left. Long blond hair that changed from white-gold to rich yellow in the growing light hung down her back almost to her waist. She was wearing white—a long, flowing cotton dress that made Lucas think of other, more simple times. The woman looked as if she’d just stepped out of another century. Curious, Lucas kept his eyes on her while he roped the pirogue to the dock. Then he hopped on the planked boards, his actions quick and quiet, so as not to startle the woman who stood only a few feet away, her eyes centered on the water, her body turned away from the summer gardens of Bayou le Jardin. Lucas stood there in amazement, his gaze taking in the woman with the old southern mansion behind her. He had to swallow, blink his eyes. It was the way the rays of first light shot down from the sky to touch the woman’s face there in the soft mist, as if the very hand of God was reaching out to this fascinating stranger. Which certainly made for a breathtaking picture. One Lucas would surely never forget. In her long white dress with the early morning breeze lifting her thick, lush hair from her shoulders, she looked as if she belonged right there in that spot under the willow tree. Especially with the backdrop of his beloved home behind her. The stark, classic beauty of the mansion always left Lucas a bit awestruck, even though he’d lived here since he was nine years old. He respected the
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quiet dignity of the old house, though he rarely stayed in his bedroom on the third floor. Lucas preferred the swamp to the house, preferred the gardens to the parlor, preferred to be left to his own devices whenever time and duty permitted. He had a nice, cozy cabin deep in the swamp, a cabin he’d salvaged and renovated with his own hands, along with the help of some good, hardworking people. He had ample food from the gardens, the fields and the bayou; he had good books to read at night and good tunes to play on his saxophone when the mood struck him. He had his plane to fly when he wanted to be up above it all, his horse to ride when he wanted to feel the wind on his face, and he had several lucrative ventures going, enough to bring in plenty of cash for a man of simple means. And he had friends to find on a lonely Saturday night and church to attend on any given Sunday. Aunt Hilda would remind him that he had the blessed assurance of Jesus Christ, too, of course. If he ever stood still long enough to listen for it. Lucas was content to travel through the bayou, content to watch over his aunt Hilda and his sisters, Lorna and Lacey. Content to flirt shamelessly with all the local belles while never seriously getting involved with any of them. He’d never wanted for anything else. Until now. Now, Lucas saw the home he loved, the home he respected and had vowed to watch over, in a different light.
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Something Beautiful
Now he saw her there in the picture—this mysterious, lovely creature who’d somehow appeared, like a vibrant flower sprung to life, in the dewkissed gardens. Lucas didn’t know who the woman was. But he certainly intended to find out. His sisters accused him of falling in love too easily and too often, and he supposed that was right. ‘Cause it was about to happen again. In a very big way. Lucas grinned, then started walking toward the woman, instinct telling him this time things might be different. Because this time, he knew in his heart he’d just stumbled across…something beautiful. And then the cameras started flashing. Lucas blinked twice, watched as the tranquil woman whirled and with a loud groan took off in a mad dash toward the house, her long hair and long dress flying around her as if she were a runaway bride. The cameras followed her. Two of them with big zoom lenses, carried by two rather burly-looking men who’d popped out from behind a cluster of camellia bushes. “Willa?” one of the men shouted. “Just one picture, Willa. C’mon, people want to know why you backed out of that runway show in New York!” “Go away,” the woman shouted in a voice that was as cultured and gleaming as the single strand of pearls she wore around her neck. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” But the two determined photographers kept right
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on coming. Like a set of hound dogs chasing a rabbit into the swamp, they practically fell over each other in their haste to get to the elusive woman. Lucas watched, angered and amazed, as one of the overstuffed men stomped right through Aunt Hilda’s prized miniature rose garden then almost tripped over his own feet as he sprinted to get a close-up of the woman he’d called Willa. “Get away from me,” the woman said, her hands on her hips, her stare full of anger and defiance. The cameras took it all in, clicking with a constant whine. One of the men laughed. “Good shot. That’ll make the cover.” “I’ll get a better one for my cover,” the other one snarled. Lucas took two long strides and stepped between the beauty and the beasts. “You heard the woman,” he said on a low growl, one hand shoving at the first man while he held his other hand in warning toward the second photographer. “Get away from her now.” “And who are you?” Burly Number One asked, his double chin jutting over his cheap navy and red striped tie. Lucas grinned, then shifted his gaze from one man to the other. Slapping a hand across the rough denim of his jeans, he turned and winked at the beauty who’d automatically taken up a position behind his protective back. “Who am I? Moi?” He chuckled low, then shook his head. “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Lucas Dorsette. I live here. And you two
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seem to be pestering this lovely lady, not to mention trespassing on private property.” Burly Number Two looked at Number One, rolled his eyes, then adjusted his heavy camera. “Let’s go, man.” “We weren’t talking to him,” Number One replied, frowning at Lucas. “And I just wanted a minute with you, Willa. Just a couple of pictures for this week’s issue.” “Me, too,” Number Two added, glaring at the other photographer. “We have a much bigger circulation than that rag he works for.” Lucas turned to smile at the woman and felt the up-close essence of her beauty in a gut punch right to his stomach. It was hard to speak, but he managed to keep his cool so he could continue defending that beauty and look good in her eyes. “Willa, do you have anything to say to these two…gentlemen?” “Not a word,” she replied, gratitude sparkling like rainwater in her breathtaking crystal-blue gaze. “I’d really like them to just go away,” she added through a perfect row of clenched gleaming white teeth. Lucas shrugged, then dropped his hands to his sides. “Then I guess that settles it, hein?” Taking a step toward the two photographers, he said, “Get off my property right now or I will call the sheriff.” “Let’s go,” Number Two told Number One, backing away. “We got enough pictures, anyway.” “Speak for yourself,” Number One retorted, posing his camera toward Willa. Until he saw the look in Lucas’s eyes. Then he shrugged and brushed
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past the apparent competition. “Okay, guess I do need to get back to my hotel room and get these developed—so I can beat you to the scoop.” The race was on as the two jostled each other. “Hey, hold on there, fellows,” Lucas said, surprising the entire group. Then he turned to the woman. “Do you want these two to have pictures of you?” “No,” she said, her incredible eyes burning holes through the two motley, perspiring men. Lucas held his hand up, motioning to the two. “Let’s have it, please.” “Have what?” It was a whining chorus. “The film,” Lucas replied, a smile forming on his lips. “Now.” “You can’t take our film,” Burly Number One protested, sweat popping on his pale forehead. “Watch me, mon ami.” Lucas grabbed the man’s camera, opened it and took the film out, inch by inch. “Hey, you just ruined that!” “Yes, I did.” Then he turned to the other man, his hand outstretched. “Hand it over, unless you want me to report you to the authorities.” Reluctantly, and with great disgust, the man handed over the roll of film from his camera. “That belongs to me, you know. To Famous Faces magazine.” “Yeah, well, now it belongs to me,” Lucas stated as he dropped the ruined film on the ground and rubbed his suede hiking boot across it, disdain evident in his actions. “Now, leave the way you came
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in—which was probably over the side fence.” He’d have to remember to have Tobbie check that broken fence again. “Can’t you let us out the gate?” Number One whined. Lucas turned his head in a gesture of disbelief. “Since I didn’t invite you in, why should I be gracious in letting you out?” Then he motioned toward the driveway that wound around the gardens. “Dig a trench, for all I care, but get out of here, and don’t let me catch you back again. Ever. Or mine will be the only famous face you remember.” “You’ll be hearing from my publisher,” one of the men called as they trudged away, both huffing and puffing. “I’ll look forward to it,” Lucas replied, chuckling. He pulled a walkie-talkie off his leather belt. “Tobbie, you there?” At Tobbie’s crisp answer, Lucas said, “Two men are approaching the side fence, that place near the tulip gardens where the fence needs repairing. Would you kindly escort them off the property?” “With pleasure, for true,” Tobbie said, his hoot of laughter echoing over the static. Satisfied that the oversize Tobbie Babineaux would scare the living daylights out of the two and send them packing, Lucas grinned. And then her turned to her. “Fans of yours?” Willa O’Connor looked at the man who’d come to her rescue and wished she knew how to answer his question.
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“Not exactly,” she replied, still in shock after being ambushed in what she’d taken to be an isolated, secluded spot. “They work for some of those supermarket tabloids. Celebrity Exposé and, as you heard, Famous Faces. They like to travel in packs so they can attack from several different angles, then fight each other for the best shots.” “So you’re a celebrity, then?” “Somewhat,” she replied, not wanting to reveal too much. She waited as the man took his time letting that little tidbit settle in. While he did that, he looked her over, his dark eyes full of doubt and mirth, his olive skin alive with a fine sheen of sweat in spite of the early morning breezes. He was certainly a handsome thing, with his long, curling brown-black hair and those chocolate-colored eyes that seemed to take in everything around him with a careless, lazy observation. “Lucas,” she said, recognition making her gasp as she remembered the name he’d given the two reporters. “You’re Lorna’s brother, right?” “Oui, and her favorite brother, at that,” he said, his grin full of promise and trouble as he reached a hand toward hers. “And from what I gathered from those two camera-toting clowns, your name is Willa?” Willa tentatively took his hand, shaking it as she nodded then tried to pull away. But he held her. His hand was warm and work-callused, with long, artistic fingers that seemed to cling to her palm a bit too much for comfort. Lucas Dorsette didn’t just shake her hand; he held it as if it were a treasure. And
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then he did something even more unexpected. He bent his head and kissed her hand. “Hello, Willa,” he said as he lifted his head, those dark, mischievous eyes sparkling with way too much charm. “Where on earth did you come from?” “She came from New York,” Lorna said from behind him. “And she’d probably like her hand back, big brother.” Willa watched as Lucas shrugged, then turned his head toward his sister and her husband, Mick, as they strolled down the garden path from the house. But he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he kept it tucked in his then brought it down, holding it as if they’d been lifelong friends. “I’ll give it back…in a little bit.” Willa didn’t wait for him to decide when. She gave him a slight smile, then pulled her hand away so she could wave to Lorna, glad for the distraction and glad to have her tingling hand away from his overly warm fingers. “Hello there. I was just about to explain to your brother what I’m doing here.” “Let me,” Lorna said, giving Willa a light hug. Then she turned to Lucas. “Lucas, this is my friend Willa O’Connor. She arrived late last night. I met Willa in Paris a few years ago, and we’ve kept in touch since then. She needed a few days to herself, so I invited her to come down here to Bayou le Jardin. And I expect you to give her some muchneeded space.” Then she yanked playfully on a silky strand of her brother’s unkempt hair. “And I expect you to behave yourself.”
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“Don’t I always now?” Lucas said, his gaze zooming in on Willa with all the bright-eyed intent of someone who never, ever behaved himself. Oh, she loved his accent—part southern gentleman, part backwoods Cajun, slow and easy and downright irresistible. Lucas Dorsette was everything his sister had described and more. A true contradiction—fierce and gentle, mysterious and gallant. Handsome and fun-loving. A lethal combination of charm and rebellion. Lorna had warned her. But he had come to her rescue like some gallant knight from a romance novel. Only who was she kidding? Willa knew she needed another man in her life like she needed another pair of designer shoes. She’d had way too many of both. And she’d come down to Louisiana to clean her closet, get the cobwebs out of the attic, so to speak. Decide what to do about her crumbling life. She didn’t need Lorna’s handsome brother complicating her already complicated existence. And yet, she could still feel the warmth of his lips on the back of her hand. “Your brother has behaved perfectly this morning,” she told Lorna. “He helped me out of a very sticky situation.” “What happened?” Lorna asked as she leaned against her good-looking husband’s chest. Mick automatically wrapped his arms around Lorna, holding her close as they waited for Willa to answer. Willa envied the happiness her friend had found in
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the spring, envied Lorna’s glowing face and contented newlywed smile. She was glad Lorna had found some peace at last. She’d come to Lorna’s beloved gardens hoping to find some peace of her own. But apparently, it wasn’t to be. “I’m afraid I’ve been found,” she said. “The press—two goons from the tabloids.” “They were hiding in the bushes like possums,” Lucas said, his dark brows lifting as he watched Willa. “And hey, jolie fille, mind telling me what that was all about? Why did those two want pictures of you so bad, besides the fact that you’re beautiful and so obviously photogenic, and as you said, somewhat of a celebrity?” Willa had to smile at the innocence of his question. A man who didn’t know her face? A man who really didn’t follow every aspect of her career? She found that hard to believe, but it was a refreshing change, at least. Lorna gave her brother a gentle slap on the arm. “You dolt, don’t you know who she is?” Lucas nodded. “Yes, she’s Willa O’Connor, fair maiden and friend of Lorna. Isn’t that all I need to know?” “Yes,” Willa said. “No,” Lorna replied, rolling her eyes. Then she took her brother by the face, holding a hand to his jaw. “Willa is a supermodel. Her face is famous all over the world. And right now, she’s supposed to be resting— away from all the cameras and the spotlights. So you did the right thing by sending those two away.”
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“They’ll be back, and they’ll bring others with them,” Willa stated, her head down. “Which means I probably should leave soon. I don’t want to disrupt your home or bother any of your other guests.” “Nonsense,” Lucas said before Lorna could reply, his dark eyes gleaming with new knowledge. “If you came here to find rest and relaxation, then that’s exactly what you’ll get. And I’ll put myself personally in charge—just to make sure.” Lorna’s husband, Mick, spoke up. “How, uh, noble of you, Lucas.” “Ain’t it, though?” Lucas replied, clearly unaffected by his brother-in-law’s teasing. “Personal detail—I’m good at that. I can be your tour guide, your bodyguard, whatever you need me to be.” He held his hand over his heart, then gave Willa a besotted, lopsided grin that had her laughing in spite of herself. But the way he’d spoken left her wondering exactly what his many talents entailed. Probably heartbreaker, rake, charmer, just to name a few. “Easy, brother,” Lorna cautioned. “She needs to rest. And if I know you, that word translates more into restless. Don’t drag her out into the swamp for any ‘gator sightings just yet.” Lucas looked affronted. “The swamp can be a very restful spot. And highly romantic.” Willa had to smile again. “Rest I need. And as for romance, I’m afraid I’ve given up on that forever.” “Forever is a long time, suga’,” Lucas countered. “Me, personally, I couldn’t survive without a little romance now and then.”
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His dark, unwavering gaze washed over her, telling her that neither could she—if he had his way. “I warned you,” Lorna reminded Willa, taking her husband’s hand to head to the house. “Breakfast is ready, if you can tear yourself away from my poetic brother.” “I’ll escort you,” Lucas told Willa, tucking his arm around hers before she could take a step. “According to our aunt Hilda, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” “Willa’s already met Aunt Hilda,” Lorna called over her shoulder. “She had an early meeting in town so she couldn’t stay for breakfast with our guests, but she did urge Willa to eat a good meal.” “See?” Lucas ducked his head low, his words coming in a warm rush near Willa’s ear. “And she always let’s me say grace.” Grace. Willa wondered what that word meant, exactly. She’d been told she had a natural grace. She was in demand because of that, at the top of her career. And she’d just walked out on one of the most important fashion shows in the industry. How was that for having grace? How was that for saving grace? She knew Lorna’s family was devout. Lorna had never made any secret of her Christianity, nor of her strong faith. Was that what real grace was all about? And could this beautiful, timeless garden really bring Willa the spiritual and physical healing her doctor and her friend had told her she needed? Not if her first morning here was any indication.
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Two photographers in the bushes and a handsome Cajun on her arm, and all before breakfast. “I’ve been up since before dawn. I’m stark, raving starving, and beating off thugs only added to my appetite,” Lucas said, bringing her out of her tormented, confused thoughts. Willa had to wonder how he stayed in such good shape if he ate like a madman all the time. But she decided it’d be better to put such thoughts out of her mind. “Thanks for your help back there,” she told him, meaning it. “I was hoping no one would find me here.” “They won’t again—not with me on the case, I guarantee.” He’d stretched out that last word, his Cajun accent every bit as teasing as his merry grin. Obviously, he wasn’t as concerned about intrusive reporters as she was. “I don’t expect you to be my protector, Lucas. I’m capable of handling them myself. After all, I’m used to it.” He looked at her, those dark, dancing eyes touching her as closely as his arm holding hers. And making her feel extremely warm in the morning sunshine. “So you’re a model. That figures. You’ve got the face and figure for it.” Willa looked away, toward the house where the few other guests had gathered around the long buffet table set on the downstairs gallery. “That’s what they tell me. Always in demand.” If Lucas noticed the sarcasm in her tone, he didn’t let on. “But you didn’t come down here to be in
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demand, so you don’t have to handle it while you’re here. I’ll beef up security and make sure we watch everyone who comes in and out the gate. If you came here to rest, then that’s what we want you to do.” Rest. The word made Willa want to sit down on that lovely old swing behind the big house and rock back and forth all day. Maybe with Lucas there to tease her and make her smile. Quickly shaking off that particular image, she told him, “This is certainly a perfect spot for rest and relaxation. I don’t know why I waited so long to accept Lorna’s invitation.” Lucas pulled her close, his dark head almost touching hers as he whispered in her ear. “I sure wish you’d come sooner, and that’s a fact. We’re still recovering from the spring floods, but the gardens are coming along fine.” The warmth of him was just too much. Willa managed to extract herself from him as they reached the back gallery, where Lorna had a full breakfast set up on the wrought-iron buffet table. “Well, I have a fact for you,” she told Lucas as she pretended to be interested in the food. “I need coffee.” “That we’ve got. Hot and strong.” “Then I’ll be perfectly content.” “What about all this food? I reckon even supermodels need to eat,” he said, his arm somehow linked once again through hers. “Aren’t you hungry?” His closeness seemed like a natural thing. Lucas was probably used to touching, hugging, being close to people. She wasn’t.
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“Maybe a little,” she replied, feeling sick to her stomach as she scanned the fresh banana bread and strawberry muffins, grits, eggs, bacon and fruit the other guests seemed to be devouring. Lucas shoved a gleaming white plate at her. “Well, Lorna’s probably made a big production— brunch with an old friend and all. You’ll find we love to eat around here.” Willa swallowed, thinking she probably wouldn’t be able to eat a bite. After her encounter with those photographers, she was too keyed up, too worried, too nervous to eat. She had a lot of things to work through in her time here. A lot of decisions to make. She couldn’t let Lucas Dorsette’s charming, easy ways sidetrack her. Even if he did smell so good— like water and trees, like fresh air after a slow, soft country rain. Once again, Willa reminded herself she’d better keep such thoughts out of her head. Way too dangerous. But she certainly could allow Lucas to show her around a little bit, act as swamp guide, maybe. That couldn’t hurt. Unless he kept looking at her the way he was looking at her right now. Willa couldn’t allow Lucas to get too close. Because she knew in her heart that would be the worst thing that could happen. For both of them.
Chapter Two
“D
o you have any of those fashion magazines lying around?” Lucas asked Lacey when they were alone in the kitchen. He’d excused himself from Willa and Lorna so he could follow Lacey inside. He wanted to see for himself that Willa O’Connor was truly a fashion model. Not that he doubted it. She was the perfect example of high fashion. He wanted to be able to stare at her without anyone noticing, and he figured finding a glossy picture of her in a magazine would do the trick until he could figure out how to be around her twenty-four hours a day and still get his work done. Lacey shot her brother a quizzical look, then grinned. “I see you’ve met Willa.” Lucas nodded, grabbed a fresh sweet-potato roll, then chewed thoughtfully before answering. “I didn’t just meet her. I saw her standing in the
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morning mist on the banks of the bayou and lost my heart to her forever.” Lacey nodded, then went right on placing fresh fruit on a tray for the breakfast guests gathered on the back gallery. “Uh-huh. How many times have I heard you say something such as that, only to find some poor brokenhearted woman at church the next Sunday, glaring at you across the pew because you suddenly found you wanted to keep your fickle heart intact, after all?” “Ouch, that hurts. You’re cruel, Lacey, love. Very cruel.” “And you wouldn’t know real love if it bit you on your adorable nose,” his older sister countered as she headed out the open French doors. Then she turned to face him, all seriousness and as prim and proper as ever in her pearls and lace. “Lucas, be careful with this one, will you please? From what Lorna’s told me, Willa O’Connor is dealing with some major issues right now. She doesn’t need you pestering her with one of your obsessive but rather short-lived infatuations.” Lucas didn’t answer her. He stood, leaning against the counter, his eyes scanning the small crowd to make sure the object of this discussion was still chatting with Lorna and Mick. And wondered what issues lay behind Willa’s incredible blue-eyed million-dollar smile. But Lacey wasn’t finished. “Besides, I don’t think Willa is the type to fall for your irresistible charms. She’s way too smart for the likes of you. She went to school at some fancy college up north, graduated with honors.”
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Leave it to Lacey to drop a zinger like that with a sweet, serene smile plastered across her classic face. Lucas let out an aggravated sigh as he watched his sister play hostess with all the ingrained manners of a true Southern lady. And wished he could do something really childish like put a lizard down her starched collar. “Do you have a magazine?” he asked Rosie Lee Babineaux, their longtime housekeeper and cook, as she passed him on her way to the industrial-size refrigerator. “Lucas, Lucas,” Rosie Lee replied, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. “You need to put your eyeballs back in your head, hein?” “Am I that obvious?” “You got the look,” Rosie Lee told him, wagging a finger at him, her Cajun accent twice as distinctive as his. “And what look would that be, chère?” “That Lucas look,” Rosie Lee explained, rolling her eyes. “The one you get whenever a pretty woman is anywhere within five miles of you.” Lucas knew she was right. But, hey, he was having fun with it, so why couldn’t everyone lay off? “I just want to investigate things a bit further,” he explained. “Maybe hang a picture of her near my pillow, so I can gaze at her with adoration….” Rosie Lee’s burst of laughter stopped him. She had to wipe her eyes, but she lifted a hand toward a set of swinging doors. “I think Em left a few fancy magazines in our sitting room. Go see.”
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Lucas took off like a rocket, heading into the small family room tucked off the kitchen, a place where he’d spent many happy hours with the Babineaux clan since he’d arrived, nine years old and scared to death, at Bayou le Jardin. Falling across a worn plaid couch that had been salvaged and cleaned since the spring floods, he remembered feeling safe here in this little room that had at one time been servants’ quarters. He’d naturally blended right in with the six Babineaux children. To the point that they’d included him as one of their own—just like another son, even though he was a few years older than their four boys and two girls. Glancing around, Lucas remembered Tobias Babineaux, or Big Tobbie, as everyone called him, teaching him all about the dark, mysterious swamp waters that ran behind the grounds of Bayou le Jardin. Tobbie had taken Lucas under his wing, teaching him how to hunt and fish and track, teaching him how to show respect to Mother Nature and how to stand up for what he believed in, teaching him how to survive. And Lucas had drunk it all in, wanting very much to survive, but always, always challenging life in the midst of learning his lessons well. A daredevil. That’s what they’d called him. Reckless. Juvenile. Too full of life for his own good. That’s what he’d always heard about himself. Too full of life. So full of life that he dared anyone or anything to change that fact. Even God.
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And because of that reckless, careless streak, Lucas had come close, so close to getting into serious trouble over the years, that he’d reached the point where everyone just left him to it—as if they’d all given up on changing him. But that didn’t stop his loving sisters from reminding him on a daily basis of his shortcomings. “Why start worrying about that now?” he said with a shrug as he looked around for the muchcoveted magazine. Right now, he wouldn’t dwell on how lousy he’d felt since the spring night all those months ago when he’d left Lorna alone in the mansion, in the dark. He wouldn’t stop to think about what she must have suffered before Mick had found her there. And saved her from herself. “It should have been me,” Lucas said as he reached into a cabinet and grabbed a handful of tattered fashion magazines. But then again, Lucas knew in his heart it had to be Mick. Mick Love had fallen in love with his sister in spite of her fears and her self-doubts. And Lucas had accepted that, welcomed it. It was only fitting that Mick be the one to come to Lorna’s aid, to bring her such strength in her faith and herself again. But still…Lucas couldn’t get past that night. And the promise he had made to his sisters so long ago, on another dark, storm-tossed night. “Did you find it?” Lucas looked up to see Rosie Lee’s round, oliveskinned face smiling at him, her long black, silver-
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streaked braid swinging over one shoulder. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, a teasing light in her dark eyes. “I hope so,” Lucas said, winking at her as he made a point of lazily flipping through the pages of a thick magazine. Then more to himself than her, he repeated his wish. “I certainly hope so.” “So, now you’ve heard all the news about us,” Lorna said to Willa. “It’s your turn.” Willa sank back against the soft floral cushions of her chair, a fork in one hand while she pretended to eat more breakfast. True, she had managed to down some fresh strawberries and cantaloupe and a freshly baked, grain-rich roll. But she couldn’t force herself to eat anything more, in spite of her friend’s best efforts. Hoping to keep the focus of the conversation off herself, Willa glanced across the table at Lorna and Mick. “Even though I missed your wedding because of that shoot in Spain, I’m so happy for both of you. Surviving a tornado and then a flood, only to find each other…that’s a remarkable story.” Lorna looked at her husband. “Yes, very remarkable, considering how I resisted Mick from the first day.” “But it was love at first sight for me, I think,” Mick replied, his hand reaching for his wife. “We’ve been through a lot together, that’s for sure. My whole life changed once I set foot on this old plantation.” Willa was amazed that Mick Love had been
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willing to pick up and move to be with the woman he loved. She’d never known a man with that type of commitment, a man willing to give up everything, change his whole lifestyle because of being in love. Her mother had done that all these years, followed the man she loved, but Willa had to wonder, if it were the other way around, would her father have done the same? She doubted it, so she had to question Mick further. “And you didn’t mind— moving here, relocating your business?” “Why should I?” Mick said, his hand trailing through Lorna’s hair. “I didn’t really have anything to lose. Business is better than ever, I’ve got a wonderful wife to come home to each night, and hey, my best friend even relocated here with me and married the woman of his dreams, too. He’s training to be a fireman.” “It must be the coffee,” Willa said, laughing. Maybe that would explain why she kept looking for Lucas to come to the table. He’d hopped up a few minutes ago, excused himself with a flourish, then disappeared inside the kitchen. And why did she care? “There is something about Bayou le Jardin,” Mick agreed, finishing his brew. “It…can heal all wounds.” Lorna nodded. “Aunt Hilda—you met her earlier, before she headed off to work—firmly believes that we are all closer to Christ here in this garden. She takes her troubles to Him and she’s taught us to do the same.” Mick shrugged. “But it took a tornado and a flood for me to understand that concept.” “You really believe that?” Willa asked, wishing
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with all her heart that Mick was right. She needed to be healed, both physically and spiritually. “That God somehow had a hand in bringing you here?” Mick got up, looked at Lorna, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’m a believer now.” With that, he kissed his wife. “And…I’ve gotta get to work. Justin needs some help with a little pruning, then I have to ride into Kenner to do an estimate on that remodeling work we’ve been discussing.” He lifted a hand. “We’re still trying to get this place back the way it was before the storms. And that is going to take some doing, considering we still have some water damage.” He touched Lorna’s hair again. “I probably won’t be back in my office in town for a few hours, so I’ll see you later this afternoon, okay?” “Okay,” Lorna replied, her gaze filled with love as she kissed her husband. “Don’t work too hard.” Mick grinned, then waved to Willa. “Hope you enjoy your stay.” “Thank you,” Willa told him. After he left, she sighed long and hard. “Lorna, he’s…” “Perfect?” Lorna asked, her expression dreamy and serene. “Mick has helped me in more ways than I ever dreamed possible. He’s brought me peace, made me feel secure, helped me get over my fear of the dark. He still has to travel a good bit, but I’m okay with that—it’s part of his job. And sometimes I take off and head out with him.” “I’m so glad,” Willa told her, meaning it. “I envy you.” “Don’t,” Lorna replied, concern bringing a frown
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to her face. “You can find happiness, too, Willa. I know it. I believe that now—I didn’t believe in happily ever after before.” “But you’re in love, married to the perfect man. That tends to change one’s perspective on these things.” “Actually, Mick is far from perfect, but he’s a good, decent man and…just like Mick, I truly believe God brought us together here in this old garden.” Willa was much too cynical and jaded to believe that. She’d seen too many broken relationships, been a part of too many herself, to ever believe there was such a thing as a lifetime love between two destined people. Fate was way too fickle for that to happen. Then she looked up to find Lucas Dorsette leaning against a rounded white column, his eyes centered on her, his expression a mixture of curious charm and conquering hero. He gave her a soul-searing smile, then lowered his head, appearing to be completely engrossed in a magazine. “What’s the story with your adorable brother?” she asked Lorna. “Does he break hearts by the week, or only on a monthly installment?” Lorna shot her hovering brother a long look. “Oh, Lucas breaks hearts on a daily basis. I think every single woman at church has tried to win him over to matrimony, but our Lucas is a sly one. He can see them coming a mile away, so he flirts with them, teases them, makes them think they are the only one, and then he moves on. He treats women like flowers, picking them and enjoying them until they wilt away, then he discards them for another fresh bloom.”
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Willa studied Lucas, glad she was immune to charming, shallow men, but somehow disappointed to hear that Lucas might be that way. “You certainly don’t paint him in a very pretty light.” “Just being honest with you,” Lorna replied. “Lucas is a wonderful person, the best brother in the world, and I love him dearly. But…he doesn’t take life very seriously.” “Maybe we could all learn a lesson from that,” Willa replied, thinking she took everything far too seriously for her own good. Which was why she was in such turmoil right now. Lorna nodded. “As long as you remember, with Lucas, it’s all a big game. Enjoy it while you’re here, Willa, but just be forewarned. My brother will never settle down.” Willa groaned, then shrugged. “I’m not looking to settle down. You of all people should know I’m not here looking for love, and I certainly have no intention of trying to snare your elusive brother.” Lorna reached out a hand to her. “I know. You need to find some peace and quiet, and you really need to rest…and take care of yourself. We can’t forget your reasons for coming here. I just don’t want my beautiful brother interfering with that process.” “Why can’t I be part of the process?” Lucas said from behind them, making both of them jump. Willa sat bolt upright. She’d only looked away for a minute. How had he moved so quickly and so quietly? Another thing to remember about Lucas Dorsette, she supposed.
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Lorna didn’t bat an eye as she got up. “You can be a lot of things while Willa is here,” she told her brother. “A companion, a tour guide, a security guard. But Willa needs to—” “I know, I know,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Willa needs her rest. Willa needs to be left alone. Willa needs to know that Lucas is walking trouble and not worth a minute of her time. Did I leave anything out?” Lorna reached out a hand to touch his face. “That just about covers it.” Then she kissed him on the cheek. “I know I can trust you, so be nice.” Lucas grabbed his sister’s hand, his gaze changing with mercurial speed from teasing to intense. “Do you know that, really? Can I be trusted?” Lorna tightened her hand in his. “Yes, you can. I’ve always trusted you, Lucas. And I know what you’re thinking. But…I’m fine. I’m great. Mick is taking good care of me, and we’re very happy. So stop worrying.” Confused by the exchange, Willa felt uncomfortable. As if she’d stepped into an intimate setting where she didn’t belong. But then, she’d never been so close to another person that she could share a sort of language, the way Lorna and Lucas seemed to talk to each other. Almost in riddles, but they both seemed to understand each other exactly. She’d noticed that about them, and Lacey, too. She knew they’d survived a terrible horror only to grow up secure in their faith and to become closer as a family. Sharing that kind of bond had held them
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together, but as Lorna had told her months ago when she’d called Willa to invite her to the wedding, perhaps that bond had also held them captive. And yet, Willa wished she’d had some sort of bond to make her closer to her parents. They’d never really been a family, the three of them. They’d coexisted in a big, rambling house. That is, whenever they were there together. Family. The word always made Willa flinch. Oh, she had a family. A mother and father who adored her but who also wanted to control her. But she’d never really felt loved, for some strange reason. Not in the way Lorna seemed loved, at least. She envied her friend. And longed to get to know the intriguing Lucas Dorsette. “Me, worry?” Lucas shrugged and lifted his dark brows, bringing Willa’s thoughts to the present. “Never.” “I have to get to the restaurant and start things for the lunch crowd,” Lorna said to Willa. “Will you be okay?” “I think I’m going to wander around in the gardens,” Willa told her, intensely aware that Lucas was watching her. “Maybe finally read that thick romance novel I’ve been carting around for months now.” “We’re still recovering from the flood,” Lucas said, his hand lifting in an arc. “But I’d be happy to show you some of the more beautiful spots.” “That sounds nice.” She glanced at Lorna, saw no censure in her friend’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.
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She’d been warned about Lucas Dorsette too many times to care. She didn’t understand why his sisters seemed so concerned that he’d break her heart. She’d turned down suitors from all over the world, after all. Playboys, a prince or two, politicians, they’d all courted her and some had tried to corrupt her. But luckily, the one thing her distant, worldly parents had instilled in her was a sense of caution and integrity— an O’Connor could never bring shame or scandal to the family honor. It simply wasn’t permitted. And because Ambassador Eugene O’Connor and his lovely wife, Candace, had frowned on their daughter’s choice of careers, Willa had at least tried to stay out of trouble and stay away from the many temptations lurking in the world of high fashion. Would her parents approve of Lucas Dorsette? Hardly. But she was only going to be here for a short time, and her parents were far away, traveling yet again. Willa was an adult, after all. She could take care of herself; she’d been doing it for most of her life. So she wasn’t afraid of spending a few mindless days with Lucas Dorsette. He seemed harmless enough. As long as they both kept their perspective, of course. As long as she remembered Lucas liked to keep things light. Well, so did she. She wouldn’t let the legendary gardens of Bayou le Jardin mess with her head. And she wouldn’t let the legendary Lucas Dorsette mess with her heart.
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But when he took her hand and pulled her down a cool, shaded path dripping with ancient hot-pink crape myrtle trees, Willa had a feeling it was already too late to turn back.
Chapter Three
He was taking her off the beaten path. “Where are we going?” Willa asked Lucas as they moved away from the house and closer to the bayou. Here the vegetation grew more lush, green and rich, thriving in spite of the summer heat. The smell of wet earth and brackish water mingled with the scent of honeysuckle and wild-blooming jasmine. The mid-morning sun played a game of chance as it tried to pierce the cool shadows cast by the tall, moss-draped cypress trees. “You’ll see,” he told her, his hand in hers as he pulled her down the winding path. “At least it’s cooler here.” “One of the many beautiful things about Bayou le Jardin. There’s plenty of cool spots, even in the middle of summer. And I happen to know where they all are.” Willa noticed the creepers surrounding the narrowing path—the English ivy that grew wild and free,
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the ancient camellia bushes and sweet-smelling lilies. She could hear bees buzzing hungrily in the dense garden. She could hear a child’s laughter ringing out from the house. Probably that cute little Tobias—the little boy Lucas had rescued during the flood. Lorna had told her all about that, too. And how Lucas had berated himself for not getting back to the mansion to help Lorna, who had been deathly afraid of the dark, after the electricity had gone off and left Lorna stranded alone in the dark and the flood. Lorna explained that Lucas blamed himself, but no one else saw it that way. He’d saved a child’s life. That had to count for something. She watched his face, wondering what lay behind that square jaw and those lush, full lips. And those dark, mysterious eyes. The agencies in New York would love a portfolio of pictures of Lucas Dorsette, she figured. His face rivaled those of any of the overpaid male models she knew and worked with on a daily basis. But Lucas had one trait that many of her co-workers didn’t possess. He looked completely real, completely male. Not prettied up for the cameras. And he looked very dangerous. “I suppose the other guests don’t know about this path,” she said, hoping Lucas would tell her where he was taking her. She wasn’t afraid of being alone with him, but she had this thing about always knowing about what might lie ahead. No surprises. No room for any mistakes. “Non. I keep this one to myself.”
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“Is it special?” “I think it is.” So, he was going to be tight-mouthed about this. Willa watched him as he moved in front of her, his feet steady and sure, his steps silent. With his dark good looks and intense concentration, he reminded her of some ancient warrior stalking through a jungle. Was she his quarry, then? “Lucas, where are we going?” He stopped, whirled to stare at her. His nearness confused her, enticed her, made her want to turn and go back to civilization. Or give up being civilized altogether. “Are you all right? Tired?” “I’m fine, just wondering what you’re doing.” “I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots.” “Okay.” She decided to stay quiet. He took her hand, guiding her through hanging vines and wild dogwood trees. They moved downward, toward the marsh, then up until they were on a grassy little incline. “Look,” he said, pointing. Willa followed the direction of his gaze, then laughed. “Oh, my. Well, this was certainly worth the trip.” He’d brought her to a pagoda sitting on top of a moss-covered mound. The pagoda was rustic and ancient, but the wood and stone blending together on the high walls looked solid, and the shingled, slanted
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roof seemed to be holding up. Or at least, the English ivy was holding the building together. It covered the entire structure and ran down over the mossy rocks that formed the walls of what looked like a walkthrough grotto. A playful morning breeze rustled the nearby tupelo trees, bringing with it the tinkling sound of bells. The almost melancholy melody seemed to be coming from inside the pagoda. “Chimes,” Lucas told her, his keen gaze centering on her face. “I like chimes.” “It’s beautiful,” she said, her breath coming hard and heavy, whether from the long walk or the sheer beauty of this place, she couldn’t say. “So this is your secret garden?” “You could call it that,” Lucas told her as he led her up a narrow stone footpath toward the rectangular structure. “Aunt Hilda discovered it in her younger years, when she could get around more. She showed it to me when I first came here.” He smiled, then closed his eyes. “I can still remember what she told me. She said, ‘Now, Lucas, most would tell you that this is a temple, a shrine. But we only have one temple—and that is our little chapel where we worship the Lord. This is not a place of worship, but it can be a place of retreat, if you ever need it. God will hear you here in this place, if you need to get away and talk to Him.’” “She sounds like a fascinating, wise woman.” He opened his eyes, gave Willa one of those heartstopping looks. “She is. She’s traveled all over the
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world, seen all sorts of shrines and temples, cathedrals and churches, but she loves the Chapel in the Garden more than anything she’s ever seen. And that’s where she expects us to be each Sunday.” Willa thought that was quaint and sweet and again felt that distant tug of longing in her own heart. “And yet, you come here sometimes, to find your peace, talk to God?” He nodded. “No one else bothers with this place. Not even Justin, our landscaper. I try to keep the swamp from taking it over completely.” “So you weed it and clear it out, prune the bramble and sweep away the spiders and snakes?” She hoped. He nodded, as silent as the still, waiting wind and trees. Then he said, “I don’t like spiders and snakes, but I respect them. If I find any, I usually send them in the other direction.” Somewhat comforted, she asked, “Even the poisonous ones?” “Even those, unless of course they attack first. Then I don’t ask any questions.” Willa imagined that was probably how he handled life, too. Since he seemed used to being attacked a lot, based on what Lorna had told her. She could envision him standing here, the hunter in him alert and wary, willing to kill to survive. But she could also see him bending to nudge an innocent creature in the right direction so he wouldn’t be forced to harm it. It was that image, rather than the more macho one of him as a hunter and a scrapper, that endeared him to her.
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“Well, you’ve done a good job. It looks well-kept and completely snake free,” she told him, her gaze taking in the antique sundial centered near the entryway. “But I have to admit, this place looks a little lost and sad.” “It is,” he replied. “It was once a garden spot, centuries ago. It wasn’t part of our land then, but the family that owned the neighboring plantation suffered through a yellow fever epidemic, probably brought here from New Orleans. The landowner lost his entire family—his wife, his son and daughter— they all died. He let the place go to ruin during the Civil War, then he died many years later, a lonely, reclusive old man. I’m not sure how my family wound up owning the land—Lacey could tell you all about that—” He stopped, looked at the winding stream that flowed from the Mississippi River to the bayou from the other side of the small, slanting hill. “The story goes that he used to come here and grieve his loss in this hushed, decaying garden. I come here when I’m feeling lost and sad myself. Sometimes I get in that kind of mood. Aunt Hilda says, c’est l’heure solennelle.” “The solemn hour.” Willa knew enough French to translate what he’d told her. And wondered why he’d brought her here. Did Lucas sense that she was sad and lost underneath all her fame and fortune? Just the thought that he might, coupled with the tragic tale he’d told her, brought tears to her eyes. But she quickly dashed them away, not willing to explore the underlying turmoil of her problems right now.
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She didn’t want pity, refused to wallow in self-doubt and despair. And yet, this place seemed to be beckoning her to do just that. Or maybe it was telling her to let go and let her inner torment boil to the surface in a cleansing purge. So she could get on with her life. If she had a life to get on with, that is. Wanting to change her somber thoughts, Willa said, “You don’t strike me as the type to wander around moping. From everything Lorna has told me and from what I’ve seen of you, I wouldn’t have imagined you’d have such a place, so beautiful yet so melancholy, tucked away from the world.” He looked at her, his dark eyes locked on hers in a heated black gaze, his secrets as tangled and overgrown as the swamp around them. “’The beauty remains; the pain passes.’” “What a lovely thing to say.” “You can thank Renoir for that one,” he told her, looking away briefly. “The painter?” “The very one. He knew a thing or two about pain.” “And it sounds as if you know a thing or two about art,” she replied, her opinion of him rapidly changing. “I know enough to get by. But then, that’s how I am about most things in life—whatever it takes to get by.” He shifted, ran a hand over his long, curly bangs. “But I didn’t bring you here to get you down or talk about art.” She wanted to ask him exactly why he had
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brought her here, but then the smile was back, taking her breath up and away. The tiny bells hanging on a silvery chain just inside the open pagoda door tinkled and laughed along with him, but to Willa, the sound changed in the wind. It almost sounded like weeping. “Well, this is a strange and mysterious place,” she said, her voice low. “Do you come here a lot?” “Depends,” he said, pulling her into the cool darkness of the rustic structure. “Look over that way.” He pointed through one of the open windows toward the path they’d traveled. Through a gap in the trees and brush, Willa saw the mansion. From this spot atop the small mound, Bayou le Jardin could be seen in all its splendor just to the west. The great evergreen oaks and everchanging gardens cascaded from the house like colorful lace on a belle’s ball gown, while the mansion stood brilliant and sparkling with its Doric columns and classic Greek Revival design. “How lovely.” “Oui. I like to come here and look back at it. I’m close enough to watch over things, but far enough away that I can’t be bothered if I don’t want to be found.” If I don’t want to be found. Willa watched him, knowing that there was much more to Lucas Dorsette than he wanted the world to see. He was witty, flirty, a charmer, no doubt. But there was a serious side to him that she could see clearly, in spite of the shaded, secluded garden where he’d brought her. Or maybe because of it.
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“Do you bring all your conquests here?” she asked, smiling at him. “Actually, you’re the first,” Lucas told her, his mood as dark and hard to see into as the swamp below them. “Conquest, that is.” And that’s when Willa knew she was treading on very dangerous ground. Lorna had warned her about Lucas’s lighthearted, carefree nature. But her friend had failed to warn her about the other qualities that made up Lucas Dorsette. He was obviously a very complex, interesting man. A man who had a deeper, more spiritual side that he hid from the world with a nonchalant shrug and a breathtaking smile. But then, maybe he didn’t want the rest of the world to see that side of him. The side that cared enough to set God’s creatures free when he could just as easily destroy them. The side that tended and nurtured a secret, tragic place, finding beauty hidden in the midst of pain. The side that didn’t want to be found. Taking all that into consideration, Willa stopped asking questions and quit worrying about being his next conquest. Instead, she sat next to him on the carved bench inside the pagoda. Sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the swamp, the starlings fussing as they flew overhead, the bullfrogs singing in the marsh. Listening to the soft, sweet melody of hundreds of tiny chiming bells. Across the shore, a blue heron posed on a toppled branch from a bald cypress tree, listening and watching right along with them. And somewhere in
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the coolness of the swamp, a mourning dove cooed a forlorn song of longing. “Thank you for showing me this place, Lucas,” she told him after a few minutes. “Thank you for letting me bring you here,” he replied, his tone neither carefree nor careless. Instead, his husky voice held a reverent longing of its own. Which made her wonder all over again. Why had he opened up to her, let her see the real Lucas Dorsette, here in this ancient, tragic spot, of all places on God’s green earth? “Set another place for dinner,” Lorna told Rosie Lee that afternoon. “Willa O’Connor will be joining us.” Lucas walked in the kitchen in time to hear this bit of news. “Willa? Well, I think the dinner hour just got more interesting. Glad I actually dressed.” He’d never admit that he’d taken great pains to get cleaned up in hopes of seeing her here tonight. Crisp button-up shirt, pressed and pleated khaki trousers. Shoes that didn’t have scuff marks and caked mud all over them. He’d even found a belt. “And where have you been since breakfast?” Lorna asked him as she opened the oven to check on Rosie Lee’s baked turkey cutlets. “Willa came back to the house without you. Did you do something to upset her?” “Which question would you like me to answer first?” he asked, perturbed that his baby sister had automatically jumped to the wrong conclusion. And she hadn’t even noticed that he’d tried to clean up nicely.
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“You did do something, didn’t you?” Giving Lorna a direct look that matched her own assumptions, he nodded. “Yes, I sure did. I kidnapped her and took her deep into the swamp and then—” “Oh, hush up,” Aunt Hilda said, coming into the kitchen at a slow pace, one hand leaning heavily on her cane. “I can tell you where Lucas was today, Lorna. He spent most of the afternoon with me at the office, handing out school supplies to the area children.” “School supplies?” Lorna adjusted her chef’s hat, then shrugged. “Will wonders never cease.” “I even went into Kenner to that big superstore and bought them, too,” Lucas told her. “Can you believe Aunt Hilda assigned me such a monumental chore?” Lorna stuck out her tongue at him. “Yes, I can believe it. And I’m well aware of the local effort to help our children with their supplies this year. Between the tornado and then the flood, we all know everyone around here is tapped out, both emotionally and financially.” “That’s right,” Aunt Hilda said, placing an arm around Lucas’s shoulder. “School will be starting in a few weeks, and we need to do everything we can to make it a normal transition, in spite of all the havoc nature has created this year.” “Okay,” Lorna said. “But that still doesn’t explain why Willa came back to the house by herself.” “I escorted her to the garden—the official garden,” Lucas explained. “She wanted to go to her
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room, so I bid her good day, then I went on my merry way.” And wished he could have stayed in his secret garden with Willa for, oh, maybe the rest of his life. He couldn’t explain what had happened this morning. He only knew he’d needed to take Willa to that particular spot. Call it instinct, call it a need to let her into his secret hopes and dreams. Or call it a coward’s plea for someone to see inside his soul, but Lucas had been sure and solid in his decision. And…she’d understood. Willa hadn’t questioned him. She hadn’t condemned him. She’d sat there with him, in the quiet of the summer morning, with the bayou and the birds and bees all around them. And she’d…accepted. Lucas had been around many beautiful women, too many, when he really stopped to think about it. But none of them had ever accepted him for what he was. They’d all wanted to dig too deep, wanted more than he could give. They’d all tried to corner him, change him, rearrange him into fitting husband material. Which only made him bolt right out the door. Maybe it was because she was worldly and worldweary, but Willa didn’t seem to expect a whole lot from him. He supposed that could be good or bad, depending on how you looked at things. Maybe Willa didn’t expect too much because she’d hardened herself to men in general. Or maybe she knew he couldn’t possibly live up to her expectations. Lorna brought that point home with her next state-
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ment. “Well, I thought you were going to keep an eye on Willa, watch over her while she’s here.” “I would gladly do that,” he responded, reaching into Rosie Lee’s spinach salad to snare a fat slice of green pepper. “But Willa said she was tired and she was going back to her room to rest and make a few phone calls. So I left her to it.” And wondered why she’d looked so sad as she’d walked away. Lorna frowned, then nodded. “Okay, then. I know she didn’t let anyone know where she’d be, not even her agent. And I think she’s turned off her cell phone. I hope she did get some rest today.” Glancing at the clock, she added, “Oh, I’ve got to get to the restaurant before Mick gets home. Just as soon as I gauge the crowd and make sure my assistant and Em can handle things, I’ll be back for dinner.” “We’ll be honored by your presence,” Lucas teased. Lorna gave him a mock-nasty glare, then reached to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sorry I jumped on you, brother.” “What else is new?” “You’re still my favorite brother, you know.” “Maybe because I’m your only brother.” She smiled at him, all trace of doubt gone. “I want you to be happy, Lucas.” “But just not with your fair friend Willa.” “I didn’t say that. Actually, it would be nice if—” Willa came into the room then, her crystal-blue eyes bright and red-rimmed, her expression border-
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ing on frantic. In spite of that, she looked glorious in a long, straight blue cotton sundress etched with embroidered daisies on its wide crisscrossed straps. Lucas started to question her but glanced at his sister and saw the warning look in Lorna’s worried eyes. He turned to Willa, hoping to lighten her mood. “I hear you’re joining us for dinner. Most of the guests eat in the restaurant, so we’re glad to have you at our table.” “Thank you,” she said, her words just above a whisper. “I hope I won’t be intruding on a family gathering.” “Not at all,” Aunt Hilda told Willa, her sharp gaze taking in everything. “As Lucas said, we don’t provide dinner for our guests—just breakfast. But Lorna figured out a way around that with her booming restaurant.” Lucas grinned, then took his aunt by one arm as he extended the other to Willa. “But we never turn down a beautiful face at the dinner table, either, when the occasion presents itself.” He waited, saw Willa hesitate, wondering. He wanted to pull his hands through her haphazardly upswept hair. Then she put her arm around his, lifted her head and gave him a brilliant smile that would probably sell lots of lipstick in a magazine shot. “How can I refuse, then?” How, indeed, Lucas wondered. She seemed anything but eager to have dinner with his family. She seemed sad and forlorn, just like his lost, forgotten garden in the bayou.
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Lucas wanted to wipe away her tears, make her smile again, from the heart. But first he had to find out what had brought her here and why she seemed so fragile. As he walked with his aunt and Willa up the central hallway of Bayou le Jardin, Lucas knew one thing for sure. God had brought Willa to him. And Lucas had been right to take her to his private garden. It was the place where he kept his fears and sadness intact, nurturing them as if they were cherished blossoms lost deep inside the swamp. He looked at Willa and knew that beneath her pain, the beauty was still there, just as with his garden. He felt an acute need to clear away the bramble and entanglements surrounding Willa’s smile and bring that beauty into the light.
Chapter Four
L
ucas flipped on the light by his favorite armchair in the little den off the kitchen. “Well, well. Would you look at that?” “I knew you’d want to see it,” Rosie Lee told him, shaking her head. “Dem fellows might be back, Lucas.” “Yeap, they just might. And I just might be waiting for them.” Lucas focused on the supermarket tabloid Rosie Lee had handed him. The supermarket tabloid that had a picture of Willa O’Connor, standing on the bayou, plastered across its front cover, complete with the headline “Supermodel flees New York for bedand-breakfast retreat in Louisiana.” Then, in a subhead, “Why did Willa O’Connor cancel her appearance in benefit fashion show? Details inside.” Lucas wanted the details. But not this way. He wanted Willa to tell him what was going on. If she
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saw this, she’d probably pack up and head for parts unknown. Because she was obviously running from something. Lucas knew this because, hey, it took one to know one. He’d certainly run away a few times in his life. To the swamp. To New Orleans. To his garden pagoda. He could see all the signs. But why had Willa come here? Maybe because she needed to be here; God wanted her to be here right now. Last night at dinner, she’d been polite—her manners were impeccable. She’d also been aloof and withdrawn, traits expected of a haughty model, but they didn’t fit the Willa he’d seen when they’d been alone in the garden. There she’d been more open, more down to earth. Lucas wished he could figure out the real Willa O’Connor, not the glossy image she’d managed to project both on paper and in the flesh. He put down the tabloid, telling himself he wouldn’t read the disgusting and obviously untrue article inside. Then he pulled out the worn picture he’d found of Willa in the fashion magazine the other morning, comparing it to the blurry headshot from the tabloid. There was no comparison. In the glossy magazine shot, Willa looked pictureperfect as she stood smiling on a bridge in Venice, wearing a shimmering baby blue satin evening gown and dazzling jewels. It was an ad for a very expensive designer perfume. It worked for him.
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In the tabloid picture, Willa looked lovely, but she had that same lost, worried look on her face Lucas had noticed so many times in the past two days. She was staring at the water as if hoping to find answers there. The intrusive photographers had captured her in a very private moment. And they’d obviously had more than one roll of film, since Lucas had destroyed the rolls in their cameras. That didn’t work for Lucas. He wanted to find those two clowns and grind them both to pulp. But Aunt Hilda would tell him that wasn’t the way a Dorsette resolved conflict. So did he pray for their rotten, misguided souls instead? Better to pray for Willa. To pray that he could find a way to get closer to her, help her through whatever problem she’d come here to solve. Rosie Lee stuck her head in the doorway. “Want more coffee, Lucas?” “Non.” He got up, threw the trashy tabloid on the worn coffee table. “I’m going out to find the rest of the breakfast crowd. Then I’ve got a busy day—got to check the dip nets and trotlines so Lorna will have fresh seafood for dinner tonight. Then I’m supposed to get with Mick and Justin to go over the renovation plans for later this fall. But first I need to see—” “Willa O’Connor is out on the gallery,” Rosie Lee told him with a grin. It was uncanny the way Rosie Lee could read his mind, Lucas thought as he grabbed his cup of now cold
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coffee and headed through the kitchen to the back gardens. Glancing over the clusters of people eating their morning meal, Lucas saw a couple of new faces. And the one face he’d been searching for. They were booked solid for the summer, in spite of the damage from the storms earlier in the spring. Of course, Justin and the whole clan had worked around the clock to get the house and gardens in order, but there was still a lot that needed to be done, which was why they would probably have to shut down for a couple weeks in the less busy late fall. Upkeep on the place was a never-ending battle, but one they gladly accepted. Lucas had pitched in, too. He loved these gardens and their home as much as his aunt and sisters did. And right now, he especially loved having Willa O’Connor sitting at a wrought-iron table in beige linen pleated slacks and a stark black sleeveless summer sweater, her long hair pulled from her classic face with an exotic metal and wooden clip, her face devoid of any makeup. She looked as if she belonged in a country garden. As always, her natural beauty assaulted Lucas with the same force as the many flowers blooming around them. It slammed into his gut with a gentle rendering, making him inhale then exhale in one quick breath. He didn’t understand this attraction, had never had to deal with anything quite so strong and sure before. He’d been attracted to other women, but he’d never felt a jolt that went all the way from his stomach to his toes. And he’d never felt such a fierce longing, a
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mixture of wanting to protect her and nurture her coupled with a need to know everything about her. “Staring is quite rude,” Aunt Hilda said under her breath as she walked past him. She took the time to stop and rap his leg with her cane before she moved on, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m going to work. And you, try to stay out of trouble.” Lucas snapped to attention, then realized he wasn’t the only one staring at Willa. An older couple sitting at the next table—the Gilberts from East Texas— were whispering and staring. And Mrs. Gilbert had a copy of that annoying tabloid in her plump little hand. Lucas saw the ambush coming before he could take a step to warn Willa. “It is you, isn’t it?” Mrs. Gilbert chirped as she fluttered to her feet and rushed to Willa’s table. “See. It says so right here.” She pointed to the picture, then looked at Willa, smug and proud of her discovery. “I told William I thought this was you. The story says you didn’t show up at an important fashion event. Says you’re having personal problems.” Lucas watched as Willa’s smile turned to stony surprise. “I beg your pardon?” “Honey, it’s okay, really,” Mrs. Gilbert said, leaning close. “I can understand why you’d want a little downtime. I mean, traveling to all those exotic places, wearing all those beautiful, costly clothes at fashion shows.” She made a shushing sound, then rolled her eyes. “I wish I had it so hard.” She beamed a smile at Willa. “Did you really walk away from a cancer benefit fashion show in New York last week?”
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Willa looked at the tabloid picture, then turned as pale as the ice in her freshly squeezed orange juice. “Where did you get this?” “The drugstore in town,” Mrs. Gilbert replied, nodding. “Went in for some sunscreen and just had to have this, too. I love catching up on all the gossip.” She pulled a pen from the pocket of her cotton tunic. “Will you sign it for me?” Willa got up so fast, she knocked over the juice. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking around. “I…” “I think Miss O’Connor isn’t in the mood to sign any autographs right now,” Lucas said, coming to stand by Willa, his arm gently nudging her so she could lean against him. “She didn’t give permission for that picture to be published, and the article is a complete fabrication. Well, you understand, of course, Mrs. Gilbert. There’s no big story here. Miss O’Connor just wants some privacy.” He flashed the older woman one of his best smiles. “Isn’t that the very reason you and Dr. Gilbert keep coming back to Bayou le Jardin year after year—just to get away from all the stress of running a private practice and those fussy patients? You know how we pride ourselves on keeping our guests happy.” Mrs. Gilbert looked embarrassed, then she smiled at Lucas. “Of course, Mr. Dorsette. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She shrugged. “It’s just that, well, a supermodel, right here at breakfast. It’s not every day you find that.” “I agree,” Lucas said, his hand squeezing Willa’s arm. Her skin felt silky soft, but cold in spite of the
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heat. “Miss O’Connor, have you met Mrs. Gilbert? Margaret Ann Gilbert and her husband, Dr. William Gilbert. They’ve been coming to Bayou le Jardin every summer for several years now. Two of our favorite guests.” “Oh, my,” Mrs. Gilbert said, playfully slapping Lucas on the arm as she batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s so very nice to meet you, Miss O’Connor. My, you’re so tall.” Willa gave Lucas a grateful look, then reached out to shake Mrs. Gilbert’s hand. “I’m sorry if I acted rudely, Mrs. Gilbert. It’s just that I thought I’d have some privacy here, and seeing that picture—” “It’s not a very clear shot, is it?” Mrs. Gilbert replied, obviously enjoying Willa’s discomfort. Dr. Gilbert, a tall man with a tuft of white hair, came ambling over to take his petite wife by the arm. “Margaret Ann, I declare, can’t you see the woman doesn’t want to be bothered? Now stop gawking and come on back to our table and eat your breakfast. Lorna made these cinnamon rolls especially for you, dear.” “Yes, I certainly did,” Lorna said, getting up to find more of the freshly baked concoctions. Emily came rushing out of the kitchen with a steaming batch. “Look, here’s Em with more. Have another, then take a nice stroll around the gardens. The butterfly garden is especially pretty this time of year.” Mrs. Gilbert gave Lorna and Willa an envious stare. “Well, I shouldn’t have any more, but I suppose I’ll never be supermodel thin like the two of you. Might as well enjoy myself in my old age, huh?”
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“Exactly,” Lucas told her as he let go of Willa to escort Mrs. Gilbert to her table. Then he leaned low to whisper in the captivated woman’s ear. “And thank you for understanding about our special guest. You are such a discreet person, I hope I can count on you to know exactly the right thing to say—if anyone asks about Willa being here, that is.” “Oh, my, of course,” Mrs. Gilbert said as Lucas gently pushed her into her chair. “William, pass me another roll, sweetheart.” “Of course, honey,” Dr. Gilbert said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Think I’ll have another myself, too.” Lucas left them smiling and cooing over Lorna’s fluffy iced cinnamon rolls, their coffee cups filled to the brim with a fresh brew, thanks to Emily. Lorna gave Lucas a thankful look, then headed over to entertain and distract the Gilberts. “Thank you,” Willa said as he drew near. “I appreciate that.” She still looked pale and shaken. “Why don’t you sit back down,” Lucas told her. He indicated her chair. “Do you want something else? Some more juice?” She sank into her chair. “No, no. I’m fine, really. Seeing that picture just startled me. I didn’t want anyone to know—” “That you’re here.” She nodded, then looked at him. “And that I didn’t live up to a commitment. I’ve never backed out of a show in my life, especially when it’s a charity event.”
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Lucas snagged a crisp piece of bacon Lorna had left on her plate. “Couldn’t be helped, I reckon.” “I should have gone through with it, but I did have my reasons for being a no-show,” Willa replied, more to herself than to him. “I’d hate to think—I don’t want people to believe—” “People will believe what they want to believe,” Lucas interjected, his hand on hers. “You’ve obviously got a good reason for deciding to cancel out on the show.” She looked up. “But you don’t believe me, either, do you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering exactly what the rest of the world is wondering— how could I be so shallow and self-centered?” She jumped up to stare down at him. Lucas caught her before she could bolt for the house. “Hey, now, slow down. Yes, I’m wondering what happened. But I refuse to believe gossip or half-truths. What I’d really like is for you to talk to me, tell me what’s bothering you.” She lowered her head. “I can’t.” “Why not? You can trust me.” Willa pulled her arm away. “It’s not about trust. This is something I have to deal with on my own, in my own way. I just need some time to think things through, make a decision.” “And you’d rather be left alone?” Her expression told him one thing, but her eyes told him that she needed someone to help her through whatever crisis she was dealing with. “I have to resolve this on my own terms, Lucas,”
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she replied. She reached a hand up to absently scratch a bright red spot on her arm. Then she turned to leave. Lucas moved like lightning to catch up with her. “What’s wrong with your arm?” She shrugged, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just a few bug bites from our excursion into the swamp the other day. I’ve got some lotion in my room.” “Oh, no,” he said, pulling her toward the French doors. “Rosie Lee has this stuff she makes up herself with herbs and witch hazel. It’ll take the sting out. C’mon, we’ll find it. These Louisiana mosquitoes can be fierce.” She smiled. “It does itch.” “We’ll fix it,” Lucas told her, taking her into the kitchen. Rosie Lee glanced up from the industrial-size dishwasher. “Can I get you anything, Lucas?” “Nah. We’re just gonna head into the sitting room to doctor Willa’s bug bites.” Rosie Lee nodded, then turned to her work. “Poor bébé. You’re sure too pretty for da mosquitoes to tote off, for true.” “Thank you,” Willa said, smiling at the other woman. Emily came in and glanced shyly at Willa. “Miss O’Connor, I just love…I love seeing you in all the magazines. I can’t believe you’re really here.” Willa gave the teenager a soft smile. “Thanks, Emily. Just remember, what you see in the magazines is the product of a whole team of people—makeup
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artists and hairstylists, not to mention the marketing and advertising gurus. I know it might sound trite, but real beauty comes from within. And your pretty smile shows me that you have an inner beauty all your own.” Emily blushed, looked at her mother, then shook her head. “But I’ll never look like you.” “You weren’t meant to,” Willa replied. “Just be yourself. You have beautiful olive skin and glorious dark hair. Would you believe, I used to wish I had dark hair like yours?” “Non,” Emily said, laughing. Then she touched her rich brown locks. “It is natural.” “Keep it that way, suga’,” Lucas interjected with a wink. “Em, you know you’re the belle of Bayou le Jardin, don’t you, now?” “Lucas, you’re teasing me,” Emily said, grinning. But Lucas saw the way she held her head high. Willa’s praise had given the young woman some much-needed confidence. “Em, get back to your chores,” her mother said softly, a look of pride on her face. Emily rolled her eyes, then grinned again. “I’ll see you later.” “Medicine’s on the shelf in the pantry,” Rosie Lee told Lucas. Then she glanced at Willa. “Thanks for talking to her. She’s at that age where she thinks she’s ugly. Me, I think she’s the prettiest thing in the world, but I’m just her mamma, hein?” “She is pretty,” Willa replied. “She’ll blossom into a beauty soon.”
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“Oui, her papa is worried about that very thing.” While Rosie Lee went back to work, Lucas tugged Willa into the little sitting room. “There,” he indicated, placing her on the couch, his gaze holding hers. “That was a very nice thing you just did.” Willa shrugged, then looked away. “What? Talking to Emily? I was telling her the truth. She’s at such a hard age—caught between baby fat and hormones. I certainly can remember those days.” Lucas let his gaze move over her slender frame. “Did you actually ever have any baby fat?” “Yes, I sure did. But I was all arms and legs, so awkward and gangly. I felt like an ugly duckling.” “And turned into a beautiful swan.” He saw the sadness falling across her like a cloud over the sun. “Where’s this soothing medicine?” she asked, her eyes on her itching bite. She rubbed it with obvious nervousness. To avoid looking at him, he guessed. After rummaging through the first aid kit in the pantry that connected the sitting room with the kitchen, Lucas found the antiseptic lotion that Rosie Lee kept handy for just such purposes. “Ah, here it is,” he told Willa, coming to sit on the footstool in front of her. Noticing the tabloid on the table, he quickly shoved it to the floor before she had a chance to see it. Then he took her arm in his hand and began to rub creamy, fresh-scented medicine on the swollen bite. “That ol’ skeeter got you bad, love. Does it still sting and itch?”
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Willa looked at him, her big blue eyes filled with gratitude and resolve. “It’s not that bad. I’ve got a couple of others, mostly on my legs. I’ll doctor those with Rosie Lee’s medicine later, if you don’t mind.” “I could do those, too,” he teased, glad to see a smile tugging at her beautiful lips. “I guess in your profession, you have to be extra careful about bug bites and scrapes—the camera probably isn’t too kind to injuries.” She nodded, her thick ponytail falling over her shoulder. “I have to be careful, but we have the magic of airbrushing and touching up the photos to help us look perfect—even when we’re not.” “You’re as close to perfect as any woman I’ve ever met,” Lucas said, his hand going still on her arm. “I just need to take better care of you next time we venture out.” “I can take care of myself,” she reminded him. “You need to stop coming to my rescue all the time. And you also need to understand that I’m far from perfect.” Lucas sat back, his fingers touching her arm, his other hand still holding her steady. “Okay, I’ll accept that you probably have your failings, whatever they might be, but I like rescuing you. And besides, I’m a highly trained professional. I took a six-week course at Tulane University on how to handle damsels in distress.” “Funny, I didn’t know Tulane offered such a course.” “They only let certain people go through it.” He winked, grinned, then continued to rub her arm.
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“And they prepare us for lovely, long-limbed models. They warn us that we might lose our hearts, so we have to be strong and prove our worth. It’s a tough challenge—only for the very brave. But we take our job very seriously.” “You’re completely crazy,” she told him, scoffing. “How many women have you told that tall tale, anyway?” “I don’t go around rescuing every woman who comes around that big curve in the road,” he told her, serious. “But…you’re different, Willa. It seems as if I’m just supposed to be here for you.” She abruptly pulled her arm away. “I don’t need anyone to be here for me, Lucas. I’ve been on my own for a very long time.” “And why is that?” he countered, ignoring the way she’d successfully cut off any shred of intimacy between them. “I’m adopted,” she blurted. Then she lowered her head, as if ashamed. Lucas lifted her chin with his thumb. “What’s that got to do with anything?” Looking up, she said, “My parents were older than most when they decided to adopt a child. My father is an ambassador—to a small country halfway around the world. And my mother…she always followed my father around, clinging to him, hoping to be the best possible wife she could be. But she couldn’t have children, and my father wanted a child more than anything. I think that’s the only reason she agreed to an adoption, because he wanted
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it so much. They both needed a child for appearances’ sake.” Lucas thought that was a terrible thing to think about your own parents, and especially about yourself. That brought thoughts of his dead mother and father and how much they had treasured their three children. Pushing bittersweet memories away, he held Willa, his hand cupping her face. “Why do you think that, chère?” Willa didn’t try to twist away. Instead, she leaned into his touch. “They were so distant, so formal when I was growing up. They still are. And they expected so very much, more than I was ever able to give.” “Do you see them now? I mean, are they still alive?” “Oh, yes, I see them during holidays—the obligatory visit. But they travel here and there with the social set, their image intact in spite of their daughter’s disgraceful antics.” “I don’t see anything disgraceful in this face,” he told her, inching closer. “I was supposed to be just like my mother,” she explained, her expression grim. “I went through boarding school, prep school, college. Then I was supposed to marry some Ivy Leaguer with plenty of old money and settle down to charity events and committee work.” “I guess that didn’t happen.” “No. I was ‘discovered’ when a modeling scout came to our campus to do some photo shoots. A friend talked me into going to the shoot just for fun.
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Well, the agency rep seemed to like me, but at first, I resisted the offer. I’m not one to be impulsive, you see. But the scout and the agency were very persistent. Signed me up on the spot a week before graduation. “I think I agreed just to spite my parents and their latest catch, a very eligible bachelor who met all their credentials. It was a way to run away, get away. When I turned down his marriage proposal and told my parents I was heading to France for my first modeling assignment, they practically disowned me.” “But you’re famous, rich, accomplished. What’s the matter with these people?” “I’ve asked my therapist that many times,” she said, her smile warming his hand. “And I’ve longed to know what’s wrong with me just the way I am.” She stopped smiling. “Then, after I informed them I wanted to find my real mother—” Lucas watched as she became silent again. He saw the pain marring her face, felt it in the touch of his fingers to her skin. “Did you—find her, I mean?” Willa put her hand over his, pulling it away from her face. “I’ve been searching for so long. I had just about given up. But about a month ago, the private investigator I hired came up with a family name and a location. Now I’m trying to get up the courage to go and see if this family might be my family.” “Wow.” He held her hand in his. “So…what’s holding you back?” Her eyes misted over, but she held the tears at bay.
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“I’m afraid,” she finally admitted. “I’m so afraid of what I might find if I do go to see my real mother. What if she doesn’t want to see me?” “That would be tough,” he said, nodding. “But if this is something you have to do—” “It is.” She got up, the aloof nature intact once again. “Thanks for the medicine. The itching’s stopped now.” “Willa, wait.” He rose to go after her. But she was already in the hall, heading up the winding stairs. “Willa, do you want to talk about this?” “No,” she told him, turning to stare at him. “Thanks, Lucas. But there’s so much more to the story. And I really can’t explain all of it right now.” “When?” he asked, his heart hurting for her. “When, Willa?” “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t think I should stay here too much longer. It’s only going to get worse if I do.” With that, she turned and fled up the stairs to the second floor, shutting her bedroom door behind her. Lucas turned from the stairs to look out the French doors, his gaze scanning the great oaks surrounding the front of the house. “How could it get any worse?” he wondered out loud. After all, he’d already lost his heart. He could be persistent. He would find out what Willa was so worried about, what secrets she’d brought to Bayou le Jardin with her. And he’d gladly help her to find her long-lost biological mother, if she’d let him. Because he wasn’t
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about to let Willa leave these gardens in her current state of mind. Nor anytime soon, if he had his way. And Lucas Dorsette always got his way.
Chapter Five
“I
let you get away with this one, Willa, but if you keep pulling these stunts your career is going to be in serious jeopardy.” Willa held the cell phone tightly to her ear, the warning words from her agent reminding her that her life was falling apart even as she sat here. “I understand that, Samuel. But I need a little more time. I’m exhausted, worried, confused. I have to have a few more days, at least.” She sank back on the antique white wicker chair, one hand digging into the soft, plush floral cushion as she looked from the second floor gallery to the gardens below. Contrasting the peaceful, bucolic scene spread out in front of her with the impatient sigh of her longtime agent, Samuel Frye, only made Willa more conscious of her obligations and commitments. “If you’d just let me in on what’s going on with you,” Samuel said, his words etched with exaspera-
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tion as well as concern. “Willa, you are one of my best clients. We’ve made a whole lot of money together, me and you.You’re wholesome, the girl next door, and you aren’t a prima donna. So I don’t get this—” “You mean, I’m acting like a prima donna now,” she interjected, her gaze scanning the distant row of hot-pink and fuchsia-colored crape myrtle trees Lucas had tugged her through a couple of days ago. Putting thoughts of Lucas and their time together out of her mind, Willa tried to find a reason to give Samuel for her refusal to come back to New York. “Samuel, have I ever embarrassed you? Have I ever before backed out on any of my contracts or my commitments? Haven’t I worked hard for you?” “Yes, of course.” She could almost see Samuel’s distinguished, cratered face. He’d been in the business for so many years some of the younger models called him Papa Frye. Samuel didn’t mind the title one bit. In fact, he encouraged it. He had a big heart, and he took care of his clients, especially the young women who were thrust into the sophisticated world of fashion modeling at such early ages. He set high standards for himself and his clients. Willa didn’t want to let him down. “Maybe you’re right,” she said at last. “I’m not really accomplishing anything here, and unfortunately, that tabloid story is only going to alert the rest of the media as to my whereabouts. I know I can’t stay here much longer without more questions popping up, but there is something I have to take care of before I can come home.”
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“But you do plan on coming home soon, to help me try to do some damage control regarding this benefit show?” Willa looked over the gardens toward the bayou. She’d seen Lucas heading toward the restaurant and boathouse earlier, had watched as he’d steered his pirogue into the brown-black waters of the swamp. He’d disappeared in a low mist, like some figment of her imagination. She wanted to escape and run after him, to ask him to take her into that lush landscape so she could hide from the world, hide from her responsibilities and her doubts. She was so very tired. But Willa knew that would be a mistake. “I just need until the weekend,” she told Samuel. “That’s three more days. I don’t have anything pressing anyway for a couple of weeks.” Samuel sighed again. “Okay. I’ll hold off any bookings other than the ones we already have scheduled until I hear from you on Monday. But I expect you to be back in New York by then. And…I expect you to tell me what this is all about. You know I’m only here to help, Willa. If you need anything…” “You’re a sweetheart,” Willa replied, wishing she could explain things to him. “Listen, I’ll be here through the weekend, but I know I’ve got to move on to avoid the press. And I’ve got some personal things to take care of. So…you have my cell number. You can track me down if something urgent comes up. But, Samuel, I’d really appreciate it if you could just back off for a while.”
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“Okay, all right. I’ve sent out a press release explaining why you had to pull out of the benefit show—exhaustion, fatigue, the usual. I only hope people don’t think—” “That I’m sick, that I’m hooked on drugs or alcohol?” She shook her head even though Samuel couldn’t see her. “We both know that’s not true.” “Yes, we know that, but you have to understand how the press takes these things. Just like that twobit tabloid, they make up what they can’t prove.” Willa closed her eyes, letting the tiredness wash over her. “Yes, I know. But I need some privacy. I need to work through this without the press hovering around. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she hung up, then tossed the phone on a nearby white wicker table. How could she ever explain this to anyone? She thought of Lucas, remembering his gentle touch this morning as he’d doctored her bug bites. He was such a kind man. So different from any man she’d ever been involved with. Was she becoming involved with Lucas Dorsette? Willa closed her eyes, wondered how to pray. She’d never been taught how to talk to a higher source, had never been encouraged to attend church on a regular basis. Her parents, so aloof, so worldly, had been inclined to look on religious practices as something to be tolerated, something to be used when time and circumstances called for it. As far as she knew, they didn’t even attend church. Then Willa thought of Lucas and his sisters, of
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Aunt Hilda and the Babineaux family. All so devout, all so sincere and secure in their faith. Why did she feel so safe with them? With Lucas? She didn’t want to depend on him. She’d always depended on herself. Knowing she’d been adopted caused her to put up a shield around herself—distancing her heart from the tormenting questions that had always haunted her. Did her real mother love her? Had she been forced to give up her child? Did her adopted parents really love her, or had they only taken her in to put up a facade of being the perfect family? Lucas had lost his parents so long ago. Her heart went out to him. How he and his sisters must have suffered. And yet they carried on. They believed God would show them the way. She got up to stand at the intricate iron and wood railing, a railing that had been forged and created right here on this land long ago, according to Lacey. Tradition. Heritage. Roots. Family. Willa longed to have those things, not a nomadic facsimile. She was plain tired of running from the truth. And she knew that healthwise, her own time might be running out. She closed her eyes again, tried to form the words to ask the God she didn’t really know or understand to help her find her path in life. And then she opened her eyes and looked down to find Lucas standing under a great oak tree, staring at her. Her heart stopped, lifted out in the wind to fill with a great, heavy longing.
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“You look like a princess in her tower, standing there, love,” he called to her. Willa leaned over the balcony, waving at him. “Are you my prince, come to rescue me yet again?” “I just might be, at that.” Then he lifted himself off the tree’s ancient trunk, his head tilted back as he smiled up at her. “Or maybe that should be the other way around. Maybe you’ve come to rescue me.” Willa wondered what he meant by that statement. He did seem in need of some sort of emotional rescue. But at other times he seemed content, living here far from the madding crowd. She could almost be content here herself. Except I can’t stay. Except you don’t know the truth about me. She should have shouted those words at him. But she didn’t. Because it suddenly occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, Lucas did need a bit of nurturing companionship, at least. It couldn’t hurt to extend the hand of friendship. If only she had the courage to offer it to him. Willa wasn’t accustomed to rash, impulsive decisions. But something in the mid-morning air urged her to follow her heart just this once. Just for the time she had left here. “Stay there, my prince,” she called, laughing. “I’m coming down from my tower.” Lucas watched as she strolled down the garden path toward him, her smile as radiant as ever. Even if
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she did have shadows underneath those brilliant blue eyes. He reached a hand out to her. “Did you get your business taken care of?” “Yes and no.” “And none of my concern, I suppose.” She shook her head, causing her long ponytail to loop over one shoulder, which only made Lucas want to pull her hair out of its trendy barrette and pull it through his fingers. “No, it’s not that. I talked to my agent, and he’s fussing for me to come back to New York. Obligations and all of that.” “Ah, obligations.” Lucas gave her a quick sideways glance as he tugged her down the path. “We do have to live up to those, don’t we?” “I’m afraid so,” she replied. “But I told him I need a few more days here. I’m staying until Sunday, at least.” “Or until the reporters return, at least.” He gave her a direct stare, watched as her skin blushed pink. Wondered just what was going through her mind. “Well, I don’t want to involve you and your family in my crazy lifestyle. So, yes, if the reporters return, I’ll have to leave sooner.” He tugged her close, bringing her around so he could hold her in his arms. “Then we’d best make good use of the time we have together. Are you afraid of flying?” She looked puzzled, then amused. “I’ve flown in airplanes all over the world, Lucas. No, I don’t think I’m afraid of flying. In fact, it’s become a way of life.”
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“Oh, really now?” “Really.” “But you’ve never flown with me, now, have you?” “Well, no.” She grinned, then glanced around as they neared a large white barnlike building, where vehicles and yard equipment were kept. “And I don’t recall seeing a plane in the garage.” “Come with me, then,” he said, coaxing her toward his Jeep. He had some obligations to fulfill, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t come along with him. “Lucas, last time I checked, that was an automobile, not an airplane,” she said, pointing toward the sleek black vehicle. “Yep. That’s correct.” He opened the passenger side door and bowed gallantly. “Your carriage awaits, milady.” When she stood there, he said, “Last time I checked, the private airport on the other side of town had a pretty little single-engine top of the line Ag Cat with my name on it.” “What’s an Ag Cat?” “A crop-dusting plane.” “You’re teasing, right?” “Not at all. I do a little aerial application on the side. And a few loopty-loops when the mood hits me. Want to come along for a look-see ride?” “What’s a look-see?” “I’m going to do a pass over of a soybean field about ten miles from here. It’s located between two thickets, so I have to decide if the chemicals can be
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dumped in such a way as to keep the thickets environmentally sound. Don’t want to kill anything but the bad bugs.” “So, you won’t be spraying any chemicals today?” “Non. In fact, after I show off my Ag Cat to you in the safety of the hangar, we’ll take out another plane—a sweet old Piper Cub J-3 that belonged to Lacey’s late husband, Neil. I use the Cub for all the fun stuff.” He stopped, remembering how touched he’d been when Lacey had given him the plane after Neil’s death. But he didn’t want to talk about death. Not today. Not with Willa. So he went back to business. “I couldn’t take you along on a for-real spraying. It’s illegal, for one thing, and while I’d enjoy being very close to you, we’d be a bit cramped for space, since my Ag Cat is built to precision for only one person. Plus, the chemicals are nasty.” He twisted his nose, then made a face. “Gets to the old breathing system if you don’t wear protective clothing and a respirator.” Rolling her eyes, she said, “And you enjoy doing this? Inhaling chemicals in midair?” “I adhere to all the safety precautions. That’s one reason I decided to become a crop duster—so I could keep an eye on the environment around here and try to control what chemicals are dumped and sprayed— and yes, I do enjoy it. It’s all in the calculation, you see. The weather, the wind, the lay of the land, they all play a part in the whole thing. When everything is in place, I just drop and dump.”
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Willa shook her head, then glanced down. “I don’t know about this—going up in the clouds with a real barnstormer.” Thinking she was going to turn him down and head to the seclusion of her room, Lucas tugged her ponytail. “I promise you’ll be safe—I’m a very good pilot. And you won’t be bored.” She hopped up on the seat. “I can’t imagine ever being bored with you, Lucas.” “Then let’s go. It’s a perfect day to see the whole view from up above.” “I’d like that,” she said. Lucas took that as a yes. He was right. She wasn’t bored. The view was breathtaking, a country canvas of square fields of rich, fluttering green and clusters of all types of houses tucked between forest thickets and lush swamps near the slinking dark ribbon of the Mississippi River. The sky was a clear, warm blue with bursts of billowing clouds here and there overhead, while the carpet of the ever-changing land lay beneath like a giant picnic quilt. He’d also given her a view of his home in all its splendor. From this height, it looked like a beautiful dollhouse, complete with tiny flowers and trees. The double line of great oaks stretched toward them like two arms opening in welcome. The bayou stretched and shifted beyond the gardens, its dark waters and bearded cypress trees holding their secrets close. In one quiet cove, a dense
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clutter of cypress knees held a nest of egrets. The birds sat on the gray-tinged limbs and moss-draped stumps, looking like white flower petals. But the roar of the big bird overhead caused the elegant birds to lift and fly en masse across the black-bottomed bayou. Willa had been in all types of airplanes, but she’d never felt so alive, so exhilarated. Maybe that feeling of complete freedom and lightness had more to do with the highly skilled pilot at the controls than it did with being in the clouds. Lucas was an expert, but he was also certainly a daredevil, a combination that made him that much more appealing in her eyes. He’d promised her some loops and twists. And he’d given her exactly that. Lucas apparently liked to live on the edge. Willa laughed over her shoulder at him from where she sat in the front section. He rewarded her with a brilliant grin. With his dark hair tucked beneath a vintage World War Two aviator cap, he looked even more dashing and dangerous than he did out in a pirogue. Then her heart dropped to her shaky feet as Lucas tilted the plane into a quick spin, setting it right before she had time to be scared. Willa screamed, both delighted and relieved, as he did what he had earlier explained as a P turn, taking her right over Bayou le Jardin and the surrounding swamps and woods. “It’s a tricky maneuver, because the plane can stall out and you’re flying about one hundred feet
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above the earth. You have to concentrate and have good coordination. But don’t worry. I’ve done about a thousand or so such turns and I had to do about a third of those in flight school just to get my license.” She’d believed him when he’d told her this inside the hangar, and she believed him now. And she felt completely safe in his capable hands. Which was amazing. Willa knew she’d never been one to take chances. She liked everything laid out in an orderly, chronological fashion. Perhaps she’d learned that trait from her precise, carefully in-control mother. Candace didn’t make a move unless it was completely calculated. And each move had been one step up the social ladder, one more planned achievement for her mother to celebrate. Yes, Willa had learned from the best. She’d mapped out her career as a model, grim determination making her want to become the best, to show her parents she could, for one thing, and to prove to herself that she could be self-sufficient, for another. But in all those years of working and traveling and setting almost unreachable goals for herself, she’d never once felt like this. Only Lucas could make her feel this way—as if each step she took was like jumping off a cliff into clear blue waters. Jumping without a parachute. A leap of faith. Get your head out of the clouds, Willa, she told herself as Lucas banked the purring yellow plane and brought it down for the landing. She reminded
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herself she’d be leaving here soon; she’d be back in New York, back to globetrotting and working long, grueling hours in what most thought was a very lucrative, glamorous job. Her work was that and more, but was it still enough? And did she have enough time to stop and enjoy living? She was the only one who could find the answers to those questions. But being with Lucas was making her see her life in a whole different light. And from a very different view. As her heart settled to a steady rhythm, Willa looked at the sky, of which she’d just so daringly been a part. And suddenly, she wanted to live. Very much so. She just didn’t know how she was ever going to face all the turmoil in her life in order to be able to do that, at long last. About an hour later they pulled into the long drive leading to the back gardens of the mansion. After parking the Jeep, Lucas came around to Willa’s side to open the door, then leaned in through the open window, his face inches from hers. “What can you imagine with me, then?” She hadn’t said much on the short drive home. He wondered if she was having second thoughts about hanging with him. Maybe he’d scared her off before he’d even had a chance with her. She blinked. “What?” “You’ve been so quiet since we came back down to earth,” he said, his need to get inside her head
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flaring with a liquid warmth. “Earlier, you said you couldn’t imagine being bored with me. So what are you imagining right now, chère?” Her eyes turned a sparkling blue, as pure and wide as the Louisiana sky over their heads. Her luscious mouth parted as she took a quick breath. Then she spoke. “I imagine being with you will always be like a wild airplane ride, with lots of loops and free falls.” He lowered his head just a notch. “And that’s a bad thing?” “No, no.” She held his gaze, then placed a hand on his arm. “It’s just that… Lucas, I came here to work through some things in my life, to make some decisions about my future—” “A future that doesn’t include any heavy commitments and any flighty flings with a poor Cajun boy?” She shook her head. “A future that is very unsure right now. It wouldn’t be fair to drag you into my problems.” “If you’re talking about finding your birth mother—” “It’s more than that. I’ve just got a lot to deal with and not much time to get it all figured out.” “So I don’t fit into the equation?” “I don’t want to fit you into the equation. I hope you understand. It wouldn’t be right between us, it wouldn’t be fair to you.” He leaned closer. He wanted to kiss her bad, but instinct told him that wasn’t such a good idea when she was giving him the proverbial brush-off. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that—unless of
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course, I’m reading all the signs wrong and you’re really not as madly in love with me as I am with you.” She reached up then, to touch a hand to his face, to run a slender, polished nail through his windtossed hair. “Lorna told me you fall in love very easily.” He grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips. “My sister should mind her own business. Just because she’s finally found her soul mate, she thinks she’s the local authority on the rest of this miserable lot.” “She cares about you and she worries about you.” He kissed her fingers one by one and enjoyed the way she blushed, the way she seemed to like his touch. “I can take care of myself. Been doing it for years.” “Can you?” Willa watched as he touched her fingers to his mouth, her eyelashes fluttering softly against her cheeks before she looked into his eyes. Lucas saw the attraction jolt through her as it had pushed through him. Okay, she did have a point. He was losing control. This could turn out to be more dangerous than any of the other stunts he’d tried. “I used to think I could handle anything,” he admitted as he held her hand against his lips. “But it’s different with you. I think…I think I’m scared of you, certainly of what you do to me.” She touched her forehead to his. “Oh, Lucas, I don’t think you’re afraid of anything. I just think you need to know…you need to be warned…I’m not right for you.”
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Abruptly, he let go of her hand and backed away. “Then maybe I should be scared. At least, that’s what you’re trying to tell me.” Irritated, he opened the door and tugged her out of the Jeep and right into his waiting arms. “Am I right? Are you deliberately trying to scare me away, Willa?” He saw the answer in the blue of her eyes. And he also saw the contradiction. She was trying to deny her feelings toward him. Lucas took that as a personal challenge to win her over. “Answer the question, chère,” he said, his voice low. She looked down, her expression full of regret. “Yes, I guess I am. For your own good, Lucas.” The anger flared deep inside him, but he tried to hide it as he shifted her closer in his arms. “I really wish everyone would quit telling me what’s for my own good.” “Look, I didn’t mean to make you mad. It’s just that—” He didn’t let her finish that sentence. He couldn’t bear to hear the words. Instead, he gently nudged her against the Jeep so he could wrap his arms around her. Then he kissed her with all the pent-up frustration and long-held need that was raging inside his heart. With the first touch of their lips, however, his rage turned to relief. She was sweet, soft, yielding, promising. She filled that empty place in his soul, the place he only brought out whenever he visited his lost, forlorn garden. The place he’d often prayed would be healed.
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Willa was like that prayer being answered at long last. When he lifted his head, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. He could tell the kiss had affected her, too. It was there in the bright hope of her eyes, there in the sweet innocent flush of her skin, there in the soft sigh of her breath on his cheek. She might be able to deny her feelings, but she could never again deny the attraction between them. Their kiss had pretty much made that a certainty and a fact. But kisses aside, they had a lot of ground to cover before this was settled between them. “Je regrette—I’m sorry,” he told her in a whisper. “It’s just that…I really needed to do that. For my own good.”
Chapter Six
“S
o my brother took you up in the Piper this morning.” It was a statement, said with Lacey’s soft, cultured Southern drawl. Willa nodded then glanced around the quaint Garden restaurant, wondering where Lucas had gone off to this time. They’d agreed to meet here for a quiet dinner, but instead of finding Lucas waiting for her, she’d run into his older sister, Lacey. Sensing a hint of disapproval in Lacey’s cool gaze, she said, “Yes, he did. And I have to admit, I enjoyed it way too much.” “Lucas has that effect on people. He thinks we all should just drop everything when the mood strikes and go off into the wild blue yonder. He’s very impulsive, I’m afraid.” Willa got the distinct impression she was being reprimanded. Or was it yet another warning for her to
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stay away from Lucas? His sisters sure were protective, even if they did claim to condemn his wild ways. Before she could respond, Lorna leaned over the table. “I’ve already warned her, Lacey.” Wanting to defend Lucas, Willa tossed her hair off her shoulder, then placed both hands on the table. “Would you two stop hovering over me? I can take care of things with Lucas. So you both can stop worrying. I’m not sure whether you’re trying to protect me, or your brother from me. But I can assure both of you—there is nothing serious going on between Lucas and me.” Lorna took that as her cue to sit with them. “Oh, really? Then why do you look positively dreamy every time we mention his name? And why are you sitting here, waiting for him to walk through that door?” “Yes, she sure has all the signs,” Lacey said, her gaze as still as the quiet swamp waters that ran behind the small building. “We were supposed to meet here tonight,” Willa said, her tone low and level in spite of her fluttering heart. She wouldn’t dare tell them that since Lucas had kissed her this morning, she’d counted the hours until she’d see him again. Even while she dreaded seeing him again. Lacey was right. He’d had an effect on her. A profound one. She’d never been a touchy-feely person, but for some reason she couldn’t keep her hands off Lucas Dorsette. She liked the feel of his rough-shaven skin,
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liked the crisp, springy curls of his dark chocolate hair, liked holding his big, callused hands. Loved looking into his mysterious eyes. But she had to remember that Lucas flirted with a lot of women. Probably took them all flying in his fancy plane. And he probably kissed all the pretty girls and made them cry, too. “Another date?” Lacey smiled at her sister, then gave Willa the once-over. “That’s three dates with the same woman in three days. He’s right on schedule.” Seeing the teasing gleam in both sisters’ eyes, Willa relaxed and smiled. “I get the point. Okay. And honestly, let me repeat—there is nothing going on between Lucas and me. We haven’t actually had what one would term dates. We’re just…friends. He’s been showing me around—” “From several vantage points, I gather,” Lorna interrupted, her chef hat bobbing as she moved her head. “I wonder where he’ll take you next. There’s lots of rooms in the house, several private spots in the gardens and the whole swamp out back to explore. And he’ll probably want to take you horseback riding—on that wild animal he calls a horse and keeps on his place out in the bayou. That could turn into a lot of…what one could term dates.” “Oh, all right, enough,” Willa replied. “I did have fun up in the plane—” Lorna held out a hand. “Yes, we couldn’t help but notice the two of you, since Lucas made it a point to fly right over the house and grounds. Show-off.” “I wish he hadn’t done that,” Lacey said in a
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rough whisper. Then, horror and embarrassment in her eyes, she looked across the table at Willa. “I’m sorry. I mean—” Lorna put a hand on her sister’s arm, then glanced at Willa. “It’s the plane—it makes her think of Neil.” Willa immediately felt like sinking into the polished wooden floor. “Oh, Lacey. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories—” “No,” Lacey replied, her blue eyes bright. “I don’t have any bad memories. Neil used to take me up in that plane, just the way Lucas did you today. I loved it, loved being with him. Then today, when I heard the roar, saw the plane coming across the sky, for a minute—” She stopped, shook her head. “It was silly of me, to think that Neil—” “Oh, I am sorry,” Willa said again, wishing she’d never left her room. “It must be hard, seeing the plane, remembering all the good times you had with your husband.” Lacey barely lifted her chin. “It is. That vintage plane was my husband’s pride and joy. But I’m okay, really. Neil left the plane to me, and I…I wanted Lucas to have it. So I should be used to seeing it up in the clouds by now.” Willa didn’t know how to respond. She’d never dealt with such grief. “It is a beautiful plane,” she said. “And Lucas keeps it in tip-top shape.” “He’d better,” Lacey replied, laughing to hide the tears misting her eyes. “Now, I’d better get back down to the house. I’ve got so much work to do at the shop. I’ll probably be working into the wee hours tonight.”
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“I’d love to stop by and see some of your antiques,” Willa said, glad to be off the subject of Lacey’s late husband. “I understand you have some beautiful pieces.” Lacey smiled. “Yes, I’m proud of the shop. But I’ve been busy all summer trying to find pieces to replace some of the furnishings that got damaged in the flood. We were fortunate that only a few inches of water got into the house, but as you’ve seen, the downstairs rooms suffered some water damage. We’ve been working hard to repair it, though.” “Lucas explained to me,” Willa said. “It’s a beautiful house, and I’m so glad Lorna invited me to come down and see it. I just hope I didn’t pick a bad time.” “Of course not. We’ve had a light summer,” Lorna told her, waving a hand at the restaurant’s few patrons. “Because of the flooding, we’ve only booked guests who return each year. And we’re planning a full shutdown this fall, so we can get things back in proper order for the holidays and the spring season.” Willa couldn’t help but admire the two sisters. “You really are a team, all of you—Aunt Hilda, Lucas and you two.” “And now Mick, too,” Lorna said, her eyes going as dreamy as she’d accused Willa’s of earlier. “He’s out somewhere with Justin. Those two stay busy these days.” “Oh, she’s about to get all sappy on us, and I think we’ve had enough of that for one night,” Lacey said, walking toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
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“Good night,” Willa said, watching as the prim blonde left. Then she turned to Lorna. “I hope I didn’t upset her.” “It’s all right,” Lorna said, getting up to head to the kitchen. “She and Neil were very much in love, and it’s been hard these last few years. She gets this way every time Lucas takes the plane up. And she refuses to fly in it anymore.” “I can’t imagine that kind of pain,” Willa said, a deep, nagging worry grabbing her in the stomach. “I’ve never known that kind of love. It must be so special.” “It is,” Lorna said, holding out her hand to admire her wedding band. “I never thought I could find anyone to love, but God sent Mick, and I thank Him every day for my life with my new husband.” Then she glanced over Willa’s head to the front door. “Speaking of love and marriage, my handsome brother just walked in the door. And he’s headed for your table.” With that, she grinned, waved to Lucas, then pivoted toward the kitchen. Love and marriage. Willa certainly hadn’t given much thought to either of those subjects. There had been no room for such notions in her carefully planned, carefully arranged career. But she wouldn’t be young and pretty forever. Would she wind up all alone, old and lonely? If she lived to grow old at all? The thought, coupled with Lacey’s obvious grief over losing her husband, only added to Willa’s concerns. Which was exactly why she couldn’t get
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involved with Lucas Dorsette, no matter how much his kisses affected her. Better to stay uninvolved and alone than to risk that kind of pain. Especially when her future was so uncertain. She looked uncertain, sitting alone in the candlelight. She looked fragile, like a delicate blossom. She looked lovely in her shimmering blue sleeveless sheath, like a summer night full of stars. Get a grip, Lucas. You’re a bad poet on a good day and even worse when your poor heart is filled with newfound love. Was that what he’d been feeling since he’d kissed Willa? Was that this thing that had jolted throughout his body and kept him humming like a taut guitar string all day long? Was that why he’d stolen two of Aunt Hilda’s most beautiful salmon and pink-tinged roses to hand to the woman he planned to have dinner with and maybe spend the rest of his life with? Now, that was surely something he’d never considered with any other woman. He knew the odds weren’t in his favor. First of all, she was exactly his type—blond and leggy. That usually meant he’d lose interest soon enough. Second, he did have a tendency to fall and fall hard for a pretty face. And that meant this wouldn’t last too long—they never did. And last but certainly not least, she couldn’t stay here forever. She’d be gone soon, back to that world that seemed so far out of his reach. Back to that world of glamour and fame, a world he didn’t dare compete with.
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And yet, he dared walk across the almost empty restaurant to hand her the two rose blossoms with a knightly flourish. “Lucas,” she said on a breath of greeting as she took the lush flowers. “Roses. How pretty.” She sniffed them, then lifted her brows in suspicion. “And freshly cut, too.” “Right out of my aunt’s summer garden,” he said as he unbuttoned his tan linen suit jacket and settled into a chair across from her. “Candlelight becomes you, chère.” “Thank you.” She pointed toward his suit. “You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me.” “Oui, I wanted to get all dressed up for you.” He also wanted to tell her that she was the first. The first to see his secret garden. The first he’d invited to go up in the Piper with him. The first woman to make his heart feel both heavy and light at the same time. In that regard, she had all the others beat. But unlike the others, she seemed as uncertain as he felt. The kiss that had bonded them had also caused an awkward, wary distance between them. And so they sat there, silent and uncertain, smiling and quiet, until Lorna came out of the kitchen. “Ready to order now?” Lucas didn’t take his eyes off Willa. “Whatever the special is, love. Surprise me.” Willa didn’t stop looking at him. “I’ll have…oh, I don’t know. Something light.” Lorna slapped a hand on the forgotten menus,
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then picked them up. “Okay, then. Got it. Why don’t you two carry on with whatever you’re doing there. Be back in a few minutes.” Lucas waved his annoying sister away, his gaze still centered on the woman across the table. “I enjoyed our plane ride today.” “I did, too.” “I’ve…I’ve never taken anyone up with me. It’s twice as much fun with a copilot.” She looked shocked. “You mean, you haven’t taken all your girlfriends for a ride in the sky?” “Only you, belle. Only you.” He couldn’t tell from the muted light, but he had a feeling she was blushing. That only made him want to reach across the small round table and touch his hand to her heated skin. But he kept his hands to himself, along with all the crazy feelings tugging at his heart. Lorna came back with two plates of steaming noodles piled with fat blackened shrimp. Emily followed with bread and butter. “Anything else?” Lucas saw his sister poking Emily. Lorna seemed to enjoy watching him suffer. Just to show her he wasn’t, he said, “Maybe some bread pudding—that one you make with the white chocolate.” “I’ll bring it out later,” Lorna replied. “So…we’ll just leave you two to your dinner then.” “Uh-huh. Thanks,” Lucas replied absently, his attention still on Willa. Waiting for his nosy sister to depart, he cut a slice of the piping hot bread, then
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buttered it before handing it to Willa. “Sorry I was a bit late. Last-minute phone calls.” She took the bread. Was it just his imagination, or did her fingers brush his on purpose in the exchange? She took a bite, then said, “I thought I was the one with the busy schedule.” The woman would make a great spokesperson for French bread. With her upswept hair and her three strands of pearls, she made chewing seem so classy and intriguing. In fact, she could just sit there and hold the bread, and Lucas would buy it. In spite of the air-conditioning and his lightweight suit, he was beginning to sweat. “I might not be a fashion plate, but I do have things to get done,” he countered, hoping to take his mind off her beautiful lips. “I have all these side businesses—it’s like spinning plates. Can’t let any of them fall by the wayside.” Willa finished her bread, leaned forward to prop her elbows on the table, then cupped her chin on her clasped hands, her food obviously forgotten. “What kind of side businesses?” “Oh, a little of dis and dat,” he replied in an exaggerated Cajun voice. He snagged a fat, buttery shrimp with his fork and ate it with a long sigh of pleasure. “Crawfishing in the spring, fishing all summer long, shrimping, traps to mend, boats to repair and pamper. Moss gathering.” “Moss gathering?” She twirled flat, creamy noodles onto her fork. “Is that anything like woolgathering?” He nodded. “Kinda. Only better. We harvest the
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Spanish moss that grows on the cypress trees and sell it to craft shops and florists—for decorating.” “I never would have thought—” She stopped, dropped her fork on her plate. “There is just so much about you. You continue to surprise me.” “Well, I’m about out of surprises,” he replied with a wink and a nod. “I’m just plain ol’ Lucas Dorsette, a simple man with very simple needs.” He saw the flicker of wonder in her vivid blue eyes. Heard the husky inflection of her tone. But he didn’t miss the confusion in her question. “What do you need, Lucas?” He leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap to keep from touching her. “Another kiss from you would surely be nice.” She immediately pushed herself back in her chair. “We can’t do that again.” “And why not?” “I…we…” “I’m listening.” “No, that’s the problem.” She threw her hands in the air, then let them drop to her lap. “You haven’t been listening at all. I can’t get involved with you, Lucas.” He figured she was arguing more with herself than with him. He could see the battle in her defiant eyes. “Give me one good reason why not?” She took a sip of iced tea, then sat the goblet down, one long finger moving over the condensation on the side of the tall glass. “Well, I’ll be leaving soon, probably sooner than soon. And I have no idea where I’ll be going from here.”
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Leaning back in his chair, Lucas crossed his arms and lifted his brows. “I can fly a plane. I can drive a boat. I even have a horse. I’ll find you.” He saw the effect that statement had on her. Panic. Plain and simple. Keeping her eyes on her tea glass, she said, “Sometimes we don’t want to be found.” “Yeah, I know all about that.” “Then you need to understand that I have to—” “I’ll go with you, you know.” That brought her head up. “Go with me where?” “To find your birth mother. I’ll go with you, help you get through the rough spots.” She lowered her gaze again, then pushed her plate away. Staring at her hands in her lap, she said, “I haven’t decided if I want to go see her. I’m still debating.” “Well, whatever you decide, I just want you to know I’m willing to help you through this.” Emily came out of the kitchen to bring them their bread pudding. She sat the rich cream-colored dessert down. “Coffee, Lucas?” Lucas lifted a brow toward Willa. When she shook her head, he took the time to give Emily a patient smile. “Non. But thanks, suga’. We’re good.” Willa glanced at the teenager, apparently glad for the interruption. “How did the dress turn out?” Emily giggled, then bobbed her head. “It was perfect. You were right—the pink one looked better than the red one.” “I’m so glad. And I’m sure your mother is much
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more pleased about you going to the dance now that you’ve decided to wear a more demure design.” Emily rolled her eyes. “Non, it’s my papa who’s happy. He didn’t want me wearing the red—pas de tout.” “I have to agree with him,” Willa replied. “The red was gorgeous, but a bit too old-looking for a sixteenyear-old. You’ll be the hit of the school dance, I’m sure.” Then she added in a conspiring whisper, “Especially since hot pink is the really big color on all the runways this summer.” “I’ll start a new trend,” Emily said, her expression full of pride. “Merci, Willa.” “You’re welcome,” Willa responded. “Let me know if I can help with your hair and makeup. And remember, Emily, less is more.” The awestruck teen gave Willa a shy smile, then backed away. “And you let me know if you need anything else.” Lucas gazed at the woman sitting across from him. “Apparently, you’ve been busy coaching our young Em on her wardrobe.” Willa watched as Emily headed into the kitchen. “Just steered her in the right direction. The pink dress is a bit more tame, and it looks great on her.” “You’re amazing,” Lucas said. “Emily will never forget you for giving her such good advice.” “And I’ll never forget her.” Lucas didn’t want to think about forgetting or remembering right now. He wanted to get back to the subject they’d been discussing. “Well, about your
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birth mother.” After making sure they were alone again, he spoke softly. “I mean it, Willa. I’ll go with you, if you’re afraid.” She looked into his eyes. “Why would you want to do that?” He reached out to her. He put a hand on her arm, just a brush of fingers over skin. And watched as she closed her eyes. “Because I want to take that pain out of your eyes, love. I want to see that smile. The one that’s so famous the world over.” “That smile is strictly for the cameras,” she said, her voice raw and low. “It’s not the real me.” He tugged her forward, his hand gentle on her arm. “Then let me see the real you, Willa. Let me…let me show you how to find the real you again, through God’s grace, through what we feel for each other.” “I don’t know anything about God’s grace. It’s too late for me to ask Him for help.” And she certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had any feelings for Lucas Dorsette, Lucas decided. Maybe he’d better concentrate on helping her find some peace of mind, at least. “No, chère, it’s never too late to turn to God. He’s always here in these gardens, He’s in the very air we traveled through, the clouds we passed today. You have to know that in your heart.” “My heart hurts, Lucas. My heart can’t take anymore pain.” “Then let me help you. Let God help you. He can heal your hurts, Willa.” “And has He healed yours?”
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It was a cruel question. And he knew the answer could be just as cruel, if he gave in to his doubts. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m alive. I’m secure in my faith.” She got up, dessert and roses obviously forgotten. “Are you really, Lucas? Is that why you go and sit in that sad old garden? Is that why you test yourself, push yourself to the edge in airplanes and out in the swamp? Is that why you don’t ever take anything seriously?” Well, he was taking this conversation very seriously. He shot up after her as she turned for the door. Seeing the surprised expressions of his sister and Emily, who stood hovering at the kitchen door, Lucas waved them away and followed Willa outside. “Hey, wait a minute. How do you know I’m not serious? What do you know about me, anyway?” “That’s it exactly,” she said, spinning on the stone path. “I don’t know anything about you except what I’ve heard. I’ve been warned to stay away from you. Warned that you’ll break my heart.” “And you believe those warnings?” She held herself, her arms wrapped against her stomach. “No. I don’t believe them at all. But there is something you should believe, something you should know about me.” He stood back, distancing himself from the need to hold her close. “Oh, and what’s that?” “I have the power to hurt you, Lucas. That’s why I can’t let things go any further between us.” “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Why don’t you relax and…let things happen naturally?”
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“Naturally?” She almost laughed. But it was a bitter laugh. “Like sickness and death? Like Lacey suffering through losing her husband, or you suffering through losing your parents?” “You don’t need to worry about that,” he told her, anger coloring all the other emotions rolling through his mind. “I’ve learned to accept that.” “Have you?” She turned to go, then twisted to stare at him. “Well, maybe I’m not so good at accepting the natural course of things. Maybe I still want to be the one in control.” He reached for her, but she moved away. “Willa, listen to me. I have my good days and my bad days and so does Lacey—and Lorna, too, for that matter. Death isn’t easy, it isn’t something you can rationalize or understand. But we’re here, we’re alive. Shouldn’t that count for something?” “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she asked. Then she turned and headed up the path toward the mansion. Frustrated and completely confused, Lucas turned to stalk into the restaurant. He didn’t bother to finish eating, and he sure didn’t bother to explain anything to his obviously curious sister. He didn’t even stop to visit with the few patrons still lingering. He went straight to the corner where the piano and saxophone had a permanent spot. Grabbing the sax, he sat down on a stool and thought about what to play. An old blues tune came to mind, but it didn’t suit his mood. Lucas needed help tonight, so he turned to the gospels for inspiration.
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He played a song that seemed perfect even though it was short and sweet. It was the hymn he’d thought about the day he’d first seen Willa. “Something Beautiful.” Lorna came out of the kitchen to listen. A hush fell over the couples scattered here and there at the intimate tables. Lucas played on, his gaze moving toward the big window that opened to the night and the gardens. Then he saw her. On the path, bathed in moonlight and star shine, he could see the silhouette of a tall blond woman as she stood listening. Until the song was finished. And then she turned and walked away.
Chapter Seven
L
ucas put down his saxophone, then hopped off the stool centered by the big windows to waylay his sister before she trotted into the kitchen. “We need to talk.” Lorna drew her brows together in a frown. “About what? Or should I say about whom?” “Come and sit,” Lucas ordered, gently dragging her to the table he’d shared with Willa. Picking up a fork, he begin stabbing at the bread pudding he’d left. “Well, I can see your appetite is still intact, even if your poor heart isn’t,” Lorna said, chin propped on one hand as she gave him a sympathetic smile. “You always did eat your way through misery.” “I’m still hungry,” he said. The rich pudding, made of bread soaked in cream and eggs then smothered in rich white chocolate sauce, hit his rattled stomach like nails hitting a tin roof. “Okay, so mebbe this wasn’t such a good idea.” He pushed the pudding away, then glared at his sister. “What’s going on with Willa?”
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Lorna waved to some departing customers. “Bonsoir.” Then she turned to her brother. “Lucas, that’s not for me to tell. Willa has been working hard since she was twenty-two years old—since the day she graduated from college—and that’s been at least five years. She just needs a break.” She shrugged, then removed her chef hat and tossed her tumbling braid over her shoulder. “I met her just before I came back home a little over three years ago—at a posh party in Paris. I was part of the catering team, and she sneaked into the kitchen to get another bite of this fancy chocolate dessert that everyone was raving about.” She stopped long enough to allow Lucas a smile. He commented, “The supermodel sneaking fattening food—now there’s a tabloid tale.” “That’s about the way it works,” Lorna said, bobbing her head. “I caught her gobbling away, and we laughed and ate chocolate cake together. She was very lonely, and I guess I was, too—I was between relationships.” That made him grin. “Wasn’t that always the case, love?” Lorna slapped him gently on the arm, then continued. “Anyway, we had this instant friendship. So we met a couple of days later to go shopping. I told her all about Bayou le Jardin—how I missed it, how I wanted to come home and open my own restaurant. She was so supportive, even offered to be a silent partner if I needed funding.” Lorna’s expression grew warm with the memory. “I turned her down on the loan, of course. But I did invite her to come and visit.”
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Lucas leaned forward in his chair. “Why did she wait so long?” “As I said, she’s been very busy. She’s in demand, so she’s been booked all over the world for fashion shoots and runway work. Over the years, she’d call and we’d chat, catch up, but she was always on her way to some exotic spot. You see, Willa is very disciplined and organized. She had a five-year plan, and I guess she’s reached that goal now.” “So you think she decided to just rest a bit?” Lorna looked at the table, a sure sign that she knew more than she wanted to tell. “I think she needed to stop and regroup.” “And?” She looked up. “And…that’s it.” “Why didn’t she come to your wedding?” “She was in Spain and then she had to go straight from there to Australia. Something about an ad for a sportswear company.” He nodded, then pounced. “So why is she here now? I mean, why is she all of a sudden canceling bookings and not returning phone calls to her agent?” Lorna rolled her eyes. “You know these things for true?” “I know what I see.” He lowered his voice, his words for her ears only. “Does Willa have some sort of eating disorder?” Lorna laughed out loud. “Oh, my, non.” Patting his hand, she added, “Willa’s eating habits are perfectly normal. She’s like any other woman in that
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regard. She loves food but has to watch every bite that goes in her mouth.” Lucas breathed a sigh of relief. “Then she’s not sick or anything.” And that’s when he saw it. The little flair of apprehension in his baby sister’s expressive green eyes. His heart seemed to go still in his chest. “Lorna?” Lorna got up, busied herself with clearing away the table dishes. “It’s late, brother. Go home and try to get some rest. Mick should be by any minute for a late dinner, then I’m turning in myself.” Lucas stopped her, dishes and all. “Lorna, tell me.” She turned to stare at him, worry coloring her face. “It’s not for me to tell, Lucas.” He let her go, then pushed away from the table. “Then I’ll just go and ask Willa.” Holding plates to her white jacket, Lorna tried to stop him. “Lucas, please. Don’t do that.” But he was already out the door. On the other side of the huge, sprawling gardens, Willa sat on a bench in a pretty white Victorian gazebo, the scent of trailing wisteria and running roses mingling around her. Although her bedroom was lovely, she hadn’t been able to go to the isolation of that particular place. So she’d walked through the narrow footpaths, letting the moonlight guide her, until she’d found this idyllic spot. Now, in spite of the mosquitoes buzzing hungrily
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around her ears and ankles, she sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the night. Remembering the sound of Lucas playing the saxophone. It was the song. That was what had made her cry. That was what had made her long for something she couldn’t envision, couldn’t grasp. It was a lovely song—sweet and full of a tender yearning. Willa longed to know the words to the tune that lingered in her head like a music box being wound over and over. She also longed for answers to her confusing questions. “Child, what are you doing out here all by yourself?” Whirling, Willa was surprised to find Hilda Dorsette making her way up the path to the gazebo, the doorknob tip of her trusty walking cane gleaming silver in the night. Getting up to come and help her, Willa said, “Oh, Aunt Hilda, you startled me. I thought I really was alone out here in the dark.” Hilda gave her a penetrating look. “Would you prefer it that way?” “No, not at all. In fact, I’d love some company,” Willa admitted, surprising herself. Then she sniffed. Aunt Hilda placed an aged hand on her arm. “Have you been crying?” Willa waited as the older woman settled onto one of the cushioned box seats. Then she sank down across from Aunt Hilda. “I…yes…I was feeling sorry for myself, I guess.” “Then you were not alone, after all.”
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“What do you mean?” Willa asked, wiping her damp face. “God was here with you, Willa.” Willa held her breath, then let out a tired sigh. “Then I hope He was listening.” “Oh, He was. You can be sure of that. The Lord is always in His garden. It’s here that He walks with us and listens to us—just as the old song says.” Without thinking, Willa said, “Then maybe that was the song—the one Lucas was playing earlier on the saxophone.” Hilda nodded. “Yes, I heard my nephew playing. Decided to take a walk myself.” Then she gave Willa another sharp-eyed stare. “The song moved you?” “It did. It was so…pretty.” Aunt Hilda settled, adjusting a flowing silk floral scarf around her shoulders. “I know the song he played. It wasn’t the one to which I was referring, but it is another favorite of mine,” she said, one hand on her cane as she sat on the bench. “It’s a fairly modern church hymn, written by William Gaither in 1971. It’s called ‘Something Beautiful.’” Willa closed her eyes briefly, wondering why Lucas had picked that particular song to play tonight. And wondering why it had moved her to tears as she’d stood there in the shadows, watching him play. Opening her eyes, she asked Aunt Hilda, “Could you tell me the words?” Aunt Hilda nodded. “I could—it’s all about how the Lord takes us when we are broken and makes something beautiful out of our life. But I think it
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would be better if you came to church Sunday, as my guest, to hear the words for yourself. I’ll make a request to the choir director.” “Church?” Willa held the one word near her heart, felt it settle there with a gentle tugging. “It’s been so long—” “Too long, perhaps?” Aunt Hilda asked, her smile all serenity and light. “It doesn’t matter, you know. He welcomes all of us back with open arms.” Willa lifted her head. “Aunt Hilda, can I ask you something?” “Of course, darling.” “Would it be…wrong of me to begin praying to God now, after not having done it for so very long?” “Prayer is never wrong, love. And besides, He’s always with you, even when you’re not completely with Him.” Willa digested that, then shook her head. “It just seems as if…well, now that I’m facing some unpleasant things in my future…it just seems almost foolish to turn to Him now. I never appreciated my blessings when things were going great for me. I just went about my life, thinking I had things under control.” “And now, you’re finding you’re not in control at all?” “Not even a little bit. And I’m so tired. Just so tired.” Aunt Hilda held out a plump hand. “Come here, child.” Willa couldn’t resist that invitation. She crossed the small space between them, then settled next to
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Aunt Hilda on the rounded bench, tears brimming in her eyes. Aunt Hilda took her into her arms, hugging her close. “Rest then. Rest here as long as you need. You’re safe now. You’ve come home to the Father.” Willa couldn’t speak. So instead, she wept. Gently, with little sound, but with deep, cleansing, purging tears of relief and restoration. If only her haughty, distant adoptive mother would have ever held her in her arms. If only she could have known her real mother. Could have. Would have. There were so many things she needed to know, so many things she needed to take care of. Urgent, frightening things. But not tonight. Tonight, in spite of her growing feelings for Lucas and her determination to curtail those feelings, she felt safe and secure, as if she truly had returned home from a very long journey. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said into Aunt Hilda’s lace collar. “I’m acting like a big baby.” Hilda chuckled, then patted Willa on the arm. “Not a baby, dear. A child. A child who needs desperately to be held and loved.” “How did you know?” “Oh, me?” Hilda lifted Willa’s head, then placed a warm hand on her wet cheek. “I’m not referring to me. Our Father is holding you now, darling. And He won’t let go.” Willa closed her eyes. “Never?” “Ever,” Aunt Hilda told her. “You seem so sure. How can you do that—let go and just believe?”
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Hilda waved a hand in the air. “Look around us. This is my Father’s garden. He created all of this. He created you and me. And because He loved us so much that He was willing to send His son to give us everlasting life, I have to trust that no matter what happens to me, good or bad, God will be there to comfort and sustain me.” Willa thought about her future. She might be facing some very uncomfortable, life-altering things. And what if the worst did happen? Who would she have to turn to? Who would she have to trust? “It would be nice to know that kind of assurance and comfort, no matter what.” Hilda sat silent for a minute, then said, “All you have to do in order to receive those gifts, those assurances, is accept. Accept that God will see you through.” Then she took Willa’s hands in hers and smiled. By the time Lucas found them there, they were laughing and talking like old friends. It burned him to no end that Willa seemed to be having a great time with his aunt while he suffered in silent misery. But he hid that unwarranted jealousy behind his usual carefree manner. Leaning into the open gazebo with a flourish, he asked, “Now what are you two whispering about, out here in the dark?” Fanning at his ear, he added, “With nasty mosquitoes gnawing at your heads.” Aunt Hilda lifted up off the bench, her hand tightly encircling Willa’s. Willa stood, but Lucas
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noticed she looked different somehow. Almost… peaceful. And she also looked as if she’d been crying. “Lucas, Willa is coming to church with us Sunday,” Aunt Hilda said, beaming. Lucas whistled low, then shot his aunt a loving but quizzical look. Then he studied Willa’s face. “She got to you, didn’t she, jolie fille?” But before Willa could answer, Aunt Hilda shook her head. “Not me. Apparently, it was you. You and your saxophone. She liked the song you played. It touched her.” She held a hand to her heart. “It touched her here, Lucas.” Lucas shut up his whining and stared in amazement at Willa. She did seem different. “Is that true?” Willa’s eyes went wide. “Your music, Lucas… It was so beautiful, so perfect. I don’t know… I just walked and walked and I wound up here and then Aunt Hilda found me—” “And we had a good heart-to-heart talk,” Aunt Hilda said, filling in the blanks. “A good soul talk.” “Le coeur a ses raisons,” Lucas replied dryly, wondering why he couldn’t have been the one to break Willa’s code of silence. “Yes,” Aunt Hilda said, nodding, “the heart does indeed have its reasons. And humans also have reasons for not opening our hearts to the abundant love in front of us.” “Is this a quiz?” Lucas asked, frustration dripping like Spanish moss from each word, his gaze still on Willa.
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She looked more at peace, but she also looked as if she didn’t want to talk to him. “No,” Aunt Hilda replied, smug and proper. “But you might want to relax and figure things out for yourself. Everything comes to pass in God’s own good time, Lucas.” He ran a hand through his tattered curls. “Oui, but I’m tired of waiting for that good time to come.” His aunt stepped forward on tiptoes to give him a kiss. Lucas bent to receive the show of affection, his eyes moving over Willa. “I’m going to turn in now, children,” Aunt Hilda told them. “This has been a good night. A very good night.” She was still chuckling as she went off down the path. “Shouldn’t you help her to the house?” Willa asked, her voice strangely quiet. “She would refuse my help. She has her pride.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Besides, she’s walking on air from saving another lost soul.” “She has been a tremendous help to me,” Willa replied, her head bent. “At least, she’s made me see that with God’s help, I might be able to come to some conclusions about my life.” Lucas couldn’t be angry for that. “Then I’m happy for you.” Willa caught his hand in hers. “I want you to be— happy, that is.” Casse pas mon coeur. He didn’t say the words out loud, but he wanted to. He wanted to tell her, Then don’t break my heart.
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He gave an eloquent shrug, then pulled his hand from hers. “I’m happy. Completely happy.” For about three seconds, he stood there, a hand on his hip. Then he pivoted toward her. “That’s not the truth. I’m not happy. I used to think I was. But that was last week, before I saw you standing in my gardens.” Willa held her head down. “See, I’ve already made you regret—” He pulled her close then, needing answers, wondering how she could tell his aunt things she had yet to tell him. “I don’t regret meeting you. I only regret that you can’t trust me the way you seem to trust my dear aunt. I want you to share with me the things you just told her.” “I didn’t tell her anything, Lucas.” “You didn’t?” “No. We talked…about God. About me.” She stopped, sucked in a breath. “Something happened here. Something I can’t explain.” And then she burst into tears and fell into his arms.
Chapter Eight
L
ucas held Willa tightly to him, the sound of her sobs echoing like a siren’s call throughout his heart. He’d lived with three women, so he knew the effect of tears on a man. They could bring down Goliath. But right now, he felt more like David with the slingshot. Terrified, but determined. “What’s the matter, love?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t hear how his voice shook. Willa pulled away, wiping tears from her face as she stared at him. “Your aunt is such a remarkable woman.” “Obviously,” he said on a dry note. “Since she brought you to tears.” “She did,” Willa admitted, smiling through her anguish. “But I’m not upset.” “Oh, really. You’re crying like a child, but you’re not upset?” Lucas scratched his head in wonder. “You’re gonna have to explain this to me.” Willa tilted her head, then clasped her hands in
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front of her. “Your aunt made me feel so much better about so many things. She wants me to know the Lord, Lucas.” He had to smile at that. Aunt Hilda was a fierce prayer warrior, a crusader for all that was good and right. It didn’t surprise him one bit that she’d gently urged Willa to find her way home again. Aunt Hilda could pick a stray out of crowd a mile away. But she could also bring that stray into the fold with love and tenderness and open arms. “Aunt Hilda is like an angel here on earth,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “She certainly took me under her wing.” Willa reached out a hand to touch his cheek. “It must have been so awful. Coming here to this strange, new place. Knowing your parents were gone forever.” He closed his eyes, leaned into her warm hand. “It was tough, for true. But she made things so…softfocused and steady. She never dwelled on the loss of my parents, but she was always willing to listen to us when we had questions or when we were frightened.” He felt a shudder running down his spine. “Lorna had nightmares—has had them all of her life. And Lacey…she just built up this wall like a shield. She’s buried it all so deeply, I don’t know if she can ever really be healed.” “And what about you?” Willa asked, her fingers stroking his jawline. “Moi?” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Well, we needed a black sheep, and I guess I fit the
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bill. I’ve acted out every rage and frustration I’ve ever had. In some ways, I guess I’m still acting.” Willa inched closer to him, her hand going from his face to his hair. “I’ve been acting, too, Lucas. But tonight…it’s as if all the shams and facades have broken away. Somehow, I know I’m going to find the strength to do what I have to do.” He tugged her close, needing this intimacy, needing to understand all the turmoil she seemed to be holding so tightly inside. “And what is it that you have to do, chère?” She took a deep breath. Then she held her head away so she could look into his eyes. Lucas saw the bright light shining in her face, but he also saw a tremendous fear. A trepidation. “Tell me,” he urged, his hands on her back. “Tell me.” She gave a slight nod, then started talking. “Last week, during a routine self-examination, I found a small lump on my right breast.” In a calm, steady voice, she told him, “Lucas, I…I might have breast cancer.” He had to suck in a breath. The words rang inside his head like a death toll. Breast cancer. Breast cancer. Then the anger set in. The old, easy anger that he’d held on to for so long. The anger toward God, the creator, and God, the taker of life. “No,” he said, simply and deeply. “No. That can’t be. I won’t let it be.” Willa ran a hand through his hair, touched her fingers to his neck. “I have to go to the doctor,” she said, as if trying to comfort him. “I have to make sure.”
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The urgency of her situation tore through him. “You didn’t do that already? Why haven’t you done that already?” She looked down. “My doctor in New York did a physical exam, then scheduled a mammogram. The mammogram showed a small lump about the size of a pea.” Lucas held up a hand to interrupt her. “Then what on earth are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital, getting some sort of treatments?” She dropped her hands to her sides. “My doctor wanted to do a biopsy right away, but he told me I had several options. He gave me lots of pamphlets to read, suggested some books on the subject, even said I could take a few days to get a second opinion. So that’s why I’m here. I just needed some time…to think about what this might mean.” Anger and dread made Lucas irrational. “I can tell you exactly what it might mean, if you don’t hurry.” “You don’t have to tell me that,” she said, pulling out of his arms to turn away. “Believe me, it’s all I’ve been thinking about, night and day. But my doctor did tell me that if it is cancer, we have a few weeks to get everything in order…if I have to have surgery.” With her back to him, she continued. “You have to understand, I’m not one to rush into anything. I need time to think, to decide about my future. That’s why I came down here. So I could get away from all the distractions and just rest and think. Then when those two photographers showed up, I thought they’d found out. I was afraid I’d have to go
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back to New York, after all. And that would mean further delays.” “Then you have to go to a doctor while you’re here.” He grabbed her by the arm, urging her to turn and face him. “I’ll take you myself. I mean it, Willa. We’ll go to New Orleans. There’s a clinic there that specializes in cancer treatment—one of the best in the country.” “I know,” she said. “That’s the other part of the reason I’m here. Lorna suggested it, and my doctor reluctantly gave the okay. Lorna thought it would be more private, having it done down here, and she graciously offered to go to the doctor with me and let me recuperate here if need be. New York is a small town when it comes to big news.” Lucas listened, his anger simmering slowly and softly. “So Lorna has known about this all along.” Of course, Lorna knew. He’d seen it in her eyes tonight. And he remembered her many warnings regarding Willa’s need for rest and quiet. Two things he certainly hadn’t bothered giving her. But then, nobody had bothered to tell him the truth, either. “Why didn’t anyone let me in on this?” “Because I asked Lorna to keep it a secret,” Willa explained. “I figured the less people involved, the better chance of this not being discovered. I haven’t told my agent or anyone in New York. My parents don’t even know.” “Then why did you tell Lorna?” Willa shrugged, pushed at her hair. “I don’t know why I even called Lorna last week…out of the blue.
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I just needed to talk to someone—someone I could trust. And I’d had her on my mind a lot lately, since I missed her wedding. So I just called, and before I knew it, I’d told her the whole thing. I really didn’t want to be alone, but I also didn’t want my parents to rush home. So Lorna suggested I come down here.” “But she didn’t suggest you get to a doctor as soon as possible?” “Oh, she wanted me to go to a specialist right away. She even scheduled the appointment—it’s tomorrow morning. She’s going to go with me under the pretense of shopping in New Orleans. I know I shouldn’t have waited, but I needed a few days. I just needed—” She stopped, sucked in a sob. “I guess I needed to have someone hold me and tell me it would be all right.” “And Aunt Hilda did that tonight, not even knowing?” “Oh, she knew,” Willa said, a fist to her mouth. “Somehow, she knew. And somehow, she did make me feel much better.” He looked at her then, seeing for the first time the fragility she’d tried so hard to hide. She’d been walking around with this…this disease inside her, all alone and afraid, not knowing where to turn. And yet she’s come to the gardens. In spite of his stinging hurt at being outside her circle of trust, he was glad for that, at least. As long as he had her near, he could keep her safe. He and God. “You’re in a good place now,” he told her. “You’re safe. And you can stay here as long as you need.”
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“Aunt Hilda told me the same thing,” she said with a little smile. “I don’t deserve all this attention. I don’t deserve your kindness.” “You’re wrong there,” Lucas said. “You’re sick, Willa. You need someone to help you right now. And we can do that for you.” “I’ll never forget this,” she said, her face pale in the moonlight, her eyes lifting to meet his. Lucas wanted to hold her close, wanted to wrap her in a comforting embrace. And he wanted to protect her, fight for her, keep her safe. “Do you still need to be held?” “Yes,” she said, the word catching in her throat. “Viens ici,” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms. “Come here, love.” She came to him, courage and fear warring in her eyes. Lucas pulled her onto the cushioned box seat, settling her against his chest as he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll get through this, Willa. I promise you. We’ll get through this together, no matter the outcome—good or bad.” Lucas held her there in the garden, with the stars and moon over them and the fragrance of paradise surrounding them. And he willed it to be so. “I’m going to New Orleans with her.” Lucas looked at his sisters, saw the concern and determination in their eyes. He met those looks with one of his own. He’d been up since dawn, first to get his crop-dusting assignment done, then to make ar-
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rangements with Tobbie to have a couple of the Babineaux kids watch over his animals at his place in the swamp while he was away. And he was in no mood to argue with his well-meaning sisters. “But I told you, I’d planned on going,” Lorna said, her arms across her chest in a defiant stance. “I’ve already made the appointment for today and rearranged my schedule.” It was early morning, and so far, they were the only ones up. The sun streaming in through the dining room windows looked deceptively lightweight. In a couple of hours, it would be burning hot. It suited Lucas’s mood. “Well, un-arrange your schedule. Now you can plan on not going,” Lucas replied, his hands on his hips, his chin jutting out as he stared her down. “I told her last night, I’m going to see her through this. And I aim to keep that promise. Whether she wants me there or not.” Lacey touched a hand to his arm. “Do you understand what that might mean, Lucas? You going through this with Willa?” Lucas jerked away from her hand and the pity in her eyes. “Of course I do. I stayed up half the night, on the Internet, reading about breast cancer. I know all about the statistics—she’s too young for this to be happening. But I also know she has a very good chance of licking this thing if we stop delaying and get on with it.” Lacey looked at Lorna. Lucas saw the compassion and concern in their eyes. “I know what you’re
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thinking. That I shouldn’t get involved. That I might regret this. But I’m telling you now, I am involved.” He ran a hand through hair he hadn’t bothered to comb since taking a quick shower. “I have to do this. I have to.” Lorna finally sighed. “All right. But you stick with her. Be supportive, not all doom and gloom. She needs to stay positive.” “I am positive,” he told her. “I’m going to see her through this.” Lorna pushed away from the antique sideboard, ready to serve breakfast to their few guests. “Okay. And remember, we can’t discuss this with anyone. Willa doesn’t want the press to find out anything about this.” “I can be discreet,” Lucas said. “But since you told everyone around here but me, I guess you don’t believe that.” “I only told Lacey and Aunt Hilda,” Lorna retorted. “And that was only after Willa finally allowed me to schedule the appointment. The urgency of the situation didn’t allow for very much discussion.” “And she told me because I badgered her,” Lacey said. “But she couldn’t tell me.” Lucas stared at his sisters, wondering what other secrets they were keeping amongst themselves. Wondering if they’d ever trust him completely. Well, he hadn’t given them many reasons to trust him, he knew. Especially since the night of the flood when
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he’d left Lorna abandoned and alone in the mansion, in the dark. I tried to get back to you. I tried so hard. And yet, he’d failed once again. Well, if this was another test, he wasn’t going to fail this time. “I guess y’all decided I didn’t need to know any of this—that I’d just brush it off and go on about my business, like the uncaring, uninvolved person I am.” “Don’t go getting all defensive,” Lacey countered. “This has been hard on all of us, and we just thought it best, exactly as Willa said, the less people involved the better.” Then her gaze softened. “And…we knew you’d take it hard, Lucas.” “Yeah, well, you were right there. I’m taking it very hard. But I’m also taking it very seriously.” Then he gave them both a long, measuring look. “How can I not get involved—Willa is too young, too lovely, inside and out, for this. Even if…even if I barely knew her, I’d feel strongly about that.” “But you do know her now,” Lacey replied gently. “So we worried about that, too. We were just trying to protect you, Lucas. Spare you any undue heartache.” “How very noble of both of you.” “I’m sorry, but when all of this first happened, I didn’t think it would involve you.” Lorna tried to explain. “I had promised Willa complete discretion, but Lacey had to know, since I expected her to cover for me at the restaurant.” “And Aunt Hilda guessed that something was wrong, so we told her. We needed her prayers.”
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“But no one needed me,” Lucas said, bitterness coloring each word. “No one thought my prayers would matter.” “Well, now Willa needs you,” Lorna said, whispering as footsteps echoed up the hallway. “Remember that, instead of being angry at us, okay?” It had been a very long time since Lucas had felt the need to be needed. The privilege carried a tremendous amount of responsibility, something he’d shunned for most of his adult life, for reasons that were buried deep inside his heart. No wonder his sisters doubted he could handle it. He’d pretty much glossed over any real responsibility, on an emotional level, at least. He wasn’t even sure he was ready to deal with all this. As long as he didn’t think about what the outcome might be, he could hold on. He refused to think of the vibrant, beautiful woman who’d come into his life as someone who might be dying. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Willa walked into the room, her blue eyes wide with fear and hope, her smile as lovely as ever. “I heard my ride to New Orleans was waiting for me here.” “That’d be me,” Lucas said, remembering the feel of her in his arms last night. She gave him a surprised look. “I told you, Lorna is going with me.” “Not anymore,” he countered. “I’m going, and that’s final.”
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He saw the anger flaring pink against her pale skin. “Oh, really? Well, maybe you’ve forgotten I’m used to taking care of myself. I only agreed to let Lorna go because she knows the city better than I do.” “And I know it better than the lot of you,” he replied. “Everything’s ready. It’ll take about an hour to get to the city, and we have a quiet place to stay at Lacey’s town house in the Garden District. It’s very private.” Giving him a resigned look, she said, “Well, it does seem as if you’ve covered everything.” Then she turned to Lacey. “Thank you.” “It belonged to Neil’s family,” Lacey explained with a delicate shrug. “It was left to him…then to me.” “We all stay there when we go into the city,” Lorna said, her smile strained. “You’re all being so perky,” Willa said, laughing softly. “Please don’t put on any shows for my sake. I’m fine. And honestly, I can do this by myself if Lorna can’t come along.” Lucas shook his head. “It’s not a matter of Lorna not being able to come. It’s that I’m going in her place. Now would you relax and let us help you? I give you my word, I’ll behave myself. But I’m going.” Willa pursed her lips, lowered her head, then tapped her foot. “Okay,” she said finally. “I give up. You can be my chauffeur I suppose, since you’ve halfway been my tour guide and bodyguard anyway.” “There you go,” Lucas said, relieved that she’d seen things his way. “Are you sure?” Lorna asked. “I could still tag along.”
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“She’ll be okay,” Lucas told them. “Let’s get some breakfast in her before we take off.” “I’m not hungry,” Willa said. “Nonsense.” Lorna turned to the sideboard. “Something light. How about some freshly baked oatmeal bread and some of Aunt Hilda’s blueberry jam?” “Just one slice,” Willa replied. Taking the cup of hot tea Lacey handed her, she sank down on a chair. “You’ve all been so sweet to me.” “We’re behind you all the way,” Lorna told her. “I told you the night we first talked on the phone, you don’t have to go through this alone.” Willa nodded, took a small bite of the thick slice of soft brown bread Lorna had given her. “Aunt Hilda told me I was never alone at all.” “She would know,” Lucas said, trying to muster a reassuring smile. Then he turned serious. “And she’s right.” He pointed up. “He’s there. And we’re here to make sure He hears our prayers for you.” “I don’t know what to say.” “Don’t say a word. Just eat,” Lorna coaxed. Then she asked, “Do you want me to contact your parents?” “No.” The one word was said with raised brows and a hiss of breath. “They’re halfway across the world. Let’s wait and see….” Her voice trailed off as she looked at her plate. “Okay,” Lorna told her. “You just say the word, and I’ll track them down.” “Thank you.” Lucas watched as Willa nibbled the bread. Unable to eat, he loaded up on Lorna’s rich, strong coffee
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instead. “So…we’ll go to the town house first, get settled in. Mimi, one of Rosie Lee’s cousins who lives in New Orleans, will be there to help out. Then on to the clinic. Dr. Savoie comes highly recommended. He’s well respected and he’s handled hundreds of cases just like yours.” “He’s the best,” Lacey said. “And he put off a golfing holiday just so he could see you this morning.” “At my insistence,” Lorna said, smiling. “He likes my cooking. But he would have done it anyway. He’s very dedicated to his patients.” “I believe you,” Willa replied, dropping what was left of her bread onto a century-old china plate. “But I’d still appreciate those prayers.” She looked at Lucas. “I’m ready.” Lucas held out a hand to her. He wished he could say the same. Aunt Hilda came into the room dressed in a tailored teal-colored business suit. Turning to Willa, she said, “I have an early breakfast meeting with the Garden Club, but I wanted to see you before you leave. And I wanted to remind you that I expect you to be in church Sunday—whatever news you find in New Orleans.” “Thank you,” Willa said as she got up to hug Aunt Hilda. Then she stood back, her eyes moving over each of their faces. “You know, after I confided in Lorna, she told me to come down here. She told me you would take care of me. But I never dreamed…I never knew family could be like this. I’m overwhelmed.” Lucas watched as she paused, fought for control.
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She was a cool, tall blonde who’d made her living on her looks. And he knew she was terrified of what might happen to change that. But right now, he didn’t care about her looks or her career. Right now, with very little makeup and an earnest look shading her blue eyes the color of morning mist over water, she was a beautiful human being, inside and out. And she needed him. She also needed his God, his Christ, to see her through this. He couldn’t speak, so he took her hand in his. Then, silent and firm, his sisters joined hands and reached for Aunt Hilda. She took Willa’s other hand and joined with Lacey and Lorna. Lorna reached for her brother’s other hand. The circle was complete. “Let’s pray,” Aunt Hilda said without preamble. And so they did. Aunt Hilda asked God to watch over Willa in this time of need. She asked Him to bless her family, as He always had. And she accepted that His will be done, no matter the outcome. Lucas opened his eyes, determined to make sure God’s will matched his own. Determined to see Willa through this and to keep her by his side. Because he didn’t think he could forgive God a second time. And unlike his dear aunt, he couldn’t accept that it was God’s will for Willa to suffer or die. So he took the burden on, willing and ready to fight till the finish. Willing and ready to defy even God in order to save the woman with whom he’d fallen in love.
Chapter Nine
Willa turned from the open French doors to find Lucas standing in the kitchen with two cups of coffee. He’d been talkative on the drive into the city, showing her the sights along the way, pointing out historic markers and famous plantations along the Old River Road. They’d sped along in his open Jeep as if they were going on a summer excursion instead of to the doctor’s office. She didn’t know why she’d agreed to let him, instead of Lorna, bring her to New Orleans. Well, maybe she did know, deep down inside. She enjoyed his company, in spite of the turmoil that had brought her to Bayou le Jardin, in spite of her fear of getting so emotionally attached to him. And she did trust him. Lucas made her feel safe and secure, even when he had her heart fluttering. She’d have to keep all this in perspective, concentrate on why she was here instead of thinking about a future she couldn’t have
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with the darkly handsome man who’d come with her. Plus, on a logical note, she reminded herself Lorna had so many obligations at the bed and breakfast, it was probably better that Lucas had taken over. He seemed to be able to arrange his schedule to pretty much suit himself. But he always got things done. She’d give him points for that, at least. And she’d give him points for being so incredibly sweet and caring. It was reassuring to have someone with her, even if that someone had railroaded his way into this trip. And yet, she had to wonder what his motives were. Why had he come with her? Out of concern, out of compassion, or was he getting too close, too involved, already? That was something she had tried to avoid. But she hadn’t fought very valiantly against being with Lucas. Now, she doubted the rationale of letting him do this. She couldn’t bear to hurt him, but if things went the wrong way, she might wind up doing exactly that. As they’d entered the city traffic, a light rain had started to fall, and Lucas had pulled over to close the Jeep’s top. He’d been quiet after that. He was still quiet…and watchful. It brought her such comfort to have him here. But it also scared her. She couldn’t become too dependent on Lucas Dorsette’s good graces, and she wouldn’t let him get too close to her, wouldn’t let him think there was something, some sort of happy ending for them. She refused to allow herself that luxury. “Thank you,” she said as she took the cup he
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offered her. The warmth penetrated her cold, numb hands. “I can’t seem to stop shaking,” she said as she looked out at the rain that poured down over the secluded courtyard of Lacey’s charming town house. Putting her confusion and doubts aside, she tried to absorb the ambience of the setting. Nestled between several bigger mansions and estates, the tiny apartment had once been part of a grand residence just off St. Charles Avenue. The main house, closer to the street, had been turned into apartments, but this particular cottage, which had once obviously been part of the carriage house, was centered in a lush, tropical garden at the back of the estate. Lucas came to stand beside her. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She nodded, her eyes on the banana fronds that dripped water onto the tiled courtyard floor in a precise melody. Nearby, a bougainvillea vine clung to a white lattice trellis, its hot-pink blossoms turned thirstily toward the welcoming rain. Trying to hide her disturbing thoughts, she said, “I’m fine, Lucas. You’ve been so nice to me.” He held up a hand. “Please don’t thank me again. You can stop being polite. In fact, you can shout and throw things if it’ll make you feel better.” Willa looked around, summoned a weak smile. “I’d hate to destroy Lacey’s lovely home. I have a feeling some of these Victorian antiques would be hard to replace.” “They’re just things,” he told her. “But you’re right.
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Lacey would probably pitch a good tizzy fit if we broke anything—not so much for the commercial or historical value, but because this place was so special to her and Neil. It was a wedding present from Neil’s parents. Lacey and he spent their honeymoon here. Of course, she rarely comes here anymore.” Willa put her coffee cup down on the white tiled counter. The tiny two-storied cottage reminded her of a dollhouse. Everything was tidy and in place. There was plenty of food in the pantry and fresh daisies on the counter, thanks to Rosie Lee’s capable cousin Mimi, who’d discreetly left them alone until dinnertime. “How long were they married?” “About five years. They were very happy.” “What a tragedy.” Willa didn’t want to think about everything Lacey had suffered. She didn’t know if she could bear that kind of pain, that kind of loss. Apparently, Lucas didn’t want to dwell on it, either. She saw the dark sadness in his eyes, but he quickly replaced it with a veiled look. He took her hand in his. “Let’s talk about things with us.” “Lucas—” “Don’t say it,” he told her as he pulled her close. “Don’t tell me there isn’t something happening between you and me.” Wishing she’d never agreed to let him come, she shook her head. “We have to face the possibility—” Holding her an arm’s length away with one hand, he looked at his watch. “We’ve got an hour before we’re due at the clinic. I think we need to talk—about all the possibilities.”
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He tugged her through a set of doors into the sitting room, which also faced the courtyard. Pointing to a bright gold and red floral high-back sofa, he said, “Sit.” Willa settled onto the sofa, then rubbed her hands across her bare arms. “Still chilled?” She nodded. But this chill wasn’t coming from the cooling rain outside. She was shivering with a deeply embedded fear that she couldn’t even begin to understand or explain. Lucas grabbed a mint green chenille throw off a nearby white brocade wing chair then tucked it around her. “I could build a fire.” “In the middle of summer?” She shook her head. “This is fine. I just got cold from the rain.” “Do you want to go up and take a nice, hot bath? I’ll run the water then leave you alone, I promise.” “No. I don’t want anything, thank you.” What she wanted was for him to curl up next to her and hold her forever. What she wanted was to keep on denying that she might be ill, to pretend that she and Lucas were here on a holiday. And that they had a chance of being together someday. “Tell me what I can do, Willa.” It sounded like a plea. She looked at him, her eyes locking with his. She saw vivid pain in his rich brown-black eyes. Saw her unspoken fears reflected in the mystery of his gaze. “Lucas.” She held out a hand to him. He sat beside her, then pulled her into his arms. “I love holding you,” he told her, his words whisper
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thin as they glided over her hair. “I think I could hold you forever.” His statement echoed her thoughts, making Willa wonder once again if some higher power was working to bring them together. She lay her head on his shoulder, savoring the warmth of his skin through the cotton button-up shirt, savoring the fresh, clean smell that spoke of the forest and the swamp and the wind. Giving in to this one indulgence, she refused to think past being in his arms. “I heard your plane early this morning,” she said, her words intimate and low. “I couldn’t sleep. It was just at sunrise. I heard the roar of the engine and I knew it was you.” His arms tightened around her. “I had to finish the job on that soybean field. Then I did a flyby over the house. I was thinking of you.” “And I was thinking of you, too,” she replied. “How can that be? How can we feel this way after only a few days?” If he heard the fear in her question or her surprise at the admission, he didn’t call her on it. She felt him shrug. “Can’t explain it, love. Aunt Hilda would say it’s fate. That God brought us together.” “I’m beginning to believe that,” she admitted. “I needed…help getting through this. I needed the courage to face this. I couldn’t have done it alone in New York. Knowing I can go back to Bayou le Jardin to wait this out—” “And attend church, as Aunt Hilda reminded us this morning—”
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“Yes, and attend church. It means so much to me, Lucas. Your family has been so wonderful. I just feel as if Bayou le Jardin is the right place to be now.” “I’m glad you feel that way, but what about your parents?” She stared at him. “I told you—” “Never mind what you told me. Why don’t you want them to know?” Willa looked at the soft blanket covering her lap. “I’m afraid…I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed in me.” “Disappointed? That you might be sick? That you might have cancer? I don’t get that, love.” No, she supposed he wouldn’t, coming from a loving, faithful family. So she tried to explain. “My adoptive parents have always demanded perfection. They had my life all mapped out from the day they picked me up from the hospital. I would be educated in the best private schools in New York, then I would attend an exclusive, expensive college, then I would marry a hand-picked up-and-coming lawyer or politician and settle down to charity work and children, just as I told you before. And I would one day inherit a lot of old money to go along with my new position.” He tweaked her nose with a finger. “Sounds a bit boring, don’t you think?” “That’s exactly what I thought,” she said, a wry smile playing at her lips. “Which is why I rebelled big time and took off on probably what has been the only impulsive whim I’ve ever had in my life, to that
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photo shoot. The whim turned into a serious opportunity, though, so after I thought about it, I decided to sign with a top agency. “I think I did it to escape. I’d never done anything like that in my life, never gone against my parents’ wishes. But it just felt so good to be free, to be out on my own. Before long, I became very much in demand and I forgot all about my obligations to become a proper society wife. I don’t think my parents have ever really forgiven me. I just can’t bring myself to run begging to them now.” “But they’d have to understand. Willa, they wouldn’t turn their backs on you at a time like this.” She fell against the sofa, wrapped her arms around him again. “No, they’d be concerned and worried. They’d also demand I come to NewYork for any treatment or surgery, though. They’d have to be in control, and I’m sorry, this is my body. It’s just way too personal to have them hovering over me and trying to control me the way they did all my life.” She sighed, gave him an imploring look. “I don’t mean to sound harsh or ungrateful, it’s just that I can’t take the condemnation and…fear I know I’d see in their eyes.” Lucas pulled a hand through her hair. “Then we won’t worry them unless we have to.” She sat silent for a few precious minutes. She wanted to remember being held, wanted to cherish each touch, each caress Lucas had to offer. It could all change so soon. But she also needed to do one more thing before she gave in to this possible disease. “Lucas, after we see the doctor, regardless of the
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outcome of the biopsy, I want to go and see my birth mother.” He sat up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure?” “Yes. If they find—if the doctor tells me I have to have surgery, I will do whatever it takes to survive. But first, I have to know. I have to find her and understand why she gave me up.” Lucas grabbed both her hands in his. “But not now. Willa, you can’t put this off any longer. Dr. Savoie doesn’t mess around. If he does a biopsy and finds something, then he’ll want to go ahead and perform surgery.” “I understand that. That’s why I want to go soon, after we’re finished here tomorrow. I know where she lives, and I can go there and back overnight. Then I’ll have a few days to rest for the surgery next week—if surgery is needed.” Lucas jumped up, then turned to stare at her. “Do you know the risk of stalling? Do you understand what could happen to you?” Anger was her only defense against the passion in his words. “I understand completely. I’ve read all the information, talked to my doctor in New York and confirmed it with Dr. Savoie. Having breast cancer is serious. I know that. But I also know that doctors don’t rush into doing radical surgery these days the way they used to. They’ve learned it’s better to give women time to cope with this, time to make decisions and get things settled, just in case. Which is why I have to find my birth mother.”
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“You can’t keep going like this, Willa. You’ve already waited too long as it is.” Throwing the cover off, she got up to face him. “Look, I just found the lump last week. I went to the doctor, but after he confirmed my fears, I panicked. That’s when I canceled doing the runway show and that’s when I called Lorna. It’s only been a few days. If I do have to have some sort of radial surgery, I’ll have to make preparations anyway. It won’t be scheduled right away. I have time to do this, Lucas.” His dark brows shot up. “Make that we, suga’. Wherever you go, I’m going with you.” “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want you to do that. I need to do this one thing on my own.” “You plan on going way back up north to see your birth mother after having a biopsy?” “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m planning. And I was really hoping you’d understand and support me in this.” “I would have understood maybe before—before you told me everything.” He stopped, gave her a long, searching look. “Or have you told me everything? Is there anything else I need to know, love, ‘cause I’m not good at surprises.” Willa pulled away, then moved to the French doors. “I shouldn’t have involved you in any of this. I tried to keep it quiet, tried to focus on getting to a doctor. It’s only a matter of time before the tabloids find out about this—that’s how they operate, slinking around until they get some tidbit of information. I didn’t want to put your family in an awkward position—”
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He was there beside her, pulling her around. “Hush. I’ve been in worse jams, believe me. I can handle reporters or anybody else who tries to get to you. What I can’t deal with is not knowing the whole story. I need to know the truth, Willa.” “Even if that truth turns out to be the worst possible scenario?” “Even then.” She gave him a wry smile. “You’ll come to my rescue, protect me, help me, even if I have to go through the very worst?” “Yes.” It was a simple word, but its meaning wasn’t lost on either of them. She shook her head. “Maybe…maybe I should have stayed in New York. That probably would have been for the best. That’s the only real truth I know.” She saw the anger flaring like dark, churning waters in his eyes. “Right. Just like delaying treatment to come here was for the best. Just like trying to keep this a secret was for the best. Just like not trusting me was for the best—” “I do trust you,” she said, hurt by his condemning attitude. “Lucas, you have to understand—I’m not used to this. I wasn’t raised to be open and frank. An O’Connor never shows any sign of weakness. That means no emotion, no loss of control. We walk proud and hold up our heads. We have an image to maintain, an impeccable reputation to live up to. We don’t trust easily.” In a move that left her head spinning, he pulled
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her close. She watched as the anger drained from his face, leaving his expression raw and wounded. “I don’t exactly inspire the trust of others,” he said, holding her arms, his dark eyes filled with pain. “But I’m asking you to give me a try. And I’ll admit—I’ve never been through anything like this. I’ve had a sheltered, easy life since coming to Bayou le Jardin. Aunt Hilda used to tell us that we’d all already been tested enough, by the death of our parents. But then, she’d also remind us that life isn’t always fair and that there might come a day when we’d be tested even more.” Tugging her close, he added, “I think this is one of those days, Willa. I think this is probably what my whole life has been building to. And I refuse to run from this, I refuse. You can’t push me away that easily, regardless of what you might believe about me deep down inside.” “Oh, Lucas,” she said, hoping to make him see. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s just that… Aunt Hilda was right. Life isn’t fair. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to—” He put a finger to her mouth. “Shh. We don’t know anything at this point. You might not even have cancer. This just might be a big scare, all for nothing.” Willa stood there, her gaze on his face, his lips. His finger moved over her mouth, then made a soft, sweet caress over her cheekbone. Then he brought his lips to hers in a searing seal, a bond that held them there while the rain fell outside.
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Lucas lifted his mouth from hers. “I’m with you, no matter what. Remember that.” She closed her eyes, leaned her head on his shoulder and, even though she knew she’d have to leave him soon, she willed it to be so.
Chapter Ten
“How you feeling?” Willa looked up after Lucas’s question, watching as he maneuvered the Jeep inside the big garage at Bayou le Jardin. “Sore, and a bit tired, I guess.” She couldn’t say more than that. The biopsy had gone well enough, if you considered having a large needle inserted in your body to draw out tissue as a fun event. Now they had to wait for Dr. Savoie’s call. Willa had to wait at least twenty-four hours to see if her life was about to change forever. Lucas took her hand in his. “Remember, Dr. Savoie said at age twenty-seven, your chances of having cancer are about one in twenty thousand.” “He also said the lump was very small,” she added, glad Lucas had insisted on going into the doctor’s office with her. “Yep, less than a square centimeter.” Lucas kept his hand on hers, and he kept on smiling. “And he did say
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it’s good that you found it in time. You might not have to have chemotherapy—just a few weeks of radiation.” His voice was both smooth and grainy, much like the winding country road they had just traveled. Willa knew Lucas was trying to reassure her, but the discomfort radiating through her system only served as a reminder that in the city, a pathologist could be examining tissue from her body right now. Right now. She glanced over in time to catch Lucas watching her. He quickly looked away, but she didn’t miss the worry in his eyes. “Maybe we should have stayed another night in New Orleans,” he said. “Mimi was willing to chaperon us a few more days. And I’m not sure what she’s going to do with all those ice packs she made for you. Throw a party, I reckon.” Willa had to smile at that endearing statement. Mimi Babineaux was a bright, funny woman about the same age as Willa. Obviously she’d been handpicked by Hilda Dorsette to watch out for her nephew and his houseguest. Mimi had done a good job, cooking up a storm for Lucas, hovering over Willa after she’d been instructed by Dr. Savoie not to eat anything before the biopsy, then fussing like a mother hen when they’d returned from the clinic. Lucas had insisted Willa go straight to bed with an ice pack on her incision, and Mimi had made sure the cold pack was comfortable, then she’d disappeared discreetly when she sensed Lucas and Willa wanted to be alone.
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Lucas had stayed right there, sitting in a chair by the window while Willa slept, getting fresh ice packs when she gave the slightest hint of pain. Willa marveled at him. He’d been so attentive, so tender. But she had to wonder—this was probably the strangest trip he’d ever taken to New Orleans. Not much chance to explore the lovely old city. Not much chance of exploring anything. Period. “Does your aunt always provide chaperons when you take women to New Orleans?” “I’ve never taken anyone else to Lacey’s little retreat,” he said, his dark eyes holding hers as they sat there in the quiet. “I’m honored, then,” she replied, her heartbeat accelerating much too fast. “And you’ve been a perfectly respectable housemate. I doubt we even needed Mimi supervising us.” He grinned then. “My good aunt probably thought I was going to spirit you away to do immoral things.” “Then she obviously doesn’t know you at all.” He quirked a dark brow. “Must be losing my touch. You see, I’ve got everyone around here convinced I’m a bad seed. You won’t tell them the truth, now, will you, love?” Willa opened the passenger side door, grimacing with pain. Even though Lucas hopped out of the Jeep, she didn’t wait for him to come around and help her out of the vehicle. She still had some pride. Standing to meet him, she asked, “The truth being that you didn’t even once try to take advantage of me?”
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He held the door, then leaned close. “Believe me, the thought did cross my mind, but I do have some scruples. I respect you too much to pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for—especially when you’re wearing an ice pack.” She had to laugh in spite of her discomfort. “We weren’t exactly in New Orleans for a romantic interlude, were we?” He gave her a completely serious look, a look that tore through her heart and caused her much more pain than the incision the doctor had made. “No, but I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it. And I’d be a real cad if I tried anything crazy at a time like this.” “Not to mention that Aunt Hilda would probably string you up by your sorry hide?” “Ah, there is that minor detail. A man has to remember what he’s been taught all his life. I know right from wrong.” Willa stood, favoring her bandaged side while she balanced her weight by holding onto the door and Lucas’s hand. “Then why do you let people think the worst of you?” Lucas shook his head, leaned close. “Less explaining to do that way, I suppose.” Willa touched her hand to a lock of curling hair at the nape of his neck. “And less questions to answer? Less expectations to live up to?” “You do know me,” he said, a trace of awe and admiration in his words. Then he grabbed the hand she still held to his hair, taking it in his to hold it to his chest. “Willa, are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”
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Willa saw the sincere worry in his eyes—eyes that reminded her of rich, dark chocolate. He’d promised her he could handle this, even the worst. But if the worst did happen, could she handle seeing that look in his eyes each time they were together? It would change to pity, and finally resentment. She wasn’t ready to deal with that. So she told him as much of the truth as she could allow. “I’m nervous, worried, but hopeful. And in some pain. But…I’m glad we came back here to wait for Dr. Savoie’s call. I feel safe here.” “You are safe here,” he told her, gently pulling her into his arms. “For as long as you want to stay.” “That depends on what the doctor tells us,” she replied. “And we’ve still got a while to go before we get the results.” “Tomorrow morning, at the latest,” Lucas said. She was glad he hadn’t mentioned her trip to see her birth mother. They had agreed to stay away from that subject for now. One step at a time, Willa reasoned. But she was going, regardless of what the doctor told her. Lucas obviously mistook her quietness as a sign of worry. He held her away, then leaned close. “Remember, whatever happens—I mean, if you do need surgery and you decide to let Dr. Savoie be the one to operate, you can come right back here to get well.” “Thank you,” Willa said. She didn’t tell him that if she had to have a radical mastectomy, it would be hard to face him again, let alone continue a budding
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relationship with him. She wouldn’t think about that. Wouldn’t think past today and whatever word they got from the doctor. Right now, she only wanted to be held by him. She wanted to feel safe again before she hopped on a plane and went to find her birth mother. That trip would take all the strength she had left. “Take me to the house,” she whispered. “Whatever the lady wants,” Lucas said, easily sweeping her up into his arms. “I didn’t mean that literally. I can walk,” she said, a breathless surprise moving through her aching body. “Not when I’m here to carry you,” he replied, his gaze holding hers as he gently tucked her right arm against her midsection. Then he kissed her, a quick peck on the cheek. “And Willa, I am here to carry you. And so is Christ. Remember that, please?” Willa couldn’t speak. So she lay her head against the warmth of his shoulder as he carried her up the path to the mansion. She wanted to give in to the desire of letting Lucas pamper and spoil her. She wanted to give in to the growing need that flowed through her like warm water whenever she was with him. But she couldn’t give in completely. Because she knew some burdens were too hard to bear. Even for a strong, capable man such as Lucas Dorsette. If she became dependent on him, on his tender mercies and his delicate touch, it would only bring both of them heartache down the road. She wouldn’t give Lucas or herself any false hopes. She wouldn’t hold him to any promises, either.
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Willa had always carried herself. She’d never expected anyone else to take over that job. Man or God. And yet, her heart overflowed with a comforting security as she saw the now familiar sight of the great mansion looming among the oak trees. Bayou le Jardin. Home. For a few more hours—for this one night. For a while, at least, she was safe, cradled here in God’s garden, where Lucas and his family could surround her with faith and hope. Much later, Lucas knocked on Willa’s bedroom door. “Come in,” she called, knowing instinctively it would be him. In spite of her resolve to keep things on a reasonable keel, in spite of the urgency she felt to find her birth mother, she had been sitting in a chair by the French doors, waiting for sunset and… him. He came through the door, wearing a smile that took her breath away, carrying a cluster of Cherokee roses. The shades of dusk surrounded him, pale pinks and soft, creamy yellows, while the trees outside cast delicate shadows over the cherry-wood tester bed and the Queen Anne highboy. In the sunset, the polished woods flared to life with a rich brilliance that looked like fire dancing at dark. But Lucas’s eyes danced with a warmth that radiated through the entire room. Willa didn’t say anything. She just sat there,
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taking in the sight of him. He wore old jeans and a faded chambray shirt; his dark hair was wet and glimmering and unruly. Then he walked across the room and on bended knee offered her the flowers he’d brought. The delicate cream-colored clusters were sprinkled with a fine sheen of evening dew. Willa took the flowers and fell completely in love with Lucas Dorsette. That realization caused her to draw in her breath, caused her to go stiff and cold inside, in spite of her joy. She couldn’t acknowledge this newfound love, couldn’t tell him how he made her feel. That wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right. Lucas deserved so much more than she could give right now. “Hi,” he said, still on his knee at her feet. “How you feeling, chère?” She swallowed the hot, raw emotion catching in her throat. The way he said that one word, that term of endearment, made her close her eyes so he wouldn’t see the truth that was clearly there. He reached a hand to her face. “Hey, are you all right?” She nodded, opened her eyes to find him much too close. Fighting hard for control, she said, “I’m fine. The flowers are so beautiful. Did you steal them out of Aunt Hilda’s garden?” He grinned. “Why call a florist, when I have some of the best bouquets in the world right in my backyard?” “Probably saves on courting costs,” she said,
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trying to sound upbeat in spite of her skipping, tripping heartbeat. The grin changed to something else. He grew serious, his eyes every bit as rich and luminous as the polished wood surrounding them. “I don’t go a’courting very often. And I don’t steal flowers for just any girl, you know.” She forced a smile. “I’m so honored, Mr. Dorsette. First, you show me your secret garden. Then you take me up in your airplane. Then we visit Lacey’s lovely home in New Orleans. And now, flowers.” She lifted a brow, tried to hide the tremble in her voice. “And you expect me to believe I’m the first? Next you’ll be telling me I’m the first woman you’ve ever been through a biopsy with.” His dark eyes went dangerously still. “The first and only, on all accounts—if I have things my way.” Willa sank back in the Chippendale floral chair, determined to remain intact in spite of the powerful charms of Lucas Dorsette. She couldn’t let him have his way this time. For his sake. She had to keep telling herself, this was for his sake. “Lucas,” she said, holding the flowers to her chest, “I think we should talk. I’m still planning on going to find my birth mother—” He leaned forward, a finger on her lips hushing her, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he reached up to pull her head down. Then he kissed her. Willa tried to steel herself against the onslaught of that kiss. She could feel the waning sun’s warmth on her skin, could smell the fresh aroma of the soap
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Lucas had used to bathe mixing with the delicate scent of the flower blossoms, could taste the minty freshness of his mouth on hers. With a sigh, she dropped the flowers onto her lap and pulled her hands through his damp, curling hair. And somewhere in the back of her mind, a hope sprang to life. What if she didn’t have cancer, after all? What if there was a chance for Lucas and her? But then the solid fear of what her future might hold flashed like a warning sign in her head. No. She couldn’t give in, not yet. She couldn’t let this go any further until she had all the answers to tomorrow, regarding both her real mother and her health. Lucas lifted his head, then wrapped his hands around hers to bring them to his mouth. He kissed her fingers, then said, “What happened? About midway, I lost you there.” “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her hands clinging to his as he knelt in front of her. “I’m not ready….” “I understand,” he replied. Then he let her go to stand up. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re tired and recovering from the biopsy, and here I am like some adolescent schoolboy, pining away at your feet.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pivoted to stare at the dusk-kissed gardens. “I only came to take you to dinner. If you feel up to going downstairs to eat in the dining room with the family.” She swallowed the need to go to him. “Maybe I should stay in my room.” He turned, concern evident on his face. “Do you
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hurt? Should I get you some pain medicine, call the doctor?” She waved a hand. “No. I’m doing okay. I slept most of the afternoon. I’m just not very hungry.” “Aunt Hilda says you should eat. She and Rosie Lee cooked up some mean chilled vegetable soup—all right out of the gardens and seasoned to perfection with fresh herbs. Do you want me to bring you a bowl?” She shook her head. “You go on to dinner, Lucas. I’ll come later and have a glass of tea, maybe.” He tilted his head. “You can dip your corn bread in the soup—good for you.” She had to laugh at that. “My proper mother would be appalled if I did that, I’m afraid.” He leaned down, placed a hand on each arm of the chair, then winked at her. “Hey, your mamma ain’t here, suga’. And what she don’t know won’t hurt her.” “I suppose you’re right there.” Which was exactly why Willa hadn’t called her parents in the first place. “Good.” Pushing off the chair, he stood straight again. “I’m going to the kitchen to get you some soup and corn bread. And a big glass of tea.” “Lucas, you don’t have to do that.” He stood with his thumbs caught in the belt loops of his jeans. “I don’t mind one bit. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” “Well, go ahead and eat something yourself,” she said, hoping that would detain him for a while. She needed time to think, to decide what to do next.
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She’d already phoned Samuel Frye. That had been one tough conversation. The worry and concern in her dear agent’s voice had only magnified the situation for Willa. But Samuel had been a trooper once he’d gotten over the shock. “Just get yourself well, kid,” he’d told her in a soft, fatherly voice. “I’ll take care of everything here with the agency and anyone who asks questions.” And there would be questions. Lots of questions. Which was why Willa had to think this through, weigh all the options. Right now, those options looked pretty dismal. Lucas must have sensed her turmoil. He touched a hand to her chin. “We’ll hear tomorrow. Then you can decide one way or the other—about all the possibilities.” He didn’t have to tell her what he meant by that statement. Willa knew Lucas was watching and waiting, too. Because whatever they heard from the doctor would change both their lives forever, one way or another. In spite of the prayers surrounding her, in spite of her shallow hopes of hearing good news, Willa knew in her heart that something was terribly wrong. She already knew what she’d hear from the doctor tomorrow. And she already knew that there were no possibilities for any happiness between her and Lucas. Unable to let him see the tears springing to her eyes, Willa turned toward the open French doors leading to the second-floor gallery.
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And that’s when a camera’s flash went off, temporarily blinding her. Crying in surprise, she put her hands to her face. “Oh, no. Not now.” Then she saw the blur of Lucas’s big form as he hurried past her and shot onto the gallery. When Willa stopped seeing spots and regained her focus, she saw Lucas standing on the gallery, his hands on his hips as he looked down. “Someone just got a picture of you, Willa. He must have shimmied up what’s left of that oak tree Mick had to cut up after the tornado. That’s about the only way somebody could get to the second floor.” With a grunt, he hurried away, calling in a loud, angry voice. “And when I get my hands on that somebody, he’s going to pay dearly.” “Lucas, wait!” Before Willa could get out of the chair, he was gone, apparently taking the same escape route as the intruder, down the side of the gallery then onto the jutting tree branches. Willa watched, her heart ramming a warning against her chest as she listened for a confrontation. Outside, the dusk quickly turned to darkness. Now the worst had happened. If that photographer had heard something, anything, about her illness, it would be all over the papers tomorrow. And she wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to face the world with the truth. Not yet.
Chapter Eleven
“S
he’s coming with me,” Lucas informed Lorna a few minutes later. “Tobbie managed to run that photographer off, but he’ll be back. And he’ll probably be asking questions—about New Orleans, about Willa going to the clinic.” “You mean, you think the press might know something?” Lorna asked, careful to keep her voice down. They were in the parlor. Lacey was with Willa behind closed curtains and locked doors in Willa’s bedroom. Lucas nodded, frustrated with this turn of events. He’d come so close to gaining Willa’s trust, to holding her here with him a while longer. But now she was determined to get away, to hide out somewhere else. Or worse, make the dangerous, unsure trek to find her birth mother while trying to throw off those aggravating snoops. But he had other plans.
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“Tobbie said he spotted a man earlier, talking to Mrs. Gilbert, but he just thought based on the way the man looked and acted that he was another guest. Then he recognized him tonight as he was running away. It was the same man he’d seen with Mrs. Gilbert earlier.” He waved a hand in the air. “I sent Tobbie to find her. As soon as I have some answers, some information to confirm my suspicions, I’m taking Willa to my cabin in the swamp.” Before Lorna could argue with that, a very contrite Mrs. Gilbert came hurrying into the room, her floral patio dress flowing out in ruffles around her plump body. “Lucas, Tobbie explained what happened. I would have never talked to that horrid man if I’d known he was a reporter or photographer or whatever he was. He seemed so nice, so friendly. He said he’d noticed Willa while he was touring the gardens—to take pictures of the roses and other flowers—said that was why he was here. Said he did still life and landscape calendars. He never mentioned that he wanted a picture of Willa, too.” She stopped long enough to inhale a much-needed breath. “I’m afraid I told him who she was and that she’d come down here to rest. I added that it sounded as if she could use a good rest, from what I’d heard.” Frowning, she muttered almost to herself, “And to think, he assured me he would keep everything I told him a secret. Well, I never.” Lorna frowned, then let out a sigh. “But, Mrs. Gilbert, you promised to be discreet.” “And I was,” the older woman said through trem-
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bling lips. “I’ve hardly thought about Willa for the last couple of days. Dr. Gilbert took me on a tour of the neighboring plantations, one yesterday and another one today, and in this heat, too. But…that man who called himself Jim came along with us. Said he’d never been to Oak Alley or Felicity. Said he could use them both for one of his calendars.” Lowering her head, she added, “Oh, dear, now I don’t know what all I might have said. He did have a lot of questions about Willa’s being here, about her needing rest and all. But I don’t think I told him anything damaging. Oh, I just can’t think straight, I’m so upset.” Seeing the woman’s agitation, Lorna tried to calm her down. “It’s all right, Mrs. Gilbert. The man was obviously very crafty. He tricked all of us. What else did you say to him?” Mrs. Gilbert held a hand to her heart, then blinked. “We got to talking about New Orleans. I told him I was afraid to go there. He said he might drive down to get some more pictures. Then he said he thought he’d seen Lucas and Willa leaving yesterday morning, heard they were going into the city for some sight-seeing or something. He even joked about what a lucky man Lucas was, getting to show Willa O’Connor all the sights and such.” “Did you confirm that we did indeed go to New Orleans?” Lucas asked her, trying to keep the impatience and anger out of his voice. “I didn’t even know you’d gone,” the woman admitted, batting her eyes at Lucas. “But I did tell
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him that you and Willa seemed to be growing awfully close. You see, I thought it was just so sweet. Oh, I’m very sorry. I hope Willa isn’t too upset with me.” “It’s okay,” Lucas said, taking Mrs. Gilbert by the arm to guide her toward her room. “The man was probably watching and waiting, no telling how long he’s been lurking about. He would have easily had enough time to get back from the tour and drive into New Orleans late yesterday. But there is no way he could have found us there. He probably hung around until he knew we were back here, then he waited until dusk to sneak up to Willa’s room.” Giving Lorna a stone-faced look, he said to Mrs. Gilbert, “Thanks for being honest with us. I’ll take you back to your room.” “That’s not necessary,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “We were just about to go to bed, since we’re so exhausted from this heat. Mr. Gilbert is probably already asleep, so I don’t want you to wake him. I’ll find my way back to my room.” Lucas watched as she hurried away, her head down, her lips in a pout. Then he said to Lorna in a low voice, “I just wonder… What if that man were snooping around? What if he heard Willa and me talking the other night in the garden, or maybe he heard us discussing everything the morning we left? You know how they operate, Lorna.” Lorna lifted her brows. “Yes, I know. But do you really think it’s wise to take Willa into the swamp?” “They can’t get to her there. I’ll take her to my cabin—just for tonight, so she can at least get a good
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night’s rest. Then tomorrow morning, we’ll be back here in time for the doctor’s call.” At her doubtful look, he added, “It’s just to throw them off, make them think Willa has left. And now that Tobbie and Mick know what’s going on, they can inform them that she has indeed left—which will be the truth, technically speaking.” “Take your phone and your pager,” Lorna told him, a finger in his face. “And make sure they’ve both got full power.” “Of course,” Lucas replied, irritation snapping through his reply. Was that his sister’s subtle way of reminding him he couldn’t always be dependable? Mick came in from the gallery, his expression grim. “Well, buddy. I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.” Lucas let out a sigh. “What?” “The bad news—they were camped out at the main gate. Tobbie and I found a van with two of them inside—one was our tree-climbing friend, all right. Before we could tell ’em to get lost, one of them asked me if I knew what was wrong with Willa O’Connor. Said he’d heard from one of the other guests that she was sick. You’re right, Lucas. They’re beginning to figure things out.” Lucas put a hand to his head, gripping a wad of hair. “So what’s the good news?” “We sent ’em packing, and we called the sheriff to make sure if they do try anything they’ll regret it.” “Thanks,” Lucas said. “But we can’t expect the sheriff to put out a patrol around the clock. I’m going
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to get Willa and we’re going into the swamp. If they try to follow us, we’ll let the ‘gators deal with ’em.” “She’s not going to like this,” Lorna said. “She’s not used to being whisked away in the night.” “Isn’t she?” Lucas asked, spinning to stare at his sister. “Isn’t this exactly how she has to live all the time? Isn’t this why she’s so afraid to trust anyone?” Mick shot his wife a warning look, then put a hand on Lucas’s arm. “I think what Lorna’s trying to say is that Willa is capable of dealing with things like this on her own. She might not like your interference.” Lucas stared at Mick, then shrugged. “Well, tough. She doesn’t have much choice this time. And she doesn’t need this right now.” “What’s going on?” Willa asked from the hallway, her skin pale, her eyes wary as she glanced from one face to the other. But she guessed it before anyone could speak. “Oh, no. They know, don’t they? Lucas, they’ve found out?” He couldn’t lie to her. “We think so, love.” He pulled her into the room. “But look, I’m going to get you out of here.” She looked skeptical. “Oh, yeah. And how are you going to do that? The only way to get past reporters is to take an airplane away from them, and your plane is miles away at the hangar.” “I’m taking you to my cabin in the swamp,” he said, his expression brooking no argument. “Now. Tonight.” Willa gave him an incredulous look. “The swamp? No. Absolutely not. I have to leave anyway,
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might as well be now. If someone could just get me to the airport in New Orleans?” “No way,” Lucas said. “They’d follow you there, Willa. They’ve been watching the house and they might know we went to the clinic. The swamp is the one place they can’t bother you.” “And what about the doctor?” she asked, her eyes glittering with anger and apprehension. “If you want, we’ll give Dr. Savoie both your cell phone numbers, then he can call you at the cabin,” Lorna told her in a quiet voice. “Lucas will bring you back once we know something.” “This is crazy,” Willa replied, her gaze sweeping over Lucas. “I can deal with this. I’m used to dealing with reporters and paparazzi. And I don’t expect you to just drop everything to constantly hold my hand, Lucas. It’s not necessary. I’ll figure out something, some way to get past them.” Mick shot a look at Lucas, as if to say I told you so. Ignoring his brother-in-law, Lucas stepped close, holding her arm with his hand. “But you’re in the middle of a health crisis, Willa,” he said. “What if they’re snooping around when you get the phone call? Do you really want them putting your picture on one of their sleazy rags or printing something about you that is so personal and private? If they get the slightest hint that something is wrong, they won’t stop until they get the whole story. What if they interview a doctor or nurse or someone else who works at the clinic?” Willa pulled away, turned her back to him. Lucas
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could see her pride in the way she held herself erect and rigid, in the way she held her arms tightly folded against her stomach. She didn’t even like discussing this in front of Lorna and Mick. He wanted to help her, and the only way he knew how was to take her to a safe haven. “Willa?” “Let’s go,” she said, her face still turned away. “Let’s just get out of here.” Lucas glanced at Lorna and Mick. The sympathy he saw on their faces brought him some comfort. But Willa didn’t want sympathy. She wasn’t ready for that yet. “Call us if you hear anything,” he told Lorna. “And if you can’t get through, send someone to get us.” Willa gave Lorna a stubborn look. “Have Dr. Savoie call my cell phone number first, please.” Lucas didn’t argue with that. The results were between Willa and her doctor, after all. No matter how much he wanted to be there when she heard. “We will.” Lorna went to Willa. “You’ll be fine. Lucas will keep you safe. And they won’t dare try to go into the bayou.” “Thank you,” Willa said. Then she turned and hugged Lorna. “I’m so sorry I’ve brought all of this on your family.” “Don’t be silly,” Lorna said. “That’s what family is for. We look after each other, protect each other.” Willa glanced up then. “But—” “Shh,” Lorna said. “Just go with Lucas. Try to
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stay positive. And get some rest. Things will look better in the morning.” Lucas could tell by the drawn look on Willa’s face that she didn’t believe it. She turned to him. “I’ll get a few things and then I’ll be ready,” she said, a new determination evident in her blue eyes. Lucas hoped it was a determination to survive. He needed her to fight, not only for herself, but for his love, too. He refused to let her give up. Because he knew he never could. “It’s so dark,” Willa told him about an hour later. She watched, fascinated, as he used a long pole instead of a paddle to ease the narrow boat he called a pirogue through the brackish, swirling waters of the bayou. “Darker than a ‘gator’s belly,” he said over his shoulder. “Did you put on some of that bug repellent Rosie Lee gave us?” “Yes,” she replied, fanning away mosquitoes and other flying creatures she didn’t want to think about. “It smells good, like lemons.” “Made from lemon grass. Pest don’t like that smell, suga’.” “Thank goodness.” Their voices drifted off in a lost echo, then the still swamp became silent again, except for the bullfrogs croaking, the katydids singing and the occasional splash of some nocturnal creature slithering off the bank and into the water. Willa tried to stay calm, but the pirogue was so small and only a few inches over the water. She
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didn’t dare reach her hand over the edge of the boat to see just how far the black water was from her fingers. She concentrated on her surroundings. “These trees are incredible,” she said in a whisper, her gaze scanning the moss-draped giants. “Cypress,” Lucas told her. “As old as time. We’re around in the back of the bayou now—they call it Rivière de Doute—the River of Doubt. Few men venture here. But I do love it, especially just after the sun begins to set—at first dark.” “More like very dark,” Willa said, her laughter brittle as she squinted at the gray and black shapes swirling by here and there on the nearby shore. She felt as if she were lost in a never-ending labyrinth. In spite of the cloying humidity, she couldn’t help the shivers running up and down her spine. Needing to keep a connection with him, she said, “I must have been crazy, letting you talk me into this. Bringing me to the middle of the swamp—it’s like the end of the earth.” “That’s why it’s completely safe,” Lucas said, his head down as he watched the black water moving away from the swift boat. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” “I believe you,” she said, a measure of reassurance easing her fears. It felt strange, allowing someone to take care of things. She didn’t dare get used to it. “I’ve been all over the world, but I’ve never done anything like this before.” “You live in a different sort of jungle, I reckon.” She smiled into the darkness. “I’ve never consid-
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ered it that way.” But then, he always made her see things in a different light. He turned the boat into an open channel where blue and purple water hyacinths spread out like a patterned quilt, shining in the silver-shot rays of a crescent moon. Willa sucked in her breath. “Lucas, it’s so beautiful.” “Beautiful but deceiving,” he said. “These pretty petals and vines, they choke up the water.” She saw the flash of his wry smile, felt the tug of that smile all the way to her toes. She did feel safe with him, even in the middle of the unforgiving swamp. She watched him, following his dark silhouette as he carried them toward home. His home. He belongs here, she told herself, a grain of doubt rubbing at her tired mind. How could I begin to pull him away from this? Even if I’m okay. Even if I’m cancerfree. Do I really have a chance with this man? Could I really expect him to sit around waiting on me to jet in for a few days here and there between assignments? She looked at the lovely flowers flowing by the boat, seeing them for what they really were. As pretty as the hyacinth were, Willa knew enough to see that Lucas was right. They were overtaking the water, sapping the strength out of the wetlands and the marsh. A lovely danger. Beautiful but deceiving, just as Lucas had said. Wasn’t that what she was to Lucas? On the surface, she presented a pretty picture. A fashion model with what the world termed a perfect
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face and figure. But underneath it all, she was a liability to him, especially if she was as sick as she felt inside. And if she gave in to the need to be with him, she might become just as cloying and overpowering as these mysterious flowers. And he’d resent her for that. So many obstacles stood between them. Willa did indeed feel lost in the wilderness. Then she looked at the moon hanging so close, she thought she could reach out and touch it. Are You up there, God? Are You listening? Can You help me to make the right decision? Help me to put these silly notions of love out of my mind, help me to let Lucas go. I won’t pull him away from his home. I won’t force him to make that kind of choice. No matter what tomorrow brings. Help me, Lord. She didn’t even realize she had been praying until Lucas stopped the pirogue near a small wooden dock. “We’re here, love. Time for le lit de repos.” A little repose. A little bit of rest. How she needed just that. But Willa didn’t think she’d get much sleep this night. Not with the man she’d fallen so completely in love with watching over her. And knowing that come tomorrow she’d have to leave him, one way or another. “Allo,” a voice called from the darkened shore. Then Willa saw a flashlight moving through the gray-tinged night. “That’s Royden,” Lucas told her as he tied the boat then turned to help her out. “Just call him Roy
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Boy, everybody does. And don’t flirt with him too much. He’s only eighteen—the oldest of the Babineaux clan.” “Roy Boy.” Willa had to laugh in spite of her mixed feelings about being here. “What’s he doing— another chaperon sent by your aunt?” “Non. We’re on a mile-wide island out in the middle of the bayou. The Babineaux family lives just around the bend, so he watches the place for me when I’m along the front at the big house.” “Along the front?” “Just swamp talk, chère. It means when I’m at Bayou le Jardin, I’m on the front end of the property. And this—this is in the back.” “Oh, you mean you’re actually out in civilization when you leave this place?” “Oui. Now you’re catching on.” He helped her onto the dock, then took her red leather overnight bag. “How you feeling?” “A little unsteady from that lovely swamp tour, but I’m okay.” In the next instant, a baying hound dog came running to greet them. Willa watched as the beautiful bluish-gray animal with small floppy ears jumped on Lucas, covering him completely to his chest. “Is this another member of the Babineaux family?” she asked as the animal dropped down and begin sniffing at her linen pants, its white-gray eyes shining with a luminous glow in the fresh moonlight. “He kinda belongs to the lot of us,” Lucas replied.
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“But he thinks he’s my bébé.” He fell to his knees to pet the huge animal, all the while cooing in French. “He’s been banished from the mansion grounds— tends to chew up flower beds.” “What breed is he?” Willa asked, delighted with the dog’s doleful eyes and perky ears. She reached out a hand to touch him as he twisted away from Lucas to come sniffing at her pant leg again. “A Catahoula hound—also known as a leopard. We call him Tulip.” “A hound named Tulip. Now that’s different.” Roy Boy tugged the animal away from Willa, then grinned. “Somebody either lost him or let him go. Found him near dead underneath a tulip tree.” “Poor thing. So you named him Tulip. Makes perfect sense to me,” Willa replied, reaching out to shake the young man’s hand. “I’m Willa.” “Yes, ma’am, I know who you are, for true,” the boy stammered. “Welcome to Bayou Fait.” She understood Lucas’s warning to mind her flirting. The kid obviously knew a thing or two about supermodels. “Thank you. And I probably don’t want to know how this place got its name.” Roy Boy was only too happy to fill her in. “A trapper got lost in here over two hundred years ago. When dey found him he said dis was the place where a man would meet his fate, good or bad. He’d done gone ‘bout half mad and refused to leave. Lived right up dere on dat hill for round fifty years.” Willa stared at the dark-haired boy, then turned to
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look at the hill he pointed toward. Tulip whimpered, then took off toward that very hill. And the cabin. It sat there, squatting in the dark night, all cypress planks and porches from what she could see from the flowing yellow lights illuminating it. “Did he live in that particular house?” “Non,” Roy Boy said as Lucas guided her toward the tiny square cabin. “His old shack fell slap apart, but Lucas, he built dis one to be exactly like da original. A trapper’s cabin, for true.” A trapper’s cabin. Willa could only shake her head. She was sick, unsure about her health or her future; she was recovering from a biopsy and she was standing deep in the Louisiana swamp with a man she’d only met a few days ago, and she was hopelessly in love with that man. The trapper. Well, he’d trapped her heart. But he wouldn’t be able to keep her here. Her fate didn’t lie in this beautiful, disturbing place with this beautiful, disturbing man. Willa had to keep telling herself that. As if sensing her hesitation, Lucas pulled her close before they started up the wide plank steps. “You know, suga’, the Cajuns have a saying—‘Today is gone, tomorrow come another day.’ It’s gonna be all right, Willa. Tomorrow will come, for both of us.” She looked at him, touched a hand to his face. “Yes, it will. And soon, I’ll have to go back to that other world, back along the front as you call it. That’s something we have to face, Lucas.”
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“But not tonight, love,” he said, his dark eyes brimming with as many aged secrets and hidden treasures as his beloved bayou. “We have a few hours still, oui?” Then he took her hand and led her up the steps, toward the welcoming lights of the cabin.
Chapter Twelve
“You didn’t eat much dinner.” Lucas looked at Willa across the cypress plank table that filled the cabin’s kitchen. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The jambalaya was very good, and it was so nice of Roy Boy to bring it. I just don’t have much of an appetite tonight.” “Worried about those reporters?” She looked at him, saw the reflection of his worry clearly in his dark eyes. “I guess so,” she said. “I just wish…” How could she tell him what she wished? How could she say what was in her heart, that she wished she’d met him long before a health scare had brought her to Louisiana? How could she tell him that she had fallen in love with him, in spite of her resolve, in spite of her pride, in spite of all her misgivings? Willa couldn’t believe she was in his cabin, lost in the middle of the wilds with him. The little house
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was primitive but efficient. It didn’t have electricity, so they sat in the soft glow of kerosene lamps. Hurricane lamps, Lucas had called them. And candles. Candles sitting on every available surface, some scented, some merely effective. Lorna and Lacey’s touch, he’d said with a sheepish grin. But he hadn’t let his sisters do much decorating. Only one picture graced the room. It was a pen-andink rendering of Bayou le Jardin, hanging in a rugged frame over the fireplace. A gift from his aunt Hilda, to remind him he always had a home when he got tired of his sanctuary here. Other than an old, worn brown leather couch, a few roughhewn cypress tables and one sturdy oak overloaded bookshelf that lined the wall opposite the fireplace, the place was sparse. A trapper’s cabin. He had a pump at the sink for cooking and bathing water and an outdoor shower around back. And there was a bathroom of sorts—more of a water closet than a modern facility—and, thankfully, fresh water from an underground well—just no hot water. He used the old-fashioned potbellied stove to heat water and brew coffee, and he cooked on that or on the stone barbecue pit outside or by the fire in the sprawling fireplace that dominated one wall of the cypress room. Outside, a wraparound porch, the back half screened, added a cozy touch. And the many rows of wind chimes hanging around the porch, made of every shape and size and object imaginable, lended
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a constantly sweet melody to the night. He obviously liked wind chimes, Willa thought, remembering the tiny bell chimes that had tinkled and swayed in the pagoda in his lost garden. “Everything a man needs to survive,” he’d explained to her as he’d given her the quick tour. Or everything a man needed to hide. And in the corner of the big square one-room cabin, a loft that was little more than a platform bed with cypress steps leading up to it. A loft with a big window, allowing a complete view of the bayou. “So I can see the stars at night and the sunrise every morning.” And the rain when it came pelting across the water and trees, he’d told her. He reached a hand across the table, taking her fingers in his. “I like having you here, love. So tell me, what do you wish?” She smiled, dropped her head. “I…I just wish the circumstances were better.” He dipped his head, slanted his dark brows. “We’re together. That has to count for something.” “It does,” she replied. “But Lucas—” “I know what you’re wishing. I know what you’re worried about. We came together pretty fast and now you’re wanting to step back, take some time and space to make sure we’re not making a big mistake, right?” She nodded, let out a long held breath. “Something like that. It’s just that—” “It’s just that you might be facing major surgery and a long recovery and you’re tired and scared and you don’t want me to get too involved, right?”
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“Right again.” She held tightly to his hand. “I don’t want to mislead you, Lucas. I don’t want…to hurt you.” “I’m tough, you know. I’ve been through worse.” The husky tremor in those words pulled at her like the water’s lapping waves touching the bayou banks. But like the shore, she resisted. “I understand that, and for that very reason, I don’t want to give you any false expectations.” “My expectations have already been surpassed,” he replied, his black eyes dancing in the glow of the lamplight. “You are like a dream come true.” “Don’t say that,” she replied. “I’m not going to put you through this. This isn’t a dream, Lucas. This is real. I’m real and I’m not as perfect as the pictures you’ve seen in the magazines. That image is fake. And we have to face reality. I won’t let you nurse me through this sickness. It could get worse, much worse.” “You don’t know that for sure.” “I have to face it, though.” “We’ll face it together.” “No,” she said, pulling free to get up and pace around the room. “I don’t want your help, Lucas. I don’t want you to do this out of some sense of duty, or worse, because you feel sorry for me.” Hunching her shoulders, she looked at the worn floorboards. “I couldn’t bear to have you see me if—” She couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t look past getting through this one hour at a time. Suddenly, the possibility of losing her career seemed small and insignificant compared to the dread and pity she might see in his eyes. And the repulsion.
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He pushed his chair away from the table, scraping it across the planked floor. She didn’t turn to face him, but she could hear the anger and the agony in his words. “What I see is very clear. And I don’t care about… the other, except for you to be healthy again. What I’m feeling for you is not pity or duty, chère. I’m falling for you.” She whirled, caught between elation and dejection. “You can’t. You have to understand—” He was in front of her, his hands touching her bare arms, his eyes holding hers. “Listen to me, Willa. It’s too late to warn me. I fell for you the day I first saw you. That won’t change now, no matter what happens.” She looked at him, saw the sincerity in the dark, flowing depths of his eyes. This man—this man was like no other she’d ever been around. Could it be possible that he really did see beyond the glamorous image, the carefully orchestrated exterior that had brought her fame and fortune, to the lonely, confused woman inside? Could he see that she needed him? That she’d been waiting for him all her life? Could he see that with him and his family she’d found the very thing for which she’d searched the world? It was all right in front of her, at last. A home, a wonderful man, a life full of faith and hope and love, all those things the Bible talked about. Things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, things she’d never considered for herself. Always, she’d been too busy, too preoccupied with her image, with her career, with making it out there on her own. She’d been in charge, but she’d never really been in control.
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And she surely wasn’t in control right now, or she’d be heading out the door instead of seriously considering falling into his arms and declaring how much she loved him. Lucas must have sensed her confusion. He seized upon her silence, pulled her into his arms, kissed her long and hard. “Willa,” he said, whispering her name on a sweet breath. “Willa, I am involved. Let me help you, love.” She looked at him, saw it all there in his face, in his eyes. So close. She caressed his face with her hands, savoring the roughness of his beard stubble, savoring the warmth of his skin. “You don’t understand. I’m not used to asking for help or accepting help. I can’t let you do this, Lucas. It’s all too risky.” “Take a risk.” He kissed her again, then held her in his arms, with the candles flickering all around them. Outside, the dancing chimes picked up their tempo as the wind picked up speed. In the distance, thunder boomed like a warning bell. “A storm’s coming,” he said into her hair. Then he pulled his hands through the blond waves, tugging them free of the silver filigree clasp she’d used to hold her hair off her face. It fell around her shoulders, down her back. “Like spun gold,” he said, his hands combing the thick, tangled tresses. He lifted a few strands to his face. “And the scent of honeysuckle and lilies.” A streak of lightning hissed through the night. And in that flash of light, Willa saw his eyes, felt
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the power, the pull of attraction that had been bubbling around them since the day they’d met. He repeated the statement, the plea. “Take a risk.” She wanted to do just that. A lot could happen here tonight. She was an adult; she knew how things progressed between a man and a woman. And yet, she also knew Lucas Dorsette. Maybe she’d known of him since she’d come into this world. He would never do anything to dishonor her. He would do what he believed to be morally right, based on the principles and values his aunt had taught him. Based on his own beautiful character. Lucas wanted more than a physical relationship. He wanted a full and total commitment. And right now, as much as she felt the joy of loving him, that kind of commitment frightened her. Because she might not be strong enough to survive the cancer. And that meant she’d lose him—and worse, he’d be left alone yet again. “I’m not ready,” she finally said, her voice cracking with the pain of denial. “Not yet. There are too many questions, too many things I have to work through. Please, Lucas, I’m asking you to be patient with me. To let me do this my way.” He stepped back, let go of a ragged breath. “So that means you’ll leave here once you have the news from the doctor, good or bad. You’ll go to see your birth mother. And then what?” “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s all so unsettled, so unpredictable. But I have to face facts. I have to get back to work, go on with my life. If I need to have
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surgery, then I’ll have to make arrangements, make some long-term plans.” “Which won’t include me, obviously.” He turned, listening to the approaching thunder. “Have you even thought about the positive side of things? Maybe we’ll hear good news in the morning. Maybe the way will be clear for us—for a future together.” Willa shuddered in spite of the hot summer night. In a flash of clarity as brilliant as the lightning dancing angrily across the swamp, she at last saw what she was so afraid of, what she feared the most. She was worried about having a dreaded disease and the possibility of having her body cut up; those things certainly scared her. But, deep down inside, she was even more terrified of giving herself over to another human being. She was afraid to let go and love. Wasn’t that why she’d been running for so long? She’d run from her parents’ misguided control and devotion, but she’d learned so very well from their emotional detachment. Willa had never learned how to deal with any kind of emotional intimacy and, because of that, she’d run from any kind of faith commitment. And now she wanted nothing more than to run away from what Lucas was offering her. Because she was so afraid she’d fail. The revelation of what she was thinking and feeling left her shaken and drained. And silent. Her silence was broken by another jagged streak of lightning and the almost frenzied ringing of the chimes as they tossed in the wind. But the message was clear.
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Lucas didn’t turn. “I see,” he said with a sigh and a shrug. “What a complete fool I’ve been. All this time, I thought you were holding back because of the cancer thing. But that’s not it at all, is it, love?” Then he whirled to glare at her. “You’re just using that as a horribly convenient excuse, aren’t you, Willa?” Shocked, she took a step away from him. “What a terrible thing to say.” His eyes, so beautiful, so dark and mysterious, held a crystal-clear acknowledgment. “The truth is sometimes hard to swallow.” “You’re wrong,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “And you’re the one who’s not willing to face the truth.” “Oh, want to clue me in, then?” “Yes. I’ll be glad to do just that. Look, two weeks ago, my life was great. I was content in my work, I was happy. I had more money than I could ever use and I could travel anywhere in the world whenever the mood hit me. I could buy anything my heart desired. Then two things happened—I found out where my birth mother lived, and I found a lump on my breast.” She shifted, collapsed on one of the kitchen chairs. “My whole world, my life did a complete turn. Everything began spinning by so fast, I had to stop and catch my breath. I don’t know why I called Lorna. I don’t know why I came here. I just know that I needed to get away from that spinning world.” “You had to run,” he said, accusation and understanding colliding in the statement. “Yes, okay! I ran away. I wanted to hide out—
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deny that my carefully controlled existence had suddenly whirled out of control.” Then she laughed, brittle and sharp. “Crazy me—I thought I’d find some sort of peace in the wilds of Louisiana.” “But you found me instead. I guess I put a definite kink in your armor.” Pushing hair off her face, she nodded. “Well, you’ve certainly broken through some of that armor. But I’m still spinning, still dizzy and sick with doubt and worry. You have to understand that. I have to find my balance again.” “So you’ll just push me away?” “I don’t have any choice.” “But what about the other night? What about your talk in the garden with Aunt Hilda? What about how my song moved you to tears of joy? You seemed pretty steady that night. You…you were almost joyful.” “I was excited. That was no act. Your aunt helped me see things so differently, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. She gave me the courage to tell you the truth and to go to the doctor the next day, to face the first hurdle. And I’m still trying to figure out that song.” “Well, thank goodness for small steps.” She hated the sarcasm in his words. Hated that she’d brought him to this. “I do thank God—your God. And I’ve found some peace since coming here, in spite of the reporters, in spite of the biopsy and even in spite of—no, because of you. I want you to believe that, at least.”
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“Oh, I believe you. But He’s your God, too. And until you can fully accept that, you will be afraid. You won’t be able to make a commitment to me if you can’t take a leap of faith.” She pounded a fist on the table. “Well, maybe I’m just not cut out to be a person of faith. Maybe I can’t just accept things and go on, the way you have.” “What does that mean?” The deadly calm in his question left her wishing she’d never spoken those words. “Nothing. I’m just trying to explain that I’ve got a lot to learn.” “And me, I’ve been through the wringer and yet I still hold out hope for a God I can’t see or hear? Is that what you’re saying? You make me sound like a poor sap who should be pitied.” “That’s not what I’m saying. But Lucas, I know all about Africa and the death of your parents. Lorna told me everything. I’m not so sure I could have handled something so tragic. I admire how you and your sisters have held up.” He was angry. She could see it in the way he began pacing the long room like a cougar in a cage. “Yeah, we’ve held up just fine here in our narrow little world. We get knocked down but we just keep bouncing back. We get on with each day and we go to our little chapel each Sunday and ask the Lord for forgiveness and fortitude.” Pivoting, he reached up to grip the massive cypress beam that formed a mantel over the fireplace. “I guess we do look pretty foolish to someone so worldly and sophisticated.” She slumped in the chair. “You’re saying these
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things because I’ve hurt you. You know I don’t see you like that at all, and you certainly can’t believe that about yourself. You and your family have been so kind to me. For the first time in my life, I feel safe, protected, loved.” “Loved.” He said the word, holding tight to the mantel as he stared into the empty black fireplace. “I do think I could love you, you know. And those words don’t come easy for me. You talk about what I’ve been through. Well, you have no idea, no idea at all.” Willa dashed a hand across her face, the cold wetness of the tears she’d fought for so long breaking through her resistance. She couldn’t bear to see him hurting like this. “Well, then, tell me. Talk to me. Help me understand how a person does keep on going.” He didn’t speak. He held onto the shining, varnished wood as if it were a piece of flotsam lost in the middle of the river. Outside, a fierce clap of thunder heralded the driving rain. And then she heard his voice over the sound of rain and chimes and thunder. “It was a night like this one. Rain, so much rain. I won’t go into the details, since you’ve already heard them. But let’s just say the natives were restless that night. They wanted revenge, on something, someone. I didn’t really understand their anger, since my parents had always tried to be kind to them.” Willa didn’t dare move. She sat, her tears silent and steady.
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“They killed my parents,” he said on a long, shuddering breath. “Lacey witnessed it, heard my father’s shouts to run, run away. So she took us and we hid underneath the round house. That’s what we always called it—the round house. Little did we know it would become our refuge.” Willa bit her lip to keep from crying out, to keep from going to him. She sat still, waiting until he could speak again. “Toward dawn, after the rain had stopped— when it was over—I ran for help. Lorna and Lacey didn’t want me to leave them, didn’t want me to go out there. But I knew, somehow I knew that I had to do this. I had to take care of my sisters. That was just the way things were.” He shifted, held tighter to the cypress. Then he lay his head across one shoulder, as if to block out the painful memories. “My father always said, ‘Take care of your sisters.’ He’d say it when we went outside, whenever we went into the village, whenever we went down to the river’s edge. ‘You take care of your sisters, now, Lucas, you hear?’” She saw the shudder of his dry sob. “I guess I’ve carried that voice with me every day of my life since then. I hear it in my dreams, run from it in my nightmares.” Willa got up, moved toward him, touched a hand on his arm. But he pushed her away. “I didn’t always.” “Always what?” she asked, her voice strained from the raw sobs she was trying so hard to hide, her
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hand going to her throat as she fought against pulling him into her arms. “I didn’t always take care of my sisters. I fought against that particular burden, that promise. Sometimes it just became too much. So I’d head off into the swamp. I’d hide out, shirk my duties.” “I can’t see you ever shirking your duties. And you’ve always been right there, Lucas. Lorna and Lacey love you, you have to know that.” “Yeah, I know that. But you see, I don’t take things like that very seriously. I like to play. I like to test God. I figure He tested me that night, so why not return the favor.” He wiped his face on his T-shirt sleeve, lifted his head to the heavens. “I’ve stood on a boat with lightning sparking all around me and laughed in God’s face. I laughed the night the tornado hit. I’m not proud of it, but I did. I just wanted to see what else He had in store for me. And then He brought the flood, and I was tested yet again. We almost lost Lorna because I didn’t follow through.” “But you saved a child,” she reminded him, wishing she could take his tragic pain. “And Lorna is fine. She’s happy now.” “Then why do I keep hearing my father’s voice telling me to take care of my sisters?” “I can’t answer that except to tell you that you’ve done everything a brother could do. You have to let go sometime, don’t you?” She saw him sag, yet he still held tight to the mantel. “I want to let go, believe me. I’m just so very
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tired. I’m tiring of trying to understand. I’m tired of the memories. I’m tired of playing these endless games. Happy-go-lucky Lucas, always laughing, always having a high old time. I’m the life of the party, but it’s getting mighty hard to keep laughing.” “But you survived. And you have such a strong, sure faith. You have to hang on to that.” “Oh, I’m hanging on, chère. Hanging by a sheer thread. Aunt Hilda keeps that golden thread from breaking completely in two. The folks around here, they say, ‘Dat Lucas, he gonna snap one day, for true.’ But somehow, she always pulls me back in, saves me from myself.” “She has absolute faith. I envy her that.” “Me, too,” he admitted. “I’m such a failure, such a fake. I spout things to you about finding faith, about trusting in God, when I’m not sure I’ve ever really trusted Him myself.” This time, she did touch him, and this time, she didn’t let him push her away. Wrapping her arms around his stomach, Willa leaned into his broad back. “Don’t say that. You’ve taught me more about faith, more about God than I ever had with my parents’ arrogant show of religion. Please, Lucas, you’ve got to stop punishing yourself this way. And please, don’t let my doubts and shortcomings make you think you’ve failed me in any way.” “Haven’t I, though?” he asked, his back stiff as he fought against her touch. “You refuse to consider a relationship with me. Not very good for my ego, love.” Glad he’d found a trace of his sense of humor
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again, she said, “Your ego will survive. I’ve heard the tales of you—you’re a legend around these parts.” He wasn’t amused at her feeble attempt to tease him. “Yeah, I’m a regular lady’s man.” “You sure got my attention,” she replied, burying her face against the warmth of his shirt. In a move so swift she almost lost her balance, he twisted, then caught her, his big hands on her wrists as she fell against him. His eyes held a fine mist of unshed tears and a darkness that scared her even while it tugged at her. “You see, that’s the funny part. I’ve survived the worst a kid could see and I’ve taunted and teased God ever since. I’ve never taken anything seriously in my life. I’ve played at things—jobs, relationships, women.” He let go of her wrists, then pulled his hands through her hair, forcing her head up. “And then you came along. And suddenly, I’m taking life very seriously. You talk about spinning out of control—oui, I know that feeling. Vous avez saisi mon coeur. You’ve taken my heart.” Willa cried as he held her there. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I tried to warn you.” He brushed a tear from her cheek, then kissed his wet fingers before touching them to her lips. “Too late. Much too late.” The rain came softly, falling on the shingled roof like tears from the clouds. The wind chimes settled to a gentle, soothing melody, a sweet song of the night. Lucas lifted her off her feet and into his arms. As he carried her up the broad steps to the loft, he
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whispered phrases to her in French. Phrases of love, phrases of hope. Then he gently lay her on the bed. “Sleep now, mon amour. Rest. I promised you rest and peace. And when you’re ready, I want to give you so much more.” He turned away, but not before she saw the sheen of tears cresting like black, raging waves in his eyes. Willa lay there, her tears wetting his pillow as the scent of spices and forest glades assaulted her. She wanted to give him more, too. So much more. But first, she had to get her life in order. She had to get her life back. She would do just that, no matter what came tomorrow. In spite of her fears, she made a promise to herself, to God and to Lucas. I will return to you, Lucas. Somehow.
Chapter Thirteen
Willa woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing and a dog barking in the distance. Her overnight bag was sitting near the foot of the bed. Groggy and disoriented, she slipped down the bed to grab the bag and find the annoying phone. Then memories washed over her with the same intensity as the morning sun shining across the rippling water outside the big window. She was in Lucas’s cabin. Waiting to hear from Dr. Savoie. But where was Lucas? He’d slept on the couch; she remembered that from her sleepless night of tossing and turning. She had seen him, his feet propped on a worn table, his hands crossed behind his head as he stared into the empty fireplace. She’d woken to find him bent over, his head against his clasped hands, almost as if he were deep in prayer. That had brought her some comfort, and finally the rain had ended. Toward dawn, Willa had gone into a
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deep, dreamless sleep. Now she wondered, had Lucas managed to get any sleep at all? She saw him at about the same time she answered the phone. He was on the back side of the island yard with little Tobias. They were riding a big black horse with a smattering of white spots across its flanks and rump, Tulip nipping at the big animal’s heels. Willa watched Lucas holding the beautiful little boy close in front of him on the big horse, her heart thumping in cadence with the hoofbeats of the magnificent prancing stallion. “Hello?” she said into the phone, dreading the call. “Willa, this is Dr. Savoie. Lorna Dorsette gave me your cell phone number. Can you hear me? The line is full of static.” “I can hear you,” she answered, her eyes locked on the man who rode the horse with nothing more than a saddle blanket, rode the animal in jeans and an open shirt and old battered cowboy boots and an even more battered straw cowboy hat, a wry smile on his face. While she watched, Lucas bent his head low, saying something into the little boy’s ear that made the child giggle. “Willa, I’m afraid the biopsy proved our worst fears. The lump is malignant.” “I see,” she said, her heart picking up its beat as she nervously clutched the phone. “What now?” But she knew the answer to that particular question. Now she would have to run again. “Well, you do have some options. It’s a small
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lump—just under one point five centimeters. I think we might be able to save the breast by doing a lumpectomy. As I told you during our examination the other day, as long as the cancer hasn’t spread to the lymph nodes, with aggressive treatment your chances of a full recovery are good.” “Good but not excellent? Not one hundred percent certain?” “No one can ever be completely certain about cancer, Willa. But you have a chance. Based on all the tests, and again, based on the small size of the lump, I feel pretty good about things.” Willa swallowed, saw Lucas and little Tobias laughing as Tulip barked and chased horse and riders around the big, sloping yard. What a beautiful, tranquil picture they made out there among the glistening wet, towering cypress trees. She closed her eyes to the beauty. Closed her eyes and refused to cry. “Dr. Savoie, I have some personal things I need to take care of before I make a decision. How long do I have?” “I wouldn’t hold off too long,” the doctor said, his voice sounding distant and hollow. “But you could take a week or so. Would you like me to schedule the surgery here in New Orleans, or do you want your doctor in New York to do the procedure?” Willa opened her eyes, thought about that. She felt completely comfortable with Dr. Savoie. He’d been compassionate and honest with her, and very thorough in explaining all the intricate details of breast cancer. And yet how could she stay here and
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have the surgery so close to Lucas? He’d want to be there. And he’d want to be a big part of her recovery. She couldn’t let that happen. “Can I call you back?” she asked. “I have to go to New York to arrange my schedule. I’ll talk to my doctor there and see what he thinks.” “Whatever you feel comfortable with,” Dr. Savoie replied. “Of course, we’ll be happy to send Dr. Carlton your complete workup, all the tests and results, the mammograms, the X rays, all your current records. And I’ll call him to go over my recommendations. I’m sure he’ll agree that a lumpectomy is the best choice, that is, if you agree to that.” “Thank you,” Willa said. After assuring Dr. Savoie that she wouldn’t delay things, she hung up the phone, then sat cross-legged on the bed. For one long minute, she wanted to call Lucas, to tell him what she’d found out. To run into his arms and seek comfort and safety. But she decided he didn’t need to know right this minute, and if she went into his arms she might not have the courage to leave him. She couldn’t bring herself to walk down there and tell him the truth. Not yet. Somehow, she had to get to the mansion without him knowing she’d found out the results. And then, somehow, she had to leave. She would book a flight to New York so she could find her birth mother. Only then would she be ready for surgery. And the future.
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*** Lucas waved goodbye to Little Tobbie and sent the rambunctious boy running up the lane to his house. He turned to find Willa coming down the back steps, a cup of coffee in each hand, Tulip asking for attention around her feet. Filled with regrets he couldn’t even begin to understand, he watched the way her long, loose hair flowed down her back, the way her baggy black linen clam digger pants and soft pink cotton T-shirt floated around her slender body. She’d slept in her clothes, but she looked as if she’d stepped right out of the pages of one of those famous uppity magazines. If he ignored the dark circles underneath her blue eyes and the lines of fatigue around her rosy lips. She called to him. “Where’s little Tobbie?” “Sent him on back home to his mamma. That boy does like to sneak off. Found him fishing clear on the other side of the bayou.” She nodded, stood looking at him with a hesitant expression, the cup of coffee held out like a peace offering. “C’mon, Zephyr,” he commanded the massive animal, “let’s go see Miss Willa.” Zephyr snorted, pranced, neighed softly, then trotted to where Willa stood watching them. Tulip spied a wood duck off the shore and headed out in hot pursuit. Willa smiled at the hound’s intense efforts, but Lucas saw the strain behind that smile. “How ya doing, mon coeur?” “I’m okay,” she said, handing him the steaming mug of coffee. “I hope I made this strong enough for you.”
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He didn’t need caffeine this morning. He only needed to see her standing there. He imagined seeing her like this each and every morning for the rest of their lives. Then he remembered why he’d brought her here. “Heard anything?” She looked into her coffee mug, hesitated. “No.” Then she glanced at the pawing horse. “Who’s your friend?” Lucas petted the stallion’s long mane, then took a swig of coffee. “This is Zephyr. A big old Appaloosa baby that we loan out for breeding now and again.” She shot him a sideways glance. “You seem to like animals with spots.” He tipped the aged straw hat back, managed what he hoped was a rakish grin. “I never thought about it, but you’re right. My dog and my horse kinda match, don’t they?” “You’d make a great fashion statement, that is, if anyone could ever keep the three of you together and still long enough to get a picture.” Bringing the hat low over his brow, he leaned his head down. “Ain’t gonna happen. We’ve got restless blood in our veins.” She gave him a look that told him she agreed with him. “Just how many animals do you have here in this swamp menagerie, anyway?” “This is about it, other than the natural swamp dwellers. Actually, the Babineaux clan takes care of them more than I do. They belong to me, but since
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I’m in and out, the family looks after them for me and generally spoils both the horse and the dog rotten.” “Why do you keep Zephyr here instead of at the mansion? Or let me guess—he likes to dig in the flower beds, too?” He handed her the cup of coffee so he could dismount. Leaving Zephyr to graze on some nearby grass, he took the coffee then sat on the wide plank steps. “I had him stabled there when I first bought him, but he got downright lonely. That made him a tad skittish around the guests. Aunt Hilda was afraid he’d bolt and hurt somebody. So the kids begged me to bring him out to this place. He’s been in heaven ever since. He’s got about twenty acres to roam around on with the kids. They ride him, feed him, pamper him. And I know he’s safe and well cared for when I can’t be around. But this morning, I had a hankering to take a long ride around the property, get my thoughts in order.” Trying to get you out of my mind. “Will you take me for a ride?” Surprised, Lucas looked at her, saw the hope and longing in her morning-glory eyes. That gave him some hope of his own. Maybe she’d thought about things, too. And maybe she had a new attitude this morning. “Whatever the lady wants.” She pushed her hair off her face, her words as soft as a dove’s wings fluttering on the morning air. “I want to ride with you on that horse.” “Are you sure? I mean, you’re not too sore still?”
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She looked into the distance. “I’m fine. Humor me, Lucas.” It was almost a plea. How could he refuse such a soft-as-velvet request? How could he refuse another opportunity to hold her close. “Of course.” He whistled, bringing the stallion’s ears up. “C’mere, you big brute. The lady wants to meet you, up close and personal.” A few minutes later, they headed down the dirt lane that led from Lucas’s cabin to the Babineaux compound. The morning was sultry with heat, but a warm breeze pushed through the humidity. Lucas held Willa in front of him, taking in the scent of her long hair, taking in the feel of having her with him. But something didn’t seem right. She was tense and much too quiet. It gave him a sick feeling deep inside his gut. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m great,” she said over her shoulder. “This is wonderful. First an airplane, now a horse. You take my breath away, Mr. Dorsette.” He brought the impatient Appaloosa to a halt underneath a great century-old magnolia tree. Then he leaned forward to nuzzle Willa’s tempting neck. “That’s the intent.” “It’s working,” she said, turning to face him as she brought a hand up and curled it around his head. Then she kissed him, a wistful, sweet gesture that said so much more than words. “I’m going to miss you, Lucas.” He looked at her, his heart as scattered as moss in the wind. “Now look who’s breathless. I can’t
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breathe around you. And I can’t imagine how I’m going to find air after you’re gone.” She touched her hand to his face. “But you do understand I have to go. You do understand—” “No, I don’t,” he said, his hand covering hers. “I thought about this over and over when I took Zephyr out just before dawn. You want this, Willa. I can see it, feel it, whenever we’re together. Why are you fighting me?” “Because I care about you.” “Hmph. You make it sound as if I’m a brother.” “Not a brother. A friend, someone who’s helped me through some very rough spots.” “But someone who isn’t allowed to take things any further?” “Right now, no.” He kissed her again, just to prove her wrong. “When?” he asked, his lips grazing hers. “I can’t answer that.” He looked at her, saw the truth in her eyes. His heart started pumping a warning. “You heard from the doctor, didn’t you?” She pulled away. Turned. The tense silence spoke loud and clear. “Take me back, Lucas.” “Willa?” “Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to lie to you. Just take me back to Bayou le Jardin. I have to leave. Today. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away, but I just wanted a little more time with you.” He held the horse steady, then pulled Willa tightly against his chest. He could feel her heart beating
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right along with his, as fast as his. “It’s bad news, isn’t it, love?” “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered as she fell against him. “I thought I could get away without you knowing.” He swallowed, gripped her tightly. Then he leaned close, his lips touching her ear, his whisper like velvet. “Did you think you could keep this from me, Willa? Do you think you can stop me from caring?” He felt the shudder of her sob. “I don’t know. I just know that I have to do this my way. I need you to understand that, Lucas.” “So you’ll run away again? You’ll leave to go through this terrible thing all alone?” “It’s the only way.” “What about our future?” She lifted out of his arms, strained to face him. “We might not have a future. Can’t you see that?” With a growl, Lucas lifted her body around so he could face her completely, then he pulled her into his arms. “And can’t you see that we could have everything?” She shook her head. “Dr. Savoie says there are no guarantees.” Holding her chin so she had to look into his eyes, Lucas asked, “Have there ever been?” But he’d already lost this battle. He could feel it in the way she held her tears in check, in the way she refused to look at him. The silence stretched between them like an ever-widening river as he held her there.
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The stallion, sensing something was amiss, pranced and neighed. But Willa didn’t answer the question. And yet the sounds of life echoed all around them, in and out of the shadows of trees and water. In the lush woods, two blue jays fussed and played. Near the shoreline a fat, brown-haired nutria dashed toward a safe haven, and somewhere in the thicket, a mourning dove called for its mate. Lucas’s heart echoed that sad, cooing sound. He’d heard a dove’s sweet song the day he’d taken Willa to his garden, and now it made him feel so very lonely. “Don’t leave me,” he said into her hair. “Let me go with you, at least.” She lifted her head, leaving a damp spot on his shirt. “Listen to me, Lucas. If I can find a way to beat this, I promise, I’ll come back to you.” “You’re bluffing,” he replied. “You’re just looking for an excuse to escape.” “Dying isn’t an excuse. It’s a reality.” “One you’re willing to face all alone?” She nodded. “Isn’t that how we all die anyway? I mean, we go into the afterlife all alone, don’t we? We leave loved ones behind, hurt and confused. I won’t do that to you.” “Forget about me being hurt and confused! I’m already that. You don’t have to be alone,” he reminded her. “You have me, you have my family, your parents and you have God. That means you have more than an afterlife, you have eternal life. But you are never alone.” Wiping her eyes, she smiled. “I understand that
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now, and I’m beginning to believe, to feel stronger in my faith. But I won’t make you suffer again, Lucas. Not on my account.” He gazed at her, at last seeing that she was walking away in order to spare him any further pain. “Don’t be so noble, chère. There’s a whole lot of living left here on earth before we meet our Maker. And if I have things my way, you won’t be going to the Pearly Gates for a very long time.” “I have to be sure,” she told him. “And I won’t let you do anything you’ll regret down the road.” “I told you it’s too late for that.” “I’m going, Lucas,” she said gently but firmly, her resolve obvious. “I’ve already called Lorna. She’s making arrangements for a flight out of New Orleans later today. And if you won’t take me back to the mansion, I’ll get Roy Boy to do it.” Frustrated and angry that he’d once again been the last one to know the details of the very things that were sorely affecting his life and well-being and those of the woman he loved, Lucas reached for the reins and jerked the big animal into motion. “You want to leave, Willa? Okay. Fine. I get it. I’m tired of begging. But I won’t be the one to take you back, and I won’t watch you leave. I can’t do that. Roy Boy knows the way. And obviously, you’ll do just fine once you’re back on solid ground.” Holding Willa steady, he put the horse into a fast trot and tried to forget that this might be the last time he’d ever hold her. In a matter of minutes, they were at the cabin, and
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Lucas was pressing buttons on the cell phone. “Roy Boy, I need a favor. Can you bring a skiff around to take Willa back to Bayou le Jardin?” Hanging up, he threw the offending phone across the room then turned to her. He hated the hurt, confused expression on her face, hated the fact that she needed him but refused to acknowledge that need, hated doing this to her. But this was the way she wanted it. “Whatever the lady wants,” he said. “You’re on your own from here on out.” In his heart, he knew that wasn’t the truth. Knew that he’d find a way to get to her. She had only to call, she had only to ask. But he refused to tell her that. He had some pride left, after all. “I hope everything goes the way you want, Willa. And I hope you’ll be…en bonne santé. Healthy, always.” Then he headed out the door, got on the stallion and galloped away. “Lucas didn’t bring you back?” Lorna asked Willa a couple of hours later. She’d hurried into Willa’s room to let her know that the reporters had finally given up and left, after several strong suggestions from Tobbie, Mick and Mick’s friend Josh. Not to mention the sheriff. “No.” Willa finished packing, then glanced around the bedroom. “He…he was angry with me.” Lorna threw up her hands in frustration. “Well, can you blame him? Willa, you don’t need to go off
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and suffer in silence, you know. If you won’t notify your parents, at least have the surgery in New Orleans, so you can be near us. You’ll need someone to help you out for a few weeks.” “I’ll be fine in New York. I’m going to go back to my parents’ estate, where it’s private and quiet. I’ll have help there…and I’ll hire a nurse.” “A nurse? That’s ridiculous.” Lorna stared across the tester bed at her. “You know, it’s okay to be sick. It’s okay to let your guard down. It took me a long time to figure that out, but I’m telling you, there is no shame in needing other people.” Willa dropped her bag on the bed, then turned to her friend. “I know I need help, but I can’t let my guard down with Lucas. I’m so afraid I’ll hurt him.” Lorna pushed a hand through her braided hair. “I think you’ve already managed to do that. And to think, Lacey and I were worried that he’d be the one to hurt you.” “I’m sorry, Lorna. I tried to make him see that we couldn’t have a relationship right now, that my future was too uncertain. But he wouldn’t listen.” “Of course he wouldn’t. Lucas has always followed his own path. He follows his heart. But this time, I think he’s serious. I’ve never seen him like this.” Willa walked around the bed, took Lorna’s hands in hers. “Can’t you see why I’m doing this? Even if I come through the surgery with no signs of any other lumps, even if everything goes all right, there’s still a chance that I won’t be completely well. I’ll have to go through months and months of treatment.
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I’ll probably lose my hair, lose weight, get sick from the treatments. Lucas would want to be right there, and I can’t bear putting him through that. I don’t want him to start resenting me, to watch me wither away.” Lorna frowned. “So you’re more concerned about how you’ll look physically than having someone to help you through this?” Shaking her head, Willa pulled away. “Of course not. My goodness, I’m not that shallow, even though my job does require that kind of attitude. I don’t want Lucas to see me that way, no, but it’s more than just for the sake of my precious appearance, my image.” Closing her eyes, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Lorna…” “You’re in love with my brother, aren’t you?” Lorna asked, awe in the question. Willa couldn’t speak. She nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. Finally she whispered the word. “Yes.” Lorna gently tugged her onto the bed, then sat next to her. “And you don’t want him to know?” She shook her head. “I don’t want him to love me back.” “Why?” Willa opened her eyes, looked at her dear friend. “I have to go and find my birth mother—I need to know why she gave me away, I need to know if she ever had breast cancer, and I guess I need to see her, just in case.” “Just in case you don’t survive this.” “Yes. And…if I tell Lucas I love him, he’ll follow
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me and he’ll support me. I know that. I know him. But if things take a bad turn—” “He’ll be all alone again.” Willa saw the complete understanding in her friend’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve tried to explain to him. Lorna, he’s suffered so much, just like you and Lacey. But Lucas has kept his fears and his hurt hidden so well—” “He does put on a good front.” “So can’t you understand—it would devastate him. I can’t ask him to stay tied to a sick, possibly dying woman. It’s not fair.” “Is it ever?” Lorna asked, compassion in her eyes. “Look at me, Willa. Look how long I fought against love, against any kind of intimacy. And then Mick came along and now—” She stopped, held a hand to her stomach. “And now I’m going to have his child.” Willa’s tears turned to tears of joy. “Oh, Lorna. How wonderful! Does Mick know?” Lorna nodded, her tears glistening brightly in the noonday light. “We haven’t told anyone else yet, though. But I’m telling you, to prove to you that there is always hope. You need to change your attitude. Instead of expecting the worst, you need to concentrate on hoping for the best. Because believe me, if you open yourself up to the possibilities of all of God’s blessings, the best is yet to come.” The possibilities. That’s what Lucas had wanted her to see, too. But right now, her only possibility was to survive this disease. And after that…
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Willa hugged her friend. “I’m happy for you, and I understand what you mean. I’ve come so close to finding happiness here at Bayou le Jardin, and thanks to all of you, I have a strong sense of faith now. And I’ll cherish each and every memory. But until I straighten out all the excess baggage in my life, I can’t make a full commitment to Lucas.” “Can’t, or won’t?” Willa wiped her eyes, then got up. “I’m afraid, Lorna. I’ll admit that. So afraid. And Lucas was right about one thing—it has much more to do with loving him than it does with fighting cancer.” “I used to be the same,” Lorna told her. “So I certainly can’t judge you. Take all the time you need, Willa. Go find your birth mother, have your surgery and then concentrate on getting well. But don’t waste too much time—it’s too precious. Like you said, each memory should be cherished. You have to make the most of whatever time God has granted you. And you have every right to find a little happiness, even if you only have a short while to enjoy it. So hurry. Lucas will be here, waiting.” “Will he?” “Knowing my brother, yes. He won’t be waiting patiently, but he’ll be waiting. I think he’s been waiting for you all of his life. Please don’t let him down.” “That’s exactly why I’m leaving,” Willa said. Lorna didn’t try to stop her. Instead, she reached to the nightstand and picked up a Bible. “You’re going to miss church this morning. Take this with you.”
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Willa took the leather-bound book, tears brimming in her eyes. “Thank you for everything.” Then she reached for her bag and headed out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
“How long is he going to stay out there in the swamp?” Lorna looked across the glass counter at her sister. She rarely came to Lacey’s shop, but today she’d felt restless, had needed to get out and walk. She was worried about Lucas. “It’s been two days since Willa left, and not a word from either her—or Lucas, for that matter.” Lacey finished cataloging the new shipment of silk shawls she told Lorna she’d found at an estate sale in East Texas, then turned to her sister. “You know Lucas. He’ll surface when he’s good and ready and not a day sooner. But I have to admit, this time I’m worried about him, too. He’s never reacted this way toward a woman.” “He’s in love,” Lorna said, tugging a teal-colored shawl off the walnut hall tree Lacey had tossed it across. Putting the shimmering shawl over her denim
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sundress, she eyed herself in the oval standing mirror. “This is nice.” “And it will go to a paying customer,” Lacey said, a tart smile on her face. “So you haven’t heard from Willa?” “No. I only know what she told me before she left. That the mass was malignant and Dr. Savoie had advised a lumpectomy. That at least means she won’t be disfigured and she probably won’t have to deal with reconstructive surgery. She’ll have a scar, but that’s a small price to pay.” “If they can get all the cancerous cells,” Lacey reminded her. “It must be terrible, waiting, wondering, not knowing. I mean, even going through treatment and having a doctor tell you the cancer is all gone—that doesn’t mean it can’t come back.” Lorna nodded, placed the delicate shawl on the hall tree’s brass peg. “That’s why she broke things off with Lucas—the uncertainty of it all. But he doesn’t see it that way.” “That’s because he wants to help her through this. He thinks if he’s right there, fighting for her, he can save her. The same way he’s always tried to fight for us.” Reaching for one of the decadent samples of chocolate Lacey sold in the shop, Lorna closed her eyes and nibbled the rich, dark confection. “Willa is afraid she’ll just put him through agony. Her way of thinking is that if things don’t go in a positive way, Lucas will be stuck with a very sick woman. I don’t think she wants him to see her that way, to remember her like that.”
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Lacey adjusted some priceless eighteenth-century silver candelabras that graced a long mahogany sideboard, then added a pink- and green-tinged rare Hull vase to the mix. “Very noble of her, but kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?” “I tried to tell her. And I know, according to what little she told me, Lucas tried to make her see reason, but she’s not thinking very clearly right now. She’s only focused on all the negatives—her birth mother, the cancer, her distant parents.” “Speaking of her parents—shouldn’t we call them?” “She promised me she’d call them when she got to New York.” “Think she will?” “I don’t know. As Aunt Hilda would say, Willa is not using good sense right now. Her very life is in jeopardy, but she’s so afraid of showing any signs of weakness, of asking for help, that she’s running from everyone.” Lacey made a wry face. “Then she should fit right in with this bunch, don’t you think?” Lorna laughed, then touched a finger to the coveted teal shawl again. “Are you sure you won’t cut me a deal on this shawl? I could really put it to good use when Mick gets home.” “Spare me the details,” Lacey retorted. “And when is that lovable husband of yours coming back, anyway?” “The end of the week,” Lorna replied, wrapping her hands around her stomach. Her head down, she held her hands there for a minute, her mind on the baby she was carrying. “I can’t wait to see him.”
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Lacey stopped rearranging knickknacks and went still. Lorna felt her sister’s crystal-blue eyes centered on her face. “What’s the matter with you?” “You’re glowing,” Lacey said in a small, strained voice. “Lorna, are you pregnant?” Lorna let out a gasp. “How did you know?” Lacey came around the counter to get a closer look. “Because that’s exactly the way I looked when I was carrying Neil’s child. I used to stand in front of the mirror, my hands on my belly, just that way. And with that same expression on my face.” Wanting to kick herself for being such a dolt, Lorna hugged Lacey close. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, really I did. But I wanted Mick to be the first to know, so I told him the other night right after Doc Howard confirmed it. But we’ve hardly had a chance to celebrate. With all this happening with Lucas and Willa, I just couldn’t seem to find the right time to let y’all in on it. I did tell Willa before she left. I was hoping it would cheer her up, make her see that finding happiness is not that impossible, after all.” She stood back to study Lacey’s pale face. “I wish you could have carried your baby to full term, Lacey.” “Lance.” Lacey pulled away, hung against the counter. “His name was Lance—you know that.” She stood there, her hands gripping the bright glass so tightly, her knuckles turned white. “It’s all right to say his name. I wanted to keep up the tradition, you know, of having all these confusing L names. Neil and I laughed about it, how Aunt Hilda got all
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of us confused and how with a new baby named Lance, she’d be even more confused.” “But she would have loved that. And so would Mamma and Daddy. They named us that way deliberately, remember.” “Yes, I remember. Mamma said it was so lyrical, when she called all of us in to supper—Lacey, Lucas, Lorna.” Then she whirled to face Lorna, a soft smile on her lips. “You could name your baby Lance.” Lorna’s heart went out to her sister. Lacey had so much love to give, and yet she’d built such an impeccable shell around her heart. “I couldn’t do that. That was your baby. That’s the name on his little grave.” Wiping her eyes, Lacey managed a smile. “Well, then you’d better come up with some L names very soon. Oh, Lorna, I am so happy for you and Mick. And Mick—he must just be so thrilled. And very eager to get home to you.” Glad that her sister was putting on a good show of support in spite of her miscarriage late in her pregnancy, Lorna fingered the shawl again. “Which is why I need something pretty to wear when he does get home. I was so nervous about telling him—isn’t that silly? And now I’m nervous about seeing him again.” “That’s not silly,” Lacey said, picking up the shawl to wrap it around Lorna’s slender shoulders. “That’s natural. Having a child is scary, amazing, wonderful. Take the shawl as a gift from me. Enjoy the time you have with your husband, this special time. Enjoy the baby growing in your tummy, too.”
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Lorna didn’t have to hear what her sister was thinking. Because you never know when it might all end. Lacey had once had it all, a loving husband, a baby on the way, and then her whole life had changed. Yet another tragedy for her strong-willed, beautiful older sister to deal with. Wanting so much for Lacey to again find someone to love, Lorna thought, at least for now, maybe they should help their wayward brother find some happiness. “We have to get Lucas and Willa back together,” she said. “Even if they have just a little while, even if she gets worse. Lucas wants that. He wants to be with her, no matter what.” “That’s what a real commitment is all about,” Lacey said. “I had that with Neil. And now you have that with Mick.” Lorna touched a hand to her sister’s shoulder, her eyes settling on the antique diamond and filigree ring Neil had given Lacey for their engagement. “I hope you find someone again one day, Lacey.” Lacey shrugged, causing the delicate lace of her sundress to flutter around her shoulders. “Me? I’ve had my happy times and I have my memories.” “But you deserve more.” Pushing her out the door, Lacey said, “Well, don’t dwell on me. Right now we have to find a way to get our brother back on solid ground. Lucas needs us. And he needs lots of prayer. More than he ever has. Let’s see what we can do to remedy this situation between Willa and him.”
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“That might be easier said than done,” Lorna replied. “We’ll ask Aunt Hilda.” “And she’ll tell us to mind our own business.” “And then she’ll put on her prayer warrior hat and get on the job.” Lorna grinned. “Now there’s a thought. If anyone can fix this, Aunt Hilda can.” Lacey waved her out the door. “With God’s help.” “Lord, I’m gonna need your help on this one,” Lucas said into the early morning heat. He was in his secret garden, sitting in the pagoda where he’d brought Willa. Had that only been a week or so ago? It seemed like he’d lived a whole lifetime in just a few short days. Lived, and lost yet again. His sad little garden looked the same. The vegetation was lush and damp. Yellow wildflowers grew out of a nearly dead gnarled cypress knee. In the muddy marshes, orange calla lilies, greedy with moisture and bright with new flowers, sprouted and blossomed in the rich black loam near the water’s edge. And across the way, a brown and white osprey sat in the low mist, its hawk eyes hooded and watchful as it waited for the perfect prey to come along just in time for breakfast. Lucas gave a nod of respect to the noble bird. He should probably stay still and quiet, so the magnificent hawk could find some food. But Lucas needed to talk. Out loud. The tiny bell chimes barely moved, but he heard
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the sound of their sighing song anyway. He knew they were there. Their melancholy chant suited his mood just fine. “I found the woman of my dreams, then learned that she might be sick with a dreaded disease. And learned that the woman of my dreams is gun-shy about being the woman of my dreams.” Pointing a finger toward the sky, he asked, “What are You planning on doing about that one, Lord?” A commotion behind Lucas caused the hawk to fly over the marsh. A cry of frustration expressed the bird’s irritation. Lucas felt that same irritation as he turned to find Roy Boy helping Aunt Hilda up the path. “What are you doing here?” “I tried to tell her it was dangerous, dat she might fall, but she made me bring her here anyway.” Lucas shot the young man a look of complete sympathy. “She never listens to reason, for true.” Hilda stopped on the path, leaning heavily on her cane while she caught her breath. “And just who are you to make such pointed observations regarding my stubborn nature?” Lucas grinned, shrugged. “Moi, I’m just a lonely, lost man who came out here to find some peace and quiet.” Hilda nodded. “Roy Boy, you can leave us now.” Roy Boy rolled his eyes. “My mamma told me da stay right with you.” Hilda held a hand on one hip, regarding the boy with a hard glare. “And I’m telling you to go. Lucas
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will see me home.” She waited for her nephew to confirm this. Which he didn’t. “I wasn’t planning on coming up to the mansion today, Auntie.” Hilda waved a hand. “As I just said, Lucas will see me home.” She turned to gaze at Lucas, her chin jutting in defiance. He lifted a brow, then let out a heavy sigh. “I will see her home, Roy Boy. Go tell your mamma that.” The kid gave them a look, then turned down the winding path, shaking his head all the way. “How did you know I’d be here?” Lucas asked, his gaze moving across the water. He wondered where the osprey had gone. “I’m old and I’m aching,” Aunt Hilda said as she made her way into the pagoda, taking the hand Lucas offered her. “But I’m not blind. And I know my children like I know this bayou. I just figured you’d come to the one place where you felt close to God.” “Is that why you showed me this place all those years ago? So I could find God?” “Maybe.” She sat beside him, letting out a breath, her cane balanced in front of her. “Or maybe I just thought you needed some place to call your own.” He lifted his hands high in the air, then let them drop to his sides. “This is my place, all right. Lost, sad, overgrown. Kinda like me, I reckon.” “You’re none of those things.” She didn’t speak for a while, just sat there, her hands on her cane, facing straight ahead. Then she turned to him. “When were you planning on coming home, anyway?”
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Lucas finally looked at her, then rubbed the beard stubble on his face. He hadn’t slept much or eaten much. He hadn’t cared much. “I am home,” he told her with a sweeping gesture. “I think this is where I belong. Lost deep in the bayou.” “This is a good place to hide from your troubles, I suppose.” “No, it’s a good place to get away from people,” he replied. “A man needs some downtime, you know what I mean?” “I know exactly what you mean. But you can’t fool me, Lucas. You’re pouting.” He got up, spun around in a little dance that caused the bell chimes to shake and shimmy, his hands clapping against his knees. “Yes, I am doing that, exactly that. You see, I fell in love with this beautiful lady, laid my soul open at her feet, offered to dedicate my life to her, and she just walked away. She doesn’t want the likes of Lucas Dorsette in her life.” Hilda glanced at him, waited for him to stop dancing, then stared long and hard. “Did you really listen to a word that woman said to you?” He nodded. “Oui, I listened. And I heard loud and clear. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to pouting now.” Hilda shook her head, then lifted her cane to poke him on the leg. “Ouch!” “I should hit you on that hard head of yours. Sit down and listen to me, Lucas.”
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He did as he was told. He knew if he didn’t listen, she’d sit right there until he did. “What?” “Willa is going through one of the worst things a young woman can,” Aunt Hilda began. “She has breast cancer. Now, I know you think you understand what that means, but think again. Here’s a woman who’s relied on her looks for most of her life, for her living. Here’s a beautiful young person who’s just found out she has a devastating, life-threatening disease. She’s frightened, she’s scared and she needs to get well. But what do you do—oh, you offer her comfort and support, but with stipulations. You want more. You’re in love with her, so you want her to make a commitment to that love.” “Is that too much to ask?” Lucas shouted, amazement etched in his haggard features. “I want her to survive. I want to be there with her, to make sure she fights. I don’t want her to give up, not now, not when I’ve only just—” “Only just begun to love her?” Aunt Hilda finished for him. “Yes, yes.” He bobbed his head, then scissored his fingers through his tousled hair. “I love her, Aunt Hilda. I love her, but I might not have a chance to prove that love to her. I might lose her before we’ve even had a fair chance. I don’t want to lose her.” He stilled, then looked over the cypress trees and mossdraped vines. “I tried to tell her how I felt.” Hilda reached a hand to him. “And that’s the very reason she walked out of your life. You were smothering her, Lucas. You—you can be overwhelming on
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a good day. But coupled with everything she’s dealing with, you were like a tidal wave, pushing her out of control.” He shot his aunt a sideways glance. “You mean I came on too strong?” “That’s what I believe. You scared her away.” “But I only wanted her to know how I felt.” “She knows, but she’s afraid. Can you imagine what must be going through her mind right now? How will she come out of this—all in one piece, or cut up, her body mutilated? How will she get through the treatments, the sickness, the nausea, the hair loss? And what if, after all that, she still doesn’t go into remission? What then, Lucas? Willa is very proud. She doesn’t want you to see her like that, she doesn’t want to put you through that.” “I wouldn’t care,” he told her. “I’d only see the woman I love.” “Are you sure about that?” Lucas looked at his aunt’s loving eyes, then he sank onto the bench beside her. “I’d hope I’d be able to deal with whatever came along.” He was silent as he thought over the last few days. He’d never really looked past keeping Willa safe and intact. “Of course, in my mind, I was willing everything to be all right. I willed her not to really have cancer. And I didn’t think beyond that. I only thought about how I feel whenever I’m with her. I only knew that I would protect her and keep her safe if she’d let me.” Hilda patted his arm. “You can’t will something to be so, Lucas. Only God can determine that.”
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“Well, I can sure fight against God’s will, then, can’t I?” “Yes, but you won’t win. You never have before.” He should have known Aunt Hilda knew him better than he knew himself. She’d probably figured him out a long time ago. “Tell me about it. Seems I’ve failed miserably at fighting with God.” “You haven’t failed at anything, except maybe learning how to understand God. All this time you’ve been fighting against him, blaming him for what happened to your parents, He’s been listening and He’s been right here with you. You’ve had a good life, Lucas. You have never once done anything to make me think you’re a failure.” He couldn’t look at her. The love he felt for his aunt at that moment was so overwhelming, so powerful, he only wanted to let it soak over him like a cleansing rain. “I could have done more. I should have—” “Don’t be bitter, Lucas. Don’t hide away, wondering what might have been.” “Then what do you suggest I do?” Aunt Hilda got up, leaned on her cane. “I think we should call Willa’s parents, tell them we care about Willa, make sure they know what’s going on. Then I think we should back off.” He stood, stumbled against the door frame. “So we just do nothing? We don’t even try to help Willa?” “We can help her more by keeping her in our prayers while we honor her wishes,” Aunt Hilda replied. “She won’t like that we meddled and called her parents, but they need to be told. She will need them there.”
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“But not us, at least not me?” It was the same, always the same. He lived on the fringes. He wasn’t part of the details. His sisters always managed to shut him out. Now his aunt, whom he loved and respected with all his heart, was suggesting the same thing. “You are much more than Willa can deal with right now. You’re just going to have to be patient.” Lucas helped his aunt out of the small enclosure. As they walked slowly down the path, he said, “She won’t come back to me. She’s using all of these other problems as a smokescreen. She doesn’t want to feel the same way about me as I feel about her. But I’m not ready to accept that.” “Your heart is hurting right now,” Hilda said. “But soon, everything will work out.” “One way or another, right?” “Yes,” she replied. “We have to accept whatever happens, good or bad.” She tugged him by the hand. “Come home, Lucas. Your sisters are worried about you.” He went home, but he wasn’t going to be patient. Nor was he going to sit around and do nothing. He was tired of living on the edge. He wanted to show his family that he could be a responsible human being. After a long hot shower and a shave, he headed to the restaurant to find Lorna. “Have you heard from Willa?” he asked, while his sister moved around the kitchen, instructing her staff on preparations for the early lunch crowd.
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Lorna barely glanced up. “I’m busy, Lucas. Glad you’re back among the living, but very busy.” “Non, belle.” He grabbed the sleeve of her white chef jacket. “Don’t give me the brush-off. I’ll only badger you until you tell me.” Lorna nodded at Emily. “The turtle soup looks good.” Then she turned to face her brother. “Okay. She called last night. She’s okay. Just making preparations, of course.” “That’s a relief.” “And Lucas—” she touched a hand to his arm “—from everything she told me, there’s a very good chance that she’ll come through this and survive. They found the lump in time, thanks to her self-examination and the mammogram. That’s something to be thankful for.” “Yes, yes, it is.” Then he had to ask. “Where is she, Lorna? Is she at her apartment or at her parents’ estate?” Lorna glanced around the kitchen, hesitated. “I don’t think I should tell you that.” Lucas bent his head low so his next words would be for his sister’s ears only. “Did she find her birth mother? Did they talk?” “I don’t know,” Lorna admitted. “She…she was very short with me. Just the facts about the surgery. She didn’t mention the rest.” “And her parents?” “Aunt Hilda called them this morning. Told them everything and also told them she took full responsibility for being the bearer of bad news. But fortu-
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nately, Willa had already contacted them. They’re on their way home now.” Lucas closed his eyes in relief. “I’m glad Willa got up the courage to call them. That’s a good sign, at least.” “Yes, it is.” “Is she at their estate, then?” “Lucas, you promised you’d back off, remember?” “Yeah, I know. But I need to see her, Lorna. I need to see her one last time before she has the surgery. Then I’m going to leave her alone.” “I don’t know—” “Just tell me where she is?” Lorna gave him a concerned look. “I want you two to work things out, but Aunt Hilda seems to think we need to let Willa get through this first. And now that her parents are coming home—” “I have to see her again. Just…to tell her one thing.” “Oh, and what’s that?” Lucas moved out of the way as a waiter came by with the dessert tray. “I need to tell her that I understand now. And that I’m willing to wait for her. I’m impatient and I’m hurting, but I don’t want her to go into surgery thinking I’m bitter and angry. I wasn’t so nice when she left, but I’m better now. I want Willa to know that whenever she’s ready, I’ll be here, right here. And if she’s never ready, well, I’ll just have to deal with that, too.” Somehow. “That could help her during recovery,” Lorna reasoned. “They say attitude is important with cancer patients.”
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Glad he was making sense at last, Lucas plowed on. “Yes, that’s what I mean. If Willa goes into this still upset by what happened between us, she might not recover as quickly. And then I’d blame myself. She’s already very negative about things—thinking the worst. I need to tell her—there’s just so much I need to say to her.” “And then you’ll leave her alone, give her time to heal?” “Yes.” It would be hard, but he’d have to do it. He didn’t have any choice. What Aunt Hilda had said made sense. He had been smothering Willa, and she wasn’t used to that kind of intimate attention. She didn’t buy into it because the only kind of attention she’d ever had was the distant kind. The kind that sold magazines and carried fashion shows. The kind that her well-meaning but cold parents had barely given her. He had to let her go in order to win her back. It was his only chance. That and the hope that she really did care about him. Lorna nodded. “She’s at her parents’ estate. That’s all I know right now.” “That’s enough,” Lucas replied, heading out the door. “That’s enough, sister love.” He gave her a quick salute, then called, “I’m going to New York.” Lacey came into the restaurant, glancing over her shoulder at her retreating brother. “Where’s he headed in such an all-fire hurry?” “To a place where they’ve never seen the likes of him,” Lorna told her. “He’s going to New York to see Willa.”
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Lacey’s blue eyes widened. “He is?” She smiled, then turned to her sister. “Aunt Hilda isn’t going to like this. Did you urge him to go?” “No, I advised against it, but he wouldn’t listen. Think I did the right thing, telling him where Willa is?” Lacey put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I think that no matter what advice we give him, he’s going to do what he wants anyway.” Lorna looked into the sun-dappled garden. “Well, right now, he only wants to see Willa one more time before she goes into surgery.” “I hope he makes it in time,” Lacey said. “Does he know she’s scheduled to go in for the surgery in New York in two days?” “No,” Lorna admitted. “I didn’t tell him that part.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was well past midnight. Willa stood at the terrace doors, staring onto the moonlit gardens of the home where she’d spent part of her teen and adult years. It was a lovely house, a Georgian style manor, with cultured yards, tennis courts, stables and a shimmering swimming pool. But then, there had been many such houses. She remembered them. Her family had moved up the social ladder about as quickly as the grass grew in the sloping, cultivated yard. Had she ever really had a home to call her own? She thought about Bayou le Jardin and how safe and secure she’d felt there. Thought about Lucas’s secret garden and his primitive cabin on the bayou. Had she only been there for a few days? And how could a few short days change a person so completely? And now, it seemed as if she’d lived yet another lifetime since coming back to New York.
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She was tired, so very tired. “You should be in bed, dear.” Willa whirled to find her mother standing in the open doorway, dressed for bed in exquisite black silk and lace. “I couldn’t sleep,” Willa said, turning to the window. As she’d expected, her parents had been concerned when she’d finally called them and explained. They’d immediately come home, had immediately started issuing orders and demands. She didn’t want to hear anything else tonight, though. Tonight, right now, she wanted to stand here and think about Lucas. They’d almost had a chance, but now… For an instant, Willa thought she heard the roar of an airplane in the distance. His airplane. Just imagining things, she supposed. Her mother’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you worried about the surgery? Willa, we can bring in someone else—” “Dr. Carlton is doing the surgery, Mother. We’ve already been over this. He’s one of the best.” “Well, yes, but if we’d known about this sooner—” “You would have clouded the issue, made things much worse,” Willa told her. Then, because she didn’t want to seem harsh, she added, “I know you mean well, but everything is in place. I’ve consulted oncologists, pathologists and two very capable cancer surgeons, and they all agree that I have a good chance of surviving this.” She needed to tell her adoptive mother the rest of
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the story. Right now, Willa was too shocked and saddened to tell her mother what she’d found out about her birth mother. Yet her parents had a right to know. Candace O’Connor advanced into the room in a whirl of expensive perfume and a rush of rustling heavy silk. “But there has to be more we can do. There has to be something. I still can’t understand why you went all the way down to Louisiana to get a second opinion when you know perfectly well that your father is friends with some of the best doctors in the country.” “Yes, I know that, Mother.” Because you make it a point to drop their names at cocktail parties and holiday balls. How could I forget? “Dear, you’re going to have to tell me again, just who are these people you’ve befriended down there?” “The Dorsettes,” Willa said, her arms folded against her body defensively. “They were very kind to me.” “Strangers, though, darling. They are complete strangers.” “Not to me,” Willa said. “They were…are…my friends.” “Well, regardless of all of that, your father and I are here now, and we’re going to see you through this. I just wish there was something else I could do or say.” Hearing the genuine worry in her mother’s voice, Willa turned. “I’ve done everything possible, Mother.” She hesitated, then added, “Including trying to find my birth mother.”
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Candace brought a hand to the pearls at her throat. “Oh, my.” “Oh, my, indeed,” Willa said. She was about to tell her mother exactly what she’d found when the sound she’d heard outside became very apparent. It was the roar of an engine. Willa looked out the window, saw the shimmering lights of a low-flying plane. “What a commotion,” Candace said, rushing to the window. “Willa, is that an airplane landing on our back lawn?” Willa’s heart hammered against her chest. She didn’t want to believe it, but… “Yes, Mother, I think it is.” Together, they watched the bright yellow plane perform a sleek landing, coming in on the long, straight rear driveway and stopping in a quick skid in front of the tree line. “That was cutting things close,” Candace said, indignation coloring the words. “I think I’d better get your father.” Willa couldn’t speak. She didn’t believe her eyes. Before Candace could find her sleeping husband, the doorbell rang, its chimes echoing throughout the still house. “Who on earth?” Candace hurried to the open doors leading from the living room. She didn’t answer the front door across the marble-tiled hallway, though. To Willa’s amazement, her mother looked startled. Willa waited, heard voices, then saw the sleepy butler heading with a solemn, disapproving expression on his face toward her mother.
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“Mister—” “Lucas Dorsette,” Lucas said as he moved in front of the butler and took Candace’s hand in his. “You must be Mrs. O’Connor. I’ve come to see your daughter.” “Lucas?” Willa didn’t realize she’d spoken until Lucas looked across the room at her. Then he pushed past her mother. “Willa.” He came toward her, wearing jeans and a lightweight black jacket. He looked tired, haggard, ragged. And wonderful. “You’re here,” she said, knowing she sounded redundant. She was glad he was here, so glad. But she also knew he shouldn’t have come. “What are you doing? Why did you come?” “I needed to see you,” he said. Then he glanced over his shoulder at her hovering mother. “Alone.” Candace waved a hand. “Young man—did you just land a plane in my yard?” “Lucas. My name is Lucas,” he said to her mother, his eyes never leaving Willa’s face. “Yes, I landed a plane in your yard, because I’m in love with your daughter, Mrs. O’Connor. And I just wanted her to know that before she goes into surgery. And I need to tell her a few other things, too, if you don’t mind.” Completely at a loss for words, Candace ran a hand over her silvery blond bob. “Well, I—” “I knew you’d understand,” Lucas said, turning to give her a dazzling smile. “I’m not going to hang around too long. I’m a long way from home and I’m tired—it was a really hard flight—but I’ve got to do
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this. If you could give me five minutes, just five minutes, I’d be so grateful.” Willa watched him. The whole time he talked, he gently guided her mother toward the hallway. Then, before her flabbergasted mother could breathe a word of protest, he pushed her into the hall and, still smiling, closed the double doors into the living room. Then he turned to Willa. “She seems nice enough.” “I can’t believe you’re really here,” Willa said, his words—“I’m in love with your daughter”—playing over and over in her mind. She pointed toward the plane. “How—” “The Piper, of course. Flew it right up the countryside in two days’ time. Had to land and refuel about every three hundred or so miles and catch some sleep to keep the FAA cool, but it purred like a kitten all the way. I made my sister tell me where you were.” He’d flown the Piper all the way up here to see her. Willa could only shake her head. “Why?” He came to the window, took her hands in his. “You look so pretty.” Willa glanced at her heavy blue satin wrapper and matching gown. “Must be the lighting. My mother knows all the tricks.” “No trick of the light, love.” He tugged her into his arms. “You are and will always be so beautiful to me.” Her heart fluttered. She closed her eyes and savored being in his arms. “Sounds like a song.”
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“Being with you is like a song.” Willing herself to snap out of it, Willa pulled away from him. “Why are you here, Lucas?” “Not for the reasons you think,” he said, backing away. “I didn’t come to conquer, Willa. I came to let you go.” She hadn’t expected that, especially since he’d told her mother he was in love with Willa. “What do you mean?” He raked a hand through his curling dark locks. “Aunt Hilda set me straight about a few things. Said I needed to give you some breathing room. So… that’s what I’m doing.” Willa didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “So you came all this way just to tell me that?” He nodded. “Yes. That’s it. You’re free. I won’t push you anymore. I really don’t have the right, do I?” She saw the hurt in his dark eyes. “You’re so wrong, Lucas. I’m the one who doesn’t have any rights here. I’m the one who has to let you go.” “That was my line,” he said. “But I understand…about everything. You have a lot of heavy things to deal with. I don’t want to be a part of that mix. But I…I did want you to know that I love you. And that’s that.” Willa felt as if she had been released into thin air. Without a net. Was he letting her down gently? Had he come all this way to tell her this because he’d finally realized what she’d known all along—that they didn’t have a future together? Even if they did love each other?
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“I’m glad you’re beginning to see things my way,” she told him, though her words didn’t hold a strong conviction. “It’s good that we can get it over with now. Before things get worse.” “I guess so. Especially since one of us isn’t willing to give it a chance.” “And that one would be me?” “It sure ain’t me, baby.” Telling herself she should be glad he was being so reasonable, Willa looked over the night. “I’m having the surgery in the morning.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but she didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t dare beg him to stay here with her, either. So she set her shoulders and told him in a calm voice, “I’m glad you came, Lucas. But it was really unnecessary.” He huffed a breath. “Unnecessary? Is that how you really feel about me? That it’s all been just a big waste of time?” Deciding she should finish this once and for all, Willa pivoted to glare at him. “Yes. A big waste of time. You see, in spite of the doctors’ high hopes, my future doesn’t look so bright.” He touched her then, a hand on her arm. And she saw in his eyes, felt in that touch, just how hard he was fighting. “Why is that, love?” She stood, her hands at her sides, feeling the warmth of his fingers on her arm. “Because I went to visit my birth mother. But I was too late.” His other arm came up and he pulled her close. “What happened?”
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She looked at him, tried to smile. “She died about ten years ago. From breast cancer. She was thirty-two years old.” “Willa.” For a minute, he stood looking at her as if he knew exactly where this left things between them. Then he tugged her into his arms, one hand pulling through her hair. “Willa?” “I talked to her sister—my aunt. My mother—her name was Elsie—had me when she was only sixteen. Her boyfriend abandoned her for another woman, refused to acknowledge the pregnancy. That’s why she gave me up. Her family decided it was for the best. She never got married, never had another child. But in the end—when the cancer came—her family stuck by her just as they’d done when she gave me up. They didn’t abandon her, at least. I can take some comfort in that, I suppose.” “Willa, I’m so sorry.” There was no more pretense, no more noble declarations between them. He held her, rocking her, soothing her, his hands moving through her hair. For a long time, he didn’t speak. He just held her. Willa knew she would always remember this moment, this time of being in his arms. It would be the last time he’d ever hold her this way. Everything would change come morning. Everything. But right now, it felt so good to be in his arms. Because it did feel so right, she forced herself away. “You should go.” “I don’t think I can do that—not now.” “You have to go, Lucas. Just go.”
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“I won’t leave you like this. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He reached for her, but she moved away. Clutching the back of a leather chair, she looked at him. “My odds just got worse. So I want you to leave now, Lucas. You said you would. You said you came here to reassure me, not to pressure me.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I came here because I love you and I want to be with you, for better or worse. I was making one last effort to win your heart.” She couldn’t speak. She just shook her head. She couldn’t tell him he’d had her heart all along. “At least let me stay until you’re out of surgery tomorrow.” She held tightly to the chair, her head down. “No. You said you came here to let me go, to give me some space and some peace. Don’t change your mind now. Don’t do this to me or yourself, Lucas.” He stood there, an arm’s length away, his expression filled with the dilemma he faced. “You’re right. I came here to give you hope. I want you to fight. I want you to know that I love you, no matter what. So you’ll get well and come back to me, whenever you’re ready.” She turned to the window. “I thought we might have a chance, but not now.” She whirled to face him, her heart in each word she spoke. “It could get bad, Lucas. I don’t want you here when it does.” He started for her, then bent his head, shrugged. Finally, he said, “You really don’t know me at all, do you, Willa?”
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Then he turned and left the room. She heard the front door shut and she fell into the chair she’d been holding with a white-knuckled grip. She wanted to cry but she was too numb. Sending him away had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. But what choice did she have? She didn’t move until she heard the plane cranking up, until she knew he’d turned it and lifted it over the trees. “Lucas,” she whispered as she watched the Piper’s lights grow dim, “I do know you. And I love you, too.” “You’re beginning to show.” Lucas clutched his baby sister close, kissed her red-blond hair. “How you feeling?” “Better than you look,” Lorna told him as they walked outside together. It was a beautiful Sunday morning in September. “Are you coming to church with us?” “Non. I’m going to head out.” He motioned with his hands, indicating he didn’t know which way he was going. He hadn’t been clear on that since the night he’d left Willa in New York, well over six weeks ago. “Aunt Hilda won’t be happy.” “Well, it won’t be the first time I’ve disappointed her, now, will it?” “I’m sorry, Lucas.” “For what?” “That things didn’t work out between Willa and you. I sure thought…” “Oui, me, too, chère. I thought a lot of things. But,
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hey, tomorrow comes another day, hein?” He wanted to ask her if she’d heard from Willa, but then, he didn’t want to know if she had. It would be too much to handle. Lorna kissed his cheek, then walked over to where Mick waited for her by his truck. Lucas watched as her husband kissed her, then touched his hand to her stomach. “They look so happy, don’t they?” This time, it was Lacey talking. Lucas shrugged, held a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun and maybe from the beautiful sight of his sister and her husband sharing an intimate moment together. “I reckon so.” “We’re a pair,” Lacey said, placing a slender arm around his shoulder. “You coming to church?” “No, I am not. I just told Lorna that, so spare me the lecture.” “Excuse me,” Lacey said. “And just for the record, I wasn’t going to lecture you.” “Well, don’t pity me, either. I’m doing just fine. Dandy, really.” “I can tell,” she said, her hands swiping across his beard stubble. “You forgot to bring your razor again?” “Yep.” He pushed her away, then leaned close to kiss her cheek. “Get out of here.” “If you’re not coming to church, you’d better get lost before Aunt Hilda comes out that door,” Lacey warned. His sister didn’t have to tell him twice. Lucas took off walking, and in a matter of minutes, hot and bothered, he entered the cool serenity of his garden.
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The pagoda looked as weathered and sad as ever. And suited his mood just fine. He’d been coming here a lot lately. Sometimes to remember. Sometimes to forget, as the song went. And yet he couldn’t forget. He couldn’t forget the woman he loved had pushed him away. Because she was sick. Because she was afraid. Because she didn’t trust him to love her for better or worse, through sickness and health, till death do them part. But he’d stayed right there by her side, in spite of her efforts to send him away. Willa might not ever know it, but he’d been there in the waiting room at the hospital, right along with her very formal, very polite, very worried parents—the same parents he’d badgered with early morning phone calls until they’d told him the name of the hospital. He had not left New York until he knew she was going to be all right. All he knew was that she’d made it through the surgery and the doctors gave her strong odds of beating the cancer. So what was holding her back from coming to him? “I couldn’t will it so, Lord,” he said, his voice echoing over the lush bayou. “I couldn’t make things better. So…You know something? I’m tired. And I’m just gonna turn it over to You and…then maybe I can sleep at night. Maybe I can forget having her there with me in the cabin. Maybe if I tell You all my troubles, I’ll get the scent of her perfume out of my pillow and the feel of her sweet lips out of my mind.” Silently, Lucas asked God to help him. Asked God to make him see he’d never have Willa back. He
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didn’t dare God, or defy Him, as he’d done so often in the past. Instead, Lucas sat with his eyes shut and listened. Time seemed to stop, but the old sundial indicated it was almost time for church. He went still, perfectly still. And he remembered. All the pain of his childhood, all the lost hopes and empty paths, all the wild wishes and carefree prayers. This prayer was earnest. This prayer was real. “Just keep her safe, Lord. And keep her well. That’s all I ask.” A hot morning breeze rustled the willow trees, pushed at the great cypress trees, teased the Spanish moss. The tiny bell chimes tinkled and sang their melancholy song. The osprey was back, sitting ever watchful on a stump across the way, but Lucas didn’t stop to admire the lone hawk this morning. Soon it would be autumn, Indian summer. Then some respite from the intense heat. And maybe some respite from all his memories. He kept his eyes closed for a long time, trying not to think at all while he listened to the soft, melodious crying of the chimes. He thought he smelled her scent. Then he opened his eyes and saw her standing there, right at the edge of the secluded garden. “Willa?” She walked toward him, wearing a straw hat and a floral sundress. And in spite of her pale skin and fragile appearance, she was smiling. Lucas blinked. “Must be sunspots.” But when he
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opened his eyes, she was still there. Only she was closer. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cracked and hollow, dried up like the heat-soaked bayou. “I came to find you,” she said. Then she just stood there, watching him, her hands at her side, tears in her eyes. “I’ve missed you, Lucas.” He had to laugh at that. “Oh, yeah? Well, I missed you, too, chère.” An understatement, but the truth. He’d burned with missing her. And he wasn’t about to let his heart even hope. “Want to tell me what this is about, Willa?” She came inside the tiny wooden structure, sank down beside him, then took his hand in hers. “You remember that night in your cabin?” “Every waking minute,” he said, refusing to enjoy the way her fingers laced with his. “I made a promise that night, Lucas. I didn’t tell you, but I promised myself and God that somehow I’d come back to you—both you and God.” He jerked his hand away. “It would have been nice if you’d shared that with me. Sure would have saved me some heartache.” “I couldn’t tell you then,” she said, her voice small and low. “And after I found out about my birth mother, I was even more afraid—” He whirled then, went down on his knees in front of her, his fists at his chest. “You were afraid of dying? You were afraid of me? You were afraid of living, maybe? And you thought, gee, if I die, that
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will just make it so much easier, right?” When she didn’t answer, he reached up to hold her by her arms. “Well, it hasn’t been easy, Willa. I have worried and wondered and prayed. I tried to put my will ahead of God’s will—to save you, to have you.” He stopped, his eyes locking with hers. “I gave up.” She started to cry. “Don’t give up. Please, Lucas, let me explain.” He could take anything but her tears. So he moved away, steeled his heart against them. “I should tell you what you told me in New York. I should tell you to go away.” “I’m not leaving, not this time,” she said, wiping tears off her face. “I need to tell you…that I love you.” He didn’t dare look at her. He rocked back, crouching on the floor. “And? Or should I say but? There’s always a but.” “But…I was wrong to push you away. You will never know, never realize how hard that was for me.” “I think I have some inkling,” he replied, anger and joy warring in his heart. “I really meant what I said. I didn’t want you to have to be the one to see me through this. But then—” “What made you change your mind?” “The song,” she said. “And you.” She was crying harder. “I came out of surgery and everything looked okay. The lumpectomy went well and…I just had to get through the first couple of treatments.” She sighed, a soft, shuddering sound. “Then my mother
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told me about how you’d sat there in the waiting room with them. How you’d stayed silent and still. But you stayed. You stayed until you knew I was safe. Then you nodded to them and walked away.” Lucas had to close his eyes again. “I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave you. But…I’d promised to let you go.” He felt her fingers on his chin. “The treatment has been rough, Lucas. I’ve had radiation and chemo, too. Because of my birth mother dying from breast cancer, the risk of my cancer coming back is strong, so they’re giving me a double whammy just to be sure. But, do you know what’s helped me during these treatments, during these last few weeks?” He kept his eyes down, studying the bright blue and green floral cotton of her gathered dress. If he looked at her face, he might not have the strength to walk away again. But he had to ask. “What helped you, Willa?” He heard her swallow more tears. “Knowing that you stayed there, even when I wanted you to leave— that kept me going through the treatments, the sick days, the reality of this disease. I remembered what you said, right here in this garden. ‘The beauty remains; the pain passes.’ And that’s why I had to come back.” He looked up, realized why she was wearing a hat. Tears burned his eyes. He touched a hand to her face, her hat, his gaze moving over her features. “Are you all right?” “I’m doing okay,” she said, sniffing back tears. “I
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had to cut my hair—or what was left of my hair— but I gave it to a company that makes wigs for children…with cancer.” He held his hand on the hat, gritted his teeth. “All that beautiful hair. Willa—” “It gets to me sometimes, but so far, so good,” she said, silencing him with two fingers on his lips. “It’ll grow back, Lucas. And luckily, I love hats.” She dropped her hand, then wrapped it over his. “But…that’s not why I’m here. I never made it to church that Sunday, remember?” He nodded. “Aunt Hilda wasn’t too pleased.” She laughed, cried. “I never got to hear the words to the song—the one you played that night.” “So you came back for that?” “I came back for you.” He touched his other hand to her face, hope beginning to surface through all the murkiness. “For better or worse?” She bobbed her head. “Dr. Carlton told me I had the wrong attitude. He said instead of feeling sorry for myself, I should take my status and…help other women who might be going through the same thing.” She placed her hands on his head, touched her fingers through his hair. “Then I had a long talk with my parents. I told them about my birth mother, how she’d died from this disease. How I was so afraid I wouldn’t survive. Then I told them that I loved you but was afraid of telling you that.” Lucas was listening. He could see the sincerity in her eyes. And in spite of her pallor, in spite of the
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hat covering her hair loss, he could also see the hope she held. “What happened then?” “My mother was amazing. I was so upset about losing you, I think she was worried it would affect my recovery. So she encouraged me to talk about you. I told her about the song and she went out and found a hymnal and she read me the words to ‘Something Beautiful.’ And then it all made sense. That night in the garden with Aunt Hilda, I was full of broken dreams and so much strife, but God was reaching out to me. I was still so scared, though. “I told my mother everything—all about you and your wonderful family. I told her how much I loved you. We had such a good talk. She told me how much they both loved me. My father was crying—I’ve never seen him like that. He told me about the day they brought me home, how happy they were. They love me, Lucas. In their own way, they love me.” “Is that so hard to comprehend?” “It was. For so long, it was. But now, now I know what I have to do.” He held his breath. She’d said she’d come back for him. She’d told him she loved him. Was she only coming back to leave again? Before he could voice a question, she leaned down to place her forehead against the top of his head. “I’m going to survive, Lucas. And I’m going to help other women. I have some clout. I have friends and connections everywhere, and so do my parents. We’re going to start a foundation for breast
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cancer research. And we’re going to help other women who might not have as much clout or money as we do. I’m going to be the spokesperson. I’m not going to feel sorry for myself anymore.” Lucas looked at her. Sitting there with her big, floppy hat and her bright blue eyes, she’d never looked more beautiful. “You thought of all the possibilities, didn’t you?” “Yes, I did. And I thought of you and how I’d hurt you. I’m so sorry, Lucas.” She pulled his hands down, held them in her lap. “If you’re still willing to have me, I want to be with you. And…I don’t care if we only have a few weeks, a few years, even a few days. I love you. That’s all I need to know.” Lucas fell on his knees, glanced skyward, then tugged her down with him. He kissed her, wiped her tears away, wiped his tears away. “What took you so long?” “I don’t know,” she said, kissing his face. “I was just afraid.” “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re home now, love.” Willa kissed him again, hugged him tight, then laughed. “We’ve got to hurry. I saw Aunt Hilda at the house. She’s expecting us in church. And she promised me I’d hear my song this time.” “I’ll sing it myself, if I have to. Or at least play it on my horn for you.” Lucas helped her up, then held her in his arms. “I can’t believe this is real.” “Lucas, we’ve got so many reasons to thank God.” “I’m thanking Him right now,” he told her as he
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nuzzled her neck. “And I’ll be thanking Him for a long time to come.” They started down the path. “We have our whole lives together,” Willa said, smiling. “I’m going to fight to make that happen.” She stopped, looked at him. “You see, I finally realized I can’t live without you.” Lucas nodded, took her in his arms to spin her around. “Now, love, that is something beautiful. Je t’aime.” Off across the bayou, the osprey lifted its wings and flew toward the morning sun. Down below, two gray doves cooed at each other as they fluttered and hopped in the foliage. And in the pagoda, the bell chimes played a new melody.
Epilogue
One month later
“My bride is so beautiful.” Lucas made the statement to anyone who happened to be within listening distance. He was surrounded by his family and his friends at his lateafternoon wedding, with fall leaves and the crisp scent and feel of autumn all around him. And his bride…well, beautiful was an understatement. Willa was wearing a tea-length lightweight wool suit in a vanilla-rich shade of cream with a closefitting hat that sported an enormous garnet filigree brooch and gave her the look of a 1920s socialite. She was a bit pale and willowy, but thankfully, she was doing great. “She looks happy, doesn’t she?” Lucas asked Lacey. “Yes, and you look content,” Lacey told him as
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she kissed his cheek. “And quite handsome in that dapper tailored suit.” “I’m a very handsome man,” Lucas joked, winking at her. “You made a lovely bridesmaid. You and Lorna both, of course.” Lacey looked at the russet-colored shantung suit she was wearing. “Well, Lorna might have been the matron of honor, but my tummy is flatter.” Seeing the longing in his big sister’s eyes, Lucas pulled her close. “I want all of this for you, Lacey.” Lacey smiled, sighed, looked across the gardens where Lorna, Mick and Aunt Hilda were laughing and talking to Willa and her parents. “I had all of this, remember. I don’t know if the Lord will allow such bliss twice in a lifetime.” “Wouldn’t hurt to test the waters, find out,” Lucas replied. “You’re just too pretty and too loving to spend the rest of your life here on earth alone.” Lacey patted the chignon at the nape of her neck, then fingered the garnet-jeweled necklace Willa had given both her wedding attendants. “I’m not alone. I have you and Lorna, and Aunt Hilda, and the Babineaux family. And now I have Mick and Willa, too. And soon, a new niece or nephew to spoil.” Lucas wrapped an arm around her, tugging her with him toward his new bride. He couldn’t stand to be more than a few feet away from Willa, but he knew his sister was hurting inside. “Someone should be spoiling you,” he said in a low voice. “And I do believe that somewhere out there, there’s a man
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waiting for you. A special man. A man only Lacey Dorsette can claim for her own.” Lacey laughed, slapped at his arm. “Well, he must be in hiding. I haven’t seen anyone fitting that particular description around these parts.” Lucas let go of her, then turned to face her. “Maybe you need to get out more, find this man, bring him out of hiding. Maybe it’s time for you to come out of hiding, too.” “Maybe,” Lacey replied, her blue eyes bright with an unreadable light. Then she kissed her brother again. “Thank you, Lucas.” “For what?” “For being you. I love you, you know.” Lucas nodded as they approached the rest of the group. “I do know. It took me a very long time to realize that I am loved, and it took me a long time to appreciate life, but now, ah, now…life is good.” Lorna heard his remarks and nodded, smiling at her husband. “I couldn’t agree more.” Lacey shot her brother a wistful look. Aunt Hilda smiled at the newlyweds. “My Lucas is happy at last. He’s found some joie de vivre.” “Yes, indeed I have.” Lucas winked at his sisters, then reached a hand toward Willa. “Let’s get out of here.” His wife gave him a perplexed look, adjusted her cloche hat, then laughed. “Are you impatient, Mr. Dorsette?” Lucas leaned close, inhaled the scent that made him think of secret gardens. “Why, yes, as a matter
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of fact, I am very impatient, Mrs. Dorsette. I want to take you away from all of this, to my lair in the swamp.” He put his mouth close to her teardrop garnet earrings. “I want to ravish my new bride.” Willa’s blue eyes lit up. She grinned. “What about our guests? What about that beautiful red velvet cake your sister so lovingly baked?” “The guests are welcome to stay as long as they want, and the cake… Well, if I know Lorna, she’s already sent the top layer to our little hideaway…along with some other delectable snacks for nibbling later.” Then he kissed the nape of her neck. “But I have something else in mind for nibbling.” “You are so wicked.” “Non, ma chèrie, just madly in love with my wife.” “Can we go for a ride?” Willa asked, her gaze turning serious. “In the plane?” “Well, yes. That would be fun. But I was thinking of a ride on Zephyr, with Tulip barking and running behind us.” “Whatever the lady wants,” Lucas said. Then to the amazement of his family and friends, he swept his bride up in his arms and proceeded to carry her down the garden path. Toward forever. *****
Dear Reader, I had the idea for this story a couple of years ago. I wanted to write about someone who’d survived breast cancer. Right in the middle of writing the book, a friend was diagnosed with breast cancer. Since I write a weekly column for the local paper, I did some research and found out that eight other women I knew were breast cancer survivors. I wrote about those brave women in my column during Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October). They were never far from my thoughts while I was writing this book. In spite of the scary aspects of breast cancer, women should be aware that advancements in technology and medicine have made treatment of this disease much more viable and successful. Early detection is a factor in being able to have a complete recovery. But just like Willa in my story, many women think the worst and get scared and confused when they discover a lump in their breast. So I urge each of you to do self-examinations and get those mammograms. There are many good books on the subject to help guide women through the proper procedures and decisions, and many doctors who are willing to give advice. And there is always the best guidance—that which comes from a higher source of strength. Even in the worst of times, God will not leave us comfortless. Even in the worst of circumstances, if we are still and listening, He truly does give us something beautiful. He gives us life and love. I hope the story of Willa and Lucas has given you hope that while our time here on earth is precious and precarious, we should hold fast to it and make something good out of it, no matter the number of days we have left. Go out today and find something beautiful to celebrate. Be a survivor. Until next time, may the angels watch over you while you sleep.
Lucas’s Favorite White Chocolate Bread Pudding Small loaf of day-old French Bread 1 cup of heavy cream 1 cup of milk 4 eggs beaten 6 ounces premium white chocolate divided 1/2 cup sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla
Spray a 13 x 9 inch baking dish with cooking spray. Break bread into small pieces and place in baking dish. (Can toast bread to make it more crunchy if it’s too fresh.) Heat cream, milk and sugar until bubbly. Add 4 oz. of chocolate and stir until completely melted. (Save other 2 oz. for sauce.) Slowly mix beaten eggs with milk mixture, until creamy. Add vanilla. Pour the milk and egg mixture over the bread in baking dish. Let sit for 30 minutes. Bake 350 degrees for about an hour, or until it begins to brown on top.
Sauce: 1/2 cup of cream or Half & Half 2 ounces white chocolate Mix together until chocolate is completely melted. Pour this over the cooked pudding, then take a knife and punch holes in pudding so sauce can soak through bread. Can be served warm, or cold from the refrigerator!
LACEY’S RETREAT
You are my hiding place; You will protect me from trouble and surround me with the songs of deliverance. —Psalms 32:7
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To Eve Gaddy, Janet Justiss, Rosalyn Alsobrook, Denise Daniels and Sheli Nelson—for the love and support you have given me as a writer, and especially for the friendship that will remain long after the last words are written.
Chapter One
I
t was just past dawn and the cathedral was quiet and empty. Lacey Dorsette York sat in the back, enjoying the peace and solitude of the famous St. Louis Cathedral that had been at the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans for centuries. She liked to come into the cathedral early, just before the morning mass, before the tourists. She liked being alone in prayer. But this morning even the sanctuary of this old, beautiful cathedral couldn’t bring Lacey any peace. This morning she was finding it hard to pray. Lacey glanced around, her eyes scanning the colorful murals and frescoes. Painted angels in hues of pink and blue stared down at her with all-seeing eyes. She was alone with the angels. Alone here in this retreat, with depictions of Christ all around— offering to soothe her.
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And she needed soothing. She needed to feel close to God this morning. She’d come to New Orleans to buy some estate pieces for her shop, The Antique Garden, and to refurbish some of the damaged furnishings her beloved home, Bayou le Jardin, had lost during a flood in the spring. And maybe she’d come here to get away. Away from the loneliness that seemed to be surrounding her on all sides these days. Her sister, Lorna, now happily married, was going to have a baby early next year. And her brother, Lucas, had just married the woman of his dreams a couple of weeks ago. It had been an eventful summer. Except for Lacey. She was all alone. Lacey closed her eyes, tried to form the words to ask God to keep her family safe. Lorna and Mick were in Mississippi visiting some of Mick’s long-lost relatives. Lucas and Willa were still in Europe on their honeymoon. And Aunt Hilda had taken a couple of weeks of much-needed rest to visit her friend Cindy up in Shreveport before the two women headed out on an Alaskan cruise. They’d all had some place to go, something exciting to do, now that the weather was cooler and fall was setting in. So Lacey had volunteered to stay and watch over the badly needed renovations of the bed-andbreakfast antebellum house that provided both their home and their livelihood. While the house was shut down for some landscaping and repair work, Lacey had taken time to get some work done here in the city.
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But she wanted to be back in the gardens. She always missed Bayou le Jardin when she traveled. Especially when she came here to New Orleans, only an hour away. New Orleans reminded her of Neil and what they had shared together. New Orleans reminded her of lost romance and lost dreams. Maybe that was why she’d wound up here in the old church, before she’d even had her first cup of coffee and some beignets at the Café du Monde. She knew all about lost romance and lost dreams. But her faith had always sustained her. Lacey figured it would get her through this rough spot now, if she’d just hang on and look to God for her answers. Sitting in the silence, she thought she heard a door creaking open. The cathedral would be filling soon. She’d better hurry. She didn’t like the crowds. Lacey got up, thinking about the tiny grains of resentment she felt toward her brother and sister. They were both happy now. She should be happy for them. And truly, in her heart, she was. And yet, it hurt. It hurt to know she’d once felt that kind of piercingly sweet happiness, too. Now she felt only a kind of numb pain that never went away. She remembered Lucas’s words to her the day he married Willa. “Maybe it’s time for you to come out of hiding.” Maybe. Lacey again heard a noise up at the front of the big church. Thinking it was probably the priest, she looked up to find a tall, dark-haired man wearing a tuxedo hurrying—stumbling—down the aisle toward
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her. He had a strange look on his dark, exotic face. A look of hope mixed with pain. He was clutching one hand to his chest, underneath the expensive cut of his evening jacket. His eyes, so rich and brown, were locked on Lacey. As he drew near, Lacey’s breath caught in her throat. What if he had a gun or a knife? What if… “Help me,” he said as he rushed toward her. He looked pale underneath his dark complexion. A fine sheen of sweat beaded just above his full lips. She jumped up, afraid. But the man was blocking the aisle. Slowly, her mind on full alert, Lacey sank back down onto the pew. “What do you want?” “Help me,” he said again, his voice deep and ragged. He had a slight foreign accent that seemed more pronounced because of the soft plea. Then he fell toward Lacey, his eyes never leaving her face. She caught him, her arms reaching up in reaction and protection as he settled across the pew, his upper body landing on her. Lacey struggled with the weight of him. The warm, masculine-scented weight of him. With a push and a groan, the man pulled his hand out of his coat front to grab her arm. Shocked, Lacey looked down at his tanned hand, then let out a gasp. He was bleeding. “Help me, please,” he said again, this time on a raw whisper of pain. Lacey nodded, too numb to do much more. “I’ll get the priest, or maybe the police—let me look outside.” “No!” He grabbed the white lace collar of her
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cream-colored blouse, smearing it with blood. “No priest. No police. Get me out of here.” She stared down at him. He was lying across her body, almost in her lap. And his hands still held to the lace at her collar as if it were a silken thread from a lifeline. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, both afraid and curious. “How…how can I get you out of here without being seen?” He nodded toward one of the side doors leading to the square. “There. Take me through there. First, make sure no one is about—” He grimaced with pain, then stared up at her again. To her amazement, he managed a beautiful, lopsided smile. “I guess God hasn’t given up on me just yet. He has sent me an angel after all.” Then he fainted in her arms. Lacey didn’t move at first. She just held the man there, cradling him as he went limp and still. Then she glanced around, sure someone would come and explain all of this to her, or at least take the bleeding man away. But there was no one. So she looked back down at the incredibly handsome man in her arms. He was beautiful—dark and lush—like a figure from some long-ago painting of a dark Spanish caballero or vaquero, a fierce warrior. A wounded warrior. But how could she help him? He’d said no police. That must mean he was in trouble with the law. Did she dare get involved?
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Looking down at her ruined blouse, Lacey decided she was involved. She’d become involved the minute she’d looked up the aisle and into his eyes. “So now what do I do?” she whispered as she automatically brought a hand up to check his pulse. He was very much alive. She could feel his breath somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. “Sir,” she said in an urgent whisper. “Sir, please wake up.” She shifted, moving his weight. The man groaned, then opened his eyes. “You’re still here, my angel. Not a dream. Not dead.” He reached up a finger to her face, touching it with a feather-soft stroke. “Real woman. Pretty, bonita.” As if amazed, he repeated, “You’re still here.” “Yes, I’m still here,” Lacey replied in a shaky voice, ignoring the jolt of awareness his touch and his words, both in English and Spanish, provoked. “And thankfully, you’re still alive. Can you walk?” He winced, then tried to push himself up off her lap. Lacey helped him by holding her hands on his arms. “If you can stand, I think I can get you out the door before anyone notices. It’s early yet. There should only be a few tourists about. Maybe they’ll just think you’ve had too much to drink.” He stopped her as they stood together. Leaning heavily into her, he said, “Out the side door—the one closest to St. Ann.” “St. Ann?” Lacey had a room in a quaint little secluded hotel at the corner of St. Ann Street and Chartres, across from the Presbytère. She liked
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staying there because it was close to Royal Street and the cathedral. She could have stayed at her own town house in the Garden District, but that always brought back too many memories of Neil and their time there together. Now she wished she’d done just that. If she had, she wouldn’t be standing here holding this wounded man. He stared over at her, waiting, watching. “St. Ann,” he replied. “Can get away, go toward Armstrong Park.” “No,” Lacey said at last, wondering at her own logic. “I have a room right around the corner. We’ll go in through the courtyard.” He didn’t speak. Just stared at her with those intense, burning eyes. “Disguise?” he asked finally. “What?” It took her a minute to understand what he was asking. “Oh, wait. I have a straw hat.” She pulled the crushed hat out of her floral tote bag. “Will this do?” “A bit dainty, but sufficient.” He took the hat with one hand, while leaning heavily on her with the other. Dropping it onto his head, he grinned again. “How do I look?” “Like a man in a tuxedo wearing a straw hat,” she replied. A very good-looking, very hurt man. Dangerous, but irresistible. “Are you ready to go now?” He managed a nod. “Start walking, angel. We need to hurry. Don’t want them to find me just yet.” Glancing around, Lacey was thankful no one had entered for morning mass. She didn’t want “them” to find her here with him just yet, either. She only hoped the side door wouldn’t be locked. Trying to think, she asked, “Don’t you need a doctor?”
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He shook his head, pulled the hat low over his brow. That and the shadow of a beard on his square, angular jaw made him look like a bandit. “No doctor. Tiny stab wound from a letter opener. Just a lot of blood.” Then he grinned again. “Should see the other guy.” Lacey didn’t want to see the other guy. And she didn’t want to be involved in a stabbing in the French Quarter, either. And she especially didn’t want to aid and abet a man who might be a criminal. If she got arrested or worse, how would she ever explain this to Aunt Hilda? But she was in too thick now to just leave him there, hurt and sick. Deciding she’d at least get him to her room and get him cleaned up, Lacey went with her gut instincts and slowly walked the man toward the side exit door. She should run away as fast as possible, but something made her stay. Something told her this man wasn’t a criminal. He’d called her an angel. He’d said maybe God hadn’t given up on him yet. He’d come to a church for sanctuary. Or to get away from the crime he’d obviously just committed? She wouldn’t think about all of that right now. Right now she just wanted to get this man somewhere safe. Each heartbeat she felt told her to do that—it wasn’t in her nature to leave someone who was suffering— regardless of what that person might be all about. As they neared the door, they heard footfalls from across the way. The priest coming for morning mass. Soon others would follow.
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“Hurry,” she told the man. They made it to the door just as the priest glanced up and called, “Can I help you folks?” Lacey didn’t respond. Instead, she pushed at the big door. They came into a hallway, and yet another door. Lacey pushed at this one and felt it open out onto the brightness of early morning. The man seemed to come awake with the glare of the sun. He glanced around, then in a move that caught her off guard, he pulled Lacey away from the door and hurried her past the Presbytère until they were on the corner of St. Ann. He glanced around, his eyes hooded and dangerously alert, before taking a few steps to a gated alcove that looked like an apartment entrance. Then he pulled her close. “Pretend you’re kissing me,” he ordered. Before she could protest or push away, he wrapped his arms around her and brought his mouth down on hers, his back to the street, his face hidden by the hat and his body hidden by the building. Lacey kept her eyes tightly shut as a thousand sensations rippled through her system—the softness of his full lips, the rasp of his unshaven face, the scent of some leftover spicy aftershave, the touch of the sun on her face, the feel of being in a man’s arms again. She didn’t scream out or move. Then she heard footsteps hurrying by. Angry voices across the street, up near Jackson Square. She knew he was hiding them both—that was it. The kiss was a cover, a desperate act like something out of a silly spy movie.
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But it felt like so much more, and brought out feelings she’d forgotten she’d ever had. The man finally let her go, then looked down into her eyes, a long, hard, misty look, as if analyzing her, as if seeing her in a new light. Embarrassed, Lacey stole a glance up at him. His eyes were so brown, they seemed like melted chocolate, liquid and on fire. And made her feel liquid and on fire, too. He kept his eyes locked on her for a brief minute, then said, “Look around me, over my shoulder. Tell me what you see.” Lacey ventured a quick glance down the street toward the square. “A few tourists. Some artists and hawkers, a fortune-teller.” “Anyone look strange or out of place? Anyone wearing evening attire?” “Only you,” she said, worry and aggravation coming to the surface to replace some of her awe. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” He didn’t answer. He just stared up St. Ann, in the other direction, toward a corner grocery store. “I think we’re safe now. I think we lost them.” “Them who?” she asked, even as he pulled her back out onto the wide sidewalk. The scents and sounds of early morning in the Quarter assaulted her—coffee laced with chicory brewing, pralines and fresh pastries baking in the restaurant around the corner, leftover trash from the previous evening’s revelry leaving a distinctly New Orleans smell— quick and unpleasant for just a brief second. Ignoring
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these things, she asked again, “Who’s following you?” “Where is your hotel?” he asked, weak but determined as he slowly strolled, holding her hand to make it look as if they were just another couple, while he stayed on full alert. She noticed he’d managed to hide the bloody spot on the left side of his chest. But there was still blood on his hands, and on her collar. Quickly, with her free hand, she stuffed the stained lace inside the cotton of her button-up blouse. “Right across the way.” She pointed. “We can go through the old carriage entrance, past the lobby. Then up the stairs past the courtyard and swimming pool. My room faces Chartres.” “Secluded, that’s good,” he said, his gaze darting here and there as they crossed the street. They made it into the cool darkness of the carriage way. Lacey guided him past the quiet glass-paned lobby door, glad the desk clerk didn’t seem to notice them walking by. The courtyard was lush and cool, the ancient crape myrtles and heavy rhododendrons still green in spite of the fall nip in the air. Somewhere in a nearby bush, a mockingbird chirped and fussed. Carefully she took him past the empty pool, then up the back stairs to the second floor. Within minutes they were at her door. Glancing back at him, she saw that he labored for each breath, and beneath his darkly olive skin a pallor of pain etched his discomfort. He was clutching at his chest again. She found the key card in her leather change
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purse and with shaking hands managed to open the door while he continued to watch and wait, a look of agony on his face. Then they were inside the small, quaint room. As he clicked the door shut, Lacey crossed to the French doors leading to a small balcony and quickly pulled the floral-colored drapery shut. The room became instantly darkened. Taking a long, calming breath, she flipped on a lamp and turned, ready for some questions and answers. Only to find the man sprawled across her bed, her hat crushed in his hand. He’d passed out again.
Chapter Two
H
is hair reminded her of black silk. It was straight and clipped, with long bangs around his face and crisp shaggy strands touching on his collar. His eyelashes were shimmering and dark, incredibly thick and lush. His brows were straight, thick and angled, perfectly symmetrical, like a black hawk’s wings. Lacey noticed this as she washed the blood off his face, off his long, tanned fingers. He wore a ruby ring set in intricate silver on his left ring finger, making her wonder if there was someone who was sitting worried about him right this very minute. A wife, maybe? A close female friend? Well, right now she couldn’t concern herself with such thoughts. Right now her only concern was his health and safety. She didn’t want him to die here in her room. She put the rag down to unbutton the tiny studs on his pleated tuxedo front, her gaze following the
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line of dark hair sprinkled across his broad chest. Taking a calming breath, she managed to get the shirt open without waking him. The stab wound was just across his left shoulder, dangerously close to his heart. A deep, nasty gash. Just how deep and how nasty she had no idea. She started to reach for the wet cloth soaking in soapy hot water, but then her gaze caught and locked on something else. A silver rope chain. Lacey touched a hand to the necklace, felt the tug of something heavy. Carefully she pulled the chain away from his right armpit. It was a cross necklace. A beautiful and obviously expensive antique jeweled cross, heavy and ornate. It was about three inches long, with a brilliant blue topaz in the center, surrounded by lapis and turquoise stones with heavy silver filigree inlay. Unable to stop herself, Lacey reached for the cross, rubbed her fingers over the smooth center stone, held it in her hand. And felt the weight of his hand wrapping tightly around her wrist. “Let go,” he said, his eyes wild and fevered as he tried to sit up. “Don’t take the cross necklace off me.” Stunned, Lacey dropped the cross and pulled her hand away from his. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to remove it. It’s just so lovely.” “It is very old,” he told her, his distinctive accent drawing the words out. “Belonged to my abuela— my grandmother—passed down through many generations. From my Spanish ancestors.”
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It didn’t surprise her that he had Spanish blood flowing through his veins. His words were laced with that thick, exotic accent. And his skin was olive and dark, his hair thick and rich. His eyes—ébano— ebony. She felt those eyes on her now, questioning, curious, not quite trusting. “I can see that it’s priceless,” she told him as she reached for the rag again. “May I clean your wound?” “Sí.” The man tore his gaze from her face long enough to look around the room, as if only now realizing he was in a strange place. “What time is it?” “Around nine in the morning.” Lacey carefully placed the warm, wet bath cloth over his wound. He winced, but lay back against the white pillow. “A flesh wound,” he managed to grit out. “I deflected the blow—he didn’t manage to get the knife into my rotten heart after all.” He motioned to the cross. “This protected me—it swung across my chest just in time.” Lacey closed her eyes briefly, imagining the scene. Imagining someone coming at him with a knife. He would have leaned away, probably causing the necklace to swing left. Causing the knife to hit the heavy stones, then jab up and over his heart. Just inches away. “You need a doctor,” she said. “You need stitches, a shot against infection, something.” “I have everything I need,” he said, his hand coming up to still hers, his dark eyes rising to her face. “Just wash it and stop the bleeding, por favor.”
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“It’s slowed down some,” she said, very much aware of his warm hand on her cold one. “I found some bandages in my overnight bag—I always get blisters when I walk around New Orleans in this humidity, no matter how cool the weather, nor how comfortable my shoes.” He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down, hoping her prattling would calm him. “You need to lie still for a while.” “Until dark,” he responded, his hand still on hers. “Then I have to go.” Lacey swallowed back the fear and some other unnamed emotion rolling through her system. How would she be able to stay here with him all day? Should she stay here with him all day? “Where are you going?” “You don’t need to know that, angel.” Lacey lifted the rag, then pushed his hand away. “Look, I don’t know how you got this wound, or why you asked me for help, but the least you can do is explain yourself. I think I deserve that much, at least.” The man looked up at her, his intense gaze scanning her face. “You kissed me.” That was not the answer she had expected. “No, you kissed me.” “But you didn’t seem to mind very much.” “I didn’t have a choice. You forced me to cooperate.” He gave her that beguiling grin again. “No, you cooperated rather nicely.” His gaze fell across her mouth. “Very nicely.”
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“You’re delirious. You kissed me to hide your face, to hide from those men who were running through the Quarter.” He lifted one dark swooping brow. “Did I?” “Yes, you did,” she replied hotly, amazed that he would tease her about this. “And I don’t see why. I mean, you could have just turned your back from the street and…those men…whoever they were. You didn’t have to be so dramatic, did you?” “It was an impulse,” he replied. “But very pleasurable, considering the circumstances. I don’t regret it. Do you?” She blushed. She felt the heat moving up her neck all the way to her hairline. Jumping up, she said, “Never mind how I feel. Do you always act on your impulses? Is that what got you hurt and on the run?” “Probably,” he replied, his face, his eyes as dark and shuttered as the room. “Lo siento.” Lacey said a silent thanks for the Spanish lessons Aunt Hilda had insisted they all take in high school. She was rusty, but at least she could communicate with him. After opening the large square bandage she’d found in her small cosmetics bag, she placed it across his wound. “Too late for sorry. Are you going to tell me…anything?” “No. Nada.” He closed his eyes, as if he were taking a nice nap. But she could see the hard line of his jaw, the tiny beat of a pulse that told her he was very much aware of her and his surroundings. “I want some answers,” Lacey said. She threw
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the rag back into the ice bucket she’d used to bring hot water to the bedside. With his eyes still shut, he said, “The less said the better, angel. I don’t want you to get hurt.” “How thoughtful of you.” After handing him a glass of water and two pain pills, Lacey moved away from the bed and went into the bathroom to wash the blood out of the once white bath cloth. “Too late to worry about that, too. I’m involved,” she called out. “You know that, don’t you? You got me involved, so you need to tell me what we should do next.” She came out of the bathroom, stared down at the bed where he lay. His eyes were still shut, and he had one hand turned up across his forehead. The other hand was clutching the cross medallion. Lacey swallowed, took a breath, said a prayer. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life was lying in the middle of her four-poster hotel bed, in the middle of the French Quarter, with a knife wound to his chest. And he was clutching a cross medallion. All of this before she’d even had breakfast. Suddenly Lacey didn’t feel so lost and alone anymore. Now she just felt utterly confused and disoriented, but very much alive and aware. Because whether this man gave her answers or not, she knew deep inside that her life was about to change, that she’d made some unspoken agreement with this stranger. To help him. To become even more involved with him.
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All she could do now was wait and watch, and pray that she wasn’t making a huge mistake by following her instincts and her heart. And her heart wouldn’t allow her to leave anyone hurt and abandoned. “Can you at least tell me your name?” she asked, her voice calm in spite of her runaway pulse. “Gavin,” he said. Then he fell asleep again. He woke up alone. Well, that was certainly nothing new. Gavin looked around the darkened room, wondering for a minute where he was and why he was here. Then he remembered. “Haló,” he said, his voice raspy, his throat as dry as sagebrush. “Angel, are you here?” He wouldn’t blame her for running. She should run. And yet, he wanted her here. He pushed himself up off the bed, saw the stark white of a note on the nightstand. “Gavin, I’ve gone to get us something to eat. I’ll be back soon. Lacey.” Her name was Lacey. It suited her. She was all feminine and soft, all lace and light, with her golden-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. She smelled like a thousand flowers, and her face was so breathtaking, it had beckoned him back from a familiar darkness. That darkness had surrounded his soul as he’d fled into the night, leaving behind the life he’d always
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known, leaving behind any remnants of innocence and happiness. He knew the truth now, the horrible truth. Maybe that was why he’d wound up inside the church. To hide from the truth, to find some sort of peace in the midst of all the turmoil, all the pain, of betrayal. Gavin winced as he tried to sit up. Shadows fell across the quiet room like the layers of a sheer veil. It must be getting late. He glanced at the pretty clock on the table. Almost five. Darkness would fall soon. Then he’d have to leave. He’d have to leave Lacey. That would be for the best. He felt rested now, better. Some food would be good. That would help him, give him strength. And he’d need every ounce of strength he possessed to get to the bottom of this mess. He needed time to think, to figure out his next move. To plan. Someone wanted him dead. And he now knew the reason. Sitting there, Gavin touched a hand to the cross. All he had to do now was find that someone, so Gavin could clear his own name, clear up this trouble. It would be ugly, nasty work. He might not make it through. But he was determined to stay alive. Thanks to his grandmother, he had a strong faith, in spite of the darkness swirling up around him. He held to the cross and closed his eyes. He would survive. And maybe…when this was all over, he’d come back to New Orleans and he’d find Lacey again.
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But first, of course, he had to get out of this room. He had to get away from the Quarter. He got up and made it into the bathroom. He took off his shirt, then stood there studying the fleshcolored bandage Lacey had put across the cut. He could see bloodstains pooling against the dressing. “Well, Gav, you’ve really messed up this time, tonto. Now what?” Not finding any answers in his reflection, Gavin bent to splash cold water on his face and head. Pain sliced through his left shoulder, but at least he wasn’t dizzy or weak anymore. The pills and the rest had helped. And as soon as he had some food in him— Then he straightened, reality hitting him harder than the cold, icy water. “Lacey?” She’d gone out alone to get food. What if someone had seen them together? What if someone had been watching, waiting for them to make a move? Panic set in. Gavin whirled, grabbed his shirt. What had he been thinking, involving an innocent woman in his troubles? Why had he asked her for help? Right now, this very minute, they might have her somewhere. And Gavin knew exactly what these people were capable of doing. His heart cut at his chest, threatening to burst through his very skin. He had to find her. He was struggling with his shirt when the door opened and she walked inside, like a breath of spring, to stand there staring at him with those wide deep blue eyes.
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Gavin didn’t even realize he’d let out a long sigh until he heard her voice. “Are you all right?” He managed to nod as he leaned over, his hands propped on his thighs. “You…you shouldn’t have gone out alone.” She lifted her chin in a beautifully stubborn defiance. “I was hungry and I’m having major caffeine withdrawals. Thanks to you, I never got breakfast.” “A little late for that, don’t you think?” he replied, mirroring her earlier words to him. She brought the bag of food over to a side table. “Yes, it’s now dinnertime and I’m still hungry. I sat here all day long, worried about you, afraid to leave you. But then, you seemed to be resting soundly, so I decided it would be all right to go to the restaurant around the corner. I got us some po-boys and coffee. With cookies for dessert. And I bought you a new shirt and a hat of your own.” She tossed him a light blue cotton T-shirt and a dark baseball hat with a sports emblem emblazoned across its front. “Do you feel like eating?” “I could use the coffee,” he replied as he dropped into a chair beside the table to remove his stained shirt and carefully replace it with the soft cotton one. It was a slow process because of his injury, but he couldn’t help but smile at Lacey. She turned away while he changed, every bit the lady. The beautiful, blushing lady. “Gracias,” he said finally, allowing her to turn
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back around. Then he stared across at her. “Did you see anyone? Anybody follow you?” “I watched my back,” she replied as she ripped the lid off one of the plastic cups of coffee. “And I changed clothes and wore my hat.” “Smart lady.” He took a bite of the fried crawfish po-boy. The spicy food hit his empty stomach with a fiery explosion. He was still jittery from worrying about her. Grabbing the hat, he plopped it on his head, just to have something to do. “Are you sure no one followed you back here?” “Pretty sure,” she said, frustration coloring the words. “It’s crowded out there. No one bothered noticing me.” Gavin thought that was a false statement if he’d ever heard one. She was tall, cool and blond. Hat or no hat, men would notice a woman like…his Lacey. And she was cultured and ladylike in her lace and flowing floral skirts—not something one often saw in the Quarter on a late Friday afternoon. He watched as she broke off tiny pieces of French bread from her own turkey sandwich. She obviously came from money, old money. Gavin knew all about old money. He knew it was much cleaner than new money—the kind hidden away in secret locations. Putting thoughts of treachery out of his mind for now, he tipped his hat low over his eyes so he could study Lacey instead. Her clothes, her mannerisms, everything about her was class, right down to the way she held her napkin on her lap and took measured chews of her food. Dainty. Feminine. Pretty.
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And completely out of his league. “This is good,” he said finally, needing to fill the silence that moved between them. “Thanks again.” She fidgeted, got up to turn on the television. “Maybe we can watch a movie until time…” She stopped, looked around at him as the evening news blared out behind her. “Until what, Gavin? What are you planning to do next?” Gavin was just about to answer her when a familiar face flashed across the broadcast. Lacey watched his face, saw his sudden interest, then followed his gaze as she glanced around at the television screen. Then she spoke. “That’s Senator Prescott. They’re investigating him for some sort of scandal—something to do with payoffs from some of the casino people.” “Sí, I know who he is,” Gavin said, his heart thumping a stark warning against his chest. Lacey turned back to the television, her eyes scanning the screen. “My Aunt Hilda says the casinos are the root of all evil. But…they did bring in jobs and help the economy.” “If you say so.” He wondered who Aunt Hilda was, and he wondered if Lacey knew just how much evil there was out there on those streets. Suddenly he wanted to protect her, to keep her safe right here for a very long time. But it wasn’t going to be that easy. Lacey shot him a quizzical look, then once again glanced at the television. “They might indict him. At least, the evidence is leaning that way.” She was
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about to turn the channel when another face came up on the screen. Letting out a gasp, she watched the screen, then glared at Gavin. Gavin hissed a breath as he looked at his own image plastered there for all the world to see. For Lacey to see. Lacey didn’t speak. Instead, she sank back down on her chair, the remote control still in her hand. Thankfully, it was an old picture—one from his college days. He looked young and alive, nothing like the way he looked today. He’d probably aged fifty years since then. The anchorman told the rest of the tale. “And to complicate matters even more, Senator Prescott’s son, Gavin, is reported to be missing and is now wanted for questioning. The news came after an elaborate dinner party at the senator’s New Orleans home last night. Apparently his son got in a scuffle with another guest, but left the residence before security or the police could question him. It is believed that Gavin Prescott might be hiding important information about his father’s alleged dealings with the head of the gambling cartel that owns La Casa de Oro Casino. The House of Gold, as the locals call it, opened up with much fanfare last year as the first land-based casino in New Orleans. Shortly after the successful opening, however, an investigation into Senator Prescott’s finances was launched. The FBI wiretapped his home and found incriminating evidence that the cartel, owned and operated by the powerful Currito family, had bribed
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the senator to help get a gambling license. This launched a full-blown investigation into the senator’s holdings. The Currito family insists the senator coerced them into payoffs, but the senator declares he is innocent. His son, a member of his father’s impressive team of lawyers, has now apparently become a suspect himself. More on this fascinating story at ten.” Lacey turned off the television, then slowly shifted to face Gavin. “You’re that Gavin—Gavin Prescott, as in Senator Edward Prescott?” He could only nod. Then he managed to set the record straight. “Adopted son. My mother married him after my real father died—when I was five years old.” If she heard the venom in those words, she ignored it. Good. He really didn’t want to explain things, especially the hostile relationship he’d always had with his so-called adoptive father. She let that soak in, then said, “I should have recognized you. I mean, this is a big story. It’s on the news almost every night. I’m sure since you’re a lawyer for your father’s defense, I must have seen your face before on television or in the papers.” The shock in her voice made the words whisper thin. Those words tore at Gavin’s heart. “I haven’t been a prominent part of the proceedings,” he finally said. “More like a silent spectator— kept in the background.” Kept in the dark. He tried to stifle the bitterness, but it was there in each word he spoke.
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Lacey must have picked up on it. “The news said you got in a fight at a party. Did something happen between the senator and you last night?” “You could say that.” “And now, obviously, that’s why you’re on the run.” She stood then and placed both her hands on the table between them. “I think we need to talk, Gavin. I think you need to tell me exactly what happened and why you’re in hiding. And I’d really like to know what I’m supposed to do about it.” Gavin reached out a hand, wrapping his fingers around her slender wrist. “I want to explain everything, querida. And soon I will, I promise.” Lacey pulled her wrist away. “No, right now. I have to know what I’m up against. I’m expected back home in a day or so. I have to go…but I don’t want to leave you if you need help.” Gavin sighed, placed his elbows on the table, then yanked off the hat to bury his head in his cupped hands before lifting his face to her. “If you can just help me to get out of the Quarter. There’s somewhere I have to go. I have to find out the truth, before it’s too late.” She stared down at him, her blue eyes reminding him of azure waters, distant and swirling. “You’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t you?” “Yes.” And then Gavin heard it. Just a bump and a thump against the outside wall of the room, near the locked door. He peered at the slant of skinny sun rays coming through the narrow crack at the bottom of the door. And saw a shadow cutting through the western
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sun. Other guests coming up the stairs, or somebody else? He got up slowly, pressed a finger to his lips, then motioned toward the balcony. Not wanting to take any chances, he put the hat back on, then pulled Lacey close in his arms and said, “We have to leave. Now.” Lacey looked around. “Why?” “Because someone is just outside the door. And I think they are about to be inside this room.” A hard rapping on the door indicated he was right. Wide-eyed, Lacey grabbed her tote bag, clutching it to her chest as if it would protect her. “Should we answer that?” she said, her voice low, her eyes wide with fear. “No way. We’re going for the balcony,” Gavin told her as he took her by the arm and eased her across the room. Outside, he could hear the shuffling, the footsteps hovering. Then he heard voices, speaking low. Another loud knock. “Management. Sorry to disturb you, but we need to talk to you for just a minute.” He shook his head at Lacey, then placed a finger to his mouth to keep her quiet. “When we get outside and over the balcony, I want you to run, Lacey. Run as fast as you can.” “Over the balcony? You can’t make it over the balcony.” “Yes, I can. You just do as I say.” “What about you?”
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“I’ll be right behind you. Trust me.” Gavin only prayed that she would trust him. Because it might be the only way he could keep her alive.
Chapter Three
L
acey kept telling herself this wasn’t really happening to her. Things such as this didn’t happen to a nice woman from the country. She was a widow in her early thirties; she led a dull, boring, but contented life at Bayou le Jardin. She went to church each Sunday and served on various committees during the week. She had a nice, efficient business to keep her occupied, work that she enjoyed. She wasn’t the type of person to climb over a balcony in the French Quarter and run through the dusk with a handsome, mysterious wounded man, while two other men were bursting through the door of a hotel room even as they made their escape. And yet, she was doing just that. She could hear the door creaking open. Could still see the determined effort in Gavin’s eyes as he’d flung her through the French doors, and told her to jump from the intricate wrought-iron balcony railing
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to the street. They’d barely made it to the shadowed catwalk beneath the second-floor overhang before the two men had come running out onto the tiny balcony. And she didn’t dare look back to see if the men were chasing them. But she thought she heard frustrated shouts coming from the hotel. “My car is in the parking garage,” she told Gavin through winded breaths as they rounded the corner of Dumaine Street, heading for Decatur. “We could get it.” “No. That would be the first place they’d look for us,” he told her through gritted teeth. Lacey held his hand. He hadn’t let her go since they’d climbed halfway down a woven iron balustrade and dropped the eight feet or so from the balcony. But by the twisted grimace on his face she could tell he was in pain. And she could see the little spot of blood from his wound coming through the cotton of his shirt. But he kept running, and he kept pulling her right along with him, both of them holding on to their hats. Glad she was wearing cushioned sandals, Lacey huffed, “Then where are we going?” Stopping for a minute to catch his breath, Gavin tugged her behind a towering magnolia tree. “We’re going to have to circle back around, get out of the Quarter. Then I need to get out of New Orleans for a while.” Not stopping to think about what that meant, Lacey said, “I have a town house in the Garden District. It’s secluded, back away from the street. If we could make it there—”
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“We’ll do it,” Gavin said. “Just for tonight. I need to think, make some phone calls.” “Are you sure that’s wise?” “I have a couple of people I know I can trust.” He looked down at her then. The moonlight cascaded over his features like a soft spotlight, making him look both sinister and sad. “Do you believe I’m innocent, Lacey?” Her heart raced as she tried to find breath. “Since I’m not really sure of what they’re accusing you, I can’t answer that.” She stood there looking at him for a minute, then said, “But I think you are definitely in trouble. And you’re hurt. I’ll help you get to a safe place, at least.” He tilted his head down. “You could have run in the other direction once we left that room. Why didn’t you?” She didn’t quite know the answer to that question herself. “I was so scared, I had no choice but to follow you.” “I didn’t mean to get you so involved,” he said, his hand touching her windblown hair. “Don’t worry about me, querida. After tonight, I promise you won’t have to deal with any of this again. I’ll be out of your life by sunrise.” That promise should have brought Lacey relief, but for some reason it only made her feel empty and lost. And even more worried. But she didn’t have time to think about that now. Gavin was tugging her through the darkness again. “Stay close to the buildings,” he advised. “If
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anyone comes by, we’ll just act like we’re out on a date—two tourists strolling through the Quarter.” “Except this isn’t exactly the safest part of the Quarter,” she whispered. He nodded. “We’ll get back around to Decatur, blend in with the crowds, then go to Canal and Carondelet to catch the streetcar back to the Garden District. Where is your town house?” “Just off St. Charles on Felicity.” They rounded the corner toward Decatur, merging with the crowds waiting in front of Jackson Square for carriage rides, then doubled back to St. Louis, heading toward Bourbon. Lacey could hear the revelry from here. Aunt Hilda would not approve, but what choice did she have? Of course, Aunt Hilda wouldn’t approve of her hiding a hurt man in her hotel room all day, then running away with that same man who was being chased by some scary people, either. Get a grip, Lacey, she silently told herself. After all, she was over thirty. Perfectly capable of making her own decisions, however impulsive or crazy they might seem. Only, she had never been impulsive or crazy. She’d always left those two traits up to her lovable siblings, Lorna and Lucas. Lacey was supposed to be the calm, sane Dorsette. Mentally shaking her head at her own folly, she glanced over at her traveling companion. He looked completely in control. Alert and calculating, silent and still. A stranger guiding her through a maze of mystery and intrigue.
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So much for being sane. Lacey did the only thing she could do in such a situation. She prayed. Hard. And while she prayed, she pushed back the memories that had stayed with her since childhood— the memories of running through the night with Lorna and Lucas, the memories of voices shouting in the dark. The memories of watching her missionary parents being executed by angry rebels deep in the heart of Africa. Gunshots. Rain. Screams. Lacey held off the memories, sending them to that safe, secret place in her heart. She had to stay calm, just as she’d stayed calm that night. She had to. So she kept on praying. Gavin did a quick surveillance of the area, and apparently satisfied that they weren’t being followed, pulled her toward the crowds. He also tugged her close, his left arm slung over her shoulder in spite of his pain. Lacey didn’t pull away. She felt safe clutched close to him like this. He kept her in the shadows, tucked against the buildings. He watched each face they passed, his whole body alert in spite of the smile on his face and the lazy way he clung to her. Every now and then he dipped his head toward her, as if to caress her face. It helped ease her fears, helped keep the harsh memories at bay. She could almost believe they were just a couple out on a date. Almost. But then she remembered that her day had started out on a strange twist and things had gone downhill from there.
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“They’ll be looking for us in the crowds,” Gavin told her. “Let’s take a left on Conti, then switch back to the right on Royal. We can go through Exchange Alley from there and make it to Canal.” Lacey hurriedly followed him, in spite of her winded state. She was afraid to let him out of her sight now. “You certainly know your way around New Orleans,” she said as they neared Exchange, her nerves as tight and quivering as the guitar strings of the lone musician who stood on a corner, playing for tips. The song was slow and poignant, but the chords and notes rose out over the night on a sweet melody. “I’ve lived here all of my life,” Gavin told her. “But not on this side of town, I gather.” “No, angel. My…the senator has a big house uptown. When I was a teenager, I used to escape through a window and roam the Vieux Carré at night.” “You were a bad boy, then?” He pulled her onto the narrow strip of Exchange Alley, his gaze falling across her face with a purposeful intention. “I still am.” Lacey swallowed as a warning shiver moved like tapping fingers down her spine. She breathed deeply, hoping to find air in the cool night breeze. She had so many questions. “Gavin, was that really the hotel management, do you think? Or was it the police looking for us, or maybe Currito’s people?” “You catch on quick, I see,” he said, one hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think it was management. In a quaint hotel such as that one, they would have ad-
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dressed you by name, since the room is registered to you. And in normal circumstances, the police would have to announce themselves, but…this corruption runs deep. For all I know, it could have been some of Currito’s men posing as management or the police. They did knock, though, just before they managed to open the door, of course. They were probably hoping to gain entry, then make their move.” Lacey shivered again. “I’ve heard things—the Currito family is very powerful. Some say they are the local Spanish Mafia. If they sent someone after you—” He touched a finger to her lips. “Hush. Don’t think about it. I won’t let them get near you.” Then he glanced around before adding, “But I don’t think the Currito family sent them. They are trying very hard to run a clean operation, from what I hear. I think the senator sent them.” She let that soak in, understanding that these people, whoever they were, would hound Gavin if they thought he had information that could hurt them. But had they tried to kill him? “Do you know something about your father’s dealings, something that could incriminate him?” He looked down at her then, his dark eyes shining like a midnight moon. “What I know I can’t say right now, Lacey. You are better off not knowing.” Then he dropped his hand away. “We need to get moving.” They hurried up Exchange toward Canal, past the restaurants tucked away in the short alley. Gavin
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scanned the street before they walked out onto Canal. “It’s pretty crowded. I think we’re safe. Let’s keep a low profile while we wait for the streetcar.” They headed up Canal, then ducked into a corner store, waiting there until they could hop a ride to Lacey’s town house. Lacey didn’t ask any more questions. But just as soon as she got Gavin to the town house, she intended to get to the bottom of this. It occurred to Lacey as she unlocked the door that she hadn’t thought of Neil very much today. But she was thinking of him now. She didn’t like being here. Rarely came back here. Even though Neil’s family lived in Florida now, they had given the tiny two-story cottage to Lacey and Neil as a wedding present, and had insisted Lacey keep it after Neil’s death. Mimi Babineaux, a cousin to the Babineaux clan back at Bayou le Jardin, kept the place clean and restocked with essentials, in case any of the Dorsettes did come to the city. Lucas had brought Willa here a few months ago, during her visit with the doctors in New Orleans. It was like a haven, tucked away from the main street, surrounded by towering oaks and magnolia trees, tall, thick azalea bushes and clusters of banana plants. From the street it looked like a carriage house or detached garage, but the tiny secluded courtyard centered in the back made it completely private. Which was why Lucas always referred to it as Lacey’s retreat. But it wasn’t a retreat to Lacey. Now a whole new set of memories assaulted her
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as they entered the French doors just off the long, narrow kitchen. Memories of her time with Neil. They’d had their honeymoon right here in this house. Then later she’d come here to sit alone with Neil’s child growing in her, while she still mourned her husband’s death. And then later, memories of nothing. No child. No husband. Nothing left in her life. Both husband and child were now buried in the tiny family cemetery back at Bayou le Jardin, near the Chapel in the Garden. Maybe because she was scared, confused and tired, maybe because a great grief tempered with a tremendous guilt weighed at her soul, Lacey felt her emotions brewing over like a cup of hot black coffee. Scalding emotions that would soon have her crying. And she couldn’t let Gavin see that. But he must have sensed it. “What’s wrong, bella?” She turned to face him. He stood just inside the doorway, his masculine presence filling the room with a darkly macho strength. An overpowering strength that didn’t really fit in here amid the clutter of chintz-covered furniture and delicate Victorian lace. But in spite of the aura of danger surrounding him, his eyes held traces of fatigue…and concern. “You’re tired,” he said before she could find her voice. “I’ve dragged you all over the city. Why don’t you get a bath, get cleaned up. Rest.” She shook her head. “I need to tend to your wound. You’re bleeding again. Why don’t you get a hot shower while I see what I can find for us to eat. How about some coffee?”
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He nodded, his expression still puzzled. “It’s a lovely house, Lacey.” “Thank you.” “So, you live in New Orleans? Why were you staying at the hotel, then?” “No, this is just a second home. I…I live about an hour from here, on a very old plantation. It’s a bedand-breakfast. Bayou le Jardin.” He came closer, placed a hand on one of the tiled white counters. “Sí, I’ve heard of it. You get tourists?” She turned to busy herself with making the coffee. “Yes, but earlier this year we had a terrible tornado. It ruined the village and did a lot of damage to our property. We’re closed right now, during the slow season, for repairs. I came to New Orleans to do some antique shopping, to replace some of the pieces we lost to a flood right after the tornado.” “A flood and a tornado. Sounds as if you needed a vacation.” She smiled then. “Yes, I did. But you, sir, are certainly no vacation.” He bowed with a gallant flourish. “I do apologize. I wish we could have met under different circumstances.” “Me, too.” Then she pushed a hand through her hair. “Let me take you upstairs to the bathroom. And…I’ll get you some clothes. You’re about the same size as my husband. There’s still a few of his clothes around here somewhere. They should fit.” After she said it, she stopped, holding her breath
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because of the shocked look on Gavin’s face. And because of the nonchalant way she’d just offered up her husband’s treasured garments to a stranger. Gavin let out a long breath. “You’re…married?” “Was,” she managed to say, her voice just above a whisper. “My husband died about five years ago.” “I’m sorry.” He stood there, his head dipped low, those black brows lifting toward her. “You’re still grieving.” “Yes.” She had to look away. The tears pooled in her eyes, making it hard to see the bright red light on the coffeepot. “I suppose I will always be grieving. It’s the kind of pain that just never really goes away.” Then she shrugged. “We…we celebrated our honeymoon here in this little house. It’s always hard, coming back—that’s why I stayed at the hotel instead.” “You loved him.” She turned to face Gavin then, saw the awe and admiration in his eyes. And she saw something else there, too. Something she recognized easily, since she’d been suffering the very same emotion in recent weeks. Envy. But it wasn’t the jealous kind of envy. It went deeper than that. Gavin envied her the love she’d once had, just as she now envied her brother and sister the love they had at last found. “I did love him,” she said, knowing she had to be completely honest with Gavin—this man who stirred her soul in ways she didn’t even want to begin to explore. “I still do.” He came toward her then, placed his hands on her
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arms. “I have never known that kind of love,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her face with a hunger that took her breath away. “But I tell you this, Lacey. Your husband was one lucky man. To have loved a woman like you. One very lucky man.” Then he touched a finger to her nose, his eyes filling with regret. “I’ll have that shower now.” Gavin stood underneath the hot mist, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have a cold shower instead of a steaming one. To cool off the treacherous thoughts running through his head, to temper the yearnings moving like a river through his tired system. “You can’t have her,” he told himself in both English and Spanish. And yet, he wanted her. He wanted to get to know her, to make her smile and laugh, to wipe away that sadness he’d witnessed on her face the minute she’d walked into this untouched dollhouse. Her pain was so deep, she preferred staying in a hotel to being here again. He’d forced her to come back here, to a place that obviously held many wonderful memories for her, in spite of the pain. A place where she had lived and loved and known all the things he would never know. All the things he could never give a woman. Frustrated, Gavin got out of the shower and toweled off, then went into the tiny bedroom where Lacey had left him some clothes. A pair of jeans and a button-down cotton shirt lay across the quilted comforter. Her husband’s clothes. Would it hurt her to see another man wearing them?
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“I did love him,” she’d said. “I still do.” “Not a good situation, Gavino,” he told himself as he dressed, feeling strange and out of sorts by being in both the clothes and this house. He had to get away from here, and soon. He wouldn’t put Lacey through any more danger. She was a good woman. Too good for the likes of him. But first he had to make a phone call. Gavin had to ask the question that had been burning through his brain since last night when the bodyguard had attacked him right outside his father’s back door. Had tried to kill him right there in his own home. And he knew exactly the person who would be able to answer his burning question. His life had changed over the past twenty-four hours. Had gone from bad to worse. He combed his hair, then closed his eyes, his fingers straying to the cross medallion. Gavin wished he could go back, back to the time when he was blissfully ignorant. Back to the time before he’d found out the harsh truth. But he could never go back now. “But one good thing did come of all of this,” he said out loud as he held the comforting weight of the jeweled cross in his hand. Lacey. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was waiting for him downstairs. Too bad he’d have to leave her in the morning, to protect her, to save himself. And too bad she was still in love with another man.
Chapter Four
Lacey watched Gavin’s face as the news report flashed yet another picture of him across the screen. Sitting there in Neil’s old clothes, Gavin looked every bit as handsome as he had last night when he’d come down after his shower. But seeing him in her husband’s clothes had definitely brought Lacey out of her awestruck stupor. She’d dashed off to get her own bath, then pleaded tiredness before going off to her own bedroom. Now they were having breakfast together, a perfectly normal ritual on most days. Of course, this wasn’t a normal day. As the morning news indicated with precise, clinical details. “Still missing and still wanted for questioning, Gavin Prescott, the son of Senator Edward Prescott, is said to allegedly have information regarding the investigation of his powerful father. Did Senator Prescott solicit bribes from the Currito family in exchange for helping them obtain a gambling license
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in Louisiana? And does his own son know more about this case than anybody? More on this developing story tonight at five.” “That’s a very good question,” Gavin said as he clicked off the small television set sitting on Lacey’s kitchen counter. Then he looked across at her. “And probably one you’d like me to answer.” Lacey saw the earnest expression on his haggard face there in the morning sun. He didn’t look as if he’d slept very much last night. Well, she certainly hadn’t, either. She was worried about so many things. What if her family heard about this? Of course, they had no way of knowing she was on the lam with a man wanted for questioning in a high-profile court case. Then she’d worried about her actions, about everything that had taken place in her life over the past twenty-four hours. And yet, she knew in her heart she’d done the right thing in sheltering Gavin. Somehow, she just knew. She kept remembering the way he’d clutched his cross necklace. And she kept remembering the way he’d kissed her. Wondering how she instinctively knew that Gavin was innocent in all of this, she glanced down to the cross he was still wearing. She reckoned he’d slept in the heavy piece of jewelry. The image that provoked caused her to suck in her breath and say a quick prayer for more pure thoughts. “Why don’t you tell me everything,” she suggested as she brought the coffeepot over to warm up his brew. “How did your phone calls go last night?”
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“I had a long talk with a man I know I can count on—used to work for my father. He’s looking into some things for me.” Gavin shrugged, then grabbed another piece of French toast with his fork. “Surprisingly, I couldn’t reach my mother. She is the one other person I feel I can trust in this, and her cell phone should be secure for now. But she didn’t answer last night.” “Surely she’s worried about you,” Lacey said as she slipped into the chair across from him. She ignored the little tremor of pleasure his presence across from her provoked. It was just good to have someone, anyone, here in this house with her. She reminded herself that this particular someone was a hunted man, on the run from things she probably didn’t want to know about. “Sí, I’m sure she’s worried,” Gavin said, his eyes guarded. “But…you’d have to know my…father. He demands complete respect and loyalty.” “So she has to be careful?” “Yes, very careful. I’m going to try her again this morning. She will be away from the house. Today is her spa day, I’m sure.” Lacey nodded. She’d seen Nita Prescott’s picture now and again in the society section of the Times Picayune. Nita was a beautiful woman, dark and exotic, much like her son. And extremely wealthy, thanks to her powerful husband. But how a mother could traipse off to the spa when her only son was in serious trouble was beyond Lacey. It didn’t make much sense. “Do you think you can really trust your mother?”
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He shrugged again, gave her a cool, blank look. “At this point, I’m not actually sure if I can completely trust anyone.” His expression seemed to change as his gaze moved over her face, however. “Except you, of course.” “So what are you going to do?” “Hide for a while. I need access to a computer. I think I know where all the records are located, but they’re buried underneath certain codes. I can get to them, but it will take time and extreme measures. I was so close the other night—” “You were snooping in your father’s files? Is that why you got hurt?” He gave her a soft, cynical smile. “That’s right, bella. I found out something the other night that made it all fall into place, but before I could find the rest of the proof to back up my suspicions, my father sent a henchman to take care of me—or to scare me, at least.” Shocked, Lacey sank back against her chair. “Your father? So you really think your own father wants you dead—had someone try to kill you?” “My adoptive father,” he reminded her with a bitterness that was hard to miss. “But yes, that’s exactly what I think. The man had a gun, but I managed to knock that out of his hand. Estúpido, I didn’t think to grab the letter opener before he did. And even now I can’t be sure if he was Currito’s man or my father’s. He’s been working for my father, but who knows.” “Tell me everything, Gavin,” Lacey said, shivering at the horrible scene forming in her mind. “If you
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want me to help you, you have to tell me.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You said you trust me. And right now I’m your only hope.” He nodded, took a long sip of coffee. Then he pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, careful to favor his sore left shoulder. “I’ll tell you just enough to make you understand how serious this is. Someone wants me dead, because they think I’ve found out the truth, the whole truth.” “Which is?” He shook his head, his dark spiked hair falling across his forehead. “Which is something you don’t need to hear.” At her frustrated groan, he added, “Look, Lacey, I shouldn’t have involved you in this in the first place. If they find me here—” “They won’t.” “If they do, you could be in danger.” He reached across the table then, taking her hand in his. His skin was calloused and rough in places, and soft and warm in others. “Yesterday I purposely hid in the cathedral, just so I could stop and think, get my head clear. I was there when you came in.” He stopped, gave her a long, measured look. “I waited for you to go, but you just sat there. I knew others would be coming soon for early mass. And I also knew some of them might be trouble, men looking for me. So…” She held to his hand. “So you came to me to get me out of there?” He ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know, maybe. Or maybe I just wanted a closer look at you. You see,
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I had been lying there on a pew, looking up. I wanted to pray, but…I think I’d forgotten how. Then I saw an inscription in Latin. Te Deum Laudamus, Te Dominum, Confitemeu.” Lacey repeated the words in English. “We praise thee, O God. We acknowledge thee to be the Lord.” “Yes,” he said, smiling. “My Latin isn’t the best, but I managed to decipher the words enough that I began repeating that inside my head.” He stopped, his eyes holding hers. “And then I saw you.” Lacey felt a heated rush of emotion pouring over her. “So you thought—” “I thought I’d better take advantage of the situation, test the theory that maybe God was trying to help me.” “You called me an angel.” “You looked like one sitting there.” Lacey took a deep breath. “But I didn’t do anything very angelic.” “You got me out of there,” Gavin said, his fingers moving over her hand, stroking her skin, making her shiver in spite of the warm sun nearby. “If I hadn’t found the strength to go to you and ask for help, I feel certain I would have passed out right there and…the priest or whoever found me would have called the police.” “And you’d be in even greater danger.” “Exactly. As I said, my father is very powerful. He has so many people, from beat cops to detectives and on up the line, in his pocket. He pays them well. Enough that they’d have no qualms about bringing in his renegade son.”
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“On trumped-up charges?” “Unfortunately, yes. And that’s what I’m up against. The records I cracked last night had been altered to make me look bad, but I know the real ones are buried deep inside a computer’s hard drive or possibly copied onto a disk somewhere. If I don’t find those records, they’ll twist this around to make it look as if I’m the guilty one. If they can pin the bribery and corruption on me instead of him—which is exactly what it looked like when I stumbled into the files last night—I’ll take the fall for all of them, right up to the Currito family.” “Do you have proof that the senator bribed them?” “I was working on that when my friend with weapons came to pay a visit. I can’t prove it was all my father’s doing, or if the Currito family offered him a bribe. But I will. I have to. The senator was so angry with me, he fired me—told me I was disinherited and out of a job. Then I guess he decided to get even before the FBI could get to me. I have to clear my name and get these goons off my back.” “So what do we do next?” He let go of her hand then. “You—you’re going to go home to the bayou, querida. And you’re going to stay there and forget you ever met me.” She wondered if she’d ever be able to forget a man like Gavin Prescott. “Just like that?” “Just like that, or as soon as I can sneak you out of New Orleans.” The phone rang then, causing Lacey to jump,
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causing Gavin to scowl. “Be careful,” he said as she went to answer it. “Don’t give away anything.” “Hello?” Lacey held the receiver with a whiteknuckled grip. “Yes. Yes, I understand. I had an emergency and I’m so sorry—I just forgot—yes, thank you.” She hung up then to face Gavin. “That was the hotel, supposedly. They found some of my things in the room. They think I accidentally left them—just a change of clothes and some small purchases, and probably your bloody clothes where I tossed them in a laundry bag. Since I had express checkout, they didn’t question me—just said they’d send them to my house.” Gavin nodded. “Do they have the address to Bayou le Jardin?” “Yes, the hotel does, but—” His eyes went on full alert then. “But what?” “Gavin, the hotel doesn’t have this number. No one but my family and Mimi, our cleaning lady, has this number or this address.” “Are you sure? Are you sure you didn’t give it to the front desk?” She shook her head. “They have my license plate number, of course, and my car is still there, but I paid for parking through today, so that shouldn’t really matter. I don’t give this address out to anyone— there’s never been any reason to do so. Whoever that was—I don’t think it could have been the hotel.” He hissed a breath, then looked around, out the open door to the secluded courtyard. “Lacey, we have to leave. Now.”
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“You think it was—” “I know,” he said as he pulled her toward the door with him. “They tracked us down and they were checking to make sure they had it right.” Lacey tugged away long enough to grab her faithful tote bag off the back of a chair, then she hurried to turn off the coffeepot, practicality winning out over fear for the moment. “So they know I’m here. That doesn’t mean—” He turned then, grabbing both her arms, his dark eyes bright with anger and impatience. “It means they have your name and this phone number and they have an address. And it means they are on their way here. And Lacey, if they find us—if they find you here with me, it could be bad. Very bad.” “Okay. Okay.” She pulled away from him again, checking her bag to make sure she had her cell phone and other pertinent information. Then she glanced around, her gaze scanning the small room for anything that might lead their stalkers to Bayou le Jardin. Fortunately, she didn’t keep any important papers or any vital information here, since she rarely came here. “I don’t think there is anything here for them,” she said. Because she didn’t dare think about what “very bad” could mean for her, she busied herself with mundane things such as tossing their few breakfast dishes into the sink, then running water over them. Groaning, Gavin shut off the spigot and whirled her around. “Lacey, this is serious. We have to leave right now. Forget all of this. It won’t matter anyway if something happens to you.”
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She could see the fear—fear for her safety—in his dark eyes. “I understand,” she managed to say as he propelled her out the door. “I hate leaving this mess for Mimi, but I guess I don’t really have a choice.” Then she pivoted back to the door. “At least let me lock up.” She turned to fumble with the bolt on the French doors. Gavin’s wry chuckle hit the morning air. “Locks won’t keep them out, Lacey. And as for the mess— when they get through with this place, I’m afraid dirty dishes won’t matter very much.” She locked the door anyway, as a means of protest against this senseless invasion of her home and life. She’d hate to see her precious things destroyed, but then, she stayed away from this place on purpose. What did it matter now? “You’re right, of course. And I certainly don’t want Mimi to walk in on them. I’ll call her and tell her she doesn’t need to come by today.” “And what explanation will you give her?” Gavin asked in a low voice as he edged them toward the gate. Lacey let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll tell her I got called away unexpectedly, an emergency back home, and she can just come by later in the week to clean the breakfast dishes. I don’t know, I’ll think of something.” Then she turned to face Gavin, a defiant streak coloring her words. “Well, let’s go.” “But where, that’s the question.” He shoved a hand through his hair as he carefully looked both ways up and down the long alley. “I need to think—” Lacey stopped, glanced around at him as they silently opened the gate. “I have an idea, Gavin.”
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“I’m open for suggestions,” he said, guarding her with his body while he made sure no one was lurking in the banana fronds near the back alleyway. Lacey let out the words on a rush of breath, not sure why she was doing this. “We can sneak back to the hotel and get my car. Then we can go to Bayou le Jardin.” Gavin sent her a surprised look. “Bad idea. They had your things—they might be waiting for us to show up back at the hotel. And they might find us at Bayou le Jardin, too.” “But they didn’t verify that address over the phone,” she explained. “They were going to send my things here, to this address, which is why I knew it couldn’t be the hotel, since the hotel doesn’t even know about this place. It could have just been another trick, but even if they do know about Bayou le Jardin, they won’t find us there. We can hide out in the swamp.” He shot her an incredulous look. “The swamp. I don’t really do swamps, bella.” “I grew up there,” Lacey said as they hurried out the gate and down the narrow, tree-shaded alley. “And my brother, Lucas, can take us so far back into the bayou no one will ever find us. He should be home in a couple of days.” She hoped. Gavin opened his mouth to say something, to object probably, but the words died on his lips as he craned his neck to stare at something just past Lacey. “Run,” he told Lacey, the expression on his face startled but determined.
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Lacey heard a low piercing sound, then felt the whiz of a bullet passing right by her head. They were using guns with silencers! She didn’t bother arguing with Gavin anymore. And she surely didn’t bother looking back. But she could hear footsteps running close behind them. “Lacey, listen,” Gavin said as he hurled her along in front of him at breakneck speed, dodging and ducking between trees, cars and fences. “Keep running until we can find another alley, then veer off as fast as you can. Maybe we can hide in one of these big yards, then make our way back to a more crowded area.” Another round of bullets pinged off a nearby metal storage shed. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Gavin grabbed her hand, his eyes locked with hers and they took off down the alley. They were once again running for their lives.
Chapter Five
T
hey whirled around a giant crape myrtle tree, causing dry crusting pink blossoms to shower them as they passed into a driveway between two gingerbread-style mansions. Gavin grabbed Lacey and pulled her into a backyard, behind a tall white fence that served to camouflage two big black trash cans. Sinking to his knees, he crouched down, then yanked Lacey down with him. “Stay low,” he whispered as he peered through the slits of the wooden fence. “I think we might have lost them somewhere between the two Mercedes and that SUV parked back there,” he said between great huffs of air. “They turned off in another direction, thanks to that barking dog.” Watching to make sure they weren’t being followed, he sighed long and hard. “One of them was my friend from the other night—a big fellow named Randall, I think. He can’t run very fast, but
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he can sure pack a punch.” He heaved another breath, then leaned back against the fence and closed his eyes. They’d managed to dart in and out between cars and houses enough to confuse the big thugs, but he knew the henchmen would find them again. Those kind always did. “And he’s a pretty good shot.” Touching a hand to Lacey’s disheveled hair, he asked, “Are you okay? The bullet didn’t graze you anywhere?” Lacey shook her head, sucking in much-needed air. “I’m fine, but that was a little too close for comfort.” Gavin tugged her down so they could sit with their backs pressed against the fence. The big trash cans hid them from the alleyway, and he had a good view of the wide yard and street in front of them. After scanning the entire area, he relaxed a little, his hands lying loosely across his bent knees, then looked over at Lacey. She was a trouper, hanging on to that ridiculous floral bag as she ran, but he could see the sheer fright in her eyes. She’d probably never been through anything so violent and unnerving in her life. “Let’s just sit tight for a couple of minutes. Make sure they aren’t still on the trail.” Just to lighten things, he added, “We can always hide in the garbage cans, I suppose.” Lacey wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Even rank garbage is preferable to the alternative.” Gavin’s heart lurched at her words. She could have been shot, killed, back there. He wished for the thousandth time that he’d never forced her into this with him, but now that she was here, it was up to him
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to protect her. Somehow. And that meant getting her out of New Orleans. Once again looking around, he considered stealing a car, but decided he didn’t need to add that crime to his growing list of mistakes. The only choice was to walk out of here and find a way out of the city. The day was humid in spite of fall settling in all around them. The giant oaks and magnolias were shedding some of their leaves, causing rustling sounds that set Gavin’s already wired nerves on edge. One of the lovely mansions was decorated with a life-size scarecrow sitting on a hay bale guarding two bright orange pumpkins. It should have been a pleasant, comforting sight. Somehow, given the circumstances, it looked ominous to Gavin. “It seems as if I’ve done this before,” Lacey said out of the blue. Then she looked straight into Gavin’s eyes, and he saw something in the azure blue of her gaze, something that made her seem vulnerable and almost childlike. Something that tugged painfully at all of his protective instincts. “Oh, really?” he asked, trying to understand what that look meant. “I can’t imagine you running from killers, sugar.” Her nod was slow, her eyes still on his. “When I was twelve, we were living in Africa. My parents were missionaries. They were murdered by some rebels. They came in the night and…I can still remember hearing the sounds—the gunshots, my father screaming at us to run, run away.” She
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stopped, breathed deeply. Gavin felt her beginning to shake. “We had to hide underneath a round, thatched hut—we called it the round house. My parents used it as a church.” Her eyes, so blue they looked like a vast, deep ocean, grew bright with memories. And tears. “Ahora bien,” Gavin said, pulling her close to stop her shaking. “Now then, querida. It’s all right. It’s all right. How horrible for you. How awful.” She clung to him there in the grass and shrubs, hidden behind the trash cans. And Gavin cursed himself for putting her in this position. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. I will get you safely back home, Lacey. I promise.” “I’m okay,” she said, but her teeth seemed to be chattering in spite of the sun shining down on them. “I guess this brought it all back.” She tried to pull away, tried to straighten her hair. “Funny, I did okay when I saw the blood on your shirt yesterday. I even held it together when those men burst into our hotel room. But today—I suppose it was being back here, back at the town house. It just triggered so many memories. But I’m okay, honestly.” Gavin held her there, knowing that she wasn’t okay, honestly, knowing she had a beautiful instilled sense of pride. She’d probably never had a chance to fully mourn the death of her parents, or her husband, either, for that matter. She hid her inner suffering behind a serene wall of domestication and ladylike classiness. But inside, she was hurting. Just like everybody else—just like him. Their chance encounter had brought it all crashing
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back—for both of them. But he didn’t want to make things any worse for Lacey. “I have to get you back home,” he said, stroking her hair as he rocked her against him. “Lacey, can you hear me? Do you understand—I didn’t know, darling. I didn’t know you’d been through something so tragic.” “We don’t talk about it very much,” she said on a whisper. “Lorna was afraid of the dark. But now she has Mick and she’s doing so much better. She’s going to have a baby.” Her eyes grew wistful and sad, in spite of her smile. Gavin closed his eyes and wondered why God allowed someone so beautiful and loving to experience such a tragedy in her life. And how she’d managed to find even more trouble by associating with the likes of him—whether by chance or by fate. “Do you want to talk about it?” Lacey lifted her head. “Not really, but it’s there as always, staring me in the face. Lucas is married now, too. He was so reckless before, so daring. Now he has something to live for. He’s…settled now.” “That’s good, querida, that’s good.” “Yes, I keep telling myself to be happy for them. But…the other day in the cathedral, even while I thanked God for their happiness, I also prayed that He’d take away my sadness. It was more of a resentment, really. I just wondered why…why I’d had so much happiness once, and then it was all gone. All gone. And you see, I still have so much love to give, so much inside me that sometimes I just want to
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burst with it. So much…and no one with whom to share it. Sitting there in the cathedral, I’d never felt so all alone.” She looked away, out over the spacious, sun-dappled garden. “I was having one big pity party, right there by myself. And then you came along.” Something liquid and hot bubbled inside Gavin’s soul, something both intimate and unfamiliar at the same time. He didn’t know how to respond to such honesty, wasn’t used to seeing someone’s emotions so close-up and crystal clear. “And then I came along,” he repeated with regret. “And now your life is in total chaos.” “But I’m not alone,” she said simply, softly. “Lacey—” She looked up at him then, as if realizing where they were and why they were here. “We should go.” “Lacey?” “I’m okay. Just a temporary lapse of reason. I just got a little shaken back there.” She was silent for a while, but she fidgeted with the sturdy beige canvas straps of her ever-faithful Monet-inspired water lily tote bag. “This is real, isn’t it, Gavin?” “Sí, very real. But I won’t put you in any more danger.” She touched a hand to his face then, taking away his breath and his resolve. “Don’t you see, we need each other now. They know who I am. They’ve seen my face.” Gavin put his hand over hers. “You’re right. And because of that, I am responsible for your safety. Which is why I’m sending you home. Alone.”
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Her eyes grew bright again. This time with determination. “No. You’re coming with me to Bayou le Jardin.” He shook his head, agitation making his accent thick. “I don’t think that is so wise, Lacey. I can hide away without your help. Believe me, when I was younger I knew how to disappear very easily whenever I wanted.” But Lacey’s sensible practicality was back in full force, apparently just as effective at shutting out her emotions as the wall at their backs had been at shutting out the world around them for a brief time. “You’re coming with me, Gavin. If we stick together, I can help you to clear your name. We’ve got everything you need—computers, phones and a place to hide.” The honest trust he saw in her eyes caused those funny sensations in his chest again. He didn’t deserve her trust, surely didn’t deserve such a woman, but just knowing that someone believed in him gave him such a feeling of hope, and brought him such humility, that he hated to give up. Finally he let out a long sigh. “Well, we can’t sit here all day, that’s for sure. And… if I keep you close, at least I’ll know you’re safe.” “And I can protect you, too,” she said, a wry smile edging her full pink lips. “Oh, and how is that?” She touched a finger to his cross necklace. “I can pray for you.” Then she got up, dusted her skirt off and offered him her hand.
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Gavin took it, still amazed at the rush of protective feelings pooling deep inside the dark recesses of his heart. Lacey was right; he couldn’t let her go. Not only because he wanted to protect her, but also because he wanted to be near her. Just near her. It was wrong of him to feel this way, but he did have his own rare moments of complete honesty, too. And yet, he couldn’t be honest with Lacey. He still had so many secrets to guard. It was like walking on a tightrope. He took her hand, looked around to make sure no one had spotted them, then tugged her through the canopy of trees and shrubbery to the busy thoroughfare of St. Charles Avenue. “We should be there by nightfall,” Lacey said a few hours later. She was driving him away from the city. She was taking him to her home. In her car. “I still can’t believe we managed to sneak back and get my car,” she said now, as if mirroring his own thoughts. “You’re one brave lady,” Gavin said, his head back against the leather headrest of her late-model sedan. “Well, as you said, it makes sense they’re no longer watching the hotel. And management—the real hotel management—knows I left suddenly by now. I had to get my car, or risk even more explaining.” “Yeah, or having it towed and getting the police involved, which is something we need to avoid.”
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She nodded, maneuvered around a curve in the narrow country road. “I think my disguise worked okay, don’t you?” Gavin had to chuckle in spite of the tension coiling in his neck muscles. He still couldn’t believe he’d let her talk him into retrieving her car from the parking garage back at the hotel. But it was either that or take a taxi all the way to Bayou le Jardin, or steal some other means of transportation. In the end, the simple logic of Lacey’s argument had won out. The people after him would probably be looking elsewhere by now, and she had just enough time to get the car before the hotel became suspicious and had it carted away. He’d agreed to this plan only after they’d watched the hotel parking garage themselves for about an hour, and only after Gavin felt sure no one was waiting there for them. Since St. Ann was on the fringes of the Quarter, it had just been a matter of getting the car and hightailing it back to the Interstate, once they were sure they weren’t being followed, of course. All in all, not a bad plan. He was beginning to see that about Lacey, though. When she didn’t want to deal with those dark memories, she went to work. She fussed and fidgeted, she calculated and planned. She stayed busy. Gavin could just picture her in her quaint antique shop, dusting and rearranging, changing and shifting, a perfect picture of primness and business. And all the while, she was lonely and hurting, her pain locked safely away behind that tranquil
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demeanor and that practical attitude. Now she had a new cause to keep her occupied; she was obviously out to save him, both physically and spiritually. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he was a lost cause. He glanced over at her now. Gavin supposed if he had to be on the run, at least he’d had the good sense to pick a smart woman to help him. “You know, with the short black wig and that…interesting dress, no one could mistake you for the very ladylike Lacey York.” “I’m going to toss the wig,” she replied, grimacing down at the offending black clump of hair in the seat between them, “but I just might keep the dress.” “I can’t argue with that,” Gavin said, his eyes sliding over the short black knit sheath she’d hastily bought at a boutique on St. Charles. “You look very—” “Un-Lacey-like?” She grinned over at him. And caused his heart to turn to something close to bayou fen, mushy and unpredictably soft. “I’m glad you can find humor in all of this,” he said. Then he added, “And I like you whether you’re very Lacey-like or very un-Lacey-like.” She smiled again. “We don’t know much about each other, really, do we?” Gavin shook his head. “No, and if I told you everything about me, you’d stop this car and kick me out onto the levee.” “I highly doubt that. But I do have a question.” He lifted his brows, giving her a sideways glance. “Oh, here we go.”
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“No, seriously. You are obviously very much of Spanish descent. So…why is your name so very American?” He leaned back against the soft leather again, his eyes on the winding stretch of road that followed the Mississippi River. “My real name is Gavino Colon— Salvador Colon was my father’s name. He brought my mother to America when they were just married, and he found work here in New Orleans, thanks to some family connections. But he died way too young, of a heart attack, when I was five years old.” “Then your mother married Senator Prescott?” “Yes. They met at a fund-raising event—she was working as an interpreter for a government official, and he was an up-and-coming city councilman. After they married, he went on to run for higher offices. He finally made it to the state senate. Anyway, right after they got married, he adopted me out of the goodness of his heart.” Lacey gave him a sideways look. “You don’t like him very much, do you?” “No, I guess I don’t. He made my mother change my name to Gavin. Said a more American name would protect me. He just couldn’t handle my Hispanic heritage, I think. He didn’t seem impressed that both my mother and my father were descended from Spanish aristocracy—noble but impoverished at this point, I’m afraid.” “And yet he adopted you.” “Only to control me, I assure you.” “But you can’t be controlled?”
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“Apparently not, or I wouldn’t be in this mess.” “You worked for him.” “Yes, I felt I owed him after he put me through law school at Tulane and insisted I become a junior partner in his executive law firm—corporate law at its finest.” “Do you like corporate law?” “I did.” He stopped, glanced out at the fall foliage passing them by. “I wanted to be the best. In spite of my hostility toward my adopted father, I wanted to gain his respect. I think I always wanted that. But instead, I became his lackey. I was supposed to jump whenever he said jump.” Holding a hand to his nose, Gavin pinched his nostrils to ward off the headache forming. “I just got tired of trying to please him, tired of trying to second-guess him. And then I got suspicious. Too much money was changing hands, and I was expected to make sure it all got to the right places. I felt like a water boy, always carrying something. Yet whenever I’d question him, he’d turn things around to make me sound ungrateful or paranoid.” “So you think he has done something illegal?” Gavin wagged a finger toward her. “No, no. We are going to stop with this line of questions, right now. I’ve already said way too much.” “Well, I need to know what we’re up against.” “Not we, but me, Lacey. I’m up against a lot of things. You—you just need to stay clear of things. I accepted your help only because I feel obligated to protect you and watch your back, but that doesn’t mean I have to fill you in on all the details.”
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“You don’t trust me completely, do you, Gavin?” “Yes, I trust you. But I’m not going to tell you things that could harm you.” Her cheerful mood whirled away with the passing countryside. “Then how am I supposed to help you?” Gavin saw the stubborn set of her lovely jaw. “Only on a need-to-know basis.” “I see.” She turned silent as the car rounded a curve in the road. Gavin glanced back, as he’d done all the way from New Orleans, to make sure no one was following them. The long winding road was empty and flat. He turned back around, then sat up straight at the sight spread out before him. “Is this your casa?” “Yes,” she said on a quiet breath. “This is Bayou le Jardin.” Gavin swallowed once, then took in the majesty of the pink-hued mansion with the wraparound galleries and huge Doric columns sitting back behind a long row of lush evergreen live oaks. “It’s beautiful, Lacey.” She nodded, her blue eyes misty with pride. “And you know what they say, Gavin? Mi casa es su casa. Or words to that effect.” Gavin understood what she was saying. And he also understood that by agreeing to come here, he’d taken a very dangerous step. Dangerous for Lacey’s well-being. But perhaps even more dangerous for his own hurting heart.
Chapter Six
“This could be dangerous,” Gavin told her for the tenth time since they’d turned on the computer in the office just off the kitchen. “We’re talking the cops, the FBI and the Currito gang, not to mention the nasty people who work for the senator. If they trace anything back—” “I’m trusting you to cover your tracks,” Lacey replied as she handed him a glass of iced tea. “You seem to know what you’re doing.” He nodded, took a long sip of the tea. “Yes, I’m hacking into my father’s computer system. One of my many admirable qualities.” “How did you learn…to do this?” “You mean, perform criminal activities without batting an eye?” His mouth lifted in a half smile. “Remember when I told you how I’d sneak out at night and roam the city? Well, sometimes I got caught. Papa Prescott’s idea of punishment was to
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put me under house arrest. I was confined to my suite of rooms, with one of his personal bodyguards to watch over me. The fellow knew a lot about technical crimes and computer espionage, so to speak. Harry Crane—that was his name. He was there right in the middle of the beginnings of the information superhighway, knew everything there was to know about the Internet. He was bored being assigned to a teenager, so he taught me everything he knew before he moved on to a more dignified way of making a living at a legitimate software company. Meanwhile, based on what he’d taught me, I spent a lot of time at my computer, playing games and exploring new technology.” She smiled at him. “So you were a computer nerd?” Gavin nodded, grinning. “A lawyer and a computer nerd. A very bad combination, huh?” Then he stopped grinning. “I never knew both would come in handy in defending my own life.” Lacey was beginning to understand the estranged relationship between Gavin and his father. “Sounds as if this Harry spent more time with you than the senator did. I can’t believe you were held prisoner in your own home.” Gavin scowled even harder. “And now it seems I’m being held prisoner in yet another form. If he catches me, I can assure you he will gladly lock me up again—with trumped-up evidence for the FBI. But this time I’m not a child. I learned to fight dirty out on the streets, and I will do whatever it takes to bring him to justice. He’s controlled my mother—
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and me, too—for way too long. It took me so long to see the truth, to finally put all the pieces together, but this time he won’t get away with it.” Lacey sat down on the floral divan next to the desk. She could see the grim determination in Gavin’s eyes as he went back to his work. She saw no fear there, no qualms about what he had to do. Gavin seemed to possess a great sense of justice, of knowing right from wrong, in spite of the trouble and intrigue all around him. She wondered how he’d managed to retain that kind of integrity, what with roaming the streets of New Orleans and having a corrupt father for a role model. Then she glanced down at the beautiful cross necklace he wore. That piece of jewelry meant something to Gavin. Maybe it represented his own kind of faith, too. Lacey wanted him to win, wanted him to find validation. She didn’t yet understand why this was so important to her. She just knew in her soul that Gavin was on the right side of the law and that goodness always prevailed over evil. So she quieted and sank back in her seat. “Go on about your business. I’ll just read or something.” “Read, yes, that would be wise,” Gavin told her through a wry smile. “Best you don’t see how I’m getting in through the back door here.” But she didn’t want to read. She wanted to watch Gavin. He was such a fascinating man. He was obviously very smart, brilliant. He was a lawyer with a degree from Tulane, but from what she could gather
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from their conversations, his talents had been wasted working for Senator Prescott. He also seemed to be a technological whiz, from the way he keyed in computer codes and watched files and data flash across the screen. And…he was so beautiful. So dark, so very different from Neil. She kept thinking of Neil, guilt and grief filling her heart. Neil had been blond and athletic, all spitshined and clipped to military precision. Neil had always taken her breath away. She had loved him with a devotion that swelled with sweetness and light. Gavin Prescott wasn’t sweetness and light. He was darkness and danger. And yet, Lacey couldn’t stop herself from remembering the way he’d kissed her that morning in the Quarter. Nor could she forget the way he’d clutched his priceless medallion, his amulet, in his hands as he’d stared up at her with those jagged ebony eyes. Was she doing this because she wanted to help him? Or was she doing this because she was so very drawn to him? Was there so little excitement in her life that she was willing to get herself involved with an obviously dangerous man? Or did she just want something to keep her busy, to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t have to face another empty day? He needs someone, she told herself now as she watched his eyes scanning the information on the screen. He needs someone, and he found me.
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So here they sat at midnight in the quiet darkness of the great old house. No one was around for miles, and because of recent rains, the construction workers and extra groundsmen they’d hired wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. But Lacey wasn’t afraid or fearful. She again felt a kind of inner sense, an instinct that told her she was doing the right thing. She felt safe with Gavin. As she watched Gavin, she thought about this afternoon, when she’d brought him here to her home just as the sun was setting over the river. After parking the car and making sure nobody was about, they’d walked up the path to the house, then she’d given Gavin a tour of the old mansion. “The parlor and dining room,” she said, standing in the middle of the marble-floored central hallway, her arms arcing to both sides. “And behind the stairs in back, two bedrooms that we rent out when we’re open for business. On the other side, the kitchen and our private den and office, which used to be a butler’s pantry—we have our main computer in there. The Babineaux family usually hangs out in the office, but we gave them and our landscaper, Justin Hayes, a much-needed vacation this week.” She moved around the house, describing antiques, telling him the names of the stoic ancestors staring down at them from gilt-framed portraits. “We had to replace some of the flooring down here, because of the flood. And we’ve ordered some new rugs, actually old rugs—Aubusson and Turkish carpets— to replace the ones we lost. We managed to put some
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of the furniture up on blocks before the flood hit, so that helped salvage some of the oldest pieces.” She’d talked nervously but quietly as she guided him through the rooms, very much aware that she was alone with him. “Your parents?” he asked, pointing to the portrait over the mantel in the front parlor. “Yes.” “You look very much like your mother.” Lacey smiled at that. “Thank you. My mother was a lovely woman. Her name was Elisha. Elisha and Parker Dorsette. Everyone called my father Park because it means cypress tree in Chinese—Aunt Hilda found that out on her many travels and started calling him that when he was very young. But in fact, Parker means keeper of the park. He loved the swamps and bayous, loved being out in the gardens.” “They look happy,” Gavin said. “It’s a nice picture. I’m sorry you lost them.” “Thanks. It’s been rough at times. But they were doing what they loved, what they felt called to do. And they’re with God now.” Gavin nodded. “But you have good memories.” Lacey touched a hand to the gilt frame. “Mostly. Except for the horrible way they had to die. You know, Lorna held on to this picture when she got trapped here during the flood. The electricity went out, and she was terrified—she’s been scared of the dark since the night they died. She said the picture helped her to feel safe in the darkness. So I do believe they were here with her that night.”
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Gavin had touched a hand to his necklace, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the brilliant blue topaz center as he studied the portrait. “They watch over all of you.” “Yes, I think they do.” Now Lacey wondered if Gavin’s real father watched over him. They had that in common, the loss of a parent. That kind of loss ran deep and colored everything, each aspect of a child’s life. Lacey knew her parents’ deaths had certainly set the course for her family. She was only just now beginning to understand how deeply her own grief had affected her. Then she remembered—once she’d been happy, she’d overcome that initial grief. Neil had made her whole again. But her happiness had been fleeting and short-lived. Now, in spite of her deep, abiding faith, Lacey could see she’d been only half-alive, half-worshipful, and that her attempts at understanding were mired in a deep and sad resentment. She should thank Gavin for making her see that she’d only been floating through a hazy existence. Finding him, bringing him here, had made her see that being alive was a very important blessing. One she should never take for granted. So she watched him as he worked by the light of a single lamp, and she wondered about this stranger, this dangerous stranger, who’d literally fallen into her lap. She wondered if this was all a part of God’s plan, a part of His divine intervention. Had God sent Gavin to force Lacey out of her self-imposed seclu-
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sion? Or had she just become mixed up in something she’d only regret? Gavin stopped typing and looked over at her, startling her out of her musings. “Why are you staring at me, querida?” She lifted her head. “Was I staring? I’m sorry. I guess I’m just amazed by you. You play that computer like a piano.” “Nothing amazing about me, I can assure you,” he said, his words rasping out on the still air like a fencer’s dancing sword. Stretching, he grimaced as his wound protested the sudden movement. “Are you in pain?” she asked. “I could get you some aspirin. We probably need to change that bandage and put some more of Rosie Lee’s ointment on it.” “I’m fine,” Gavin replied, a shadowy smile on his dark features. “You should go to bed. It’s late.” “I’m…not sleepy,” she admitted. “It’s strange, being here alone. I’m used to having my family all around.” “And not used to having someone you barely know in the house with you.” He swiveled in the chair, his dark eyes glowing with a question. “Do I frighten you, Lacey?” “Of course not.” Not in the way he thought, at least. The most frightening thing about being around Gavin was the way he made her feel. Alive and humming. Aware and alert. On guard, but guileless. And very guilty. She got up then, her need to fidget overcoming her need to watch him. “We could take a midnight stroll through the gardens. It’s nice and cool out.”
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He arched a dark brow. “That might relieve some of this tension in my shoulders. And some of the tension I can see in you.” Then he hit another key. “Let me just save this information on a disk.” “Did you find what you were looking for?” “Not yet. It’s all there, but I’ve just got to fit it together. The paper trail is long and wide. A bank statement here, a document there. The senator keeps meticulous records, but he has covered his tracks very well. Obviously he’s paid his accountants very well, too.” His voice held a bitter, hard edge. “And he managed to hide it all from me, right under my nose. Which really makes me angry, considering he always assured me I was his most trusted confidant.” “You’ve been betrayed,” Lacey said. “That has to be an awful feeling.” Gavin shut down the computer, then got up to face her. “Sometimes I feel as if my whole life has been one big betrayal, beginning with my real father’s death.” “Well, right now you can put all of that aside. Aunt Hilda says we can carry our troubles to the garden and God will be there waiting.” From the dubious expression on his shadowy face, it was clear Gavin doubted those words. Lacey wanted to prove him wrong. So she took his hand, led him out onto the gallery. The night was still and calm, brisk with just a hint of autumn. She could smell the earthy aroma of the orange and burgundy colorful mums. Justin had planted the beautiful flowers around the property
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before he’d left to embark on yet another gardening tour somewhere up in New England, where the leaves were beginning to change colors. A full moon set a misty gray cast over the trees and flowers, and thousands of stars twinkled like fireflies above their heads. Nearby, an ancient camellia bush flourished with bright pink fluffy blossoms. “Lovely,” Gavin said, his voice just above a whisper. Lacey turned to smile at him, thinking he was referring to the gardens and the fall night. “Yes, the four seasons are always beautiful here.” “I wasn’t talking about the weather,” Gavin said. Her smile died on her face. Gavin was looking at her with such a sweet intensity, it made her dizzy. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Her skin felt clammy in spite of the crisp, cool night. He stepped close, took one of her hands in his. “Moonlight becomes you, bonita.” She lowered her head, touched a nervous hand to her pearls. “Thank you.” Gavin brought a finger to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I told you this could be dangerous.” Misunderstanding, she shook her head. “Don’t you feel safe here, away from the city?” He chuckled. “From the killers, sí. But I don’t feel so safe around you, Lacey.” “You have nothing to fear from me,” she replied, but her heart tripped up over the words even as she said them. Hadn’t she just thought the very same about him? There were many kinds of dangers in this world, she realized. And many kinds of deceptions.
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She wanted to be honest with Gavin. “I’m just here to help you, Gavin. Not scare you.” “But I think you do scare me,” he replied, his dark eyes shining like gemstones. “I’ve not had easy relationships with women. I’ve hurt people. I’ve been ruthless, dogged in trying to do my job. And because of that, I’ve always guarded my heart—no time for distractions, you understand. But I think my heart is in a very dangerous place right now. If I do become distracted, you could very easily break it.” “Don’t be silly. I’ve never been known as a heartbreaker.” She managed a feeble smile, willed her own heart to stop dancing. “You’re safe here with me, Gavin. I don’t have any illusions about things. I don’t expect…anything from you.” His hand moved over her hair. “That’s good. I don’t want you to have any illusions. I can’t—” “You can’t make any promises,” she said, finishing his words for him. “And I don’t expect any promises. The plan is to clear your name, keep these crazies from finding you, right?” She tried to move away then, because she refused to think past the obvious, refused to give in to any treacherous thoughts or needs. Or illusions. “So what do we do next?” He tugged her back around, his hands pulling through her hair. “Forget promises. How about this?” He touched his mouth to hers in a kiss as soft as a dew-covered blossom, a caress as fresh and exhilarating as the wind in the tall oaks. Then he lifted his head. “No promises, Lacey. And yet, I wish I could promise you the moon and the stars.”
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She touched a hand to his jaw. “Right now I think I can settle for another kiss.” He shouldn’t have kissed her, Gavin thought hours later as he stood at the open French doors of the first-floor bedroom. It was a lovely room, complete with a huge cherry-wood bed and a matching armoire and dresser. The furnishings were old and cozy and polished to a high sheen that glistened against the night. He felt as if he’d stepped back in time. How he wished he could do just that. Unable to sleep, he looked out over the dark gardens. The moonlight and wind made the shadows dance and frolic, and made Gavin paranoid and too alert. So he stood watch, edgy and restless, while upstairs on the third floor, Lacey slept. He wondered how she slept. Did she wear that enticing strand of pearls to bed? Did she sleep in lace and silk, perfumed lotion on her smooth, soft skin? While she lay there alone in her bed did she dream of her husband and the life they’d had together? Stop it, Gavin told himself. Stop thinking about a woman you can’t have. Stop thinking about the way she kissed you, the way she sighed in your arms. Stop thinking about the way she makes your cold, bruised heart pump with life and hope again. “It can’t be, Gavino,” he told himself. And yet, since he couldn’t sleep, and since he was so close to figuring things out, but still getting nowhere with the senator’s shady dealings, he
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resorted to a sweet dream. The dream involved Lacey, in her pearls and satin, with her arms opened to him. It involved Lacey pulling his head down to hers, her lips meeting his. It involved laughter and smiles and happy, sunny days. And beautiful, lovely nights. “Stop it,” he said out loud. He thought about leaving, just sneaking out into the night. He could go underground; he had friends on the streets of New Orleans, friends who, while they weren’t the most noble of folks, would be willing to help him out. In spite of his mother’s protests, he’d done some pro bono work on the side, just to keep his sanity. Because he’d always been fair, and he’d always worked for the underdog, he’d gained a certain notoriety among the wretched souls of the streets. Now he was the underdog. They’d help him, hide him, do whatever he asked them to do. And then Lacey would be safe. She’d be away from him and his unrealistic dreams. She could go back to her civilized, calm, good life. Being alone was much better for her than being with him, after all. He almost did it. He almost headed out the door. Then he remembered if he left her here, she would indeed be alone. And very vulnerable. If the senator or the Currito gang found out anything, anything at all, about Lacey and how she’d helped him, she’d be a sitting duck for revenge. And the FBI would love to talk to her, too, he imagined.
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“What a fine mess,” he whispered to the night. “You’ve managed to not only get her all tangled up in your problems, but now you’ve gone and gotten your own heart tangled up in…in her.” He couldn’t leave her now. But he shouldn’t, wouldn’t kiss her again. He’d keep things all business, he’d put a distance between them, to protect her. He wouldn’t lead her on anymore. Because nothing good could come of this. Gavin didn’t have anything to offer a woman like Lacey York. Not anything at all. As he stared out into the gardens of Bayou le Jardin, wishing he could find the peace Lacey assured him was there, he realized the sad part about all of this. Lacey had everything in the world to offer him, everything a man could ever want. But Gavin couldn’t accept what she was offering. Lacey lay awake, her eyes centered on the elaborate canopy of the 150-year-old tester bed that had belonged to her great-great-grandmother. She couldn’t sleep, and she didn’t want to count sheep. She wanted to remember the way Gavin had held her and kissed her there on the back gallery. She wanted to remember the way the stars had twinkled, the way the moon had beamed a direct light right down on them, the way the wind had caressed her warm skin, the way Gavin had made her feel like a delicate flower blossoming awake after a long cold winter. She wanted to remember, and yet she knew she shouldn’t. She should just put tonight’s revelations
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and awakenings out of her mind. The memories brought her such pleasure, and such tremendous guilt. She tried to replace the recent memories with other memories, memories of her time spent with Neil, memories of the love they had shared. Things were becoming blurred in her tired, confused mind. Lacey felt as if a great sheer curtain was covering her, and she wanted to fight to get free of it. She turned over to stare out the alcove doors onto the small balcony just off her room. She’d left the doors open to the night, but now the temperature had dropped. Tossing on a light robe, she got up to shut out the cold, her white cotton nightgown rippling around her legs as she looked down onto the slumbering garden. Then she saw him. Gavin was walking out in the garden. He was shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips, the white patch of his bandaged shoulder gleaming starkly against his dark skin. The moonlight touched on him, danced around him, making him look like a statue as he stopped on the path to lean up against the trunk of a towering oak. He has so much to offer, Lacey thought, her heart going out to the man down in the gardens. She knew this. She had always been a good judge of character. And Gavin Prescott possessed a certain character that was unmistakable in its essence. Aunt Hilda would say he had high moral fiber. But what would Aunt Hilda say if she knew Lacey
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was harboring a man on the run, a man in trouble with the law and two very powerful influences? “She would tell me to follow my heart,” Lacey whispered. “She would tell me to watch and pray.” So that’s what Lacey did. She prayed for the lonely figure standing down in her garden. She prayed for the dark knight who’d asked her to rescue him. She’d seen things happen here in this garden. She’d witnessed people bruised and hurting become healed and whole again. God was in this garden. And God was watching over Gavin Prescott on this beautiful autumn night. Maybe even, God’s presence had drawn Gavin out into the trees and flowers, to pray for himself. Lacey stood there on her balcony, her eyes never leaving the man down below as she asked the Lord to watch over him and protect him from harm. And when Gavin looked up, as if he knew she’d been there all along, Lacey didn’t flinch or try to hide away. She looked down at Gavin, and accepted the turmoil that raged inside her heart. “God will see us through, Gavin,” she promised on a low whisper. She would accept whatever happened. She would support Gavin through this bad time, because he needed her. But she had to keep him at a distance until she could figure out all the emotions she’d tried to deny. Right now, that help and support was all she could offer him. It might not be nearly enough, but it would have to do for a beginning. Lacey, however, intended
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to see things through to the end. That was another lesson Aunt Hilda had taught her. Always finish what you start.
Chapter Seven
“I need to order a few things over the Internet,” Gavin told Lacey the next morning. “I should use cash, but I need them quickly. And I’m sure they are monitoring my personal credit cards for any action.” “We have a business credit card,” Lacey said. “If you use that, no one could ever trace it back to you.” “You are way too trusting,” Gavin replied. “How do you know I won’t run up a bill that I can’t possibly pay?” “Is that what you plan on doing?” They were back in the den just off the kitchen. They’d had a quick breakfast of toast and fruit. And neither of them had mentioned the kisses they’d shared last night or how they’d stared at each other in the moonlight. But Gavin certainly remembered everything about last night, especially looking up to find Lacey there on the balcony above like a princess
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from some long-ago romantic tale. Except that he was no prince. He remembered last night, all right. Remembered, but refused to let things go any further. Maybe that was why he was cranky this morning. Maybe that was why he wanted to question Lacey’s seemingly unshakable faith in him. If he could show her that he couldn’t be trusted, maybe it would be easier to let her go, to watch her go. “My plan is to order a cell phone first. It’s a new type of phone, just off the market. I can access the Web with it from anywhere in the world. And I can access confidential records, too, with the right codes.” “So you need one of these phones? But why? Can’t you access records from this computer?” He pushed a hand through his spiky hair, then took a long sip of the strong smooth coffee Lacey kept readily available. “Yes, but it’s tricky. I have to go in through the back door, so to speak. I can spy on them without being detected, if I’m careful, but I don’t want anything to be traced back to you.” “It’s a little late to worry about that,” she said. “Just do what you need to do, Gavin. We’ll figure out the rest.” Gavin heard the frustration in her words. “Regrets, cara?” She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she busied herself with tidying up the already clean room. “I don’t regret helping you. I’m just worried.” But she probably regretted kissing him. Gavin
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knew this in his heart. And how could he blame her? What could he give a woman like Lacey Dorsette York? A woman who came from old money and a strong, noble lineage. Would a woman such as that want to be involved with a man who’d been adopted as a child by a man with new, tainted money? A man, a son, who had resented that adopted father, even while he wanted so very much to please him? It didn’t matter that Gavin’s real father had been an honest man of impeccable integrity, or that Gavin’s own heritage dated back to Spanish nobility. What mattered now was that he was the son of Senator Edward Prescott, and he was being set up for crimes he didn’t commit—framed by his own father. In his mind, Gavin was as tainted and guilty as the senator, simply from guilt by association. And to the world, that was the only kind of guilt that mattered. He’d be branded and ruined before he ever got his day in court. He didn’t want Lacey to have to deal with that. “You should be worried,” he said after watching her move about the room, her floral sundress falling in graceful folds over her slender legs. Each time she leaned down to pick up a magazine or straighten a pillow, her pearls fell away from her neck in an elegant sweep. Those pearls held a luster, a creamy sheen that came only from being worn so closely to warm skin. For Gavin, that sheen represented everything good and pure about Lacey. And acted as a constant reminder that he shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t want to kiss her again.
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Shouldn’t want her, period. But he did, so he resorted to grouchiness in order to hide that want. “Did you hear me?” Lacey dropped the stack of magazines she’d been organizing onto the long, low coffee table. “I heard you. I need some answers, Gavin.” “I told you why I need the phone.” “Order the phone, order whatever you need. Just tell me the truth. I can handle it.” Gavin reached up a hand to stop yet another reorganization of the neat stack of magazines. “The truth? You want the truth?” “I think that’s fair, considering.” He dropped his hand away, then stared up at her. “Considering that you might be aiding and abetting a criminal, and harboring that very criminal under your roof?” Lacey sank onto the divan, her blue eyes glimmering like a morning sky full of hope and clarity. “I don’t believe you’re a criminal. A criminal could have done any number of offending things by now, but you’re so intent on finding out the truth—I just know you’re innocent.” “Even though the latest news reports have my own father hinting that I’m involved in some sort of cover-up?” They’d heard that revelation on the earlymorning news. The senator, silver haired and impeccably dressed, had given an interview on the steps of his impressive but gaudy New Orleans mansion. “I’m worried about my son,” the senator
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had said with just the right amount of affliction in his deep Southern drawl. “His mother and I have lost sleep, we can’t eat. We just want Gavin to know that whatever kind of trouble he’s in, we are here to help him. This whole investigation has been a strain on us. I maintain that I am innocent of all charges, but I am deeply distressed that our son might be at the center of all of this. I trusted him with many of my business affairs, but I never dreamed he might be doing anything illegal. I know the truth will come out if this goes to trial. And I hope by then that Gavin will turn himself in and let us help in his defense.” Gavin had been both angered and sickened by his father’s smooth but deliberate spiel. If he didn’t put all the pieces together, and soon, he’d be the one going off to prison. Put there by his own so-called father. And his loving mother. Lacey’s face remained cool and serene as she looked at him now. “Your father is a smooth operator, no doubt. And I know you’re mad and upset by what he said, and by seeing your mother right there with him.” “Ah, my mother,” Gavin said. “Didn’t she look noble and elegant in her designer suit and flashing diamond solitaire ring? She was the perfect picture of the long-suffering mother and wife.” “Maybe she’s putting on a front, to protect you.” Gavin scowled at that. “Nita is only out to protect one person—herself. I saw that today, watching her on that screen. I saw the fear in her eyes. She’s not worried about me. She’s worried about losing her
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place in society and that hidden fortune the FBI and the district attorney are trying to locate. The money, honey. That’s the key to all of this. And from what my friend Harry Crane is telling me, the money is hidden somewhere not even computer files can trace it.” “You spoke to him on the phone earlier, right?” “Yes.” Gavin nodded. “He seems to be on my side, at least. And he’s willing to risk his neck to help me. That counts for something in my book. Now, maybe with Harry’s expertise and what I know, I can finally crack the real files—the ones that will lead me to the money and all the records.” Lacey put a hand on his arm this time. The physical contact brought a deep, frustrated longing back into Gavin’s soul. He looked down at her hand with such intensity, Lacey pulled it away as if he’d branded her. “Tell me what else you hope to accomplish by cracking into these files.” Gavin let out a breath, wondering how she could read him so well. “Maybe I should start from the beginning.” “That might be best.” She looked so calm, so sure that she almost scared Gavin into stalling again. But Lacey’s steadfast belief in him made him want to tell her everything. She deserved that much, at least. “Okay. You know about the charges being brought against my father?” She nodded. “Last I heard, he could be indicted for at least seven different counts—everything from
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bribery and embezzlement to fraud and falsification of records.” “That’s right. The FBI wired his offices and our homes—both here in New Orleans and the apartment he keeps in Baton Rouge, and even his vacation home on the Gulf. They think they have a pretty good case against him. But my father is slick. He knows which words to use and which words to avoid whenever he’s making a deal. And I know he made all kinds of deals to get the Casa de Oro Casino built in New Orleans. Plus, this was a very big deal for the Currito family, too. They have been trying to go legitimate for years. This casino gave them the perfect opportunity, and so far, from what I’m seeing and what Harry’s been able to dig up—they are clean. I think the senator strong-armed them in this case.” He stopped, took another swig of coffee. “I was involved in some of his legitimate deals—just there to make sure the paper flowed correctly—but I was never really a part of the inner circle. I now believe he had others working on some very different deals, with the real paperwork, the real contracts. I was given the accurate, legal versions of certain transactions, probably just to keep me busy. Someone else knows the real scoop. And that someone controls all the clues and secrets to his hidden earnings.” “When did you get suspicious?” He sat silent for a minute, then said, “Looking back, I remember being uneasy about this long before any contracts were drawn up. But I couldn’t put a finger on it. I just assumed because we were
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dealing with the Curritos that maybe I was being paranoid. But we had meeting after meeting and Sancho Currito himself assured us he wanted to run a clean operation. So the senator promised to back him in the legislature and with the licensing board. He gave the project his complete support, told Sancho he could make things happen. And things did happen. But then when the dust settled, and the casino had only been open a few months—other things started happening, too. “After the story broke about his possible arrest and indictment, he called me for a conference. We met at the Audubon Zoo, of all places. He said he had to be careful, because of the wiretapping. He told me he trusted me, and that I had to help him prove his innocence. Like a fool, I believed him. I soaked up the attention. He’d never really needed me before. Now, of course, I can see exactly why he needed me.” He saw the shock and the sympathy surfacing in Lacey’s eyes. “You think he set you up?” “I know he did. He put me on the case. Gave me access to files—documents that would prove he’d done nothing wrong. I thought I was making headway. Between my grunt work and the three other savvy, high-priced lawyers he’d hired, I thought we could actually clear his name. After all, all the government had was the wiretapping tapes and…it was doubtful they could prove anything said there. Without witnesses to corroborate what had taken place or explain what the conversations really meant,
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and without a viable paper trail or any illegal funds turning up, the whole investigation was pretty weak.” Lacey nodded. “So what went wrong? Why did that man try to…kill you?” Gavin touched on his cross, his whole body going rigid with the memory. “I was too good at my job. I kept digging, wanting desperately to prove that he’d done nothing wrong. After following the supposed money trail that the FBI said would seal the case, I came across some records that didn’t quite add up. I found some cash that didn’t correspond with all the bank statements and accountant records to which he’d given me access. The cash did correspond with the FBI’s investigation, though. Almost down to the penny—except we weren’t dealing in pennies. I’m talking millions and millions of dollars. “So I confronted him, and saw the truth in his eyes that night. Then he turned nasty and defensive, told me I was weak, that I’d never be able to gain any power or prestige if I didn’t know how to play the game. He claimed he was doing this for my mother and me—to secure our future. And I told him I didn’t need that kind of security.” Gavin paused, leaned back in his chair, his hands held together in front of him as if he were in prayer. He couldn’t tell Lacey what he hadn’t been able to tell his father, either. That the only security he really wanted was the love of a father, the kind of security every son craves. “We argued back and forth—him trying to justify all of it and me trying to find some sense of justice
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in the whole thing. Then he fired me, disowned me, told me to get out. And I reminded him that I didn’t owe him anything. I was only required to keep confidential the legitimate transactions I’d been involved in. I wanted to make him sweat, so I threatened him, told him that since I’d just been given my walking papers, I could turn on him. I didn’t want to keep the truth away from the authorities. They needed to know what I’d found. That was pretty stupid, but then I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I was angry and sick to my stomach. “After we argued, I found my mother and tried to talk to her, but she was in her element—entertaining and the center of attention. She told me I was overreacting, imagining things. So I decided to leave, but before I left I went into the senator’s office and did a little more research on the computer. I found some files, buried deep inside the hard drive—files that the senator probably thought he’d deleted for good. I memorized the codes and wrote down some information, then I headed toward the kitchen. That’s when I had the unfortunate luck to run into our friend Randall at the back entrance to the house. He had a gun and he was pointing it at my head.” Lacey lifted her head and closed her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about that.” “Believe me, I don’t like thinking about it, either. I knew then that I was onto the truth. Randall invited me back inside. Said the senator and Mr. Currito needed to have a word with me. I pretended to agree, then turned to face him. He pushed me forward and I
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resisted—in a big way. I wasn’t about to go under house arrest again. I managed to knock the gun out of his hand and…well, you know the rest of the story.” Lacey nodded again. “He pulled the letter opener on you and tried to stab you. Your cross deflected the weapon and saved you.” Gavin leaned forward then to take her hands in his. “Yes. I managed a jab or two at the big man— just long enough to knock him back so I could get away. I left on foot—it’s easier to hide that way and I wasn’t so sure I could drive anyway. Then after hiding in and out of side streets and alleys most of the night, I wound up in the cathedral.” She wrapped her hands over his. “And that’s where I came in, I believe.” Wishing all over again that he’d never seen her sitting there in the morning light, Gavin nodded. “Lacey, that’s it. That’s all I know, other than they’ve set up some incriminating records to make me take the fall. I have part of the information I need to get to the real records, but it’s not nearly enough. I think I know how to access those records, but they’ve probably moved them or destroyed them by now.” “That makes sense,” she said. “But you think there’s more?” Gavin hung his head, the bone-weary worry making him want to close his eyes and sleep for a week. “I know my father. And I now know how he operates. He is very thorough, very meticulous when it comes to keeping records. He’s got it all hidden somewhere—all the transactions, all the deals and all
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the money. You see, from what I’ve gathered so far, he uses these secret records as insurance over the people he bullies and bribes. Anyone who has ever needed a political favor from him has been forced to contribute to his campaigns over the years. And he’s got records of all of it—what favors were given and how much he needs to extract as payback. And he always expects payback. It took me so long to finally admit that, to finally see what had been there all along.” Lacey got up, her arms going around her midsection as she paced the floor. “That’s amazing. All that energy and intelligence wasted. And for what? Power? More money? Greed?” “All of the above,” Gavin said. He got up, too, to still her, to hold his hands on her arms. “It’s going to get pretty ugly before it ends, Lacey. Which is why I didn’t want to tell you everything.” “But all I know is what you believe to be true. I don’t know what you found or…” She stopped, stared up at him. “Where did you hide this evidence that you found?” Gavin dropped his hands and backed away. “Oh, no. You won’t get that out of me. That little bit of information would put you in even more danger. I know where it is, but I’m the only one. If they get to me, then it’s over. He’ll go free.” Lacey stalked across the space between them to grab Gavin by his shirt. “You have to tell me. If something happens to you, then I can alert the authorities. I can make sure he doesn’t get away with this.” It was too much for Gavin. He pushed her away.
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“No. I won’t put you at risk like that. They’d…I don’t want to think about what they’d do to you. Remember, the FBI and the Currito family are probably both hot on our trail, too. They’d all fight dirty, and they’d break you, Lacey. I have to protect you, and I have to keep digging.” “Then I’m going to keep digging with you.” He shook his head. “I told you I only needed a place to hide for a while, and access to a computer. Once I order all the equipment I need, I’m going back to New Orleans.” “And I’m going with you.” Gavin looked down at the woman holding his shirt and realized he had more problems than he’d ever thought possible. The determined look in Lacey’s eyes told him that he had two fights on his hands. One with the law and his father and the other with the woman in front of him. He wasn’t sure he was up to either.
Chapter Eight
“Lacey, are you all right? You sound…odd.” Lacey bit her lower lip, then tried to find a perky voice before answering her sister’s question over the phone. It was just like Lorna to sense something wasn’t right, even from hundreds of miles away. “I’m fine. Couldn’t be better, actually. I was just in the middle of making a salad to have later for lunch, and then I have to do a rather tedious inventory of some of the things I ordered in New Orleans.” Oh, and by the way, I have a very handsome and mysterious man here with me, and we’re hiding out from the FBI, his father and the Spanish Mafia. And I’ve only known him about three days. Lorna’s doubtful sigh caused Lacey to stop talking to herself. “Oh, okay. I was just surprised to find you home so soon.” “Yes, I cut my trip short. Lots to do here, though.” “Well, I called to leave a message, but since I got
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you instead of the machine, I’ll tell you—we’ll be home by this weekend. Think you can handle things for a few more days?” If you only knew. “Yes,” Lacey replied. “All is quiet here. It rained for two days—would you believe a hurricane is forming in the Gulf—so the construction work has been postponed, and Justin is still gone. I told the part-time landscapers to take a couple of days off, too. It’s too soggy for anyone to work and the weather is so unpredictable. I haven’t heard a peep from the Babineaux clan and I haven’t had a chance to ride into the village to see how Josh and Kathryn are doing with all the official business of Jardin.” “I’m sure they’re running things just fine without Aunt Hilda there,” Lorna replied. “Have you heard from her?” “Ah, no,” Lacey said, turning as Gavin walked into the kitchen. She pressed a finger to her lips to remind him to stay quiet. He went on full alert, but she smiled to reassure him. “Lorna, listen, everything is okay here. You just have fun with Mick and get some rest. You’re going into the second trimester of your pregnancy, remember?” “I remember every waking hour,” Lorna said. “And…I guess that’s why I just wanted to hear your voice. I was thinking about you this morning.” Lacey knew why her sister had been thinking of her. She’d lost her baby at five months. Lorna was approaching five months in her own pregnancy. “It won’t happen to you, Lorna,” Lacey said, more to
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reassure herself than her sister. “You’re going to have a healthy, beautiful baby.” “From your lips to God’s ears,” Lorna said. “I get so scared, and so emotional. Must be the hormones.” “That’s it,” Lacey replied, ignoring the tears misting her own eyes. “Mick will take care of you, both of you. And you have wonderful doctors in both Louisiana and Mississippi.” “I know, I know. I think I’m just worrying about nothing…and everything. Lacey, what if Mick isn’t ready for all of this?” Concerned for her sister, Lacey frowned. “What do you mean? Are you two having problems?” “No,” Lorna said, laughing shakily. “It’s just…well, Mick has been so sweet and patient.You know, he was so understanding about my achluphobia, but in spite of my unreasonable fear of the dark, we’re very much in love. We’ve only been married a few months, and I’ve just now learned to overcome my fear. My being cured is tentative at best, even though the therapist tells me I’m doing fine. I don’t have anything to obsess about, I suppose. So now I’m obsessing about whether Mick really wants a child or not.” “Has Mick said that—that he wasn’t ready for children?” “No. He seems to be on cloud nine. He’s just as happy as I am—that is, when I’m not worrying.” “So what’s the problem?” She heard her sister’s long sigh. “Well, we’re just such an…overwhelming family. I hope it’s not all too much, too soon, for Mick.”
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Lacey couldn’t help but smile. “Lorna, Mick is so in love with you, I don’t think he can be any more overwhelmed. He’s pretty much past that point. And from what I’ve seen, he can’t wait to be a father. I think you’re worrying yourself about nothing. But I certainly understand. It’s only natural, honey, to have these feelings. Your life has changed so much in the past few months. And even good, positive changes can be frightening sometimes.” “Are you sure you’re all right?” Lorna asked. “You sound almost too chirpy, too philosophical. Lucas is the poet, not you. You’re too practical. Why are you acting so strange?” “I’m trying to cheer you up, remember?” Lacey replied, wondering how she was going to convince her sister that she was okay. “I’m trying to show you that change is good.” Gavin watched her with each word, making it hard to focus on what she was saying to her sister. “Things are changing,” Lorna replied. “I just thought maybe…maybe we shouldn’t have left you all alone. I mean, we’ve never left each other alone, ever. Someone has always been there. And now, Lacey, well—” “Stop it,” Lacey said, frustration causing her to snap. “Lorna, I don’t want you or Lucas feeling sorry for me. I told you I’m fine, just fine.” “Now you really don’t sound fine,” Lorna said. “What’s going on there?” Lacey sighed, pushed a hand through her hair.
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“Just some of those changes we’re discussing, I suppose. I’m learning to enjoy the solitude here.” She looked over at Gavin and thought about how her own life had changed in just a matter of days. But then, that was the thing about life. You never knew from one day to the next, good or bad. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked her sister. “Yes, I feel better now,” Lorna replied. “I just needed someone…I just needed family. Mick’s folks are great, but I sure miss Bayou le Jardin and all of you.” “It’s different here, too,” Lacey said sincerely. “It’s odd not having everyone around, but as I said I needed this time for some changes of my own.” Deciding to change the subject, she added, “But I’m sure Lucas and Willa aren’t missing any of us. I haven’t heard from them, either.” “They’re too involved with each other to think about calling home,” Lorna replied. Then she picked right back up on Lacey’s life. “Hope you’re not lonely. Our next mission is to find someone for you. We want you to be happy again, too. I can start pondering how to make that happen, just to take my mind off the fears of parenthood.” Lacey glanced over at Gavin. The intensity of his gaze made her want to stumble and stutter, but she knew Lorna would pick up on that. So in what she hoped was a calm voice, she said, “No need to ponder about me, sister. I’m…okay, really. I was a little blue in New Orleans, but I’m holding my own, so don’t worry about any matchmaking on my part.” Gavin raised a dark eyebrow in what looked like
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a challenge to that statement, but the impact of his eyes stayed the same, steady and sure and very direct. To avoid that directness, Lacey turned her back to him. “And besides, you’ll be home soon. All of you. In the meantime, I’ll track down Aunt Hilda to tell her you’re all right and you’re having a blast.” And I will not tell her that there is a new man in my life—too many extenuating circumstances. She wished she could tell Lorna. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Lacey had never been one to keep secrets, but this time she didn’t have any choice. Her entire family would be up in arms about this particular situation. She’d explain everything when the time was right. Or maybe Gavin would be gone out of her life and she’d never have to explain her actions at all. Lorna’s voice echoed through the phone line again, jarring Lacey out of her secretive musings. “I’d appreciate that. Give Aunt Hilda our love if you talk to her. Well, guess I’ll see you at the end of the week.” Lacey hung up to find Gavin’s gaze still on her. “Is your sister all right?” “Yes. She was just checking in. We’re all very close and…it’s been a while since we’ve each gone our separate ways like this. We’re still adjusting to it, I suppose.” “Obviously.” His grin held a devastating dazzle. “Matchmaking, huh? I wonder how your sister would feel about me?” “She’d probably take one look at you and tell me you’re not nearly good enough for me.”
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“And she’d be right,” he countered, dead serious. “I was joking. My siblings are nosy and bossy, but they know when to draw the line.” He leaned over the counter. “Well, I’m sure they’d draw the line on me, in a heartbeat.” “They don’t know you. Maybe one day they will.” “I doubt that.” He got a faraway look in his eyes that made Lacey miss him already. A look that only reminded her that she didn’t know him, either. To hide her confusing feelings, she started talking about Lorna. “Lorna is having a bad case of the jitters, what with being married and with child—so many changes, but good ones.” “Are you worried about her baby?” Lacey covered the salad and put it in the refrigerator. Since she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her own miscarriage, she only nodded. “Natural, I think, to worry about a child coming into the world. Lorna was feeling kind of insecure, a bit emotional. She just needed some reassurance.” He came close, his hands resting on the corners of the wide butcher-block table. “I just wondered. You looked so sad when you were discussing it.” “Did I?” She shrugged, picked up the bottle of salad dressing she’d just mixed. To hide her nervousness, she shook the sealed glass carafe with all her might to make sure the fresh-minced garlic would mix with the olive oil and vinegar. “Probably because I’ve always wanted children of my own. Having a new niece or nephew will be the next best thing.”
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He stood there, still in borrowed clothes—courtesy of Lucas’s closet this time—still dark and brooding and mysterious. “Did you and your husband—” “Did we want children?” She whirled to put the dressing in beside the salad. “Of course.” She glanced over the contents of the refrigerator, making sure she’d done everything to prepare for lunch. She had, and now she’d run out of things to do and it was just nine o’clock in the morning, and Gavin wanted to know why she didn’t have a child. “It…didn’t happen for us.” She could feel him there, silent and still. It felt as if he knew her pain. It felt as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind. Impossible, of course. And yet, she didn’t dare look at him. Maybe she should whip up some blueberry muffins, too. Although she wasn’t the cook in the family, it would keep her busy. “Well,” he said at last, “I just came in to tell you those deliveries should arrive tomorrow. A new cell phone with a completely new number and better security measures, a laptop, so I can check e-mails with an anonymous password and remailer, and some other things I’ll need in order to crack and secure all the files.” “I see.” She finally managed to look up at him, and she hoped that her face was serene and blank. “So what do we do until then?” “We wait and watch,” Gavin told her. “Or as my aunt would say, we watch and pray.” “We could do a little of both.”
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“That means we have the whole day ahead of us.” He lifted his brows in another challenge. “Sí. But the sky is dark and the wind is chilly. Any ideas?” Lots of ideas. But not the kind that kept things professional and detached. And not the kind that involved watching and praying. Although she sure needed to do both. “I have some work to do in the shop. You could come along, if you’d like. You can play on the laptop there while I tag and inventory.” “Or I could play tag with you.” The mischievous look in his espresso-colored eyes only reminded her that she was supposed to keep her distance. And only made her want to spend the day playing tag with him. Watch and pray, Lacey, she reminded herself. Then because she resented the way he made her want to throw caution to the wind, she said, “I can’t concentrate on my work if you insist on flirting, Gavin.” “I can’t concentrate period, if you insist I hang around you all day.” She pivoted, fidgeting with the dish towels and the fresh flowers she’d picked for the center of the work island. “Then stay here at the house, or go for a walk in the gardens.” “I did all of my walking last night.” She stopped fidgeting, looked back at him. “So I noticed.” “Did you, now?” She blushed. He smiled.
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“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “And yes, I saw you walking in the gardens.” “And I saw you up there on your balcony.” “Oh, really, did you, now?” she mimicked, enjoying the way he tipped his head and grinned at her. “Yes, and I wondered what you were thinking.” She told him the truth, her eyes holding his. “I was thinking that you need my prayers, that you are a good and decent man who’s gotten caught up in something dishonorable and indecent.” He lowered his head, looked uncomfortable. “Lacey, you amaze me. You shouldn’t be so trusting, so sure.” “Are you telling me that what I feel in my heart is wrong?” “I’m telling you that I’m not so decent or good. I’ve been blind, I’ve been careless and I’ve made some really bad decisions lately. And looking back, I think I knew all along. I knew he was a criminal and I just looked the other way. That has to be the worst kind of sin.” “He’s supposed to be your father, Gavin. If not by blood, then at least in the eyes of the law. Any man would hope that his father is the best, not the worst. There is no sin in that.” “I hoped it,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But hoping and praying didn’t win out this time.” “Then we have to keep on hoping and praying,” she said quietly and with complete conviction. “What if it’s too late?” “It’s never too late when you turn to Christ. I
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watched you out in the garden last night and I knew He was there with you. It’s going to be all right, Gavin.” “Maybe, but for now no more long walks at night,” he said. “Instead, maybe we should just take a walk together, in the daylight.” She laughed then. “How about this? I do have some work to do in the shop. There should be several deliveries already waiting on the enclosed side porch for me to unpack and I’m sure more will be delivered today or tomorrow. You could come with me, if you promise to behave. Then we can take the salad and fruit I made for lunch and go on a picnic—if the rain holds off. I’ll show you the Chapel in the Garden. It’s in the forest and it’s lovely this time of year.” He pushed away from the counter, his gaze moving over her face, stopping on her mouth. “In spite of your endearing attempts to save my rotten soul, I think I like this plan.” Too late to tell him maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If he looked at her that way on the picnic, she wouldn’t be able to eat a morsel of food. “Okay. Why don’t you grab the paper. You can read it, at least, while I work. Maybe do the crossword puzzle.” “And maybe catch up on the latest political news.” “Just skip the headlines,” she said, remembering that the whole Prescott-Currito scandal had been splashed across the front in bold black print. “No, I think it might be smart to go back over that article with a fine-tooth comb,” Gavin said as he
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took the paper and folded it underneath his arm. “Maybe I’ll hit on something, remember something, see something that can help.” “Very smart.” She glanced around the tidy kitchen. “Well, lunch is all set. I’ll just pack the salad and other things in a cooler and we can get on with our day.” Although how she was supposed to put in a normal day’s work with him about, she didn’t know. “I’ll help.” Together they loaded in cups, plates and the food and drink, their fingers brushing now and then in the effort. Gavin tossed her the paper and lifted the cooler by the handle. “Lacey?” “Hmm?” She was walking ahead of him, her mind already on the work waiting for her. Her mind trying very hard to resist the way he called her name in that exotic accent, and the way his warm fingers felt against her skin. “Thank you.” She turned to find him standing there staring at her, his eyes a deep, rich dark chocolate that glistened in the gray morning light. “For what?” she asked on a breathless whisper. “For everything. For not asking the wrong questions, or the right ones, either, for that matter. For reminding me about my faith. For…believing in me.” Her gaze moved from his face to the cross medallion. “I do believe in you, Gavin. I realize I don’t know everything about you, and I don’t know or even begin to understand why I trust you. But I don’t think I’ll regret helping you. You won’t let me down.”
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“I hope not,” he said. Then he hefted the cooler and started walking. “I sure hope not.” The Antique Garden was a quaint little building that had once been the overseer’s house, Lacey explained. In recent years it had been the groundskeeper’s cottage. But a few years ago, Justin Hayes had bought a bigger house in the village. “That’s when I got the idea to turn this place into an antique and gift shop,” Lacey said. “It suits you,” Gavin said as he strolled through the elegant clutter. Nothing tacky or gaudy here. The place was just like its owner, pure class. It was a mixture of old and new, a mixture of scented candles and fresh flowers, a mixture of feminine appeal and timeless designs. Lacey looked around, pride evident in her eyes. “Well, I don’t turn a huge profit…but I needed something to do after…after Neil died.” She touched a hand to a brocade tapestry. “Sometimes I think Justin moved out of here just to give me the space. I had dabbled in antiques for years as the unofficial buyer for the house. When Neil and I were stationed in Europe, I shopped for things and shipped them home. After Neil died and I came back here, Justin was very sweet. He encouraged me to expand, spread my wings. Then the whole family got behind him and gently urged me to go for it. I have to admit, the work kept me from going crazy, kept me centered. It still does.” “And this Justin—you and he are close?” Gavin
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couldn’t help the ugly streak of jealousy in his words. And he sure wasn’t ready to justify it. Looking baffled, Lacey finally smiled. “He’s a good friend. We’ve known him since grade school and he’s…well, he’s just Justin. He’s always been around. He’s worked here at Bayou le Jardin for most of his life, in one capacity or another. He loves the land and the gardens. Very protective of this place.” “And you? Is Justin protective of you?” She lowered her head, glanced away out into the gardens. “Sometimes, yes. But he understands how things are.” Gavin hoped so. He hoped this Justin Hayes knew exactly how things were. But then, Gavin didn’t have any claims over Lacey. None at all. And he’d be gone soon. Gone. While the gallant Justin would always be around. Lacey turned on the radio, bringing a soft, classical instrumental tune out over the still air. “Ah, I know this music,” Gavin said. “My mother always played classical music in the house, and she insisted I attend the symphony with the senator and her. Even though, growing up, I preferred rock and blues.” “Which you played loudly in your room while under house arrest, I bet.” “Exactly. Just another part of the rebel in me. However, I do have an avid appreciation of the finer things in life, such as your music.” “It is very soothing,” Lacey said. “It helps me when I’m here alone. I don’t particularly like the quiet.”
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Gavin pondered that statement while he picked up a delicate china cup done in a pattern of yellow roses. “I can certainly understand that. You’ve been through a lot, so much tragedy. And yet, you’ve found beauty in the ruins.” She lowered her head, dropped her tote bag on a chair. “I’ve never looked at it that way. But there is always beauty to be found—or at least that’s what Aunt Hilda would say. She’d like you, I’m sure.” “Maybe one day—” “Yes, one day,” Lacey said. Then she turned to click on lamps and switch on the small laptop computer sitting on a walnut desk. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee. There’s a small kitchen and half bath in the back.” Gavin watched as she hurried away, her long sweeping denim skirt flying out behind her, her ruffly, heavy white cotton long-sleeved blouse looking like a trail of clouds around her shoulders. The scent of her perfume wafted through the air with a hint of magnolia and gardenia, every bit as feminine and dainty as the things with which she surrounded herself. You won’t let me down. Those words seemed to echo throughout the still shop with the overtures and crescendos of the music. She’d said them as a statement, as if he were her one last hope. Lacey had had so many letdowns, so much pain in her life, and yet she still looked for the beauty, she still managed to find the simple pleasures in life here with her treasures, here amidst the flowers and trees of this ancient garden. She was
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like a sleeping princess waiting to be awakened. Holding out for a hero? Gavin couldn’t be that hero. He couldn’t be the one to awaken her. He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to be the one. But he was afraid Lacey had pinned too many hopes on him. He was sure that in the end, he would have to let her down. Because right now he didn’t see any way out of this situation. Things didn’t look good. People would question his motives, his loyalty to his father. They’d wonder how he could have worked so closely with Prescott for so long, without even knowing what the man had been doing. And Gavin had to wonder that very thing himself. How had he let himself be duped so blatantly? He thought back over the years, thought back about how he’d worked as an intern in the senator’s offices from high school all the way through college. How he’d clerked and sweated, running errands, carrying important documents here and there, doing whatever was needed, all the way through law school. How convenient for the senator that Gavin had decided to stay in the city and attend Tulane—at his mother’s insistence, of course. How very clear now as the memories came flooding back. The memories. It had always been his mother. Nita had always been the buffer between Edward and Gavin, had always been the one to coach him, guide him, in matters concerning his father. His mother had been the one to push Gavin into working for his father, had been there to oversee each move, each
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decision regarding her son. When he really thought about it, the senator had always kept him at a distance, at arm’s length. He’d always been just outside the powerful circle of employees and friends the senator kept near. But his mother had always been right there, coaching, encouraging, making him be a part of things he really didn’t want to be involved in at all. And now Gavin could see why, could see that he’d been manipulated so prettily and so neatly, it was almost a crime. Almost a crime. He grabbed the newspaper, his heart pumping with adrenaline and dread. “Está en todo.” Lacey came back into the room then. “Did you say something, Gavin?” Gavin couldn’t speak. He stood there staring at her, his mind reeling with a horrible, cold suspicion. “Gavin, what is it?” “She’s been involved all along,” he finally said in English. “I was just too blind, too stupid to see what was right in front of my eyes.” “What are you talking about?” Lacey asked as she came over to scan the paper he had clutched in his hands. “Look,” he said, pointing to the picture of his parents. “Tell me, what do you see?” Lacey gave him a worried look, then took the paper from him, scanning the picture and the caption. “I see your parents. They’re smiling, holding hands. It’s a normal picture, in spite of all their troubles.” Gavin grabbed the paper from her, then tossed it
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down on the counter, anger bubbling over inside him. “Sí, it looks perfectly normal, doesn’t it? My mother looks like every other society matron in New Orleans. A model citizen, involved in charity work, social functions, a renowned entertainer, a renowned hostess. A woman who is clearly standing by the man she loves.” “Yes,” Lacey said. Then she placed a hand on his arm. “I know how that must upset you, Gavin. Maybe you should try calling your mother again. I’m sure in spite of how this looks, she’s probably very concerned about you. I mean, you’re her son. She’d have to be worried.” He pushed away, pivoted, his hands rushing through his hair. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? It’s all just so normal, so carefully staged, so calculated.” “I’m afraid I’m not quite following you,” Lacey said. He let out a frustrated sigh, then shook his head. “Lacey, it’s right there—it’s been right there all along. My mother—she has to be the one.” “The one? Gavin, please tell me what this is all about.” He paced the confines of the shop, his eyes not seeing the antique jewelry lining the counter or the curio cabinet full of delicate china vases. “It all makes sense now. This is the missing piece, the part of the puzzle I couldn’t quite put together.” “Which is?” “My mother,” he said on a disgusted breath. “You
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see, I figured out that someone had been carrying the documents, the records for all these illegal deals. Someone very close to my father, someone who had protected him even while that someone was duping me. I’ve racked my brains, going over all the names and files of his associates. But I kept coming up empty. But now, now I have the sick feeling that I know who the front man has been all along.” Lacey’s face showed understanding at last. “Except it’s not a man at all, right?” Gavin’s gaze held hers. “No, not a man. But a woman. A very clever, very conniving woman.” “Your mother?” Lacey asked, astonished. “My mother,” Gavin answered, equally astonished. “My very own mother may have betrayed me, Lacey. How am I supposed to fight that? How do I prove my innocence when my own mother has been working against me all along?”
Chapter Nine
“You can’t be serious? How can you be sure?” Gavin looked down at the paper again, wishing he wasn’t serious. “I’m not sure. But this is the key, Lacey. This is why I have to go back. I have to get to my mother’s records, find out where she’s been hiding all the transactions, and all of the money. Up until now, I’ve been concentrating on the senator’s files. I need to get to my mother’s personal accounts, too.” Lacey slumped down in the high-back chair behind the desk. “So you think your mother is the gobetween from your father to whoever he’s accepted bribes from?” “It makes sense now,” Gavin said. “I’ve thought about this. Last night, when I walked through the gardens, I went over my life, in slow motion, trying to see where I’d gone wrong, trying to accept that maybe I’d inadvertently done something illegal or dishonest. And it didn’t make much sense. I worked
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hard, in spite of how badly my adopted father treated me.” He stopped, hit his hand on the paper. “That man… did things to me that should have made me run for my life.” “What kind of things?” Lacey asked in a slow, cautious voice, as if she didn’t really want to know. And Gavin didn’t want to tell her. Not yet. “Let’s just say that he enjoyed inflicting punishment and pain. There was no pleasing him, ever. But the one thing that kept me sane was my mother. She was always right there between us, defending me, begging him to give me another chance. I knew I was loved—my mother loved me, taught me the ways of the church, sent me to private Christian schools where I learned the Golden Rule, and where I felt safe and accepted.” “That’s good, at least,” Lacey said, her hand reaching out to take his. “You have a solid foundation.” Gavin almost pulled away, but he needed her touch right now. “My mother always seemed so devout, so sure in her faith, or so it seemed. My abuela, Madre Selia we called her, she was very religious, very firm in her faith.” He touched a hand to the medallion. “She gave me this right before she died a few years ago. It belonged to her mother. I often wondered why she didn’t pass it down to my mother instead of me.” “Maybe your grandmother saw your strength and honor and wanted you to have this, Gavin. To remember where that strength and honor comes from.” He looked at her, seeing the goodness and
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pureness in her beautiful face. “And she didn’t see those things in my mother?” Lacey glanced away, then looked back at him, her gaze sincere and completely honest. “I can’t answer that.” “It would seem no one can. Nita has hidden her true colors so very well.” “But you’re still not sure.” “No, but it’s beginning to sink in. I don’t want to accuse my own mother, but it just makes perfect sense. All along, she pushed me toward him. She involved me in everything she could—his business holdings, his law firm. And yet, when I really think about it, I wasn’t a part of anything at all. I was just a pawn in their plans. Just a part of the family. And you know what they say about that—en familia. It was important that I remained within the family, even if I wasn’t welcomed. They had to keep me close, keep me pacified, so I wouldn’t find out the truth.” “Because they knew what you would be forced to do,” Lacey said, her hand holding tightly to his. “You would have to tell the truth, seek justice. And now you’re going to have to do just that.” Gavin didn’t answer right away. To put his own parents in jail, to turn on them completely—it didn’t set well with him. He felt sick to his stomach. But he reminded himself that Senator Edward Prescott had sent a henchman to stop Gavin. Obviously the senator had no qualms about family loyalty. No, he just demanded a different kind of loyalty, the kind Gavin couldn’t give him.
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As if sensing his dilemma, Lacey said, “Gavin, you have to do what’s right, no matter how much it hurts.” “Sí. But not if they can get to me first.” “I hope you’re wrong about all of this,” she replied, her eyes wide. “I mean, we’re talking about your parents, Gavin. Surely they wouldn’t do something so vile, so underhanded to their own son.” Gavin reminded himself of how very innocent Lacey was. And how very trusting. “Money and power make people do strange things, cara.” She gave him a fierce, protective look. “Well, if this is true, they won’t get away with it. Just tell me what I can do to help.” Gavin felt something deep inside as he stood there looking at the golden-haired woman sitting beside him. The feeling was raw in its intensity, just comforting. Her eyes held such a sweet innocence that he could almost see heaven shining there. Lacey represented what faith was all about. Her belief in the goodness of life both humbled and amazed Gavin. And made him want to hold her close, just to cleanse some of the darkness from his own soul. Instantly forgetting that he was supposed to keep his distance, he pulled her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers. “I really don’t want you any more involved in this, Lacey. It was dangerous from the start and now it’s even worse. I can’t trust any of them. And they must know by now that I have part of the information. I cracked some of the passwords and codes. They just don’t know which ones I have and they can’t be sure. So they will try to capture me
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or kill me, and if they can’t do that, they’ll make it look like I was the interloper.” “What are you going to do next?” He dropped her hand, then pointed to the paper. “My parents always hold an elaborate ball each fall to kick off the holiday season. It’s a costume ball, very fancy and very crowded with members of the Mardi Gras krewe to which they belong. Everyone who’s anyone in New Orleans will be there, along with some gate-crashers, too.” “Are you going to be a gate-crasher?” He nodded. “I think I am. If I can get in when they’re too busy entertaining to notice, I can get access to the rest of the data. It will be the best time, because even if they catch me, they wouldn’t dare make a fuss. It would ruin the party, you understand? I just hope they haven’t moved the data or destroyed it yet.” “How will you get in?” Gavin smiled then, a wry smile that didn’t bring any laughter to his heart. “Why, in costume, of course. I’m going to hide in plain sight, disguised as a normal, everyday, party-going, presumably invited guest.” Lacey got up, put her hands on his shoulders. “Then I’ll be there with you. I’ll dress in costume, too. I can be your lookout, your watchdog, whatever you call it.” “No.” Gavin shook his head, removed her hands from his arms. “You are not going to be a part of this operation, Lacey. Absolutely not.” “Yes, I absolutely am,” she replied, bobbing her head. “Gavin, look around you. I have the perfect
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setup to create costumes for both of us. I have old dresses, uniforms, disguises. We use them when we dress up for candlelight tours during the Christmas season.” “So we’ll march in there as Scarlett and Rhett?” She smiled, shook her head, made him want to smile in spite of the serious situation. “Too obvious, and we don’t want to be obvious.” “We don’t want to be conspicuous or obvious, Lacey. We need to blend in, stay close to the walls, and keep to the crowd.” Then he stepped back. “Listen to me. I’m talking as if I’ve already agreed to let you go with me.” “I am going,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling like a distant shore. “I can help you, Gavin. You can’t risk doing this alone.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose it would look less obvious if we were a couple. A lone man walking around might raise eyebrows. They’ll be waiting and watching, so security will be tight.” “Exactly,” she said, waving a hand. “We have to come up with costumes that are tasteful, yet not too attention grabbing. What’s the theme?” “Theme?” He grabbed the paper again. “The party is mentioned in this article. It says they intend to go on with tradition in spite of their political troubles, so as not to disappoint all their many friends and associates.” He grunted in disgust. “That is so very like my parents.” “We’ll use that to our advantage,” Lacey replied, ever optimistic. “The theme, Gavin?”
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He scanned the lengthy article again. “Venetian Ball.” “Perfect. Powder and wigs. I can get my hands on both. And I have costumes. I can alter what I have here and there and come up with something. When is the ball?” “Friday night. But, Lacey—” “Hush,” she said, grabbing the small cooler by the handle, then shoving it into his hands. “Let’s forget work and go for that walk. We have to hash out a plan.” Gavin could only follow her lead—for now. He’d just have to find a way to do this without her. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you’re having way too much fun with this.” “Not really,” she explained as she tugged him out onto the tiny covered side porch, past the stacked boxes she had yet to unpack and inventory. “I am just a woman who likes to stay occupied. I like to plan things out and see them set into motion.” She turned to face him, her expression very serious now. “And I like to finish what I start.” Gavin’s heart shuddered at that remark. She was very stubborn, and so very beautiful, he had to protect her whether she liked it or not. But he wanted her to understand how things were, too. “Even things that involve espionage and possible murder?” “That’s the challenge,” she said, laughing now and shrugging. “I’ve never done murder and espionage before.” Gavin stopped, then tugged her around, the sick
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feeling in his gut making him jumpy. “Lacey, this is serious. We’re not playing some sort of game here.” Her eyes darkened and she stopped smiling. “I know that, Gavin. I pretty much figured that out the day I saw you coming down that aisle in the cathedral. And I will behave in a very serious manner once we’re…uh…undercover, I can assure you.” “But?” She lifted an arm, indicating their surroundings. “But right now, the clouds are billowy even if they do look like rain later, and the fall leaves are whirling all around us. We have a plan, which we will discuss at length and finalize to perfection. In the meantime, I want to take your mind off all your troubles. If we go to the garden, I know God will listen, and He will guide us.” She was so innocent, of course. She couldn’t know what she was doing to him by offering that one small hope, by offering some time, just time, to forget the world beyond the gates of Bayou le Jardin. It would be so easy to shut the outside world away, to stay hidden in these lush, soothing gardens with her for close to forever. Lacey had apparently been doing that herself, for years. But Gavin knew that for him it was an impossible dream. He just didn’t think God would be listening to his silent pleas for guidance. And yet, he couldn’t refuse her. Just a few hours of peace, that’s all he would accept. Just for the memories. After that, he’d go back to his original intention, which was to slip away. And besides, he really didn’t want to delve into just how much his
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own mother was involved in this scam right now. The thought of that sickened him. He stared at Lacey as she grabbed a lightweight blue sweater to ward off the autumn chill. She looked so trusting, so…pure. He wanted some of that purity for himself, to get the bad taste out of his mouth and the bad feeling out of his insides. “A picnic, sí? That…would be nice.” She took his hand again, and he watched her as the wind caressed her golden hair and lifted those enticing white ruffles away from her shoulders and throat, only to expose the ever-present glistening strand of perfect pearls. “Welcome to my garden, Gavin,” she said as she tugged hair off her face. Gavin allowed her to pull him along, and somewhere between the Japanese elm trees and the towering moss-draped cypresses he accepted that he’d finally lost his heart completely and forever. And because of that, he knew his troubles had just become much, much worse. The forest was rich with the hues of autumn. They followed a well-worn path that carried them between century-old moss-draped live oaks and craggy-kneed bald cypress trees. Sprinkled in between, tallow trees with leaves upturned in brilliant shades of burgundy and red shot up like sparks from a fire. The woods were ablaze with fall. The very air smelled of ancient, rich earth combined with damp, refreshing wind. Earth, wind and fire, Gavin thought as he watched
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Lacey. She moved like a forest creature among the flowers and shrubs. She looked so natural here in her element. And she was natural—in every deed, in every action. From her simply styled hair to her minimal use of makeup to the very essence of her being, Lacey was real, genuine, honest, graceful, unhurried and unabashed. Belleza. Beautiful. Gavin had to remind himself to breathe. He’d never been so affected by a woman. He’d had lots of girlfriends, lots of lady friends, lots of women, all of whom would gladly have married him for his father’s money and power, if not for love. Some of them had actually claimed to love him. But Gavin had always held back. He’d always kept his distance. Somewhere deep inside his soul, he knew that there was such a thing as real love. And he had been waiting to find it, even if he didn’t believe he deserved it. He looked at Lacey in her pearls and ruffles and felt his heart falling away from his body like a leaf gently letting go of a tree. It was as if something dark and decadent had died inside his soul, and in its place something new and clean had emerged to be reborn. And he wondered if Lacey and her fabled Aunt Hilda might be on to something. Maybe this place did heal people. Maybe these vast, never-ending gardens did bring a perfect peace, a renewed hope, a rebirth to lost souls. Maybe here, in this secluded retreat, he could find the path back home again.
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Another impossible dream? He lowered his head, closed his eyes in a quick, gentle prayer, then glanced up to find Lacey looking back at him. “Gavin?” “Yes?” “Are you doing okay back there?” He shrugged, not yet ready to reveal all that was in his heart. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed. This place is—well, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” Lacey nodded her understanding. “The chapel is right around this curve. There’s a grape arbor between the chapel and the family cemetery. We can picnic there, if you want.” He did want. He wanted this kind of peace as a constant in his life. He wanted her in his life. He wanted to wake up knowing he had something pure and simple and precious to get him through each day. He wanted to wake up with her next to him, and go to sleep with her by his side each night. He wanted to experience God’s rich and unconditional blessings with the woman who had shown him that hope never dies. But first, he had to finish the job. He had to get rid of the ugliness, the evil in his life. Gavin followed Lacey to the long narrow grape arbor, but before he entered the shelter of the overhanging vines and intricately woven arched trellises, he made a promise to God. I will come back here one day. To her. And I will turn my life over to You, to thank You each and every day for sending her to me.
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“Is this spot all right?” Lacey asked him, pointing to a high-backed wooden bench nestled in the middle of the sun-dappled trellises. “It’s perfect,” Gavin replied, glad the dark clouds had parted for a little while. But he knew it wouldn’t be completely perfect, that the dark clouds wouldn’t go away until he could come back here and claim her for his own. Right now he’d just have to settle for this one afternoon with her. He intended to make the most of it.
Chapter Ten
L
acey decided she’d just have to make the best of the situation. Now that they were here, her cheerful mood, which she told herself had been for Gavin’s sake anyway, had vanished completely, to be replaced with the old doubts and insecurities. Why on earth had she brought Gavin here, of all places? Here where her husband and her child were buried just a few yards away, here where she’d been married in the tiny chapel, where she’d pledged her heart and soul to another man. Had she forgotten that pledge in a few short days? Had she become so caught up in the adventure, the enticement of being with Gavin, that she’d forsaken the life she’d had before? But then, she told herself bitterly, that life was over now, had been over for a very long time. And she had been so very lonely. And starved for something, someone to come into her life. She needed to be needed.
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And right now, today, Gavin needed some quiet time to reflect on all the horrible things happening in his life. Lacey couldn’t imagine being betrayed by family, by your own parents. It didn’t make any sense to her at all. She told herself that Gavin was just as lonely and needy as she was right now. She shouldn’t let her loneliness and neediness cloud her better judgment, though. She shouldn’t let her need for adventure and…something, anything exciting to happen overshadow her need to stay sane and comfortable and safe in her self-imposed seclusion. This might be exciting to her, but Gavin’s world was crashing down around him. She needed to remember that, too. Help me, Lord, she silently prayed. Wishing she had someone to confide in, Lacey busied herself with spreading out the picnic. She should pray for guidance, pray for these treacherous thoughts and feelings to leave her system. She could confide in the Lord. He knew her every thought. I need to be logical again, she told herself. I need to go back to the safe, boring Lacey, the lovable Lacey that everyone depended on, everyone counted on. And what about Gavin? she asked herself. Isn’t he counting on you now, too? She silently asked God to show her the right path. The dark-skinned hand on her arm made her stop, look up. Gavin was watching her with that intense look again. His accented question only reminded her of how very different this man was from her husband. “Are you in a hurry here for some reason?”
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To Lacey, his very words seemed to indicate words the Father might ask her, too. Why was she worrying and hurrying? God would show her the way, whether she liked that way or not. She dropped the napkins she’d been frantically unfolding. “No…I mean, I thought you’d be hungry by now.” “I am,” he said, taking her by the arms to pull her down onto the long wooden bench. “But you’re buzzing around like a cute little bee. I thought this was going to be our special time to forget the rest of the world.” Lacey glanced toward the cemetery enclosed behind a white wrought-iron picket fence and gate. Ivy clung to the spiked balustrades, its green vines twisting in the wind much the same way she was twisting up inside right now. “It is. I mean, it can be. I’m sorry. I guess my mind just got to racing. We have so much to talk about, a lot of ground to cover before the week’s out.” “Stop, then,” he said as he placed her hands in her lap. “Just sit there and let me take care of you for a change.” She felt her heart fluttering to a wary standstill. It had been so very long since anyone had offered to do that. Lacey always assumed it was her job to take care of everyone else. It had been that way for such a long time. And now this man who had so many things to deal with was willing to take care of her. She didn’t know how to react, so she just sat there, still and worried, the image of the lonely,
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quiet graveyard imprinted on her mind. Neil, she thought. Oh, Neil. Gavin took out the plates and the food. She watched as he poured two glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade from an insulated carafe, then handed her one. “Drink,” he said in a gentle voice. Lacey took a sip, let the tart liquid slide down her suddenly dry throat. “Thank you.” Then he fixed her a plate of fruit and salad. She could smell the rich vinegar and garlic from the salad dressing, could almost taste the sweetness of the strawberries and peaches. But she wasn’t sure if she could eat a bite. Gavin took a couple of grapes from a plastic container, then offered her one. She reached out to take it, but he held it back. “No. Let me.” He held the ripe, green grape to her lips. “Go ahead.” Lacey took the grape from his fingers, wondered how she was supposed to chew. She tried to find a prayer, tried to ask God to help her through this with her heart intact, but Gavin’s eyes held to hers, making her wish for forbidden things, things she had no business wishing for. Gavin handed her her plate, then fixed one for himself. Still looking at her, he took a big bite of the salad. “Mmm. This is very good.” “Thank you,” she managed to say again as she balanced her own plate on her lap. “I’m not much of a cook. Lorna is a chef—so that’s her job. But everyone likes my salad dressing.” “Spicy,” he said through a red-hot smile.
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Spicy, Lacey thought through a burning swallow. “Is this dressing your secret recipe?” “Yes.” She laughed nervously. “Even Lorna can’t quite get it right, or at least she lets me think she doesn’t know how to get it right. It’s the only thing I can come up with in the kitchen, so I suppose my talented sister is just humoring me. I usually make a batch and toss it on everything from pasta to steaks and it always works.” “Maybe because you make it with love in mind.” She choked on her lemonade. “Excuse me?” “My abuela used to say food was better when it was made with a loving hand.” “Oh. Yes, I suppose that’s true. Lorna loves to cook, and everything she makes is good.” “But you’d rather be in your shop with your antiques?” “I enjoy cooking, even if I’m not a worldly chef like my sister,” she admitted. “Or at least, I used to enjoy fixing meals for my husband.” She glanced toward the cemetery again. Gavin followed the line of her gaze. “Is he buried there?” Lacey whirled around, unable to deny it. “Yes.” “Does this make you uncomfortable, being here with me? If so, we can go somewhere else to discuss our plans.” Should she tell him the truth, the whole truth? Lacey couldn’t bring herself to do that. Instead, she put her half-eaten food down on the bench between them and got up to fold her arms over her chest to
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ward off the cool wind. “I don’t really want to discuss anything right now.” Gavin got up, too. He took a drink of lemonade, then set his glass down on a long support beam. “Then we won’t talk at all. We can go over the costumes and everything else later. In spite of your good intentions, I’m not in the mood to discuss how we’re going to bring my parents to justice right now, either.” “I’m sorry, Gavin,” she said. “This is hard on you, isn’t it?” His eyes went black. “Sí. It’s too ugly to ruin a beautiful lunch. How about we dance instead?” She gave him a surprised look. “But there’s no music.” Gavin reached for her hand, forced her to drop her arms away from her body. “Yes, there is,” he told her. “Listen.” Lacey went into his arms and let him lead her around the dirt-floored interior of the shaded arbor. She listened, hearing the sounds of their breathing, hearing the cool autumn wind playing through the trees, hearing the birds singing their praises to God and nature, hearing her own heart opening in a song of hope and longing. At the other end of the long arbor, a set of butterfly-shaped pewter wind chimes danced and fluttered in the breeze. Gavin heard them, inclined his head toward the sound. “I like the chimes.” “My brother,” she tried to explain. “He has a
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thing for bells and chimes. He’s hung them all over the property.” “Smart, romantic man. They lend themselves very nicely to the music.” “There is no music,” she repeated, more to convince herself than to stop him from drawing her closer. “Don’t you hear it?” Gavin asked, his breath fanning her throat as he held her close. “Don’t you hear the music of your garden, Lacey?” How could she not? All the sights and sounds of familiar things, things she’d been around all her life, seemed to intensify and take on new meaning in her head as she leaned against Gavin’s wounded shoulder and breathed in the scent of spice and soap. How long had it been, she wondered, since she’d stopped to really listen to life? She felt a strange tingling in her stomach, standing there in Gavin’s arms. She felt her world tilt and change in the stillness of the countryside. And she saw things in a different light. “I do,” she said, finally and with a finality that echoed her tortured thoughts. Then she lifted her head so she could see his face. He looked dark and dangerous, his face cast between sun-dappled shadows and the emerging dark clouds behind him. And he was so close. Too close. He leaned toward her, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands holding her in the center of her back as he tugged her forward. Then he lowered his mouth to hers in a soft, slow kiss that tasted of lemons and grapes. Lacey fell against him, the music surrounding her
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in a flurry of melodies and ballads that touched her soul and left her longing and wanting. She wanted to dance in his arms forever. But then she opened her eyes and remembered coming out of the chapel with Neil, remembered the bright hope of that glorious spring day. And remembered that her heart had broken into a million pieces when she’d lost both her husband and their child. She pulled away. Off over the trees, the clouds darkened to a deep gray as they puffed toward them, and the roar of thunder boomed like a bass drum, effectively stopping whatever melody she’d heard in her head. She stepped back from Gavin, held a hand to her mouth as she cried out in pain. Then she ran out of the arbor, ran toward the cemetery where her heart had been buried. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face these feelings, not here, not in this place. This had been wrong from the beginning. It had been wrong to come here with Gavin. Then why did you do it? the voice in her head cried out. Lacey couldn’t answer that voice. She kept running until she was inside the creaky low white gate, until she was standing in front of her husband’s grave. And the tiny grave that lay beside it. Gavin felt the first drops of rain as he stalked after Lacey. The weather, just like her mood, had turned ominous.
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He shouldn’t have pushed her, he told himself as he walked toward the open gate of the small cemetery. He should have stayed away from her, should have stayed up at the house working at the computer. His life was falling apart, piece by piece, and all he could think about was the woman standing in the cemetery. Too late to turn back now. Ignoring the mist of rain and the dark clouds blocking out the sun, he edged his way into the cemetery, noting the centuries of Dorsettes and other relatives buried there. It was very old. Four giant, gnarled live oaks held watch over it from each corner. Crape myrtles dotted the flat landscape, peppered between the many headstones and the weathered, aboveground stone mausoleum tombs for which Louisiana was so famous. The wind picked up, causing rustling leaves to lift in chilling, swirling circles all around Lacey. She stood there, her arms wrapped around her waist as if to hold herself in check. She was crying. Gavin couldn’t bear her tears. But they fell as softly and surely as the rain coming down. “Lacey, come back under the arbor,” he said in a gentle voice as he wrapped her forgotten sweater around her shoulders. “It’s cold and raining.” She didn’t speak. Just stood there looking down, little shivers racking her body. Gavin walked up behind her, hating the way his whole being was drawn to the man buried at her feet. Neil Lancaster York. “He was so young,” Gavin managed to say. Then wished the earth would just swallow him up. Of
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course Neil had died too young. His lovely, stillyoung, still-grieving wife was proof of that. “He was a good man,” Lacey finally said, her voice shaky and raw with emotion. “I need to remember that.” The rain picked up, blowing in fine gray sheets now. “Lacey, let’s go home. You don’t need to be out in this storm. And neither of us is in the mood for this right now.” She shrugged, held her arms tighter to her midsection. “You know, sometimes it seems as if my whole life has been one big storm. I lost my parents during a storm. Neil’s plane went down during a storm. We’ve been through tornadoes, floods, rains, winds. Does it ever end, Gavin?” He wanted to bring her in out of the storm. But he was trapped. He couldn’t offer her the life she deserved. He didn’t know how to offer her hope, either. He felt the old familiar darkness pulling at his soul, torturing him with doubt and despair. He came to stand behind her, to tug her body back against his as he gazed down at her husband’s grave. “Lacey, I don’t know how to answer that question. You’re the one with the crystal-clear faith. Why don’t you tell me?” “Faith?” She echoed the word as she held her head down, the tears misting her face as the rain misted her hair and clothes. “I go to church in that tiny building each Sunday. I walk around pretending that I’m close to God. But right now I feel as if I’ve let God down. I feel as if my faith has been a sham.”
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Gavin kissed the back of her head. “Don’t say that, bella. Don’t even think it. You are…an example of what faith is all about.You didn’t turn away from God, even in the darkest times. I wish I could say the same.” She turned to face him then, and Gavin would remember until his dying days the anguish in her blue eyes. “Oh, I’ve questioned God many, many times, Gavin. I’ve doubted and wondered and…I’ve had this bitter silence in my heart. I didn’t realize how bitter I truly was until Lorna and Lucas both found happiness. I resented my own sister and brother for finding the very things I had already known. What kind of faith is that?” “An honest one,” he told her, his hands stroking her damp hair. “Let me take you away from here. Let’s go back to the arbor. Or we can hurry back home if you want.” She lowered her head onto his shoulder, her sobs coming faster now. “I want…I want to understand. I want to know if God brought us together, or if this is some kind of test, some sort of cruel twist of fate.” Gavin held her in his arms, his gaze moving around the dark and gloomy cemetery. There didn’t seem to be any way out of this. He and Lacey were caught up in something unpredictable, something both amazing and scary. And he didn’t have a clue as to what the outcome would be. He looked down, a prayer to the God he’d ignored for so long forming in his head. And then he saw another grave beside her husband’s.
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A tiny pearl-tinged bit of marble with an etching of a cherub on it. Baby Christopher Lance York. Stillborn child of Lacey Dorsette York and Neil Lancaster York. And he at last understood the true measure of Lacey’s grief. And why she sometimes doubted the God in whom she so believed. Somehow, Gavin guided her from the grave site back under the shelter of the arbor. They were both soaked and chilled to the bone, but he didn’t push her to go home just yet. Instead, he urged her down on the bench and into his arms. And there he let her cry out the rest of her tears while he held her. The rainstorm turned gentle. Its soft, dripping cadence filled the quiet countryside, and colored the whole world in a deeper shade of autumn. Gavin held Lacey tightly to his chest, his gaze wandering back to the cemetery. It looked forlorn and sad there in the misting rain. He had to close his eyes to what he’d seen there. But he couldn’t close his heart to the woman in his arms. It wasn’t possible, like not breathing, not feeling. But there were just too many obstacles between them right now for anything other than this brief time together, in spite of his need to protect her forever. “Lacey,” he said, his voice low. “Lacey, I saw the other grave.” She didn’t lift her head. “Lance,” she said into his damp shirt. “We were going to call him Lance.
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Another name beginning with L, just to keep tradition, you understand.” “It’s a good name.” What else did you say to a grieving mother who’d lost a child at birth? “He would have been a good boy.” She shifted in his arms, as if burrowing closer for warmth. “He…I had a miscarriage when I was five months pregnant—close to six months, so close.” Her voice went so low, Gavin had to lean his head down in order to hear her. “I got to hold him in my arms for such a little while. They…didn’t want to let me, didn’t want me to remember him that way. But I remember the beauty in that tiny body. That’s what I remember.” Gavin let out a breath, then stroked her hair away from her tearstained face. “Lo siento. I’m so sorry for your loss, Lacey. So sorry.” The words weren’t nearly enough, he knew. And holding her close to his heart wasn’t enough, either. Gavin didn’t know how to deal with this kind of pain, this soul-deep sorrow. Her sorrow was guilt ridden and full of loneliness. And his presence here had only added to that burden. But Gavin wouldn’t bring that point up now. Instead he let her talk. She told him about her wedding right here in the chapel. Told him about how she’d traveled with Neil, how she’d relished being an officer’s wife. She smiled through her tears when she remembered finding out she was going to have a baby. Neil was away on temporary duty, but when he
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came back home that autumn, they celebrated together. Then, in her third month of the pregnancy, Neil had to go back. And his plane went down during a training mission. “I tried to stay strong,” she said. “I tried to keep up my strength for the baby’s sake. But I missed Neil so much. Everyone went out of their way to take care of me—Aunt Hilda, Lorna and Lucas. All the neighbors and our friends.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her tears wet against her face. “But…I didn’t do so well. I lost the baby. Gavin, I lost the baby. It’s my fault. All my fault.” A silent rage swept over Gavin. “No, bella, no. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t.” He could see it all so clearly now. How she’d been carrying this burden for so long. How she must have come here to this place day after day, standing there over those graves, her guilt and her shame surrounding her like a shroud. No wonder she had retreated from the world. He wanted to help her, wanted to bring her back to the world that needed her gentleness and her goodness so much. But he didn’t know if he was the one capable of doing that. Didn’t know if he deserved such a challenge and such an honor. But he did know one thing. Lacey liked to stay busy. That was how she handled the pain, the grief. If he could keep her busy until the end of the week, until he could leave and know she was safe, his conscience would be absolved a little bit, at least. He held her for a long time, until long after the
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rain had gone and a cool mist was all that was left in its wake. He let her cry, let her talk, let her rest. And then he decided he had only one option left. Gavin had to get Lacey back away from the brink of that dark pain he’d seen in her shining eyes today. So he lifted her head, touched a finger to her tears and told her, “I…haven’t been honest with you.” That statement made her eyes clear, but his next one made them go misty again. “I do need your help, Lacey. We need to get busy. You’re supposed to help me design an outfit for the costume ball, remember?” She nodded. “I remember.” Then she sat up, her expression almost no-nonsense again. “I’m sorry I spoiled our picnic.” Gavin ran a finger down the length of her cheekbone. “You didn’t spoil anything. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I should have respected your memories and your grief.” She got up to gather their things. “I don’t know why I brought you here. Except…it’s the one place where I can be alone with my thoughts, where I feel close to the Lord and my husband and child. I come here a lot.” So you can sit and blame yourself, he thought. “Maybe you wanted to tell me, but didn’t know how to go about it—I mean about the baby and everything you’ve been through.” “Well, now you know all of it,” she responded. “I guess I accomplished that much, at least.” That, and taking my heart, Gavin thought. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.
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He hadn’t forgotten his earlier promise, however. Somehow, he’d make things right and he’d come back here with Lacey. He’d like to believe that on that day, he’d be the one walking her down the aisle in the Chapel in the Garden. But that dream seemed as dark and misty as the surrounding countryside. It was more of an illusion, an unattainable, unreachable illusion, best left far in the recesses of his mind. But he would come back. And he’d make her forget her grief and her guilt. And maybe he’d find absolution and the redeeming love of Christ for himself in the process.
Chapter Eleven
“So, our plan is complete?” Lacey nodded at Gavin’s question. It was late and she looked exhausted. They’d spent the better part of the day working, she on their costumes and he on what to do once they got into the ball. And they’d spent the better part of their time trying to avoid the undercurrents and unanswered questions swirling like the stormy weather all around them. It didn’t help that they’d had to touch each other as they tried on their costumes, buttoning and zipping here and there. It didn’t help that she’d looked like something out of a dream in her shimmering golden gown with the ruffles and tufts. Lacey was a beauty in any century. She’d made elaborate masks from silk and paper, with materials and feathers to hide their faces, and maybe to hide their real feelings for each other. “Okay, then.” Gavin checked the boxes once
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more, already sorry that he’d have to leave her behind. “The rain’s stopped for now. I’m going to put everything we need into your car—” “Let’s take the SUV,” Lacey interrupted. Before he could question, she added, “Different vehicle. Faster getaway. And with this weather, it’ll make driving easier, too.” That broke some of the tension and only reinforced Gavin’s concerns. “You are a quick study, Lacey.” “I’m learning,” she said, her words flat and dull. Gavin hated seeing her this way, hated knowing that he was the cause of her stress and her guilt. She’d been almost listless since yesterday, since the picnic in the grape arbor. Wishing he could find a way to bring back the prim, proper, teasing Lacey he’d come to know, he grabbed up their equipment and started for the back door. “You’ll need the key,” Lacey said, rushing across the kitchen to a small key cabinet. “The SUV is in the garage down by the side entry lane. The black Yukon parked by Lucas’s Jeep.” “I’ll find it.” “You’ve got everything, right? The laptop, that other fancy little spying gadget the delivery man brought, and your cell phone?” “Got it all,” he replied. And they’d gone over the details countless times. Though Lacey wouldn’t be with him, she had no way of knowing that, so Gavin had been forced to come up with two plans—one that included her and the real one that wouldn’t. “I’ll pay you back for footing the bill.”
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“The shop footed the bill. And the delivery man is used to dropping off strange packages, so we should be clear there, too.” “Sí, all clear.” Hearing another roar of thunder, he added, “And let’s hope that tropical storm down in the Gulf veers away from New Orleans.” She gripped the keys. “If this storm turns into a full-blown hurricane, it might be hard to get back into the city.” “I know. And right here at the very end of hurricane season, too. Just another small problem to have to overcome.” But he’d do it. He’d swim into New Orleans if he had to. He wanted this over and done, storm or no storm. He lifted the hefty box, then turned to tilt it against a kitchen counter. “Lacey, when I get back…I think we need to talk.” “Of course. You’ll want to go over everything once more, just to be sure.” Gavin didn’t tell her that there was only one thing he needed to be sure about—her. He was worried about her frame of mind, about her mood. They’d both been brooding, just like the unpredictable weather. But he aimed to put a stop to Lacey’s worries, at least. He’d been bad for her from the beginning, dragging her along on this dangerous mission, dragging her nurturing heart into his dark, misguided world. He wanted her safe again. He wanted her to know she didn’t have to feel guilty because of him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “Will you be okay here?”
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“I’ll be fine. Just going to clear away our coffee cups and dessert dishes, then call it a night.” Gavin hefted the box up and started out the door. Then froze. “Lacey, there’s a car coming up the drive.” Lacey rushed to the back gallery. Squinting into the darkness, she let out a groan. “Oh, that looks like Justin’s car.” “Justin, your landscaper friend?” “Yes.” Turning to Gavin, she pushed him forward. “Go. Get out of here. You can get to the SUV and stay there in the garage until he’s gone.” “And just how long do you think that might be?” Lacey shrugged, clutched her pearls. “I don’t know. Justin can linger over the simplest of topics sometimes. Just go, Gavin. I’ll come down and find you after I’ve visited with him a bit.” “Which way?” The white car halted at the end of the graveled drive. They heard a door bang shut. “Take the path down by the summerhouse, then on to the restaurant. Keep going, following the bayou. You’ll come to the garage sitting up on the slope.” Gavin nodded, started walking. “If you don’t come for me in a few minutes, I’m coming back up here to make sure everything is all right.” “Okay, go, go,” she said as footsteps echoed over the path toward the gallery. “Get out of here before he sees you.” Gavin lugged his box out another door, then hid in the shadow of one of the great oaks, listening and watching.
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“Justin, you’re back early,” he heard Lacey say, her voice almost too surprised and cheerful. “What brings you out here so late?” “I was worried about you,” the redheaded, slender man said. “Me, I’m fine, just fine,” Lacey said as she ushered him into the kitchen. Gavin saw her turn and look out into the night. And knew she was searching for him. “You really should go up to New England with me sometime, Lacey,” Justin said as he bit into another slice of sweet-potato pie. “Mmm. Even after being frozen and reheated, Lorna’s pie is still the best.” “More coffee?” Lacey asked, nervously glancing at the big clock on the wall behind Justin’s head. He’d been chattering away about his recent trip for well over twenty minutes. “Maybe half a cup.” Justin finished his pie, then settled back to rub his stomach. “I sure missed Lorna’s and Rosie Lee’s cooking.” “Now, Justin, they have wonderful food up north. Surely you tried some clam chowder and Boston brown bread.” “Yep, but there is no food like Louisiana food. You should know that.” “You’re right, of course.” Lacey hopped up, sure she’d heard a noise outside the open doors. Stifling a yawn, she poured Justin some fresh coffee. “I’d love to travel up north one day, but…I just can’t seem to find the time.”
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Justin poked his fork into the air. “You see, that’s exactly why I came out to check on you. Saw Josh and Kathryn at the new general store in Jardin and they said you’d been so busy they hadn’t even heard from you. They were worried about you out here all by yourself.” Feeling remorseful for not calling her friends, Lacey started clearing away dishes. “Well, I was in New Orleans last weekend, as they both knew. I got back here early to do some work in the shop. I got so caught up, I just didn’t think to call.” “That’s what I mean. And that’s why I called Lucas.” Lacey looked down at the man sitting at the table. “You called Lucas in Europe, just to check up on me?” “No. He and Willa are back in the States. In New York, visiting her parents.” “Oh, really. I didn’t know that.” “That’s because you haven’t checked the messages on the answering machine or read your e-mail, obviously. Kathryn knew Lucas and Willa were winding their way home, knew Aunt Hilda’s whereabouts, even talked to Lorna—who’s just as worried about you, by the way.” Lacey let out a long sigh, her eyes still on the clock. “Don’t tell me you called Lorna, too?” “No, but Kathryn did. Lorna said you didn’t seem yourself the other day.” Holding tightly to what little patience she had left, Lacey retorted, “No, I think that was the other way around. Lorna was having a fit of worries, and I tried to comfort her. You know, that’s what I do,
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Justin. I comfort, I nurture, I try really hard to take care of everyone around here.” Justin jumped up so fast, the high-backed chair he’d been sitting in almost tipped over. Steadying it with a freckled hand, he glanced across the table at Lacey. “Hey, we all know that. That’s why we’re worried. Why you insisted on staying here alone is beyond me, but I’m back now and I’m going to take care of you for a change.” In spite of her irritation, Lacey couldn’t help but be touched by his sweetness. That was Justin, sweet, overprotective, almost annoying in the way he hovered and watched over her. Standing there, seeing the genuine concern on his face, Lacey wished she could find some feelings for Justin other than friendship. Lorna had often told her that the man was head over heels in love with her, but Lacey had refused to see it. Tonight she saw it, plain and clear. And knew she could never return that love. Especially not now, not when Gavin was out there in the dark somewhere. Still feeling raw and guilt ridden about her feelings toward Gavin only made her that much more determined to keep her head clear. “Feast or famine,” she said out loud before she’d even realized it. Aunt Hilda said that was the way of love sometimes. “What?” Justin shot her a puzzled look, then came around the table. “Lacey, you shouldn’t be alone. Lorna reminded me—it’s close to the anniversary of Neil’s death.”
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“I know that,” she said, agitation making her words harsh. “And I really wish everyone would just respect that and leave me to a little bit of private grief.” “Is that what you want?” Justin asked, his green eyes bright with pain and concern. “Do you want to be here all alone, remembering what you went through?” “Alone or in a crowd, it’s there, Justin,” she said sincerely. Then because she knew he was only trying to help, she added, “But I appreciate your thoughtfulness. And it’s good to have you home.” “Want to go for a walk or something?” She heard it again. The rustling in the hedges. Gavin, no doubt. If she didn’t get Justin out of here soon, Gavin would come rushing in like a gallant knight, bent on protecting her. But from what? Justin was harmless. “No,” she said in answer to Justin’s question. “I think I just want to get some sleep. It’s been a long day and I’m so tired.” “Of course you are. Just wanted to see you, make sure you were okay.” “I’m perfectly fine.” She started toward the door, hoping Justin would follow suit. He walked with her, slow and steady. “I’ll be around tomorrow. The wet ground’s gonna halt things, but I can do some pruning here and there, get some of the bulbs and perennials ready for winter.” Lacey’s heart raced at that statement. How was she supposed to keep Justin from finding out about Gavin? “Of course,” she said as she watched him down
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the path. “But you still have vacation coming until Monday.” “I won’t do much. Just see the lay of the land.” The lay of the land was different now, she wanted to tell him. But she wouldn’t lie to Justin. Suddenly, however, this game of espionage wasn’t so fun anymore. “Well, I guess I’ll see you then,” she said, unsure how to handle this situation. “We could have breakfast together,” Justin said hopefully. “I’d planned an early start at the shop.” “Okay.” He shrugged, then gave her a hangdog look of disappointment. “See you later, then.” “Yes. Good night, Justin.” She waited there on the gallery in the chilly, damp night wind, leaning against an aged column, until she saw the taillights of his white sedan exiting through the remote-control gate. As she turned to go back in, Lacey felt an arm go around her waist. Letting out a gasp, she glanced around to see Gavin’s face. “Gavin, you scared me.” “Sorry, querida.” He pulled her body back against his, his whisper warm in her ear. “But I think your friend Justin is going to be a problem for us.” “Let me handle Justin.” “I’m only trying to protect both of you, Lacey. If he finds me here, he will be in danger, too.” “Then maybe we’d better leave early—tonight?” “That’s a thought,” he said as he whirled her around and held her in his arms. “But we’d be safer
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here than in New Orleans a day early. We could hide, but it would be risky.” “Then you’ll just have to stay in the house, out of Justin’s way.” “Hard to do, since the man promises to pop in and out—to check on you, of course.” “He’s just being kind.” “He’s in love with you.” She looked up at Gavin’s dark eyes, wondering if she saw jealousy there, then chided herself for even thinking it. “And how do you know that? Were you listening to our conversation?” “Enough to see that the man has a bad case of… estar enamorado…he’s enamored of you. And that could make him dangerous.” “Justin Hayes, dangerous? That’s ridiculous. Justin is a decent, hardworking man and a dear friend.” But she felt a shiver and it wasn’t from the cold. “Who will do whatever it takes to protect you.” “And why do you think it will come to that, to Justin having to protect me, I mean?” His eyes were black now. And she reminded herself yet again that he was the dangerous one. And the one to whom she was inexplicably drawn. “Lacey, any number of things could go wrong between now and the night of the ball. Justin just complicates matters.” She tried to pull away, but he held her there. She stayed because he was so very warm and inviting. “I don’t see how things can get any more complicated, Gavin.”
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“Sí.” He lifted his head, his spiked, inky-black hair almost covering his dark brows as the brisk wind played through it. “Complicado, is true,” he said, his accent thickening as he leaned close. “We are complicated. I am a problem for you, because you can’t decide how you feel about me, no?” Her breath hitched. “I was talking about…what brought us together. You’re on the run, in trouble, doing dangerous deeds in the dead of night, remember? That makes all of it a problem.” In spite of the clouds shifting to cover the pale moon, she saw regret there in his dark eyes. “I told you I was a bad boy.” That brought her chin up, made her defiant. “You might have been a bad boy, Gavin. But I believe you are a good man now.” “But a man you don’t want to be attracted to, right?” She lowered her head again, closed her eyes. Gavin forced her chin back up, his hand cupping it. “You can’t even admit it, can’t even look me in the eye.” Lacey was too honest to deny what was in her heart. “Yes, I am attracted to you, but yesterday, in the arbor, I realized that it’s wrong. Very wrong.” “Because I’m such a bad boy?” “No.” “Because you can’t let go of what might have been…with your husband and your child?” “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” He released her, then turned to brush a hand over his hair. Then he leaned into the column opposite the
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one to which she’d been clinging. “Complicated,” he said again. Then he turned and walked away. Frustrated, Lacey stared out into the shadowy garden. The wet night smelled fresh and crisp, like newly washed linens. The earth here was ancient and rich, gleaned from a million fallen leaves, from the roots of the sturdy trees that had flourished through time and nature. And gleaned from the love and tender care of her family and the people who loved this land. Turn to the gardens, she heard Aunt Hilda’s sweet voice saying. Turn to the Lord. Lacey wished for the comfort of her aunt’s arms right now. Aunt Hilda would advise her, tell her to follow her heart and trust in God’s grace. Lacey looked up, saw Gavin standing underneath the same oak he’d stood by his first night here. She somehow knew without seeing that he was touching a finger to his cross necklace. Maybe he was praying, too. Maybe he was asking God to show him the way through all of this. Can it be wrong? she thought. Is it wrong to have these feelings for him? He’s so different from Neil. He’s…like a whole new awakening. A new love. And that was it, she realized. That was what was making her so afraid and so guilty. Gavin made her feel things she’d never felt with Neil. She’d always love Neil, always treasure him in her heart. But these feelings, these emotions she’d experienced since meeting Gavin—they were very overpowering and overwhelming. And very real. How could she deny that?
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Without hesitation, without thinking about yesterday or tomorrow, she went to Gavin. To tell him that she believed in his goodness, his kindness, his redemption. Even if she couldn’t let go of the past enough to share a future with him. Gavin looked up as she ran through the wet night. Without a word, he opened his arms and pulled her close, cradling her in his embrace. Then he kissed her, his hands pulling through her hair, his whispers touching on her skin as he spoke soft, sweet words into her ear. Beautiful Spanish words, endearing words, comforting words. “Usted es me corazón.” No matter the language, Lacey understood. She understood. And she felt her heart lifting out into the night…toward this man. She wrapped her arms around his broad back and pulled her hands through his dark hair so she could kiss him again. Gavin held her there, underneath the great old oak tree, and for a brief time she belonged only to him.
Chapter Twelve
It would be only him. He’d gone over and over the details in his mind, and Gavin was determined to do this on his own, his own way. He had all the equipment programmed and set up to encrypt anything he downloaded or stored on the new laptop. It would literally take an act of Congress for even the FBI to get to his files now. He also had the proper equipment to unerase any shredded hard drive files on the computer system in his father’s oversize Lake Pontchartrain mansion. He knew the files had been hidden so deeply inside the senator’s elaborate private system, they’d be hard to find. But Gavin knew each and every way there was to find a computer file. Even one that had supposedly been deleted. And what he didn’t know, his old friend Harry was ready and willing to deliver. The trick was to get in and get the job done before the senator’s wellpaid cronies hid or destroyed the data completely.
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There would be password protections to get through, shredded data to find and piece back together, but if he just had a few minutes alone in his father’s office, Gavin knew he could find the codes and thus the money trail. There had to be some slack space in the hard drive. Gavin would find it. Unable to sleep, he’d told Lacey good-night before coming into the office to scan and scour all the files he could reach and download with the stateof-the-art laptop. He’d found his own—they seemed to be safe and secure, but that could be deceiving. And he had to be careful of entering them. He’d encrypted them all under a new code, had used a backdoor entry, had been careful that he couldn’t be traced. If he lost his laptop, he could access everything from the cell phone, and he could easily relocate the laptop with the tracking device he’d also installed. It would beep loudly enough for him to find the laptop, even with the mansion crowded with guests for the ball. But if that happened, it would be just a matter of time before the FBI figured it out, or before his father nailed him. He stopped for a minute to glance up at the clock in the tiny room off the kitchen. It was almost dawn. The rain had returned, falling softly against the brown-tinged magnolia leaves just outside the window. It was getting colder outside, too. He touched a hand to the heavy cross hanging around his neck and thought of Lacey. He thought of how she’d come to him there in the garden, how she’d rushed headlong into his open, waiting arms.
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How could she have known that Gavin had been standing there, holding this very cross, praying to the God he’d so often taken for granted? Praying for a way out. For both Lacey and himself. Praying for guidance, and the strength to walk away from her, to do the things he had to do to find his honor again, to find his soul again. He’d been standing there in her garden, praying to her God, his God, when she’d come to him. Gavin had been so overwhelmed, he could do nothing but take her in his arms and try to tell her how he was feeling. He’d spoken in Spanish. Did she know that he’d told her she was his heart, that he would come back to her someday? Before the sun came up, he’d leave her. Tomorrow this special place would be just a memory. The touch of her lips to his would be just a memory. The way she felt in his arms would be just a memory. He’d kissed her one last time at the door of her room. And without words they had conveyed what they had been feeling since the day they’d met. He’d wanted to tell her so many things, and yet he’d only kissed her and told her good-night. Now everything was ready. He’d done all he could from here. He was going to New Orleans today, before Justin came back and found him here. He’d wait until the right time to enter the heavily guarded, heavily decorated estate of Senator Edward Prescott. Gavin was going to march in there and take back everything the senator had taken from him. Silently he packed the rest of his equipment inside
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the black duffel bag with the laptop, then checked the CDs and disks he’d need to download all the evidence, and made sure the cell phone was on and operating. Then he went into the kitchen to look around. The big room was dark, but still warm and inviting. A single light glittered over the huge industrial stove. The refrigerator hummed, the cabinets and countertops glimmered and gleamed. A clay pot of yellow and white mums graced the center of the long breakfast table. Gavin would miss this kitchen, this house. He carefully unlocked the French doors, as silent and stealthy as he used to be when he’d sneak away from his room and roam the streets of New Orleans. This was it. He hefted the square-shaped bag’s sturdy strap over one shoulder, turned to take one last look at the kitchen, then pivoted to leave before he changed his mind. And was greeted with an iron-hard hand grabbing him around the throat, and a carefully controlled whisper near his ear. “I don’t know who you are, pal, or what you’re doing in my kitchen, but you’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.” Gavin tried to find his breath as he stared into the face of the black-eyed, raven-haired, very angry man holding him back against the glass-paned door. Telling himself to stay cool, for Lacey’s sake, he kept his own expression blank and tried to speak. “Can’t—” “Can’t talk?” the man asked, releasing his hold just enough to give Gavin some much-needed air. “How’s that, better, oui?”
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Recognition hit Gavin even as the first precious breath swept through his lungs. “Lucas?” The man gave him a skeptical look of surprise. “How do you know my name, man?” Relief swept over Gavin. He had not been looking forward to a fistfight before he got out of here. “Lacey…talks about you all the time.” That brought Lucas Dorsette’s strong hand back to his throat. “And what would you know about my sister?” With an equally effective grip, Gavin brought his free hand up to grab Lucas’s arms, then stood noseto-nose with Lacey’s angry brother. “If you’ll let me go, I’ll tell you everything I know.” Lucas glared at him a full minute. Gavin held his ground, knowing that first impressions made lasting impressions. And knowing that he was going to have to do some fancy maneuvering to get out of here before Lacey discovered him in a tussle with her overly protective brother. Finally, with a snarl, Lucas shoved him back into the dark kitchen, then closed the door with a booted foot. “Start talking.” Gavin set the duffel bag down on the counter, then ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.” Lucas circled him in a slow, lazy observation. “Me, I got plenty of time. You, on the other hand, mon ami, your time is running out.” Gavin held his hands up. “Okay. I met Lacey in New Orleans—” “And followed her home?”
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How to play this? “She invited me here,” Gavin said, nodding. Lucas grinned, then folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the opposite counter. “Lacey invited you? My Lacey?” “Your Lacey,” Gavin said, noting that the sun was coming up and that pesky Justin might be arriving any minute. He had to get out of here soon, or all the men in Lacey’s life would be ganging up on him. Lucas shook his head, then wagged a finger. “Now, you see, that just doesn’t sound like the Lacey I know and love. And besides, if she invited you here why are you trying so hard to sneak out at the crack of dawn?” Gavin shrugged, laughed. “You got me there. I have to get back to New Orleans and I didn’t want to wake Lacey.” The amused expression on Lucas’s face changed like a bolt of lightning crossing the swamp. “And just how are things between you and Lacey, anyway? Just exactly how close are you and my sister, that she’d invite you back here?” Growing impatient now, Gavin let out a sigh of frustration. “Look, like I said, it’s a long story and I really need to get going now. I will tell you that your sister’s honor is safe. I’ve been a gentleman in every regard. Lacey can fill you in on all the details, if she wants to.” “No, no.” Lucas dropped his hands to his side, shot Gavin a wry grin. “I’d rather hear it from you— gentleman to gentleman.” Gavin decided to tell it straight. “I can’t explain right now, but I have to get out of here. I have to get
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back to New Orleans today. So you need to let me go. It’s for Lacey’s sake. I have to leave before she wakes up.” Lucas pursed his lips, shot Gavin a look of disdain. “Oh, it’s that way, hein? Love her and leave her?” Gavin decided he might just welcome that fistfight after all. “You’ve got it all wrong, Lucas. Lacey has been very kind to me. She’s helped me with some…business problems.” “Oh, and what kind of business are you in, exactly?” “I’m a lawyer.” “Really. Mind telling me your name, then, since you know mine?” Gavin lowered his head, tried to count to ten. Lucas had been out of the country, so it was possible that he hadn’t heard the local news. “It’s Prescott. Gavin Prescott.” Lucas held a finger to his chin, as if he were deep in thought. “Prescott. That name sounds familiar.” “It’s a common American name.” “Yeah, but you’re more of a Hispanic descent, if I pegged your accent, right?” “I am,” Gavin replied, not giving away any more than he had to. Lucas inched forward. “Okay, Mr. Latino. I don’t buy the name. And I don’t buy your story. It looks to me like you might be trying to make a fast getaway with the heirloom silver. What’s in the duffel bag, anyway?” “My laptop,” Gavin said, eyeing the black canvas bag he’d laid on the counter. “I do have work to do.”
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“And in such a hurry to get it done.” Gavin prepared himself. He was going to grab the duffel bag and rush at Lucas, hitting him just hard enough to knock him down. Then he was going to run. It was the only choice he had. But first he’d give Lacey’s brother fair warning. “I’m leaving now.” He edged toward the bag. “I don’t want any trouble. But I’m going to leave.” “Right.” Lucas watched him with a steady determination. Gavin had to give him credit. The man was as tenacious as a gator stalking its quarry. He could understand Lucas’s need to protect Lacey, though. He felt that same need. Which was why he was going to have to knock out her brother right now. He lunged for the small duffel bag right as Lucas lunged for him. With a grunt, Gavin got to the bag, then shoved it right into Lucas’s rock-hard gut. Winded but not down, Lucas growled and backed against the counter while Gavin headed for the door. Lucas slammed into Gavin’s back, dragging him against the door enough to cause the panes to rattle. The door came open and they both fell with a loud thud out onto the brick floor of the gallery. The duffel bag went flying as the two men, equal in size, rolled and struggled together, each throwing punches. And that’s how Lacey found them. At first her heart went into a tailspin. Someone had Gavin down on the ground, trying to strangle him! Grabbing a large cast-iron frying pan, Lacey
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rushed out onto the porch, prepared to hit the attacker squarely on the head. Until she saw the dark head and recognized the familiar shouts of some choice Cajun slang words. “Lucas,” she screamed. “Lucas, let him up! Lucas?” Her brother glanced back, but didn’t answer. And didn’t stop his attack. But Gavin took the slight inclination of Lucas’s head as a second of advantage, whirling with both hands on Lucas’s arms so he could flip the other man over and pin him down. Briefly. Before Lucas grunted and tried to force Gavin off, using the tried-and-true strangulation technique that seemed to be his specialty. “Lucas Dorsette,” Lacey shouted, “don’t make me have to use this frying pan. I said let him go!” Some of the rage left Lucas’s flushed face as he pulled his hands away from Gavin’s throat. Still wary, Gavin kept Lucas pinned there in the mud and dirt just off the porch floor, then looked over his shoulder to find Lacey standing there in a blue flowing robe with a frying pan raised over her head. Heaving a breath, Gavin lifted himself up, bringing the still-fuming Lucas with him to a sitting position. Gulping several much-needed breaths, he said, “Your brother is one hotheaded hombre.” “Tell me about it,” Lacey said, glaring down at Lucas. He glared right back, his gaze shifting from her to Gavin. “Well, what am I supposed to think? I get a call from Lorna, followed by a call from Aunt
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Hilda, followed by yet another call from Justin, telling me that something strange is going on. Mimi called Kathryn and told her your town house in New Orleans had been ransacked, and because Kathryn didn’t want to upset you, and because Justin had told Kathryn that you didn’t want any calls, she called me first. I tell you, it’s hard to have a honeymoon with this family always interrupting! I left Willa with her parents and took the red-eye home, parked down by the bayou so I could check things out—only to find this…lawyer lurking about in my kitchen at five o’clock in the morning. And I haven’t even had a decent cup of coffee yet!” He said more, but he lapsed into Cajun French. Gavin got the impression he really didn’t want to hear this part, anyway. Finally Lucas stopped ranting and shoved a hand at the arm Gavin still held to his. “Get away from me.” “Gladly,” Gavin said, rising off the wet ground. He had mud all over him and he hurt, especially in his wounded shoulder. Lucas stayed on the ground, his knees up, his hands hanging palm-down over them. “Don’t go anywhere,” he told Gavin. “I mean, I know you were in an all-fired hurry to get out of here this morning, but… you’ve still got some explaining to do.” Lacey looked from her brother to Gavin, shock and realization colliding inside her stomach. “Yes, you certainly do. Gavin, were you going to go to New Orleans without me?”
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Gavin sent Lucas a heated gaze, but remained silent. Lacey’s heart sank. He couldn’t even face her. Which meant he’d been planning on leaving, all right. “You were, weren’t you?” she said, her eyes misting. But she refused to cry. And she didn’t understand why his betrayal should hurt so much. Lucas got up then, brushing his jeans off with an elegance that bordered on arrogance. “That was the plan, sister—at least, that’s all I could get out of him. Now, would you both like to tell me exactly what’s going on, over a very strong pot of coffee?” Gavin watched as Lacey whirled with feminine fury back into the kitchen, then said over her shoulder, “I’d like to know that myself.” “Thanks a lot,” Gavin said to Lucas on a low, threatening voice. “Anytime.” Lucas gestured toward the kitchen. “She’s waiting for you, pal.” Then he tapped Gavin on the arm. “Hey, just a friendly warning. If you hurt my sister, you have me to answer to, understand, Don Juan?” Gavin nodded. “When I explain things, I hope you’ll understand that I’m trying very hard not to hurt your sister.” “I’m all ears,” Lucas replied through a dark scowl. Gavin went back inside, thinking that for a remote plantation house, this place sure was getting crowded. And the more people involved, the more danger for all of them. He wondered how he was ever going to pull this off now.
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And he wondered if Lacey would ever forgive him for trying to leave her behind. He walked up to her, reached out a hand. “Stop it,” she said, hurt and disappointment written clearly in her eyes. “Lacey—” “You were just going to go, without a word, without an explanation or a goodbye?” “Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “Yes, I was.”
Chapter Thirteen
L
acey put the coffee on to brew. Loudly. Banging pots and pans, she managed to scrape up some toast and jelly. Without looking at either her mud-caked brother’s inquisitive eyes or Gavin’s dirty brooding face, she slammed plates onto the table and slid cups down beside them. Lucas seemed to be slightly amused, in spite of the worried looks he cast her way now and again. “You’ve made her mad,” he pointed out to Gavin with a smirk. “Maybe she’s mad at you,” Gavin countered with a scowl of his own. “You should have just minded your business.” “She is my business,” Lucas replied, his dark eyes turning cool again. Lacey had had enough. Whirling to face them at last, she held up a hand. “Would you both just stop it. I’m here, in the room. And I’m mad at both of you.”
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They started talking at once. “Why me?” Lucas asked, surprise coloring his expression. “You have every right to be angry at me,” Gavin admitted, lowering his head. “See. He says you should be mad at him,” Lucas pointed out. “That clears me.” “No, it doesn’t,” she retorted, pouring his coffee very close to the brim. “You blast in here, attack a guest in our home, wrestling with him like a schoolboy—” Lucas threw his hands in the air. “I thought the man was a thief. And…I was worried about you.” “And that’s another thing,” she said, raising her own hand. “I do so wish everyone would just quit worrying about me. If I don’t want to answer the phone or talk to anyone, that’s my business.” “Not when you’re staying here all alone,” Lucas replied, his gaze sweeping over Gavin with contempt. Then he took a long swig of coffee and closed his eyes briefly, as if savoring the moment. “Now,” he said as he put his cup down, “let’s hear it, Lacey. All of it.” Lacey glanced over at Gavin. He looked impatient and mad himself. Maybe because his attempt to leave her behind had been foiled. She supposed she should thank Lucas. If he hadn’t shown up, Gavin would be long gone by now. And she would have been alone, all alone, again. Lucas drummed his fingers on the counter. “I’m waiting. I’d really like to know what our friend here is doing—or was trying to do—when I found him.”
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Lacey let out a long-suffering sigh. “I met Gavin in New Orleans.” “So he told me.” “Okay, then that’s all you need to know.” Lucas shook his head. “Ah, non, chère. It’s not like you to bring home strays.” He said this with a look of complete disdain toward Gavin. “He’s not a stray,” Lacey said, rattled and soul weary. “Look, Lucas, I can explain everything, but you have to promise that you won’t get angry and attack Gavin again. I brought him here. It was my decision.” Lucas watched her, his eyebrows rising. “You’re scaring me, Lacey. I have a feeling I’m not gonna like this.” Gavin got up to stare across the table at Lacey. “Just let me go, Lacey. Let me go and get this thing done. You don’t need to be there.” “Is that why you were leaving so early?” she asked, ignoring her brother’s confused look. “After everything we’ve been through, you were just going to leave without a word.” “It wasn’t like that,” Gavin replied, his hands braced against the table. “Can we talk privately, so I can make you see reason?” “Hey, she can see reason right here with me in the room,” Lucas said. “But me, I don’t feel so reasonable and I’m beginning to think my sister is in way over her head.” “She is,” Gavin told him, turning to frown at him. “I need to get back to New Orleans. And you need to convince your sister to stay here where it’s safe.”
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Lucas ran a hand through his dark curls. “Lacey, I don’t like the man, but if you’re in some kind of danger, then I have to agree with him.” “I can take care of myself,” Lacey said, her gaze moving between the two men. “I would have been fine with Gavin in New Orleans. Gavin just doesn’t trust me.” She ignored the little voice in her head that reminded her of the way he’d held her last night. She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her now with those black-hot eyes. “That’s not it, bella,” Gavin said, his words low. “You should know that’s not it.” “Bella, is it?” Lucas got up, shook a finger in Gavin’s bruised face. “I don’t think I like you speaking to my sister on such intimate terms.” Gavin shoved Lucas away with an impatient grunt, then came around the table to face Lacey. “Your sister is a lady. I respect her in every way. Which is why I was trying to spare her any more pain.” “Sounds logical to me, sister,” Lucas said, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched them. Lacey felt the intensity of her brother’s knowing gaze, saw the little flare of understanding in his dark eyes. Lacey tried to stay calm. If Gavin got any closer, Lucas would see everything. He’d know she was in love with Gavin. She’d accepted that right along with the realization that he’d planned on leaving her behind. “We need to talk,” Gavin said to her, his voice low, his accent stretching like a growl.
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“Lucas,” she said, her eyes on Gavin, “could you leave us alone for a minute?” “No.” “Lucas, please!” “I still don’t know what’s going on,” Lucas pointed out, not budging. “I’ll tell you everything if you just give us some time together,” Lacey said. “Looks to me as if you’ve had way too much time together already.” Lacey let out a frustrated sigh, then gave her brother a defiant look. “Lucas, please leave the room.” With a groan, Lucas grabbed a piece of toast, placed it over the top of his cup, then took the nearly full coffeepot in the other hand. “I’ll be out on the gallery nursing my split lip.” He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, it burst open. A very pregnant Lorna entered, with her husband, Mick, carefully guiding her from behind. “We’re home!” Lorna shouted, smiling until her eyes settled on Gavin. “We came back a little early— oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know we had a guest.” Then she glanced over her brother’s muddy clothes and cut mouth. “Lucas, what happened to you?” Her eyes met Lacey’s before she looked back at Gavin. “What’s going on?” “Come on in, Lorna. Hey, Mick!” Lucas put down the coffeepot and turned to Lacey. “Get some more cups, bella.” He glared at Gavin as he emphasized that word. “It’s going to be a long morning.”
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Before Lacey could move or speak, Willa breezed in through the open door, her blue-eyed gaze immediately searching out her husband. “Lucas, I was so worried. Mother didn’t like it, but I insisted on catching the next plane out right behind you, to see what was going on—” She, too, stopped short at the sight of the mud all over Lucas and Gavin. Touching a finger to Lucas’s wounded lip, she said, “You’re hurt. Is everything all right?” Lucas yanked her into his arms, crushing her in a dirt-soggy hug. “It is now that you’re here. I missed you.” “We were only apart about five hours,” Willa pointed out, grinning and cooing sweet nothings in his ear. “I’m confused,” Mick said, his arm around Lorna’s waist as he carefully surveyed the room. “Join the crowd,” Lucas told him, holding his own wife in his arms and shooting Lorna and Mick meaningful glances as he rocked Willa gently. Lacey could only stare at all of them. They were all here, and home way too early. Lorna and Mick. Lucas and Willa. And Gavin. How was she going to explain this? How would she ever be able to continue helping Gavin now? He didn’t want her help anymore, she reminded herself. Gavin looked at the curious group, then turned to Lacey, his angry words making his accent very pro-
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nounced. “Why don’t you just go ahead and call Justin and Tía Hilda, too. And that other family—the Babineaux, sí, let’s get them in on this, too. In fact, why don’t we just alert the media and get it over with!” He continued in Spanish, rapid and animated, waving his hands in the air. “¡Qué’mas da? Loco! The whole situation has gone loco!” Lacey felt the heat of his anger as her sister advanced on her with a bemused expression. Lorna leaned close, gave Lacey a hug. “He’s kind of intriguing…and colorful. Where’d you find him?” “In New Orleans,” Lucas offered, still holding his tall, slender wife. “And she was just about to explain the whole story to me.” Lacey shot her infuriating brother a scalding look. “No, I was just about to talk to Gavin in private.” “Gavin—nice to meet you,” Lorna said, extending her hand. “I’m Lorna Love, Lacey’s sister.” Gavin shook her hand, his face blank, his angry eyes on Lacey. “Haló.” Then Lorna politely introduced the rest of them. “This is my husband, Mick, and…I believe you’ve met Lucas. Here’s his wife, Willa.” Gavin nodded, grunted a greeting. “Let’s just tell them,” Lacey finally said. “We’ll tell them…and then you can leave. After all, that is what you want, isn’t it?” Gavin kept his eyes on her. “You have no idea what I want right now.” Lucas chuckled, then pulled out a chair for Willa. “This is gonna be good, folks. Everybody have a
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seat and let’s listen close while Mr. Gavin Prescott explains what he’s doing here alone with our sister. And why he was trying to leave in the dark of dawn.” Cups clashed and chairs scraped across the floor while everyone started talking. “Gavin Prescott? Related to the senator? Isn’t he in some sort of political trouble?” “What’s gotten into you, Lacey?” “What’s Lucas talking about, anyway?” “Somebody pass the cream and sugar.” Lacey didn’t hear any of it. Didn’t see any of it. All she could see was the dread and anger in Gavin’s infuriated gaze. He didn’t trust her enough to even tell her goodbye. Maybe because he’d known she wouldn’t let him go without her. Well, now he was going to find out that he could trust her, and her family, too. Because now he didn’t have any other choice. A couple of hours later it had all taken a turn for the worse. Her family now knew the whole story. And…they weren’t taking it so well. “Do you realize how dangerous this is?” Lorna asked Lacey as they walked with Willa through the wet gardens. The rain had stopped briefly, but the dark clouds to the west threatened to burst forth again at any time. They’d left Mick and Lucas talking with Gavin in the kitchen. Interrogating him, no doubt. Lacey nodded, then stopped by an ancient crape myrtle. The vivid hot-pink blooms were gone, dried
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and mostly fallen away now that fall had come. “I know exactly how dangerous it is, but you have to understand. I believe in Gavin.” Lorna stared hard at her, as if trying to read her mind. “Why? Because he’s handsome and intriguing? Because he’s exotic and different? Because he’s the first man you’ve even been remotely connected to since—” Lacey pivoted, anger stifling her words. “Since Neil? Do you think I’m that desperate, that pathetic, Lorna? That I’d jump at the chance to be with another man, any man? I’ve had plenty of opportunities before this, but you of all people know that my grief has held me prisoner. Look at Justin! He and I could easily have…we could have become close if I’d chosen to do so. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Willa had remained silent, watching the two sisters talk things out. Now she spoke up. “Speaking of Justin, he’s been hovering around all morning, Lacey. He’s asking questions, too.” “I know,” Lacey said on a sigh. “He came by last night, but he didn’t see Gavin. I wish I could explain things, but he doesn’t need to get involved. I wish I could find Justin attractive and settle down with him, but it’s just not that way between us. Oh, I do sound pathetic.” “No, you don’t,” Lorna said, taking Lacey’s hand in hers. “And I don’t think you’re desperate, either. Justin has always been around. He’s as dependable as the sun and the moon, and we’ve all taken him for granted. This man—Gavin—is different. And that’s what worries
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me. Are you sure you aren’t caught up in something you can’t control—and I don’t mean the political scandal and all the people who might be out to harm Gavin and you. I’m worried about that, of course, but I’m also worried about your emotional state. Don’t let this man drag you down with him, Lacey.” Lacey looked at her sister. In spite of the concern in her eyes, Lorna was glowing with health and happiness, lush with joy. Lacey paled in comparison. It made her feel sick to her stomach to think her sister might be right. Was she rushing desperately and blindly into a relationship that would only lead to another heartbreak? “I was doing just fine until y’all decided to come home and check up on me.” “Don’t go getting defensive,” Lorna retorted, one hand resting on her rounded stomach. Willa ran a hand through the short blond hair that framed her oval face, causing her jade hoop earrings to sway against her long neck. “Lucas insisted on coming home once he heard about the town house being broken into. We love you, Lacey.” Lacey pulled her hand away from Lorna’s, then went to sit on a lattice-backed bench near the butterfly garden. The old wood felt damp against the fabric of her skirt. “I know you’re all concerned, which is why I tried to keep this from you to begin with, but I have to defend Gavin. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the pain and…despair in his eyes when he asked me to help him.” Lorna slowly eased down beside her. “No, we
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weren’t there. But are you sure you didn’t let that get to you? What if it’s all an act? Now that we know who he really is, that we’re harboring someone wanted in connection with some serious crimes, I just have to wonder if he hasn’t been using you.” Lacey lowered her head to stare down at the maple leaves that had fallen on the path. “How could he be using me? Nothing has happened, except that I brought him here to keep those men from finding him. They would have killed him.” “And they could have killed you,” Willa reminded her. “Gavin protected me. We…we helped each other. He’s been very polite, very concerned. That’s why he was trying to leave this morning. He was trying to protect me, to keep me safe.” She stopped, held a hand to her mouth. “I did lend him some money to buy the equipment.” “What equipment?” Lorna asked, her green eyes going wide. “How much money?” “He needed a laptop and cell phone. He lost his other phone when his father’s men were chasing us. And besides, we think they traced it. That’s probably how they found us at the town house—he tried to call his mother once.” Lorna groaned. “Do you hear yourself? Being chased, having to replace expensive equipment, so Gavin can get the goods on his own father? What have you gotten yourself into?” “Gavin will pay me back for the equipment,” Lacey said. “I know he will. And after the things he’s
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told me about his father, I think the man needs to be brought down a peg or two.” Lorna got up then, but Lacey didn’t miss the worried look she shot Willa. “But what will Gavin do if he’s behind bars and you get implicated for helping him? What if he’s the guilty one, and not his father? Can he ever repay you if you lose your heart to him, plus go to jail for helping him?” Confusion raged in Lacey’s mind. But she kept remembering last night, and how Gavin had held her there underneath the old oak tree. She remembered his words. Even in Spanish, she’d understood what he was trying to tell her. Or had she just imagined that he’d offered her his heart? Then she thought about the necklace he wore, the medallion he refused to remove from around his neck. “I’ve already lost my heart to him,” she told Lorna. “And I won’t be going to jail. I trust Gavin and I intend to see this through until the end.” Lorna let out a frustrated groan. “No matter what that end might be?” “Did you give up on Mick? Did you listen to everyone else? Did Lucas give up on Willa—no, he followed her to New York, held fast even though she told him to stay away.” Willa leaned against a trellis, folded her arms over her green silk sweater, a bittersweet smile on her face. “The Dorsettes are a stubborn lot.” “Well, everyone else wanted Mick and me to be together,” Lorna reminded her. “This is different.” “Not so different,” Lacey said as she got up to
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walk back to the house. Then she turned to stare at her sister and her new sister-in-law. “You—both of you—were in love and you were running from that love. Lorna, you didn’t want to admit how you felt about Mick. And Willa, you were battling a serious illness. But you couldn’t deny what you felt, either of you. I’m in love again, too…but I’m running toward that love. I’ve loved and lost before, so I’ve learned a thing or two. Every minute is precious. I’m not going to deny my feelings—not when my instincts tell me it’s so right.” “She’s got a point,” Willa said, smiling softly again as she started walking with Lacey. “And every minute is precious. I should know that.” Lorna followed them back up the path, frowning. “Lacey, I don’t want to deny you any happiness. You deserve that and more. But, honey, this is very dangerous.” “I’ll be okay, I promise,” Lacey told her. “Gavin knows what he’s doing—he’s very smart and capable.” “Oh, really? Then why is he hiding out here?” “He had to have a quiet place to plan his strategy,” Lacey replied. “You have to believe me, Lorna. Gavin is trying to clear his name.” Lorna stood there for a minute, then she hugged her sister close. “I wish Aunt Hilda were here.” “Me, too,” Lacey said. “But we can’t rely on her forever, you know.” “I know. So we’re just going to have to turn it over to God. And I trust you to do what you think is right. Just be careful.”
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Lacey wiped a tear away, then smiled. “It probably doesn’t matter now, anyway. Gavin was planning on leaving this morning when Lucas caught him. I don’t think he really wants me around anymore, because he has this misguided sense of not being good enough for me, I think, but I haven’t had a chance to find out how he really feels.” “I’m sure he cares about you. If he was leaving, it’s for your own protection,” Willa said. “And he is being smart regarding that. If he knows what he’s doing, then let him go. You and he can find each other when this mess is cleared up and he’s a free man. If that happens.” “It will.” “Then maybe you should listen to him and stop interfering.” “Hmmm. Maybe so. Or maybe he really is done with me and it’s time for him to move on. Maybe I was wrong about him after all. I just don’t know. I thought I knew, but now I’m beginning to wonder.” She looked toward the house where they’d left the men. “Either way, I’m going to find him and talk about it until we reach an agreement.” “Well, Prescott, you and I agree on one thing at least,” Lucas told Gavin as they stood on the boat dock near the bayou. “You need to move on. You’ve put Lacey and this family in a very dangerous position.” “Sí,” Gavin said, his gaze moving out over the brackish swamp waters. “I’ve been trying to tell you that all day.”
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Mick stood with them, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. “Lacey has a good heart, Gavin. She…she wouldn’t know how to turn away from someone who’s hurt or in need.” “I saw that in her right away,” Gavin said, hating the way his voice grew raspy and weak. “I don’t want to hurt your sister, Lucas.” Lucas still looked doubtful. “Man, if these people are as nasty as you say, what’s to keep them from coming after Lacey even after you leave?” “After tonight, it should all be over,” Gavin told him. “I’m going back there to find what I need—to clear my name and to put the senator away for good.” “And if that doesn’t happen?” Mick asked, his gaze direct and unflinching. “If…if something goes wrong,” Gavin said, stopping to find the right words, “then Lacey will be safe. They will come after me. They don’t know anything about her.” “They broke in to her hotel room and her house,” Lucas reminded him. “And they shot at both of you.” “I don’t think they found anything to trace back here,” Gavin replied. “Lacey and I were very careful, and I’ve been careful in not giving her any details other than what she’d hear on the news anyway.” “Yeah, right. That’s why you got stabbed and shot at, hein?” Lucas scowled at him, his dark eyes wary. “We’re not that far from New Orleans. They could have followed y’all.” “We made sure they didn’t.”
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Mick had been quiet, but now he looked up. “So you hid out here, ordered some sort of hotshot equipment so you can go back to your father’s fancy costume party and hack into his computer system to find the dirt on him?” “That’s about the gist of it,” Gavin said. “And I will pay Lacey back, for everything.” “I know that for true,” Lucas retorted. “I’m going to personally see to it.” Gavin felt weary from the day’s events. They’d managed to keep him away from Lacey, which was probably a good thing, because in his state of mind he just might kidnap her and take her with him, just to make her see reason. But he still had to get to New Orleans by nightfall—without Lacey. He looked at Lucas and gave it one more shot. “Listen, I don’t have much left except my honor. And I will honor Lacey. I couldn’t do that to her. She’s a good woman.” He went still and quiet as he stared down into the bayou. He remembered holding her close while she cried. He remembered kissing her, and wishing he was worthy of her love. “And the strangest part—she somehow sees the good in me, if there’s any left.” Lucas pushed at his shoulder. “Bonté, you’re in love with Lacey!” Mick lifted his dark brows in surprise, then glanced at Gavin. “Oh, man. That does complicate matters.” Gavin nodded, then expelled a slow breath. “It’s all complicated. And sí, I do love her.” He could admit that now, now that he’d been forced to lay all
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his cards on the table. Saying it out loud only added to his woes, however. “But…you can’t tell her that.” Lucas’s expression changed from wariness to understanding. “So you really were trying to leave to protect her.” Again Gavin nodded. “And now that you’re all here, I can leave knowing she’s going to be all right.” “And then what?” Lucas asked. “What happens when this is all over?” Gavin grabbed Lucas’s shirtfront, bunching the soft cotton in his fingers. “I’m coming back for her, whether you like it or not.” Lucas actually chuckled. “I get you, mon ami. For true, if you love her and can make her a good life and you get your name cleared and all criminal activity put aside—you know, little things like that tend to cloud a relationship—then you have my blessings. But that remains to be seen, oui?” Gavin let go, then breathed a sigh of relief. “Then can I please leave now?” “But what about Lacey?” Mick asked. “She’s of the mind that she’s going with you.” Gavin started toward the garage. “You’ll just have to change her mind.” “You know Lacey,” Lucas replied. “That won’t be easy.” “Keep her here,” Gavin said, unable to say anything more. “Keep her safe.” Mick and Lucas watched as he headed down the path. Then he turned. “Oh, by the way, Lacey said I could use the SUV.”
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Lucas frowned, then shrugged. “But of course. I guess you’ll send a new one if anything happens, right?” “Right,” Gavin called. Then he stopped to wave to them. “Gracias.” Lucas turned back to Mick. “He can thank us when he gets this mess straightened out.” “And when he comes back for Lacey,” Mick said. “If he comes back,” Lucas said, glancing over his shoulder as he heard the SUV start up. “If.”
Chapter Fourteen
He almost made it out of the garage. But then Gavin spotted them. Two men in a dark sedan, parked just outside the electronic gate. He could see them through the trees and shrubbery, all of which were just bare enough that he had a straight line of vision from the secluded garage to the main road. Thankfully, the gate was shut and they couldn’t get in without the entry code. But why were they parked there? FBI? he wondered. Or maybe someone posing as FBI. Gavin quickly parked the SUV back in the garage, then skirted the back wall and made his way back up the bayou toward the mansion. He darted here and there, hoping to make it back inside the house to warn Lacey and the others. He was just coming around the summerhouse when Justin Hayes stepped out of the bushes. “Who are you?”
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Gavin sighed long and hard, not wanting yet another fight on his hands. “I’m a friend of Lacey’s. I forgot something up at the house.” Justin squinted at him, then frowned. “I don’t recall you being up at the house.” “I was,” Gavin told him, glancing over his shoulder. “Lacey was kind enough to let me hang out here for a couple of days.” “With her?” Gavin nodded, then started up the path. “She didn’t tell me that last night when I saw her.” Gavin shrugged, tried to act nonchalant. “It was late and she probably saw no reason to tell you.” “Is this what all the fuss is about?” Justin asked, following Gavin toward the back of the house. “What fuss?” Gavin wanted to slug the inquisitive man, but held his temper. It had been a long day and it was probably going to get worse before it got better. “I’ve seen everyone huddled together,” Justin said, coming around to stop in front of Gavin. “Lacey seems upset. Is that because of you?” Forced to face the man, Gavin gave the scrawny redheaded garden warrior a long, hard look. “Lacey has a lot on her mind. Now, I really need to get back to the house.” “I’ll go with you, then.” Gavin threw up his hands. “Fine. That’s fine.” He and Justin were greeted at the door by Lucas and Mick. “Back so soon?” Lucas asked, a wry smirk on his face.
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“We’ve got problems,” Gavin said on a low whisper, thumbing over his shoulder toward the road. “It’s either the feds or some of my father’s henchmen. Either way, I can’t get past them. Any ideas?” “I’ve got lots of ideas,” Lucas replied, the smirk gone as he went into full alert. “But you probably wouldn’t like any of them.” Justin trailed behind Gavin, but he hadn’t heard the conversation. “Why is he lurking around the gardens, Lucas? Is he really a friend of Lacey’s?” “Good questions, Justin,” Lucas said, slapping Justin on the back. “And the answers are ‘I don’t know’ and ‘Yes, we think so.’” “Do you need me to escort him off the property?” Gavin whirled to glare at Justin. “Just try it, amigo. I suggest you go back to your potting soil.” “I don’t like your tone, mister,” Justin said, his hands on his hips, his freckled face turning red. “Justin!” Lacey came into the hallway, her gaze sweeping over her brother and Gavin. “Justin, this is…my friend Gavin. It’s okay, really. Gavin and I need to have a private talk.” She turned to face Gavin, the look in her eyes accusing. “I’ve been looking for you.” “I don’t like this, Lacey,” Justin said. “Was he here last night?” “Yes.” She nodded. “He was in his room asleep.” Justin took that in, frowned, then whirled toward the door. “You could have told me.” “I’m sorry,” Lacey said, her eyes still on Gavin. Justin just waved a hand and kept walking. “I’ll
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be in the front gardens if y’all need me.” Then he shot a glance at Lacey over his shoulder. “Which I doubt you will.” “You hurt his feelings,” Lucas pointed out. “I’ve made a mess of everything,” Lacey said, taking Gavin by the arm. “But I’m about to straighten it all out.” “Hold on.” Gavin pulled his arm away. “Lacey, we’ve got more visitors. And I don’t think these two are related to you.” Lucas stepped between them. “Your friend here is bringing all sorts of folks out to the country— bad folks.” Lacey’s eyes widened. “Lucas, you’ve got to get us out of here.” “Excuse me?” “You can take us through the swamp. We can get a car in the village so we can get to New Orleans.” Lucas threw up his hands in frustration. “Well, why not just get the Piper and fly right out of here?” “That would be even better,” Lacey said, completely serious. “You have gone off your rocker,” Lucas told her. “Lacey, there are men out there, watching the house.” Gavin ran a hand over his hair. “I just need to get out of here before they find me. They probably want to ask some questions, get some information. But we can’t be sure. If they get to me, I’ll never make it to New Orleans tonight.” Mick backed into the hallway from the front parlor. “One of the men came in through the gate at
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the end of the oaks. Just walked right in. We need to check that lock. I just saw him talking to Justin.” Gavin watched as Lacey’s skin went pale. “Justin will tell them everything, Lucas. He’ll tell them Gavin is here.” “She’s right,” Mick said, glancing back over his shoulder to the yard. “Where are Lorna and Willa?” “They’re upstairs, unpacking,” Lacey said. “Mick, go up and tell them to stay there.” Mick hurried up the long central hallway to the winding staircase, then shouted down as he looked through the French windows. “Justin is walking with him toward the house.” “And what about you?” Gavin asked. “Lacey, this is why I tried to leave. Now I’ve put you and your family in even more danger.” “You got that right, buddy,” Lucas retorted, his eyes watchful. “Why didn’t you just keep going while you had the chance?” “Because those goons were out there waiting,” Gavin said, fully aware that Lacey was staring at him with a hurt expression. “I didn’t want to leave without warning you. And I didn’t want them to break in to the house.” “Well, one of ’em got in somehow,” Lucas said. He turned to stare out the glass-paned double doors. “And Justin is bringing him inside.” Lacey glanced around. “He’ll see us.” Then she grabbed Gavin by the hand. “Come with me.” Lucas watched her, his hands on his hips. “Where are you going?”
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“The elevator,” she whispered. “We can take it to the second floor and hide up there until you get rid of him.” “Moi?” Lucas pointed to his chest. “I’m supposed to get rid of them?” “Lucas,” she said, pleading, “just do this for me.” “Oh, and then I get to somehow transport both of you through the swamp to the other side of the village, right?” “You are a very good brother,” Lacey replied as she dragged Gavin with her. Gavin didn’t hear all of Lucas’s reply, but the part he did hear didn’t sound encouraging. He stopped, lifted Lacey’s hand away from his arm. “I’m going out there to face them. I can’t do this, Lacey.” “Hush,” she said, all business now. “Just come with me until we find out who they are, at least.” He couldn’t argue with that logic, so he followed her. “What’s this?” he asked while she pressed a discreet brass button beside what looked like a door underneath the curve of the staircase. “It’s a small elevator my aunt uses to get upstairs. She has a very bad arthritic knee and has to use a cane.” Gavin watched as the small white door swished open. The elevator looked like a closet door tucked behind the stairwell. “Very smart,” he said as he entered with Lacey. She closed the door, then turned and bumped into him. He couldn’t resist. He took her into his arms and kissed her. “I’m sorry.”
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She looked up at him with confusion and longing. “For getting me in this mess, or for leaving me to clean up after you? Or maybe for planning on leaving me, period?” He touched a hand to her cheek. “You’re hurt and angry. I don’t blame you.” “Let me go,” she whispered, her gaze falling away. “I can’t. It’s a very small elevator.” “It’s made for one person.” “Then stand close to me.” She tried to squirm away, to turn her head. He pulled her back, kissed her again. “I’ll miss your scent, Lacey. You smell like a garden at midnight.” “Don’t.” She pushed at his chest with her hands. “Don’t do that to me. You…you were just going to leave—you were on your way again when you saw those men, weren’t you?” “Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t want you in New Orleans tonight. It’s too dangerous.” “But I thought we were a team. I thought we were in this together.” Gavin touched his forehead to hers. She was warm and soft and so sweet. “Lacey, we can’t be in this together. This is my problem. I have to straighten this out alone.” “Without me?” “Sí, but not because I don’t want you with me.” “Maybe because you don’t want me at all.” “I do, querida. I do.”
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The doors of the elevator creaked open as he finished his declaration. “I want us to be together, Lacey. But after this is over.” Gavin turned to find Lorna and Willa standing at an upstairs window, a knowing look on their feminine faces. He supposed they’d heard that last statement. And he really didn’t care. Lacey shot out of the elevator, her face flushed. “Where’s Lucas?” Lorna put a finger to her lips. “He’s down there giving a good ol’ Cajun runaround to our visitor. Mick is with him, just to make sure the stranger doesn’t stray up here.” Willa nodded. “And Justin is backing him up.” “Justin?” “Yes. He brought the man inside, introduced him as Special Agent Dan Gleason from the FBI, then proceeded to tell the man that no one here knows anything about any investigation of any state senator. I think he’s trying to talk the man into a tizzy so he’ll just leave. Right now they’re all discussing crop rotation, or something.” Gavin saw the look of surprise and appreciation on Lacey’s face. Maybe she had feelings for Justin after all. Maybe she regretted putting Justin in such a position. “Y’all could hide in there,” Lorna suggested, pointing toward a small sitting room between the bedrooms. “If you want to finish your…elevator conversation.”
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“We’re through talking,” Lacey said as she whirled past them into the room. “Oh, okay.” Lorna gave Gavin a penetrating look, but let him pass. He went into the whitewashed room and closed the door to the overly interested women in the hallway. “We are not finished.” Lacey stood at a small alcove window, surrounded by antique white wicker furniture and floral curtains, staring down at the gardens. “I think we are. You’re going to walk away and I’ll never see you again.” Anger and agitation made his words harsh. “Have you stopped to think that I have a lot riding on tonight? Have you considered that I might not be able to ever see you again?” She whirled, her blue eyes like shattered ice. “I’ve considered it all, Gavin. I’ve prayed for you. For your safety, for your integrity. I’ve asked God to give you the strength to get through this. I know this is a dangerous thing. I know this is for keeps. That’s why—” She stopped, took a long breath. “That’s why I want to be there with you. I just feel that if I’m there I can somehow protect you, keep you from harm. Isn’t that silly?” Gavin came across the soft woven rug to tug her around. “You are my angel. That’s why I have to protect you.” “Why does everyone treat me as if I might break?” she asked, her eyes wide and misty. “I’ve had to be so strong, Gavin. All my life. I lived in a jungle as a child. I watched my parents talk to people
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about God, watched them bring so many people to Christ. Then I watched them being brutally murdered. I came here, to this safe retreat, and I found love with a man who was so wonderful, so good, so strong. After we got married I thought I had it all, and then everything good and pure was taken from me. A person can’t go through those tragedies without some sort of strength. And yet everyone seems to think I’m so fragile. I won’t break. I haven’t broken yet.” He stood there, watching her face, seeing the grief and pain in her eyes, and then he asked, “But what if I’m the one who does finally break you?” She turned away, back toward the window. “Then… I’ll remember our time together and I’ll go back to my life here. I’ll stay strong in my faith. That’s all I can do.” He knew she was being brave. He knew she would mourn yet again. And this time she might not ever come out of her retreat. Which was why he had to get away. Without her. So he tried to make her understand. “Lacey, these past few days with you have been like…like coming home. You are such an example of the kind of life I have longed for, the kind of life I might have had if my real father hadn’t died.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I want to spend time with you. I want to take you to Spain and show you the home of my ancestors. I want to walk through these gardens with you, day and night. I want…so much.” She turned then, falling against him, her arms going around his neck. “Gavin, you do care. I was afraid—”
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He hushed her with another kiss. “I would never hurt you. That much I can promise.” She bobbed her head, touched a hand to his hair. “And I only want to help you. I told you I believe in you. Why can’t you believe in me?” He reached up, his hands holding her face. “I do believe in you, and because of you, I’m beginning to believe in myself again. And…I’m beginning to trust in God again. You have given me that gift.” “I want to give you more,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Gavin, I’m so afraid if you leave, I won’t ever see you again. And there’s still so much I need to know, so many questions.” He kissed her again. Then he lifted his head and said, “I promise you, I will be back. I will come back here for you, no matter what.” “How can I be sure?” Gavin stepped back, then pulled the silverchained cross necklace from around his neck. He placed it over Lacey’s head, then held his hand there on it as it lay cradled against the soft cashmere of her sweater, its intricately threaded strands tangling with her pearls. “I want you to keep this with you until you see me again. If…if something happens to me, this will give you the answers you seek.” Lacey touched her hand over his, her eyes bright with tears. “I can’t take this, Gavin. You need it with you. You told me to never take it away from you.” “You didn’t take it,” he said as he brought her hand up to his lips. “I’m giving it to you. I want you to have it.”
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“But—” “I know now that I have Christ to protect me. You taught me that.” He held her there, watching the tears stream down her face. “Keep this close, Lacey. Remember it will help you through whatever comes next.” She nodded, her voice husky and soft. “And you’ll come back to me, right?” “I promise, bella. I promise.” He turned to leave. “Where are you going now? What are you going to do?” “I’m going to go down there and tell that agent everything I know and hope he’s really with the FBI and he believes me. Then I’m going to New Orleans to confront my parents. I’m tired of running.” “So here’s the deal,” Lucas said an hour later as they all sat around the kitchen, their sandwiches mostly untouched. “Gavin is headed to New Orleans.” The rain had returned with a vengeance and the weatherman had predicted the storm brewing along the coast could become a full-blown hurricane by nightfall. “We feel certain that our friend Gleason was really with the FBI. Gavin confronted the man and pretty much made him call everybody from the governor on up to prove that. And now the FBI has agreed to let Gavin wear a wire when he goes to the ball tonight, in exchange for complete immunity. Gavin will dress in costume, only he’ll be packing a little transmitter that will feed any conversations he
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has right back to our friend Gleason and his sidekick in the sedan or the van or whatever they decide to hide in outside the mansion gates. And of course while Gavin is there, he’s planning his side operation of tapping in to his father’s secret files, too. What a party animal.” He’d said that last to lighten things up, but Lacey couldn’t find the energy to smile. It just wasn’t funny. She sat with her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. She was still numb, still worried. So worried. “They’re sending Gavin in there as a decoy. They’re testing him to see if he’s loyal to the government or his father. How can he deal with that? How?” Lucas cast a glance at Lorna, then touched a hand to Lacey’s arm. “Gavin knows what he’s doing—you said that yourself. He was up front with Agent Gleason, told the man exactly what had happened. And he made it seem as if he’d forced you to hide him here, and we naturally backed him up on that one, so you’re in the clear for now.” “How comforting,” Lacey replied, the roar of rain only echoing the roar of fear and rage inside her head and heart. “I should be there, too. I could do something, anything, to help Gavin.” “He didn’t want you there,” Lorna reminded her. “Why don’t you go on up to your room and try to rest.” Lacey got up to stare down at her brother and sister. “I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to be pampered and protected. Don’t you understand? Gavin turned himself in to protect me.”
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“And to clear his name,” Mick reminded her from his position by the counter. “Lacey, the man seems like a decent fellow. He did the only thing he could do. He stopped running. And this way, he gets to do what he’d set out to do, but with the backing of the FBI.” “What if he’s walking into a trap?” Lacey asked, looking from one anxious face to another. She clutched the heavy silver jeweled cross in her hand, praying with all her might that Gavin would be safe. Just keep him safe, Lord. Keep him safe and I’ll accept whatever happens after that. Willa got up to come and put her arm around Lacey. “I think Lucas is right. I think Gavin knows exactly what he’s doing. He really grilled that FBI agent today, asking just as many questions of him as that man did of Gavin. He made it very clear that he knew his rights, he knew what to expect and he knew he had an edge.” “He is a lawyer,” Lucas reminded her with a cynical smile. Lacey looked up then. “What edge?” “Gavin told the man he already had part of the encrypted code to his father’s secret files,” Lucas said. “He made a deal with Gleason, said he’d give over the files after tonight. After he had a chance to go back in and find the missing links.” Lacey stared at Willa, then turned to face Lucas. “So you think Gleason is banking on that information, just in case Gavin fails tonight?” “That’s what we believe,” Mick told her. “We all
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talked about it after they left. But I think Gavin has a plan that he didn’t share with our friend from the FBI.” “Which means your new boyfriend is very smart,” Lucas told her, a grin on his face. “So cheer up, chère. It’s gonna all turn out okay. I promise.” Remembering Gavin’s promise, Lacey held tightly to the blue topaz centered in the necklace. Willa looked down at the cross. “That’s a beautiful necklace. I saw it on Gavin before.” “He gave it to me,” Lacey said. “As a promise that he’d be back.” “Then there you have it,” Lucas said, coming around the table to put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, I suggest we all hunker down and wait out this storm. I’m going to go out and find Justin. He was checking to make sure everything was secure in the gardens and outbuildings.” “I’ll help, too,” Mick replied. “We need to get it all done before nightfall.” Lacey watched them put on raincoats and galoshes and head out the back door. “Another storm.” Lorna got up to put their dishes in the sink. “Let’s hope this one doesn’t bring more flooding or damage.” Willa stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go on up. I’m so tired from taking that early flight.” “Of course,” Lorna told her. “You need to rest anyway.” Then she touched Willa’s slender arm. “We’re so glad you’re home and that you’re healing. I’m sure Dr. Savoy will give you a clean bill of health next week, too.”
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“Thanks,” Willa replied. “As much as I enjoyed our honeymoon, I have to admit it’s good to be back home.” “She’s bouncing back from all the radiation and chemo,” Lorna said after Willa had left. “She looks great and I like the short hairstyle.” Lacey nodded. “I’m thankful that her cancer is in remission. Lucas loves her so much.” For a while she moved about the kitchen in silence. Then she turned to face her sister. “I’m going, Lorna.” “Going where?” “New Orleans. I’m going to go to the senator’s mansion to find Gavin.” “You can’t do that,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Haven’t you heard a word we said here?” “I heard it all, and I’m going. Gavin might have a Plan B, but I want to be there to see it with my own eyes.” “So you’re going to go out in a raging thunderstorm, then head right into the path of a possible hurricane?” “Yes. And I need you to help me. I have to come up with another costume, so Gavin won’t spot me too soon.” “Oh, no.” Lorna paced back and forth, her hands on her rounded stomach. “I won’t do it. For one thing, Lucas would have a fit. And Gavin—we promised him we’d keep you here.” “You don’t have to honor that. I’ll explain to him that it was my decision.” “Lacey, I don’t like this—” “Well, we didn’t like it when Lucas took the Piper and flew to New York to find Willa, either, did we?
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But that didn’t stop him. And I didn’t like it the day you decided to stay here during the flood, but that didn’t stop you. I’m going and that’s that.” The door opened then and Justin walked in, dripping water from his yellow rain slicker. He looked up to find Lorna and Lacey locked in a battle of wills. “What’s going on?” “Justin,” Lacey said, moving across the kitchen to him, “I need your help.” “Sure. What is it?” “Can you bring your truck up to the house for me in about half an hour? I have to go out.” “In this weather? Lacey, it’s bad out there.” “Justin, I really need you to do this.” Lorna groaned and threw up her hands. “Don’t listen to her, Justin.” But Justin was listening, thankfully. He stood there wet and dejected, his eyes on Lacey. “You want to find him, don’t you?” “I have to, Justin. I have to get to New Orleans before this storm gets any worse.” “And you want me to help you?” “Yes. I just need you to bring the truck around.” Justin stood there, then nodded. “I’m going with you.” “What? No, you don’t have to do that.” “Lacey, if you’re determined to find this man, then I’m going with you, just in case you need me.” Lorna gave Lacey a warning look. “Justin, that’s way too…dangerous.” “I know,” Justin replied, his steady gaze on Lacey.
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“And I also know that Lacey will never have feelings for me the way I have for her. So…if she really cares about this other man and wants to find him, then I’ll help her out.” He smiled at Lacey, a sad resolved smile. “I just want you to be happy again.” “Oh, Justin,” Lacey said as she rushed to hug him tight. “You are a good friend. I wish—” He hushed her with a hand on her mouth. “Don’t wish for things you don’t really want. Go get ready. I’ll bring the truck around.” He left, still dripping. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Lorna said. “And you know I can’t go with you.” “No, you need to stay here and take care of that baby. But you can call our friend Sheila and ask her to have a costume ready for me when I arrive in New Orleans. Tell her I’ll pay extra for making her come out to her shop in a storm.” “Lucas is going to be so angry.” “Lucas has been impulsive and headstrong all of his life. I’ve watched him do things his way for a very long time. Now it’s my turn.” “Aunt Hilda would disapprove.” “Yes, but she’d also understand. All my life I’ve tried to be the strong one. It was just a front, and you all saw right through it. Why else would you rush home and become so overly protective? As long as I stayed quiet and dependable, you thought I was safe. But now I need to do this, Lorna. I need to break out of that facade I’ve created.” “Did you have to choose such a risky way to do it?”
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“I don’t have a choice. Gavin needs me.” Lorna finally nodded, sighed in defeat, then hugged Lacey close. “Don’t do anything stupid.” “I love him, Lorna.” “I know, I know. I just wish loving him wasn’t so dangerous.” “Say a prayer for us, then.” “I will. And please, call me so I won’t worry.” “All right.” Lacey hugged her sister, grabbed a raincoat off the coatrack in the office, then ran to get into the waiting truck. The day turned into night and the rain picked up, slashing and bashing the house and gardens. Just one more storm to get through, Lacey thought. Then it would all be over, one way or another. She held her hand to Gavin’s cross and prayed. And remembered his promise.
Chapter Fifteen
In spite of the threat of a hurricane, the Prescott mansion was open for business. Gavin had managed to slip in with another group of revelers who’d instructed their limo driver to pull up underneath the round portico at the front door to avoid the driving rain. He was in heavy disguise, dressed as a cross between Mozart and George Washington in a resplendent gold brocade waistcoat and pale cream breeches, with a white wig and an elaborate golden mask that covered most of his face. And he was wired to the teeth. He didn’t like it, but since he’d involved Lacey and her family, he was willing to compromise with the FBI to prove she had nothing to do with this. It was a one-man show now. But what Agent Gleason didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and just might help Gavin, too. His friend Harry Crane was waiting in the wings in a seedy
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motel room in the Quarter, with all the equipment they needed hooked up and online. He hadn’t even told Lacey about Harry’s willingness to help him out. That was Plan B. Now Gavin merged and mingled with some of New Orleans’ finest, noting with relief that no one seemed to recognize him. Whenever anyone inquired, he only nodded in greeting and stayed silent. These people wore masks, too, but Gavin knew even without a masque ball to hide their identities, they all had their share of secrets. Outside, the rain hissed and howled, forcing his mother to keep shut the eight exquisite ceiling-tofloor glass-paned doors that took up one huge rounded wall leading to the terrace. That meant that everyone had to stay inside away from the sloping shores leading down to Lake Pontchartrain, making the mansion even more crowded than usual and the whole scene chaotic and confusing—something that worked along with the music and merriment in Gavin’s favor. He stood in a corner now, nursing a crystal goblet of mineral water, while he watched the senator and his mother play host across the wide hallway in another room. The senator was dressed fittingly as the pirate Lafitte. And his beautiful, deceiving mother was dressed as Marie Antoinette. In spite of their sequined masks, Gavin knew his parents. They commanded attention and respect as they held court in a long receiving line. He could hear their laughter, see the sparkle in their eyes. But he
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also saw how they stood alert, their eyes searching when no one else was looking or passing. It made him sick to his stomach all over again. After a discreet time, Gavin made his way toward the long hallway, heading in the direction of his father’s office at the back of the first floor. He had to get to the computer, find what he needed and get out. Then if he had the opportunity, he was supposed to confront his father, face-to-face, or in this case, he thought wryly, mask-to-mask. Agent Gleason was depending on that little encounter. Gavin hated having to force his own mother and father to come clean, hated wearing a wire so he could get information from them. He just plain hated all of it. He thought of Bayou le Jardin and his time there with Lacey, thought of how she’d made him feel—whole and worthy and worth fighting for. She was a spark of goodness and light in a dark, ugly world. His world. He wanted to find that goodness and light again in her arms. He wanted to go back to her world. So he went about his work with a grim determination. About thirty minutes into the party, Gavin strolled into the long formal dining room, where the massive buffet kept several caterers running back and forth to the kitchen. He was rounding a set of open double doors when he looked up and into the eyes of a beautiful woman dressed in red and black as a Spanish flamenco dancer. A blue-eyed flamenco dancer who smelled like a garden at midnight. And wore pearls.
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Gavin blinked, thought he was imagining things. Then she reached out a hand to him. “Dance with me, Mozart?” “Lacey?” She nodded, just a slight tilt of her head. He tugged her close, then whirled her around to the wall, making sure no one was watching them. “What are you doing here?” “I always see things through, Gavin. You should know that about me. Even if it requires wearing a fake beauty mark and a terribly ruffled red satin ball gown.” He stared down at her, saw the determination in her eyes through the slits of her black silk domino. “Where did you get the costume?” She leaned close, her black curling wig touching on his shoulder, her lace-edged fan shielding their faces. “At a friend’s shop in the Quarter. She sells costumes for Mardi Gras. I had to come up with something different. This is Lorna’s idea of getting your attention, I suppose. She called ahead and ordered it for me.” He urged her closer, then said into her ear, “You aren’t supposed to be here, señorita.” But he was sure glad to have her in his arms again. “And you aren’t supposed to be under suspicion for racketeering and extortion, but you are.” “Lacey,” he whispered, awe in the one word. “Lacey.” “Just hold me,” she told him. “Dance with me until we can sneak out of here. I’ll stand watch for you. I’ll distract anyone who comes in. I’ll do whatever is needed. Please don’t send me away.”
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Gavin sighed long and hard. “The FBI is listening to us, Lacey. Our friend Gleason won’t like you interfering.” She leaned close, her eyes on Gavin while she talked. “Agent Gleason, please stay back and trust me. I know what Gavin is planning and I won’t jeopardize anything.” Then she smiled up at Gavin. “There, that should take care of him.” Gavin knew that wherever Gleason was, he was probably moaning in outrage right now. But Lacey was here, and there was nothing to be done about it. “How’d you get here?” “Justin drove me.” “Justin?” She stilled him with a finger to his lips. “Justin thinks I’m in love with you.” Gavin’s heart stopped. He didn’t know whether she was flirting, or whether she truly believed that. He only knew that she’d make a remarkable spy. He couldn’t read her at all. So he just went with it. “I see. So because of that, he offered to get you here tonight, out of the goodness of his heart?” She nodded. “Because he wants me to be happy, he agreed to help me find you.” “We’ll get back to this later,” he told her as they waltzed right out of the crowded doorway and into the hall. Then he stood back to look down at her. “Right now we have work to do.” “Let’s go,” she replied with a soft determination.
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*** The office was electronically locked, of course, but Gavin tried the combination code he already knew, praying that it hadn’t been changed. When the door clicked open, he breathed a sigh of relief, then tugged Lacey inside the room. “This shouldn’t take long,” he whispered. “Just stand by the door and tell me if you hear or see anyone coming.” “Okay.” She adjusted the tight bodice of her dress, then leaned close to the wall. Gavin noticed that she was wearing his medallion. She’d had it hidden before, but now she was clutching it in one hand as she waited. That brought him some comfort. Still amazed that she’d managed to get here in this weather, and with her whole family warning her to stay put, he sat down at the computer and inserted a blank compact disk into the disk drive. Then he started keying in the codes he’d memorized and hidden away, hoping to gain access to the rest of the files. After a few minutes of file names racing by, he banged a hand on the desk. “I know it’s here somewhere.” “Can’t find what you need?” Lacey said in a loud whisper. “No. There’s a missing file—the money trail. It should show all the bank accounts—if there are any—that match up with the ones I’ve already traced, or at least it should show everything they’ve been paid, their hidden assets.” He said this for the benefit of Agent Gleason, just in case the man got any notions of storming the palace too quickly.
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“That sounds harder to figure out than my secret salad dressing recipe,” Lacey said, nerves making her words echo strangely in the silent room. “Well, right now I could use some secret recipes,” Gavin replied on a low whisper. Then he stopped and went still. “Secret recipes.” Lacey stepped away from the door. “What is it, Gavin?” “Secret recipes.” He hit the computer keys with his fingers, quickly doing a file search. “My mother is notorious for getting secret recipes from the best chefs in town. They give them to her in exchange for her endorsements. One word from Nita Prescott can make or break a restaurant in this area. She has a computer file full of recipes she passes on to the cook.” “That’s nice, but what does that have to do with your father’s illegal money?” Gavin watched the screen light up, saw the numbers there, then turned to Lacey. “It has everything to do with it. My mother is his private accountant. I just found the files, Lacey.” “Under secret recipes.” It was a statement, a hushed statement of disbelief. “Your mother has all of this hidden in her…kitchen file?” “Sí, she’s labeled it Recetas Familiares. The family recipes.” Gavin turned away from the computer, waiting while the file downloaded onto the CD. In a matter of minutes he’d also transferred the information via e-mail to the encrypted files he’d already stored, which good ol’ Harry should be receiving any minute
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now back at the hotel. Then Gavin dialed Harry’s number on his cell phone to confirm that the information had been received. When he heard a distinctive beep at the end of the line, he knew Harry had stored the information in a secure spot. And he also knew that Agent Gleason would have a hard time trying to figure out what that beeping sound had been. Just Harry’s way of letting Gavin know everything had gone as planned. The files were safe and even Agent Gleason would go crazy trying to crack them unless he had Gavin alive and well and by his side. One more bit of insurance and extra protection his friend Harry had told him about. A good thing, since he’d been forced to leave most of his gadgets at Bayou le Jardin. I’ll have to take him to Antoine’s for dinner when this is all over, Gavin silently promised. Gavin turned around then. “We did it, Lacey. I’ve hidden the files until I can get to my laptop and download them again. And in a few minutes, I’ll have a backup disk right here, too.” He pointed toward the deep pocket of his brocade jacket. “This combined with the file codes I’ve already seen will prove they were hiding a substantial cash flow. And based on the language in these documents, I think I know where they’ve hidden it.” “Good, then we can get out of here.” Lacey had been watching Gavin so closely, she didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway until it was almost too late. But Gavin saw a shadow through the inch of open door. He held a finger to his lips, then motioned for
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Lacey to be quiet. Just another minute and the file would be finished, then he’d be home free. But Lacey apparently had other plans. “Finish it,” she whispered. “I’ll stall whoever it is.” Before Gavin could make a move, she opened the door and smiled up at the big man who’d been about to enter the room, then carefully pulled the door shut with one hand, leaving it slightly open for Gavin’s benefit. “Well, hello there. I’m so sorry. I was looking for the powder room and…well, I seem to be lost.” “How’d you get in there?” Gavin heard the man ask. Great. That sounded like his old friend Randall. Not good. “The door, silly,” Lacey replied, sounding as calm as a belle at a barbecue. “I just opened it and went in.” “That door’s supposed to be locked.” “Well, it isn’t. Might want to do something about that. Now, where is the…uh—” “Bathroom’s down the hall, lady, to the left.” Gavin held his breath, waiting for the big man to leave. Then he heard him ask, “What are you waiting for?” Lacey laughed again. “You’re blocking my way.” “You need to leave,” the man said, “so I can check this room and set the code on this door.” Gavin felt sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. What was Lacey doing out there? Then he heard her. “Can I ask you something?”
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The man sighed. “What?” “What kind of room is this anyway—I mean, is this the senator’s office? I’m just fascinated with politics.” In spite of the tense situation, Gavin had to smile. Lacey was playing a Southern belle, dressed as a flamenco dancer. The woman had spunk, he’d give her that. But she was being too brave. Much too brave. Gavin finished downloading the file, pulled the disk out and shut off the computer just as the door burst open. He lost his breath as he saw Lacey being hauled back into the room, with Randall holding a gun to her head. “I thought there was something fishy going on here,” Randall said. “You two are in serious trouble.” Gavin gave Lacey a warning look as he stood holding his hands up in the air. At least they were both still masked. That would give them a fighting chance. Disguising his accent, he said, “Listen, we just wanted to be alone—you understand. We sorta stumbled in here.” “Guests aren’t allowed in here,” the man said. Then he spoke into an earpiece. “I found some intruders in the senator’s office.” He pushed Lacey toward Gavin, held the gun on them, then closed the door. “You two just sit tight.” Gavin immediately shielded Lacey with his body, then tried to reason with the man. Now would be a good time for Gleason to make his move, too. “Look, we were just trying to find some privacy.” He
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grinned, inclined his head toward Lacey. “The señorita is shy.” “I’ll just reckon,” the big goon said, his leering gaze moving over Lacey. “That’s sweet, but I have to keep you right here until the senator decides what to do with you.” Gavin let that soak in, wondering if Agent Gleason would beat his father to the punch, or just wait it out so he could get the confrontation he’d been promised. Gavin pretended to be bored with the whole thing. “We meant no harm. Just needed to slip away.” “This door is always locked,” the man replied. “I’d call that breaking and entering.” “We walked right in,” Lacey said, but Gavin shot her a warning look. Soon the door burst open and the senator entered, followed by two dark-suited men. “What’s going on, Randall?” “I found these two—claim they wanted to be alone.” “I see.” Senator Prescott took off his mask and pirate wig, then smiled. “You are guests in my home, but I can’t tell who you are with those masks. Please remove them.” Lacey watched Gavin for her cue. If she’d only been able to stall that giant a little longer, they might be long gone by now. This was her fault. Gavin held her close behind him, then turned to whisper, “Whatever happens, don’t lose the necklace.” “Okay,” she said, wondering what he had in mind.
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Then Gavin turned to face his father. Lacey watched Senator Prescott’s tanned face as Gavin peeled off his wig and mask. Recognition caused the senator to go pale. He let out a hiss of breath. “Gavin. I should have known.” “Gavino,” Gavin said, the one word low and full of anger. Senator Prescott seemed to be just as angry. He turned to the two bodyguards. “Go get Mrs. Prescott.” After they left, he turned back to Gavin. “Who is your friend? Or should I say, your accomplice?” Gavin stepped in front of Lacey again. “She’s not involved. She just got in the way.” Lacey let that remark pass, given the circumstances. But the words stung her to the quick. Maybe Gavin really meant them, since they were so very true. Senator Prescott gave an eloquent shrug. “But she could know things—things that might prove to be very damaging, especially if she happens to be the woman you were seen with down in the Quarter.” He looked at Lacey, waiting, but Lacey didn’t speak. And she refused to remove her mask. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she was terrified. “Just let her go,” Gavin said, stepping toward his father. Randall immediately pushed him back, the gun pointed at Gavin’s nose. Lacey tried to speak, but Gavin moved to stop her, his body blocking
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hers. “You don’t need to keep pointing that gun, Randall.” Then he glared at his father. “Tell him to put it away and we’ll talk.” Lacey hoped Agent Gleason heard that loud and clear. Senator Prescott gestured and Randall put the gun inside his jacket. Then the senator glanced over at the computer. “Did you find what you were searching for, Gavin? You know, we’ve been waiting for you to return. Your mother is so worried about you.” “I can imagine,” Gavin said. “I’m sure she’s so worried that she’s had people out looking for me.” “We did track you to the Quarter, then to a town house in the Garden District,” the senator replied. “Then you just disappeared. Very strange. And even more strange that you’d show up here tonight of all nights. Did you purposely hope to embarrass your poor mother?” Gavin smiled, but Lacey saw the pain and frustration behind the smile. “My mother isn’t poor or worried,” he retorted. “I found the files. The secret recipe files.” The senator laughed out loud. “You broke in here to get your mother’s secret recipes? I know she’s notorious for her elaborate parties, but this is an interesting twist.” “You know which files I’m talking about,” Gavin said. “The family recipes contain some very interesting figures and information—which have nothing to do with cooking, unless of course you want to call it cooking the books. I think the FBI can find a big
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bundle of cold, hard cash stashed in the freezer out in the pantry. Very clever.” “You’re not making any sense,” Prescott said, looking debonair in his black pirate costume and ruffled white shirt. He also looked nervous, Lacey reasoned, even if he was being very cautious about what he said. “It doesn’t matter,” Gavin said. “It’s all over now. It’s too late for both of you.” “I’m afraid I don’t have a clue,” the senator replied, his words as smooth as silk. “All I know is that you seem to be the one who’s corrupted this household, and I seem to be the one who might have to pay the price—which I don’t intend to do. So I’m going to call the police and the FBI and turn you in. It’s for the best, really. We’ll hire the best defense team, give you all of our support. After all, you are our son.” With a growl and a sudden move that left Lacey spinning, Gavin barreled toward Senator Prescott, shoving him onto the desk. Randall tried to make a move for his gun, but Gavin was too quick. He yanked the senator around, using him as a shield. “Don’t even think about it.” Before Randall could recover to turn the gun on Lacey, she lifted a crystal vase full of fresh camellias off the desk and crashed it against the man’s skull. Randall went down with a grunt and a heavy thud. Breathless, she turned to find Gavin with the senator pinned against the desk again. “I am not your son,” Gavin said before he shoved the senator down
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beside the unconscious Randall. “Lacey, get the gun.” Lacey did as she was told, then handed the gun to Gavin, her nerves jolting like a live wire inside her stomach. “C’mon,” he said, dragging her to the door while he aimed the gun toward the senator. “I don’t know what’s keeping our backup team, but we’re getting out of here.” Then he told the senator, “Don’t send anyone after us. I have all the information stored in a secret file of my own. And I’ve erased the incriminating files you planted on my behalf. By now, the FBI has the correct copies, so if anything happens to us, you’ll not only be up for corruption and bribery, but murder, too.” With that, Gavin backed out the door with Lacey right beside him. “You won’t get away this time,” Prescott called. “I have armed guards all around the estate.” Gavin sent the senator a chilling smile. “And I have an FBI surveillance team waiting in the wings.” Lacey received some satisfaction in seeing the senator’s cold blue eyes go wide while his skin went completely white with fear. They headed up the hallway, then Gavin pointed toward a set of swinging doors. “Take the servant hallway toward the back kitchen door,” he said. “Gleason either didn’t get all of that, or he’s taking his sweet time getting to us. Where’s Justin? I think we’re going to need him.” “Parked out on the street by the front gate.”
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“He’s our only way out of here. I left your car at another location and took a cab. And I don’t trust Gleason to come to the rescue.” “I told Justin to wait,” Lacey assured him. She could see the door in front of them, hear the rain pounding right along with her racing heart. They were almost free. And then Lacey felt the wind knocked out of her as the big hand of yet another guard rammed into Gavin and caused him to fall back on her. Lacey went crashing into a Queen Anne sideboard, laden with dessert. Petits fours went flying all around her as she fell onto the polished wood hallway floor, with Gavin landing beside her. “Well, well, the prodigal returns.” Lacey looked up at the petite, slender woman standing over them wearing a ridiculously elaborate white pompadour wig and a shimmering blue-andwhite-satin bustled ball gown. “Hello, mother,” Gavin replied, sarcasm in the words. “Gavino, you disappoint me,” Nita Prescott said, her hands folded over the skirts of her ball gown. “Why do you run away? Why do you cause me so much pain?” Lacey heard the accent, saw the flash of fire in the woman’s amber eyes. And wondered how a mother could be so cold. Gavin remained silent and watchful, his eyes never leaving his mother’s face. The two men they’d seen before forced Gavin and Lacey up, but Lacey noticed the gun Gavin had
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before was nowhere in sight. Gavin must have hidden it in his deep pocket when they fell. That gave her some measure of confidence—that and the fierce prayer she prayed over and over in her head. Lord, help us now. “Take them into the sunroom,” Nita said on a hissing breath. Then she motioned to one of the men. “And go and find my husband.” After the man hurried away, Lacey saw the look in Gavin’s eyes. One less guard and gun to have to deal with, she reasoned. If she knew Gavin, he was already figuring a way out of this. And she would be right behind him.
Chapter Sixteen
T
he sunroom was a huge long room with the same rounded doors as the drawing room on the other side of the house. Mostly glass, the room allowed a view of the lake below, and tonight, a view of the enraged storm brewing outside. The trees surrounding the house bowed and swayed, while the wind moaned and whined. Not a good night to be out, Lacey thought numbly. But Justin, bless him, was out there somewhere, waiting for her. Gavin caught her attention, and with a slight tilt of his head indicated the doors leading out onto the long terrace. He wanted to make a run for it, she decided. Nita closed off the doors leading to the party, then turned to face her captive audience, her bodyguard right beside her, his own menacing-looking gun at the ready. “If you had only trusted me, Gavino. We could have had it all.” Gavin inched toward one of the doors ever so
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carefully, then sent his mother such a harsh, penetrating look, the woman actually flinched. “I did trust you, Mother. That was my first mistake.” “No, you have it all wrong,” Nita said, just a shard of a plea in her words. “I planned out your life so meticulously, made sure you had the best of everything, arranged it so that you had a solid career with your father—” “That man is not my father,” Gavin said, each word an effort. “My father died long ago.” “Sí,” Nita said, her amber eyes burning with a mad brightness. “And left me here with nothing, nothing. We came to America, to New Orleans, where our relatives had made a good life for themselves. But he died—” “And you married a rich American politician, so you could have the good life, too,” Gavin retorted. “Is that so wrong?” Nita asked. “To want better for my son?” “No, nothing wrong in that,” Gavin said. “But you got greedy, Mother. You became the middleman for all his shady dealings. You hid all the cash, you buried all the treasure. And you made a deal with the Currito family. Now you will have to be the one to face the music.” “What about family loyalty?” Nita asked. “Don’t you owe us that much at least?” “I don’t owe either of you anything,” Gavin replied. “You kept me at arm’s length, hid everything from me. I had to find out the truth the hard way—when I was digging for information to keep him out of jail.”
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“I did that to protect you,” Nita said, stepping toward Gavin. “I tried to keep you out of all of this.” Gavin nodded. “Sí, that is until you needed someone to take the blame. You were willing to include me then, Mother. You were willing to make me the guilty party. How’s that for loyalty? Did he tell you that he tried to have me killed right here in this house?” At her surprised gasp, Gavin continued. “He sent Randall after me. Randall stabbed me with your letter opener. I had to leave or I’d be dead right now. But I’m going to prove what really happened. I have it all now, Mother, all the evidence I need.” Nita began to sob, the tears running down her face, causing the heavy eye makeup she wore to smear in black rivulets. “He made me do it, Gavino,” his mother said, fear in every word. “I had no choice.” “You have a choice now,” Gavin said. “You can let us go and you can confess, get this over with.” By now, Gavin and Lacey were about a foot from the main door leading outside. The wind had picked up, howling its rage. Gavin kept inching toward the door, bringing Lacey along with him while the guard stood watching them. Nita held a hand up to the man and he relaxed his trigger finger. “Are you going to turn in your own mother?” Nita asked. Gavin made a move closer to the glass doors. He shook his head, reached out a hand for Lacey just as the senator came through the other door. The
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bodyguard raised his gun toward Gavin again, while two others piled in with the senator. Outside, they heard a crash. Lacey saw a tree pop and crash to the ground down by the lake. In that instant, Nita looked away, a great fear in her eyes. “Gavin, don’t do this. He’ll shoot you.” The falling tree gave Gavin just a second to pull the gun out of the deep waistcoat pocket and turn it toward the senator and his mother. “If he has me shot, he’ll go to jail for murder. And so will you. If I don’t shoot him first, of course.” Lacey’s knees felt as if they were going to cave in, but she held her head up and faced down the bodyguards and their guns. It looked as if it would be a standoff between Gavin and them. Nita turned to the senator. “Please, Edward, don’t hurt him.” “Then tell him to drop the gun,” the senator said, the words as cold and uncaring as the wind and the rain. But Gavin held the gun higher, shielding Lacey behind his body. “I’ve got nothing to lose,” he said, glaring at the senator. “But you stand to lose everything. Think about it.” Prescott looked uncomfortable, but he motioned for the guards to lower their weapons. “Go ahead. You won’t get very far,” he said on a snarl. Gavin didn’t acknowledge him. “We’re leaving now, Mother. And no, I’m not going to turn you in. I have all the information I need and by now, I pray the FBI has it, too. But…I’m going to hope that you
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have enough conscience and decency left to tell the truth yourself.” With that, Gavin opened the tall rounded door to the roar of wind and rain, then started backing out with Lacey behind him. “Gavin, no!” his mother called even as the senator motioned the bodyguards into action, their guns aimed right for Gavin. “Shoot,” the senator shouted. But Nita stepped in the way before the guards could get a good aim. “No, no,” she moaned, crying as she reached for Gavin. The wind and rain howled, spilling cold and wet into the bright room. And then Lacey’s world shifted out of control. The senator grabbed one of the guns from the bodyguard, pushed Nita to the floor, then turned for Gavin and Lacey. Lacey reacted purely on adrenaline and instinct by stepping around Gavin to confront the senator. “You can’t do this. You wouldn’t kill your own son.” “He’s already said he’s not my son,” the senator hissed. “It would be self-defense. I have witnesses.” “Well, so does he,” Lacey said, pulling off her wig and mask as she moved toward the senator even while Gavin tried to pull her back. “I am his witness. And I’m telling you right now, good will win out this time.” “Really?” Senator Prescott seemed to relax a bit, while his wife lay sobbing behind him. “We’ll see about that.” He lunged for Lacey. Gavin tried to pull her away,
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but Prescott grabbed her and twisted her body in front of his while he held the gun to her head. “Drop your gun, Gavin. You don’t want this innocent woman to get hurt, do you, son?” Gavin looked at Lacey, a deadly fear in his eyes. “Let her go.” “Drop the gun,” the senator repeated. Lacey felt the steel near her temple, felt a hot sweat mingling with the cold wetness on her back, but refused to give in. “Gavin, don’t do it. He won’t kill me. As he said, there are too many witnesses. And I don’t think they’d vouch for him.” Gavin glared at the man holding Lacey. Then he looked at Lacey again. “This, this is why I didn’t want you here. I didn’t want you to see this… ugliness.” She watched as he struggled with the words, then he lapsed into Spanish, tears gathering in his dark, tormented eyes. “Lacey, mi amor. Te quiero.” Lacey felt the tears streaming down her own face. “I love you, too, Gavin. I love you.” Nita struggled up and stepped toward her husband. “Edward, what are you doing? You promised Gavin wouldn’t get hurt. And you can’t hurt this woman.” Prescott tightened his hold on Lacey and pushed the gun ever closer to her temple. “Neither of them will get hurt if he listens to me. If he will just listen to reason.” Gavin kept his eyes trained on Lacey. She could see the pain and turmoil there. And she could see
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something else. He did love her. She knew that now with a crystal-clear clarity. So she willed herself to be still. And she prayed. Gavin dropped the gun. “What does this accomplish?” he asked the senator. “The FBI will find you, no matter where you go.” Senator Prescott looked around the big room, his gaze nervous and watchful. “I’ve always managed to elude the FBI. What makes you think anything will be different this time?” He started for the open doors, yanking Lacey in front of him. “Let her go,” Gavin said, anger coloring each word. “I don’t think so,” the senator replied. “She’s my insurance.” Before Gavin could respond, the wind lifted in a great moaning gust, causing several of the big square windowpanes to shatter. The senator screamed in pain as shards of glass flew right into his face. He dropped the gun and fell down to avoid the glass and debris that came with a blowing vengeance through the open door and shattered windows. The bodyguards ducked. A jagged piece of glass hit one man across the cheek. Lacey ignored the bits of glass hitting her own face, then turned and kicked the senator with her red satin pump. But Senator Prescott was holding his eyes and moaning as he lay on the floor. Lacey raced to Gavin as a brilliant flash of lightning colored the sky. Gavin grabbed her, then pushed at the flapping door onto the terrace. The guards, worried about the senator and his wife, ignored them.
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The wind took the door away from its hinges in a freezing gust, then rushed at their clothes, soaking them as it threatened to blow them away. Inside, the senator scrabbled up, blood on his face, and reached for his gun, then came running out after them. Lacey saw his eyes. He had the look of a madman, of someone who’d lost everything. Lacey held on to Gavin, the cold rain and rushing wind taking her breath as they headed down the terraced yard toward the lake, tree limbs and debris hitting them. They could hear Gavin’s mother screaming, screaming, “No, Edward, I beg you, no!” “Run, Lacey,” Gavin shouted over the roar of the storm. “Run, baby, please run!” He pushed her out into the yard, then turned back to face the senator. The security lights in the yard flickered, then went out. Lacey screamed. “Gavin!” She felt Gavin’s hand slipping away from hers, heard her own screams mingled with the wind and the rain as she tried to find him there in the darkness. Someone grabbed her, held her. She could hear scuffling and shouts. She heard Justin’s voice in her ear. “Lacey, let him go. The storm—I need to get you out of here.” The lights came back on, bright with biting rain and flying branches and debris. And then she turned and saw Gavin in the sudden glare of lights out by the dock, heard him calling her name as he stood by the lake, face-to-face with Senator Prescott, the rain bashing at his clothes.
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There was a gunshot and then Gavin bent double, holding his hands to his midsection as blood covered the gold brocade of his waistcoat. Lacey screamed again, the sound moving over her mind in a great echo that clashed with the hurricane winds as she broke loose from Justin and ran toward him. “Gavin, no! Gavin, I’m here. I’m here.” She looked into his eyes, saw the goodness reflected there and then watched in horror as he fell back into the swirling waters of the lake. “Why won’t they search for him?” Lacey asked the question over and over, her throat raw from crying and screaming. “He might be out there, hurt. They have to find him, Justin.” Justin held her swaddled in a blanket as they sat in the kitchen. All around them, police officers and FBI agents hovered and moved. “Lacey, they’re looking. But with the storm—” “You think he’s dead, don’t you?” Justin just sat there, staring at her, his green eyes bright with worry. “Here, let me wrap that blanket tighter around you. You’re shivering.” “Justin,” she said, speaking an effort. “Justin, I love him. He…he gave me this.” She held up the cross necklace. “And now he might be—” She stopped, clutched a hand to her mouth. “Justin—” “Shh,” Justin said, pulling her back down in his arms. “You’re safe. It’s all over now.” Lacey went into his arms, the memory of watching Gavin being swept away by the wind and
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the rain too much to grasp. She felt sick, so sick. She wanted to close her eyes and put the memories away for good. But the memories would never go away. Didn’t she know that already? She looked up to find Agent Gleason walking through the kitchen with Senator and Mrs. Prescott, both in handcuffs. He stopped in front of her, a big bear of a man with graying hair and dimples. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. York. Gavin—” Lacey stood up, clutching the blanket tightly around her shoulders. “Don’t talk to me about Gavin. Where were you when he needed you? He trusted you!” She lunged for the agent, but Justin held her back. “I’m so sorry,” Agent Gleason said. “The storm kept messing with our transmission signal. Gavin’s voice was slipping in and out. We tried to get here as fast as we could.” “Well, you were too late.” Then she turned to Gavin’s mother. Nita looked haggard and drawn. She’d changed into a dark pantsuit, and her darkbrown hair fell in wet ringlets around her olive face. “And you,” Lacey said, tears streaming down her face. “What kind of mother are you, anyway? You sacrificed your son—and for what? Money, power? I hope you have the decency that Gavin still saw in you. I hope you confess—at least do that to honor the son who loved you.” Nita started crying, her eyes on the necklace. “May I?” She reached out a hand. Lacey slapped her hand away. “Get away. Gavin
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gave this to me. You will never get your hands on it again.” Nita began to sob. Beside her, the senator looked stoic and solemn in a dark suit and white shirt. Then Nita reached out again, her hand shaking. “Inside the locket,” she said, “behind the topaz—please, there is a picture of Gavino’s father. Can I please just look at it?” Lacey’s heart tumbled. A locket. Gavin had never mentioned a locket. Then she remembered his words. “This will give you the answers you seek.” Backing away from Nita and the silent senator, Lacey turned the heavy necklace over. Then she saw it. A tiny rounded compartment with a small latch. Hurriedly, she opened it, her mind racing. She knew what she’d find, and it wouldn’t be a picture of Gavin’s dead father. “Agent Gleason,” she said on a husky whisper, “I think Gavin wanted you to have this.” Nita stepped close, then gasped as she glanced down at the folded scrap of paper Lacey handed the agent. Nita turned to the senator, a look of remorse and defeat in her amber eyes. “He was smarter than the both of us. My son was smarter than us, and you killed him!” Senator Prescott shook his head. “It’s not over, my dear. It was an accident. We were struggling—the gun went off. We’ll get out of this. We have…very good lawyers.” Agent Gleason hauled the senator close. “Yeah, well, your son had some very good computer skills. He’s written down the encrypted codes that connect
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with the rest of the bank files. This should be the missing piece of the puzzle, senator. And with everything we saw and heard tonight, and especially with that wad of cash Mrs. York told us we’d find stashed in the freezer, I’d say your political career just got blown away. With hurricane force.” Lacey closed the necklace and watched as Gavin’s parents were carried away to jail. Then she turned to Justin and said, “Take me home.” The storm had passed. Her home had been spared yet again. But not her heart, not her heart. Lacey stood over the graves of her husband and child, silent tears tracking down her face. The cold November wind pricked at her skin, the trees looked barren and gray. And she ached with a soul-weary pain. “Neil,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “Neil, I loved you so much. And I loved our child. You have to know that. And then I found Gavin. I can’t explain it, but I fell in love with him, too. I loved him, but it was so brief, almost like a dream. And now he’s gone.” She stopped, held a hand to her mouth. “I hope you can understand. And I hope that Gavin has found peace at last.” She clutched at the necklace she still wore, her mind filled with the knowledge that they had yet to find Gavin’s body. She couldn’t even give him a proper burial until all the red tape with the FBI was cleared away. His parents’ trial would be coming up early next year. Lacey planned to be there. Aunt Hilda had told
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her she needed to forgive. She owed that to Gavin’s memory, her aunt had reminded her. And so that would be Lacey’s gift to the man she’d fallen in love with. She would forgive his parents and she would visit them in prison, to minister to them. To tell them that Gavin truly did love them. And he’d wanted so badly to be loved. “I loved you, Gavin,” she said to the wind. She turned to go home, her head down. She walked toward the grape arbor, memories assaulting her. Just as she entered the quiet retreat, she looked up to see the dark silhouette of a man standing at the other end. And she remembered seeing that same silhouette all those weeks ago, in the quietness of a great cathedral. Her heart stopped. “Gavin?” It couldn’t be him, of course. She was imagining things. But he stepped closer and reached out a hand to her. “It’s me, querida.” Lacey gasped, then rushed into the arbor to meet him as he hurried to pull her into his arms. He had one arm in a sling underneath a black wool overcoat, but he managed to hold her close, his words cascading over her like a cleansing rain. “I promised you I’d come back.” Lacey touched his face, kissed the wetness on his golden skin. “Gavin, I love you. I wanted so much to tell you that.”
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“I know, I know,” he said, his forehead touching hers as he stared down into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I had to get everything straightened out with the FBI. But I couldn’t come back until I was completely healed.” She ran a hand over his arm, up his shoulder. “Are you all right?” Gavin took her hand and held it to his heart. “Not my physical wounds, Lacey. But here. I had to be healed here.” He lowered his head. “They were…my parents. My parents. I did this to them.” Lacey pulled his head down, cradling his face against hers. “And look what they did to you.” Gavin’s shoulders shook with grief, but he held her there tightly to him. “I need you,” he whispered, his face wet with tears. “I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t find the strength. I had to come back. I had to see you.” “You’re safe now,” she said, lifting her mouth to his. “You’re safe. God has brought you back to me.” Gavin kissed her, then held a hand to her face. “And you, my lovely Lacey, have brought me back to God.” Then he told her what was in his heart. “Mi amor. I love you.” Lacey took him by the hand to lead him home.
Epilogue
The church bells rang as everyone poured out of the tiny Chapel in the Garden. A brilliant December sunshine beamed down through the trees, coloring everything in a golden halo of light. Gavin turned to his bride and smiled. “We did it.” “Yes, we did,” Lacey said, laughing. “But it’s not over yet. Aunt Hilda has planned an elaborate reception back at the house. And it’s so lovely, all decorated for Christmas.” Gavin kissed her, laughing and smiling as the well-wishers came by. “Your family likes to party.” “We have a lot to celebrate,” she said, gazing up at him. She took his breath away in her white highnecked gown. She’d come to the church riding on Lucas’s big spotted stallion, and wearing a white hooded cloak over her dress, like a princess from another time. And of course she was wearing
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pearls—a brand-new three-strand set Gavin had given her just this morning. “To represent the threestrand cord of God’s love,” he’d explained as he’d placed them just over the cross necklace. Now she was his wife. Gavin breathed in the crisp, clean air, then gulped as he felt an exaggerated pat on his back. “Okay, I know I don’t have to tell you this,” Lucas said, looking dapper in his dark wool suit. “But you better be extra good to my sister, or I’ll come looking for you.” “I intend to be good to her,” Gavin said. Then he laughed. “And I won’t be hard to find, considering your aunt has talked me into becoming a country lawyer.” “After our honeymoon in Spain,” Lacey reminded him. “She just wants you close so you can help her install that new computer system down at city hall,” Lucas said with a wink. Then he turned to his own wife. “You know, suga’, next to the bride, I do believe you are the prettiest woman here.” “You say that to all the bridesmaids,” Willa replied, grinning over at him. She wore a sky-blue wool long-sleeved dress, simple in cut to match the looser version Lorna had worn as a very pregnant matron of honor. “He said the same thing to me,” Lorna told her as Mick helped her down the wooden steps. “So I know he’s joking.” Gavin turned to help Lorna, too. “You do look lovely. Motherhood becomes you.”
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Lorna nodded to Lacey. “Did I tell you how much I like your husband?” Lacey touched a finger to Gavin’s hair. “He does have a way with the ladies. And I hope he’ll say the same thing when I have our first child.” Gavin grinned at her, then turned serious. “Marriage already becomes you, so I can’t wait for all the rest.” Then Aunt Hilda walked up with a distinguishedlooking man they all had yet to meet. Justin followed close behind with a young woman with brilliant auburn hair and stark black-framed glasses. “Who’s your friend here?” Lucas asked, winking at his aunt. “Glad you asked,” Aunt Hilda replied tartly. “This is Howard Houston. I met him on my cruise to Alaska. And this is his daughter, Brandy,” Aunt Hilda said, tugging the seemingly shy girl forward. “She’s a botanist. Justin is going to show her around the gardens later.” Justin laughed, turned red, then smiled with a lovesick expression toward Brandy. “We have a lot in common.” “That’s great,” Lacey said, leaning forward to give Justin a kiss on the cheek. “She’s adorable.” She gave Gavin a meaningful look, then turned to Aunt Hilda’s friend. “It’s good to have you both here, Mr. Houston.” “Call me Hoss,” the man replied. “Everyone does.” “Welcome, Hoss,” Lorna said, her expression full of mirth. Hoss greeted everyone, his gray hair sparkling in
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the sunshine. “It’s very good to be here on such a fine occasion.” Then Aunt Hilda placed a hand on Lacey’s arm. “I’m glad you all are still here, because there is something I’d like to announce.” “What’s that?” Mick asked, grinning. “We’re engaged—Hoss and me,” Aunt Hilda replied, beaming. “We plan to have a spring wedding.” Lucas let out a whoop, while Lorna and Lacey gave each other surprised looks. “Aunt Hilda, are you sure about this?” Lacey asked softly. “Very sure,” Hilda replied, leaning into her cane. “You know how it is with the Dorsettes. We tend to fall in love very quickly.” She made a point of looking at Gavin, but her smile was serene and reassuring. Then Aunt Hilda motioned. “Let’s get out of this cold. Plenty of goodies waiting at the house, and plenty of time to tell you how Hoss and I met. But before we go, I’d like to say something. Everyone, please join hands.” Everyone stilled and reached for each other, wondering what other surprises their lovable aunt had. Aunt Hilda closed her eyes. “Dear Lord, it’s been a year of storms. But we made it through and now we are all complete in Your love. Thank You for sending me three new children to love—Mick, Willa and now Gavin. And thank You for blessing Lorna and Mick with a child, and
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for seeing Willa and Lucas through Willa’s cancer. And Lord, we especially thank You for bringing Gavin to us. We ask that You help him through the next few months as he goes through his troubles. Show him the way to forgive, Lord. Show him the way to find it in his heart to forgive his parents. We thank You for this garden—our Father’s garden, that has brought all of us together. Oh, and Lord, thank You so much for Hoss. Amen.” Gavin opened his eyes, felt the tears misting there and knew he’d make it through. He’d find a way to forgive his mother and the senator. He had the love and support of this family. And he had God to guide him during the next few months of the trial. And he had Lacey. He would always return to her, here in this quiet retreat. He watched as Lacey’s friends Josh and Kathryn helped the Babineaux clan release a pair of snowwhite doves into the air to celebrate his wedding, then he held his wife close, waiting as the doves turned to fly away home. And he felt his heart rising with them, on the wings of love. *****
Dear Reader, I believe the Lord is ever present in nature. He knows when the flowers will bloom, and He knows when the rains will come. He is always there as a refuge when we have to go through the storms of life. God gives us the strength to endure the storms if we only turn to Him in times of trouble. My characters each had to learn this lesson. They had to depend on God to give them strength in the most trying of times. I hope this story can help you in your own times of strife. Remember to take your troubles to the garden, where you can walk and talk with the Lord. Until next time, may the angels watch over you always.
STEEPLE HILL BOOKS
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1574-4 SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL AND LACEY’S RETREAT SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL Copyright © 2002 by Lenora H. Nazworth LACEY’S RETREAT Copyright © 2002 by Lenora H. Nazworth All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Steeple Hill Books. ® and TM are trademarks of Steeple Hill Books, used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries. www.SteepleHill.com
