Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou Sweetheart\The Firefighter's New Family\Season of Redemption (4 page)

“I can't get involved in any sadness,” she stated to herself in a whisper that followed the wind. “I'm happy now. Free. Content. Sadness is not allowed.”

But were dreams allowed?

She brushed her dirty hands down the side of her old work jeans and stretched like a contented cat. She'd had a good day, interruptions by Himself aside. This particular bed, centered between the bayou and the back terrace, was ready for show. She'd positioned a Japanese maple in the middle and had spread out from there with the lilies and some other bulbs. This garden should have something to brag about for most of the year, even some playful spider lilies here and there.

Would he approve?

She turned to gather her work tools. There was a spigot on the side of the house by the terrace. She'd wash her things and her hands there. The buzz of mosquitoes teased at her ears as she made her way up the sloping hills toward the house, Elvis now meandering in an end-of-day tiredness behind her. Last fall, a hurricane had washed through Fleur, knocking everything in this garden over in rushing waters and driving winds.

But it was spring now. A new season with tender surprise sprouts that promised their own kind of mystery. That promised a determined survival and rebirth.

“Just like me,” she said, smiling. She silently thanked God for the beauty of this moment.

She'd made it to the spigot and was busy cleaning her tools when the back door opened and
he
walked out.

“All finished?” he asked.

Callie bent and turned off the spigot. “Yes. I'm tired but pleased. One flower bed down, about a hundred or so to go.”

“You're going to bring in help, right?”

“Yes.” She noticed he'd changed into jeans and a cotton button-down shirt. The casual outfit only added to his good looks. And made him seem relaxed, just like a normal person. “Yes, I'll have lots of help.”

“Hire as many people as you need.”

Noting this new, mellow mood, she said, “You're very generous.”

“I've never had a big garden like this before. I want it to be appropriate to the house.”

She told herself to say goodbye and go home. But she turned after making sure she had all her tools. “Where did you grow up?”

He stared off into the distance, that darkness shrouding him like the sky lifting to the full moon. “Not far from here.”

He looked from the horizon to her, a dare in his expression.

“Really? Maybe I know the town.”

“You don't.” Then he did that turning-and-walking-away thing again.

Which made Callie want to stomp her feet. She prided herself on being a people person. She wasn't used to being treated this way. “Hey,” she called, hoping to open a dialogue, “why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just walk back into the house. Don't you want to see what I've done with the gardens so far?”

“I know what you've done,” he replied, his back to her.

“How do you know?”

“I watch you sometimes.”

“I'm not so sure I like being watched. Why don't you just come out and join me? Get involved? You could use some sunshine and fresh air.”

He whirled and stalked closer, stared at her, the look in his eyes going dark then changing, going soft. Before she knew what he was doing, he reached up and pushed her long bangs out of her eyes. Callie's breath caught at the gentleness in his touch. It went against the grain of his hardened features.

“You have mud on your forehead,” he said, the words as soft as the night wind.

He pulled out a white handkerchief and started wiping at her brow. Callie grabbed his hand and their eyes met, and like a candle flaring in the night, something ignited between them.

“I can do that myself,” she said, too shocked to move.

“I know you can,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over her face. He held the handkerchief away then stroked it across her brow again, the crisp rasp of cotton scraping over her skin. “There.” He gave her the handkerchief then backed away, his eyes still holding hers. “I have to go.”

He turned and hurried back into the house.

And left Callie there, spellbound, as she stood caught between the lazy descending sun and the eager rising moon.

Chapter Four

“H
e grew up near here.”

That night at dinner, Callie recounted her talk with Tomas there on the terrace, but she left out the part about him wiping her brow and leaving his monogrammed handkerchief with her. And she left out the part about her washing the silky soft square with a gentle cleanser, her thoughts torn between returning it pressed and folded or keeping it, safe and folded away. Her whole family stared at her as if she were telling a horror story around the campfire. Except they were all out on the screened-in back porch of her papa's house and it was a perfectly pleasant spring evening.

“Nick never mentioned that,” Brenna said, a crispy hush puppy making its way to her mouth. “But then, he doesn't ask a lot of questions regarding Tomas, and he doesn't gossip about his boss. It's a company rule, so I shouldn't have repeated what he'd already told me about Tomas having a wife who died.”

Papa frowned then scratched at his beard stubble. “Dat right dere sounds mighty suspicious to me.”

Callie felt his dark, knowing eyes on her. “He's a decent person, Papa. He just likes his privacy. A lot.”

Brenna nodded in agreement as she chewed on the hush puppy. “That's true. We have to respect that, whether we like it or not. Which we don't.”

“I don't like it, not me,” Papa said. He grabbed his glass of sweet tea and took a long sip. “Dere's some talk around the marina about Mr. Delacorte. He's bought up more than a house around here. Word is out that he bought the old shipyard. I hear he might shut the whole thing down. The town council will announce it this week, is what I heard. He's up to something.”

Callie's heart bumped against her ribs like a crab caught in a mesh trap. “Something such as?”

“Industry,” Brenna replied, clearly keeping
some
secrets for her soon-to-be husband, Nick, since Nick had to work late and wasn't here to speak for himself.

“He mentioned that,” Callie replied, bobbing her head, her grilled tilapia growing cold on her plate. “Industry. That's good, though, isn't it?”

Alma glanced over at her husband. Julien looked from her to Callie. “It could be or it might not be, since we've heard he's here to take over the shipyard and give people their walking papers.”

“Could he do that?” Callie didn't want to see Tomas in such a light, but maybe she needed to see the truth. He wasn't a hero from a romance novel. He was a real man with a real past and an obvious need to make money. A ruthless, secretive man. And yet, she felt obligated to defend him. “He wouldn't do that.”

Papa shook his head. “De shipyard's been in trouble for years now. De Dubois family still holds shares in it, but dey left it adrift long ago. Pierre's hours have been cut. Julien had to give it up years ago and go back to fishing and hunting and taking odd jobs. We all have depended on Fleur Shipyard for a long time now, but times have changed.”

“We're doing okay, Papa,” Alma said, smiling over at Julien. “Julien's got orders for boats straight through till fall.”

“And Nick and Tomas are to thank for that,” Brenna said. “They've passed Julien's name around enough to give him extra business. Julien, you might bring old-fashioned boat building back into fashion.”

“I can't complain,” Julien replied, winking at his wife. Alma elbowed him and smiled. “We're blessed.”

Callie picked up on their sly smiles and gentle touches. They sure were glowing for some reason. She supposed being married only a few months did that to people. She couldn't remember glancing at Dewayne in that way, though. Maybe because Dewayne was never pleased with her, no matter how hard she tried to be a good wife.

You're free from all of that,
she reminded herself. Callie wasn't the kind to give up, but she never wanted to be married again if it meant she couldn't be the person God had made her to be. If she couldn't dig in the garden or dance in the rain or sing at church or tease her sisters or eat pie just because she loved it, if she couldn't feel free and clear and covered in the love of Christ, she didn't want to be married. Ever. Again.

So being infatuated with a brooding, uptight, closemouthed man wasn't such a hot idea right now.

But Tomas Delacorte did present such an interesting challenge. She liked it when people smiled. Liked being in a happy environment. She wanted to make Tomas smile. That would be her downfall if she wasn't careful.

“We're all blessed,” Papa said, bringing Callie back to the real world. “Dat's all fine and dandy.” He pushed away from the table and started taking dishes inside to the kitchen through the open French doors. “I just wonder what the man's up to, is all. Why all the hush, hush. I'm sure gonna be at dat council meeting dis week, I can tell you.”

“We'll all be there,” Callie retorted, caught between loyalty to her town and a need to protect the man who'd offered her a lot of money to redesign his estate grounds. But she'd never been overly impressed with money, except for survival purposes. These feelings had to do with something more, as if God were nudging her to stand by Tomas. “We can hear the truth there.” She turned to Brenna. “Nick will be there, right?”

“Yes.” Brenna got up and followed their papa. “He's involved in remodeling and renovating any properties Tomas might acquire, so he'll be there. He has to be there.”

Was Brenna trying to protect her fiancé? Callie had a lot of questions. They all did. But in her heart, she believed Tomas couldn't be as ruthless and uncaring as her papa might think. He'd thought the same about Julien and Nick, too. Papa just wanted to protect his daughters. And especially her, since he'd never approved of Dewayne. Of course, her ex-husband had never liked her papa very much, either. They'd often argued about her tight-knit family interfering in their lives.

But Papa had been right about Dewayne, she reminded herself. After Papa and Julien headed to the big den across from the kitchen and dining room to watch the evening news, Callie helped her sisters finish cleaning the kitchen.

Through the open screened window, the night sang a lullaby to her. Frogs croaked in a shrill chorus, a mourning dove cooed in a lonely response, a splash sounded in the water and somewhere high in the ancient live oaks, squirrels chased each other. Callie identified with each of these sounds, these reminders of God's amazing world. The outside world. Her world.

She stood at the sink, staring out at the black waters running down beyond the house, her mind on the man who'd come into her life and now had a spot in her thoughts. Maybe even a spot in her heart. But she had plenty of room in there.

Alma came over to stand by her. “Don't worry. We'll figure this out.”

“What's to figure out?” Callie replied. “I'm doing yard work for a strange man. That's what I need to remember. The rest doesn't concern me unless it affects all of us.”

Alma gave her a thoughtful glance. “But...you're obviously smitten with Tomas, aren't you?”

Callie laughed. “I'm smitten with the idea of a mysterious man coming to Fleur and moving into the house I've loved all of my life. I'm smitten with the chance to redo those gardens around that house, just the way I've dreamed of doing for most of my life. Beyond that, I can see reality. And we both know reality is a lot harder to do than a fairy tale.”

Alma held a hand on Callie's arm, silent for a minute. Then Brenna walked up and put a hand on her other arm. “We want you to be happy again,” Alma said, her tone low and sure. “That doesn't mean you have to settle for a man who's handsome, rich, mysterious and single. Not at all.”

“Yes.” Brenna leaned up and gave Callie a quick kiss. “I mean no. No, not at all.”

Callie smiled at their pointed teasing. “I am happy,” she replied. “I have no complaints. I'm alive. I get a second chance. Life is good.” She gently nudged her sisters away. “Don't feel sorry for me, and don't try to force me onto Tomas Delacorte. I'm thankful. So thankful that I'm living and breathing.”

“We are glad for that,” Alma said. “So glad.”

Her sisters stared at her then glanced at each other. While Callie stood there, ashamed that she hadn't been completely honest with them, and wondered what it would be like to finally be content and happy and in love one more time. She'd survived cancer and was close to her five-year anniversary. She thanked God every day for that.

But she mourned every day for the loss of her marriage. She'd missed a chance to be a mother, to have a family.

Did she deserve a second chance at love?

* * *

Tomas and Nick entered the small town hall that stood across from the First Church of Fleur, both wearing lightweight suits and both carrying cell phones and briefcases.

Brenna squealed and hurried to greet Nick.

While Callie stood and stared at Tomas.

The man sure knew how to wear a suit.

Just another reason she should not be so into him.

She was more of a jeans and cotton shirt kind of girl.

Remembering when he'd been wearing jeans and a cotton shirt the other day, Callie swallowed back her intense interest and said a quick prayer against temptation. She'd managed to avoid him for the past couple of days.

Or maybe he'd decided to avoid her.

Until now.

He was walking straight toward her.

“Punch?” she asked, shoving a cup of the lemony mixture into his hand.

“Thanks.” He smiled, sipped, studied her in a way that put her on alert. “You have freckles.”

“Do I?” She made a big production of rubbing her nose. “Are they gone now?”

His frown almost moved. “No. But they're even brighter now.”

Callie wanted to turn and walk away but she had manners, so she stayed and smiled. “I've had them all my life.”

“They suit you.”

She pushed at her hair and prayed one of her ever-talking sisters would come along and rescue her. But they'd both mysteriously disappeared. “Uh, I had to order some more mulch for the west garden. I'm planting roses there. You do like roses, right?”

He put down the cup of punch. “No roses.”

Callie's mouth was still hanging open after he'd walked away.

“What?” Alma hurried up, glancing around as if she expected a fire.

“He doesn't like roses.”

“Oh.” Alma turned toward where a crowd was gathering for the council meeting. “Is that a deal breaker?”

Callie felt so deflated, she had to remember to breathe. “No, but...it is sad. Who doesn't like roses?”

“They can be overrated,” Alma pointed out. “I love yellow ones, though.”

“But you love irises more.”

Her sister got all dreamy. Probably remembering how Julien had wooed her with blue irises. “That's true.”

“It's his wife,” Callie replied, her heart hurting with something she couldn't quite identify. “She must have had lots of roses. And she'd walk through her garden every afternoon at sunset, and then she got so sick he had to carry her—”

“Ladies?”

Alma and Callie whirled to find Julien standing there. “What?” Alma asked, smiling at her husband.

“It's about time for the meeting, and I was just wondering if y'all are in charge, or do you want to find a seat?”

“We're coming,” Alma replied. She poured him a cup of punch. Then she pushed him ahead of them. “C'mon, Callie. We'll get to the bottom of the rose conspiracy later. Right now, I want to hear what your Mr. Heathcliff is going to say about his real reason for coming to Fleur.”

“So do I,” Callie replied. She followed her sister to where Brenna was sitting with Pretty Mollie and Julien's brother Pierre. Nick was up front with Tomas, waiting to go before the council. They were first on the agenda. Actually, they were the only item on the agenda tonight. This town council was relaxed and friendly until it came to issues. Then things sometimes got a little heated.

Callie felt that heat each time Tomas glanced back at her. Who didn't like roses?

He didn't. She'd have to find some other flowers to plant in that great big bed she'd worked on for two solid days. She'd show Tomas that she could create a pretty flower garden without roses. She had thousands of other choices anyway.

The councilmen and one woman, Mrs. Laborde, all gathered and sat down. The meeting was called to order and while everyone listened to the clerk go over old business, Callie watched the man who was about to address the entire town.

Tomas Delacorte commanded a presence that left her breathless and confused and wondering and worrying.

And she didn't want to be worried or wondering or out of breath. She didn't want to feel this way about a man who didn't like to smile, about a man who stared out the window instead of coming out into the sunshine. What could she do? What was there to do, except her job? She'd do her job and she'd get on with her life and she'd let him do the same. That was for the best.

But when he stood and walked toward the speaker podium, she sat up and took notice. And sighed. Come to think of it, she really didn't like roses all that much, either.

* * *

Tomas had prepared for this moment for months now. It was never easy buying out a company and bringing in new people to take over, or possibly shutting the whole thing down. But he'd thought long and hard about this because he never made a move without having a good reason.

What's your reason now?
The voice in his head echoed through his pulse.

He'd come here to show the good people of Fleur that he was somebody now. That he had power over them. That he had finally come home to settle an old score. He had lived near here, very near here. Just outside town.

But the man he'd hated for most of his life was not even here to see this day. He wondered as he shuffled papers and shifted on his butter-soft Italian-made shoes if any of these people would even remember or care about a scraggly little boy who stayed hungry and was never really warm.