Love In Bloom

For landscaper Callie Moreau, working in the gardens of Fleur House is a dream come true. Then she meets the owner, a mysterious millionaire with rumors following him wherever he goes. Callie finds herself drawn to Tomas Delacorte in spite of the darkness in his eyes. And Tomas can’t resist the joy that Callie brings to his days. He could be the man Callie’s always prayed for. But when Tomas’s secrets come to light, and the people she’s known all her life are threatened, Callie must decide if she can stand by the man who’s stealing her heart.

She took off her gardening gloves and walked over to Tomas. “So you fight your own battles, right?”

She saw the resigned expression shuttering his eyes and felt that strange tugging inside her heart again. His eyes caught hers, and Callie saw a barrage of emotions passing through him like a blast of smoke on the horizon. “That’s what I do, yes.” He stepped closer, his dark hair shimmering as it ruffled his neck. “But…I want you to please trust me, Callie. No matter what, can you do that?”

She wanted to laugh at that suggestion. She didn’t trust easily, not since her husband had left her, in the middle of a health crisis. Not since she’d decided to live her life free and clear and without any regrets. She trusted in the Lord. That was her kind of trust.

“Sorry, I’m not so good at trusting these days.”

This time, she was the one to walk away.

LENORA WORTH

has written more than forty books for three different publishers. Her career with Love Inspired Books spans close to fifteen years. In February 2011 her Love Inspired Suspense novel Body of Evidence made the New York Times bestseller list. Her very first Love Inspired title, The Wedding Quilt, won Affaire de Coeur’s Best Inspirational for 1997, and Logan’s Child won an RT Book Reviews Best Love Inspired for 1998. With millions of books in print, Lenora continues to write for the Love Inspired and Love Inspired Suspense lines. Lenora also wrote a weekly opinion column for the local paper and worked freelance for years with a local magazine. She has now turned to full-time fiction writing and enjoying adventures with her retired husband, Don. Married for thirty-six years, they have two grown children. Lenora enjoys writing, reading and shopping…especially shoe shopping.

Bayou Sweetheart

Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass: as showers that water the earth.

—Psalms 72:6

To Margie Clarkston and her sweet son Dennis. Thank you for reading my books!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

A woman danced in the rain in his garden.

Tomas Delacorte stared out the big upstairs window of Fleur House, oblivious to the coming storm. Instead, he watched the graceful woman as she lifted her face to the clouds and laughed, her long ponytail trailing around her shoulder like a flower vine, her hands out, palms up, as if she were saying a prayer. Her colorful tiered skirt was as bright as the various containers of flowers surrounding her. She had kicked off her sandals and now danced with barefoot abandon in the freshly mowed grass that sloped down to the bayou.

This must be Callie Moreau. The landscape lady.

He inhaled a deep breath. A sensation passed through his chest like a fresh wind and stirred up the dust inside his heart, causing it to beat a little faster. Causing it to warm and open and absorb. The change almost hurt—the pain of wanting was overwhelming.

She danced. And he fell in love.

He wanted to go out there and dance with her.

He wanted to be that joyous, that happy...just once in his life. But for him, that would be impossible. For him, love didn’t work. Just a silly reaction to an unusual sight.

A clap of thunder brought him out of his daydream.

The woman stopped dancing and gazed up at the sky.

Then she turned and looked at the window where he stood.

And into Tomas’s eyes.

* * *

Callie dropped her head and hurried to the long covered terrace at the back of the huge mansion, her wet clothes and hair making her shiver. Digging into the big tote bag she’d left on the porch, she found her phone and dialed her sister Alma’s number.

“He saw me,” she said when Alma answered. She had to catch her breath. She’d hurried too fast.

“Who saw you?”

Callie heard the blur of voices echoing over the line along with the sound of a cash register dinging another dollar. Alma was at the Fleur Café, as usual. And it was lunchtime.

“The man. The owner. Tomas Delacorte.”

“So you saw him? What does he look like?”

“I only got a glimpse before he disappeared. But...tall, dark, handsome. And dark, intense eyes. Visions of Heathcliff with a little bit of Mr. Darcy thrown in.”

“Heathcliff? As in Wuthering Heights? That Heathcliff?”

“Yes. That Heathcliff. I think he’s bitter and lonely. He must have loved someone and lost them. Brooding. Yes, definitely brooding.”

Alma giggled. “Oh, so you know this from a brief glimpse? Tell me more.”

She could picture Alma sinking down on a bar stool, her grin reflecting in the aged mirror that ran the length of the counter. “Yes. I was in the garden and it started raining and...I looked up and there he was, staring at me as if he’d just walked out of the pages of a historical romance novel.”

“Were you doing the rain dance thing?”

Callie twirled her wet ponytail. “Uh, maybe. Is that bad?”

“No, no. Not bad at all. I’m sure he enjoyed watching you do that silly dance.”

“He was watching. I mean, I felt him watching. I saw him at the window.” Callie went into panic mode. “What if he fires me?”

Alma laughed. “For dancing in the rain? That’s not grounds for firing someone.”

“But...I wasn’t actually doing my job.”

“You can’t dig dirt in the rain.”

“Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding might think differently.”

Callie turned at the sound of footsteps and saw the very man she’d been talking about standing there staring at her. Again. “Uh, gotta go.”

She put away her phone and wiped a hand across her wet hair. “Hello. I’m Callie.”

“And apparently I’m Mr.—what was that?—Tall, Dark and Brooding.”

Callie’s wet skin chilled with a hot blush. She couldn’t speak. So she just stood there.

He stepped closer, giving her the full view. Nice, expensive suit, dark sleek hair that curled over his collar in a rebel way. The bluest of blue eyes with dark brows that slashed across his forehead in a perpetual brooding way. Midnight eyes would be cliché. Ocean maybe, but only the deepest, bluest of oceans. Disturbing blue. Yes, disturbing ocean-blue eyes.

Disturbing blue brooding eyes that stayed on her like a spyglass searching for interlopers. Glinting. He was definitely a glinter.

Callie’s blush crept like kudzu over her and through her. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m the landscaper. I mean, I’m here to work in the garden, to...redo your yard. Nick Santiago hired me.”

“I know who you are,” he replied, his voice as rough as aged cypress bark. “I saw you out the window.” He kept staring. “And I’m pretty sure you know who I am—my real name I mean.”

“You’re Tomas Delacorte. Nice to finally meet you.”

He nodded but didn’t return the acknowledgment. “You’re wet.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, wishing she could turn into rain and just wash away. “I was—”

He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and frowned. “Dancing. In the rain.”

She didn’t have anywhere to put her hands. “Uh, yes. It’s kind of a thing I have....”

The rain turned into a full-blown storm with lashing sheets of water and wind that made her shiver. Callie put her arms against her midsection to ward off the chill from her wet shirt. Maybe these goose bumps weren’t from being wet. Maybe this was because of him. He glinted at her without moving.

She turned. “I should just go.”

He lifted one hand and motioned her toward him. “Come inside out of the rain.”

Not used to being ordered, good looks aside, Callie formed her own frown. “I need to get back to town.”

“Not in this storm. Come inside. I insist.”

When she stood there, frozen and wondering how to get away, he walked a step closer. “Please. I promise I won’t lock you in the dungeon.”

“You have a dungeon?”

He laughed—almost. And she fell in love. Almost.

Oh, what a beautiful, chiseled face he had. She imagined what it must look like when he truly laughed. What a lovely smile he’d have. Callie decided he probably didn’t smile very often. The glint in his eyes changed to a sparkle for just a brief second. So she took this as a rare gift and enjoyed it.

But...she couldn’t be in love with him. She’d keep this instant crush to herself. It was the shock of finally meeting him after weeks of speculations, after weeks of her vivid imagination taking over her brain cells. Get over that, she told herself. You don’t know this man. You don’t even need to know this man. You are content with your life, and you have Elvis.

Elvis, her big mutt of a dog, would probably scare this straight-out-of-a-menswear-magazine man right out of Fleur. Maybe not scare, but annoy. This man looked like he could become annoyed very easily. And she, Callie Moreau, was known to be the annoying type—the friendly, always sunny, always positive type. So was her dog. Luckily, she’d left Elvis back at the nursery since she’d planned to come and do a quick inspection and then get back to town. She’d been so excited about finally being able to get her hands on the massive, overgrown garden that surrounded Fleur House.

This might not work out so well, after all.

He motioned to her again then pointed toward the big French doors. “We have a basement, but...I’ll have Margie and Eunice make you a cup of tea.” He frowned. “Isn’t that what women love—a good cup of hot tea?”

“This woman does.” She marched toward the open, waiting door. “And I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat?”

* * *

“I have a cook,” Tomas said, irritated that she had somehow invaded his private space, even more irritated that he’d let her do it by inviting her inside. “And a maid. I’m sure they can feed you something.”

“And they could both be on break and probably watching their favorite soap opera.” Callie shook her head and smiled that breathtaking smile. “I don’t need any help. I—we—don’t live like that around here, Lord Delacorte.”

The sting of that comment pricked his solid armor. He walked to the door off the kitchen and called out, “Margie? Eunice?” Then he pivoted back to Callie. “You don’t approve of me having a cook and a maid?”

“Not my business.” She pointed to the big, industrial stove. “This kitchen is amazing. Brenna told me it was lovely, but it goes beyond that. It’s so...beautiful. Not as fancy as I expected. A good working kitchen. Every woman’s dream.”

Tomas had to admit it was refreshing to find such a down-to-earth woman. A woman who brought this kitchen to life. But her iridescence was too bright. So he covered his awe with gruffness. “Do you want some tea or not?”

She gave him an exaggerated frown, then toughened her voice. “Yes, but I can make it myself.”

Was she mocking him?

The cook and her sister, the housekeeper, both bustled into the room. Hired help, but more like family, they looked at Callie, smiled, then turned to him. “Tomas, did you need something?”

Tomas held up his ringing cell phone but answered Margie before he took the call. “Tea and food, for our guest.”

“Hi,” Callie said, smiling. “I’m Callie and I can make my own tea. Iced or hot, either way is good.”

“Nonsense,” Eunice replied. The two women started chattering away as they went about serving Callie.

Tomas nodded to Margie and Eunice, then turned and left the room. But he couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the feminine introductions and laughter coming from the kitchen. Not used to the echo of such joy, he shut his office door with a bang.

He didn’t like the feelings this colorful, full-of-life woman evoked in him. He didn’t have time for such feelings. Used to controlling everything and everyone, Tomas got the impression he’d never control Callie Moreau. Besides, he had work to do. Taking over a major company was never easy. Soon he’d be the most hated man in town.

Callie Moreau would hate him, too. And that would be that.

A few minutes later, a knock at his door brought his head up. “Yes?”

The door slowly opened and Eunice stuck her head in. “I’ve brought lunch and...Callie wanted a word with you.”

Before Tomas could protest, Callie was in, holding a lunch tray, and Eunice was gone, the door shut.

Callie’s smile looked tentative, but he saw the hint of empathy in her pretty gray-blue eyes. “We had grilled ham and cheese. I brought one for you.”

“I don’t like grilled ham and cheese.”

“Really? I thought everyone loved grilled ham and cheese sandwiches on a rainy day. When was the last time you had one?”

He sat back, memories swirling around him like the mist hitting the big windows. “It’s been a long time.”

She set down the tray on the edge of his massive desk. “Then this is going to be a good day.”

He nodded, turned sarcastic. “In more ways than one, apparently.”

She blushed, fussed with his napkin and water glass. “I hope the weather lets up. I have a lot to do. I love the rain, of course. But I want to make your garden a stunner. I need dry earth and sunshine for that.”

Tomas prayed for rain all day, then changed his mind and prayed for sunshine. He didn’t want her to go, but he certainly didn’t want her stay. “You need to talk to me?”

She nodded.

He motioned to a chair.

After she’d settled her skirt and smoothed her hair, she gave him a direct glance, then produced some papers from the tote bag draped over her arm. “I wanted to show you the grid for the garden. Nick approved everything, but I’d feel better knowing you approve things, too. I’m not used to taking over someone’s garden without their input.”

He waved that notion away. “Nicholas sings your praises. I trust his judgment.”

She flipped her ponytail. “He has to sing my praises. He’s going to be my brother-in-law in two weeks.” Then she sat up in her chair. “You live here. I’d like your input.”

Tomas stared at the sandwich on his plate, the scent of buttered bread making his stomach growl. “If you insist.”

“I do. It’s how I do business, Mr. Delacorte.”

Interesting. Some bite behind all that bright.

“Tomas,” he replied. “Call me Tomas.”

“Well, Tomas, eat your lunch and then we’ll get to work.”

What a bossy woman.

“It’s still raining. Why don’t you call it a day?”

“I don’t melt in the rain,” Callie replied, a sweet shyness seeming to envelop her.

“No, I have no doubt there. I think you thrive in the rain. At least it looked that way to me earlier.”

“I didn’t know you were watching.”

“I didn’t know when I looked out the window I’d find you down there dancing in the rain.”

She pushed the plate toward him, determination taking over her chirpiness. “Eating will get rid of that bad mood.”

“Who said I’m in a bad mood?”

“So you’re like this all the time?”

Tomas thought about that. “Yes, pretty much.”

He was rewarded with what looked like a doubtful but challenging smile. Tomas bit into the thick French bread and tasted the rich white cheddar and the salty ham, the spicy-sweet mustard covered with a ripe tomato from the farmer’s market in town. Then he glanced over at Callie. “This is by far the best ham and cheese sandwich I’ve ever eaten.”

She giggled. “You need to get out more.”

“That’s probably true.”

If he had this woman to entice him, Tomas might become less of a recluse and more of a social human being.

But, he reminded himself, he had not come back to Fleur, Louisiana, to fling himself into a relationship. He’d come back here to prove something to all the people who’d once scorned him and condemned him. And prove it he would, without distraction.

He dropped the sandwich and pushed the plate away, his appetite gone.

What would the lovely Callie Moreau think when she found out the truth about him? When she found out who he really was?

He didn’t want that to happen yet. He could control how much she knew in the same way he controlled everything else in his life.

“Let’s get on with this,” he said in an abrupt tone. “I have a busy afternoon.”

She nodded, shuffled her folded papers and came around the desk. “Here’s the grid.”

Tomas sniffed the floral scent of her perfume while she expounded on everything from Japanese maples to cast-iron plants.

And he wondered why he even cared about the garden in the first place.

* * *

“So that’s how Alma’s gumbo got so famous.”

Callie grinned over at Margie and Eunice. She remembered seeing them at church when they’d come for the first time a few weeks ago, so she felt at ease with them. After lunch, Himself had gone off to take another important call, but the rain kept falling so she was now back in the kitchen. Would she ever get to dig in that garden?

“So what’s it like to work for such a scary person?” she asked, killing time with small talk.

“We like him,” Margie said. She shot a covert glance to the other end of the big house. “He pays well.”

“Okay, that’s good. He’s generous then?”

“Very,” Eunice chimed in. “But we’ve known Tomas for a long time now. That’s why we came to work here. He only asks that we keep things straight and clean. He doesn’t mind us taking breaks. And he told us we could take off anytime we had doctor’s appointments or things like that.” She shrugged. “We hardly know he’s around.”

“Good.” Callie twirled her hair, remembering her time with Tomas in his office. The man couldn’t wait to get rid of her. “So you’re telling me that Mr. Delacorte isn’t really that scary?”

Both women went very quiet. Callie wondered if they hadn’t heard her. “So?”

“Boo.”

She turned to find Tomas standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He’d managed to sneak up on her yet again and while she was talking about him, yet again. When had he managed to walk the whole house without her hearing?

“Oh, hi.” She sat still while Margie and Eunice jumped up and pretended to be doing busy stuff. “Is that rain still out there?” And when would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

“Did I scare you?” he asked, ignoring the rain question.

“No. I mean, yes.” It was time for her to go home.

He gave her the glint look. “Voices tend to echo through this house.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After the other women beat a hasty exit, he leaned against the counter. “Do I...scare you?”

Callie couldn’t fudge the truth. She was known for her sugar-coated bluntness, after all. “Yes, you do. You’re different.”

“In what way?”

In a tingling, strange way that messes with my head.

She lifted her hand, indicating their surroundings, and thought of the first excuse that came to mind. “This house didn’t come cheap.”

Fleur House was a true treasure with its many porches and porticos, the arched windows and terraces and that garden, lush with possibilities. This man had bought it, commissioned Nick Santiago to renovate it and had managed to put a big intricate iron fence around it to keep everyone out.

But all of that added up to a lot of money.

“No, but how does that make me different?”

“Have you really taken a look at this town? We’re hurting. Between storms, oil spills and a bad economy, we’re barely hanging on. But you—you seem to have it all together. You get to live in a beautiful, historic home. You obviously have money since you poured a lot into renovating this place. And you’re paying me a hefty fee to spruce up the property. So yes, you’re different. You don’t have to worry about where your next paycheck will come from.”

He leaned close to her, his gaze heating her skin. “I am different, but not in the way you think.”

Callie took a breath and dug right in. “You want to explain that?”

“No,” he said. Then he glanced out the row of kitchen windows. “Oh, look, the rain’s stopped.”

Callie knew a dismissal when she heard one.

“My cue to leave,” she said. Grabbing her tote and her pride, she turned at the back door. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully, the ground will be dry by then. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“I’d appreciate that—you coming back to finish the job and you staying out of my way.” He nodded, glinted and then turned and walked out of the room.

Chapter Two

“So you will be at the wedding?”

Tomas walked with Brenna and Nick to their car. They’d come by to take one last look at the house that they’d both helped renovate. Tomas always enjoyed meetings that involved Brenna. She knew her art, and she had fallen in love with his right-hand man, Nicholas Santiago.

He stared at Brenna now. She was different from her sisters. All auburn and fire, lots of emotion and drama. Alma was maternal and earthy, with golden-brown hair and flashing eyes.

And Callie. She was earth, wind and fire, water and sunshine. The total package. Sunlight-golden hair and gray-blue eyes. He hadn’t seen her since they’d met the other day, but he’d seen traces of her work in the garden. Would she only come around when he wasn’t here?

“Earth to Tomas?” Brenna grinned over at him. “I think we lost you there for a minute. Did you think of something else we need to do for you? For the house?”

“No.” Tomas kept smiling. “The wedding? Yes, I plan to be there. Wouldn’t miss it.” Dreaded it with all his heart, but...he’d promised Nick.

Brenna let out a little squeal. “Good. You know, everyone in town is dying to meet the mysterious man who bought Fleur House. You’re a hot topic around here.”

Nick shook his head. “Anybody new here is a hot topic. Don’t let her tease you.”

Tomas enjoyed the way they glanced at each other. So in love. He thought of Callie, dancing in the rain. Remembered he didn’t want her dancing in his garden. Remembered her laughing in his kitchen. Remembered that he didn’t want her laughing in his kitchen. Or in his garden, for that matter.

“We’ve lost him again,” Brenna said, opening the trunk of her car to put away some folders. “Tomas, please don’t disappoint me. I want you to be at my wedding. I owe you a lot, you know. If you hadn’t bought this house, I wouldn’t have met Nick.”

“That’s true, sí,” Nick said, nodding his agreement. “Say yes, so she’ll quit pestering you.”

Brenna tilted her head. “My sisters are my bridesmaids. Callie will be wearing a pretty blue dress.”

That got his attention. “Ah, Callie. I met her the other day. She was...in the garden.”

“She loves that job,” Brenna replied, a twinkle in her eye. “She told Alma and me about how you’d caught her playing in the rain.”

He was sure she’d told them more—that he was brooding and scary and that she had a total disdain for his lofty lifestyle.

“She’s a very...interesting woman.”

Nick grinned and winked. “These Blanchard sisters, Tomas. Have to watch them.”

Brenna didn’t even bat an eye. “It’s Callie Blanchard Moreau now, but she is the last Blanchard woman standing. The strongest of us. You need to ask her to dance at the wedding so she won’t feel like a wallflower. Okay?”

“I don’t dance,” Tomas replied, already imagining Callie in a blue dress, in his arms. Definitely not a wallflower.

Brenna shook her head at that. “You might change your mind.” She was about to shut the trunk when Tomas stopped her.

“Wait,” he said, spying a painting lying in the trunk underneath a blanket. The blanket had slipped away to reveal long blond hair and one sky-blue eye. “May I see that?”

Brenna pulled at the blanket. “I painted it.” She beamed and sent a glance to her amused fiancé. “For Callie’s birthday, last December. Papa and I have been working on the frame. Only Callie is a bit embarrassed about it. She didn’t want people to think she’s vain so she asked Papa to keep it.”

Tomas lifted the painting and held it up. It was a portrait of Callie laughing in a garden. It reminded him of the other day. The day his heart had beat faster. “How much?”

Brenna frowned over at him. “Excuse me?”

“I want to buy this. How much?”

Nick cleared his throat. “Uh, that’s not for sale. Brenna gave it to Callie as a gift.”

“But she refused to accept it.” Tomas held tight to the painting. Brenna had captured her sister’s essence, the same essence he’d seen when she was in the garden. “I understand that and I appreciate it. But I’d like to buy this painting.”

Brenna started to speak, then stopped, then started again.

“I...I don’t know what to say. I mean, I worked on it for months, sometimes right here in the sunroom, before the house was finished. Papa said he’d like to hang it by our mother’s portrait.”

“How much?” Tomas asked again. “Name your price.”

Brenna dropped the blanket into the trunk. “But...what will I tell Callie? And Papa? Have you met my papa?”

“No. But I’ve met your sister. Just quote me a price.”

Brenna walked over to Nick. “Will you please explain to your boss that this portrait is not for sale?”

Nick grinned again. “I think Tomas has finally met his match.” He leaned close to Brenna. “And I’m not talking about you and your papa.”

Brenna smiled at Nick, a gleam in her eyes. “Tomas, I can’t sell you the portrait. But I’m flattered that you like it.”

Tomas put the portrait back in the trunk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make demands. It’s just that—”

“This would be perfect in one of the bedrooms,” Brenna replied, her eyes lighting up.

“I had thought the sunroom.” Tomas shouldn’t have said anything. He didn’t like the feelings Callie seemed to stir. And he did not like the way Brenna’s eyes were gleaming now. She obviously thought he’d gone mad, or she’d sensed his hard-to-explain interest in her older sister.

“The sunroom.” Brenna’s eyes filled with tears. “Perfect.”

“I’m sorry,” Tomas said again. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, no.” Brenna ran a finger over the painting. “Callie has been through so much. So much. I wanted to give her something that would make her smile. She was touched and embarrassed. So we compromised and agreed to display it at Papa’s house, maybe in her old room. But...you seem to see her as she is. She’s the sunshine in all of our lives.”

Tomas swallowed, wondered why he’d even suggested having the painting. “You have to give it back to her—to your family.”

Brenna took the painting out and ran her hand over the wooden frame. “My papa made this frame and Alma and I helped Julien and him mat it. Callie probably hasn’t even missed it.”

“You have to keep it. Because you’re family,” Tomas said again, a trace of regret in the words. “I understand. You all had a part in this gift.”

Brenna stared at Callie’s image. “Yes. But Callie would be so touched that you wanted it. She needs to know that someone wants—”

“I understand,” Tomas finished, feeling awkward now.

Brenna turned to Nick. “What should I do?”

Nick shrugged. He kissed her on the nose. “Remember you and me? Remember?”

“Yes.” She took his hand. “We’re so blessed.”

Tomas could see their love. But he wasn’t sure what they were saying. “Obviously, I’ve upset you.”

Nick held out a hand. “The Blanchard sisters lost their mother to breast cancer. They get emotional about things.”

“I’m sorry.” Tomas wished he’d never suggested buying the painting. He was usually better at handling negotiations. “Put it away, Brenna.”

“I don’t mind you having it,” Brenna said. “I think it’s a beautiful idea. But...Callie’s been hurt badly by a horrible divorce. Her ex-husband couldn’t handle it when she got sick.”

Tomas lifted his head and stared at Brenna, his heart hammering as realization hit him like a hot wind. “Callie? She was...sick?”

“She’s a cancer survivor,” Brenna replied. “But...”

“But you don’t want anyone to hurt her ever again,” Tomas finished. “I understand. That’s a family thing, too.”

“Yes. We’re close. Tight-knit. I’d have to explain.”

And he’d have to promise to honor that gift and the woman he’d met the other day. Callie...with cancer. He didn’t like thinking about that. He wasn’t sure he was ready for something so strong, so tightly woven.

How could he even begin to understand what Brenna was saying to him? She didn’t want him to make a mess of her sister’s life. He didn’t want to be in anyone’s life anyway.

“Take it back to your father.”

Brenna wrapped the painting and placed it in the trunk. “Thanks for understanding.”

Tomas usually liked a good challenge. But this was a matter of the heart, and it had been a very long time since he’d given his heart to anything that truly mattered. “Don’t tell her I asked to buy it.”

“Of course not,” Brenna replied, her eyes full of hope and understanding. “If this portrait of my sister ever does wind up in your home, you’ll have to be the one to tell her. But you need to know—she likes surprises. The good kind, that is.”

“Thank you,” Tomas said. “It was good to see both of you.”

Then he turned and headed toward his big, lonely house.

* * *

“Surprise!”

Callie clapped her hands and beamed with glee. They’d planned a special shower for Brenna, the last one before her wedding, at Alma’s little cottage on the bayou.

“What is all of this?” Brenna asked as she moved through the dainty living room. “I already have so much from my other showers.”

“We know,” Alma said, smiling. “This is from us—your sisters and your close friends.”

Callie pulled Brenna close. “See—Winnie’s here and Pretty Mollie and—”

“And the other waitresses from the café and Mrs. LeBlanc and Mrs. Laborde,” Brenna finished. “So thoughtful. What do you two have up your sleeve?”

“Wait until you see your gifts,” Callie said, her heart bursting. After going through a bad breakup and losing her dream job in Baton Rouge, Brenna had found Nick—a wonderful man—to spend her life with, a man who recognized her talents and her temperamental, creative nature. Callie’s heart pierced at the thought of her sisters finding happiness. She’d thought she had it. Once. Long ago. But Dewayne Moreau was nowhere to be seen in Louisiana. He was long gone.

But she was here. She’d survived a divorce and breast cancer. Now she was grateful for each breath she took. Her prayers were sweeter, deeper, with more meaning. Because she’d been given a true second chance. Every minute had to count.

She missed their mother, Lola. “Mom would be so happy for you,” she told Brenna.

“I know. I know.” Brenna went around, looking at the presents scattered here and there. “What kind of shower is this, anyway?”

Callie and Alma both laughed. “It’s an artist type shower. Your husband-to-be has big plans for that new house he’s building you.”

Brenna’s expression went soft. “He’s so sweet. I can’t believe he decided we could live here part-time.”

“He loves you. And...you will be going back and forth between here and San Antonio,” Callie said.

“And he does have that adorable little hacienda in Texas,” Alma reminded her sister. “You are blessed.”

Brenna’s eyes grew bright. “But really, what kind of shower is this?”

“Oh, all right, impatient,” Callie retorted. “We bought you art supplies for that new studio Nick’s including in your house.”

Brenna burst into tears.

“Drama queen,” Callie said, grabbing her little sister close. “Why are you crying?”

“I...I just never dreamed I’d be so happy,” Brenna said through gulps. “I...I want all of us to be this happy.” She looked at Callie. “I want you—”

“Shh,” Callie said, her own tears hot against her cheek. “I’m always happy. Always. I get to see both of you married to good men. I get to design the garden of my dreams at Fleur House. I have Elvis. He’s the perfect companion.”

Out on the porch, Elvis barked in agreement.

Brenna’s tears disappeared. “What do you think of Tomas? Isn’t he so...mysterious?”

And so the conversation turned to the man who’d been centered in Callie’s mind for over two weeks. She’d been out to the house a couple more times, but he’d been away on business or off doing whatever a mysterious man did. Or maybe he’d been there, but he’d studied her from that lofty view up above the tree line, where people who didn’t want to be seen lived. Maybe he was some sort of superhero who fought crime by night and built empires by day.

“So...?”

She looked up to find several big-eyed women staring at her. “Oh, the punch. Yes, it’s almost ready.”

“We weren’t talking about punch,” Alma retorted with a wry grin. “Have you been doing any more dancing?”

“Oh, hush.” Callie busied herself with getting ice and mixing the creamy concoction of standard shower punch.

Winnie raised her hand. “I hear he reminds you of Heathcliff.”

Pretty Mollie, one of the younger waitresses at the Fleur Café located in front of Alma’s cottage, giggled. “Heathcliff, as in Wuthering Heights?”

“That Heathcliff, yes,” Alma replied. Mollie dated her husband, Julien’s, younger brother, Pierre.

“Can’t you ever keep the things I tell you to yourself?” Callie asked, blood rushing to her cheeks.

“It’s payback time,” Brenna said, still sniffing. “You’ve been teasing us about men for years now. It’s our turn.”

“But that was about men you were involved with,” Callie said. She stirred the lime sherbet into the lemon-lime fizzing soda with a vengeance, then added some fruit juice. “This is different.”

“Is it really?” Brenna asked. “He seems keen on you.”

“What makes you think that?” Callie asked, her heart pounding just as much as the wooden spoon she used to attack the sherbet. She wasn’t sure what “keen on you” actually meant.

Brenna put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, nothing. He just mentioned how he’d met you and that you were...interesting.”

Pretty Mollie put on a dreamy smile. “Isn’t it romantic? A handsome stranger who lives in a big old house all by himself. What’s his story anyway?”

A sigh moved through the roomful of women.

Brenna glanced from Alma to Callie. “I’ve heard things.”

“What things?” Callie asked. Brenna remained silent. “What things, Brenna?”

“Nick told me not to tell.”

“You can’t just throw that out there and expect us to accept that,” Callie replied, worry clouding over her annoyance at her sister’s teasing. “Is there something I should know about the man?”

Brenna studied the faces in the room, drawing out the anticipation until Callie thought she’d scream. “Brenna?”

Brenna shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s true but...I think he was married before.”

“And?” Callie closed her eyes, the answer already forming in her brain.

“And she died. Mysteriously.”

“Of course,” Callie replied, hope melting into a puddle right along with the sherbet. She’d figured divorced. But this was tragic, just like the man. It explained a lot, however.

“Define mysteriously,” Alma said.

“No one knows what happened,” Brenna replied. “He took her away and then he came back to Texas without her. He doesn’t talk about it.” She turned stern, her gaze sweeping the room. “And we can’t talk about it. We all know how closemouthed men can be.”

“No wonder,” Mrs. Laborde, who loved to pass on tall tales, said on a low whisper. “Callie, be careful when you go out there.”

Callie stood up straight. “This is ridiculous. Brenna, remember we wondered what the deal was with Nick? Now we know he lost a family member. That’s why he was so standoffish and mysterious. It could be the same with Tomas. He loved his wife and he tried to save her.”

“Maybe,” Alma said. “Or maybe...”

Callie held up a hand. “Maybe he couldn’t handle things and he bolted. I know all about that, don’t I?”

She looked at her sisters, saw the sympathy and the fear in their eyes. “I’m working for the man. That’s all. I’ll be okay.”

But she had to wonder, as she poured punch into pretty blue cups, if she’d made a fatal mistake in accepting this job.

Not if you keep to yourself and guard your heart, she thought. Not if you stay busy doing what you were hired to do and never enter that beautiful house again.

She wouldn’t think about Tomas Delacorte as a lonely, brooding man who might need a friend. She wouldn’t.

But of course, she was just the kind of person who befriended everyone anyway. Even if they didn’t want her around.

Chapter Three

“So the sale is final and all the paperwork is in place. We can finally announce our plans to the public.”

Nick sat across from Tomas’s antique walnut desk, taking notes on his tablet. “Good. Do you want to see the preliminary plans for the updated factory? The main office blueprints are included.”

Tomas took the rolled-up blueprints and spread them out on the desk. “They’re finished?”

“As of last night. I had to get them done or risk upsetting my bride. She decided she does want to go on a honeymoon, after all. We’re still trying to decide where however, since we’ve both been so busy we’ve held off until the last minute.”

Tomas smiled at that. “Brenna is a forceful female.”

“And don’t I know it,” Nick replied, his eyes bright with contentment. “She amazes me.”

Tomas swallowed his envy and let the lump settle in his stomach. He’d given up on the love thing long ago. “You’re blessed.” He reached inside the desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. “I want to go ahead and give you this now. In case your forceful bride doesn’t approve of my gift.”

“What’s this?” Nick took the big envelope and opened it. After skimming the contents, he looked up at Tomas. “A trip to Paris? Are you kidding me?”

“I hope not,” Tomas replied. “You can schedule it, but your honeymoon is on me.”

“I...I don’t know what to say.” Nick stared down at the itinerary. “Brenna had hoped we’d get to do this one day. But for our honeymoon, we’d thought a quick trip to Florida or maybe California. But Paris... She’ll be thrilled.”

Tomas enjoyed seeing the glee in his friend’s dark eyes. “I know it seems extravagant, but I pretty much depended on both of you, and your aunt Serena, too, to put this house together for me. You did a great job and then you went right into renovating plans for the other property. This is my way of thanking you.”

“What did you give my aunt?” Nick quipped.

“Serena, well, she’s hard to please. She only wanted to bid on my next project. She’ll be decorating the offices at the business property here, for starters.”

“Oh, she’ll like that,” Nick said, grinning. “You know, she and Brenna’s father have a thing.”

“A thing? As in, a relationship thing?”

“Sí.” Nick shook his head. “It was awkward at first, but Brenna and I have accepted it. They’re good for each other and they both agree it’s for companionship—for now.”

Tomas stood and turned to stare out the ceiling-to-floor window behind his desk. He could see part of the bayou from this viewpoint. Banana fronds and palmetto palms waved back at him as they danced in the spring breeze. A snowy white egret standing down in the shallows lifted her head in a pose. “This place seems to bring out the romantic in everyone.”

“You, too?” Nick asked, getting up to gather his papers.

Tomas turned around. “You know I’m not wired that way.”

“You might change that tune.” Nick came around the desk and shook Tomas’s hand. “Thank you, Tomas. For the trip. Brenna will be beside herself.”

“I want you to enjoy being newlyweds,” Tomas replied. “I mean that.”

“We will. See you later.” Nick turned and headed out of the room.

Tomas pivoted back to the window and saw a flash of something big and gangly moving through the backyard.

What kind of beast was that?

He shifted to see around the corner. There it was again.

A horse? No, a dog. A big, splotchy black-and-white dog that had paws the size of a Clydesdale’s hooves. The animal starting barking, then took off to chase a hapless squirrel. The squirrel rushed up the nearest live oak while the dog stood waiting and woofing.

Then Tomas heard a feminine voice calling. “Elvis, hush up. We don’t want to disturb Himself.”

“Himself?” Tomas actually chuckled. “Is that what she calls me now?”

He tried hard to frown, but his mood immediately lightened and his feet moved without any logic toward the nearest door to the outside.

Callie was back in his garden. And apparently she’d brought her guard dog with her. He’d have to insist that she put that animal away. He silently practiced what would be a stern lecture as he hurried toward the sunny backyard.

* * *

Callie laughed at Elvis, thinking he should have figured out by now that squirrels always got away. The big dog turned and stared at her, as if to say “Hey, a little help here.”

“C’mon over here,” she said, slapping a hand against her jeans. “We’ve got work to do.”

Elvis looked offended by that statement, but he finally gave a grudging, low bark and galloped back toward her. When he was about a foot away, however, he skidded to a stop, his big brown eyes moving beyond Callie.

“What do you see now?” she asked, turning.

Tomas Delacorte stood on the back terrace, staring down at them with that lord-of-the-manor frown.

“Hello.” Callie waved and Elvis took that as his cue to head on up and greet the interloper.

Callie stood up to stop the meeting of dog and man, but she was too late. “Elvis, no!”

Elvis barked with glee and went right on up the terrace steps and lifted up for a paw-hug. Tomas stepped back, his frown increasing, his hands up in the air. Elvis lifted, grabbed hold, pawed and left mud stains on Tomas’s expensive-looking gray suit.

“Elvis, get down,” Callie called as she rushed up toward the house. This wouldn’t be pretty. Tomas would probably tell her he hated dogs. Elvis would be banished from ever coming here again. And...so would she.

By the time she’d made it to the terrace, breathless and winded and wondering why she’d brought the dog in the first place, Tomas had Elvis by his collar.

“What is this?” he asked, his eyes flashing anger.

“My dog,” she said, her tone defensive. “Let him go.”

Tomas held Elvis at arm’s length. “Get him out of my yard.”

“He goes where I go,” she replied. “For protection.”

Tomas dropped his hand. Elvis immediately leaped back up against him. “He doesn’t exactly act like a guard dog.”

“He...alerts me,” she replied on a weak note.

This man made her so nervous. She wasn’t used to dealing with such a dour, unpleasant person.

Tomas gave her a pointed look and held Elvis by his paws so he could push the big dog off of his suit.

“Elvis, down,” Callie said, grabbing the dog to tug him away. “I’m sorry. Once he gets used to you, he won’t do that.”

“I don’t want him to get used to me. I want him away.”

Callie shooed Elvis out into the yard and dug in her heels for a fight. “Listen, this dog goes where I go. Sometimes I’m out in a garden alone until almost dark. He at least barks and lets me know when someone is approaching.”

Tomas brushed at his ruined suit. “And attacks.”

“I’ll have that cleaned for you.”

“No need. Just...keep him off the porch.”

“He usually sleeps or chases squirrels.”

“Fine.”

She took a breath. “We’re not sure what breed—or breeds—he is. He showed up at the nursery one day and wouldn’t leave. So he’s mine now.”

Tomas shot her a look that encompassed the meaning of that phrase. “You take in strays?”

“Not normally. Only the really good-looking ones.”

He gave her another look, surprise on his face. Did he consider himself a stray? Did he consider letting her take him in?

“You named him Elvis?”

“Yeah, ’cause he’s a hunk, a hunk of burnin’ love.”

Tomas didn’t laugh, but she saw that sparkle in the dark blue of his eyes. Okay, now they were getting down to business. She’d been reprimanded and Elvis had been banished.

Yet she had to defend her dog. “I like his company. He’s playful, watchful and he doesn’t ask a lot of questions.”

His eyebrows quirked upward. “You don’t like questions?”

“Who does?”

Tomas walked down to where she stood on the bottom step. Elvis hurried back then sniffed and took off after something that moved. Probably the wind.

Tomas surprised her by sitting back on the terrace edge. Shocked yet again, Callie thought she should tell him she had work to do. She should call her dog and leave. She should be aloof and unattainable, mysterious and standoffish.

But no, here she stood waiting for his next words. Pathetic, really. “Did you need something else?” she asked, as if she really meant it. “I did come here to work.”

He stared off into the distance. “I don’t get out in the garden much.”

“You work a lot. It’s understandable. And speaking of that, what exactly do you do?”

He loosened his tie then put his hands between his knees and stared out toward the bayou. “I buy things.”

“I can see that,” she said, lifting her hand toward the house. “You buy big expensive things.”

“Yes. Buildings, companies, factories, mostly commercial real estate.”

“People? Do you try to buy people?”

His frown turned stoic, but she saw a trace of tenderness in his eyes. “I’ve found most people can’t be bought.”

“But you’ve tried?”

“Are you asking me this because you’re curious, or because you think I’m that kind of man?”

“Maybe both.”

“What would you like to know about me, Callie?”

She had to be her usual blunt self. “Everything. Nothing. It’s not my business, after all.”

“But you’ve heard things? You want to know why I’m here.”

“We’d all like to know that.”

She wanted to shout that she needed to know about his wife. About what had happened with his wife. Did he love her? Or did he abandon her? Was she still alive and hiding in some attic somewhere far away?

Her gaze drifted up to the oval second-story balcony. Maybe he’d brought his wife here.

He got up. “I’m holding a meeting with the city council on Thursday. Of course, the public is welcome to come.”

“Are you inviting me?”

“Are you a member of the public?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re welcome to come.”

Talking to this man was not easy. He held everything in with a perpetual frown. He seemed practiced and practical, as if he didn’t dare cut loose like a normal human being. She wondered did he ever show any emotion, ever lose his temper. Ever hurt.

She turned too quickly and almost stumbled. Right into him. He took her by the arm and helped her, his touch fleeting and swift and then gone. But the warm imprint lingered white-hot against her skin, teasing at her senses like the playful wind.

“Can you give me a hint now?” she asked to distract herself from that brief touch.

He stared at her arm then looked at his hand. “Industry. That’s your hint.”

“Industry. Hmm. Does this mean jobs? We’d heard rumors about the shipyard.”

“Possibly.”

His gaze swept over her as if he expected her to dispute his words. Callie didn’t know what to say. They heard rumblings about things around here on a daily basis. They’d find out the truth, good or bad, soon enough.

And yet, she couldn’t resist asking. “Are you here to do something about those rumors?”

“I have to go and change into a clean suit,” he said. Then he turned and went inside the house.

* * *

Callie went back to her work, wondering if Tomas Delacorte was in Fleur to bring about more jobs or if he had come to take over a struggling company. Was he here for good or for evil?

She couldn’t decide. Her heart told her he was a good man. He’d been great about giving Brenna free rein on finding art pieces to display in his big remodeled Italianate-style mansion. Nick sang his praises even when he hadn’t been allowed to tell them who his boss was.

Now that she’d met him, Callie tried to see the goodness in Tomas. He hadn’t actually banned Elvis from his property. That gained him points. If Elvis liked the man, that was good enough for her.

But she sensed a dark sadness in him, too. His rare, forced smiles held a trace of tragedy, of loss.

Did he mourn his allegedly dead wife? Or was he bitter about losing her? Did he leave her the way Dewayne had left Callie, because he couldn’t handle illness and death? Did he have a secret?

Shaking her head, Callie decided not to go down that path. Instead, she focused on the row of daylilies she was planting in a sunny spot in the side garden. She’d have more people to help her next week, but for now she wanted to enjoy being alone and creating new paths in this old, settled garden. During the earlier scouting expeditions she’d taken out here, she’d found a wealth of aged shrubs and bushes. Azaleas hidden underneath weeds and bramble, old camellia bushes and crape myrtles hiding behind pine shrubs and palmetto plants, and climbing roses tossed in with hydrangeas underneath tallow trees and piles of brittle pine straw.

A treasure trove of possibilities. A gardener’s dream.

She patted down the rich soil around the final daylily plant, her intention to have these tender shoots nurtured into blooms by the end of spring.

Brenna was trying to talk Tomas into holding an open house and a spring picnic, so Callie wanted the gardens to be in good shape for that. These lilies would come back each spring and grow and multiply if she had her way. She’d talked to them and suggested they behave and show off a bit now that they had found a good home.

Having finished up, she turned toward the sun that moved gently into dusk over the bayou. Then she looked back at the big house looming like a lost castle behind her.

Once, long ago, she’d dreamed of living in this mansion. It had been a true daydream, a little girl’s fantasy of being the lady of Fleur House. Now, while the house looked all fresh and prim and glowing, she wondered about the sadness that seemed to shroud it. Or rather the sadness that seemed to wear like a mantle on the owner’s broad shoulders.

“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

“He 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.

Then he thought of Callie. She’d care. She’d probably gasp and get up and leave the room. She’d probably refuse to finish designing his garden and grounds. He thought of her, dancing in the rain.

But he’d come here for a reason so he squared his shoulders and asked God to help him through this. Did God listen to the prayers of a person who’d never bothered to enter a church, a man who’d once been a scared little boy, thrown away and ignored? Could Christ see inside his soul? Would he ever find any peace? Or would he still feel like that lost little boy even after he’d finally gotten his revenge?

Chapter Five

“He’s closing down Fleur Shipyard.”

“No, he’s gonna rebuild it or merge it or something like that. You heard the man.”

“What I heard is I’ll be let go.”

Callie listened to the whispers of conversations going on around her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tomas Delacorte had come here with a purpose, all right. But she hadn’t quite decided if his intentions were good or bad.

Or maybe a little of both. In a voice as smooth as French roast coffee and as commanding as a sea captain, he’d announced that the Fleur Shipyard would be shut down indefinitely in one month. Then after the chaos had finally turned to shocked disbelief, he’d also announced that he would merge the Fleur Shipyard with two others he’d recently acquired, to form Delacorte Shipbuilding and Repair, LLC. This would become a full-service industry with new state-of-the-art technology and the ability to build supply vessels and research vessels and to obtain naval contracts, all backed by a vessel repair service that would be the best in the country. This would be good for the state of Louisiana and especially for Fleur and several other small towns along the Gulf.

That was the press-release, polished version.

Callie wanted the truth, from him.

Brenna poked Callie in the ribs. “What do you think?”

Alma had hopped up to talk to Julien, but Brenna remained beside Callie. Callie glanced around. “I don’t know what to think. Papa’s not smiling.”

“Papa rarely smiles.”

“Tomas is not smiling, either.”

“He never smiles.”

But Callie had seen him smile, kind of. Now he simply sat back and let the discussion continue until it had reached fever pitch. The meeting was over now, after several shouted questions, after mass panic, after reassurances by both Nick and Tomas and after each council member had given it either a blessing or a nay.

“He could have given us this information in a more gradual way,” Alma said as she sank back down beside Callie. “I think the old shipyard could use some improvements but I don’t know. Steel. This is all about steel. I guess it’s a good thing.”

“And industry,” Callie finally said. “He’s bringing new industry to our area. He did tell me that, in a word.”

“Only no one wants things to change,” Alma replied. “We want the old shipyard. The workers want that one to stay open and running even if it’s on its last legs.”

“They should want this,” Brenna retorted. “A new shipyard is a big change, and if what Tomas told us is true, it could mean jobs, lots of jobs.”

“But he also said he might have to let a lot of workers go before he can put his plan into motion,” Alma replied. “What will happen to them?”

Brenna lowered her voice. “Some of them are near retirement anyway. He’s going to buy them out. He’s going to bring in more qualified, more educated, skilled craftsmen. Or at least that’s what he just told us.”

“Did you know all of this?” Callie asked Brenna.

“No.” Her sister shifted on her chair. “I knew he was coming here to do a buyout, but Nick had to be careful about what he said. He’s not actually involved in the buyout. He’s only involved in building and renovating offices. He’ll hire locals for that, at least.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Alma said. “A very bad feeling.”

Callie didn’t know what to say. Did Tomas Delacorte have good intentions? Or was there some other motive for his actions? How long would he leave this town hanging on his promises?

“Surely he has some heavy-duty investors,” she said. “I mean, shipyards don’t come cheap. You can’t just roll into town and say ‘I’d like one shipyard, please.’”

“Or two or three.” Brenna nodded. “He has investors, yes. Big-shot investors. But he’s also a very wealthy man.”

“How did he get that way?”

“I’m not sure. Oil and gas, naval contracts, lots of industry.”

“Industry.” Callie said the word once again. “He wasn’t lying about that.”

“He’s not lying about anything,” Brenna replied. “He’s a businessman. I don’t think he’s out to do us harm.”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Callie finally said. “It’s a done deal. The council approved it even if it was just symbolic. This is more of a state thing—approval, permits, logistics. But they seemed to think eventually this will be a good thing.”

Brenna glanced behind them. “Yes, but barely. I thought Mrs. Laborde was going to keel over.”

“She’s a widow who lives on her husband’s pension, and that’s very little as it is.” Alma crossed her arms and stared at the now-empty council chairs. “I don’t know. A lot of new jobs will bring a lot of new people to town. The Fleur Café will be busy. We might have to hire more people ourselves.”

“That’s the right attitude,” Brenna replied. “Think positive.”

Callie got up and lifted her shoulder bag onto her arm. “I’m going home.”

Her sisters stood, too. “Are you all right?” Alma asked.

“I’m fine. New people will mean new homes, and they’ll need someone to help with landscaping and plants and trees and bushes and, you know, I’m an industry. I mean, I run an industry myself. Small scale but...”

“You are a smart businesswoman,” Brenna said, latching on to the few good notes in the symphony of fear moving through the room. “This will work out fine. Nick wouldn’t work for a man who intended to shut this town down.”

Callie walked with her sisters to the door. Outside, the night was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. The wind played against the old oaks while all sorts of scenarios played out inside her head.

She headed to her battered red pickup truck and stood, digging her keys out of her purse. She wanted to get home and into her pajamas and into her bed. She needed to think, to pray. To sleep.

“Callie?”

She closed her eyes and stilled.

Tomas.

“Yes?” She didn’t dare turn around.

But she didn’t have to. He was there beside her, urging her around. “You left without saying good-night.”

“Good night.” She couldn’t look at him.

Tomas leaned down so she was forced to face him. “You’re not too happy about this, are you?”

Finally, she glanced up and into his unreadable eyes. “No. You’re shutting down the shipyard with a vague promise of opening it back up. We’ve heard that kind of vague promise before. It never is good. We need a solid assurance. We need jobs.”

He leaned a hand against her car, trapping her too close. “I have my reasons.”

“And those reasons are?”

“It’s time for a change. I think I can make that change.”

“It’s you taking over and telling us that we no longer matter,” she blurted. “You gave a good spiel and you made a lot of promises, but—”

“I’m not taking over anyone. I don’t want to own this town. I don’t need this town.”

But something in the way he said that made Callie lift her head to stare at him. “Then what do you want? What do you need?”

He stood staring down at her, the moonlight reflecting in his velvet dark eyes, the gray night washing over his intense scowl. His hard, harsh expression softened in the moonlight. “Callie...”

“I have to go,” she said. “I work for a living. I have to get up early.”

She struggled with her keys.

He grasped her hand, took the keys from her and opened the truck door. Not used to him being so kind, she moved around him and slid into the seat, but he held the door open and leaned in. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Tomas. You told me this was about industry. And it is. There’s good and bad in your announcement. Change is hard on a place that’s used to tradition, but we do need some sort of change. So I’m asking you to make it a good one. Don’t disregard the people of Fleur. We depend on each other around here, help each other, pray for each other. It’s hard on us when an outsider comes in and takes over, even if it is a write-off investment.”

“It’s progress, Callie. It’s business. And that means there are winners and losers.”

She took a deep breath and cranked the car. “Well, sometimes progress comes at a high price. And no one wins.”

He stood inside the truck door. “Don’t leave yet.”

She tugged on the door handle. “I have to go.”

He finally lifted his hand off the door. “Good night.”

Then he stepped back.

Callie didn’t dare look at him as she cranked the old truck and backed out of the parking space, but when she was a safe distance away, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him standing there staring after her.

This time, he hadn’t walked away.

* * *

The sun peeked over the morning horizon in pastels of shy pink and timid yellow. Callie and her crew arrived at Fleur House just as the shimmering rays filled the tall pines and ancient cypress trees along the bayou, casting out a path of light that seemed to absorb the stone-encased walls of the looming house and give them new life.

But she had to wonder if this house would ever feel alive. She didn’t think the lone man inhabiting it really knew about real life. But she’d decided not to dwell on Tomas Delacorte and his mysterious ways today.

Pulling her cranky old truck up underneath a just-green tallow tree, Callie got out and waited for the work van full of a half-dozen workers she’d hired to help her oversee this project.

“Gather around,” she called, smiling at Pretty Mollie and several younger teens from the church youth group. “Okay, we’ve talked about your pay and how many hours I’ll need y’all. Weekends and after school, of course. This is our first Saturday together, so I wanted to remind everyone of how this works. We’ll be here most of the day. My sister Alma will send out lunch so you won’t starve. But please remember to behave and work hard. The faster we get this done, the sooner you can go on home and get on with your Saturday-night plans.”

“You got any plans, Miss Callie?” one of the teens asked, grinning, his brown eyes twinkling.

Callie had known the kid since his birth, so she was used to his good-natured teasing. “No, David Lee, I don’t. Other than finding a quiet spot and reading a good book.”

“That sounds boring,” blonde-haired, blue-eyed Hannah said, one painted fingernail clawing at her spiral curls.

“You should try it sometime,” David Lee retorted. “Reading makes people smart. Oh, I mean some people.”

Hannah stuck out her tongue at him. “Then obviously you don’t read much yourself.”

Everyone laughed at that, except David Lee, of course.

Ah, young love. Callie remembered that. She and Dewayne had sparred and flirted in just such ways when they’d been in high school. And they’d married right after high school and moved into the tiny little house where Callie still lived not far from her papa’s house. Life had been good for a few years, but...life had a way of changing pretty fast.

“Let’s get to work,” she said, turning to open the tailgate of the truck so she could hand out shovels, picks and rakes. “I have a grid that we need to follow. “David Lee, why don’t you and the other boys start unloading these plants.” She pointed to a spot she’d already tilled and fertilized. “Set them right there and I’ll show you the grid once we get our tools in place.”

David Lee and the boys started doing as she’d asked while Callie and the girls gathered the tools. “We have a water jug,” Callie called out. “And drinking cups. Put your trash in the bag I brought, okay?”

The teens all mumbled and went about their various duties, and soon Callie was knee-deep in mud and manure and magnolia bushes. She tried not to look toward the house, toward that big window where Tomas usually stood. She hadn’t seen him since the meeting Wednesday night, but she knew he was somewhere in that big house, making plans for his future empire.

Hannah shoveled soil and shifted on her old tennis shoes. “I’ve heard a lot about Mr. Delacorte.”

“Me, too,” one of the other girls said. “My daddy says he’s gonna fire everybody down at the shipyard.” She stared up at the imposing mansion. “I guess he’s filthy rich if he lives here. Daddy says Fleur will never be the same since he moved in.”

Callie had thought the very same thing, but she refused to engage in idle gossip. “Girls, we’re here to plant not to stir up.”

“Is that a joke, Miss Callie?” Hannah asked, a smug look on her face.

“No, it is not,” Callie retorted. “Let’s talk about something else besides the man who’s paying us to do this.”

“My daddy said you’d take up for him,” the other girl replied. “Since he’s paying you so much money and all.”

Callie stopped shoveling and stared over at the sassy teen. “Your daddy needs to keep quiet since he has no idea what I’m being paid. I have to work for a living, and Mr. Delacorte needed a gardener.”

“Well, your sister works for him, too,” the girl said, anger coloring her words. “And she’s engaged to that other man, Nick. So my daddy might just be right about you defending him. It’s like your whole family is depending on him or something.”

“Enough.”

They all turned toward the masculine voice that echoed out over the trees and water.

Tomas was standing about ten feet away.

And he was not smiling.

Chapter Six

Both girls lowered their heads and went back to digging dirt, but Callie dropped her shovel and walked toward Tomas. She didn’t need him running interference or scaring away her workers, even if they had been talking about him.

“They’re just confused,” she said. “Don’t be angry at them.”

Tomas walked right past her to the girls. “Excuse me. Could I have a word with both of you?”

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