Back Home To The Bayou

Saying goodbye to Fleur, Louisiana, was all part of Brenna Blanchard’s grand plan. Coming back to the quaint tiny town after a failed art career and broken wedding engagement, however, was not. When architect Nick Santiago recruits her to help restore a beautiful old mansion, it’s just the distraction she needs—and growing close to handsome Nick is an unexpected bonus. Except, he has a heart in need of restoration, too. All business, the only thing Nick can’t manage to construct is a life outside work. Unless Brenna can finally help him arrange his priorities—with love as number one.

“I think we’re both at a crossroad.” And his seemed to be leading straight to Brenna.

She leaned against a thick column. “Yes, I guess so. We’ll see what happens, which way we both go.”

A thick silence hung between them like a low, moss-draped cypress branch hanging over dark water.

“I enjoyed supper,” Nick said, using the term her father had used. “I hope I can repay the favor one day.”

“I enjoyed riding in that souped-up car,” she replied. “Now go. I can tell you’re eager to get to work.”

“You know me already.” Nick took her hand, held it there between them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Bright and early.” She pulled away.

He wanted to bring her back. But then, she might get the impression that he wanted more.

And Nick wasn’t sure he could give her more.

So he got in his car and cranked the engine.

When he turned to wave, she had already gone in the house.

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.

Sweetheart Bride

Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.

—1 Peter 5

To Linda White. Thanks 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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

The soft sound of wedding music flowed through the quiet church. A hush fell over the crowd of people gathered to celebrate the wedding of Alma Blanchard and Julien LeBlanc. Candlelight gave the tiny sanctuary a muted, dreamy glow. The groom beamed a bright, loving smile as his bride seemed to glide up the aisle, escorted by her misty-eyed father.

Alma’s older sister Callie, the maid of honor, looked radiant in a light golden silk dress with a flowing skirt. She smiled at her sister, her expression full of love and hope.

The other bridesmaid, wearing a similar dress with a fitted skirt, tried hard not to squirm and fidget. Brenna Blanchard sent up a little prayer for courage and self-control.

Dear Lord, please don’t let me bolt out of this church.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t do that to Alma. Alma and Julien were so in love. They’d been in love since high school, but circumstances and stubbornness had torn them apart for ten long years. It was their time to shine.

Brenna could hang on for a few minutes. As long as she didn’t think about her own broken heart and the fact that technically, she should have been the one getting married, she’d be okay. Concentrating on the beautiful arrangement at the center of the aisle, she marveled at how her sister Callie could take sunflowers, mums and yellow roses and turn them into something exquisite. And what was the deal with all the Louisiana irises, anyway? Maybe Alma had a thing for irises?

Brenna forced herself into a serene pose as she smiled at her sister. Alma did look lovely in their mother’s reworked wedding dress. Hadn’t Callie worn that same dress on her wedding day? Wouldn’t that sort of jinx the dress because she’d gotten a divorce?

No, this was their maman’s dress. Lacy and flowing and full-skirted, with a portrait collar. Beautiful.

Brenna’s eyes misted over, the ache in her heart still an open wound. She wished their deceased mother, Lila, could see Alma now. She’d be so happy.

I’ll be happy for you, Mama, Brenna thought now, her gaze scanning the crowded church. I won’t be sad no matter how much I miss you, no matter how much I wish I could be the one walking up that aisle.

Brenna had a brief flash of pain, like a thorn from one of Callie’s beautiful roses, as she thought of her ex-fiancé and wondered why she’d had love and lost it. Oh, wait, according to Jeffrey, her former fiancé, she wasn’t good enough for him. He’d never said that out loud, but he’d shown it, loud and clear. Jeffrey hadn’t said a lot of things, but she’d found out so much about him too late. Never again would she be interested in a man who held everything inside or kept things from her.

Never.

But in her heart she knew she really hadn’t loved Jeffrey the way her mama and daddy had loved each other. She’d never loved him the way Alma loved Julien. She’d kind of stumbled upon Jeffrey and decided he’d make a perfect groom and a good husband.

Not. Maybe the brooding type wasn’t her type, after all.

Brenna saw Alma’s smile light up when her gaze settled on Julien, saw the way his grin went from happy to awestruck to humble with each step her beautiful sister took toward him.

I want that kind of love, she thought as she stood tall and held her head high. I want someone who will look at me the way Julien is looking at Alma right now.

Brenna glanced out into the crowd and locked eyes with a man sitting toward the back on the outside aisle, a man with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in what else—a dark suit.

Who’s the good-looking stranger? she wondered.

And why did he keep staring at her?

* * *

Who’s the looker? Nicholas Santiago wondered, his gaze lingering on the second bridesmaid on the left. The bridesmaid who looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

She had hair the color of the tallow tree leaves falling outside, a rich golden-hued auburn that only burned brighter against the creamy gold of her dress. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he’d guess they were a vivid green or maybe a vivid hazel. She shouted fire and heat, which probably meant she also liked a bit of drama.

Well, so did he.

But lately, he’d had too much drama. And coming to a sweet wedding simply because his new friend Callie Blanchard Moreau had invited him had seemed like a good idea when he rolled into town a few weeks ago. Now, Nick wasn’t so sure. Too many bad memories.

“Please come, Nicholas,” Callie had said. “Weddings are a good way to meet people. If you’re going to be here for a while, you need to meet everyone. And we’ll feed you. Alma insisted on cooking most of the food for her own wedding. You might even get a mention in Mr. Sonnier’s ‘Ain’t that Good’ column because he’ll be here covering the wedding to help promote Alma’s gumbo. You know, he’s helping her to mass-produce it and sell it all over Louisiana. She hopes to expand in the next couple of years.”

Callie was a talker, but the woman knew her flowers. And he’d need her help once he got the old Dubois estate, known around here as Fleur House, renovated for his picky client. They’d been good friends since he’d first come to Fleur a few months ago to check out the old antebellum mansion and purchase it for his secretive boss. Nicholas had remembered his mother’s birthday, and Callie had helped him wire some flowers to her back in Texas. After they’d talked about the renovations at Fleur House and how he needed help decorating it, Callie had mentioned one of her sisters was an art expert. And that the sister would be at the wedding, of course.

So here he was, being courteous, being neighborly, by attending a quaint little wedding in a simple little church on a crisp fall Friday night.

And a good thing, too. He really wanted Callie to introduce him to that fidgety, adorable redhead and he sure hoped she was the sister who knew her art.

* * *

Brenna checked her lipstick and turned to head back in to the reception. The church fellowship hall was beautiful. Callie had outdone herself with the fall theme. And irises everywhere. She must have forced those to bloom this time of year, or found some that rebloomed in the fall. Callie could do anything with flowers. She’d managed to make this big, plain white room turn into what looked like a fall garden.

Shaking her head, Brenna rounded a corner and ran smack into him. The one she’d named Tall, Dark and Dark.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He grabbed her by both arms, holding her steady while she stared up into those well...yes...dark eyes. “I should watch where I’m going.”

“I’m okay,” Brenna said, touching a hand to her upswept hairdo. “Nice reception, isn’t it?”

How dumb could she be? Did he actually care about the reception?

He gave her a once-over. “Very nice.”

Brenna hoped he didn’t notice the blush popping out over her freckles. She did not blush prettily.

“See you later maybe?” He waved a hand in the air and Brenna immediately noticed his expensive gold watch. So like Jeffrey’s.

That turned her off enough to start walking away. “I should get back.”

“Hey, don’t leave in such a hurry.”

He had a bit of an accent. Hispanic maybe. That would explain the hunky dark good looks.

She turned, smiled at him. What would it hurt to flirt with a nice-looking man? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and...neither was she. She needed to stay in practice, didn’t she? But she couldn’t find the courage to have her heart stomped again.

“I have bridesmaid duties.” She thought hard, but couldn’t remember exactly what those duties might be.

“Very important job,” he said, coming to stand with her while they gazed out on the crowded room. “The first being, of course, to stand around and look gorgeous?”

Brenna giggled. “You’re not serious, right? I mean that’s a line, isn’t it?”

He grinned and the brilliance of it sizzled the paint on the walls. “Did it work?”

Well, she was laughing. That was something new. But Brenna didn’t want to laugh. So no flirting, no laughing. And nothing left to say. Awkward.

“Oh, good, you two have finally met each other.” Callie twirled and pranced toward them. “Brenna, this is my friend Nicholas Santiago.” She smiled at him, then touched a hand on Brenna’s arm. “And this is my baby sister. I think I mentioned her to you. She’s home for a while from Baton Rouge.”

The man gave Brenna another one of those smoldering looks. “So you’re the little sister. Wow.”

“That’s me,” Brenna said, smelling a setup. “Wow. Nice to meet you, Nicholas.”

“Nick,” he said, taking Brenna’s hand. “I was about to introduce myself. Once we got out on the dance floor.”

Brenna bristled. “I didn’t say I’d dance with you.”

“But you will,” her bossy sister said, pushing her toward Nicholas. “Don’t be rude to my friend.”

I...uh...”

But it was too late. They were suddenly moving across the dance floor to the tune of a Cajun-inspired waltz. Brenna glanced around and saw her sisters smiling and waving. She’d deal with them later. Her daddy, Ramon, waved to her from where he sat with Julien’s friend Tebow and Tebow’s mother. He’d been hanging out with that woman way too much lately.

“You have such an interesting family,” Nicholas said. He wasn’t looking at her family, though. He was looking down at her.

“Yes, they’re very colorful and ever so helpful.”

“You have a cute Southern accent.”

Still looking at her.

So she stared back. “You have a different kind of accent.”

“I was born in Mexico but moved to Texas when I was a teenager.”

He said it with a thickening of his accent. Me-he-co. She almost missed a step.

“How did you wind up here?”

He laughed at her deliberate smile. “Good question.” Then he whirled her around again. The man smelled like a fresh rain out on the sea. So good. No, not good. Not good at all.

Brenna pulled in her flaring nostrils. “Well, what are you doing here?”

“I’m an architect. I’m here to oversee the renovations on the Dubois house. We’ve been working on it for a month or so now. Just about finished with the inside.”

“Fleur House.” That got Brenna’s attention. “Oh, I love that house. I used to go past there and wonder what kind of art was inside those old walls. I’d decorate it inside my head. I always heard Mr. and Mrs. Dubois had quite a collection at one time. Of course, I never actually got to go inside the house.”

He gave her what looked like a teasing glance. “Callie tells me you have a deep appreciation for art.”

“Appreciate. Yes, more like a passion. I make my living from selling it,” she replied. “I work in a gallery in Baton Rouge.” Or at least, she had. “Budget cuts have forced me on an indefinite layoff, however.”

He nodded, inclined his head toward her. “Brenna mentioned that to me. It’s good to know. I might need some help with the renovations. My employer will expect some world-class pieces and I could use a hand picking them out. I know what I like, but he has very refined taste and a big wallet to back it. And although he told me to surprise him, I need an expert.” He winked. “I think you’d be perfect.”

Brenna scanned the room for Callie. So she could murder her. “What a coincidence. Because I know my nosy sister wouldn’t dare put you up to dancing with me just so we could discuss art, now would she?”

He actually looked confused and then he grinned. “No. I wanted to dance with you before I knew you were Callie’s sister.” Leaning close, he said, “I have to admit, I was hoping you were the art expert, however. I saw you fidgeting up there by the bride. You obviously don’t enjoy weddings.”

Brenna wanted to explain exactly why she didn’t enjoy weddings, but that would be rude. “I’m very happy for my sister, but weddings give me the hives.”

“Oh, I see. You’re not ready to settle down.”

“I’m just not ready to settle,” she said on a snap.

“Hmm, someone is bitter.”

“Very.”

“I’m sorry.” He whirled her around the floor, bringing admiring stares from the onlookers. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been burned a few times myself.”

“It should, but it doesn’t.” She didn’t want to be mean, but this man was annoying. But easy on the eyes while he was being annoying. His suit looked expensive. His hair glistened like wet ink. And those eyes—part pirate and part heartbreaker.

Brenna was pretty sure she heard sirens and warning bells going off inside her head.

“I won’t tease you anymore,” he said, turning serious.

She changed the subject. “And as far as getting my advice on art?”

“I’m a businessman, Brenna. I need an art expert. Your sister was thrilled to tell me about you and how talented you are, but if you’re not interested—”

“I am,” Brenna said, wishing she could climb into the wedding cake and never come out. “I mean, I’m always interested in acquiring good art. But my expert opinions don’t come cheap.”

“I’m willing to pay you a fair salary,” he said, giving her one last glance. “I enjoyed our dance. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“On a Friday night?” Brenna said, more to herself than him. She had actually begun to enjoy talking to him.

“Every night,” he replied. With a wave and what seemed like a dismissal, he turned and left.

And Brenna realized the music had stopped.

Chapter Two

“Order up!”

Brenna skidded on her sneakers, then stopped an inch from Winnie. “Did y’all get that order for the Western omelet, heavy on the sausage and salsa?”

“Got it,” the cook called through the pass-through. “Told you that five minutes ago.”

“And my customer’s been waiting ten minutes.”

Brenna pushed at strands of damp hair. Filling in for her sister had seemed like a good idea a week before the wedding, but now her feet hurt, her back hurt and she needed a long hot shower. And it was only eight-fifteen on Monday morning.

How did Alma do this day in and day out?

“Got a new customer in your section,” Winnie said with a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it. It’s like riding a bike.”

“Yes, but bike riding is much more fun than this,” Brenna replied with an impish sticking-out of her tongue.

Then she glanced down the aisle and saw a gleaming dark head and a crisp white button-up shirt. “No, not him.”

“What is it?” Winnie stared toward the table by the window. “Just a handsome man needing food.”

Brenna lowered her voice. “Not just any man. Nicholas Santiago. I met him at the wedding. He made me...nervous.”

“Oh, I see. I do believe you not only met him, but didn’t you dance with him, too?”

“Uh...sorta. Only because Callie made me.”

“Yeah, right.” Winnie handed her a menu. “Well, we’re busy, so you need to let go of being nervous and go make nice.”

“You are no help,” Brenna replied. “Look at me.”

“I see you,” Winnie said on a chuckle. “But I don’t see those overpriced walking shoes walking toward that waiting customer.”

“You’re mean, too,” Brenna said, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Winnie wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or at least Brenna thought she wouldn’t. But Winnie would defend to the death anyone she loved. And Brenna knew Winnie loved her.

So she had to do her job and do it with a smile.

And pray he wouldn’t recognize her.

“What’ll it be,” she said, staying off to the side. Hoping he wouldn’t glance up.

He did. Then he grinned, the effort splitting that interesting face while she was pretty sure the sun split through the clouds outside.

“Hello. Bridesmaid number two, right?”

“Always the bridesmaid,” she quipped, then instantly regretted it.

“And a woman of many talents.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t one of them. I’m helping out so my sister can enjoy her honeymoon.”

“I see.” He took his time glancing over her Fleur Bakery T-shirt and jeans. “Cute. Especially the ‘slap-your-mama’ part.”

“Cute?” Brenna wanted to die. “I’m hot and tired and so not a morning person. I really do want to slap someone. But not because of good cooking, even though we do offer that.” She hissed a sigh. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Hmm.” He kept his eyes on her. “How about one egg, scrambled, dry toast and fruit.”

“You call that breakfast?”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “What would you suggest, then?”

“Eggs, country cured ham, biscuits that will make you weep for butter and some of Alma’s mayhaw jelly with a big cup of our famous strong coffee.”

“I’ll take it.”

She gave him a long stare, then grinned. “I thought so.” Putting her pen over her ear, she shot him a mock-sweet smile. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

Nick enjoyed watching her work the room. She seemed to know enough to make a passable waitress, but he could tell this definitely wasn’t her thing. He imagined her in a conservative suit with sensible but attractive high heels, her briefcase and designer purse on her arm. He imagined her dancing with him again and wondered why he couldn’t forget the scent of her floral perfume.

Dangerous territory, this. He’d come here to do a job. And it was a big job. Probably one of the biggest renovations of his career. His client paid top dollar for discretion and design.

Nick intended to provide both.

But he did need someone to help with the art and decor.

Could he help it if the only woman in town he was actually attracted to also happened to be an art expert who was out of a job and waiting tables?

Coincidence? Or divine intervention?

His mother had been praying for him to settle down with a pretty woman so she could have grandchildren.

But wait, he’d come close only once or twice to having that perfect domestic life his family expected. Hadn’t worked out so great. Maybe he should just focus on business. And try to forget the past, as his mother and aunt suggested every time he went home.

Brenna brought his breakfast and yes, the biscuits did look good. But so did the bearer of the biscuits. Although she looked completely different today from the way she’d looked at the wedding a few days ago, Brenna Blanchard was still a pretty woman. Her hair, caught in a big clamp, was falling in damp wisps around her face. He couldn’t decide if she wore makeup or not, but that didn’t matter. Her skin shimmered with a glowing sheen that made her appear young and carefree.

He quite preferred this look, actually.

Okay, strike that.

He liked her both ways.

Still dangerous. So he told himself to stop obsessing about Brenna and get on with his meal. The food was great, the service wonderful. He’d eaten here several times and he was sure he’d be back a lot before he was done with this job.

And he’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know Brenna Blanchard. He’d just need to remember it was all about the art for the house, all about pleasing his wealthy boss.

And not at all about remembering Brenna’s silky hair and shimmering skin.

* * *

Brenna checked on her tables one last time.

Saving Nicholas Santiago for last, of course.

“How was your breakfast?” she asked, noting he sat reading over some papers.

“Very good.” His smile told the tale.

“Most people leave here with a smile,” she said, glad she hadn’t spilled anything in the man’s lap. “Want some more coffee?”

“Only if you sit and have a cup with me?”

“I’m working here,” she said, exaggerating the term.

“Don’t you get breaks? I’d like to discuss what we talked about at the wedding. I really do need some advice on how to decorate this house.”

She glanced around. “We’re not too busy. Let me get a cup and I’ll talk to you for a few minutes.”

She hurried to the back of the counter and found Winnie. “Can I take a short break? I need to talk to Nick. He might have a job for me.”

“Oh, it’s Nick now?” Winnie giggled. “What? Tired of this cushy job already?”

“Never,” Brenna said with a mock-smile. “But I need cold, hard cash. And he needs an art expert.”

“A match made in heaven,” Winnie replied. “Go. Who wouldn’t want to take a break with that hunk?”

Brenna swallowed her trepidations and told herself she could be professional and businesslike. She would not mix any pleasure with this business. She needed work to keep her mind off her many failures.

“Okay,” she said as she slid into the seat and poured herself some coffee from the pot she’d left on the table. “Fifteen minutes.”

“I can handle that,” he said. “Let’s pretend this is a real job interview. Tell me about yourself.”

Okay, now she was nervous. Sitting here in a T-shirt and jeans didn’t feel professional. And she didn’t have her résumé in front of her. “Well, I went to LSU in Baton Rouge, majored in Art History and minored in Business. For the past three years, I’ve worked in the Hutton Gallery as a curator and director of operations. But budget cuts caused me to be laid off indefinitely.” She sat back against the booth. “As you’ve probably noticed, there isn’t much in the way of art here in Fleur.”

He nodded. “You don’t appreciate the Fleur Bayou Museum?”

“Of course.” She grinned. “I helped create that museum when I was still in high school. But I never could find anyone willing to keep it open on a daily basis. It’s only open when Mrs. LaBorde’s gout isn’t acting up—which is a whole lot these days. So the museum is more neglected than noticed.”

He burst out laughing, his dark eyes sparkling. “I think I met Mrs. LaBorde at the wedding. Charming woman.”

“You’re just being polite,” she said, touched that he’d enjoyed her joke. “She loves working at the museum, but she does have a life, after all.”

“And it is a small place,” he added. “I checked it out the first day I arrived. I wanted to get a sense of the place. And now that I know you had a hand in the content of that one-room history trove, I’m doubly impressed.”

“So did it help you to understand the history of this area?”

“It did.”

He started asking her questions about the Cajun and Creole history of Fleur and the Spanish influence of the area. Before Brenna knew it, thirty minutes had passed.

“Oh, I have to get back to work! Sorry we didn’t get to discuss Fleur House and what you might need from me.”

He stood when she did, then reached out for her hand. “You’re hired.”

Surprised, Brenna took his hand and shook it. Or rather let him shake her hand. “But you don’t even know if I’m right for this job.”

“Oh, you’re perfect.”

Relieved and pleased but a bit wary, Brenna pulled her hand away. “And how do you know that?”

He gave her one of those simmering looks again. “By the way your eyes lit up when you were talking about that little shanty museum you created. You love this area and you love art. That’s all I need to know.”

Her heart did a little flip of gratefulness. Jeffrey had never understood her deep love of history and art. He’d teased her about finding a real job with a real salary. He’d never appreciated the town of Fleur, either. Called it a hick-boonie town.

“So what do you say? Do you want the job?”

“Well, yes.” Her heart raced with excitement. “That was easy.”

“I think so, too. Because you’re the first art expert I’ve interviewed today and probably the last, I’d say breakfast was a success.”

“Thank you,” she said to Nick. “When do you want me to start?”

“Immediately,” he replied. “But you can wait until your sister is back. I know you’re needed here.”

“Good. I appreciate that. But I can put in a few hours at the house between the lunch and dinner shifts. Besides, Alma will be back next Monday.”

“That should work out great.” He dropped a twenty on the table. “I enjoyed the meal and the conversation.”

Brenna didn’t know what to say. “I’m glad you did. I guess I’ll see you Monday. Where should I meet you?”

“At the house,” he said. “We’ll do a walk-through.” Then he touched her arm. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I can’t think of anything,” she said, alarmed. “Have I messed up already?”

He laughed. “Relax. You’ve done everything right. Except ask about the salary? Don’t you want to know about the pay?”

Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d probably do it for free, but pretend you didn’t hear me say that.”

“I didn’t.” He smiled and named an amount. “Does that sound fair?”

Brenna tried to hide her surprise. He’d just offered her more than she’d made in a year for what should be a short amount of work. “More than fair,” she replied. “And Nick, thank you.”

“It will be my pleasure,” he said, his gaze dropping to her face. Then he handed her a card. “Here’s my number. I’ll be in touch.”

Brenna hurriedly scribbled her cell number on the back of a napkin. “And mine, in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” he said. He gave her another devastating smile and strolled out of the café.

When Brenna heard a whoop and some giggles coming from the back of the restaurant, she hurried to do some damage control. Rumors would be flying, no doubt about that. She was in way over her head with this man. No doubt about that, either.

Chapter Three

Callie came waltzing into the café and strolled around the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. “I hear Nick came by to see you this morning,” she called to Brenna.

Cringing for the second time that day, Brenna shut the door to the supply closet and grabbed her smirking sister by the arm. “Do you have to announce that so loud they heard it in New Orleans?”

“Well, did he or didn’t he come by?” Callie asked, her loosely knotted bun bouncing against her head. Why did she always have to be so perky?

“Yes, he came to eat breakfast,” Brenna replied. “And how do you know this already?”

“I have my sources,” Callie said, spinning on her short suede boots. She slid onto a barstool and did a matching twirl. “I knew you two would hit it off right away.”

“We didn’t hit it off,” Brenna replied while she stacked napkins into the nearby holder. “But he did offer me a good job.”

Callie actually clapped. “Sounds like you did more than just hit it off. This is better than I expected.”

Brenna held up her hand. “Whoa! Don’t get the wrong idea. We clicked enough that I think I can enjoy working for him. The man offered me a huge amount of money, so yes, we got to know each other rather quickly.”

Callie beamed with pride. “I told you he’d hire you on the spot, didn’t I?”

“You did and he did,” Brenna confessed. “It seems a bit too easy to me. I’m afraid there’s a catch.”

“What catch? No catch other than you’ll be doing the work you love with a handsome man who also appreciates art and beautiful homes.” Callie grabbed a piece of sweet potato pie and began to dig in with relish. “Oh, this is so good. I love Winnie’s sweet potato pie.”

Brenna giggled. “I can tell.” She took a fork and had a bite, then dropped the fork onto a napkin. “I miss Alma.”

“Me, too. She’ll want to hear all about this. You and Nick, I mean.”

“Hey, there is no ‘me and Nick,’ got it?”

“Got it,” Callie said between chews. “I wonder if he’ll want children. Does he know you’re kind of gun-shy in that area?”

Brenna slapped her sister on the arm. “Will you stop talking like that, please? I don’t intend to marry the man. I just want a good job for a good day’s work.”

“And I just want nieces and nephews and another wedding to plan. And I wouldn’t mind living at Fleur House, while we’re wishing.”

Brenna pretended to not notice the sadness in her sister’s eyes. Callie deserved to be happy and she’d make such a wonderful mother. She said a prayer for her sister, then teased, “Get your own man. Preferably, the one who actually owns the house. I hear he’s filthy rich and quite mysterious. He’ll have to show up to claim his property sooner or later. You’d better be ready.”

Callie shook her head. “No, I had my turn. One divorce is quite enough for me, thank you.” She gave a dainty shrug. “But this mysterious owner is intriguing.”

“So you’ll just mess in my life to occupy yourself until the owner shows up?”

“Yep. Seems to be working. Wait until I tell Elvis. He’ll be thrilled, too. He loves Nick.”

Brenna finished filling napkin holders. “That big mutt loves anybody who breathes. But I can agree with your dog on one thing. Nick is nice-looking.”

“Of course he is. Would I set you up with just any ol’ body?”

“We are not set up, remember? We’re working together.”

“Got it.” Callie finished her coffee and pie, then waved her hand in the air. “Just working together. Right.”

Brenna shook her head, then finished her busywork, her mind in turmoil at the thought of working so closely with Nicholas Santiago. She didn’t even know the man and already, he was messing with her head. Telling herself to stick to the plan—business, business, business—she decided it wouldn’t hurt to research her new boss just so she’d be familiar with his style and the demands of her job. She’d do that first thing when she got home tonight.

* * *

He’d research her, see what kind of credentials she had. Nick rarely hired anyone without doing a thorough vetting, but he had no doubt Brenna Blanchard would be an asset to his renovation team. She knew the area, knew the history and she seemed to have a passion for art and literature—two things his boss demanded in all of his employees.

Nick remembered the pride she’d displayed when discussing Fleur and the surrounding areas. Brenna might not want to spend the rest of her life in her quaint little hometown, but she sure did care about the place. That was the kind of intimate passion he needed to renovate and decorate Fleur House. While he had a great interior designer ready to re-create and decorate the house, he also wanted a curator to oversee hanging the art pieces his employer already owned and to buy other pieces to complement the entire house and collection.

Brenna would do the job and he’d enjoy the fringe benefits of her delightful company. A win-win situation. Or one he’d regret when it came time to pull up stakes and leave. Which he’d have to do sooner or later.

Nick got up and looked out the window of his temporary home—a construction trailer parked behind Fleur House. The nondescript trailer served as an office and a place to stay. He’d designed it that way so he didn’t have to rent out a room or stay in run-down hotels. And while Fleur had some quaint little cabins along the bayou, he much preferred to be alone in his own traveling home. He liked the privacy and the ease of transporting himself.

A quick, clean getaway.

That was how the last woman he’d left had described his mode of operation. Or rather, she had called his trailer a means of a quick and easy escape.

And she’d been so right.

He liked to get in, do the job and get out.

No ties to bind him. No hassles to hold him.

So why was he sitting here now doing an online search for any information he could find on Brenna Blanchard?

Because he needed to know her so he could work with her. Of course.

When he pulled up a society picture from the Baton Rouge Advocate newspaper, Nick pored over the words with a hungry intent. Dated a few months ago, the caption stated that Brenna Blanchard and her fiancé, Jeffrey Patterson, had attended a dinner to raise funds for a Baton Rouge art event. The note went on to talk about Brenna’s position at the art gallery and Mr. Patterson’s work at a Baton Rouge law firm. Nick quit reading after that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in the picture.

Brenna, dressed in a shimmering dark blue cocktail dress, smiled up at the man next to her, her gaze bright with love and admiration. And happiness.

Fiancé?

Had she been engaged to this man?

If so, they must have broken up. Maybe that was why she was unemployed and back in Fleur. Her attitude regarding marriage indicated she wasn’t the marrying kind.

And she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring now.

So much for vetting.

Nick had more than enough information on Brenna Blanchard. She wouldn’t stick around too long, either.

So he had nothing to worry about really.

* * *

She worried with the collar of her blouse.

Not sure how to dress for her first official meeting with Nicholas, Brenna waffled between jeans and a T-shirt to a blue button-up cotton shirt and dress pants.

She finally settled on putting the button-up shirt over some nice trouser jeans. Sensible cushioned loafers would be better than heels while walking throughout the house. She didn’t want to listen to the tap-tap of her shoes while she was trying to envision art on the walls.

Or maybe she didn’t want to distract her new boss with a pair of high heels because she planned on keeping this relationship strictly professional. But she did mist herself with perfume, just for good measure.

After researching him online, she’d found him only in a few professional pages, but his work reviews were all five-star. Clients raved about his work ethics and his professionalism. Apparently, he was that good. His client list read like a who’s-who of prominent Texas tycoons. Only she couldn’t find any reference to Fleur House or his current client. That was interesting.

She’d found something else interesting, too.

Nicholas Santiago was also an artist. Some paintings had shown up under the name Nick Santiago, paintings he’d done as a teenager. Or at least she figured it had to be the same Nick—her Nick? Well, not her Nick, but the man she’d agreed to work with. One of the paintings was of a beautiful dark-haired girl on a horse. She looked young and carefree. He’d won an award for it in high school.

“Jessica.” That had been the name of the painting. Of course, now she wondered who Jessica was and what did she mean to Nick.

She’d seen another article, but Callie had called her and they’d chatted too long for her to go back and read that one. It had something to do with that painting, though. She’d have to remember to read that later. Right now, she had to get to Fleur House.

A few minutes later, she was in her car about to leave when her daddy, Ramon, came strolling out of the house. She loved being back here with her father. She tried to pamper him as much as she could, but her overly protective father seemed to think she was fifteen again. So he lectured her. And worried about her.

Brenna cranked the car and tried to make a quick exit.

In spite of his bad knees, he shot down the brick steps of the white clapboard house. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, missy?”

Brenna stuck her head out the open car window. “Papa, remember I told you I got a part-time job? Today’s the day for the first meeting with Nicholas.”

Ramon adjusted his suspenders and eyed her with a sharp intent. “You mean that fancy fellow over from San Antonio? Are you sure about working for some stranger?”

“Very sure.” She cranked the car and waved at her perpetually perplexed father. “The pay is good, so I’ll be able to help you with some rent money.”

“Don’t need no rent from my own daughter,” Ramon said on a disgruntled huff, his south Louisiana accent thickening like a steaming roux.

They’d already had this argument. “I know that, but your daughter wants to contribute.”

She blew him a kiss and took off before he insisted on escorting her. Papa was such a sweetheart. It was rather endearing how he watched over his three girls. But they all put up with it because they loved him and they all missed their mother, Lila. Especially Papa.

That strong thread of love kept Brenna going each day when she woke up in her old bed and stared at the aged pictures of her cheerleading days and the pictures of now-old rock stars she often dreamed about. Those still hung curled next to her prints of Van Gogh and Monet. She’d always loved sunflowers. She’d dreamed of going to Europe to explore all the places she’d only read about in art books. Maybe even get back into painting pictures herself.

So many dreams, and all for naught. She’d had to admit defeat and come back home. Who could paint that picture?

But at least she had a welcoming home and a solid foundation of faith to guide her. Jeffrey Patterson, her ex-fiancé, had frowned on such things. He didn’t need anyone to “guide” him, as he’d often told her.

Now she had to wonder what she’d ever seen in the man. Maybe a bit of prestige and a way to penetrate the high-brow society of Baton Rouge? Now she realized she didn’t need those things as much as she needed someone to love with authentic intent. And someone to love her back completely.

So when she pulled her car up the winding drive of Fleur House and saw Nicholas standing there in jeans and his own button-up shirt, she ignored the little dips and sways of her battered heart. The man cut a fine figure, there on the porch of the looming mansion.

Too fine.

Maybe she should turn around and go back to waiting tables.

* * *

Nick heard the car roaring up the drive. So she drove a late-model economy car that looked like a go-cart. Interesting. The car was cute in a strange kind of way and seemed to suit her. He watched as she climbed out and adjusted her briefcase strap over her shoulder. Even though she was dressed in casual clothes, she looked ready to be professional. He needed to be professional, too.

“Hello,” he called as he moved down the rounded stone steps to meet her. “You’re right on time.”

She smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t want to be late.”

Nick discreetly checked her fingers for an engagement ring. Her fingers were bare, but she wore a nice watch on one arm and a dainty flower-encrusted bracelet on the other. Sunflowers. Quaint and totally unexpected.

He let go of her hand, the memory of her slender fingers now burned into his mind. “I think you’re already familiar with the layout of the house, but we can do a walk-through and I’ll explain what I’d like to do. We’ve cleared away the debris and cobwebs and done most of the heavy renovations, but we kept some of the furniture the previous owner sold with the house.”

She took a sweeping look at the brick-and-stone house. “Are you the decorator, too?”

“No, I have a designer coming from San Antonio to oversee that area. I’ll mostly work on the structure and design of the house, preserving its history but improving it and bringing it up to speed, code-wise. The owner understands the historical significance of this place, but he requires the modern amenities, too.”

Her gaze landed back on him. “And who is this mysterious owner?”

He held up his index finger and wagged it. “I’m not at liberty to say right now.”

She gave him a questioning glance but didn’t press. “All right, then. As long as his money is green, I’m good with that. Let’s get on with the job.”

Nick smiled and guided her up into an enclosed porch surrounded by an intricate stone facing that consisted of wide arches and then opened to the double front doors. “We’ve kept all of the fan transoms over the doors. Brings in a lot of light all over the house. Most of the windows have been replaced with more weatherproof glass, but we’ll make sure we keep the hooded design.”

“Wow.” Brenna stood in the big open hallway and stared at the curving staircase. “This sure looks different. Last time Callie and I sneaked in here, it looked like cattle had run through the house.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that cows might have found shelter here along with a lot of other things,” he said. “It was a mess.”

“But it’s gold underneath all that grim.”

Nick knew this project would be his biggest challenge. “It is a work of art,” he said. “But a true representation of a time gone by.”

Even though the wallpaper had been aged and crumbling and the floors were scratched and rotted out in places, the house was striking.

Brenna seemed to see that, too. “It’s just as beautiful as I remember—from peeking in the windows, even as run-down as it looked back then. I can’t believe I get to help with the renovations. Callie loves this place more than I do. She’s always dreamed of living here.”

“Yes, she’s mentioned that to me several times.”

Nick enjoyed the blissful expression on Brenna’s face. It took his breath away, but he held that breath so she wouldn’t notice. But this attitude was new and refreshing. Most of the women he knew only wanted the house, not all the pain and work that would need to go into the house. They’d be bored with the details but more than willing to find someone to help them gut this house and make it what they thought it should be.

Brenna wanted it to be the same, only better.

That made her the perfect choice for helping him to find just the right pieces to complement the enormous walls and high ceilings throughout the place.

“Italianate Second Empire,” she said on a sigh of appreciation. “Built in 1869 by a rich man from Paris who married a Creole woman from New Orleans. She named the town and the house. It’s called Dubois House, after their last name, but the locals call it Fleur House. She did, too. I think because the gardens used to be full of all sorts of exotic plants and flowers.”

“I’m impressed,” Nick said. “And to think I had my doubts about hiring you.”

She clutched her briefcase strap. “You did? But you said I’d be perfect.”

Why did that little bit of uncertainty in her voice shake him to his core?

“I think you are.” He tested her a bit more. “But we didn’t exactly go through a formal interview.”

“No, we met at a wedding. And didn’t hit it off too well. And you hired me in a diner, after I’d waited on you with an attitude. I had my doubts, too.”

He accepted that and bowed his head in agreement. “Sí. That makes us even.”

“And...cautious.”

He’d have to remember that.

“The parlor is to the right,” he said, trying to stay on track. “And the dining room to the left.”

She rushed into the huge square parlor, her flats making a nice cadence against the aged wooden floors. “Look at these windows—love those high arches. And that fireplace. I can just see some sort of outdoor scene surrounded by a gilded frame. Or better yet, a blue dog painting.”

“Blue dog?” Nick chuckled. “You mean by George Rodrigue?”

“Yes, maybe something that bold and different would offset these amazing floor-to-ceiling windows.”

She had that dreamy look on her face again. That look that made him want to sweep her into his arms and dance her around this big, empty room.

“I’ll make a note—blue dog.”

“Is he married?”

“Who?”

“Your boss?”

Nick snapped back to reality. “Uh, no. He was once, but his wife died.”

She stopped smiling. “How awful. Our mother died several years ago. Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry. Callie did mention that. I can’t imagine going through that. I still have both my parents and I’d be lost without them.” He didn’t tell her that he had lost a loved one, too. He knew the pain of grief, but he refused to open up that wound to someone he’d just met. “Your mother sounds like a special person.”

She turned, her forest-colored eyes full of a richness that looked every bit as pretty as any picture he could imagine. “She was. You’re blessed to have both of your parents. Enjoy them and love them.”

“Good advice.” He did love his family, but they’d grown apart over the years. Did he dare tell her that grief had stricken his family to the point of denial?

Better to focus on work.

He motioned toward the dining area. “Let’s go to the other side.”

Brenna let out a little squeal of delight, her smile lighting the room with an ethereal glow. “Look at that mural. Can we keep that?”

“Yes,” he said, thinking he’d meant to do away with it. He’d have to tell the interior decorator that the elaborate rendition of a garden party with a steamboat in the background was off-limits.

Because he’d decided he didn’t want to do anything that would take that beautiful smile off Brenna Blanchard’s face.

And he’d also decided that he was in serious trouble.

Chapter Four

“Really?” Brenna smiled big at her new boss. “Just like that, you’ll keep the mural?”

“I’m not always so agreeable,” Nicholas said, giving her an exaggerated frown. “Your enthusiasm is obviously wearing off on me.”

Brenna couldn’t believe it was that easy. She’d prepared herself for a difficult task at every turn. “You seem like the type who bosses everyone around with a growl, waving your hand at this one and that one while you’re on your phone with someone mysterious and even more demanding than you.”

He actually laughed out loud.

And took her breath away.

“You’ve got me pegged, I see.”

“I’ve worked with many highly demanding artists and supervisors,” she said, her smile dying. “I miss that.”

He motioned toward the stairs. “So you think you’ll get bored with just me to growl at you?”

The thought of him actually doing that only added to the tremendous attraction she felt toward him. Bad, bad idea.

“No, I’m never bored. I always find something to do. But please, growl and be mean. Keeps me on my toes.”

“I gave you the mural,” he said after they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Make it beautiful for me.”

Brenna did a slow swallow to get her breath under control. She got the distinct feeling this man didn’t give anything easily. “I will,” she said on a meek but firm tone. “And if I make everything else I choose beautiful for you, will that be a good thing?”

He put his hand on her back and urged her up the stairs. “That will be a very good thing. This house is the biggest renovation of my career. It’s a make-or-break deal.”

She whirled, one step above him, and stared down into his dark, rich-chocolate eyes. “And you picked me to help out. Are you loony?”

His eyes went even darker. “I’ve been called loco, sí.”

Brenna didn’t think the man was crazy. No, rather she decided she was the loony one. Her impulsive nature always got her into trouble, but her sensible side usually tugged her back to earth. And even though she was standing on a centuries-old staircase looking down at a man who most certainly would make any woman swoon, no matter the time or place, she held herself aloof and told herself to snap out of it. She was here for a job not a new boyfriend.

“I’ve been called that, too,” she said before turning away again. “We should get along just fine.”

He did that growling thing. “Take a right on the landing.”

“What are we looking at now?” she asked, afraid to glance back at him because she could feel the heat of his gaze following her. No, stalking her like a big cat out in the swamp.

He made it to the landing and looked around the wide, empty hallway. “This floor contains four bedrooms and baths for each. The baths were installed much later after the house was built, of course. We’ve finished the basic renovations, but we still have a lot of work to do up here. We enlarged the baths and the closets and made sure the structure is sound as far as wiring and knocking down walls. But your job is to pick one piece of interesting art for each room, especially the master bedroom.”

“I’m on it,” Brenna said, scribbling notes while she tried to ignore his sultry accent and his growling explanations. “Does your...mysterious owner have any preferences?”

“He has a few, but in this case, he told me to surprise him.”

“Surprise. That’s a new one. I like a good challenge.” Brenna thought about that, then whirled. “Are you the owner, Nicholas?”

He backed away, hands out and pushing toward her. “I am not and that is the truth.” He tugged her into a gigantic room with two sets of exquisite bay windows—obviously this was the master suite. “You see that trailer down there?”

Brenna nodded, ignoring the panoramic view of the Big Fleur Bayou and the bay out beyond for now. “Nice, but not quite as big as the house.”

“That is my home,” he said. “I renovate and design houses. But I prefer spending most of my time in my trailer or in a small hacienda on my parents’ property in San Antonio. So I need you to understand—this is not my house. I have no desire to live here. I’m only here to prepare this estate for the new owner and then I’ll move on to my next project.”

She believed him. Nicholas didn’t want to settle down. She got the message loud and clear. So she put aside her shock and awe and disappointment, then tried to throw him off by asking about the real owner. “Got it. You like to travel light and linger not so much. So back to the man who hired you. When will he arrive?”

He looked relieved and a bit shocked himself. “In the spring of next year. So we need to get busy.”

He motioned to her with an impatient jabbing of his fingers in the air. Brenna turned away from the view outside to the reality of the man by her side. “Okay, so you’re not the mysterious owner and you’re not teasing me or trying to pull one over on me. I get that. So show me the rest of the house and give me the interior designer’s phone number. I’ll have to get with her and make sure I have a clear understanding of what she has planned.”

He seemed to relax. Like a big cat, he’d almost pounced on her for being so nosy. But he’d pulled back, slinking away before he revealed anything too personal. “The designer knows she is to work with you in considering the art. Whatever you decide, she will work around it. Or make it work, per my instructions.”

He once again reminded her of his authority.

But Brenna was known for always having the last word. “And just so we’re clear, I’m only curious about the owner because I need to match the art to the person who will live here. But I have to say, Nick, you are every bit as mysterious as he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned-again. I’m sorry if I overstepped in being nosy. It’s one of my flaws.”

His dark eyebrows lifted. “Just one? You mean you have more?”

She saw that trace of a smile trying to pull at his lips. Saw that and so much that he didn’t want her to see.

He didn’t want to talk about the man who had bought Fleur House. But he especially didn’t want to talk about himself, either. Which only made Brenna more curious.

* * *

Two hours later, Brenna waved goodbye to Nick and headed straight into town to her sister Alma’s café. She needed comfort food and she needed some girl talk with Alma’s right-hand woman and newly promoted manager, Winnie. And just to be sure, she called Callie, too. “I need to rant. Preferably over pie and coffee.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear all the details,” Callie said. “I’ll put Thelma at the front register and I’ll be right over.”

Brenna was about to disconnect but then she remembered. “Oh, Callie, Nick said he wants you to be in charge of all the landscaping once the house is done.”

“Really?” Her sister squealed so loud Brenna had to hold her cell phone away. “I wanted to offer, but I chickened out and never applied. I dreamed about doing that, but I can’t believe he actually asked for me. You didn’t force him, did you?”

Brenna got an image of trying to force Nick Santiago into doing anything. Impossible. “Oh, no. He’s not the kind to bend to the whims of a woman. He asked for you outright.”

A brief memory of Nick telling her to make the mural beautiful fluttered through her mind. Okay, maybe he did bend to the whims of a woman every now and then.

Callie chatted on, excitement in every word. “Okay. I won’t say anything until he brings it up. But I’ll start playing with some garden designs. I know the layout of that acreage by heart, anyway.”

“Yes, you’ve always wanted to live there and you’ve dreamed of cultivating that big garden. I know, I know. And after seeing the house, I can understand why. That’s your thing, sis, not mine. I just get to help decorate the place.”

She said goodbye, then again thought back over her sometimes-good, sometimes-bad conversation with Nick.

“Make it beautiful for me.”

She’d seen the dare in his eyes when he’d said that. And she’d heard the gentleness in his request. Nick might not be the kind she could sweet-talk or force, but he could be the kind who would do something sweet and special simply because it pleased him. And he had done it for her, too, she sensed. But why? The man certainly presented a paradox. Too strange and spine-tingling for her to figure out right now, but too mysterious and intriguing for her to let go just yet.

“I’ll need to read up on how to restore a mural,” she said to get her mind off Nick and his “make it beautiful for me” lips. Then she pulled into a parking space across from the Fleur Café and hurried in to spill everything to Winnie and Callie.

* * *

Nick stood in the empty drawing room of Fleur House and sniffed the last of the sweet notes of Brenna’s floral perfume. The smell of wisteria and jasmine hung in the air like a wedding veil, light and full of mystery.

And she thought he was the mysterious one.

He felt as empty as this big house.

Her laughter had echoed out over the quiet, still rooms like a rogue wind invading a hot house. Brenna seemed all buttoned-up and professional, but Nick thought there might be a free spirit hidden underneath that sensible facade. Did he dare encourage that side of her?

No, because he’d practically shouted at her to back off on trying to figure out what made him tick. He didn’t have the right to encourage her in any aspect. He couldn’t allow himself to get close to her, either. No time for that. He had to get this house in order and move on.

And where are you going?

The voice shouted into the silence of the afternoon and moved through the last of the sun’s rays as he did one more walk-through of the house.

Tomorrow, the noise level would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone with his silence. He’d be surrounded once again by hammers and drills and nail guns and saws. He’d hear the familiar sounds of workmen arguing and measuring, the noise of readjusting and tearing down. Demolition and restoration always signaled a change in the air, a forward movement of action. These were the sounds that soothed him. Not the laughter of a woman who seemed to be such a beautifully confusing contradiction. He’d smell the scent of sawdust and paint thinner, the scent of new paint and new wood, not the scent of wisteria and jasmine.

Tomorrow, he’d be in the thick of things again and then he could lose himself in his work, day and night.

Except for the times he’d lose himself in watching Brenna Blanchard making everything she touched beautiful.

He strolled toward the old mural that he’d saved after her last-minute plea. The genteel vista spoke of times gone by, times with smiling people walking along the bayou. The women wore colorful colliding frocks and the men looked dapper and distinguished in their waistcoats and top hats.

“Make it beautiful for me, Brenna,” he said out loud, the echo of his solitude shouting back at him.

And he knew, she’d already made everything beautiful.

Too beautiful.

* * *

“He said that?” Winnie grabbed her coffee and took a long swig, her pecan-brown eyes going wide.

“He said exactly that,” Brenna replied, her fork of bread pudding somewhere between her plate and her mouth. “And it was the way he said it, as if he’d never seen anything beautiful before.”

“Must be some mural on that wall,” Callie retorted through a mouthful of the creamy pudding. She finished chewing and let out a sigh. “It’s so romantic.”

“He is not romantic,” Brenna said. “Didn’t you hear the part about him living in a trailer and always being on the move? The man might as well wear a sign that says ‘Don’t bother. I ain’t buying any.’”

“Or maybe the man protests too much,” Winnie replied with her usual sweet smile. “And that in itself is highly romantic.”

“He’s not romantic,” Brenna repeated, trying to convince herself. She couldn’t do it, so she gave up. The man was like a walking Heathcliff—shuttered, disengaged, disturbing...and the total package, the kind of package a woman couldn’t help but tear open. She wanted to dive right in and find the treasure. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t do that.

“I mean, the house is so romantic,” Callie said with another sigh, completely ignoring Brenna’s denial. “I hope I get to sneak in with you and see it all gussied up. I’ve always—”

“Wanted to live there,” Brenna finished. “We all know that.” She shrugged and shot her sister an indulging smile. “At least the new owner is single. He’s a widower. You might have a chance.”

“Oh, how tragic...and romantic,” Callie said on another sigh. “At least we can understand how the man must feel. But why buy such a big house if he’s all alone?” Her expression turned dreamy. “I know. He wants to wander around from room to room, lamenting his lost love. Tragic and poignant.”

Brenna looked at her sister. “Have you ever considered writing a romance novel?”

Winnie brought some clarity to the situation. “Maybe he bought the house for his new bride.”

Callie sat up straight, ignoring Brenna’s question and Winnie’s speculation. “I need to lose about ten pounds and do something about my sallow, washed-out skin and what about these laugh lines? What can I do about that?” She pushed at her long curly golden hair. “And maybe a haircut.”

“No,” both Winnie and Brenna said.

“Don’t cut your hair,” Brenna told her sister. “It took you a while to get it long again.”

Callie nodded, quiet now. “You’re right. I do have good hair in spite of losing it all...before. And besides, what am I thinking? Winnie might be right. He’s probably found a new wife already. Of course, I don’t want to fool with another man. Too much trouble. I might be in remission, but I’m still too tired to tackle a relationship.”

“Amen,” Brenna said. “I don’t mind you stepping out, but not me. So I had a little talk with myself on the way over here. I will remain professional and businesslike. I won’t pry into Nick’s life at all.”

“Yeah, right,” her sister said. Then she leaned close. “Might want to test that theory. Nick just walked in the door and he’s headed straight for our table.”

Brenna gasped. “Why is it that all the men in our life always wind up in this café? Remember how Julien hounded Alma every day, over pie and petulance?”

Winnie giggled. “And suga’, we sure got both.”

Callie looked up with mock-surprise on her face. “Nick Santiago. How in the world are you?”

* * *

“Hello, ladies.” Nick couldn’t help the grin that smeared the sternness off his face. “As if you don’t already know that I’m demanding, surly and hard to work with. I’m sure your pretty sister has filled you in on all my bad qualities.”

Callie didn’t take the bait. “Actually, I’ve been the one filling her in—on what a nice man you can be. I’ve sent enough flowers with your signature on them to know.”

Nick really liked the Blanchard sisters, especially their somewhat sweet naïveté. “Sending flowers does not complete my résumé, Callie.” He gave Brenna a direct stare.

Callie didn’t let that stop her. “No, but I’m pretty good with getting it right with my regulars. You’re the real deal, Nick.”

Brenna cleared her throat. “This little mutual admiration society is endearing, but I have to get going. My boss is demanding.” She shot Nick a daring smile. “Just passing through or did you need to speak to me?”

Nick wanted to keep sparring but duty called. “Actually, I wanted to see both you and Callie. And Winnie, too, for that matter.”

Winnie slapped the table. “The highlight of my day, for true.”

Brenna gave her sister a covert glance. “Have you changed your mind about hiring both of us?”

“No,” Nick said, accepting the glass of water Winnie offered him. “I’m calling an impromptu meeting later this week. Kind of a town hall thing. I’ve had so many questions about what’s happening with Fleur House, I thought I’d answer all of them in one fell swoop.”

“Smart,” Callie said. “What day and time?”

“Six-thirty Thursday, inside the church fellowship hall.” He turned to Brenna. “And I want you there to take a few notes on ideas the people of Fleur might have about the house and gardens. We have a gem of a home right here in Fleur and my client wants to make sure everyone here is comfortable with what will probably become a tourist attraction. He hopes to open both the house and the gardens for tours at certain times when he’s traveling on business.”

“I’ll be there,” Brenna replied, touched that both Nick and he-who-she-couldn’t-mention were willing to do this for the town.

Callie stood up. “Nick, you have to tell us about this man.”

Nick shook his head. “I can’t do that. My contract has a very precise confidentiality clause.”

“Which we will honor,” Brenna replied, sending her sister a warning look.

“Oh, all right.” Callie made a face. “Want a bowl of bread pudding, Nick?”

Nick glanced at Brenna. “I shouldn’t—”

“Oh, live a little, boss,” Brenna said. “It might make you sweeter.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll have some, then. With some of that strong coffee Fleur seems to be famous for.”

Callie brought him his pudding and coffee. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see y’all later.”

He watched as Brenna gathered her things, obviously in a hurry to get away from him. “What is this? I have to eat all alone?”

She stopped, glanced around. “I see a lot of people in here.”

“I don’t know them yet.”

“You don’t know me yet, either,” she said. “I’ll be at your meeting and I’ll take copious notes, but right now I want to research some art for the house. I want to get this right as much as you do, believe it or not.”

“I believe you,” he said, wishing she’d stay while he willed her to go. “Go, get to work. I am paying you a lot of money, after all.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her walk away, that elusive fragrance following her. Then he looked up to find Winnie smiling down at him.

“I’m still here,” she said with a grin.

Nick laughed at that because he was pretty sure Winnie was married and had four children. “Sit down and keep me company, then. And while you’re at it, maybe you can tell me why I find that woman so fascinating.”

Chapter Five

Brenna sat watching the people of Fleur as they filed into the bright church hall one by one. Of course, Winnie had sent cookies to go with the urn of coffee. Refreshments were always a requirement here in this big, loud room. The Fleur Café, right across the street, was happy to provide them.

Good thing she brought extra. Tonight the main attraction had drawn a record crowd. Whenever a stranger came to town and wanted a meeting, people came to listen. Especially people who were unemployed or late with last month’s mortgage. Especially people who already had two and sometimes three jobs but could never rest because their families needed food and shelter. Not that Nick came bearing jobs or solutions, but he was here on a positive note. He was taking something they all treasured and admired and making it beautiful again.

A restoration.

Brenna let that thought rush through her like sparkling water as she scanned the crowd. Nick wasn’t here yet. Why was she so nervous, so hopeful for this man? What had he done to her to make her see beneath that facade of cool and calm he cloaked around himself?

“Make it beautiful for me.”

His words echoed over the boisterous gathering, haunting her with a sweet intensity.

Did Nick create and re-create lovely aesthetic things because he needed to make the world more beautiful? For someone he loved? Or maybe for someone he’d lost? Was that why he traveled so light and lingered only as long as required? She thought about the young girl in the portrait she’d seen on the internet. What did Jessica mean to him? Was she a friend? Or someone he’d loved and lost?

Dear Lord, help me to understand this man. Help me to restore his soul to You.

The plea of that prayer poured over her as people gathered for the meeting. And somehow, Brenna knew that would be the echo she’d hear in her head each time she was around Nick Santiago.

For now, she smiled and waved to the full house. She spotted Julien’s younger brother, Pierre, along with his girlfriend, Mollie. They were so cute together. Since Julien and Alma had gotten back together, the Blanchard family had embraced Julien’s family, welcoming his mother and his brother as their own. Her father came through the door, Mrs. LeBlanc walking with him. It was funny how several of the widows in the church seemed to be always after her daddy. But Julien’s mother was just a friend. She had made it clear after her husband died almost two years ago she would never fall in love again.

Maybe Nick had made that same pledge, Brenna thought as she surveyed the crowd.

Callie came in and waved, then slid into a seat up front.

Brenna walked over to her sister and dropped her briefcase on the floor. “He’s not here yet.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Callie said. “Hey, I got a call from Alma. They are having so much fun. The ocean, the beach, the shops, the honeymoon. She might not ever come home from Florida.”

“She’s in love,” Brenna said, glad for her sister. “Did you tell her about Fleur House?”

Callie giggled. “Yes, I told her all about your new love interest Nick Santiago, which is what you’re really asking.”

“I am not. What did she say?”

“She said good for you. On the job...and the man.”

“She’s in love. She can be optimistic.”

“Yeah, that’s true. We, on the other hand, are more cynical. So we have to be cautious.”

Brenna nodded at that, as sad as it sounded. But when she turned and saw Nick strolling in as if he owned the place, his suit tailored and fitted, his hair combed and shimmering, she wanted to throw caution to the wind. Her heart actually did a backward flip.

Frances LaBorde, a staunch church lady and one to always notice everything going on around here, leaned up and touched Brenna on the arm. “He’s mighty perty, ain’t he?” She winked at Brenna, then settled back with a look of delight on her puffy cheeks.

“Yes, he sure is,” Callie whispered to Brenna. “If you don’t go for him, I just might have to.”

“Go ahead,” Brenna said, inhaling a deep breath. “Ours is a working relationship.” She ignored the little green monsters of jealousy laughing in her head.

“Yeah, and we all believe that,” Callie retorted. “I was just teasing about my going after him. But the way he looks at you, I think you have a definite shot.”

* * *

Nick surveyed the crowd. The tough crowd. He hadn’t expected this many people to show up. But this was a small town with a big grapevine. No need for online networking here. This network moved through clotheslines and crab traps and church prayer chains.

He was a stranger in a strange land.

Then he looked up and saw Brenna sitting there on the front row, prim and proper and prepared, wearing a pretty spring dress and cute little blue sweater. She gave him an encouraging, questioning smile.

Showtime.

“Hello, everyone,” he said in a loud calm voice.

The whispers died down as people settled into their seats.

Nick took a breath. “I’m Nick Santiago. I’ve been here for a while, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to talk to very many of you. I’m supervising the renovation of the Dubois mansion, locally known as Fleur House.”

Applause followed that introduction. Nick grinned at that.

“I wanted to let you know what this means for your community.”

“Yeah, what does it mean?” came a shout from the back.

“Jobs?” someone else asked.

The conversations started up again, a mixture of English and Cajun-French that turned into chaos. Nick tried raising his hand, but they were off and running, taking his initial explanations and creating little detours that rippled like a swamp wake.

“Excuse me!”

Nick watched as Brenna stood up and clapped her hands.

“Mr. Santiago is doing us a favor by bringing us here tonight. Let’s show him that famous Fleur hospitality by listening, please. He’ll be glad to answer any questions when he’s finished.”

The room went quiet.

Nick gave Brenna a grateful glance, then started again.

“Last spring, my client bought Fleur House and the surrounding gardens. Because I’m an architect and on retainer for this particular client, he commissioned me to oversee the renovations. I’ve been here a few weeks now, and I’ve seen some of you riding by the house. I know you’re wondering who this man is and what’s going on with all the construction.”

He took a breath and drank a sip of water from the cup Brenna had put on a table. “I can’t tell you who the owner is yet. He’s a very private man with a very public obligation. But I can tell you about me. I grew up in San Antonio, Texas. My parents still live there.” He stopped, glanced at Brenna, prayed she wouldn’t see his doubts. “I’ve always loved old buildings. That is my specialty, restoring old neglected places and making them new again.”

“We’re glad to have you.”

Nick nodded at the robust man who’d shouted that out. “And I’m glad to be here. So we will get serious about putting the final touches on the house now that the toughest parts of the renovation are finished. I’ve hired Brenna Blanchard to oversee some of the decor for the house, mainly the artwork. My client loves art and buys several pieces a year. Brenna will pick some of the main pieces for the house.” He glanced at Brenna and smiled. “She is highly qualified.”

“And she’s an artist, too,” someone called out.

Surprised, Nick took another sip of water. “Really? She left that off her résumé.”

While Brenna shifted in her seat and looked down, another person said, “She don’t like to brag.”

Everyone laughed at that. But Nick made a note to ask Brenna about her hidden talent. Was it coincidence that she was also an artist? Did he dare tell her he used to paint? That was a lifetime ago. It didn’t matter much now.

“So, what other talents do we have in this room? We’re a little behind on the renovations, so I need some extra hands. I’ll need some extra construction workers—both experienced and nonexperienced. I’ll need a couple more electricians and plumbers, and journeymen to add to my team. I’ll need a qualified house inspector. I have a list of positions here on the table. Please feel free to take the information. Even though I have a team from Texas, I’ll still need a lot of locals to help. I’ll be back here tomorrow at noon to accept applications. Mainly, I’m here to make Fleur House fresh and new again so that we can show it off to the community and to tourists and visitors, too.”

Everyone clapped, then Brenna stood up. “Now, if you have any questions—”

* * *

An hour later, Brenna shooed the last person out the door, then turned to Nick. “Welcome to Fleur.”

He ran a hand over his hair and laughed. “I’m exhausted.”

He did look adorably exhausted. She had to keep her fingers from brushing through his dark hair. “And hungry, I imagine.”

“Yes, I am.” He started gathering his notes and shoved them into his briefcase. “I didn’t realize that until now, however.”

Brenna waffled like a frog on a vine, then finally turned to him. “You’re invited to my daddy’s house for chicken perlo. It’s my mama’s recipe, but Papa has perfected it. It’s always good on a crisp fall night.”

“That sounds great.” He touched her midback and guided her toward the door. “How did I do?”

Brenna didn’t have to hide her reaction to that. “You were great. I had no idea you’d be able to offer people jobs. I guess I never asked.”

She’d been too concerned about herself even to think of that. Once she’d been hired, she did her usual thing. She began to obsess about being perfect.

He gave her an indulgent smile. “I have my own crew, but we always try to hire locals and now that we’re down to the wire, it makes sense. I should have explained that to you.”

Interesting. “So you do this a lot. Find a house, renovate it and move on?”

“Sí. That’s my job. My client keeps me busy year-round. He’s mostly into industrial real estate, but he sometimes buys estates and renovates them. He’s bought and sold some incredible homes.”

More and more information. But she wanted to know more about Nick right now. “Is he your main employer?”

Nick held the door for her. Outside, the fall night held a hint of winter. While the winters here were mild, it was beginning to be chilly enough to wear a light jacket.

Brenna only had a light sweater. She shivered.

“I work for several different people, but mostly for him, sí.”

And that was the end of that.

She shivered again. Then she felt Nick’s hands on her arms, felt the warmth of his soft wool suit jacket enveloping her shoulders. “You’re cold.”

And you are seriously...hot.

Brenna reeled in her treacherous reaction, the scent of soap and spice all around her. “Thank you. I have to remember to unpack my winter clothes.”

“Do you need a ride?” he asked. Then he motioned to his car. Only she’d never seen a car like this one.

“What...what is that exactly?”

He grinned like a schoolboy. “That is a vintage 1969 GTO convertible with four-on-the-floor and a 400 horsepower engine with a turbo transmission.”

Brenna looked at the baby blue automobile, then back at him. “A muscle car? You drive a muscle car?”

He looked surprised. “You know about muscle cars?”

“I’ve heard my papa and Julien and his brother, Pierre, talking about them, usually when they’re watching a race on television. And now I’ve actually seen one.”

He took her by the arm. “Not only seen one, but get to ride in one.”

Brenna glanced around, then realized her father had left her! “I guess I do. I came with my daddy, but apparently both he and my sister forgot about me.” On purpose, no doubt.

“Not a problem,” he said, hurrying around to open the passenger-side door for her. “I would get lost without you.”

Did the man realize he had a way with words? Did he even know that the way he said things with that exquisite hint of an accent went right to a woman’s heart?

She could speak one thing and mean another, too. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

His dark eyes gleamed like midnight water. “Then let’s go.

“Top down?”

She nodded. She needed the cold wind to make her snap out of this massive crush.

With that, he got in and cranked the motor. The car purred like a great cat. Nick shifted gears and Brenna held on for dear life, her breath caught in the cool night air. This man with all his fancy things had first reminded her of Jeffrey. But Nick Santiago was nothing like her shallow, self-centered, very ex-fiancé. As Callie had said, he seemed to be the real thing.

At least he felt real, driving this powerful machine, his hands only inches away from her. Brenna tried to focus on breathing. He was too close, way too close.

“Where am I going?” he asked.

Brenna came out of the fog surrounding her mind. “Oh, take a left at the next traffic light. Our house is a few miles out of town, on the Big Fleur Bayou. When you see the sign for Blanchard’s Landing, you’re there.”

“What is chicken perlo?” he asked, grinning over at her.

“Well, it’s chicken and rice and spices and we serve it with corn bread and biscuits, all homemade. It’s usually cooked in a big iron pot.”

He hit a hand on the steering wheel. “The food down here is so good.”

Brenna couldn’t deny that. “But I’ve been to San Antonio. The food there is wonderful, too.”

“Yes, and my mom is a good cook.”

She wanted to know all about his family. “So you’re an only child?”

He slowed the car as they reached the sign she’d mentioned, then turned into the next driveway.

“Yes.” He parked the car in the long driveway leading to the white cottage and stared into the darkness. “I have been for a long time now. But I had a sister. She died when I was a teenager.”

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