Читать книгу Something Beautiful and Lacey's Retreat: Something Beautiful / Lacey's Retreat - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 11

He was taking her off the beaten path.

“Where are we going?” Willa asked Lucas as they moved away from the house and closer to the bayou.

Here the vegetation grew more lush, green and rich, thriving in spite of the summer heat. The smell of wet earth and brackish water mingled with the scent of honeysuckle and wild-blooming jasmine. The mid-morning sun played a game of chance as it tried to pierce the cool shadows cast by the tall, moss-draped cypress trees.

“You’ll see,” he told her, his hand in hers as he pulled her down the winding path.

“At least it’s cooler here.”

“One of the many beautiful things about Bayou le Jardin. There’s plenty of cool spots, even in the middle of summer. And I happen to know where they all are.”

Willa noticed the creepers surrounding the narrowing path—the English ivy that grew wild and free, the ancient camellia bushes and sweet-smelling lilies. She could hear bees buzzing hungrily in the dense garden. She could hear a child’s laughter ringing out from the house. Probably that cute little Tobias—the little boy Lucas had rescued during the flood.

Lorna had told her all about that, too. And how Lucas had berated himself for not getting back to the mansion to help Lorna, who had been deathly afraid of the dark, after the electricity had gone off and left Lorna stranded alone in the dark and the flood. Lorna explained that Lucas blamed himself, but no one else saw it that way. He’d saved a child’s life. That had to count for something.

She watched his face, wondering what lay behind that square jaw and those lush, full lips. And those dark, mysterious eyes.

The agencies in New York would love a portfolio of pictures of Lucas Dorsette, she figured. His face rivaled those of any of the overpaid male models she knew and worked with on a daily basis. But Lucas had one trait that many of her co-workers didn’t possess. He looked completely real, completely male. Not prettied up for the cameras.

And he looked very dangerous.

“I suppose the other guests don’t know about this path,” she said, hoping Lucas would tell her where he was taking her.

She wasn’t afraid of being alone with him, but she had this thing about always knowing about what might lie ahead. No surprises. No room for any mistakes.

“Non. I keep this one to myself.”

“Is it special?”

“I think it is.”

So, he was going to be tight-mouthed about this. Willa watched him as he moved in front of her, his feet steady and sure, his steps silent. With his dark good looks and intense concentration, he reminded her of some ancient warrior stalking through a jungle.

Was she his quarry, then?

“Lucas, where are we going?”

He stopped, whirled to stare at her.

His nearness confused her, enticed her, made her want to turn and go back to civilization. Or give up being civilized altogether.

“Are you all right? Tired?”

“I’m fine, just wondering what you’re doing.”

“I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots.”

“Okay.”

She decided to stay quiet. He took her hand, guiding her through hanging vines and wild dogwood trees. They moved downward, toward the marsh, then up until they were on a grassy little incline.

“Look,” he said, pointing.

Willa followed the direction of his gaze, then laughed. “Oh, my. Well, this was certainly worth the trip.”

He’d brought her to a pagoda sitting on top of a moss-covered mound. The pagoda was rustic and ancient, but the wood and stone blending together on the high walls looked solid, and the shingled, slanted roof seemed to be holding up. Or at least, the English ivy was holding the building together. It covered the entire structure and ran down over the mossy rocks that formed the walls of what looked like a walk-through grotto.

A playful morning breeze rustled the nearby tupelo trees, bringing with it the tinkling sound of bells. The almost melancholy melody seemed to be coming from inside the pagoda.

“Chimes,” Lucas told her, his keen gaze centering on her face. “I like chimes.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her breath coming hard and heavy, whether from the long walk or the sheer beauty of this place, she couldn’t say. “So this is your secret garden?”

“You could call it that,” Lucas told her as he led her up a narrow stone footpath toward the rectangular structure. “Aunt Hilda discovered it in her younger years, when she could get around more. She showed it to me when I first came here.” He smiled, then closed his eyes. “I can still remember what she told me. She said, ‘Now, Lucas, most would tell you that this is a temple, a shrine. But we only have one temple—and that is our little chapel where we worship the Lord. This is not a place of worship, but it can be a place of retreat, if you ever need it. God will hear you here in this place, if you need to get away and talk to Him.’”

“She sounds like a fascinating, wise woman.”

He opened his eyes, gave Willa one of those heart-stopping looks. “She is. She’s traveled all over the world, seen all sorts of shrines and temples, cathedrals and churches, but she loves the Chapel in the Garden more than anything she’s ever seen. And that’s where she expects us to be each Sunday.”

Willa thought that was quaint and sweet and again felt that distant tug of longing in her own heart. “And yet, you come here sometimes, to find your peace, talk to God?”

He nodded. “No one else bothers with this place. Not even Justin, our landscaper. I try to keep the swamp from taking it over completely.”

“So you weed it and clear it out, prune the bramble and sweep away the spiders and snakes?” She hoped.

He nodded, as silent as the still, waiting wind and trees. Then he said, “I don’t like spiders and snakes, but I respect them. If I find any, I usually send them in the other direction.”

Somewhat comforted, she asked, “Even the poisonous ones?”

“Even those, unless of course they attack first. Then I don’t ask any questions.”

Willa imagined that was probably how he handled life, too. Since he seemed used to being attacked a lot, based on what Lorna had told her.

She could envision him standing here, the hunter in him alert and wary, willing to kill to survive. But she could also see him bending to nudge an innocent creature in the right direction so he wouldn’t be forced to harm it. It was that image, rather than the more macho one of him as a hunter and a scrapper, that endeared him to her.

“Well, you’ve done a good job. It looks well-kept and completely snake free,” she told him, her gaze taking in the antique sundial centered near the entryway. “But I have to admit, this place looks a little lost and sad.”

“It is,” he replied. “It was once a garden spot, centuries ago. It wasn’t part of our land then, but the family that owned the neighboring plantation suffered through a yellow fever epidemic, probably brought here from New Orleans. The landowner lost his entire family—his wife, his son and daughter—they all died. He let the place go to ruin during the Civil War, then he died many years later, a lonely, reclusive old man. I’m not sure how my family wound up owning the land—Lacey could tell you all about that—” He stopped, looked at the winding stream that flowed from the Mississippi River to the bayou from the other side of the small, slanting hill. “The story goes that he used to come here and grieve his loss in this hushed, decaying garden. I come here when I’m feeling lost and sad myself. Sometimes I get in that kind of mood. Aunt Hilda says, c’est l’heure solennelle.”

“The solemn hour.” Willa knew enough French to translate what he’d told her. And wondered why he’d brought her here. Did Lucas sense that she was sad and lost underneath all her fame and fortune?

Just the thought that he might, coupled with the tragic tale he’d told her, brought tears to her eyes. But she quickly dashed them away, not willing to explore the underlying turmoil of her problems right now. She didn’t want pity, refused to wallow in self-doubt and despair.

And yet, this place seemed to be beckoning her to do just that. Or maybe it was telling her to let go and let her inner torment boil to the surface in a cleansing purge. So she could get on with her life. If she had a life to get on with, that is.

Wanting to change her somber thoughts, Willa said, “You don’t strike me as the type to wander around moping. From everything Lorna has told me and from what I’ve seen of you, I wouldn’t have imagined you’d have such a place, so beautiful yet so melancholy, tucked away from the world.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes locked on hers in a heated black gaze, his secrets as tangled and overgrown as the swamp around them. “’The beauty remains; the pain passes.’”

“What a lovely thing to say.”

“You can thank Renoir for that one,” he told her, looking away briefly.

“The painter?”

“The very one. He knew a thing or two about pain.”

“And it sounds as if you know a thing or two about art,” she replied, her opinion of him rapidly changing.

“I know enough to get by. But then, that’s how I am about most things in life—whatever it takes to get by.” He shifted, ran a hand over his long, curly bangs. “But I didn’t bring you here to get you down or talk about art.”

She wanted to ask him exactly why he had brought her here, but then the smile was back, taking her breath up and away. The tiny bells hanging on a silvery chain just inside the open pagoda door tinkled and laughed along with him, but to Willa, the sound changed in the wind.

It almost sounded like weeping.

“Well, this is a strange and mysterious place,” she said, her voice low. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Depends,” he said, pulling her into the cool darkness of the rustic structure. “Look over that way.” He pointed through one of the open windows toward the path they’d traveled.

Through a gap in the trees and brush, Willa saw the mansion. From this spot atop the small mound, Bayou le Jardin could be seen in all its splendor just to the west. The great evergreen oaks and ever-changing gardens cascaded from the house like colorful lace on a belle’s ball gown, while the mansion stood brilliant and sparkling with its Doric columns and classic Greek Revival design.

“How lovely.”

“Oui. I like to come here and look back at it. I’m close enough to watch over things, but far enough away that I can’t be bothered if I don’t want to be found.”

If I don’t want to be found.

Willa watched him, knowing that there was much more to Lucas Dorsette than he wanted the world to see. He was witty, flirty, a charmer, no doubt. But there was a serious side to him that she could see clearly, in spite of the shaded, secluded garden where he’d brought her. Or maybe because of it.

“Do you bring all your conquests here?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Actually, you’re the first,” Lucas told her, his mood as dark and hard to see into as the swamp below them. “Conquest, that is.”

And that’s when Willa knew she was treading on very dangerous ground. Lorna had warned her about Lucas’s lighthearted, carefree nature.

But her friend had failed to warn her about the other qualities that made up Lucas Dorsette. He was obviously a very complex, interesting man. A man who had a deeper, more spiritual side that he hid from the world with a nonchalant shrug and a breathtaking smile.

But then, maybe he didn’t want the rest of the world to see that side of him. The side that cared enough to set God’s creatures free when he could just as easily destroy them. The side that tended and nurtured a secret, tragic place, finding beauty hidden in the midst of pain. The side that didn’t want to be found.

Taking all that into consideration, Willa stopped asking questions and quit worrying about being his next conquest. Instead, she sat next to him on the carved bench inside the pagoda. Sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the swamp, the starlings fussing as they flew overhead, the bullfrogs singing in the marsh. Listening to the soft, sweet melody of hundreds of tiny chiming bells.

Across the shore, a blue heron posed on a toppled branch from a bald cypress tree, listening and watching right along with them. And somewhere in the coolness of the swamp, a mourning dove cooed a forlorn song of longing.

“Thank you for showing me this place, Lucas,” she told him after a few minutes.

“Thank you for letting me bring you here,” he replied, his tone neither carefree nor careless. Instead, his husky voice held a reverent longing of its own.

Which made her wonder all over again.

Why had he opened up to her, let her see the real Lucas Dorsette, here in this ancient, tragic spot, of all places on God’s green earth?

“Set another place for dinner,” Lorna told Rosie Lee that afternoon. “Willa O’Connor will be joining us.”

Lucas walked in the kitchen in time to hear this bit of news. “Willa? Well, I think the dinner hour just got more interesting. Glad I actually dressed.”

He’d never admit that he’d taken great pains to get cleaned up in hopes of seeing her here tonight. Crisp button-up shirt, pressed and pleated khaki trousers. Shoes that didn’t have scuff marks and caked mud all over them. He’d even found a belt.

“And where have you been since breakfast?” Lorna asked him as she opened the oven to check on Rosie Lee’s baked turkey cutlets. “Willa came back to the house without you. Did you do something to upset her?”

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” he asked, perturbed that his baby sister had automatically jumped to the wrong conclusion. And she hadn’t even noticed that he’d tried to clean up nicely.

“You did do something, didn’t you?”

Giving Lorna a direct look that matched her own assumptions, he nodded. “Yes, I sure did. I kidnapped her and took her deep into the swamp and then—”

“Oh, hush up,” Aunt Hilda said, coming into the kitchen at a slow pace, one hand leaning heavily on her cane. “I can tell you where Lucas was today, Lorna. He spent most of the afternoon with me at the office, handing out school supplies to the area children.”

“School supplies?” Lorna adjusted her chef’s hat, then shrugged. “Will wonders never cease.”

“I even went into Kenner to that big superstore and bought them, too,” Lucas told her. “Can you believe Aunt Hilda assigned me such a monumental chore?”

Lorna stuck out her tongue at him. “Yes, I can believe it. And I’m well aware of the local effort to help our children with their supplies this year. Between the tornado and then the flood, we all know everyone around here is tapped out, both emotionally and financially.”

“That’s right,” Aunt Hilda said, placing an arm around Lucas’s shoulder. “School will be starting in a few weeks, and we need to do everything we can to make it a normal transition, in spite of all the havoc nature has created this year.”

“Okay,” Lorna said. “But that still doesn’t explain why Willa came back to the house by herself.”

“I escorted her to the garden—the official garden,” Lucas explained. “She wanted to go to her room, so I bid her good day, then I went on my merry way.”

And wished he could have stayed in his secret garden with Willa for, oh, maybe the rest of his life.

He couldn’t explain what had happened this morning. He only knew he’d needed to take Willa to that particular spot. Call it instinct, call it a need to let her into his secret hopes and dreams. Or call it a coward’s plea for someone to see inside his soul, but Lucas had been sure and solid in his decision.

And…she’d understood.

Willa hadn’t questioned him. She hadn’t condemned him. She’d sat there with him, in the quiet of the summer morning, with the bayou and the birds and bees all around them. And she’d…accepted.

Lucas had been around many beautiful women, too many, when he really stopped to think about it. But none of them had ever accepted him for what he was. They’d all wanted to dig too deep, wanted more than he could give. They’d all tried to corner him, change him, rearrange him into fitting husband material. Which only made him bolt right out the door.

Maybe it was because she was worldly and world-weary, but Willa didn’t seem to expect a whole lot from him. He supposed that could be good or bad, depending on how you looked at things. Maybe Willa didn’t expect too much because she’d hardened herself to men in general.

Or maybe she knew he couldn’t possibly live up to her expectations.

Lorna brought that point home with her next statement. “Well, I thought you were going to keep an eye on Willa, watch over her while she’s here.”

“I would gladly do that,” he responded, reaching into Rosie Lee’s spinach salad to snare a fat slice of green pepper. “But Willa said she was tired and she was going back to her room to rest and make a few phone calls. So I left her to it.”

And wondered why she’d looked so sad as she’d walked away.

Lorna frowned, then nodded. “Okay, then. I know she didn’t let anyone know where she’d be, not even her agent. And I think she’s turned off her cell phone. I hope she did get some rest today.” Glancing at the clock, she added, “Oh, I’ve got to get to the restaurant before Mick gets home. Just as soon as I gauge the crowd and make sure my assistant and Em can handle things, I’ll be back for dinner.”

“We’ll be honored by your presence,” Lucas teased.

Lorna gave him a mock-nasty glare, then reached to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sorry I jumped on you, brother.”

“What else is new?”

“You’re still my favorite brother, you know.”

“Maybe because I’m your only brother.”

She smiled at him, all trace of doubt gone. “I want you to be happy, Lucas.”

“But just not with your fair friend Willa.”

“I didn’t say that. Actually, it would be nice if—”

Willa came into the room then, her crystal-blue eyes bright and red-rimmed, her expression bordering on frantic. In spite of that, she looked glorious in a long, straight blue cotton sundress etched with embroidered daisies on its wide crisscrossed straps.

Lucas started to question her but glanced at his sister and saw the warning look in Lorna’s worried eyes.

He turned to Willa, hoping to lighten her mood. “I hear you’re joining us for dinner. Most of the guests eat in the restaurant, so we’re glad to have you at our table.”

“Thank you,” she said, her words just above a whisper. “I hope I won’t be intruding on a family gathering.”

“Not at all,” Aunt Hilda told Willa, her sharp gaze taking in everything. “As Lucas said, we don’t provide dinner for our guests—just breakfast. But Lorna figured out a way around that with her booming restaurant.”

Lucas grinned, then took his aunt by one arm as he extended the other to Willa. “But we never turn down a beautiful face at the dinner table, either, when the occasion presents itself.”

He waited, saw Willa hesitate, wondering. He wanted to pull his hands through her haphazardly upswept hair.

Then she put her arm around his, lifted her head and gave him a brilliant smile that would probably sell lots of lipstick in a magazine shot. “How can I refuse, then?”

How, indeed, Lucas wondered. She seemed anything but eager to have dinner with his family. She seemed sad and forlorn, just like his lost, forgotten garden in the bayou.

Lucas wanted to wipe away her tears, make her smile again, from the heart. But first he had to find out what had brought her here and why she seemed so fragile.

As he walked with his aunt and Willa up the central hallway of Bayou le Jardin, Lucas knew one thing for sure.

God had brought Willa to him. And Lucas had been right to take her to his private garden.

It was the place where he kept his fears and sadness intact, nurturing them as if they were cherished blossoms lost deep inside the swamp.

He looked at Willa and knew that beneath her pain, the beauty was still there, just as with his garden. He felt an acute need to clear away the bramble and entanglements surrounding Willa’s smile and bring that beauty into the light.