Читать книгу Bayou Sweetheart - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 11

Chapter Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What kind of beast was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll have that cleaned for you.”

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

“He usually sleeps or chases squirrels.”

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

“You named him Elvis?”

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

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

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

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

“Who does?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“People? Do you try to buy people?”

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

“But you’ve tried?”

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

“Maybe both.”

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

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

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

“We’d all like to know that.”

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

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

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

“Are you inviting me?”

“Are you a member of the public?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re welcome to come.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Possibly.”

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But were dreams allowed?

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

Would he approve?

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

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

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

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

“All finished?” he asked.

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

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

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

“Hire as many people as you need.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? Maybe I know the town.”

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

“How do you know?”

“I watch you sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned and hurried back into the house.

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