Midnight Bayou

by Нора Робертс

  He was ridiculously grateful they'd declined his offer for them to stay with him. Everyone would be a hell of a lot happier with them tucked into a nice hotel suite.

  Regardless, he was determined to finish the galleries, and one of the spare bedrooms. In that way, the house would look impressive when they came down the drive, and he could prove he'd had the room he'd offered them.

  His mother would look to be sure. That was a given.

  He backed down the ladder, grabbed the cooler, and gulped cold water. Then poured the rest over his head. Refreshed, he walked across the lawn, then turned back to look.

  Dripping, already starting to steam, he felt the smile spread across his face.

  "Not bad," he said aloud. "Not half bad for a Yankee amateur.”

  He'd finished the dual staircases. The sweep of them curved up opposite sides of the second-floor gallery. The elegance of them negated all the nicks, cuts, scrapes, and the hours of labor.

  They would be, he realized, his pride and joy.

  Now all he needed was to bribe the painters to work in this heat wave. Or pray for a break in the weather.

  Either way, he wasn't going to wait until he'd finished the rear of the house. He wanted the front painted, wanted to stand as he was standing now, and see it gleam in bridal white.

  To please himself, he strode back, walked slowly up the right-hand stairs, crossed the gallery, and walked slowly down the left. It gave him such a kick he did it again.

  Then he dug through his toolbox for his cell phone and called Lena.

  He had to share his excitement with her. What did it matter if he was a day ahead of schedule?

  The phone was ringing in her apartment when he glanced over and saw Lilibeth crossing his lawn. He pressed END, got to his feet, and put the phone back in his toolbox.

  "I swear, this heat's just wilting.”

  She beamed at him, fluttering her lashes as she waved a hand in front of her face. He noted the bracelets she wore were Odette's.

  "And it's barely noon. Look at you," she said in a slow purr.

  She sauntered straight to him, trailed a fingertip down his bare chest. "You're all wet.”

  "Impromptu shower." Instinctively, he took a step back so her finger no longer touched his skin. "What can I do for you, Miss Simone?"

  "You can start by calling me Lilibeth. After all, you're a good friend of my mama's-and my little girl's, aren't you?”

  She wandered away a bit, let her eyes widen as she scanned the house. "I just can't hardly believe what you've done with this big, old place. You must be awfully clever, Declan." She said flirtatiously, "I can call you Declan, can't I?”

  "Sure. You don't have to be so clever," he said. "You just have to have plenty of time.”

  And money, she thought. Plenty of money. "Oh now, don't you be modest. It's just a miracle what you're doing here. I hope it wouldn't be putting you out too much to show me some of the inside. And I surely could use something cold. Just walking over here from home's left me parched.”

  He didn't want her in his house. More than distaste, there was a kind of primitive dread. But whatever else she was, she was Lena's mother, and his own had drummed manners into his bones.

  "Of course. I've got some tea.”

  "Can't think of anything that would be more welcome.”

  She followed him to the door, was pleased when he opened it for her and stepped back for her to enter ahead of him. She let her body brush his, just the faintest suggestion, then walked into the foyer and let out a gasp.

  She didn't have to feign the shock, or her wonder as she gazed around the grand entrance. She'd been inside before. Remy and Declan weren't the first to get liquored up and break into Manet Hall.

  She'd never liked it much. The place had given her the creeps with its shadows and dust, its cobwebs and faded glamour.

  But now it was full of light and polish. Glossy floors, glossy walls. She didn't think much of the old furniture, not for looks anyway. But she had no doubt the price tags had been heavy.

  Old money bought or kept old things. It was a concept that baffled her when there was so much new and glittery in the world.

  "My lord, sugar, this is a showplace. Just a showplace," she repeated and wandered into the parlor.

  She might've preferred the city, where the action was, but she could see that a woman could live like a queen in such a place. And bring the action in, at her whim.

  "Goodness, did I say you were clever? Why, you're just a genius. Everything's so beautiful and fresh." She turned back to him. "You must be awful proud.”

  "It's coming along. Kitchen's back this way. We can get you that cold drink.”

  "That would be lovely, but don't you hurry me along now." She slid a proprietary hand onto his arm, clung there as she walked down the hall. "I'm just fascinated by what you've done with this place. Mama said you'd only started on it a few months ago.”

  "You can get a lot done if you stick to the plan.”

  And since he seemed to be stuck with her, for the time being, he banked down on the desire to get her out again. Instead, as she turned into the library, made purring noises, he took the opportunity to study her.

  He couldn't see Lena in her. There were, he supposed, some physical similarities. But where Lena had that compact, bombshell body, Lilibeth's had been whittled down with time and abuse to nearly gaunt.

  Showing it off in tiny red shorts and a tight tank top only made her appear cheap and pathetic-a worn-out Kewpie doll painted up for one last night at the carnival. He felt a stir of sympathy for a woman who sought approval and attention by trying to showcase a sexuality she'd already lost.

  She'd used a heavy hand with makeup, and the heat hadn't been kind. Her face seemed sallow and false under all the borrowed color. Her hair had frizzed, and graying roots were streaking through it.

  By the time he got her into the kitchen, he found her too pitiful to resent.

  "Have a seat," he told her. "I'll get you that drink.”

  And she mistook the kindness in his voice for attraction.

  "A kitchen like this …" She slid into a chair. It was cool here, and she tipped back her head to let the air reach her throat-and to watch him. "Don't you go and tell me you cook, too. Why, if that's so, sugar, I'm just going to have to cut Lena out and marry you my own self.”

  "Sorry." The mention of Lena tightened him up again. But his back was to her, and she didn't see his face. "I don't cook.”

  "Well, a girl can make allowances." She lapped her tongue over her lips. He had a good, strong build to go along with those deep pockets. And she was starting to itch for a man.

  "You wouldn't have anything a little stronger than that tea, would you, honey?”

  "Would you rather a beer?”

  She'd rather a good glass of whiskey, but she nodded. "That'd be just fine. You gonna join me?”

  "I'll stick with tea. I've got work to do yet today.”

  "Too hot to work." She stretched back, looking at him under her lashes. "Days like this, you just wanna soak in a cool tub, then lie on down in a dim room with a fan blowing over your skin.”

  She accepted the glass of beer he'd poured her, and sipped. "What do you do to beat the heat, honey?”

  "Pour cold water over my head. How's Miss Odette?”

  Lilibeth's lips pursed. "Oh, she's fine. House is hot as hell in the morning with her baking. Gotta save her pennies. I've been helping out, best I can, but thing's are tight. Declan …”

  She ran her finger down the condensation on the glass, drank some more. "I wanted to apologize for that scene over at the house the other day. Lena and I, well, we just rub each other wrong half the time. I guess I can't deny I didn't do right by her when she was a little thing. But I'm trying to make it up to her.”

  She widened her eyes until they stung and watered cooperatively. "I've changed. I've come to a point in my life when I realize what's important. And that's family. You know what I mean. You've got fa
mily.”

  "Yes, I've got family.”

  "And now you're down here, you must miss them, and they miss you. Whatever troubles you might have between you, you'd put them aside and support each other. No matter what, ain't that right?”

  "Yes.”

  She dabbed delicately at her tears. "I need Lena to see that's all I want. She doesn't trust me yet, and I can't blame her. I was hoping maybe you could help convince her to give me a chance."

  She slid her hand across the table, skimmed it over the back of his. "I'd sure appreciate it if you did. I feel so alone. Woman in my situation, she needs a friend. A strong man in her corner. If I knew I had you on my side, it would help so much.”

  "If there have to be sides, I'm on Lena's. Either way, I can't step between family-and if I was stupid enough to try it, she wouldn't listen to me anyway.”

  "Maybe the two of you aren't as close as I assumed.”

  "It's always risky to make assumptions," he returned equably.

  She took another swallow of beer. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?”

  "I'm not going to discuss that with you.”

  "Why not?" Lilibeth ran the chilly glass between her breasts, then, laughing, rose. "You shy, honey? Don't you be shy with Lilibeth. We could be friends, you and me." She skirted the table, leaned in behind him. "Very good friends," she added as her arms twined down and her teeth nipped at his ear.

  "Miss Simone, you're putting me in the awkward position of asking you to get your hands off me.”

  "You are shy." With a chuckle that blew warm breath and beer over his cheek, she trailed her hands down toward his lap.

  He clamped a hand over her wrists, jerked them up again. "You're embarrassing yourself." He twisted so he could lever out of the chair and onto his feet to face her. "That's your business. But you're using me to take a shot at Lena, and that's mine.”

  Angry color spotted her cheeks. "Maybe you think you're too good for me.”

  "There's no maybe about it. Get out and we'll forget this happened.”

  She wanted to scream at him, to strike out. But she still had her wits about her. She hadn't had enough beer to dull them, and the hit of coke she'd had before walking over had been miserly. Playing it out, she sank into a chair, dropped her head on her folded arms and sobbed.

  "I don't know what to do. I'm just so alone. I'm just so scared. I need help. I thought-I thought if I let you have me, you'd help me. I just don't know what to do!”

  She lifted her head, and the two tears she'd managed to squeeze out tracked through her makeup. "I'm in such awful trouble.”

  He went to the sink, ran the water cold, then got a glass. "What kind of trouble?”

  "I owe some money. That's why I left Houston, and I'm afraid they'll find me. Hurt me. Maybe Lena, too. I don't want them to hurt my baby.”

  He set the water in front of her. "How much money?”

  He saw it, the quick glint of satisfaction in her eyes before she lowered them. "Five thousand dollars. It wasn't my fault. Really, it wasn't my fault. I trusted the wrong people. A man," she said wearily. "And he ran off with the money and left me owing. If I don't find a way to pay it back, they're going to track me down and do something to me. Something to Mama and Lena.”

  He sat back down, looked at her intently. "You're a liar. You want to try to soak me for a quick five K so you can score some drugs and get out of town. You figure me for an easy mark, but you figure wrong. If it wasn't for Lena, I'd give you a couple hundred to send you along. But you see, Lilibeth, there is Lena. She wouldn't like it.”

  She hurled the water in his face. He barely blinked. "Fuck you.”

  "I thought we already established that wasn't an option.”

  "Think you're so smart, don't you? So important because you come from money." She pushed to her feet. "Big, fancy, highfalutin family. I found out all about you, Declan Fitzgerald. Let me ask you just what that big, fancy, highfalutin family's going to think when they hear you're heating the sheets with a Cajun swamp whore?”

  The phrase had something clutching in his gut, in the back of his throat, in his head. Her face changed in front of his eyes, became fuller, older. Colder.

  Josephine.

  "Get out." He wasn't sure, not entirely, if he spoke to the flesh-and-blood woman or to the ghost. His hands shook as he gripped the edge of the table.

  "All those fine doctors and lawyers and Indian chiefs up there in Boston, how are they gonna like the idea of their golden boy hooking up with some bastard child from the bayou? No money, no pedigree. Runs a second-rate bar and has a grandmama who sews for other people to earn extra pennies. Gonna cut you right out of the will, sugar. Leave you high and dry with this big white elephant of a house on your hands. Especially when I tell them you slept with her mama, too.”

  His legs were weak as water, but he stood on them. "Get out of my house before I hurt you.”

  "Your type doesn't lay hands on a woman. Don't think I don't know the difference." Riding on coke and confidence, she tossed back her hair. "You wanna keep plugging your wick into my girl, and you wanna keep your family out of it, you'll write me a check, cher. You'll write it quick, fast and in a hurry. And we're going to make it ten thousand now, because you hurt my feelings.”

  "Your feeling's aren't worth a buck and a half to me, Lilibeth.”

  "They will be, after I have a little chat with your mama.”

  "My mother will chew you up and spit you out." He walked to the counter, yanked open a drawer and took out a pad. Scrawled a number on it. "Here, that's her number. Call her. You can use my phone, as long as I can listen in. It'll be a real pleasure to hear her slice you to bloodless pieces.”

  "I need money!”

  "You won't get it here." Out of patience, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door. "I can make a lot more trouble for you than you can for me. Believe it," he said, and shut the door in her face.

  He had to sit down until he had his legs under him again. He felt ill, physically ill. Something had happened when she'd raged at him over Lena. The face that had become her face was one he'd seen in his dreams.

  The face belonged to the house, or to the part of it that slammed doors, that wished him away.

  That wished him harm.

  No doubt now, he told himself, that Lena's mother now wished him harm as well.

  He rose, went to the phone. One positive result of the ugly incident was it had made him appreciate his own mother.

  He dialed, and felt cleaner at the familiar sound of her voice.

  "Hi, Ma.”

  "Declan? What are you doing calling in the middle of the day? What's wrong? You had an accident.”

  "No, I-was "All those horrible tools. You've cut off a hand.”

  "I still have two, and all other assigned parts. I just called to tell you I love you.”

  There was a long, pregnant pause. "You've just learned you have a terminal disease and have six months to live.”

  Now he laughed. "Got me. I'm a dead man and want to make contact with my family so I get a really cool wake.”

  "Do you want Uncle Jimmy to sing `Danny Boy`?”

  "I really don't. I'd as soon rest in peace.”

  "So noted. What is it, really, Declan?”

  "I want to tell you about the woman I'm in love with and want to marry.”

  This pause was even longer. "Is this a joke?”

  "No. Got a couple minutes?”

  "I think I can rearrange my schedule for this.”

  "Okay." He walked over, picked up his iced tea. The ice had melted, but he glugged it down anyway. "Her name's Angelina Simone, and she's beautiful, fascinating, frustrating, hardheaded and perfect. She's just perfect, Ma.”

  "When do I meet her?”

  "Remy's wedding. There's this one minor glitch –other than the one where she isn't ready to say yes.”

  "I'm sure you can overcome that minor detail. What's the glitch?”

  He sat down again and told her
about Lilibeth.

  By the time he got off the phone, he felt lighter. Going with impulse, he went upstairs to clean up and change. He was going to confront Lena a bit ahead of schedule.

  Declan detoured by Remy's office on the way to Et Trois. The wedding was approaching quickly, and his duties as best man included coordinating the bachelor party. Though he figured the big picture was clear enough-enough booze to float a battleship, and a strip club –there were some finer details to work out.

  When reception buzzed through to Remy's office, he heard his friend's almost frantic "Send him right in.”

  The minute he opened the office door, he saw why.

  Effie, tears streaking down her cheeks, sat in one of the visitor chairs with Remy crouched at her feet. Though Remy kept mopping at the tears, kept trying to comfort, he shot Declan a look of sheer male panic.

  In a testament to friendship, Declan resisted the urge to back out and run. Instead he closed the door, crossed over and rubbed Effie's shoulder.

  "Sweetheart, I told you I'd tell him you were dumping him for me.”

  Effie merely looked up, then covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  "Okay, bad joke." Declan scrubbed now-sweaty palms over his jeans. "What's wrong?”

  "Problem with the wedding venue," Remy began, and Effie let out a wail.

  "There is no wedding venue." She snatched Remy's handkerchief, buried her face in it. "They had … they had a kitchen fire, and the fire department came, and they … they … Oh what're we going to do!”

  "Smoke and water damage," Remy explained to Declan. "Over and above the fire damage. They're not going to be able to put it back together in time.”

  "It's my fault.”

  Mirroring Remy, Declan crouched. "Okay, honey, why'd you start the fire?”

  It made her laugh-for a split second. "I wanted to use that old plantation house. It's romantic and so lovely. Remy said it'll all be easier booking a hotel ballroom, but no, I just had to have my way. And now look. We've got less than three weeks, and we're … We're just sunk, that's all."

  "No, we're not, honey. We'll find another place. Pleure pas, chhre." Remy kissed the tip of her nose. "Worse comes to worst, we'll have the wedding, then we'll have our party later. We'll have us a real fais do-do, after the honeymoon.”