And Mistress Makes Three

by Francis Ray

  “You’re supposed to wait until I give you permission to come in,” Gabrielle accused.

  Gina accepted the reprimand. She’d accidentally found the diary months ago while cleaning Gabrielle’s room. Gina hadn’t read it, hadn’t wanted to invade her daughter’s privacy. “You didn’t answer, and I was concerned. Are you all right?”

  Her arms folded across her chest, which only months ago had been flat; now she needed a training bra. “Just fine. I can’t watch TV, talk on the phone to my friends, go out.”

  Gina closed the door. Ashton wouldn’t eavesdrop on purpose, but he wasn’t above listening and using what he’d heard to aggravate his sister, his new favorite pastime. “You were deliberately rude. Be glad it was only for a week.”

  Her chin jutted. “So was Ashton and you didn’t do anything to him. You always take his side over mine.”

  “He only repeated what I said. You were deliberately rude.” Gina walked farther into the room. “I love you both equally. You’re older, and I expect more from you.”

  “If Daddy were here, he wouldn’t let you punish me this way,” she tossed, shooting Gina a belligerent look.

  She would have been searching for her head if she’d spoken to her mother that way. But Gina had grown up with supportive, loving parents who still went out of their way to help her. “Your father isn’t here. I know it’s difficult for you at times, and you’re angry, but you can’t take it out on other people.”

  Gabrielle’s arms unfolded. “If he was happy, he wouldn’t have left us.”

  Gina didn’t recoil or flinch at the accusation. It was the truth. Even a thirteen-year-old could figure that out, but Gina was still the mother. “Gabrielle, if you want to make it two weeks, just keep being rude and disrespectful and I’ll see that it happens.”

  Her daughter folded her arms again and looked away.

  “If I could make things the way they used to be, I would,” Gina said, not sure if it was the truth anymore. “I can’t. So we have to make the best of things.”

  Silence.

  Gina walked over to her. Enough was enough. “Please give me the respect to look at me when I talk to you.”

  After a moment, Gabrielle slowly brought her gaze to her mother.

  “I love you, Gabrielle, but there is only one adult in this house and you’re looking at her. I make the rules. Keep pushing me and you aren’t going to like the consequences.”

  A moment of unease flickered in her daughter’s eyes. “I could go live with Daddy.”

  Your father doesn’t want you. Want any of us. “I have custody of you except for every other weekend with your father. You’re staying here, and you’re going to mind and stop lashing out at people because your father isn’t here.”

  “I could ask him,” she said.

  “Ask all you want, but you’re staying here. And you’re going to start considering other people and not just yourself,” Gina said. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Another pause, then, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Gina glanced at her watch. “Lights out at nine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gina’s eyes narrowed at her daughter, unable to tell if there had been a bit of bite in the words. “Remember, Gabrielle, it’s all up to you. This is just as difficult for me. I don’t want us to be at odds.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  This time Gina was sure there was mockery in her daughter’s tone. Gina recalled her grandmother’s saying, but she also recalled a Bible scripture, “Do not provoke your children to anger.” The strain between her and her daughter wouldn’t be solved tonight, and to push it would potentially make things worse between them.

  “Good night, Gabrielle.” Gina quietly left the room, too achingly aware that Gabrielle had not wished her a good night.

  Robert had a lot to answer for.

  SEVEN

  Max wasn’t going to call.

  Sitting on the side of her bed later that night, her hands clasped together in her lap, Gina stared at the silent phone on her nightstand. The clock radio read 9:07. A short while ago she’d checked on Ashton and Gabrielle to make sure they were asleep, then come to her room to wait.

  There was an extension in her office, but being there was too big a reminder of how slow business was. So she’d come to her room and put off taking her bath for fear she’d miss the call.

  She hadn’t been aware of how much she wanted to work on the project until now. The money would certainly help, but also important was the opportunity to be of assistance to Max. She knew how it felt when your dream didn’t come true. How it made you feel inept, a failure, useless, stupid.

  Unfortunately, she was somewhat of an expert on the subject. Robert was always ready to say, I told you so.

  Was it so bad that she wanted to work from home so that she could be there if her children needed her? Being at home allowed her to volunteer at the school, go on field trips with Ashton. Yet she wasn’t sure how she’d manage if her travel agency business failed.

  She had to admit Max Broussard didn’t appear the type to give up if his plans didn’t work out. He’d proven that by his visit to her. Whatever he wanted, he probably went all out to get, just like Celeste. Gina, on the other hand, wasn’t a risk taker. She’d tried too many times and ended up falling on her face.

  Gina glanced at the silent phone again. What if he’d decided to hire a licensed interior designer? What if he’d decided he didn’t need her once he had the list of ideas? What if—

  The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts. She jumped. Could it be Max? She’d had caller ID taken off to cut down on the phone bill. With a shaky hand she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Rawlings, it’s Max Broussard.”

  Her eyes closed briefly in relief. “Hello, Mr. Broussard,” she said, moistening her lips.

  He chuckled. “ ‘Max,’ since we’re going to be working together.”

  “Max.” He still wants her.

  “I hope it isn’t too late to call,” he said. “I knew you’d have to get Ashton and Gabrielle to bed and ready for school tomorrow.”

  “That was considerate of you,” she said. “They’re in bed, and we can talk.”

  “Good. I showed everything to Aunt Sophia and she liked your ideas as well. If possible, we’d like for you to come over tomorrow for lunch and we can do another walk-through.”

  Her schedule for the next day was completely blank, since she’d finished with the travel itinerary for her parents and their friends. But should she talk money now or tomorrow?

  “Mrs. Rawlings?”

  “I was just thinking about my schedule,” she said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “About your salary,” he went on to say. “My aunt went online and called several interior design firms since we know this is not your chosen field. We can go over that tomorrow and settle on a fee.”

  “Celeste told me, depending on the project, designers are paid by the job or the hour, but I’m not a designer, of course,” she felt compelled to say. If she wanted him to be fair, she had to be the same way.

  “In my opinion, you don’t have to have the initials behind your name to be a designer. Let’s talk about it tomorrow if you can come for lunch,” he said. “Of course, I’m prepared to give you a consultation fee at the very least.”

  “Consultation fee.” She stood to her feet.

  “Yes. It’s standard procedure, my aunt learned. You get what I want the B and B to be,” he told her. “Another designer might not.”

  “Southern gentility and down-home charm. Understated elegance.”

  “Exactly,” Max said, a smile in his deep baritone voice. “You’re the one I want.”

  Unexpectantly the softly spoken words sent a warm tingle through her. She felt a bit overheated.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  Go on, Gina. Take a chance on life, a small voice whispered. “Yes.”

  “Great. Would eleven thirty be all right
?”

  “Yes, and thank you,” she said.

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you. Good night, Mrs. Rawlings.”

  “ ‘Gina,’ since we’re going to be working together,” she said, smiling.

  “Good night, Gina. Sleep well.”

  “I will. Good night, Max.” Sitting on the bed, she hung up the phone, aware that there was a huge grin on her face. She’d done it. Picking up the phone, she punched in Celeste’s home phone number.

  “Hello,” Celeste said.

  “I took the job. I’m going over there tomorrow for lunch and he‘s paying me a consultation fee,” she blurted out.

  “Way to go,” Celeste said, excitement in her voice. “You can do this.”

  “I’m going to try,” Gina said before her smile faded. “Are you all right?”

  “I feel like crap.”

  “Celeste, you don’t know that he’s still upset,” Gina told her. Celeste might be impulsive, but she was also a kind and generous woman. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I can tell you more then.”

  “Wonderful. I can’t wait to hear it. Good night.”

  Gina sat smiling for a minute longer, then got up to take a bath and get ready for bed. Thanks to Max, life had taken a definite upward swing.

  . . .

  It was good to have a friend to share things with, Gina thought as she talked with Celeste the next morning at the small breakfast table in the kitchen. For the first time in months Gina was the one with exciting news. As they ate breakfast, Gina went over Max’s visit.

  “Max is becoming more interesting by the moment. Tell me more about him,” Celeste said as she forked in a bite of honey-cured ham.

  Seated across from Celeste, Gina frowned, lowering her coffee cup. “Max?”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Gina, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. Max Broussard is a gorgeous hunk with the body of a Greek god.”

  Gina didn’t know why she flushed again. “Celeste, this is just business.”

  “Who said you can’t mix business with pleasure?” she said. “You won’t make the mistake I did. You aren’t pushy.”

  Gina wished she could do or say something to help. “I envy you your assertiveness. I’m a pushover and everyone knows it.”

  “Tell you what,” Celeste said with a hint of her old self as she lifted her coffee cup. “Let’s make a pact this morning that I’ll try to be less pushy if you try to be more assertive. We’ll compare notes, and the one who does the best wins lunch.”

  Gina lifted her cup. “Deal.”

  “Deal.” Celeste touched her cup to Gina’s, then drank her coffee. “Today will test our new resolve.” She placed her cup in her saucer and picked up her fork. “I know, but at least I won’t have to face him on an empty stomach.” She picked up her biscuit, fluffy and light. “I still can’t believe he threw out my gumbo. At least he didn’t throw me out of the hou—” Her eyes widened.

  “What is it?” Gina asked.

  “What if he called Maureen and Simon and told them what happened?” Celeste asked, worry in her voice.

  “From what you’ve said, I don’t think he wants his family knowing he’s having post-traumatic stress,” Gina said, her fork poised over her scrambled eggs.

  “You’re right.” Celeste bit into her biscuit. “He wouldn’t have called them.”

  “Exactly.” Gina placed her fork on her plate. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you this morning?”

  “I am. If he wants to chew on me, which is his right, then he’ll have his chance.” Celeste finished her coffee.

  “If you change your mind, call.”

  “It won’t be necessary, but I’d better get to it.” Celeste stood and pushed her chair beneath the table. “Both of us are going to have an eventful day.”

  “That we will.”

  Celeste pulled into the driveway of Maureen’s house and switched off the motor. Instead of getting out, she slumped back against the leather seat. Usually she wasn’t afraid of confrontation. Speaking her mind had often landed her at odds with people. She’d never minded before or considered pulling back. So why did she hesitate this time?

  The answer was simple: She’d hoped that she and Alec could be friends. Well, a bit more than friends, but it would start with friendship. She had ruined any chance of them growing closer. Worse, she’d stuck her nose into his personal affairs, a definite no-no. Some men’s egos were the size of Alaska and bruised easily.

  She should have stopped to think before she hid the beer. An assertive, take-charge man like Alec wouldn’t want anyone pointing out that he might be drinking too much. But she knew better than anyone how alcohol destroyed lives.

  “You can’t sit here all day,” Celeste muttered to herself, then climbed out of the van and went to the front door. Cautiously she opened it and peered inside, listened. Her shoulders sagged in relief when she didn’t see Alec. She didn’t have a doubt that she’d see him before too long, but she wasn’t ready to face his anger again and know she was to blame.

  Leaving the heavy door slightly ajar, she went to the van and opened the back door. Today she planned on covering the walls surrounding the window bench with a silk fabric that matched the wallpaper. The same silk fabric would be used to upholster the window bench as well, the elaborate swags and jabots covering the fourteen-foot windows, the duvet and drapes around the bed, and at least five custom pillows of the fifteen in varying designs on the bed.

  A custom-printed silk linen stripe on the bed pillows, shams, and bed skirt would introduce butter yellow and soft peach to the blue and beige palates that meandered throughout the house. Two Venetian rococo armchairs in cream chenille that dated back to the eighteenth century placed in front of the fireplace would offer a spot for Maureen and Simon to curl up with a book or each other. The suite with its upholstered furniture, relaxed yet elegant fabrics, and period antiques would be the height of luxury without squandering comfort when finished.

  Picking up two rolls of batting and her toolbox, Celeste locked the van’s back door and went back inside. And came face-to-face with Alec. It was all she could do not to drop the things in her hands and run back to the van.

  His face was hard, his eyes harder. She searched her mind for something to say that might make him understand she was sorry, but nothing came.

  “You have no right to interfere in my life, but maybe it was a good thing that you did.”

  She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d kissed her. “What?”

  “However, I think it’s best that we stay out of each other’s way from now on,” Alec said, his gaze intent. “I don’t need anything from you, not food, not advice, not anything. Understand?”

  Ouch, but she’d brought it on herself. “All right.”

  Nodding, he walked past her. She couldn’t help but turn and follow his progress through the living room and out the terrace doors. He couldn’t have made it any clearer. He wanted no part of her. She’d known he’d feel that way before she arrived, so why did hearing him say the words wound her so deeply?

  It’s done, Alec thought as he set another post in concrete for the gazebo. He’d thanked Celeste and asked her to leave him alone. Not in the most gracious fashion, but it had to be that way.

  He’d have to be blind to not see the signals she was sending. Now wasn’t the time to get mixed up with a woman, especially one as beautiful, perceptive, and intelligent as Celeste. She saw too much, made him feel too much.

  It was best for her, as much as for him. What would any woman, especially one who probably had her pick of men, want with a cop who didn’t have his head on straight? Nothing.

  He picked up the next post. She didn’t impress him as a good-time woman. If she was, she probably would have brought him another twelve-pack instead of donuts and coffee.

  Lifting his head, Alec started toward the house. If the wind was just right, the breeze swayed the tall oak tree just enough for him to see one o
f the windows of the master suite. Annoyed with himself, he abruptly turned away to pick up another post. He was here to build a gazebo and nothing else. It was none of his business if she was putting herself in danger again. She was a professional.

  He put in a third post, unable to keep from glancing upward. Now that he’d started thinking of her putting herself at risk again, he couldn’t seem to get it out of his mind. She’d had a toolbox and a roll of something that looked like cotton beneath her arm—which didn’t give him a clue what she planned today.

  Grumbling to himself, he set the last post. After this morning she certainly wouldn’t ask him to help. He had a sneaking suspicion that even if they were on speaking terms, she was the self-reliant type. Women! Whoever said you couldn’t live with them and couldn’t live without them had certainly hit the nail on the head.

  Finished, Alec jerked off his work gloves and admitted defeat. Stuffing them in the back pocket of his jeans, he went inside the house. Stopping at the terrace door, he took off his work shoes, then went up the stairs. He’d just take a quick peek. If she was on that ladder again, he had no idea what he’d do. Perhaps he should have taken that fishing trip instead of building the gazebo. But he hadn’t wanted his family worried about him, had wanted to do something constructive with his time that he could look back on as worthwhile.

  Showing Simon and Maureen he wished them every happiness had seemed the right move. It still did. If he didn’t have to worry about Little Miss Sunshine.

  Alec’s steps slowed on the runner in the hallway. She hadn’t been smiling this morning and it was because of him, because she had tried to help him and, instead of being grateful, he’d acted like an ass.

  His long-fingered hand shoved its way through his hair. He’d taken his bad behavior out on her.

  Finding no way around it, he entered the master suite. Across the room, Celeste stood on the bare window seat, stapling the roll he’d seen to the area around the window above the window seat. He frowned, then took an involuntary step into the room. He thought he’d heard his name.