by Lenora Worth
Hannah and the other girl looked horrified. They both blushed a bright crimson. Hannah glanced from Callie back to Tomas. “I guess so.”
“Good,” Tomas said. Then he lifted his hand and motioned for the other youths. “I’d like to say something to all of you.”
Mollie eyed Callie but walked over to stand with the rest of the group.
Tomas’s expression looked calculated and full of disdain. Callie let out a breath and wondered if he was about to fire her entire team.
He gave the girls a long stare then sighed. “I know you’ve heard some things that are confusing, and I really don’t care what you say about me.” Then he pointed to Callie. “But you will not accuse or disrespect Mrs. Moreau, understand?”
They all nodded, too in awe to smart off at him.
Callie had to admit, he cut a domineering figure, all tall and arrogant and self-assured. Even in jeans and a crisp button-down shirt, he looked from the manor born.
Tomas asked each of them their names. Then he repeated them back, one by one. “Hannah, Mollie—oh, you’re Pierre’s Pretty Mollie, right? And let’s see—Dana, Monica, Rachel and Jill.”
He glanced over to where the boys stood staring in a different kind of awe. “I’ll get to you all later.”
Tomas gave his full attention to the girls now. He asked them about their families, learned where their fathers worked and discovered that some of them had lost their fathers through death or divorce. He talked about their mothers and their brothers and sisters. He explained how the shipyard had gone down in years past but he planned to bring in a new team to update things and hopefully get it back on track. He assured them that even if their fathers got laid off, they could possibly be called back when work picked up in the next few months.
At first, Callie thought it was an act to put the girls in their place, but the more Tomas reassured the girls that he wasn’t some evil overlord, the more Callie believed him. She watched as the girls seemed to sigh en masse. Then they started smiling, and finally, they started giggling and talking to Tomas as if he were an old friend.
David Lee glared at Tomas, but once he got the boys involved in talk about LSU Tigers football and whether or not the New Orleans Saints would ever play in another Superbowl, things turned all cheery in that corner, too. Several of these boys played high school football. He said he’d make sure to catch some of their games next fall.
So he planned to be around for a while.
Then he summed things up. “When Mrs. Moreau has the gardens and grounds exactly as she wants them, I intend to hold a picnic. And you’re all invited. Everyone is invited.”
The teens mumbled and chatted about that while Callie stood there shocked. He had repeatedly told Brenna he didn’t want to hold a town-wide picnic. What had changed? Probably nothing. Probably this was just a publicity stunt to hold doubters at bay while he worked on shutting down the only major industry in town.
Tomas finished up and then stood back. “So...no more talk about Mrs. Moreau and her family, all right? Anything that happens here is my decision, and you’re welcome to contact me if you have more questions. Mrs. Moreau is doing what she was hired to do. She is not involved in my affairs, other than what you see right here.” He glanced over at Callie, his eyes holding hers. “And while I admire the way she stood up for me, I don’t expect her to fight my battles.”
So...he’d come out here to make a point with her, she decided. Tomas Delacorte didn’t want others speaking for him. Or about him. She could certainly understand that feeling. But it was kind of him to rush to her defense like a knight shielding his queen. Kind and highly romantic.
Only, she’d decided they had to steer clear of that type of thing. Hadn’t she?
After the kids drifted back to their various assignments, she took off her gardening gloves and walked over to Tomas. “So you fight your own battles, right?”
He didn’t look at her. “I have, yes, for a very long time now.”
She saw the resigned expression shuttering his eyes and felt that strange tugging inside her heart again. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she said, hoping to draw him out. “But you handled the situation, so I guess that’s that.”
“That,” he said, turning as if to leave, “is just the beginning.”
“Did you lie to my youth group?”
“No. But...things will get worse before they get better.”
“Because that’s what you do—take bad situations and make them worse before they get better, no matter the challenge or the cost?”
His eyes caught hers and Callie saw a barrage of emotions passing through him like a blast of smoke on the horizon. “That’s what I do, yes.” He stepped closer, his dark hair shimmering as it ruffled his neck. “But...I want you to please trust me, Callie. No matter what, can you do that?”
She wanted to laugh at that suggestion. She didn’t trust easily, not since her husband had left her in the middle of a health crisis. Not since she’d decided to live her life free and clear and without any regrets. She trusted in the Lord. That was her kind of trust.
“Sorry, I’m not so good at trusting these days.”
This time, she was the one to walk away.
* * *
Tomas sat in his office that night, remembering Callie’s parting words to him earlier that day. His mother’s Bible lay on the corner of the desk. She’d given it to Tomas when she’d gone back into the hospital. She’d died three days later.
“Take this, please,” she’d begged. “I know you don’t believe, but you’ll need God by your side when I’m gone.”
His mother, Rebecca, always the faith-filled hopeful. But she’d died a long, horrible death when he had just become a teenager. She’d died without ever telling him who his real father was. But he’d found out on his own and he’d vowed to let that man know that if he’d been there, they might have been able to save her. Without money or insurance, Tomas had felt helpless. So he’d worked hard to never feel that way again.
He was in control now because he had all the power now.
“I know now, Mama,” Tomas whispered into the night. “I know and that’s why I came back.”
He picked up the worn Bible. He’d read many of the passages there, passages his mother had underlined, her notes written in the margins. Tonight, he turned the page at random and settled on Matthew, Chapter Sixteen, Verse 26: For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?
Tomas stared down at the words, a soft electric heat moving through his system. He’d had a grand plan when he’d decided to buy Fleur House, when he’d decided to take over the shipyard. He had intended to close the yard down and he’d intended to sell this house to the highest bidder. But...he’d never expected anything or anyone to get in his way, to mess with his head, the way Callie Moreau seemed to be doing.
The minute he’d seen her there in his garden, dancing in the rain, he’d felt a gentle tugging in his heart, a foreign tingling that both amazed and scared him. And changed him.
But he couldn’t allow Callie or anyone else to see that change. He should have told those gossiping teens to get out of his yard, but the look on Callie’s face had stopped him.
“What profit?” he asked himself now.
He thought he’d give just about anything to watch her laughing and dancing. Here in his home. In his garden. In his life. He didn’t understand this pull toward a woman he barely knew, but the feeling was there in his gut much like the feelings he always got when he was closing in on a deal.
“She’s not a business transaction,” he reminded himself.
This...this was something more, something strong and real and...unsettling.
But was he willing to give up everything he’d fought so hard to accomplish? Ev
erything that had brought him back to the one place on earth he’d hated?
What profit? he wondered.
To win a woman like Callie?
Or to destroy those who’d destroyed him?
Tomas stared at the Bible then got up and pushed it away.
* * *
The next Monday, Callie was back in the garden at Fleur House, alone and content. Well, Elvis was with her. After she’d had Elvis awhile, she’d started taking the big dog with her to work sites since some of the yards she worked in were out from town and in remote spots. Elvis could at least alert her if anyone showed up unannounced. Of course, he alerted by making friends with strangers. But it was a form of interference that worked for both of them.
Now, she’d definitely brought him back to Fleur House and hoped he’d make some noise if the French doors leading out to the big terrace opened and Himself showed up to mess in her head and her garden.
His garden, she reminded herself.
But Tomas had pretty much given her permission to do what she wanted with it. He had excellent taste and offered good suggestions or commands, such as his one command regarding the roses, but for the most part, he left her to it.
And Callie so loved being left to her own devices.
Freedom had become precious to her after Dewayne had walked out of her life. Yes, she got lonely, but there was something to be said about being your own boss, making decisions without having someone to question them or scorn them. After she’d survived breast cancer and a lumpectomy, chemo and losing her hair and being sick to her stomach, after she’d survived watching her marriage end, Callie now savored the freedom of each and every day. And the beauty.
So she went on with her day with joy and gleefully dug up the rich dark dirt along a path down toward the bayou and began to plant crisp, fresh gardenia bushes. These would start blooming later in the season, and if Callie had her way, they’d keep blooming for most of the spring and summer.
“There is nothing like the sweet smell of gardenias,” she told Elvis.
The big dog lay in a lazy curl near where she’d dropped a burlap sack full of cedar chips. But he acknowledged her obsession with a sleepy grunt.
Callie had just leaned over to sniff the sweet floral scent of a white baby bud when she heard the door squeak open. She looked up and around and watched as Elvis came to life and, in a blur of black-and-white fur, took off to meet the man who owned this particular soil.
She shifted her big floppy red hat and adjusted her attitude. She would be professional and quiet. She would. Really.
“Hello,” he called, waving to her.
Callie stood to stare at him. He was wearing jeans again. And a dark T-shirt that seemed to merge with his dark hair.
“Hi.” She smiled and called Elvis back.
But Elvis waited for Tomas and then trotted along with his new friend as Tomas moved down the rounded brick steps and strolled toward her.
“Margie and Eunice have made lunch.”
“Okay.” Callie wondered what that had to do with her. “Then go eat.”
“For both of us.”
Surprised, she glanced toward the house. “I...I hadn’t planned on eating lunch here.”
“They went to a lot of trouble.”
“That was thoughtful.”
“They seem to like you, a lot.”
“They go to my church now. Did you bring them from...wherever you came?”
He frowned around the whole yard. “You say that as if I came from another planet.”
“Did you?”
His lips twitched. “You have a very dry wit. Are you coming to lunch or not?”
Callie told herself to politely decline, but the words came out, “I could eat, yes.”
“Okay then. Shall we?”
“We shall.” She hooked her arm in his, amused by his always-formal manners and his carefully cultivated speech. “Elvis will try to eat off the table. Just warning you.”
“I have food for Elvis. He’ll be fine.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“I try.”
Margie and Eunice must have been watching. The doors immediately opened again and out came the two gray-haired women, carrying trays. They placed the food on the colorful mosaic-tile tabletop and waved to Callie.
“Hello,” she said. “It was good to see y’all in church yesterday. Hope you’ll come back.”
“We loved it,” Margie said. “My husband, Bob, has already signed up for the next workday.”
“That’s good,” Callie replied, grinning. “I’m usually in charge, so you might want to warn him that we work long and hard to keep the church grounds pretty.” She took off her hat and ran her hand through her hair.
Tomas watched her, his eyes hooded and lazy, as still and observant as a lion.
Callie went on in spite of feeling like a mouse. “We grow a community garden, and we’re always needing help with that. I’ve got to get on that project soon, too.”
“He mentioned he’d heard about that,” Margie said, her brown curls lifting in the breeze. “He used to grow his own produce, but he’s retired now so I’m sure he’ll be glad to help.”
Callie took note of that. “If he ever wants to work part-time, I’m always needing help at the nursery. I can’t pay much, but I do pay.”
Margie beamed. “I’ll let him know. He likes to piddle, and he helps out around here, too, of course.”
Eunice poured iced tea and added fresh mint. “I hope you plant us an herb garden. We like to cook with fresh herbs.”
“I did plan to add one.” Callie glanced at Tomas. He sat quietly listening to the feminine banter, a smile frozen on his tanned face. “Would you like that?”
His eyes held hers. “I’ll like anything that will make life easier for these two.”
Well, that was mighty kind of him. And yet another layer exposed. He did have a heart.
She glanced up at Eunice. “Do y’all travel as a pair?”
The two women giggled. “We’re sisters,” Eunice replied. “After my Ed died, Margie and Bob asked me to move in with them.” Then she looked over at Tomas. “And...since they’ve been with Tomas for a long time, when it came time to come here, they insisted I tag along.”
Margie giggled, but her eyes turned misty. “Tomas insisted, too.”
“Like Ruth and Naomi,” Callie replied, touched. She watched Tomas’s expression soften and her heart seemed to turn to quicksand. “So you brought them all here.”
“I was outnumbered,” he said, but she could see the pride in his eyes. “Margie and Eunice were friends with my mother.”
“We practically raised him after—” Eunice stopped, a hand to her mouth. “Listen to us going on and on. Y’all need to eat your chicken salad casserole before it gets cold. We have fresh strawberries and cream for dessert.”
The two women bustled back inside without another word.
But Callie couldn’t let it go. “After what?” she asked, hoping to understand what made him tick. “What was Eunice talking about?”
Tomas glanced out into the yard and then lifted his chin toward Callie, his eyes a shielded blue. He didn’t speak for a moment or two, his expression taut and tight-muscled. “After my mother died,” he said. “Pass the bread, please.”
Chapter Seven
Callie passed the bread and watched him butter it, his movements calm and carefully calculated. This man seemed to analyze his conversations and his every move. Had he been raised to be gentlemanly or had he trained himself?
“Tomas?” She waited for him to look at her. When he finally did, she dropped her fork and gave him a direct stare. “I’m so sorry. When did she die?”
He placed the freshly baked bread back on hi
s plate and positioned the butter knife back on the butter tray. “When I was a teenager,” he replied. “Heart disease. She needed a transplant but she was way down the list. We didn’t have insurance and we didn’t have transportation to any state or charity hospitals. Friends tried to help, but...she’d waited too late. She was too sick. After she died, our house was repossessed and I was left with a lot of medical bills. We lost our home.”
The summary seemed well rehearsed and blunt, as if he’d had to tell it so many times he’d memorized the method. And he’d learned not to show any emotion in telling it.
But Callie had to know. “And your dad? Is he still alive?”
He stared down at his uneaten food. “Yes, but I don’t acknowledge my dad. Never did. Never will.”
In spite of her keen curiosity, Callie tried to hold back on the subject of his father. But she wanted to know how he’d gone from a motherless teen to a successful tycoon.
“So what did you do...after your mother passed away?”
He shoved a spoonful of the tasty chicken-and-rice casserole into his mouth and chewed. Swallowing, he said, “At first, I moved in with my mother’s brother and his family in Texas but...we didn’t get along. I came back to Louisiana and asked Bob for a job. He and Margie never had any children of their own, so they were willing to give me room and board and some cash as long as I finished school and helped Bob with his construction business. When I turned eighteen I struck out on my own.”
Well, that was an understatement. Callie’s heart burst with the hurt of knowing that this confident, secure, successful man had once been a hurt young boy without a home, without a family. What could she say to comfort him, to understand him?
“I’m so sorry, but you obviously overcame any adversity you suffered.”
He looked into her eyes then, his expression guarded and dark. “Did I?”
Maybe not. “You’re self-sufficient now. You can take care of yourself and a whole lot of other people.”
Or could he?
“I’m secure,” he replied. “I like security. I like being in charge and in control.”
