Listen To Your Heart

by Fern Michaels

  Rosie yipped her pleasure. Going out the front door in the wagon was something new. Normally, Josie pulled her around in the garden. She yipped again before she cuddled with the stuffed dog. “We’re just going up the street and down the street. I have a buzz on and . . . I probably shouldn’t even be out. Maybe halfway down the block. Halfway is good. That’s what we’ll do.”

  It was a beautiful, quiet evening, the air clear and fresh, the sky full of stars. Even though it was getting dark, Josie could make out quiet forms sitting on front porches. Some of the neighbors waved or shouted an evening greeting. She waved back. The jasmine smelled heavenly that evening. Once she’d bought a bottle of expensive perfume called Jasmine and had been so disappointed with the bottled scent she’d thrown it away.

  Josie was about to turn the wagon around at the end of the block when she heard the crunch and grind of rusty wheels. She stepped to the side and reached for the lamppost just as a tall form pulling something behind him rounded the corner. Him. It was instant chaos. Whatever he was pulling slammed into the man, pushing him forward until he, too, was hanging on to the lamppost. The boxer leaped and pranced as Rosie yipped and danced her way around him. Traffic crawled by as teenagers whooped and hollered.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” the man said huskily, one eye on the girl pinned under his arms and one on the dogs’ wild antics.

  “Why?” Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Keep your mouth closed so he doesn’t smell your breath.

  “Meeting twice in one day like this is . . . rather strange, don’t you think?”

  “Is that what you say to all the women you meet? Is that dog of yours some kind of shill or something? Ooops,” she gurgled as she lost her balance. She righted herself and hung on to the light pole. Damn, now he was going to think she was a drunk. So much for the pricey outfit and the sinful perfume.

  “Miss Dupré, are you by any chance . . . ah, inebriated?”

  “Do I look in . . . inebr . . . drunk?” Go ahead, keep giving him more clues. “Where’s your Cajun accent, you . . . you Cajun playboy? I read all about you. I did. So did my sister.”

  “I lost my accent went I went north to school. It didn’t go over very well at Princeton. I’m not a playboy, but I do like to play. I’m flattered that you read my article. I read yours, too. Why don’t I walk you home? You seem a bit unsteady. Do you have any more questions?” he asked patiently.

  Did she? She wished she could think straight. Swinging around the lamppost certainly wasn’t doing her any good. “As a matter of fact I do have a question. What’s your definition of a perfect mother, sir?”

  He took so long to reply, Josie prodded him as she peered at him in the yellowish light from the lamp. She wasn’t so tipsy that she couldn’t see the misery in his eyes or the slump of his shoulder. “Well?”

  “Probably someone who knows her son’s name, makes him breakfast, kisses him good-bye before she sends him off to school and listens to his prayers at night when she tucks him in. Are you writing a book?” he asked stiffly.

  “My mother was like that, but she wasn’t perfect. It has to be more than that. I might write a book. The idea . . . intri . . . intrigues me.” Josie hiccuped.

  “Come along, Miss Dupré. I’ll walk you home. Do you think you can pull the wagon, or should I do it for you? It’s amazing that we were both doing the same thing. Zip likes to ride in the wagon. I guess I’m just a sucker for dogs. May I say you look lovely this evening.”

  “This is my dog-walking outfit. I bought it for that . . . diplomat. He had diplomatic immunity. They can get away with anything. I gave him a black eye and bit him on the neck. I’m going to throw it away.”

  “That sounds like it might be a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it brings to mind an unhappy experience. By the way, I got a stuffed dog in the mail today that was obviously meant for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I got yours, too, and I’m keeping it. Rosie loves it. She thinks it’s your dog.”

  “I know. Zip thinks the same thing. All he did this afternoon was moon over it. That’s why I took him for the walk.”

  “Rosie didn’t eat her supper.”

  “Zip didn’t eat his either. Maybe we could feed them when we get to your house. Together they might eat. Are you agreeable to that?”

  “Sure, why not? What else makes a perfect mother?”

  The Cajun threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know . . . maybe one who doesn’t palm her kid off on a housekeeper, one who goes to his baseball games and school plays. One who isn’t too busy. One who says I love you once in a while.”

  “My mother did all that, and she wasn’t perfect. No, it has to be more than that.” Josie hiccuped again.

  “When you find out, please let me know. Whoa, this is where you live. See, the sign says Dupré Catering.”

  “I knew that. I was going to go in the front way. It’s dark going around back. What do you want to do?”

  “Let’s go in the front. You’ll probably kill yourself on that cockamamie walk you have in the back.”

  He didn’t like the ladybugs. She’d get rid of them tomorrow. Every last one.

  Josie pushed open the door. “I’m home,” she yelled.

  “I’m upstairs,” Kitty responded.

  “Kitty doesn’t like unexpected company. She likes to prepare for company.”

  “I won’t stay long. Let’s just feed the dogs, and then I’ll leave.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Josie said, flopping down on one of the kitchen chairs. “Do your thing.”

  The clock read ten-thirty when Josie finished the coffee in front of her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to remember what she had said under the lamppost. She shuddered when she remembered swinging around it. Had she really told him about the diplomat? Of course she had—she always had loose lips when she had too much to drink, which was usually Christmas Eve. One day out of the year she let it get away from her. Now it was two days. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for walking me home.”

  “It was my pleasure. I can’t remember when I’ve had such an interesting evening. This is a very nice house. Have you lived here all your life?”

  “Except when I went away to school, and then Kitty and I lived in Baton Rouge after college until our parents died. We came back here to take over the business. The article said you live here in the Garden District, too.”

  “I do when I’m not traveling or when I’m at our main headquarters.”

  “Why did you come here today? Did you want to hire us?”

  “I thought I did. Now I’m not sure. Don’t look like that. It has nothing to do with you or your business. I’m not sure it’s the right thing for me to be doing. I don’t normally make rash decisions, and that was a rash decision. It might be a good idea for you to pick up your dog, and I’ll carry Zip out to our wagon and take him home.”

  The boxer reared back and let out an ungodly howl that sent chills up Josie’s spine. Rosie started to dance in circles, whining and pawing the floor.

  “This is a problem,” the Cajun said. “Zip knows the word ‘home’ and he knows the word ‘wagon.’ He’s not about to go to either. How about if I leave him here tonight and pick him up in the morning. If I walk him now, he’ll be good till eight tomorrow morning. I’ll come by and pick him up then if that’s okay with you.”

  Josie rubbed her temples. “It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice. You’re going to have to figure something out. I’m not keeping your dog.”

  “I’ll bring some fresh beignets. You make the coffee. Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening ?”

  Would she? Of course she would. No, she wouldn’t. There was no point. Plus he probably just wanted her to keep his dog. No, a thousand times no. “Yes. What time?”

  “Seven-thirty. Commander’s Palace okay with you?”

  “Yes, Commander’s Palace is fine with me.” She had a date. Kitty was going to be ec
static. What to wear? She would have to go shopping.

  “I really like what you’ve done with this house. It feels like . . . a home. It’s warm and cozy. You know people live here. I like sunlight in the morning.”

  “I do, too. I think the kitchen and breakfast nook are my favorite rooms in the whole house.” Just for a moment she thought she saw the same miserable look in his eyes that she’d seen under the lamppost. Then it was gone.

  “I’ll walk the dogs. Ten minutes tops.”

  Josie raced to the downstairs bathroom, where she gargled lustily. She ran a brush through her hair, pinched her cheeks before she ran a lipstick lightly over her lips. She blotted it carefully so it wouldn’t look like she’d just put it on. Why am I doing this?

  “I can see myself out.”

  “That’s all right. I have to lock up anyway. You can leave your wagon here if you like.”

  “I’ll drive over in the morning and put it in the trunk. Thanks for doing this.”

  He was so close she could smell his minty breath, or was it hers? She wondered what it would be like to lay her head against his chest. “I guess I’ll see you for breakfast.”

  “Eight-fifteen. I’m usually prompt.”

  “Prompt is good.”

  She sensed his intent to kiss her. She was about to step backward, but instead she stepped into his arms. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for the feel of his arms, the touch of his lips. Her head spun as her heart hammered in her chest. And then her head was against the hard wall of his chest. It felt as right and wonderful as she knew it would.

  “Good night, Josie Dupré.”

  In a daze, Josie could only nod. She stood in the open doorway until he disappeared in the dark, velvety night.

  “I saw everything from the top of the steps,” Kitty squealed. “How was it? Do you like him? Is he nice? Did he ask you out? Hurry up, tell me everything. How come his dog is still here?”

  “In a word, spectacular. Yes to everything, and the dog is staying because he wouldn’t leave and he’s bringing beignets for breakfast as long as we make the coffee. He’s taking me to Commander’s Palace for dinner tomorrow night. I’ve never been kissed like that in my life. Never. Ever. He has sad eyes, Kitty. I don’t know why that is. I don’t think he’s that arrogant man the magazine article said he is. He’s something totally different. Don’t ask me how I know it. I just do. I suspect, and this is just a guess on my part, but I think something happened to him along the way. I asked him what he thought a perfect mother was and his answers blew my mind. It’s so strange. Everyone’s version of a perfect mother is something totally different. I gotta tell you, though, that was a kiss I won’t soon forget.”

  “Woweee! I hope it all works out for you, Josie. Who knows? This guy might turn out to be Mr. Perfect. We could have a double wedding. Twins are supposed to have double weddings. What could be better?” Kitty said, clapping her hands.

  “You can say that again. You lock up, okay? I’m going to bed.”

  “Sweet dreams, Josie.”

  “Count on it.”

  Three

  The stainless-steel kitchen of Dupré Catering was fragrant with the rich smell of a slow-baking praline pie. Every burner on the Sub-Zero stove held something equally as fragrant and tantalizing. Kitty was, as Josie put it, cooking up a storm. Hands on her hips, Kitty eyeballed her sister, and said, “Mama is probably spinning in her grave knowing you can’t even boil water, Josie. It’s not hard. What in the world are you going to do if you get married and your husband expects you to cook dinner for him. Well?” Kitty demanded when her sister stared at her with a blank expression.

  “Well?” Kitty prodded.

  “I’ll hire a cook. It’s natural for you. You love to cook and bake. I don’t. I can boil eggs and make coffee and toast. I’ll never starve as long as I can do that. So, tell me: What did you think of you know who?”

  “Charming. He loves his dog. Any man who loves an animal is okay in my book. I’m sorry he left so quickly. I thought you said he was staying for breakfast. Bringing it and setting it on the table is something else. He picked up his dog and took off like the devil himself was on his heels.”

  “He said something came up. Maybe the two of us intimidated him,” Josie said thoughtfully as she moved heavy crockery from one end of the long work counter to the other.

  “Nothing can intimidate that man. Trust me. I think women tend to aggravate and frustrate him. I got that from between the lines of the article. I don’t think he could compete against a woman. Some men are like that. I know you’re going to give him a run for his money. Do you think maybe you could be a little less picky and give the guy a chance? You aren’t getting any younger, sister dear. That big number thirty is just months away.”

  Josie moved the crockery back to the other end of the counter and then rearranged the stainless-steel utensils in a neat line. “So what’s all this?” she asked, pointing at the simmering pots.

  “Some new things I’m trying out for the Brignacs’ Mardi Gras party. You said they wanted something different. I’ll bring a sample over later for Rosie to sniff for her seal of approval. If she likes it, we’ll go with it. If not, I’ll try something else. Whose turn is it to take the food over to the shelter?” Taking their test recipes to the homeless shelter was something they did every day.

  “I did it on Friday, so it’s your turn. You were coming down with your cold, remember?”

  “Yep, I do remember. The pie smells wonderful. Want a piece when it cools off?”

  “No, I do not. These hips have all the extra padding they need. I’m going over to the cottage and start to plan Mrs. Lobelia’s Mardi Gras party. She just wants the standard stuff. I also want to try to get a couple of my newspaper articles written. If I’m ahead of the game, there won’t be as much pressure as last year. I think my first two recipes are going to be the ones you whipped up last week. I particularly like the crabmeat ravigote. It livens up the palate. Then I thought I’d do a robust, gutsy rub of some sort for all kinds of fish. I want to play with the ingredients a bit more. The main thing will be how the fish is cooked. I want it to be robust and sturdy, nothing subtle. If I come up with something, I’ll buzz you on the intercom. Did you think about a new cornmeal recipe at all?”

  “I’m thinking along the lines of an open-faced Cajun crab pie with a buttered-down cornmeal crust. I’m not sure of the seasonings. I’m going to try out a few later on. It’ll look good on the packaging if I can get it to fly. By the way, what are you wearing this evening?”

  “Whatever I can find in the closet. I’m not sprucing up if that’s what you mean.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh,” Josie said as she opened the heavy metal door. “See you later.”

  Josie looked around the backyard. Was it her imagination, or were the trees greener, the sun brighter? Was the air more fragrant than yesterday? To her eye the sky looked like a turquoise canopy. The birds overhead chittered happily. Did they always do that and she didn’t pay attention? Why was she noticing everything today? What was there about today that was special? She’d cleaned off the cottage porch, screwed the planters back into the wall under the windows and loaded them up with the colorful geraniums and petunias. Rosie was cuddling with her new toy and the Beanie Baby Josie had repaired. Maybe that was it. Rosie was over her funk. Next to Kitty, Rosie was the only thing in the world Josie loved.

  She had a date tonight but she’d had lots of dates. Nothing special there. It must be Rosie. What else could it be?

  The moment Josie sat down at the small secretary, the appointment book open in front of her, the phone rang at the same instant a fax started to come through. She wasn’t able to take a deep breath to relax until well past the noon hour, at which point she slammed the appointment book shut and turned on the answering machine. She pressed the intercom button next to the secretary.

  “What’s up?” Kitty asked in a harried voice.

  “I’ll tell y
ou what’s up. I had to turn on the answering machine. We are booked solid until the end of May. That means we can’t take a brunch or even a tea unless we hire more people and even then what good is it going to do us? You can’t cook more than you do and there are just so many hours in a day. I hate turning away customers. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “We could hire the girl I was telling you about—the one I met when I went back to culinary school for the reunion. She’s really good, and she said she hates her job because all they allow her to do is make salads. She’ll want big bucks and you said we were in no position to pay out that kind of money. She won’t want to give up her job without some kind of guarantee. You know how hard it is to get a job in this town.”

  “Let me run some numbers. I won’t rule it out at this point, but if it looks like we’ll be paying her most of the new business, what’s the point? We might have to raise our prices. We’ll still have to pay her during the summer when business is so slow we can barely keep our heads above water. What about a trainee, an apprentice?”

  “You get what you pay for, Josie. I don’t think either one of us wants to gamble that they won’t screw up someone’s dinner party. We have an excellent reputation. Why take a chance?”

  “How did Mom and Dad do it? They earned a real nice living doing this, put us through college and had money in the bank and we always took a month’s vacation.”

  “They both cooked. You don’t cook, Josie.”

  The silence on the intercom was something both dreaded. Josie’s shoulders slumped. “Talk to you later.”

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried her hand at cooking. She had. With disastrous results. Kitty had thrown up her hands in disgust on three separate occasions when she’d tried to teach Josie the basic elements. She’d even gone so far as to enroll in a night cooking course in secret. The school had refunded her money after the third class. Everyone wasn’t meant to cook. Everyone didn’t have the same traits, the same skills. Kitty couldn’t add two numbers together, much less make sense of the computer.