by Kara Lennox
ZARA GIGGLED but didn’t correct the woman.
Luc felt he should. “She’s actually the daughter of a friend of mine. But thank you. I’ll pass on your compliments to her mother.”
Once they were safely inside, Zara laughed again. “That lady thought you were my dad. We don’t look anything alike.”
“Sometimes parents and their kids don’t look alike.”
“Do you have any kids?” Zara asked innocently.
“No, I’ve never been married, so I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Oh, so you want kids?”
Alarm bells went off in Luc’s mind. Maybe Zara’s question hadn’t been so innocent after all. “I like kids, but I move around a lot. It’s kind of hard to be a good dad if you’re moving all the time.”
“Yeah, my dad—my real dad—was like that,” she said, seemingly unconcerned about it. “I don’t remember him, and now he’s dead.”
“My father died a couple of years ago, too.” More than three, actually. That hardly seemed possible. His memories of sitting by his father’s deathbed were still so clear in his mind. Pierre Robichaux, the man who’d fathered him but had never been much of a father, had asked one thing from Luc.
And Luc, who’d blamed himself for Pierre abandoning his family, had been all too eager to follow Pierre’s wishes. Fueled by his anger over the way his father’s family had treated him—relying far too heavily on Pierre’s version of the truth—Luc had crossed a line he wished he hadn’t.
Which was how he’d ended up here in Indigo.
“Wash your hands, please, Zara.”
She complied, barely able to reach the kitchen sink. He put a wedge of Brie cheese and grapes onto a small plate, then added some crackers and a spreading knife.
“So why do you move around so much?” Zara asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It’s just what I do. I’ve been all over the world and I haven’t seen a thousandth of the amazing things that I hope to see.”
“Well, I see amazing things here in Indigo every day, and I don’t even have to travel. I even saw an ivory-billed woodpecker once, but no one believes me ’cept my mom.” Zara settled into a chair at the wrought iron table and surveyed the feast. “Is this Brie cheese?”
“Yup. If you don’t like it, I have some cheddar.”
“Oh, no, this will do fine. I’m not a fussy eater. My mom says I’m easy to feed. You can give me any old kind of leftovers.”
Uh-huh. Luc had a sneaky suspicion he knew where this conversation was going, but he had no idea how to head it off.
“In fact, I’m not much trouble at all.”
“Except when you get in fights at school,” he reminded her.
“I quit fighting.”
Luc stole a couple of grapes off her plate and munched on them. Had he eaten lunch? He’d been so busy, he couldn’t remember. He stretched and put his hands behind his head, just enjoying this time with Zara. He was curious to see where she’d go next.
“So when are you leaving Indigo?” she asked.
“Not till next spring.” In April, his two-year probation would be over. Another three years staying out of trouble, and his record would be expunged. He’d gotten off easy, considering.
“Why then?”
“Well, by then I’ll have finished all the rebuilding work on La Petite Maison, and it’ll be running smoothly. My grandmother owns this place, see, and she hired me to fix it up and start the B and B. But when the job’s done…” He shrugged.
“You’ll just leave?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Where will you go?”
He hadn’t given it much thought. He never was one to make elaborate plans—and look what had happened the one time he did. “I thought maybe I’d go to Italy.”
Her nose crinkled. “But won’t you miss us?” Zara’s attempt to make it sound like a casual question fell way short.
“Of course I’ll miss you. I’ve made lots of good friends here.”
“So why don’t you stay? Your grandmother would let you keep working here, I bet.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. By forcing him to work here, Celeste was getting her pound of flesh out of him. If she figured out that he actually liked it here, she would probably fire him instantly.
“It’s just not in me, Zara. I’m a rolling stone. I have to keep moving.”
Like his father? He recalled a particular conversation between his parents, right before Pierre had left for the last time. Luc couldn’t have been more than six, but he remembered it clearly. Pierre had said pretty much the same thing Luc had just said to Zara—that he wasn’t good at sticking around, that he had to keep moving.
His mother’s most fervent wish was that Luc not turn out like Pierre. And he’d obliged her by never drinking excessively or gambling. But was he becoming his father in other ways? He couldn’t imagine abandoning his own wife and child as Pierre had done. Then again, he couldn’t imagine getting married and having a child to begin with.
Or could he? How much of that rolling-stone personality was ingrained, and how much of it was manufactured in some misguided need to have something in common with his father?
Zara didn’t much care for his reasoning. “You could stay in one place, if you really wanted to.”
If he didn’t get ridden out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered, which probably would happen if he hurt Loretta. “That’s true, Zara. We all have free will. We can decide what we want to do with our lives, where we want to live and who we want to live with. To some degree.”
“So don’t you like my mama? Wouldn’t you stay here for her?”
The child was tying him in knots. Talk about a master manipulator. How did one answer a question like that? “Zara, I think the world of you and your mother. And I also want what’s best for you. Even if I wanted to settle down in one place…it’s very complex.”
“That’s what grown-ups say when they think I can’t understand something. But if you’d just explain it, maybe I would understand.”
How could he explain it when he didn’t understand it himself? He wanted to be with Loretta, but he couldn’t offer any guarantees, and she needed guarantees. Which meant that for her own good, he needed to stay away from her.
He couldn’t tell that to a nine-year-old.
“It’s ’cause of me, right?” Zara asked in a small voice. “Guys don’t like single mothers. They don’t want kids who don’t belong to them getting in the way.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“On TV.”
“Well, it’s not true, not of me, anyway. I consider you a plus. When that lady on the veranda thought you were my daughter, I sort of liked it,” he confessed.
“Then how come—”
“Zara. You’re just going to have to trust your mother and me on this one. As smart as you are, there are things you don’t understand. I can’t marry your mom. I can’t be your dad.”
He hated himself for being so blunt. But he could see now why Loretta was worried. Zara had apparently invested quite a bit in this happily-ever-after fantasy of hers. Better to dash her hopes now than let them get more out of hand.
Zara didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. She spent a long time spreading cheese onto a cracker, covering every square millimeter of its surface in an even coating.
She was trying not to cry.
He’d never felt so powerless. Whatever pain she felt, he felt it ten times over.
“It looks like it might rain,” he said after a while. A lame attempt to change the subject.
To his surprise, it worked. Zara cast a worried look out the window. “I better start for home,” she said dully. “Mama hates it when I get caught in the rain. She thinks I’ll get sick. But if getting wet makes you sick, how come people take baths?”
He had to laugh. She was such a funny kid. “That is a very good question.”
She took her plate to the sink. “Thank you for the
snack.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“I still like you.”
His heart constricted. “And I still like you. A whole lot.”
She surprised him by giving him a quick, fierce hug. Then she ran out the back door.
He stepped out onto the porch to watch as she ran down toward the area where she’d left her bike. The sky had grown very dark, and as she hopped onto the bike and started pedaling, the skies opened up. She gave a little shriek as the cold rain hit, and he motioned for her to take shelter with him.
The rain fell in sheets.
“I think you better wait this one out.”
“I can’t. It’s almost time for my fiddle lesson with Chief Boudreaux, and I can’t be late. We’re working on my song for the music festival.”
He’d have offered to throw her bike in the back of the Tahoe and run her home, but he didn’t feel right leaving when he had a house full of guests. “How about if I call your mom? She can bring your fiddle and take you to Alain’s house.” Although Luc and Loretta lived at opposite ends of Indigo, the drive was less than five minutes.
“Okay. But she hates to close the bakery on a Saturday.”
“It’ll just be for a few minutes.” And he didn’t mind having yet another excuse to call Loretta. He was a masochist.
“Indigo Bakery.” Luc barely recognized Loretta’s voice on the phone, she sounded so harried.
“Loretta?”
“Oh, Luc. I thought it was Bryan about the crayfish again. If he weren’t local, and if our kids weren’t in Girl Explorers together, I’d get my crawdads somewhere else.” She paused for breath. “Sorry. I’m a woman obsessed. Do you need to change tomorrow’s order?”
“No. I have something of yours.”
“You do?” She sounded bewildered. “What?”
“Zara. She rode her bike over, and now she’s stranded—”
“Zara’s with you?” Her voice sounded just this side of panicky.
“She’s fine.”
“I didn’t even know she was gone! My God, it’s almost two o’clock! I haven’t checked on her in hours. What kind of mother am I?”
“Loretta, take it easy. She’s fine, but it’s pouring rain and she’s worried about her fiddle lesson.”
“I’ll be right over to get her. And tell her she’s in trouble. She knows she isn’t supposed to leave the house without telling me where she’s going.” She hung up.
Well, wasn’t that warm and fuzzy. “She said you’re in trouble,” he told Zara solemnly.
“I am?” Zara looked puzzled. “’Cause I came to see you?”
“Because you didn’t tell her where you were going.”
Zara drew herself up. “Yes, I did! I told her I was going to catch crawdads.” She sighed. “Mama doesn’t remember anything. She tried to get me up for school today, and it’s Saturday.” She gnawed on her lower lip.
“Your mom has a lot on her mind right now. Speaking of forgetting things, you better get your crawdads. You left the bucket on the back porch.”
Zara gasped. “I did forget! Maybe it’s catching.” And she ran through the house like a miniature hellion. Luc ached to think about the hearts she would break.
By the time Zara returned with her bucket, Loretta’s station wagon had pulled up the drive. She must’ve broken the speed limit to get here.
She shot out of the car like a bullet.
“She looks mad,” Zara said under her breath.
She looked possessed. “Zara Castille. I’d like to be able to say I was worried sick about you, but since I didn’t know you were gone—”
“Mama,” Zara said with exaggerated patience, “I did tell you where I was going. I said I was gonna ride my bike to the bayou and catch crawdads, remember?”
Loretta opened her mouth to argue back, then clamped it shut.
“You’re right. You did tell me. I was in the middle of adding a column of numbers. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” She leaned down to hug Zara, and Zara hugged her back. “I’m such a bad mom. I should spend more time with you.”
“Mama, I’m gonna miss my fiddle lesson. The rain’s stopped. Can I ride my bike now?”
Sure enough, the rain had stopped as quickly as it had started. “Just be careful. The roads are slick.”
“I will.” She dashed to get her fiddle case out of the car, then laid it carefully in the wicker basket on her bike’s handlebars. “Bye, Luc,” she said with a cheerful wave, having recovered her spirits, for which he was grateful. He still felt like the worst of heels for almost making her cry.
“What was she doing here?” Loretta asked.
“Well, she said she was here to catch crawdads.” He pointed to the bucket, where the seven unfortunate crustaceans languished in an inch of brown water. “But I think her true purpose was to ask my intentions toward you.”
Loretta’s hand went to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “What did you say?”
“I told her you and I…that it wasn’t meant to be.”
Loretta rubbed the back of her neck. “I guess she needed to hear it from both of us. She was okay, wasn’t she?”
“She almost cried. I feel horrible.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I never had a little girl want me for a daddy before. It’s a weird feeling. Humbling. She’s an amazing child, Loretta. You’re so lucky to have her.”
“I know. And I’m a terrible mother.”
“Will you stop saying that?”
“How much time do you think would have passed before I missed her? I didn’t feed her lunch, I forgot all about her fiddle lesson.”
“And you forgot your own lunch, too, I’ll bet.”
Loretta put a hand to her flat stomach. “I guess I did.”
Luc grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. “I’m feeding you, no arguments. You’re a mess, you know that? You’re completely stressed out.”
She didn’t argue. She followed him meekly, sat where he instructed, and let him wait on her. This time he added baked chicken to the Brie and grapes and fixed himself a small plate, too.
“I’m overwhelmed,” she admitted after stripping most of the meat from a chicken breast and eating like a starving woman. “I thought I could handle coordinating the food and the dinner, but it’s too much for me. Just because I can bake a loaf of bread doesn’t mean I know how to do this job. I’m not good with numbers—it’s a wonder the bakery isn’t bankrupt, the way I keep my financial records.”
“You’re trying to do the work of an entire committee by yourself, in addition to running a business and raising a daughter. No wonder you’re overstretched. Let me help. Why don’t you concentrate on the vendors and let me worry about the dinner?”
He could tell she wanted to accept his offer, but she hesitated.
“It’s called delegating. As a committee chair, you’re allowed to do that. You can bring me up to speed tomorrow at our meeting.”
She looked like a bunny about to get snagged by a hawk. “Meeting?”
“To plan our booth?”
“Oh. Oh, right. I’ve completely lost my memory.”
“Stress will do that to you. Let me deal with some of your problems. Hell, let me talk to Bryan. You’ll have a firm price on those crawfish in no time.”
“Really?”
“I know how to deal with difficult vendors.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I’ve been in the hotel business for—”
“No, I mean, why are you being so nice to me? When I’ve been perfectly horrible to you? Fickle and flaky and inconsiderate—”
“I thought you were done beating up on yourself.”
She looked down at her lap. “Someone’s responsible for the mess I’m making of my life these days.”
“I’m offering to help because I can’t stand to see you unhappy. You or Zara. I want to see you smile.”
She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it hard. “I’ll accept your offer, then.�
�� When she looked up, her smile reminded him of the sun when it came out after a brief storm—intense enough to warm his cold heart.
Suddenly, he realized there was something that could keep him in one place, something that could stop him from wanting to roam the world. Something that was better than anything he might find in the far corners of the earth.
Loretta’s smile.
CHAPTER TEN
LORETTA FELT SOMETHING go ca-thunk inside her chest. Why was Luc looking at her that way? And why couldn’t she stop looking at him?
And why was she still holding on to his hand when she’d only meant to give it a squeeze?
The space in Luc’s kitchen seemed to shrink to the few cubic feet they occupied. Everything in her peripheral vision faded until there was only Luc’s face, with his slightly crooked nose and the scar on his chin and the sandy hair in need of a trim. It was a handsome face, filled with character and wisdom beyond his years.
She couldn’t stop herself. She reached up with her free hand to touch his cheek, as if she could hold on to that character and capture some of that wisdom for herself.
“Loretta…” The single word dripped with caution. But he didn’t pull away. “We just made a difficult decision, you and I, not to do this.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to come to terms with it. So is Zara.”
Now he was pulling out the big guns. “I know.”
“I do not have enough willpower to say no to you.”
“Good.” She literally threw herself at him, kissing him with the longing and desperation that had been building inside her for days. It was no good denying herself, it just made her crazy. His response was not gentle. He stood and yanked her up so he could press her against the refrigerator. He kissed her like a crazy man, running his hands up and down her body. Her nipples hardened painfully against her bra.
“This is not fair to either one of us,” he said.
“I’ll make it fair. Any terms you want. I can’t stand it anymore. Please, where’s your bedroom?”
That put an end to his arguments. He swung her up into his arms and strode out of the kitchen and into a small suite of rooms that were obviously his living quarters. The décor was far more Spartan here than in the rest of the house, with white walls, a pine dresser and a plain iron bed.
