Something Beautiful and Lacey's Retreat: Something Beautiful / Lacey's Retreat

Willa looked at the tabloid picture, then turned as pale as the ice in her freshly squeezed orange juice. “Where did you get this?”

“The drugstore in town,” Mrs. Gilbert replied, nodding. “Went in for some sunscreen and just had to have this, too. I love catching up on all the gossip.” She pulled a pen from the pocket of her cotton tunic. “Will you sign it for me?”

Willa got up so fast, she knocked over the juice. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking around. “I…”

“I think Miss O’Connor isn’t in the mood to sign any autographs right now,” Lucas said, coming to stand by Willa, his arm gently nudging her so she could lean against him. “She didn’t give permission for that picture to be published, and the article is a complete fabrication. Well, you understand, of course, Mrs. Gilbert. There’s no big story here. Miss O’Connor just wants some privacy.” He flashed the older woman one of his best smiles. “Isn’t that the very reason you and Dr. Gilbert keep coming back to Bayou le Jardin year after year—just to get away from all the stress of running a private practice and those fussy patients? You know how we pride ourselves on keeping our guests happy.”

Mrs. Gilbert looked embarrassed, then she smiled at Lucas. “Of course, Mr. Dorsette. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She shrugged. “It’s just that, well, a supermodel, right here at breakfast. It’s not every day you find that.”

“I agree,” Lucas said, his hand squeezing Willa’s arm. Her skin felt silky soft, but cold in spite of the heat. “Miss O’Connor, have you met Mrs. Gilbert? Margaret Ann Gilbert and her husband, Dr. William Gilbert. They’ve been coming to Bayou le Jardin every summer for several years now. Two of our favorite guests.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Gilbert said, playfully slapping Lucas on the arm as she batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s so very nice to meet you, Miss O’Connor. My, you’re so tall.”

Willa gave Lucas a grateful look, then reached out to shake Mrs. Gilbert’s hand. “I’m sorry if I acted rudely, Mrs. Gilbert. It’s just that I thought I’d have some privacy here, and seeing that picture—”

“It’s not a very clear shot, is it?” Mrs. Gilbert replied, obviously enjoying Willa’s discomfort.

Dr. Gilbert, a tall man with a tuft of white hair, came ambling over to take his petite wife by the arm. “Margaret Ann, I declare, can’t you see the woman doesn’t want to be bothered? Now stop gawking and come on back to our table and eat your breakfast. Lorna made these cinnamon rolls especially for you, dear.”

“Yes, I certainly did,” Lorna said, getting up to find more of the freshly baked concoctions. Emily came rushing out of the kitchen with a steaming batch. “Look, here’s Em with more. Have another, then take a nice stroll around the gardens. The butterfly garden is especially pretty this time of year.”

Mrs. Gilbert gave Lorna and Willa an envious stare. “Well, I shouldn’t have any more, but I suppose I’ll never be supermodel thin like the two of you. Might as well enjoy myself in my old age, huh?”

“Exactly,” Lucas told her as he let go of Willa to escort Mrs. Gilbert to her table. Then he leaned low to whisper in the captivated woman’s ear. “And thank you for understanding about our special guest. You are such a discreet person, I hope I can count on you to know exactly the right thing to say—if anyone asks about Willa being here, that is.”

“Oh, my, of course,” Mrs. Gilbert said as Lucas gently pushed her into her chair. “William, pass me another roll, sweetheart.”

“Of course, honey,” Dr. Gilbert said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Think I’ll have another myself, too.”

Lucas left them smiling and cooing over Lorna’s fluffy iced cinnamon rolls, their coffee cups filled to the brim with a fresh brew, thanks to Emily. Lorna gave Lucas a thankful look, then headed over to entertain and distract the Gilberts.

“Thank you,” Willa said as he drew near. “I appreciate that.”

She still looked pale and shaken.

“Why don’t you sit back down,” Lucas told her. He indicated her chair. “Do you want something else? Some more juice?”

She sank into her chair. “No, no. I’m fine, really. Seeing that picture just startled me. I didn’t want anyone to know—”

“That you’re here.”

She nodded, then looked at him. “And that I didn’t live up to a commitment. I’ve never backed out of a show in my life, especially when it’s a charity event.”

Lucas snagged a crisp piece of bacon Lorna had left on her plate. “Couldn’t be helped, I reckon.”

“I should have gone through with it, but I did have my reasons for being a no-show,” Willa replied, more to herself than to him. “I’d hate to think—I don’t want people to believe—”

“People will believe what they want to believe,” Lucas interjected, his hand on hers. “You’ve obviously got a good reason for deciding to cancel out on the show.”

She looked up. “But you don’t believe me, either, do you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering exactly what the rest of the world is wondering—how could I be so shallow and self-centered?”

She jumped up to stare down at him.

Lucas caught her before she could bolt for the house. “Hey, now, slow down. Yes, I’m wondering what happened. But I refuse to believe gossip or half-truths. What I’d really like is for you to talk to me, tell me what’s bothering you.”

She lowered her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not? You can trust me.”

Willa pulled her arm away. “It’s not about trust. This is something I have to deal with on my own, in my own way. I just need some time to think things through, make a decision.”

“And you’d rather be left alone?”

Her expression told him one thing, but her eyes told him that she needed someone to help her through whatever crisis she was dealing with.

“I have to resolve this on my own terms, Lucas,” she replied. She reached a hand up to absently scratch a bright red spot on her arm. Then she turned to leave.

Lucas moved like lightning to catch up with her. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

She shrugged, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just a few bug bites from our excursion into the swamp the other day. I’ve got some lotion in my room.”

“Oh, no,” he said, pulling her toward the French doors. “Rosie Lee has this stuff she makes up herself with herbs and witch hazel. It’ll take the sting out. C’mon, we’ll find it. These Louisiana mosquitoes can be fierce.”

She smiled. “It does itch.”

“We’ll fix it,” Lucas told her, taking her into the kitchen.

Rosie Lee glanced up from the industrial-size dishwasher. “Can I get you anything, Lucas?”

“Nah. We’re just gonna head into the sitting room to doctor Willa’s bug bites.”

Rosie Lee nodded, then turned to her work. “Poor bébé. You’re sure too pretty for da mosquitoes to tote off, for true.”

“Thank you,” Willa said, smiling at the other woman.

Emily came in and glanced shyly at Willa. “Miss O’Connor, I just love…I love seeing you in all the magazines. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Willa gave the teenager a soft smile. “Thanks, Emily. Just remember, what you see in the magazines is the product of a whole team of people—makeup artists and hairstylists, not to mention the marketing and advertising gurus. I know it might sound trite, but real beauty comes from within. And your pretty smile shows me that you have an inner beauty all your own.”

Emily blushed, looked at her mother, then shook her head. “But I’ll never look like you.”

“You weren’t meant to,” Willa replied. “Just be yourself. You have beautiful olive skin and glorious dark hair. Would you believe, I used to wish I had dark hair like yours?”

“Non,” Emily said, laughing. Then she touched her rich brown locks. “It is natural.”

“Keep it that way, suga’,” Lucas interjected with a wink. “Em, you know you’re the belle of Bayou le Jardin, don’t you, now?”

“Lucas, you’re teasing me,” Emily said, grinning.