Bayou Sweetheart

A clap of thunder brought him out of his daydream.

The woman stopped dancing and gazed up at the sky.

Then she turned and looked at the window where he stood.

And into Tomas’s eyes.

* * *

Callie dropped her head and hurried to the long covered terrace at the back of the huge mansion, her wet clothes and hair making her shiver. Digging into the big tote bag she’d left on the porch, she found her phone and dialed her sister Alma’s number.

“He saw me,” she said when Alma answered. She had to catch her breath. She’d hurried too fast.

“Who saw you?”

Callie heard the blur of voices echoing over the line along with the sound of a cash register dinging another dollar. Alma was at the Fleur Café, as usual. And it was lunchtime.

“The man. The owner. Tomas Delacorte.”

“So you saw him? What does he look like?”

“I only got a glimpse before he disappeared. But...tall, dark, handsome. And dark, intense eyes. Visions of Heathcliff with a little bit of Mr. Darcy thrown in.”

“Heathcliff? As in Wuthering Heights? That Heathcliff?”

“Yes. That Heathcliff. I think he’s bitter and lonely. He must have loved someone and lost them. Brooding. Yes, definitely brooding.”

Alma giggled. “Oh, so you know this from a brief glimpse? Tell me more.”

She could picture Alma sinking down on a bar stool, her grin reflecting in the aged mirror that ran the length of the counter. “Yes. I was in the garden and it started raining and...I looked up and there he was, staring at me as if he’d just walked out of the pages of a historical romance novel.”

“Were you doing the rain dance thing?”

Callie twirled her wet ponytail. “Uh, maybe. Is that bad?”

“No, no. Not bad at all. I’m sure he enjoyed watching you do that silly dance.”

“He was watching. I mean, I felt him watching. I saw him at the window.” Callie went into panic mode. “What if he fires me?”

Alma laughed. “For dancing in the rain? That’s not grounds for firing someone.”

“But...I wasn’t actually doing my job.”

“You can’t dig dirt in the rain.”

“Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding might think differently.”

Callie turned at the sound of footsteps and saw the very man she’d been talking about standing there staring at her. Again. “Uh, gotta go.”

She put away her phone and wiped a hand across her wet hair. “Hello. I’m Callie.”

“And apparently I’m Mr.—what was that?—Tall, Dark and Brooding.”

Callie’s wet skin chilled with a hot blush. She couldn’t speak. So she just stood there.

He stepped closer, giving her the full view. Nice, expensive suit, dark sleek hair that curled over his collar in a rebel way. The bluest of blue eyes with dark brows that slashed across his forehead in a perpetual brooding way. Midnight eyes would be cliché. Ocean maybe, but only the deepest, bluest of oceans. Disturbing blue. Yes, disturbing ocean-blue eyes.

Disturbing blue brooding eyes that stayed on her like a spyglass searching for interlopers. Glinting. He was definitely a glinter.

Callie’s blush crept like kudzu over her and through her. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m the landscaper. I mean, I’m here to work in the garden, to...redo your yard. Nick Santiago hired me.”

“I know who you are,” he replied, his voice as rough as aged cypress bark. “I saw you out the window.” He kept staring. “And I’m pretty sure you know who I am—my real name I mean.”

“You’re Tomas Delacorte. Nice to finally meet you.”

He nodded but didn’t return the acknowledgment. “You’re wet.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, wishing she could turn into rain and just wash away. “I was—”

He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and frowned. “Dancing. In the rain.”

She didn’t have anywhere to put her hands. “Uh, yes. It’s kind of a thing I have....”

The rain turned into a full-blown storm with lashing sheets of water and wind that made her shiver. Callie put her arms against her midsection to ward off the chill from her wet shirt. Maybe these goose bumps weren’t from being wet. Maybe this was because of him. He glinted at her without moving.

She turned. “I should just go.”

He lifted one hand and motioned her toward him. “Come inside out of the rain.”

Not used to being ordered, good looks aside, Callie formed her own frown. “I need to get back to town.”

“Not in this storm. Come inside. I insist.”

When she stood there, frozen and wondering how to get away, he walked a step closer. “Please. I promise I won’t lock you in the dungeon.”

“You have a dungeon?”

He laughed—almost. And she fell in love. Almost.

Oh, what a beautiful, chiseled face he had. She imagined what it must look like when he truly laughed. What a lovely smile he’d have. Callie decided he probably didn’t smile very often. The glint in his eyes changed to a sparkle for just a brief second. So she took this as a rare gift and enjoyed it.

But...she couldn’t be in love with him. She’d keep this instant crush to herself. It was the shock of finally meeting him after weeks of speculations, after weeks of her vivid imagination taking over her brain cells. Get over that, she told herself. You don’t know this man. You don’t even need to know this man. You are content with your life, and you have Elvis.

Elvis, her big mutt of a dog, would probably scare this straight-out-of-a-menswear-magazine man right out of Fleur. Maybe not scare, but annoy. This man looked like he could become annoyed very easily. And she, Callie Moreau, was known to be the annoying type—the friendly, always sunny, always positive type. So was her dog. Luckily, she’d left Elvis back at the nursery since she’d planned to come and do a quick inspection and then get back to town. She’d been so excited about finally being able to get her hands on the massive, overgrown garden that surrounded Fleur House.

This might not work out so well, after all.

He motioned to her again then pointed toward the big French doors. “We have a basement, but...I’ll have Margie and Eunice make you a cup of tea.” He frowned. “Isn’t that what women love—a good cup of hot tea?”