Sweetheart Bride

“Very sure.” She cranked the car and waved at her perpetually perplexed father. “The pay is good, so I’ll be able to help you with some rent money.”

“Don’t need no rent from my own daughter,” Ramon said on a disgruntled huff, his south Louisiana accent thickening like a steaming roux.

They’d already had this argument. “I know that, but your daughter wants to contribute.”

She blew him a kiss and took off before he insisted on escorting her. Papa was such a sweetheart. It was rather endearing how he watched over his three girls. But they all put up with it because they loved him and they all missed their mother, Lila. Especially Papa.

That strong thread of love kept Brenna going each day when she woke up in her old bed and stared at the aged pictures of her cheerleading days and the pictures of now-old rock stars she often dreamed about. Those still hung curled next to her prints of Van Gogh and Monet. She’d always loved sunflowers. She’d dreamed of going to Europe to explore all the places she’d only read about in art books. Maybe even get back into painting pictures herself.

So many dreams, and all for naught. She’d had to admit defeat and come back home. Who could paint that picture?

But at least she had a welcoming home and a solid foundation of faith to guide her. Jeffrey Patterson, her ex-fiancé, had frowned on such things. He didn’t need anyone to “guide” him, as he’d often told her.

Now she had to wonder what she’d ever seen in the man. Maybe a bit of prestige and a way to penetrate the high-brow society of Baton Rouge? Now she realized she didn’t need those things as much as she needed someone to love with authentic intent. And someone to love her back completely.

So when she pulled her car up the winding drive of Fleur House and saw Nicholas standing there in jeans and his own button-up shirt, she ignored the little dips and sways of her battered heart. The man cut a fine figure, there on the porch of the looming mansion.

Too fine.

Maybe she should turn around and go back to waiting tables.

* * *

Nick heard the car roaring up the drive. So she drove a late-model economy car that looked like a go-cart. Interesting. The car was cute in a strange kind of way and seemed to suit her. He watched as she climbed out and adjusted her briefcase strap over her shoulder. Even though she was dressed in casual clothes, she looked ready to be professional. He needed to be professional, too.

“Hello,” he called as he moved down the rounded stone steps to meet her. “You’re right on time.”

She smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t want to be late.”

Nick discreetly checked her fingers for an engagement ring. Her fingers were bare, but she wore a nice watch on one arm and a dainty flower-encrusted bracelet on the other. Sunflowers. Quaint and totally unexpected.

He let go of her hand, the memory of her slender fingers now burned into his mind. “I think you’re already familiar with the layout of the house, but we can do a walk-through and I’ll explain what I’d like to do. We’ve cleared away the debris and cobwebs and done most of the heavy renovations, but we kept some of the furniture the previous owner sold with the house.”

She took a sweeping look at the brick-and-stone house. “Are you the decorator, too?”

“No, I have a designer coming from San Antonio to oversee that area. I’ll mostly work on the structure and design of the house, preserving its history but improving it and bringing it up to speed, code-wise. The owner understands the historical significance of this place, but he requires the modern amenities, too.”

Her gaze landed back on him. “And who is this mysterious owner?”

He held up his index finger and wagged it. “I’m not at liberty to say right now.”

She gave him a questioning glance but didn’t press. “All right, then. As long as his money is green, I’m good with that. Let’s get on with the job.”

Nick smiled and guided her up into an enclosed porch surrounded by an intricate stone facing that consisted of wide arches and then opened to the double front doors. “We’ve kept all of the fan transoms over the doors. Brings in a lot of light all over the house. Most of the windows have been replaced with more weatherproof glass, but we’ll make sure we keep the hooded design.”

“Wow.” Brenna stood in the big open hallway and stared at the curving staircase. “This sure looks different. Last time Callie and I sneaked in here, it looked like cattle had run through the house.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that cows might have found shelter here along with a lot of other things,” he said. “It was a mess.”

“But it’s gold underneath all that grim.”

Nick knew this project would be his biggest challenge. “It is a work of art,” he said. “But a true representation of a time gone by.”

Even though the wallpaper had been aged and crumbling and the floors were scratched and rotted out in places, the house was striking.

Brenna seemed to see that, too. “It’s just as beautiful as I remember—from peeking in the windows, even as run-down as it looked back then. I can’t believe I get to help with the renovations. Callie loves this place more than I do. She’s always dreamed of living here.”

“Yes, she’s mentioned that to me several times.”

Nick enjoyed the blissful expression on Brenna’s face. It took his breath away, but he held that breath so she wouldn’t notice. But this attitude was new and refreshing. Most of the women he knew only wanted the house, not all the pain and work that would need to go into the house. They’d be bored with the details but more than willing to find someone to help them gut this house and make it what they thought it should be.

Brenna wanted it to be the same, only better.

That made her the perfect choice for helping him to find just the right pieces to complement the enormous walls and high ceilings throughout the place.

“Italianate Second Empire,” she said on a sigh of appreciation. “Built in 1869 by a rich man from Paris who married a Creole woman from New Orleans. She named the town and the house. It’s called Dubois House, after their last name, but the locals call it Fleur House. She did, too. I think because the gardens used to be full of all sorts of exotic plants and flowers.”

“I’m impressed,” Nick said. “And to think I had my doubts about hiring you.”

She clutched her briefcase strap. “You did? But you said I’d be perfect.”

Why did that little bit of uncertainty in her voice shake him to his core?

“I think you are.” He tested her a bit more. “But we didn’t exactly go through a formal interview.”

“No, we met at a wedding. And didn’t hit it off too well. And you hired me in a diner, after I’d waited on you with an attitude. I had my doubts, too.”

He accepted that and bowed his head in agreement. “Sí. That makes us even.”

“And...cautious.”

He’d have to remember that.

“The parlor is to the right,” he said, trying to stay on track. “And the dining room to the left.”

She rushed into the huge square parlor, her flats making a nice cadence against the aged wooden floors. “Look at these windows—love those high arches. And that fireplace. I can just see some sort of outdoor scene surrounded by a gilded frame. Or better yet, a blue dog painting.”

“Blue dog?” Nick chuckled. “You mean by George Rodrigue?”

“Yes, maybe something that bold and different would offset these amazing floor-to-ceiling windows.”

She had that dreamy look on her face again. That look that made him want to sweep her into his arms and dance her around this big, empty room.

“I’ll make a note—blue dog.”

“Is he married?”

“Who?”