Bayou Sweetheart

She wanted to shout that she needed to know about his wife. About what had happened with his wife. Did he love her? Or did he abandon her? Was she still alive and hiding in some attic somewhere far away?

Her gaze drifted up to the oval second-story balcony. Maybe he’d brought his wife here.

He got up. “I’m holding a meeting with the city council on Thursday. Of course, the public is welcome to come.”

“Are you inviting me?”

“Are you a member of the public?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re welcome to come.”

Talking to this man was not easy. He held everything in with a perpetual frown. He seemed practiced and practical, as if he didn’t dare cut loose like a normal human being. She wondered did he ever show any emotion, ever lose his temper. Ever hurt.

She turned too quickly and almost stumbled. Right into him. He took her by the arm and helped her, his touch fleeting and swift and then gone. But the warm imprint lingered white-hot against her skin, teasing at her senses like the playful wind.

“Can you give me a hint now?” she asked to distract herself from that brief touch.

He stared at her arm then looked at his hand. “Industry. That’s your hint.”

“Industry. Hmm. Does this mean jobs? We’d heard rumors about the shipyard.”

“Possibly.”

His gaze swept over her as if he expected her to dispute his words. Callie didn’t know what to say. They heard rumblings about things around here on a daily basis. They’d find out the truth, good or bad, soon enough.

And yet, she couldn’t resist asking. “Are you here to do something about those rumors?”

“I have to go and change into a clean suit,” he said. Then he turned and went inside the house.

* * *

Callie went back to her work, wondering if Tomas Delacorte was in Fleur to bring about more jobs or if he had come to take over a struggling company. Was he here for good or for evil?

She couldn’t decide. Her heart told her he was a good man. He’d been great about giving Brenna free rein on finding art pieces to display in his big remodeled Italianate-style mansion. Nick sang his praises even when he hadn’t been allowed to tell them who his boss was.

Now that she’d met him, Callie tried to see the goodness in Tomas. He hadn’t actually banned Elvis from his property. That gained him points. If Elvis liked the man, that was good enough for her.

But she sensed a dark sadness in him, too. His rare, forced smiles held a trace of tragedy, of loss.

Did he mourn his allegedly dead wife? Or was he bitter about losing her? Did he leave her the way Dewayne had left Callie, because he couldn’t handle illness and death? Did he have a secret?

Shaking her head, Callie decided not to go down that path. Instead, she focused on the row of daylilies she was planting in a sunny spot in the side garden. She’d have more people to help her next week, but for now she wanted to enjoy being alone and creating new paths in this old, settled garden. During the earlier scouting expeditions she’d taken out here, she’d found a wealth of aged shrubs and bushes. Azaleas hidden underneath weeds and bramble, old camellia bushes and crape myrtles hiding behind pine shrubs and palmetto plants, and climbing roses tossed in with hydrangeas underneath tallow trees and piles of brittle pine straw.

A treasure trove of possibilities. A gardener’s dream.

She patted down the rich soil around the final daylily plant, her intention to have these tender shoots nurtured into blooms by the end of spring.

Brenna was trying to talk Tomas into holding an open house and a spring picnic, so Callie wanted the gardens to be in good shape for that. These lilies would come back each spring and grow and multiply if she had her way. She’d talked to them and suggested they behave and show off a bit now that they had found a good home.

Having finished up, she turned toward the sun that moved gently into dusk over the bayou. Then she looked back at the big house looming like a lost castle behind her.

Once, long ago, she’d dreamed of living in this mansion. It had been a true daydream, a little girl’s fantasy of being the lady of Fleur House. Now, while the house looked all fresh and prim and glowing, she wondered about the sadness that seemed to shroud it. Or rather the sadness that seemed to wear like a mantle on the owner’s broad shoulders.

“I can’t get involved in any sadness,” she stated to herself in a whisper that followed the wind. “I’m happy now. Free. Content. Sadness is not allowed.”

But were dreams allowed?

She brushed her dirty hands down the side of her old work jeans and stretched like a contented cat. She’d had a good day, interruptions by Himself aside. This particular bed, centered between the bayou and the back terrace, was ready for show. She’d positioned a Japanese maple in the middle and had spread out from there with the lilies and some other bulbs. This garden should have something to brag about for most of the year, even some playful spider lilies here and there.

Would he approve?

She turned to gather her work tools. There was a spigot on the side of the house by the terrace. She’d wash her things and her hands there. The buzz of mosquitoes teased at her ears as she made her way up the sloping hills toward the house, Elvis now meandering in an end-of-day tiredness behind her. Last fall, a hurricane had washed through Fleur, knocking everything in this garden over in rushing waters and driving winds.

But it was spring now. A new season with tender surprise sprouts that promised their own kind of mystery. That promised a determined survival and rebirth.

“Just like me,” she said, smiling. She silently thanked God for the beauty of this moment.

She’d made it to the spigot and was busy cleaning her tools when the back door opened and he walked out.

“All finished?” he asked.

Callie bent and turned off the spigot. “Yes. I’m tired but pleased. One flower bed down, about a hundred or so to go.”

“You’re going to bring in help, right?”

“Yes.” She noticed he’d changed into jeans and a cotton button-down shirt. The casual outfit only added to his good looks. And made him seem relaxed, just like a normal person. “Yes, I’ll have lots of help.”

“Hire as many people as you need.”

Noting this new, mellow mood, she said, “You’re very generous.”

“I’ve never had a big garden like this before. I want it to be appropriate to the house.”

She told herself to say goodbye and go home. But she turned after making sure she had all her tools. “Where did you grow up?”

He stared off into the distance, that darkness shrouding him like the sky lifting to the full moon. “Not far from here.”

He looked from the horizon to her, a dare in his expression.

“Really? Maybe I know the town.”

“You don’t.” Then he did that turning-and-walking-away thing again.

Which made Callie want to stomp her feet. She prided herself on being a people person. She wasn’t used to being treated this way. “Hey,” she called, hoping to open a dialogue, “why do you do that?”

“Do what?”