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Willa glanced at the teenager, apparently glad for the interruption. “How did the dress turn out?”
Emily giggled, then bobbed her head. “It was perfect. You were right—the pink one looked better than the red one.”
“I’m so glad. And I’m sure your mother is much more pleased about you going to the dance now that you’ve decided to wear a more demure design.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Non, it’s my papa who’s happy. He didn’t want me wearing the red—pas de tout.”
“I have to agree with him,” Willa replied. “The red was gorgeous, but a bit too old-looking for a sixteen-year-old. You’ll be the hit of the school dance, I’m sure.” Then she added in a conspiring whisper, “Especially since hot pink is the really big color on all the runways this summer.”
“I’ll start a new trend,” Emily said, her expression full of pride. “Merci, Willa.”
“You’re welcome,” Willa responded. “Let me know if I can help with your hair and makeup. And remember, Emily, less is more.”
The awestruck teen gave Willa a shy smile, then backed away. “And you let me know if you need anything else.”
Lucas gazed at the woman sitting across from him. “Apparently, you’ve been busy coaching our young Em on her wardrobe.”
Willa watched as Emily headed into the kitchen. “Just steered her in the right direction. The pink dress is a bit more tame, and it looks great on her.”
“You’re amazing,” Lucas said. “Emily will never forget you for giving her such good advice.”
“And I’ll never forget her.”
Lucas didn’t want to think about forgetting or remembering right now. He wanted to get back to the subject they’d been discussing. “Well, about your birth mother.” After making sure they were alone again, he spoke softly. “I mean it, Willa. I’ll go with you, if you’re afraid.”
She looked into his eyes. “Why would you want to do that?”
He reached out to her. He put a hand on her arm, just a brush of fingers over skin. And watched as she closed her eyes. “Because I want to take that pain out of your eyes, love. I want to see that smile. The one that’s so famous the world over.”
“That smile is strictly for the cameras,” she said, her voice raw and low. “It’s not the real me.”
He tugged her forward, his hand gentle on her arm. “Then let me see the real you, Willa. Let me…let me show you how to find the real you again, through God’s grace, through what we feel for each other.”
“I don’t know anything about God’s grace. It’s too late for me to ask Him for help.”
And she certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had any feelings for Lucas Dorsette, Lucas decided. Maybe he’d better concentrate on helping her find some peace of mind, at least.
“No, chère, it’s never too late to turn to God. He’s always here in these gardens, He’s in the very air we traveled through, the clouds we passed today. You have to know that in your heart.”
“My heart hurts, Lucas. My heart can’t take anymore pain.”
“Then let me help you. Let God help you. He can heal your hurts, Willa.”
“And has He healed yours?”
It was a cruel question. And he knew the answer could be just as cruel, if he gave in to his doubts. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m alive. I’m secure in my faith.”
She got up, dessert and roses obviously forgotten. “Are you really, Lucas? Is that why you go and sit in that sad old garden? Is that why you test yourself, push yourself to the edge in airplanes and out in the swamp? Is that why you don’t ever take anything seriously?”
Well, he was taking this conversation very seriously.
He shot up after her as she turned for the door. Seeing the surprised expressions of his sister and Emily, who stood hovering at the kitchen door, Lucas waved them away and followed Willa outside. “Hey, wait a minute. How do you know I’m not serious? What do you know about me, anyway?”
“That’s it exactly,” she said, spinning on the stone path. “I don’t know anything about you except what I’ve heard. I’ve been warned to stay away from you. Warned that you’ll break my heart.”
“And you believe those warnings?”
She held herself, her arms wrapped against her stomach. “No. I don’t believe them at all. But there is something you should believe, something you should know about me.”
He stood back, distancing himself from the need to hold her close. “Oh, and what’s that?”
“I have the power to hurt you, Lucas. That’s why I can’t let things go any further between us.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Why don’t you relax and…let things happen naturally?”
“Naturally?” She almost laughed. But it was a bitter laugh. “Like sickness and death? Like Lacey suffering through losing her husband, or you suffering through losing your parents?”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” he told her, anger coloring all the other emotions rolling through his mind. “I’ve learned to accept that.”
“Have you?” She turned to go, then twisted to stare at him. “Well, maybe I’m not so good at accepting the natural course of things. Maybe I still want to be the one in control.”
He reached for her, but she moved away.
“Willa, listen to me. I have my good days and my bad days and so does Lacey—and Lorna, too, for that matter. Death isn’t easy, it isn’t something you can rationalize or understand. But we’re here, we’re alive. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she asked. Then she turned and headed up the path toward the mansion.
Frustrated and completely confused, Lucas turned to stalk into the restaurant. He didn’t bother to finish eating, and he sure didn’t bother to explain anything to his obviously curious sister. He didn’t even stop to visit with the few patrons still lingering.
He went straight to the corner where the piano and saxophone had a permanent spot. Grabbing the sax, he sat down on a stool and thought about what to play. An old blues tune came to mind, but it didn’t suit his mood. Lucas needed help tonight, so he turned to the gospels for inspiration.
He played a song that seemed perfect even though it was short and sweet. It was the hymn he’d thought about the day he’d first seen Willa.
“Something Beautiful.”
Lorna came out of the kitchen to listen. A hush fell over the couples scattered here and there at the intimate tables. Lucas played on, his gaze moving toward the big window that opened to the night and the gardens.
Then he saw her.
On the path, bathed in moonlight and star shine, he could see the silhouette of a tall blond woman as she stood listening. Until the song was finished.
And then she turned and walked away.
Chapter Seven
Lucas put down his saxophone, then hopped off the stool centered by the big windows to waylay his sister before she trotted into the kitchen. “We need to talk.”
Lorna drew her brows together in a frown. “About what? Or should I say about whom?”
“Come and sit,” Lucas ordered, gently dragging her to the table he’d shared with Willa. Picking up a fork, he begin stabbing at the bread pudding he’d left.
“Well, I can see your appetite is still intact, even if your poor heart isn’t,” Lorna said, chin propped on one hand as she gave him a sympathetic smile. “You always did eat your way through misery.”
“I’m still hungry,” he said. The rich pudding, made of bread soaked in cream and eggs then smothered in rich white chocolate sauce, hit his rattled stomach like nails hitting a tin roof. “Okay, so mebbe this wasn’t such a good idea.” He pushed the pudding away, then glared at his sister. “What’s going on with Willa?”
Lorna waved to some departing customers. “Bonsoir.” Then she turned to her brother. “Lucas, that’s not for me to tell. Willa has been working hard since she was twenty-two years old—since the day she graduated from college—and that’s been at least five years. She just needs a break.” She shrugged, then removed her chef hat and tossed her tumbling braid over her shoulder. “I met her just before I came back home a little over three years ago—at a posh party in Paris. I was part of the catering team, and she sneaked into the kitchen to get another bite of this fancy chocolate dessert that everyone was raving about.”
She stopped long enough to allow Lucas a smile. He commented, “The supermodel sneaking fattening food—now there’s a tabloid tale.”
“That’s about the way it works,” Lorna said, bobbing her head. “I caught her gobbling away, and we laughed and ate chocolate cake together. She was very lonely, and I guess I was, too—I was between relationships.”
That made him grin. “Wasn’t that always the case, love?”
Lorna slapped him gently on the arm, then continued. “Anyway, we had this instant friendship. So we met a couple of days later to go shopping. I told her all about Bayou le Jardin—how I missed it, how I wanted to come home and open my own restaurant. She was so supportive, even offered to be a silent partner if I needed funding.” Lorna’s expression grew warm with the memory. “I turned her down on the loan, of course. But I did invite her to come and visit.”
Lucas leaned forward in his chair. “Why did she wait so long?”
“As I said, she’s been very busy. She’s in demand, so she’s been booked all over the world for fashion shoots and runway work. Over the years, she’d call and we’d chat, catch up, but she was always on her way to some exotic spot. You see, Willa is very disciplined and organized. She had a five-year plan, and I guess she’s reached that goal now.”
“So you think she decided to just rest a bit?”
Lorna looked at the table, a sure sign that she knew more than she wanted to tell. “I think she needed to stop and regroup.”
“And?”
She looked up. “And…that’s it.”
“Why didn’t she come to your wedding?”
“She was in Spain and then she had to go straight from there to Australia. Something about an ad for a sportswear company.”
He nodded, then pounced. “So why is she here now? I mean, why is she all of a sudden canceling bookings and not returning phone calls to her agent?”
Lorna rolled her eyes. “You know these things for true?”
“I know what I see.” He lowered his voice, his words for her ears only. “Does Willa have some sort of eating disorder?”
Lorna laughed out loud. “Oh, my, non.” Patting his hand, she added, “Willa’s eating habits are perfectly normal. She’s like any other woman in that regard. She loves food but has to watch every bite that goes in her mouth.”
Lucas breathed a sigh of relief. “Then she’s not sick or anything.”
And that’s when he saw it. The little flair of apprehension in his baby sister’s expressive green eyes.
His heart seemed to go still in his chest. “Lorna?”
Lorna got up, busied herself with clearing away the table dishes. “It’s late, brother. Go home and try to get some rest. Mick should be by any minute for a late dinner, then I’m turning in myself.”
Lucas stopped her, dishes and all. “Lorna, tell me.”
She turned to stare at him, worry coloring her face. “It’s not for me to tell, Lucas.”
He let her go, then pushed away from the table. “Then I’ll just go and ask Willa.”
Holding plates to her white jacket, Lorna tried to stop him. “Lucas, please. Don’t do that.”
But he was already out the door.
On the other side of the huge, sprawling gardens, Willa sat on a bench in a pretty white Victorian gazebo, the scent of trailing wisteria and running roses mingling around her.
Although her bedroom was lovely, she hadn’t been able to go to the isolation of that particular place. So she’d walked through the narrow footpaths, letting the moonlight guide her, until she’d found this idyllic spot.
Now, in spite of the mosquitoes buzzing hungrily around her ears and ankles, she sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the night.
Remembering the sound of Lucas playing the saxophone.
It was the song. That was what had made her cry. That was what had made her long for something she couldn’t envision, couldn’t grasp. It was a lovely song—sweet and full of a tender yearning. Willa longed to know the words to the tune that lingered in her head like a music box being wound over and over. She also longed for answers to her confusing questions.
“Child, what are you doing out here all by yourself?”
Whirling, Willa was surprised to find Hilda Dorsette making her way up the path to the gazebo, the doorknob tip of her trusty walking cane gleaming silver in the night.
Getting up to come and help her, Willa said, “Oh, Aunt Hilda, you startled me. I thought I really was alone out here in the dark.”
Hilda gave her a penetrating look. “Would you prefer it that way?”
“No, not at all. In fact, I’d love some company,” Willa admitted, surprising herself. Then she sniffed.
Aunt Hilda placed an aged hand on her arm. “Have you been crying?”
Willa waited as the older woman settled onto one of the cushioned box seats. Then she sank down across from Aunt Hilda. “I…yes…I was feeling sorry for myself, I guess.”
“Then you were not alone, after all.”
“What do you mean?” Willa asked, wiping her damp face.
“God was here with you, Willa.”
Willa held her breath, then let out a tired sigh. “Then I hope He was listening.”
“Oh, He was. You can be sure of that. The Lord is always in His garden. It’s here that He walks with us and listens to us—just as the old song says.”
Without thinking, Willa said, “Then maybe that was the song—the one Lucas was playing earlier on the saxophone.”
Hilda nodded. “Yes, I heard my nephew playing. Decided to take a walk myself.” Then she gave Willa another sharp-eyed stare. “The song moved you?”
“It did. It was so…pretty.”
Aunt Hilda settled, adjusting a flowing silk floral scarf around her shoulders. “I know the song he played. It wasn’t the one to which I was referring, but it is another favorite of mine,” she said, one hand on her cane as she sat on the bench. “It’s a fairly modern church hymn, written by William Gaither in 1971. It’s called ‘Something Beautiful.’”
