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Hilda gave Lacey a fierce stare. “The man came here to do a job, dear. The gardens are already damaged beyond repair from the storm. What more can he possibly do? He’s trying to clear things up.”
Lacey heard her sister’s raised voice coming through loud and clear from the many open doors and windows. “But you know Lorna thinks she has to be the one in charge. She’s obviously upset because his crew with all that big equipment has just about mashed what little garden we have left.”
“The garden will grow again,” Hilda replied. “It always does.”
Lacey turned back from checking the urn of strong coffee Hilda had suggested they brew for the workers and few remaining guests. “Lorna needs to get in here and see to breakfast. They’ll all be hungry.”
“Rosie Lee has breakfast well under control,” Hilda reminded her over her shoulder. Even as she said the words, they could hear dishes rattling in the large industrial-sized kitchen located off the main dining room. “Lacey, calm down. We’re all going to make it through this.”
“I’m calm,” Lacey retorted, then rubbed her forehead to ward off the headache clamoring for attention. “I’m calm, Aunt Hilda.”
But she knew in her heart that she wasn’t calm. How could any of them be calm after surviving the intensity of that storm? No wonder Lorna was taking out her anger on the very man who’d come to help them. It was Lorna’s way of dealing with the situation, of finding some sort of control over the chaos. Because they both knew only too well that, in the end, they had no control over either joy or tragedy.
When her baby sister’s heated words turned from English to French, however, Lacey knew it was time to take the matter into her own hands. “I’m going out there,” she told Hilda as she brushed past her. “I’ll drag her in here by her hair if I have to.”
Hilda stood leaning on her cane, her chuckle echoing after Lacey. “Maybe our Lorna has finally met her match.”
Lacey didn’t find that so amusing, but it would serve Lorna right if this Mick Love brought her down a peg or two. Lorna loved to boss people around, and she loved being the center of attention. Lacey was used to reining in her firebrand little sister, and, truth be told, she was getting mighty tired of it. How their brother Lucas could just take off and paddle away in his pirogue, heading out into the swamps and leaving Lacey to cover things, was beyond her. But then, she was the oldest and used to handling things.
“Lorna, we can hear you all the way to the river,” she said now as she made her way through branches and bramble.
Lorna turned to find her big sister standing with her hands on her hips, that disapproving look on her lovely face. Lacey, looking so cool and collected in her sundress and upswept hair, only added to Lorna’s aggravation. “Well, I don’t care who can hear me. This man and his big machines! Look what they’re doing to the garden, Lacey. Je voudrais—”
Mick held up a hand. “Don’t start that French again. If I’m being told off, I’d like it in plain English, please.”
Lorna ground her teeth and dug her sneakers in for a good fight. Deep down, she knew she was making a scene. Deep down, she realized she was still in shock from the storm and the tremendous damage it had left in its wake. Deep down, in the spot where she’d buried her most horrific memories, in a place she refused to visit, in the dark place she denied with each waking breath, her emotions boiled and threatened to spill forth like a volcano about to erupt. And the storm and Mick Love had both provoked that hidden spot, bringing some of her angst right to the surface. It didn’t help that she’d purposely gone out underneath the trees to find some semblance of peace, only to be broadsided by both a limb and a handsome stranger. It didn’t help that she hadn’t even had her coffee yet.
She let out a long-suffering sigh, then returned to English. “I would like…” She stopped, took time to relax, find control. “I would like for the past day or so to go away. I want my trees back, I want my garden intact again.”
She couldn’t stand the sympathy she saw in Mick Love’s deep blue eyes. So she ignored it. And the way the memory of his hands on her, his body falling across hers to protect her, kept coming back to bother her when she only wanted to take out her anger on someone. Anyone. Him.
“I can’t fix your garden until we get these trees out of here,” Mick told her, his hands held out palm down, his head bent as if he were trying to deal with a child.
“I understand that,” Lorna said, trying to be reasonable. “But do you have to stomp and shove everything that is still intact. Look at that big truck over there. They pulled it right up on top of that camellia bush. That bush has been there for over a hundred years, Mr. Love.”
“And if you let me do my job, I guarantee it will be there for a hundred more years, at least,” he told her, all traces of sympathy gone now. “How can you expect us to clean this up, if we don’t get right in there on top of those trees and limbs?”
“It’s a reasonable request, Lorna,” Lacey said from behind her, a firm grip on her shoulder. “Come inside and get something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Lorna huffed back. Her sister, always the mother hen. “But I could use a cup of coffee.”
“Then let’s find you one. And you, too, Mr. Love,” Lacey said, her voice so cultured and cool that Lorna wanted to throw up. Whereas Lorna pretended to be calm and in control, her sister’s serene countenance was no act. Lacey had it down pat. She never wavered. She never threw fits.
Lorna tossed her scorn back in Mick Love’s face, daring him to make nice. She had only just begun to make a scene.
He didn’t seem willing to take that dare. Eyeing Lorna with those arresting blue eyes, he said, “I don’t think—”
“I insist,” Lacey said, shooting Lorna a warning glare. “Come onto the gallery so we can talk. I want you to meet our aunt Hilda, anyway. You can explain to all of us exactly how you plan on clearing away all this debris.”
“Would that calm her down?” he asked, glaring at Lorna.
Lorna didn’t flinch, but that heated blue-velvet gaze did make a delicate shudder move down her spine.
“I think the coffee would help immensely,” Lacey stated, pinching Lorna to make her behave. “And some kind of explanation would certainly put all of us at ease. This has been so traumatic—we thought surely we were going to be blown into the swamp. I think we’re all still in shock.”
“Obviously,” Mick replied, his gaze shifting from Lorna to Lacey.
Lorna watched as Mick listened to her sister. Oh, he’d probably fall for Lacey’s charms, bait and hook. Lacey did have a way of nurturing even the most savage of beasts. And Lorna had a way of sending men running. No, she didn’t send them running, she just sent them away. Period.
Oh, she didn’t need this right now. The bed-and-breakfast mansion was booked solid for the spring season, and the Garden Restaurant located out back was always busy. But what choice did she have? They had to get things cleared up.
Feeling contrite, Lorna turned back to Mick. “I’m sorry. I’m at a loss as to what to do next, and I took it out on you. We do appreciate your help.”
Mick’s expression seemed to relax then. He had a little-boy face, tanned and energetic, playful and challenging. Mischievous, as Aunt Hilda would say.
And tempting. Very tempting. Like a rich pastry, or a fine piece of ripe forbidden fruit.
“Apology accepted,” he said. “And coffee would be most welcome.”
“Then come on inside,” Lacey told him, giving Lorna a nudge toward the gallery.
“Let me just talk to my men a minute,” Mick replied. “I’ll be right back.”
Lorna watched as Mick instructed one of the men, his hard hat in his hand. He had thick, curly ash-brown hair, sunny in spots and as rich as tree bark in others.
“Don’t break a stitch staring at him,” Lacey warned.
“Don’t pop a button telling me what to do,” Lorna retorted.
Then she gasped in surprise. The man Mick had been talking to headed to one of the big white equipment-laden trucks they’d pulled into the backyard—the truck parked over the camellia bush.
“He’s moving the truck,” Lacey whispered. “Lorna, do you see?”
“I have eyes,” Lorna stated, her hands on her hips, her brow lifted. Her heart picking up its tempo.
She looked from the groaning, grinding truck to Mick Love’s gentle, gracious eyes. And felt as if the storm was still raging around her.
She had eyes, all right. But she could see right through Mick Love’s kind gesture. Kindness always came with a price, didn’t it?
And Lorna had to wonder just what Mick Love expected in return for this kindness.
Chapter Two
He had expected the strong coffee. Louisiana was famous for that. And he had expected the house to be big, cool and gracious. It had once been a plantation house and now served as an historical bed-and-breakfast vacation spot. But what Mick hadn’t expected was the fierce intelligence and remarkable strength of the three women sitting out on the gallery having breakfast with him.
Nor had he expected to be extremely smitten by the very one who’d chewed him out in two different languages not an hour ago.
But then, Mick was beginning to expect the unexpected at Bayou le Jardin.
“Have your men had enough to eat, Mr. Love?”
He glanced over at Hilda Dorsette. The breakfast of French toast, biscuits, ham, grits and eggs, and fresh fruit had been more than enough. “Yes, ma’am, I think they’ve eaten their fill. And we sure appreciate your giving us breakfast. We cranked up in the middle of the night to get here by daylight.”
“Well, we appreciate your willingness to help out,” the older woman replied as she watched several of the workers going about their jobs.
Mick gave a slight nod while keeping a watchful eye on the bucket trucks. As he watched the rookie named David spike a tree so he could climb it, he added, “Claude Juneau and I go way back. I didn’t mind helping him out one bit. Just sorry for the noise and clutter.”
“What noise? What clutter?” The teasing light in her eyes made Mick relax, even as another chain saw cranked up and went to work on cutting up a big limb.
Mick figured the noisy wenches, stomp cutters and wood chippers would frazzle anybody’s nerves. But Hilda Dorsette sat sipping her coffee as if she had heavy equipment in her fragile garden every day of the week.
Mick liked Aunt Hilda. She was plumb, petite and no-nonsense. And she was the mayor of the nearby town of Jardin—another unexpected revelation. Dressed in a bright salmon-colored casual top and a sturdy khaki flared skirt, she looked ready to take on the day. With her coiffured silver-gray hair and bright blue eyes, she was a charmer. And shrewd, too.
“I’m glad you took the time to explain the work you’re doing,” she told him. “I’ve heard of tree services and tree surgeons, of course. We’ve had a local tree expert watching over our great oaks for years now. But I never knew utility companies rely on companies such as yours to help them out of tight spots.”
With that statement, she finished the last of her coffee, then set the delicate china cup down on its matching saucer. “Since we seem to be in your capable hands, I’m going to leave the girls in charge while I let Tobbie drive me into the village to see what else needs to be done there. I’m sure the Mayor’s Office will be hopping with activity again this morning, and my assistant Kathryn is already there waiting on me. We have to coordinate the Red Cross efforts and make sure everyone is fed and sheltered. So many people lost everything.” She shook her head, then rose from the white wrought-iron chair. “I am so very thankful that Bayou le Jardin only lost trees and some of the storage buildings. It could have been much, much worse.”
Mick got up as she did, helping her with her chair. “I understand, Miz Dorsette. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“And so do you, son.” She glanced at Lorna when she said this, then turned to give Mick a knowing look.
He didn’t miss the implications. Hilda Dorsette figured he’d get the job done, if he could just convince her niece to stay out of the way.
He sat back down, hoping to do just that. Glancing from Lacey to Lorna, he said, “So, do you two ladies have any more questions or concerns?”
Lacey smiled over at him. “I don’t. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I think the best thing we can do is leave you to your work.”
She got up, too, and again Mick did the gentlemanly thing by helping her with her chair. Lacey seemed a tad more centered and serene than her younger sister. Her smile was politeness itself.
“I have to walk down to the shop and make sure what little damage we received falls under the insurance policy.”
“What kind of shop do you run?” Mick asked, once again amazed at the Dorsette women. Except for Lorna. He wasn’t sure what she did around here, except pray and tell people off in French.
“Antiques,” Lacey explained. “The Antique Garden, to be exact. You passed it when you came in through the gate. It used to be the overseer’s cottage. We get a lot of business during the tourist season.”
“I don’t know a thing about antiques,” Mick said. “I move around way too much to set up housekeeping.”
He didn’t miss the way Lorna’s eyebrows lifted, or the little smirk of disdain on her pert face. He guessed someone as countrified and dour as Miss Lorna Dorsette didn’t cotton to a traveling man too much.
“That’s a shame,” Lacey replied, her skirts swishing as she went about cleaning the table. “I love old things. They keep me rooted and remind me of where I came from.”
Mick didn’t need anything around to remind him of where he’d come from. That’s why he kept on moving. But these lovely ladies didn’t need to hear that particular revelation. He sat silent, well aware that he should just get back to work and forget about trying to impress the Dorsette sisters.
Lacey bid them good morning, and that left…Lorna.
He didn’t have to look at her to know she was impatiently tapping a foot underneath the round wrought-iron table. Too much caffeine, he reasoned. And he couldn’t resist the grin or the sideways look. “Uh…and what do you do? How do you stay occupied?”
Lorna tossed her long flaming hair over her shoulder, still staring daggers after her ethereal sister. “Oh, not much,” she stated as she waved a hand in the air. “I guess you could say I’m the chief cook and bottle washer.”
Another surprise. “But I thought Rosie Lee was the cook. And a mighty fine one, at that.”
Mick had first met the robust Cajun woman when the trucks had rolled up over two hours ago. Apparently, she and her equally robust husband, Tobbie, helped out around the place. While Rosie Lee had introduced Mick to Emily, their teenage daughter and Tobias, or Little Tobbie, the youngest of the six Babineaux children, Big Tobbie immediately began assisting Mick’s crew in setting up. Then Rosie Lee and Emily had given everyone coffee to get them started, while Little Tobbie had badgered Mick with questions about all the big equipment.
“What’s that do?” the black-haired eight-year-old had asked, pointing with a jelly-covered finger to one of the bucket trucks.
“That, my friend, lifts my men up high, so they can get to the trees,” Mick had explained.
“Can I have a ride?”
“Hush up,” Rosie Lee had told her youngest son. “That little imp will drive you crazy, Mr. Love.”
Rosie Lee had jet-black hair which she wore in a long braid down her back, and a jolly personality, which caused her to chuckle over her words. At least she was cheerful and down-to-earth. Rosie Lee had given him extra French toast loaded with fresh strawberries. They had bonded instantly.
But Lorna now only gave him a sweet smile that clearly told him he was way out of his league. “Rosie Lee works for me. And she is a very good cook. She and Tobbie, and their entire family for that matter, have been working for us for more than twenty years now. But I do most of the cooking for our guests, and I run the restaurant out back. It was once the carriage house and stables.” She stopped, took a sip of coffee. “We had to shut it down, though. The storm damaged part of the roof, and we’ve got a major leak in one of the dining rooms.”
Mick turned to squint into the trees. “Just how many places of business do y’all have around here?”
She actually almost smiled. “The house, the restaurant and the antique shop. Oh, and our brother Lucas has his own business on the side.”
“What side would that be?”
She shrugged, causing her hair to move like a golden waterfall at sunset back around her shoulders. “You never know with Lucas. He does a little trapping here, a little singing and saxophone playing there, and a little crop dusting whenever someone calls him, but mostly, he does whatever he pleases, whenever the mood strikes him.”
“A trapping, singing, crop-dusting Cajun?” Mick had to laugh. “I’m getting a good picture of your family, Lorna. You pray and stomp. Lacey smiles and flutters. And you just explained Lucas—he likes to play. And I guess Aunt Hilda is the sensible glue that holds all of you together, huh?”
He’d been teasing, but the serious look in her eyes stopped the joke. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “You hit the nail right on the head, especially about Lacey and Lucas, and even me, I guess—although I don’t always stomp around. Aunt Hilda is the backbone of this family, this entire town. You see, we’ve lived with her since we were children. After…after our parents died, she took us in.”
Mick wasn’t grinning anymore. “That’s tough, about your parents. I didn’t mean to make fun—”
Lorna held up a dainty hand. “It’s all right, really.”
But he could see that darkness in her eyes, a darkness that took them from bright green to a deep rich shade of sad. And he could also see shards of fear and doubt centered there, too, as if it wasn’t really all right at all.
Wanting to say something to replace the foot he’d just extracted from his big mouth, Mick said, “Well, Hilda Dorsette seems like a good woman. And this is certainly a beautiful place.”
“Yes, to both,” Lorna replied, drumming her fingers on the table again. “Which is why I overreacted earlier. I just hate to see any part of Bayou le Jardin destroyed, and I guess I felt helpless. So I took it all out on you and your men. But, hey, we can’t change an act of God, can we.”
“No, Mother Nature doesn’t discriminate.”
“And God always has His reasons, I suppose. Aunt Hilda says we should never question God.”
Mick watched as she jumped up—didn’t even give him a chance to help her out of her chair. Did she resent God, then, for taking her parents? No, she’d said she prayed to Him. But…maybe even though she believed in God, she still had some harsh thoughts holed up in that pretty head of hers. And since she couldn’t take everything out on God, Mick Love would probably come in handy.
He was getting the picture, all right.
And he’d have to tread lightly in order to avoid this cute little woman’s wrath. Or he’d have to flirt with her to take her mind off her troubles.
