A Second Chance Page 3

  “May I have a snack, please?”

  “Of course you may.” Baked goods held little appeal for Zara, since she lived and breathed them all the time. Loretta opened the fridge and pulled out a small plate with a sliced apple, some cheese and one small cookie. She poured a glass of milk and brought it to Zara, who solemnly handed Loretta a wrinkled note.

  Loretta sighed. The note was from Patti Brainard, Zara’s third-grade teacher.

  Zara has been fighting again. Please call me. And don’t worry, we’ll work it all out.

  Patti was a doll and Zara adored her, but Loretta was hardly reassured. Her nine-year-old daughter was getting the reputation of a thug.

  “So what happened?” Loretta asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

  “Thomas called me a cheater and said I was a criminal just like my daddy and I was gonna go to jail someday.”

  “Why did he call you a cheater?”

  “Because I won his best Harry Potter card.”

  “Did you win it fair and square?”

  “Well, I might have lost count on how many points I won on my last turn. But it was an honest mistake.”

  “Zara Castille, what have I told you about cheating at cards?”

  “I wasn’t cheating. If he’d been paying better attention—”

  “Never mind that. What did you do when Thomas called you a cheater?”

  “I hit him with my notebook, not even very hard. And he, like, attacked me.”

  Loretta groaned. Her beautiful, intelligent, talented daughter was a budding juvenile delinquent.

  “Before you say anything, I know I shouldn’t take advantage of Thomas just because he’s stupid and doesn’t keep count, and I know I shouldn’t hit first no matter how mad somebody makes me. But I barely tapped him.”

  Loretta pulled a chair close to her daughter and sat down, again smoothing Zara’s bright red hair from her face. “Oh, honey, it’s not how hard you hit him that’s important. You’ve got to learn to control your temper. The older you get, the harder it is to change your habits.”

  “Thomas shouldn’t have made fun of my daddy.”

  “No, that wasn’t nice of him. But you’re going to have to deal with not-nice people your whole life.”

  “I just wish—” Zara stopped herself and crammed an apple slice into her mouth. Her eyes were shiny with tears.

  “What do you wish, sweet angel?”

  “I wish everybody didn’t know that my daddy died in prison. I wish I had a normal family.”

  “I wish you did, too.”

  “How come you don’t get married again?”

  “Because there’s no one around here I want to marry.”

  “Then why don’t we move?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you’d be so sad if we moved away. Your grandparents are here, and who would teach you fiddle if we moved away from Mr. Boudreaux? And even if I ever did marry again, that wouldn’t erase history.”

  Zara sighed. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to be bad. I’ll count to ten next time, I promise.”

  “And you must not take advantage of little boys who aren’t as smart as you. If I hear any more stories about that, I’m taking all your Harry Potter cards away.”

  “Mrs. Brainard already did that. She said she’d give ’em back next week.”

  The front door opened, and Loretta gave Zara a quick hug and a kiss before turning to greet her customer.

  It was Luc, in faded jeans and a T-shirt advertising the music festival. He’d been one of the first in line to buy one, she recalled, and was selling them at the B and B. He was still tanned from putting on a new roof this past summer, his shaggy blond hair streaked with pale gold from the sun.

  “Luc!” Zara jumped out of her chair, almost upsetting her milk, then halted as if she weren’t quite sure what she wanted to do. Zara’s reaction to Luc had been strange almost from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. At first, Loretta figured it was the fact he was blond. There weren’t many fair-haired men in these parts. Zara had stared endlessly at him, despite Loretta’s asking her not to because it was rude. But then she’d started talking like a magpie to him every chance she got. The only other adults Zara was that open with were her grandparents, and even they lavished so much loving attention on her that they embarrassed her into silence sometimes.

  “Hi, gorgeous. Hey, what happened to you? You look like you just got out of the ring after doing a couple of rounds with George Foreman.”

  “His name wasn’t George, it was Thomas,” Zara corrected him. Loretta’s advice not to correct adults hadn’t sunk in with her daughter.

  “You mean you really were in a fight?” Luc sounded impressed. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

  “Luc, don’t encourage her,” Loretta protested.

  “Thomas doesn’t have a scratch,” Zara said.

  “I used to do a little boxing,” Luc said, addressing his comments to Loretta. “If Zara needs to learn how to defend herself—”

  “I could have punched him,” Zara insisted. “But by then Mrs. Brainard was looking and I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

  “All right, that’s enough talk about fighting,” Loretta said firmly. “Luc, what can I help you with?” Coffee cake, tea bread or me?

  “The question is, what can I help you with?” He had a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  Loretta stifled a gasp. “You talked to Melanie?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll give me a sample of whatever it is I smell cooking.”

  “It’s pumpkin bread. A new recipe.” She went to the cooling rack and selected a small loaf, still warm from the oven, and brought it to the cutting board. “Talk, or you’re not getting a single bite.”

  “Melanie said she’ll do it.”

  Loretta’s knife clattered to the cutting board. Operating on pure instinct, she launched herself at Luc, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, you wonderful man!”

  Luc put his arms around her. “Wow, any more favors I can do for you? I like the way you say thank-you.”

  Oh, this felt good. Way too good. Luc was tall and hard and warm and all-male, and he smelled so…so not like everything else in her world of baking and laundry and little girls with their own special scents.

  She let the moment stretch as long as she dared, then gave a nervous laugh as she extracted herself from Luc’s embrace. “Sorry,” she said, straightening her shirt. But it had been so long since she’d let herself get anywhere close to a man other than her father. “I’m just so excited. You’ve saved my skin. How did you do it? How did you convince her? What’s the next step?”

  “Mama, calm down,” Zara said, giggling herself. “You act like Luc just handed you a million dollars or something.”

  Loretta hated it when Zara behaved more like the adult. “All right, then, one question at a time. What did you say to Melanie to get her to agree?”

  Luc nodded toward the cutting board.

  “Right.” Loretta quickly cut two thick slices of the pumpkin bread and slathered them with whipped butter. She pulled out the chair opposite Zara and placed the plate of bread on the table. Luc sat, took a bite and sighed appreciatively. “Oh, man. Put some of this in my next delivery.” He closed his eyes, savoring the treat, and made Loretta think of a different kind of sensual pleasure.

  “I told her the hotel could have some type of sponsorship. I’ve already talked to Marjo and she’s amenable. She’s putting the Hotel Marchand logo on the banners and the program. But I also appealed to Melanie’s pride, about how she’d be helping out a worthy cause and preserving her father’s Cajun culture. She’s actually excited about it. She wants to meet with us this week sometime to plan the menu and go over logistics.”

  “Us?”

  “That was part of the deal. I promised Melanie I’d help. Anyway, since your entire committee self-destructed, you need another pair of hands.”

  She could think of all kinds of ways to put those hands to good use, and
immediately felt her face heat. Why was she doing this? Why was she so intensely attracted to Luc Carter?

  “When do you want to meet with her?” Loretta asked, busying herself by wrapping up the partial loaf in plastic. “Is tomorrow too soon? It’ll have to be early so I can be home in time to meet Zara’s bus.”

  “I can’t tomorrow,” Luc said. “I have a meeting in New Iberia. Wednesday’s good, though.”

  “I can’t on Wednesday,” Loretta countered. “Back-to-back deliveries, then a doctor’s appointment. Thursday?”

  “I’ve got a big party arriving on Thursday.”

  “Well, shoot. I don’t suppose you could rearrange Tuesday?”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t meet her gaze, either. Then she remembered Justine Clemente, the town busybody, remarking on the fact that Luc drove out of town every other Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. He’d been doing it like clockwork since he moved to Indigo.

  Loretta’s immediate suspicion was that he had a girlfriend. But if she were dating someone like Luc, she’d darn sure see him more often than every other week. Unless the woman was married…

  Luc had always been a bit mysterious about his past and his personal life. Other than vague references to the fact he had hotel experience, what did she really know about him? Yes, he was Celeste Robichaux’s grandson, but did that automatically make him a sterling citizen?

  Well, whatever he did every other Tuesday was none of her business, and she decided not to think about it. “How about Wednesday afternoon? I can juggle the deliveries and change the doctor’s appointment. My parents can keep Zara for a few hours.”

  “I’ll see if Melanie can do it then.” Luc’s sunny smile returned. He polished off the pumpkin bread and the glass of milk Loretta poured for him, and all seemed right with the world again. But Loretta was determined not to forget that strange, evasive look that had come over his face.

  Her husband had been a man with a mysterious past, and at first that had been part of his appeal. He’d kept so many secrets from her, all the while charming her with his flattery and his monumental plans for the two of them. When he did occasionally reveal something of himself, she felt positively blessed. And whenever she sensed his inner torture, she loved him all the more.

  But the darkness inside him had been his undoing, as well as her and Zara’s, for he could never be truly satisfied, not with a loving wife and beautiful daughter, not with the sweet little house her grandmother had left her, not with a decent job. He’d wanted more—more money, more control, more freedom. Uncomplicated small-town life could never have satisfied him for long.

  She’d been in the process of divorcing him when he’d died, and she’d sworn that if she ever hooked up with another man—and that was a huge “if”—it would be a simple man with simple needs, someone without secrets.

  Most important, any man she associated with had to be honest, forthright and without a criminal cell in his body. She was already terrified of what Jim’s DNA had contributed to Zara. No way was her little girl going to be exposed to anyone who wasn’t open and honest.

  So Luc Carter was out of the question, no matter how much he heated her blood.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LUC HUMMED as he put fresh linens on the bed in the attic suite. A couple of years ago, when he’d been on the concierge staff at a luxury hotel in Thailand, he never could have imagined himself living such a quiet life in a small town, reduced to performing the duties of a chambermaid.

  But he’d always enjoyed giving hotel guests the personal touch, and this was just another way of doing it. He dried the sheets outside on the line whenever possible, so they’d smell like fresh air and sunshine. He’d learned how to cook through osmosis from earlier jobs in the huge, bustling kitchens of four-star hotels, but he found he enjoyed the more intimate meals he provided the B and B guests.

  He’d long ago stopped counting the months and days until his enforced restitution was completed. He still planned to take off next spring. Maybe he’d go to Greece or Italy. Jobs were plentiful for someone with his experience.

  But he was in no rush to leave Indigo, which surprised him. In the past, a year or two had been about the limit of his patience for any one job, any one locale.

  He sensed someone watching him and whirled around to find Doc Landry, the town’s octogenarian physician, standing in the doorway. Luc smiled a welcome. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Boy, you’re in a happy mood. I never saw anyone get so excited about hospital corners before.”

  “I like my work,” Luc said. But that was only part of what contributed to his good mood. He and Loretta were heading to New Orleans as soon as she finished her deliveries. He would have her all to himself for several hours.

  Doc was going to watch the B and B while Luc was gone. No guests were scheduled to check in today, but Luc did occasionally get walk-in business. Besides, Doc seemed to like hanging out here. He often came for neighborly visits with the guests, sitting on one of the porches with them if the weather was nice, telling them what the town was like when he was a boy.

  Apparently the Landrys had been close to the Blanchards, his grandmother’s family, and Doc had spent lots of time in this very house during his youth. He remembered Luc’s grandmother as a young girl, and the stories he told of a laughing, headstrong teenager were a stark contrast to the stern, rigid woman Luc knew as Grand-mère.

  Doc pitched in to help, putting pillowcases on the pillows. “Your good mood wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact you’re driving a certain pretty young redhead to New Orleans, would it?” he asked shrewdly.

  “That doesn’t hurt.”

  Doc’s expression turned serious. “Listen, I think you should know something about Loretta.”

  “There are a lot of things I’d like to know about Loretta. She’s a hard one to figure.”

  “You know she’s a widow, right?”

  “Yeah, I’d heard.”

  “Well, her husband was a piece of work. He was an itinerant farmer who turned her head when she was barely eighteen, and she married him against her parents’ wishes. They traveled, lived out of their car, had a grand old time.”

  “Loretta? Lived out of her car?” Luc could hardly picture that. She was such a homey person. She had her bakery, her little girl. She was a sexy earth mother.

  “Until she had Zara,” Doc continued. “Then she wanted to settle down and become responsible. But Jim didn’t.”

  “What happened?”

  “He took off. Then he hooked up with some bad characters and got involved in a holdup. Shot someone. Got caught, went to prison.”

  Luc sank onto the bed, the pillowcases forgotten. “That’s awful.” He’d already known some of this, but the details made Loretta’s situation even more disturbing. He hated to think of her as a new mother, lonely, abandoned, husband locked away. “Then what happened?”

  “Her husband was murdered in prison.”

  The stark horror of that reality hung in the air for a few moments. “They were still married?” Luc finally asked.

  “Almost divorced when it happened. It was a terrible thing. I truly believe Loretta still loved him, though she despised what he’d done, what he’d become. She grieved something awful.”

  “But she’s over it now, right?” Luc asked hopefully. “That was several years ago.” He didn’t want to think of spunky Loretta as damaged. It was too sad.

  “She’s bounced back. Poured herself into taking care of little Zara and starting her bakery. I’m not telling you this because I like to spread idle gossip.”

  “Then why…” Luc got a sinking feeling in his stomach. “She would freak out if she knew the real reason I came to Indigo.”

  “To put it mildly. She’s extremely sensitive about exposing Zara to anyone with any sort of…well, let’s just say she didn’t want to hire Samuel Kane to repair the roof on her house because he’s had a couple of speeding tickets.”

  “Oh, boy.”


  Doc was the only person in town who knew the story of Luc’s arrest and conviction, other than the chief of police, Alain Boudreaux. It was conceivable Loretta would never learn of Luc’s dirty little secret. Doc wouldn’t blab. But what if she did find out?

  “You got a little thing for her,” Doc concluded.

  “A huge thing.”

  “She doesn’t date, you know. She hasn’t so much as gone out for ice cream with any man since Jim’s death. She feels she’s better off alone and she makes no secret of it.”

  “So my sordid past isn’t really an issue,” Luc said. “She wouldn’t go out with me if I was on the Pope’s top-ten list of most saintly people.”

  “No. Not unless you change her mind about men.”

  Which was exactly what Luc had intended to do. “If it becomes an issue, I’ll deal with it then.”

  “Keeping secrets in a small town is nearly impossible, you know,” Doc cautioned. “Already more than one person has speculated on where you drive off to every other Tuesday.”

  “You mean there are actually people in this town who have nothing better to do than keep track of their neighbors’ comings and goings?”

  “Absolutely. Luc, I would never tell your business to anyone else, believe me. And I happen to think maybe you’d be good for Loretta. Pretty young girl like that shouldn’t be alone, and Zara needs a daddy. She’s a handful, that one.”

  “Whoa, whoa—wait a minute. I never said anything about being a daddy. I like Zara and all, but I haven’t even asked Loretta out on a date.”

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful with Loretta’s heart. I delivered her, you know. I treated her cuts and scrapes and tonsillitis and ear infections. But a broken heart I can’t do anything about, and I don’t think I can bear to see her in pain again. So just be careful. Be honest.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  They lapsed into silence as they finished the bed linens. Luc wasn’t used to anybody caring about where he’d been or what he’d done, except in the most casual way. And he’d never paid much attention to what people thought of him. If he couldn’t charm his way out of a sticky situation, he would simply move on.