A Second Chance Read online

  Zara smiled up at him. “Hi, L—” She stopped herself just in time as Adele Castille walked out onto the porch. “Hello, Monsieur Carter,” she said with exaggerated formality.

  “Bon après-midi, Mademoiselle Zara,” he returned.

  “You speak French?” Zara asked. “Are you Cajun?”

  “My dad was Creole,” he said, but that wasn’t where he’d learned the French. He had a very good ear for languages and had picked up enough conversational French to get by during the few months he’d worked in New Orleans at the Hotel Marchand.

  “What about your mom?” Loretta asked as they all went inside.

  “Definitely not Creole, or Cajun.” His family was one subject he didn’t really want to talk about. He focused on Loretta’s mother. “How are you doing, Mrs. Castille?”

  “I’m very well, thank you for asking, Luc. How was your trip to New Orleans?”

  “It went great,” Loretta said. “Melanie Marchand is so gracious. It’s going to be the most awesome dinner. Where’s Papa?”

  “Out fighting the webworms. Some farmer two miles away reported seeing a few, so your father’s spraying every tree on our property. Those little critters can destroy a beehive in no time. Luc, would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t,” he said automatically. He figured he and Loretta had seen quite enough of each other today. Not that he could ever get his fill of her, but he imagined she was ready to see the dust behind his car. “I really just came in to buy some honey. The guests love it.”

  Just then a door opened somewhere in the back of the house, and Zara rushed toward the sound. “Granddaddy! Monsieur Luc Carter is here to buy honey but he’s not staying for dinner.”

  Vincent Castille entered the living room from the kitchen, giving Luc a broad smile. He was a big bear of a man in overalls and a workshirt, with thick, dark hair slicked back from his face, and he was about as Cajun as they came.

  “Well, Monsieur Luc.” He vigorously shook Luc’s hand. “You havin’ any problems with webworms?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re bad, huh?”

  “Bad? A webworm is purely evil, not to mention being the enemy of the beekeeper. That little ol’ worm gets inside the hive and you don’ know it. You can’ see it. The bees fly back and forth, looking busy as can be. But a few weeks later when you go to collect the honey, what happens, Zara?”

  “There’s no honey,” she said, “only that li’l ol’ worm.”

  “He’ll talk for hours about webworms,” Adele said in a loud stage whisper. “Come on, Luc, I’ll get you your honey.” She led him into what had once been a dining room, but was now the honey business office. Two large hutches were filled with jars of honey. Along another wall were packaging and mailing supplies, brochures and invoices. In the middle of the room was a large, well-used desk.

  The Castilles blended their honey with various essences to give them unique flavors, and Luc picked out a variety until he had a dozen jars. Adele prepared his invoice, giving him a vendor’s discount. He paid her, then folded the receipt and put it in his wallet. He had to keep track of every penny he spent on behalf of the B and B, or Celeste would have his head.

  “What are you doing for the festival?” Adele asked.

  “I’m helping with the VIP dinner. The B and B will be packed all weekend, so I’ll be busy.”

  “No, I mean, what are you doing to promote La Petite Maison? We’re renting a booth with Loretta in the food section. We’re going to pass out free samples and sell honey and baked goods. They’re expecting thousands of people to come through Indigo over the weekend. It’s an unparalleled chance for promotion.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.” He’d just been glad for the extra business during the festival itself.

  “You could share our booth,” Adele said, because that’s the kind of person she was. “In fact, we were thinking of getting two, because one isn’t that big. You could have extra brochures printed up, and give away ten-percent discount coupons. Or advertise your bayou cocktail cruises,” she added.

  “My what?” Luc didn’t even own a boat, except for a pirogue, which he’d let the bird-watchers borrow.

  “Lots of B and Bs do extra stuff like that as an additional revenue stream. Cruises, ghost tours, walking tours of the town.”

  Luc was still pretty new at this entrepreneur stuff, but he had to admit, Adele had a point. She was the genius behind Indigo Honey’s success.

  But he didn’t think he was up to sharing a crowded booth with Loretta for an entire weekend. He had enough trouble keeping his hands off her as it was. If she wasn’t interested in hooking up with him, he would respect her wishes. But that didn’t mean he wanted to torture himself by deliberately putting himself in her path.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “It sounds like a great idea, but I’m going to be really busy that weekend with guests.”

  “Well, if you’d like us to set out some brochures, just let me know.” Adele seemed unruffled by his refusal, but Loretta looked troubled.

  “You’re sure you won’t stay for dinner?” she asked as she walked him back to the car. “About the kiss and all…I overreacted. It was just a kiss.” Her face turned a becoming shade of pink.

  Luc liked to think it wasn’t “just a kiss,” but a way-above-average, special, mind-blowing kiss. It had been for him, anyway. “I have to get back. Doc’s keeping an eye on the place, and I’m sure he’d like to get on home.”

  “All right, then. Thanks for driving and…and, well, everything.”

  He reached out and brushed his knuckle across her cheek, and she didn’t shy away from his touch. In fact, her changeable hazel eyes turned darker, and he saw hunger in them. “Don’t worry so much.”

  “I’ll try not to.” The words came out barely a whisper.

  LORETTA KNEW she’d done the right thing. But then why did it feel so awful? She had more on her plate right now than she could possible deal with. Maybe Luc was right and she was entitled to a social life, single mom or no. But not now, and not with a man who kept so many secrets.

  When her mother found her a few minutes later, she was still standing in the driveway, staring after Luc’s car, lost in thought.

  “Loretta?”

  She snapped to awareness. “Oh. Guess I was daydreaming.”

  Adele put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “About Luc?” she asked hopefully. Adele would have been more than happy to see Loretta settled down with a nice son-in-law and a few more grandkids.

  “No,” Loretta said quickly, then laughed at herself. “Okay, yes, I was thinking about Luc. What do you suppose it is about me that craves something different? Why was Jim so alluring when the local boys left me bored to tears? Why does the mysterious man from out of town have such appeal?”

  “Lord, Loretta, you can’t compare Luc to Jim. They’re like two different species. Luc is responsible, stable. A businessman. There’s nothing wrong with Luc.”

  “Except that I don’t know anything about him. And he has a girlfriend.”

  “He’s Celeste Robichaux’s— He has a girlfriend? Who?”

  “Someone out of town. He says they’re not committed. He was all mysterious about her. I don’t need that. I don’t want mystery or intrigue or adventure. I don’t want a man, period. I have enough to keep me busy.”

  Adele chuckled. “Sometimes what we want and what we get are two different things. He’s awfully handsome. And he’s very good with Zara. Not every man gets on with children, you know.”

  “Mama! Don’t encourage me. I’ve only just made up my mind to leave it be, and you’re weakening my resolve.”

  “I’m just saying, is all.”

  WHEN LUC GOT BACK to the B and B, he found Doc on the veranda with his guests, two elderly sisters from Baton Rouge. They were all drinking mint juleps and seemed to be getting along very well.

  “Luc,” said Isabel, the older sister. Or maybe it was Ernestine. He got th
e two mixed up. “You didn’t tell us about the complimentary cocktails on the veranda. What a delightful surprise!”

  How did he tell Isabel, or Ernestine, that the mint juleps were as much a surprise to him as to the guests?

  “And such delightful company,” said Ernestine, simpering a bit. “Are you and the doctor related?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “But I knew his grandmother quite well,” Doc said with obvious fondness. “She and I used to sit on this very veranda when we were hardly more than teenagers, and sip mint juleps just like these.”

  “Those were different times,” said Isabel dreamily. “When men were gentlemen.”

  “Speaking of being a gentleman…” Doc pushed up from his rocking chair. “Excuse me, ladies.” He motioned for Luc to follow him inside. They entered the parlor, but neither of them sat down. Doc gave Luc a hard stare. “How was your day?”

  Luc sighed. “You were right. Loretta doesn’t need a man in her life, and I’m not sure she’d let one in, anyway.”

  “What happened?”

  “I did exactly what you told me not to do. And it was a mistake.” Luc paused. “I made her cry.”

  “Why? How? Damn it, Luc—”

  “Chill out, I didn’t do anything wrong. I just stirred up some feelings she wasn’t ready to deal with.” He set the box of honey on the table. “Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on it’s strictly hands off. Not that I don’t wish it could be otherwise.”

  LUC TRIED TO RECONCILE himself with that decision. He tried hard. But there was no way to avoid Loretta when she delivered baked goods to his home every morning and talked to him at least twice a day regarding the VIP dinner, which would be staged at the town’s almost 200-year-old opera house.

  She kept their conversations businesslike—overly so, in fact—and he got the idea she was every bit as uncomfortable as he was. But she was bound and determined to make the dinner a success and raise money for the opera house renovation, so talking with him was a necessity.

  When the phone rang just after lunch on a Wednesday the week after their trip to New Orleans, Luc fully expected it to be Loretta, and he braced himself for his reaction. Just the sound of her voice did provocative things to him these days.

  “La Petite Maison,” he said into the phone.

  “Luc. What are you doing to promote the bed and breakfast at the Cajun music festival?”

  “Grand-mère. How nice to hear from you.” And how typical of her not to start the conversation with any pleasantries. She never minced words, his grandmother.

  “I just heard they’re expecting thousands of people at the festival. People who will drive all that way to hear a bunch of fiddle-playing would also be interested in our bed-and-breakfast. The Hotel Marchand is an official sponsor now. I don’t want La Petite Maison to be left out.”

  “I was planning on having plenty of brochures printed up—”

  “Not good enough. We must have a presence. Our B and B is one of the most visible, profitable businesses in Indigo.”

  “Ooookay.” Actually, some of the ideas Adele Castille had mentioned were swimming around in Luc’s brain. He was always looking for ways to give his customers added value, so they would want to come back—and tell all their friends. “We can sponsor historic walking tours of Indigo. This town is packed with history.” The tragically romantic story behind the opera house was a doozy. “I can recruit some of the local teenagers to be guides.”

  “Go on,” Celeste said, indicating neither approval nor disapproval.

  “We can advertise our bayou cocktail cruises.”

  Long silence. “When did we institute cocktail cruises?”

  “We haven’t yet. We need a boat.”

  “Mmm-hmm. What else?”

  “Loretta, the woman who provides our baked goods, will have a booth,” he continued reluctantly. “She’s offered to share her space with me. She’s giving away free samples of her breads, which would be great advertising for the B and B.”

  “How much does this booth cost?”

  He named the very modest price.

  “Get two. Or three. I want you to proceed with these ideas, Luc. Both Robichaux and Blanchard used to be important names in Indigo. We can’t simply let others lead the way. Do what you must, within reason, to ensure La Petite Maison is visible. I’ll send you some things you can use to decorate your booth. You can make it like a little museum. And look around for a boat. We used to have one when I was a girl, and all the young people would pile in for moonlight rides….” She halted the dreamy memory abruptly. “I want a progress report in a week’s time.” Not waiting for Luc to agree, she hung up.

  “Oh, boy,” Luc muttered. As if he didn’t have enough to do helping out with the VIP dinner, he had shop for a boat, print up more advertising brochures—and turn an ordinary festival booth into a museum.

  Celeste didn’t ask for much.

  His first order of business was to call Loretta, a task he couldn’t help but look forward to. He took the cordless phone to the laundry room. Sheets and towels were in constant need of attention, and Luc had gotten into the habit of throwing in a load when he was on the phone. He dialed Loretta’s number from memory. Not that he’d had occasion to call her often, but he’d unwittingly memorized everything about Loretta. He even knew the license plate on her car.

  “Indigo Bakery.”

  “Loretta.” He loved saying her name, and he couldn’t help that he spoke it like a lover.

  “Yes, Luc. What can I do for you?” Her voice was decidedly cool. He tried not to take it personally. She was no doubt deliberately distancing herself from him, just as he’d done with her. His news might not be all that welcome, after all.

  “If the offer to share a booth at the festival still stands, I’d like to take you up on it.”

  “Oh. Oh, sure, that’d be great,” she said, but Luc got the distinct impression she’d changed her mind. “I’m worried we might be a bit crowded, though. Three businesses, one booth.”

  “That’s the good news. My grandmother has agreed to spring for three booths. We’ll have plenty of room.” He wasn’t sure if Celeste had intended for him to share the booths, but he’d pretend to have misunderstood.

  “Wow. That’s very generous of her.”

  “There’s a catch. We have to make this triple-sized booth highly visible and very fancy. Like a museum, Celeste said. She’ll pay for everything, but I was hoping you and your mom would have ideas for making it eye-catching.” And he outlined his plans for the bayou cruise, which had been Adele’s idea.

  “But you don’t have a boat.”

  “Celeste said to buy one.”

  “Wow. This could be really cool. Hey, I know, you could have a raffle. Give away a free weekend for two. Get people to sign up, and you’ve got an awesome mailing list.”

  “You could do the same—have a raffle for a big gift basket with bread and honey—”

  “You’re right. Oh, but when will I ever have time to do all this? With the dinner—you wouldn’t believe what has to be done to the opera house just to meet code requirements. I’m going nuts already.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll work on it together.” Damn, he liked the sound of that way more than he should have. And what about his promise to Doc that he would leave Loretta alone? But how could he leave her alone when they would be working long hours side by side?

  Hell, Doc would just have to understand. Celeste had spoken, and he knew as well as anyone that you couldn’t say no to Celeste.

  “If you say so. We’ll need to get together and start making plans and shopping lists and— Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”

  “What?” Luc demanded. She sounded downright panicked.

  “There’s black smoke pouring out of my brick oven. The fire’s gone out of control!” And she hung up.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LUC DIDN’T THINK, he acted. He dialed the head of the volunteer fire department, Chuck Bell, to tell him there wa
s a fire at the Indigo Bakery. Then he ran out of the house, jumped into his car and headed to Loretta’s as fast as he could go. He narrowly managed to avoid hitting a fat chicken that had wandered out onto the road in front of Yvonne Valois’s house.

  He was reassured when he caught sight of the Indigo Bakery and didn’t see any flames. But the front door was open, and wisps of black smoke wafted out.

  He was out of the Tahoe before it came to a full stop and ran full tilt for the bakery entrance. “Loretta! Loretta, where are you?”

  She appeared at the door, waving a newspaper to dispel the smoke, and she was coughing.

  Luc reached in and grabbed her arm, dragging her out into the fresh air. “The fire department is on its way.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no need. The fire is out. The chimney on my wood stove wasn’t drafting, that’s all.”

  “Did you forget to open the flue?”

  “No, I’m sure it was open.”

  Luc called Chuck back and let him know he could call off the brigade, everything was fine. Then he went inside to assess the situation. The smoke was already dissipating.

  “I don’t think there’s any real damage,” Loretta said. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  Luc walked through the bakery back into Loretta’s house, though she hadn’t invited him to do so, and found a back door off the kitchen. He opened it to help draft the smoke. On the way, he couldn’t help take notice of Loretta’s home. It was clean and uncluttered, decorated simply, but the walls were painted in vibrant shades—turquoise, bright green, magenta.

  It seemed there was a wild side to Loretta Castille that Luc had yet to experience. But he wanted to. Oh, yeah.

  He found an empty box by the back door. Flattened, it made a good fan, and he joined Loretta back in the bakery to get rid of the last of the smoke. The scent was still in the air, and probably would be for a while, but at least his eyes were no longer burning and Loretta had stopped coughing.

  “Have you ever had trouble with the oven before?” he asked.

  “No, never. My father drew up the plans—after consulting fifteen books on the subject, of course—and we built it together. I have a small commercial oven in my kitchen, but I liked the idea of using a wood stove. Bread just tastes better, somehow. I’ve been experimenting with artisanal bread—I really want to push it at the festival.”