Marisa Carroll - Hotel Marchand 09 (11 page)

He leaned closer. The sunlight beat down around them, soft and warming as it filtered through the glass. “Don’t let your heart overrule your good judgment where Carter is concerned.”

“I’m not,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business what I do with my heart.”

He lifted his hand to touch her hair, brushing it back behind her ear. “I know that. It’s my redneck, school-of-hard-knocks way of asking if you’re sweet on him?”

“That’s none of your business, either,” she said, but it took a lot of effort to get the words past the sudden constriction in her throat.

“I’m asking because I don’t go around kissing women who are interested in other men.”

“Kissing?” Her heart thundered in her ears as the blood rushed to her head.

“Yes, kissing.” He reached out and cupped the back of her neck with his big, rough hand. He leaned in just enough to brush his lips over hers. Except for his hand on the back of her neck, it was the only place their bodies touched. She found it surprisingly erotic, surprisingly arousing. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you in front of Savoy’s that night in the rain, with Carter holding that big umbrella and standing too damned close to suit me.”

“I told…”

“I know.” The brush of his lips grew bolder as he tilted her head back. Her lips parted, almost as though they had a mind of their own. She reached up, wrapped her hands around his neck, arched her back so that her breasts brushed against his shirtfront. She could feel the outline of his shield through the thin cotton of her sweater.

The badge was the symbol of his duty and responsibility to Indigo. The duties and responsibilities of a man, not a boy. And his mouth was a man’s mouth. His hands a man’s hands. There was nothing of the boy she had once been infatuated with in his touch or in his kiss, but there were echoes of the younger man who had recaptured her heart, at least for a little while, seven summers ago.

Sophie stiffened at the unwanted memory of Casey Jo bursting in on them.

Alain lifted his head. His eyes were the same dark blue as the bayou sky before a summer storm. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He brushed a tumbled fall of curls behind her ear. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it, because I’d know you were lying.”

“I liked it.” She pressed her lips together. They still tingled from the pressure of his mouth against hers, her body still thrummed with the stirrings of the kind of passion she hadn’t felt in, oh so long.

“But you were remembering the last time we kissed in this building.” He drew his thumb across her cheek and then dropped his hand, taking a step back, giving her space.

She nodded. Words had deserted her.

“Casey Jo and I have been divorced for almost four years, separated a year before that. Ever since she took off and left Guy in tears and Dana still in diapers to try her luck at being a Vegas showgirl.” His voice was flat, a parody of normal, but the humiliation he tried to hide betrayed itself in his storm-dark eyes. “It was the last straw for me, Sophie. I filed for divorce the next day.”

“It’s not about Casey Jo,” she said. “Or at least only partly. You said it yourself. She’s still a part of your life and always will be because you have children together. But it’s about me, too. I’m not the same person I was before. I have a life and a career in Houston. I…I don’t belong in Indigo. I probably never did.” But could she now? Could she leave all she’d worked for behind and become part of this small, insular town? She didn’t know, and at the moment she was afraid to think of trying.

She was trembling. Her hands were shaking and her stomach was all tied up in knots. Her response to him had been even stronger than she’d anticipated. What was left between them? Something more than she wanted to acknowledge? Something that would set her life spinning off down a different path than the one she’d been following?

“We’re getting into pretty deep waters after only one kiss,” he said.

She dared to look in his eyes once more and saw that the passion that had burned in them moments before had been banked. Now the blue depths reflected only her own confusion. “Yes, we are. It’s probably just leftover psychic energy, or old vibes, or something.” She tried for a lighter note and almost made it.

He reached out and touched her lips with the pad of his thumb. “Or something,” he echoed, and the words sent another shiver rippling over her skin.

Or something. Like love?

S
OPHIE SHIFTED
a little in her seat. Her bottom was starting to go numb. The midmorning meeting of the combined Indigo Historical Society and the festival planning group had been going on for over an hour in the private dining room at the rear of the Blue Moon Diner and now threatened to drag on into the noon hour. To give her credit, Marjolaine Savoy had kept the dozen or so Indigo citizens on topic, ruthlessly wielding her power as chairman to cut off what threatened to be a contentious debate on whether it was overreaching to stage a parade on the day of the festival, or if there was any possibility of adding a gala fireworks display in the evening.

The consensus was that the parade was a viable option, but the fireworks were too expensive. The service groups in town had already pledged money for the Fourth of July celebration and probably wouldn’t want to sponsor another one so soon. But it wouldn’t hurt to get their two cents’ worth in for next year, Doc Landry had said before he was called away to look in on the mayor’s ninety-year-old mother-in-law, who was having chest pains. Or indigestion, the crotchety doctor had grumbled on his way out the door. It was his opinion that Delia Larouche would outlive them all.

At that point Sophie had to look down at her hands to hide a smile. She’d met the good doctor once or twice since Maude’s funeral and liked him, despite the perpetual scowl he wore. She had no trouble seeing through the gruff exterior to the caring, dedicated man beneath. What she did find hard to imagine was that in his younger days Mick Landry had played the
frottoir,
or rub-board—a musical instrument that consisted of a piece of corrugated sheet metal affixed to the chest with handles that fit over the shoulders. It was strummed—that was the only word Sophie could think of to describe it—with a thimble or some type of kitchen object and produced a sound that was uniquely Cajun.

Sophie’s short talk on ways the committees could go about improving their fund-raising capabilities had been well received, and although she’d been reluctant when Marjolaine first asked for her input a day or two earlier, she’d enjoyed giving it. She hadn’t told them much they couldn’t have figured out for themselves. Grant money was probably available, but professional grant writers were expensive, although they should consider that outlay of funds if and when they did secure title to the opera house. For the immediate future, though, a direct-mail campaign to area residents and members of other historical groups whose mailing lists were available would probably bring in enough pledges to make the expense worthwhile; talks to area service groups would be enhanced with a slide-show presentation; the Indigo cookbook and CajunFest T-shirt sales had already repaid their initial outlay of funds and could also be used as radio-spot giveaways and advertising bonuses. Basic stuff. She finished by saying she would be more than happy to help in any way she could, as long as she was in Indigo, and once she returned to Houston, she would stay in touch. She sat down to a nice round of applause and the meeting moved on.

She spent a considerable amount of time in meetings with her clients in her work at Clarkson and Hillman, but few were as enjoyable as this one, she realized, even if it had gone on a bit. There had been energy and enthusiasm and a willingness to work hard to promote Indigo. It contrasted strongly with the staid and convention-bound milieu of corporate fund-raising.

Following up on the slide-show presentation suggestion, Hugh Prejean volunteered to search the library archives for old photographs of the opera house and its environs, and someone else offered to photograph some of the old play bills in the attic. But that idea was tabled until they could check with a lawyer and find out if that would be infringing on some right or other of the absentee owner of the opera house.

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him,” a woman Sophie had never met grumbled. “Doesn’t pay two hoots of attention to the place, anyway.”

The meeting broke up shortly after that and the committee members filed out into the main seating area of the restaurant.

Honeycomb hearts in pink and red were suspended on fishing line from the ceiling, clashing with the vintage green vinyl chairs and chrome tables that dated from the fifties. The floor was a checkerboard of black-and-white tiles. The countertop, where most of the regular lunch crowd chose to sit, was stainless steel, polished to a high sheen from years of being wiped down by two generations of waitresses. The room was crowded with diners filling up on the hearty lunch special of red beans and rice and homemade corn bread with a side salad of mixed greens and Willis’s fabulous sweet-and-sour dressing.

Sophie saw an empty seat at the counter and decided to sit there. Willis Jefferson was at his usual place at the grill beyond the wide pass-through where orders were placed and picked up as he carried on a lively conversation with his patrons. She smiled a last goodbye to Marjolaine and turned to find Luc Carter arrowing in on the seat she’d been eyeing. He saw her at the same time and came to a halt. “Ladies first,” he said gallantly.

“That’s okay. I’ll take the table by the window. It’s empty.”

“Are you sure? Counter seats are prime real estate in the Blue Moon.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said, laughing.

But while they’d been talking, the druggist, Byron McKee, had come in the back entrance and slid onto the low stool.

“Uh-oh,” Luc said. “He who hesitates loses the counter seat.”

“Join me at the table, then,” Sophie offered. She had seen little of her host the past several days. She’d had meetings with Maude’s lawyer and her banker, tidying up the loose ends of the estate, and the rest of the time she’d spent at Past Perfect. For his part, Luc was busy with a house full of guests arriving for romantic Valentine’s Day getaways. They were all friendly when she had met them in the dining room for breakfast, or on the porch for tea or cocktails, but they were all couples. And she was not.

She wondered if Luc felt the same?

He pulled out a chair for her and picked up the menu. “I’m having a burger and fries,” he decided. “How about you?”

“The chicken breast salad with feta cheese and green grapes sounds delicious. I’ll have that.”

They gave their orders to the waitress and settled in to wait for their food. “How did the meeting go?” Luc asked. “I couldn’t make it. I had a…business…appointment in Lafayette.”

“Pretty well. Everyone’s enthused and anxious to make it a success.”

“That’s half the battle. I’ve been thinking maybe we could work up some kind of walking tour of the town for the festival. What do you say to that?”

“I think that’s a great idea. You should bring it up at the next meeting.”

“I’ll run it by Marjolaine, get her opinion.”

Sophie filled him in on what had happened during the meeting. The efficient middle-aged waitress returned, served their food, refilled their sweet tea glasses and moved on to another table. Sophie speared a cube of chicken breast and raised it to her mouth. The fine hairs at the back of her neck stirred and she felt Alain’s presence even before she saw him in the doorway of the diner. He was dressed in black as usual and, as usual, he made her heart skip a beat or two.

He didn’t come directly to her. She hadn’t expected him to. The people seated at the tables around them were his friends and neighbors, the citizens he had sworn to serve and protect. He greeted each of them with a half salute, or a wave and a friendly word.

“Carter,” he said when he finally arrived at their table. “Shaping up to be a nice day.”

“Supposed to be nice all weekend,” Luc replied.

“Sophie.” She suppressed a shiver of desire as the smoky heat of Alain’s voice caressed her name.

“Hello, Alain.” She hadn’t seen him since their kiss in the cupola of the opera house two days earlier. She’d thought she had herself under control, that she would be ready for this, but she’d been wrong. She was trembling inside and out, and she couldn’t stop herself from staring at his lips, remembering the feel of them against her own.

“How did the meeting go?” he asked, not quite ignoring Luc’s presence, but coming close. “I got tied up on a 911 call.”

“It went well. Luc and I were just discussing it. He couldn’t make the meeting, either.” She put her fork down so neither of them could see the slight tremor in her fingers. She’d been waiting for Alain to walk into the diner, she realized now. She’d been anticipating seeing him again ever since they’d climbed down out of the cupola and he’d walked off into the sunny afternoon. “They paged Dr. Landry out of the meeting,” Sophie said. “Was that the call you were on?”

“Sam Castille’s mother-in-law.”

“I hope she’s feeling better now,” Sophie said.

“She’s fine. Made herself a batch of jalapeño hush puppies and ate all of them. And then found out they didn’t agree with her.” He grinned and shook his head.

“Jalapeño hush puppies?”

“That’s what she said.”

“But she’s ninety.”

“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t still have an adventurous palate,” Luc chimed in.

They all laughed at that, including Alain.

“I’m so glad she’s all right,” Sophie said, and she meant it. She had a host of acquaintances in Houston but only a few good friends, and all of them were busy with their own lives. They met for dinner or a movie now and then, but in between those events they went their separate ways. She was tired of being alone. She wanted to be part of a community. She wanted to gossip a little about her neighbors, worry about their health, rejoice in their successes. She wanted to belong.

“She’s one tough old lady. She’ll live to be a hundred, at least. I see Willis has my order ready. My dispatcher needs the afternoon off. It’s my turn to man the barricades at the station.”

“Here you are, Chief Boudreaux,” Estelle said, coming out of the kitchen to hand him a plastic bag filled with carryout containers. “Annette’ll ring you up at the register whenever you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks, Estelle.” He accepted the bag with a smile then shifted his attention back to Sophie. “I finally got in touch with the company that installed the security system in the opera house. They’re sending a technician out the first of the week to recalibrate it for you.”

“Thanks, Alain, I appreciate that. The insurance company will be relieved to hear it, too. They’re reluctant to let me open the store without it.” She saw the surprise she’d anticipated at her announcement on Luc’s handsome face, but Alain nodded as if he’d expected it all along.

“When did you make the decision to reopen Past Perfect? Or maybe I should be asking why?” Luc was watching her with those unreadable eyes of his.

“It’s more or less an experiment. And I think it’s what Maude would have wanted me to do.” That conviction more than any other consideration had prompted her decision. “There’s nine months left on the lease and tons, literally, of inventory. Hugh Prejean’s niece, Amelia, has agreed to manage the store for me. She was one of Maude’s best pickers, so she’s qualified, and since she retired from teaching she’s looking for something to do.”

“You should have announced this news at the meeting,” Luc told her. “They’re all worried what the owner will do with the building if Past Perfect moves out.”

“I thought I’d wait a few days to make a public announcement. I’ll take out an advertisement in the
Parish Gazette,
maybe get one of those big banners to put across the front of the building.”

Luc’s smile grew wider at the enthusiasm in her voice. Sophie glanced down at her plate in confusion. She shouldn’t be so excited. It was only a temporary solution, as she’d just said. In a year, more than likely, Past Perfect would be…in the past. The realization jarred. When she looked up again she had her emotions under control.

“This way, everything should be running smoothly by the time I go back to Houston at the end of next week.” She waited for Alain to respond to her statement but he said nothing. If she had been hoping to throw him off stride with her disclosure, she hadn’t succeeded. At least not in any way that showed.

“We’ll be sorry to see you go,” Luc said politely.

“I’ve neglected my work there too long as it is.”

“I understand.”

But did Alain?

“I have to get back to the station. Let me know when the security tech shows up. I’ll come right over.” Alain touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “Carter.”

“See you around, Chief.”

Alain turned his blue gaze back to hers and she realized how wrong she’d been to think he was unmoved. His eyes were storm-cloud dark and the furrow between his brows looked carved into his skin. She wondered if anyone else felt the earth move under their feet the way she did when he said, “Sophie, I’ll see you later.”

A
LAIN CLIMBED
into the Explorer. The calendar might still say it was winter, but as far as he was concerned, it sure felt like spring. Maybe that was why he was so restless and at loose ends. Or it could be because Sophie had said she was going back to Houston in less than two weeks’ time, and he wasn’t ready for that to happen. He took a slow turn around the square. The talk he planned to have with her would have to wait a little while longer. He had a patrol to run, and an important errand to accomplish.

He pulled into a parking space in front of the Flower Basket. He needed to pick up the red roses he’d ordered for his mom and
Mamère
Yvonne for Valentine’s Day before he forgot them and spoiled the effect by producing them a day late. He debated adding another rose to his order for Sophie but decided against it. If he got her anything it shouldn’t be the same thing he’d chosen for his mother and grandmother. Besides, they weren’t at that stage in their relationship yet. Hell, he couldn’t truthfully say they had a relationship—yet.

Fifteen minutes later he was back on the road, two scarlet roses with sprigs of baby’s breath and some kind of fern wrapped in green tissue paper on the seat beside him. Mission accomplished, he radioed the dispatcher that he was heading out along the River Road to make a loop past the Gator Trap and the B&B.