Sweetheart Bride. Lenora Worth
scent of wisteria and jasmine.
Tomorrow, he’d be in the thick of things again and then he could lose himself in his work, day and night.
Except for the times he’d lose himself in watching Brenna Blanchard making everything she touched beautiful.
He strolled toward the old mural that he’d saved after her last-minute plea. The genteel vista spoke of times gone by, times with smiling people walking along the bayou. The women wore colorful colliding frocks and the men looked dapper and distinguished in their waistcoats and top hats.
“Make it beautiful for me, Brenna,” he said out loud, the echo of his solitude shouting back at him.
And he knew, she’d already made everything beautiful.
Too beautiful.
* * *
“He said that?” Winnie grabbed her coffee and took a long swig, her pecan-brown eyes going wide.
“He said exactly that,” Brenna replied, her fork of bread pudding somewhere between her plate and her mouth. “And it was the way he said it, as if he’d never seen anything beautiful before.”
“Must be some mural on that wall,” Callie retorted through a mouthful of the creamy pudding. She finished chewing and let out a sigh. “It’s so romantic.”
“He is not romantic,” Brenna said. “Didn’t you hear the part about him living in a trailer and always being on the move? The man might as well wear a sign that says ‘Don’t bother. I ain’t buying any.’”
“Or maybe the man protests too much,” Winnie replied with her usual sweet smile. “And that in itself is highly romantic.”
“He’s not romantic,” Brenna repeated, trying to convince herself. She couldn’t do it, so she gave up. The man was like a walking Heathcliff—shuttered, disengaged, disturbing...and the total package, the kind of package a woman couldn’t help but tear open. She wanted to dive right in and find the treasure. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t do that.
“I mean, the house is so romantic,” Callie said with another sigh, completely ignoring Brenna’s denial. “I hope I get to sneak in with you and see it all gussied up. I’ve always—”
“Wanted to live there,” Brenna finished. “We all know that.” She shrugged and shot her sister an indulging smile. “At least the new owner is single. He’s a widower. You might have a chance.”
“Oh, how tragic...and romantic,” Callie said on another sigh. “At least we can understand how the man must feel. But why buy such a big house if he’s all alone?” Her expression turned dreamy. “I know. He wants to wander around from room to room, lamenting his lost love. Tragic and poignant.”
Brenna looked at her sister. “Have you ever considered writing a romance novel?”
Winnie brought some clarity to the situation. “Maybe he bought the house for his new bride.”
Callie sat up straight, ignoring Brenna’s question and Winnie’s speculation. “I need to lose about ten pounds and do something about my sallow, washed-out skin and what about these laugh lines? What can I do about that?” She pushed at her long curly golden hair. “And maybe a haircut.”
“No,” both Winnie and Brenna said.
“Don’t cut your hair,” Brenna told her sister. “It took you a while to get it long again.”
Callie nodded, quiet now. “You’re right. I do have good hair in spite of losing it all...before. And besides, what am I thinking? Winnie might be right. He’s probably found a new wife already. Of course, I don’t want to fool with another man. Too much trouble. I might be in remission, but I’m still too tired to tackle a relationship.”
“Amen,” Brenna said. “I don’t mind you stepping out, but not me. So I had a little talk with myself on the way over here. I will remain professional and businesslike. I won’t pry into Nick’s life at all.”
“Yeah, right,” her sister said. Then she leaned close. “Might want to test that theory. Nick just walked in the door and he’s headed straight for our table.”
Brenna gasped. “Why is it that all the men in our life always wind up in this café? Remember how Julien hounded Alma every day, over pie and petulance?”
Winnie giggled. “And suga’, we sure got both.”
Callie looked up with mock-surprise on her face. “Nick Santiago. How in the world are you?”
* * *
“Hello, ladies.” Nick couldn’t help the grin that smeared the sternness off his face. “As if you don’t already know that I’m demanding, surly and hard to work with. I’m sure your pretty sister has filled you in on all my bad qualities.”
Callie didn’t take the bait. “Actually, I’ve been the one filling her in—on what a nice man you can be. I’ve sent enough flowers with your signature on them to know.”
Nick really liked the Blanchard sisters, especially their somewhat sweet naïveté. “Sending flowers does not complete my résumé, Callie.” He gave Brenna a direct stare.
Callie didn’t let that stop her. “No, but I’m pretty good with getting it right with my regulars. You’re the real deal, Nick.”
Brenna cleared her throat. “This little mutual admiration society is endearing, but I have to get going. My boss is demanding.” She shot Nick a daring smile. “Just passing through or did you need to speak to me?”
Nick wanted to keep sparring but duty called. “Actually, I wanted to see both you and Callie. And Winnie, too, for that matter.”
Winnie slapped the table. “The highlight of my day, for true.”
Brenna gave her sister a covert glance. “Have you changed your mind about hiring both of us?”
“No,” Nick said, accepting the glass of water Winnie offered him. “I’m calling an impromptu meeting later this week. Kind of a town hall thing. I’ve had so many questions about what’s happening with Fleur House, I thought I’d answer all of them in one fell swoop.”
“Smart,” Callie said. “What day and time?”
“Six-thirty Thursday, inside the church fellowship hall.” He turned to Brenna. “And I want you there to take a few notes on ideas the people of Fleur might have about the house and gardens. We have a gem of a home right here in Fleur and my client wants to make sure everyone here is comfortable with what will probably become a tourist attraction. He hopes to open both the house and the gardens for tours at certain times when he’s traveling on business.”
“I’ll be there,” Brenna replied, touched that both Nick and he-who-she-couldn’t-mention were willing to do this for the town.
Callie stood up. “Nick, you have to tell us about this man.”
Nick shook his head. “I can’t do that. My contract has a very precise confidentiality clause.”
“Which we will honor,” Brenna replied, sending her sister a warning look.
“Oh, all right.” Callie made a face. “Want a bowl of bread pudding, Nick?”
Nick glanced at Brenna. “I shouldn’t—”
“Oh, live a little, boss,” Brenna said. “It might make you sweeter.”
He laughed at that. “I’ll have some, then. With some of that strong coffee Fleur seems to be famous for.”
Callie brought him his pudding and coffee. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see y’all later.”
He watched as Brenna gathered her things, obviously in a hurry to get away from him. “What is this? I have to eat all alone?”
She stopped,