For The Love Of You. Donna Hill
felt as if every sense, every nerve was suddenly jolted awake when they met eye to eye and he took her hand. It still seemed to tingle. But that was silly. It was no more than her overwrought emotions at work.
Then there was her father. Her heart ached as if it had been pounded and abused then shoved back into her chest. Watching the man that she loved, admired and worshipped slowly disappear was, on some days, more than she could manage. Today was one of those days.
Jewel got up from the lounge chair and walked over to the railing that embraced the veranda. She gazed out on the star-filled night. If only she could cast a wish upon a star. She would wish that she had her career back. She would wish that she had her father back, and she would wish that Craig Lawson had never entered her life to remind her of what she’d left behind.
The choices and sacrifices she’d had to make over the past few years had begun to pile upon her soul, weighing it down, an anchor determined to tug her into the depths of no return.
Her stomach twisted with resentment and the guilt of it. She had no right to feel those emotions. But she did. She begrudged the world that had turned its back on her. She cursed fate that had leveled its will upon her father and locked them both in a spinning cycle of decline.
She sighed heavily and searched out the heavens for a star. If only it were that easy. In another six months, she would lose the home she’d grown up in. She’d lose the ability to take care of her father. Opportunity had knocked today—literally—and yet she couldn’t let it in. What was she going to do?
Jewel had spent a sleepless night tossing and turning as dozens of unattainable scenarios played in a loop inside her head. Finally giving up on sleep, she rose with the sun, checked on her father to find him comfortably sleeping, and then puttered around in the kitchen, determined to find a solution to her untenable situation.
Making something always seemed to help clear her thoughts. Had it been at an earlier phase of her life, she would have been found in her studio, sculpting her next piece of art or creating her next abstract on canvas. She couldn’t remember when she’d last molded a piece of clay or chiseled granite or stroked vibrant colors with a paintbrush. Instead her hands and her mind realigned themselves and found a new purpose in baking. The same artistry that she’d used in her work transferred itself to create unique and sumptuous cakes, pies, cookies and muffins. She sold some of her confections to a local baker from time to time and had even prepared one-of-a-kind wedding cakes. Minerva, her father’s home attendant and Jewel’s pseudoconfidante, had for the past year been encouraging her to pursue her baking—take it to the next level, build a business, she’d said. But Jewel couldn’t. She was an artist—at one time a renowned artist who traveled the world and held standing-room-only launches in galleries here in the States and abroad. Baking was a poor second cousin, an outlet for her idle hands and nothing more.
Today felt like a blueberry muffin day, she reasoned, and while the house remained under the blanket of slumber, Jewel created her other brand of magic.
By the time the sun was in full bloom, Jewel’s kitchen was filled with the warmth and aroma of a high-end bakery. She eased the tray from the oven and placed it on the counter to cool then prepared a pot of chamomile tea. With her cup of tea, she took and a plate with a muffin and homemade jam to the veranda and picked up the newspaper en route.
Nestled in her favorite spot, she opened the paper and was hit in the center of her being by the virile image of Craig Lawson, whose face graced the cover with the caption New Orleans Prodigal Son Returns.
The two-page article went on to talk about his meteoric rise in the movie industry and of course the iconic Lawson family, of which he was a part. It hinted at a rift between father and son, but the details were sketchy, giving way to more questions than answers. The one steady theme was that his return and the ensuing project would bring business to the city, as the article indicated that Lawson was a staunch supporter of employing local talent for his projects.
“A regular saint,” Jewel murmured around a mouthful of muffin. She washed it down with a healthy swallow of tea.
She gazed off into the distance. Craig Lawson. He was like many of the stars that peppered his films—larger than life. There was a magnetic pull about him, a swagger and self-assurance that was nearly impossible to resist. She’d felt it when they faced each other, when he clasped her hand in his. She’d felt herself become trapped in the undertow of his dark eyes, and it had taken all that she had to pull herself free. But at what cost?
“There you are.”
Jewel glanced up and over her shoulder and smiled. “Good morning.”
“I see you’ve been busy.” Minerva stepped fully onto the veranda.
“A little.” She laughed, but then her expression turned somber. “How’s Dad?”
“Resting. I’m going to get him his breakfast shortly. I know he’ll be happy to get one of your famous muffins to go with it.”
“Hmm.” She lowered her gaze.
Minerva sat down next to Jewel and placed a comforting hand on her knee. “There are going to be bad days,” she said softly. “You can’t let it overwhelm you. And...as hard as it is for us to accept, there will be more bad days than good.”
Jewel dragged in a breath. “I know,” she whispered. She turned to Minerva. “I’m scared, Minny.”
“Of course you are. But it’s going to be all right. It will. What you have to do is remember that and be the strong woman that he raised you to be. That’s what he needs now.”
Jewel slowly shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. We’re going broke, and fast. How will I take care of him, this house—you?”
Minerva frowned. “I thought you were going to let them do the film. They were willing to pay a pretty big sum, from what I remember you telling me.”
“I turned them down.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“After yesterday’s episode with Dad, I realized that it would be too much for him, too much disturbance. I couldn’t risk that.”
Minerva was pensive for a moment. “It that the real reason?”
“What do you mean? Of course it is. What other reason could I have?”
“Maybe it’s because you aren’t ready to reconnect with the world or forgot how. Your father has withdrawn—and not by choice. You, on the other hand, decided to live this life.”
“He’s my father! What choice did I have?”
“Taking care of your father is one thing—not living your own life is quite another.” She pushed up from her spot and looked down at Jewel. “It’s your decision. Make sure you come to it for the right reason. Your father is going to go through what he will go through whether you let them film here or not.” She patted Jewel’s stiff shoulder and walked back inside the house.
Jewel glanced at the confident face of Craig Lawson staring up at her from the newspaper, almost as if he was challenging her. Was Minerva right? Was it her father that she was trying to protect—or herself from the soul-stirring attraction she felt for Craig Lawson?
* * *
While his team scrambled to get the project back on track and into his good graces, Craig headed out. He was unaccustomed to not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He never allowed anything or anyone to stop him cold—Jewel Fontaine would not become the exception. Everyone had a price, something that could be bargained for. All he needed to do was find out what Jewel’s something was. He fastened his seat belt, put the Suburban in gear and pulled out of the hotel garage.
As he cruised along the streets of New Orleans, the landscape of his youth unfolded in front of him. A great deal had changed since he was last here. Signs