Something Beautiful and Lacey's Retreat: Something Beautiful / Lacey's Retreat
Praise for Lenora Worth and her novels
“Lacey’s Retreat by Lenora Worth is rich in characterization and romance with an endearing hero.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Lenora Worth’s A Perfect Love is a beautiful testimony to the true meaning of family and forgiveness. The romantic pacing is just perfect, and the faith message is subtle but heartfelt.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Lenora Worth creates a character with a Heart of Stone that will have readers longing to melt it. Her best story yet, it is filled with spiritual depth and hidden meaning, including an interesting bit of history.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Easter Blessings: The Lily Field by Lenora Worth is perhaps the most beautiful and moving Love Inspired book I’ve read.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Something Beautiful & Lacey's Retreat
Lenora Worth
CONTENTS
SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
LACEY’S RETREAT
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
LENORA WORTH
has written more than thirty books, most of those for the Steeple Hill line. In addition, she works freelance for a local magazine, where she has written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for five years for the local paper. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-two years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.
So we do not lose heart….
For this slight momentary affliction
is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory
beyond all measure, because we look at what
cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary,
but what cannot be seen is eternal.
—2 Corinthians 4:16–18
In memory of my mother-in-law, Patsy.
And to all the breast cancer survivors out there.
Chapter One
She was a vision in the mist.
Lucas Dorsette quietly eased his pirogue through the dark, brackish swamp waters, maneuvering the long paddle pole around blue-blossomed water hyacinths and gnarled gray cypress stumps until he reached the boathouse nestled between the back garden and the bayou. But he stopped before anchoring the small canoelike boat against the weathered dock.
He looked again through the low mist, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining the woman who stood under the ancient weeping willow tree on the shore, her head turned so he could see her profile as she looked over the dark, chocolate waters of the bayou.
No, he wasn’t seeing things. This vision was real.
And she was exactly his type.
She was tall and slender, with a classic face that spoke of strong bone structure. She held her arms wrapped against her midsection, as if to ward off the humid chill the rising dawn had left. Long blond hair that changed from white-gold to rich yellow in the growing light hung down her back almost to her waist. She was wearing white—a long, flowing cotton dress that made Lucas think of other, more simple times. The woman looked as if she’d just stepped out of another century.
Curious, Lucas kept his eyes on her while he roped the pirogue to the dock. Then he hopped on the planked boards, his actions quick and quiet, so as not to startle the woman who stood only a few feet away, her eyes centered on the water, her body turned away from the summer gardens of Bayou le Jardin.
Lucas stood there in amazement, his gaze taking in the woman with the old southern mansion behind her. He had to swallow, blink his eyes. It was the way the rays of first light shot down from the sky to touch the woman’s face there in the soft mist, as if the very hand of God was reaching out to this fascinating stranger.
Which certainly made for a breathtaking picture. One Lucas would surely never forget.
In her long white dress with the early morning breeze lifting her thick, lush hair from her shoulders, she looked as if she belonged right there in that spot under the willow tree. Especially with the backdrop of his beloved home behind her.
The stark, classic beauty of the mansion always left Lucas a bit awestruck, even though he’d lived here since he was nine years old. He respected the quiet dignity of the old house, though he rarely stayed in his bedroom on the third floor.
Lucas preferred the swamp to the house, preferred the gardens to the parlor, preferred to be left to his own devices whenever time and duty permitted. He had a nice, cozy cabin deep in the swamp, a cabin he’d salvaged and renovated with his own hands, along with the help of some good, hardworking people. He had ample food from the gardens, the fields and the bayou; he had good books to read at night and good tunes to play on his saxophone when the mood struck him. He had his plane to fly when he wanted to be up above it all, his horse to ride when he wanted to feel the wind on his face, and he had several lucrative ventures going, enough to bring in plenty of cash for a man of simple means. And he had friends to find on a lonely Saturday night and church to attend on any given Sunday. Aunt Hilda would remind him that he had the blessed assurance of Jesus Christ, too, of course. If he ever stood still long enough to listen for it.
Lucas was content to travel through the bayou, content to watch over his aunt Hilda and his sisters, Lorna and Lacey. Content to flirt shamelessly with all the local belles while never seriously getting involved with any of them. He’d never wanted for anything else.
Until now.
Now, Lucas saw the home he loved, the home he respected and had vowed to watch over, in a different light.
Now he saw her there in the picture—this mysterious, lovely creature who’d somehow appeared, like a vibrant flower sprung to life, in the dew-kissed gardens.
Lucas didn’t know who the woman was.
But he certainly intended to find out.
His sisters accused him of falling in love too easily and too often, and he supposed that was right.
‘Cause it was about to happen again. In a very big way.
Lucas grinned, then started walking toward the woman, instinct telling him this time things might be different. Because this time, he knew in his heart he’d just stumbled across…something beautiful.
And then the cameras started flashing.
Lucas blinked twice, watched as the tranquil woman whirled and with a loud groan took off in a mad dash toward the house, her long hair and long dress flying around her as if she were a runaway bride.
The cameras followed her. Two of them with big zoom lenses, carried by two rather burly-looking men who’d popped out from behind a cluster of camellia bushes.
“Willa?” one of the men shouted. “Just one picture, Willa. C’mon, people want to know why you backed out of that runway show in New York!”
“Go away,” the woman shouted in a voice that was as cultured and gleaming as the single strand of pearls she wore around her neck. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
But the two determined photographers kept right on coming. Like a set of hound dogs chasing a rabbit into the swamp, they practically fell over each other in their haste to get to the elusive woman.
Lucas watched, angered and amazed, as one of the overstuffed men stomped right through Aunt Hilda’s prized miniature rose garden then almost tripped over his own feet as he sprinted to get a close-up of the woman he’d called Willa.
“Get away from me,” the woman said, her hands on her hips, her stare full of anger and defiance.
The cameras took it all in, clicking with a constant whine. One of the men laughed. “Good shot. That’ll make the cover.”
“I’ll get a better one for my cover,” the other one snarled.
Lucas took two long strides and stepped between the beauty and the beasts.
“You heard the woman,” he said on a low growl, one hand shoving at the first man while he held his other hand in warning toward the second photographer. “Get away from her now.”
“And who are you?” Burly Number One asked, his double chin jutting over his cheap navy and red striped tie.
Lucas grinned, then shifted his gaze from one man to the other. Slapping a hand across the rough denim of his jeans, he turned and winked at the beauty who’d automatically taken up a position behind his protective back. “Who am I? Moi?” He chuckled low, then shook his head. “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Lucas Dorsette. I live here. And you two seem to be pestering this lovely lady, not to mention trespassing on private property.”
Burly Number Two looked at Number One, rolled his eyes, then adjusted his heavy camera. “Let’s go, man.”
“We weren’t talking to him,” Number One replied, frowning at Lucas. “And I just wanted a minute with you, Willa. Just a couple of pictures for this week’s issue.”
“Me, too,” Number Two added, glaring at the other photographer. “We have a much bigger circulation than that rag he works for.”
Lucas turned to smile at the woman and felt the up-close essence of her beauty in a gut punch right to his stomach. It was hard to speak, but he managed to keep his cool so he could continue defending that beauty and look good in her eyes. “Willa, do you have anything to say to these two…gentlemen?”
“Not a word,” she replied, gratitude sparkling like rainwater in her breathtaking crystal-blue gaze. “I’d really like them to just go away,” she added through a perfect row of clenched gleaming white teeth.
Lucas shrugged, then dropped his hands to his sides. “Then I guess that settles it, hein?” Taking a step toward the two photographers, he said, “Get off my property right now or I will call the sheriff.”
“Let’s go,” Number Two told Number One, backing away. “We got enough pictures, anyway.”
“Speak for yourself,” Number One retorted, posing his camera toward Willa. Until he saw the look in Lucas’s eyes. Then he shrugged and brushed past the apparent competition. “Okay, guess I do need to get back to my hotel room and get these developed—so I can beat you to the scoop.”
The race was on as the two jostled each other.
“Hey, hold on there, fellows,” Lucas said, surprising the entire group. Then he turned to the woman. “Do you want these two to have pictures of you?”
“No,” she said, her incredible eyes burning holes through the two motley, perspiring men.
Lucas held his hand up, motioning to the two. “Let’s have it, please.”
“Have what?” It was a whining chorus.
“The film,” Lucas replied, a smile forming on his lips. “Now.”
“You can’t take our film,” Burly Number One protested, sweat popping on his pale forehead.
“Watch me, mon ami.” Lucas grabbed the man’s camera, opened it and took the film out, inch by inch.
“Hey, you just ruined that!”
“Yes, I did.” Then he turned to the other man, his hand outstretched. “Hand it over, unless you want me to report you to the authorities.”
Reluctantly, and with great disgust, the man handed over the roll of film from his camera. “That belongs to me, you know. To Famous Faces magazine.”
“Yeah, well, now it belongs to me,” Lucas stated as he dropped the ruined film on the ground and rubbed his suede hiking boot across it, disdain evident in his actions. “Now, leave the way you came in—which was probably over the side fence.” He’d have to remember to have Tobbie check that broken fence again.
“Can’t you let us out the gate?” Number One whined.
Lucas turned his head in a gesture of disbelief. “Since I didn’t invite you in, why should I be gracious in letting you out?” Then he motioned toward the driveway that wound around the gardens. “Dig a trench, for all I care, but get out of here, and don’t let me catch you back again. Ever. Or mine will be the only famous face you remember.”
“You’ll be hearing from my publisher,” one of the men called as they trudged away, both huffing and puffing.
“I’ll look forward to it,” Lucas replied, chuckling.
He pulled a walkie-talkie off his leather belt.
“Tobbie, you there?” At Tobbie’s crisp answer, Lucas said, “Two men are approaching the side fence, that place near the tulip gardens where the fence needs repairing. Would you kindly escort them off the property?”
“With pleasure, for true,” Tobbie said, his hoot of laughter echoing over the static.
Satisfied that the oversize Tobbie Babineaux would scare the living daylights out of the two and send them packing, Lucas grinned.
And then her turned to her. “Fans of yours?”
Willa O’Connor looked at the man who’d come to her rescue and wished she knew how to answer his question.
“Not exactly,” she replied, still in shock after being ambushed in what she’d taken to be an isolated, secluded spot. “They work for some of those supermarket tabloids. Celebrity Exposé and, as you heard, Famous Faces. They like to travel in packs so they can attack from several different angles, then fight each other for the best shots.”
“So you’re a celebrity, then?”
“Somewhat,” she replied, not wanting to reveal too much.
She waited as the man took his time letting that little tidbit settle in. While he did that, he looked her over, his dark eyes full of doubt and mirth, his olive skin alive with a fine sheen of sweat in spite of the early morning breezes. He was certainly a handsome thing, with his long, curling brown-black hair and those chocolate-colored eyes that seemed to take in everything around him with a careless, lazy observation.
“Lucas,” she said, recognition making her gasp as she remembered the name he’d given the two reporters. “You’re Lorna’s brother, right?”
“Oui, and her favorite brother, at that,” he said, his grin full of promise and trouble as he reached a hand toward hers. “And from what I gathered from those two camera-toting clowns, your name is Willa?”
Willa tentatively took his hand, shaking it as she nodded then tried to pull away. But he held her. His hand was warm and work-callused, with long, artistic fingers that seemed to cling to her palm a bit too much for comfort. Lucas Dorsette didn’t just shake her hand; he held it as if it were a treasure. And then he did something even more unexpected. He bent his head and kissed her hand.
“Hello, Willa,” he said as he lifted his head, those dark, mischievous eyes sparkling with way too much charm. “Where on earth did you come from?”
“She came from New York,” Lorna said from behind him. “And she’d probably like her hand back, big brother.”
Willa watched as Lucas shrugged, then turned his head toward his sister and her husband, Mick, as they strolled down the garden path from the house. But he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he kept it tucked in his then brought it down, holding it as if they’d been lifelong friends. “I’ll give it back…in a little bit.”
Willa didn’t wait for him to decide when. She gave him a slight smile, then pulled her hand away so she could wave to Lorna, glad for the distraction and glad to have her tingling hand away from his overly warm fingers. “Hello there. I was just about to explain to your brother what I’m doing here.”
“Let me,” Lorna said, giving Willa a light hug. Then she turned to Lucas. “Lucas, this is my friend Willa O’Connor. She arrived late last night. I met Willa in Paris a few years ago, and we’ve kept in touch since then. She needed a few days to herself, so I invited her to come down here to Bayou le Jardin. And I expect you to give her some much-needed space.” Then she yanked playfully on a silky strand of her brother’s unkempt hair. “And I expect you to behave yourself.”
“Don’t I always now?” Lucas said, his gaze zooming in on Willa with all the bright-eyed intent of someone who never, ever behaved himself.
Oh, she loved his accent—part southern gentleman, part backwoods Cajun, slow and easy and downright irresistible. Lucas Dorsette was everything his sister had described and more. A true contradiction—fierce and gentle, mysterious and gallant. Handsome and fun-loving.
A lethal combination of charm and rebellion.
Lorna had warned her.
But he had come to her rescue like some gallant knight from a romance novel. Only who was she kidding? Willa knew she needed another man in her life like she needed another pair of designer shoes. She’d had way too many of both.
And she’d come down to Louisiana to clean her closet, get the cobwebs out of the attic, so to speak. Decide what to do about her crumbling life. She didn’t need Lorna’s handsome brother complicating her already complicated existence.
And yet, she could still feel the warmth of his lips on the back of her hand.
“Your brother has behaved perfectly this morning,” she told Lorna. “He helped me out of a very sticky situation.”
“What happened?” Lorna asked as she leaned against her good-looking husband’s chest. Mick automatically wrapped his arms around Lorna, holding her close as they waited for Willa to answer.
Willa envied the happiness her friend had found in the spring, envied Lorna’s glowing face and contented newlywed smile. She was glad Lorna had found some peace at last. She’d come to Lorna’s beloved gardens hoping to find some peace of her own.
But apparently, it wasn’t to be.
“I’m afraid I’ve been found,” she said. “The press—two goons from the tabloids.”
“They were hiding in the bushes like possums,” Lucas said, his dark brows lifting as he watched Willa. “And hey, jolie fille, mind telling me what that was all about? Why did those two want pictures of you so bad, besides the fact that you’re beautiful and so obviously photogenic, and as you said, somewhat of a celebrity?”
Willa had to smile at the innocence of his question. A man who didn’t know her face? A man who really didn’t follow every aspect of her career? She found that hard to believe, but it was a refreshing change, at least.
Lorna gave her brother a gentle slap on the arm. “You dolt, don’t you know who she is?”
Lucas nodded. “Yes, she’s Willa O’Connor, fair maiden and friend of Lorna. Isn’t that all I need to know?”
“Yes,” Willa said.
“No,” Lorna replied, rolling her eyes. Then she took her brother by the face, holding a hand to his jaw. “Willa is a supermodel. Her face is famous all over the world. And right now, she’s supposed to be resting—away from all the cameras and the spotlights. So you did the right thing by sending those two away.”
“They’ll be back, and they’ll bring others with them,” Willa stated, her head down. “Which means I probably should leave soon. I don’t want to disrupt your home or bother any of your other guests.”
“Nonsense,” Lucas said before Lorna could reply, his dark eyes gleaming with new knowledge. “If you came here to find rest and relaxation, then that’s exactly what you’ll get. And I’ll put myself personally in charge—just to make sure.”
Lorna’s husband, Mick, spoke up. “How, uh, noble of you, Lucas.”
“Ain’t it, though?” Lucas replied, clearly unaffected by his brother-in-law’s teasing. “Personal detail—I’m good at that. I can be your tour guide, your bodyguard, whatever you need me to be.” He held his hand over his heart, then gave Willa a besotted, lopsided grin that had her laughing in spite of herself.
But the way he’d spoken left her wondering exactly what his many talents entailed. Probably heartbreaker, rake, charmer, just to name a few.
“Easy, brother,” Lorna cautioned. “She needs to rest. And if I know you, that word translates more into restless. Don’t drag her out into the swamp for any ‘gator sightings just yet.”
Lucas looked affronted. “The swamp can be a very restful spot. And highly romantic.”
Willa had to smile again. “Rest I need. And as for romance, I’m afraid I’ve given up on that forever.”
“Forever is a long time, suga’,” Lucas countered. “Me, personally, I couldn’t survive without a little romance now and then.”
His dark, unwavering gaze washed over her, telling her that neither could she—if he had his way.
“I warned you,” Lorna reminded Willa, taking her husband’s hand to head to the house. “Breakfast is ready, if you can tear yourself away from my poetic brother.”
“I’ll escort you,” Lucas told Willa, tucking his arm around hers before she could take a step. “According to our aunt Hilda, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Willa’s already met Aunt Hilda,” Lorna called over her shoulder. “She had an early meeting in town so she couldn’t stay for breakfast with our guests, but she did urge Willa to eat a good meal.”
“See?” Lucas ducked his head low, his words coming in a warm rush near Willa’s ear. “And she always let’s me say grace.”
Grace. Willa wondered what that word meant, exactly. She’d been told she had a natural grace. She was in demand because of that, at the top of her career. And she’d just walked out on one of the most important fashion shows in the industry. How was that for having grace? How was that for saving grace?
She knew Lorna’s family was devout. Lorna had never made any secret of her Christianity, nor of her strong faith. Was that what real grace was all about? And could this beautiful, timeless garden really bring Willa the spiritual and physical healing her doctor and her friend had told her she needed?
Not if her first morning here was any indication. Two photographers in the bushes and a handsome Cajun on her arm, and all before breakfast.
“I’ve been up since before dawn. I’m stark, raving starving, and beating off thugs only added to my appetite,” Lucas said, bringing her out of her tormented, confused thoughts.
Willa had to wonder how he stayed in such good shape if he ate like a madman all the time. But she decided it’d be better to put such thoughts out of her mind. “Thanks for your help back there,” she told him, meaning it. “I was hoping no one would find me here.”
“They won’t again—not with me on the case, I guarantee.”
He’d stretched out that last word, his Cajun accent every bit as teasing as his merry grin. Obviously, he wasn’t as concerned about intrusive reporters as she was.
“I don’t expect you to be my protector, Lucas. I’m capable of handling them myself. After all, I’m used to it.”
He looked at her, those dark, dancing eyes touching her as closely as his arm holding hers. And making her feel extremely warm in the morning sunshine. “So you’re a model. That figures. You’ve got the face and figure for it.”
Willa looked away, toward the house where the few other guests had gathered around the long buffet table set on the downstairs gallery. “That’s what they tell me. Always in demand.”
If Lucas noticed the sarcasm in her tone, he didn’t let on. “But you didn’t come down here to be in demand, so you don’t have to handle it while you’re here. I’ll beef up security and make sure we watch everyone who comes in and out the gate. If you came here to rest, then that’s what we want you to do.”