When Love Came to Town

Chapter Two

He had expected the strong coffee. Louisiana was famous for that. And he had expected the house to be big, cool and gracious. It had once been a plantation house and now served as an historical bed-and-breakfast vacation spot. But what Mick hadn’t expected was the fierce intelligence and remarkable strength of the three women sitting out on the gallery having breakfast with him.

Nor had he expected to be extremely smitten by the very one who’d chewed him out in two different languages not an hour ago.

But then, Mick was beginning to expect the unexpected at Bayou le Jardin.

“Have your men had enough to eat, Mr. Love?”

He glanced over at Hilda Dorsette. The breakfast of French toast, biscuits, ham, grits and eggs, and fresh fruit had been more than enough. “Yes, ma’am, I think they’ve eaten their fill. And we sure appreciate your giving us breakfast. We cranked up in the middle of the night to get here by daylight.”

“Well, we appreciate your willingness to help out,” the older woman replied as she watched several of the workers going about their jobs.

Mick gave a slight nod while keeping a watchful eye on the bucket trucks. As he watched the rookie named David spike a tree so he could climb it, he added, “Claude Juneau and I go way back. I didn’t mind helping him out one bit. Just sorry for the noise and clutter.”

“What noise? What clutter?” The teasing light in her eyes made Mick relax, even as another chain saw cranked up and went to work on cutting up a big limb.

Mick figured the noisy wenches, stomp cutters and wood chippers would frazzle anybody’s nerves. But Hilda Dorsette sat sipping her coffee as if she had heavy equipment in her fragile garden every day of the week.

Mick liked Aunt Hilda. She was plumb, petite and no-nonsense. And she was the mayor of the nearby town of Jardin—another unexpected revelation. Dressed in a bright salmon-colored casual top and a sturdy khaki flared skirt, she looked ready to take on the day. With her coiffured silver-gray hair and bright blue eyes, she was a charmer. And shrewd, too.

“I’m glad you took the time to explain the work you’re doing,” she told him. “I’ve heard of tree services and tree surgeons, of course. We’ve had a local tree expert watching over our great oaks for years now. But I never knew utility companies rely on companies such as yours to help them out of tight spots.”

With that statement, she finished the last of her coffee, then set the delicate china cup down on its matching saucer. “Since we seem to be in your capable hands, I’m going to leave the girls in charge while I let Tobbie drive me into the village to see what else needs to be done there. I’m sure the Mayor’s Office will be hopping with activity again this morning, and my assistant Kathryn is already there waiting on me. We have to coordinate the Red Cross efforts and make sure everyone is fed and sheltered. So many people lost everything.” She shook her head, then rose from the white wrought-iron chair. “I am so very thankful that Bayou le Jardin only lost trees and some of the storage buildings. It could have been much, much worse.”

Mick got up as she did, helping her with her chair. “I understand, Miz Dorsette. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“And so do you, son.” She glanced at Lorna when she said this, then turned to give Mick a knowing look.

He didn’t miss the implications. Hilda Dorsette figured he’d get the job done, if he could just convince her niece to stay out of the way.

He sat back down, hoping to do just that. Glancing from Lacey to Lorna, he said, “So, do you two ladies have any more questions or concerns?”

Lacey smiled over at him. “I don’t. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I think the best thing we can do is leave you to your work.”

She got up, too, and again Mick did the gentlemanly thing by helping her with her chair. Lacey seemed a tad more centered and serene than her younger sister. Her smile was politeness itself.

“I have to walk down to the shop and make sure what little damage we received falls under the insurance policy.”

“What kind of shop do you run?” Mick asked, once again amazed at the Dorsette women. Except for Lorna. He wasn’t sure what she did around here, except pray and tell people off in French.

“Antiques,” Lacey explained. “The Antique Garden, to be exact. You passed it when you came in through the gate. It used to be the overseer’s cottage. We get a lot of business during the tourist season.”

“I don’t know a thing about antiques,” Mick said. “I move around way too much to set up housekeeping.”

He didn’t miss the way Lorna’s eyebrows lifted, or the little smirk of disdain on her pert face. He guessed someone as countrified and dour as Miss Lorna Dorsette didn’t cotton to a traveling man too much.

“That’s a shame,” Lacey replied, her skirts swishing as she went about cleaning the table. “I love old things. They keep me rooted and remind me of where I came from.”

Mick didn’t need anything around to remind him of where he’d come from. That’s why he kept on moving. But these lovely ladies didn’t need to hear that particular revelation. He sat silent, well aware that he should just get back to work and forget about trying to impress the Dorsette sisters.

Lacey bid them good morning, and that left…Lorna.

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was impatiently tapping a foot underneath the round wrought-iron table. Too much caffeine, he reasoned. And he couldn’t resist the grin or the sideways look. “Uh…and what do you do? How do you stay occupied?”

Lorna tossed her long flaming hair over her shoulder, still staring daggers after her ethereal sister. “Oh, not much,” she stated as she waved a hand in the air. “I guess you could say I’m the chief cook and bottle washer.”

Another surprise. “But I thought Rosie Lee was the cook. And a mighty fine one, at that.”

Mick had first met the robust Cajun woman when the trucks had rolled up over two hours ago. Apparently, she and her equally robust husband, Tobbie, helped out around the place. While Rosie Lee had introduced Mick to Emily, their teenage daughter and Tobias, or Little Tobbie, the youngest of the six Babineaux children, Big Tobbie immediately began assisting Mick’s crew in setting up. Then Rosie Lee and Emily had given everyone coffee to get them started, while Little Tobbie had badgered Mick with questions about all the big equipment.

“What’s that do?” the black-haired eight-year-old had asked, pointing with a jelly-covered finger to one of the bucket trucks.

“That, my friend, lifts my men up high, so they can get to the trees,” Mick had explained.

“Can I have a ride?”

“Hush up,” Rosie Lee had told her youngest son. “That little imp will drive you crazy, Mr. Love.”

Rosie Lee had jet-black hair which she wore in a long braid down her back, and a jolly personality, which caused her to chuckle over her words. At least she was cheerful and down-to-earth. Rosie Lee had given him extra French toast loaded with fresh strawberries. They had bonded instantly.

But Lorna now only gave him a sweet smile that clearly told him he was way out of his league. “Rosie Lee works for me. And she is a very good cook. She and Tobbie, and their entire family for that matter, have been working for us for more than twenty years now. But I do most of the cooking for our guests, and I run the restaurant out back. It was once the carriage house and stables.” She stopped, took a sip of coffee. “We had to shut it down, though. The storm damaged part of the roof, and we’ve got a major leak in one of the dining rooms.”

Mick turned to squint into the trees. “Just how many places of business do y’all have around here?”

She actually almost smiled. “The house, the restaurant and the antique shop. Oh, and our brother Lucas has his own business on the side.”

“What side would that be?”

She shrugged, causing her hair to move like a golden waterfall at sunset back around her shoulders. “You never know with Lucas. He does a little trapping here, a little singing and saxophone playing there, and a little crop dusting whenever someone calls him, but mostly, he does whatever he pleases, whenever the mood strikes him.”

“A trapping, singing, crop-dusting Cajun?” Mick had to laugh. “I’m getting a good picture of your family, Lorna. You pray and stomp. Lacey smiles and flutters. And you just explained Lucas—he likes to play. And I guess Aunt Hilda is the sensible glue that holds all of you together, huh?”

He’d been teasing, but the serious look in her eyes stopped the joke. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “You hit the nail right on the head, especially about Lacey and Lucas, and even me, I guess—although I don’t always stomp around. Aunt Hilda is the backbone of this family, this entire town. You see, we’ve lived with her since we were children. After…after our parents died, she took us in.”

Mick wasn’t grinning anymore. “That’s tough, about your parents. I didn’t mean to make fun—”

Lorna held up a dainty hand. “It’s all right, really.”

But he could see that darkness in her eyes, a darkness that took them from bright green to a deep rich shade of sad. And he could also see shards of fear and doubt centered there, too, as if it wasn’t really all right at all.

Wanting to say something to replace the foot he’d just extracted from his big mouth, Mick said, “Well, Hilda Dorsette seems like a good woman. And this is certainly a beautiful place.”

“Yes, to both,” Lorna replied, drumming her fingers on the table again. “Which is why I overreacted earlier. I just hate to see any part of Bayou le Jardin destroyed, and I guess I felt helpless. So I took it all out on you and your men. But, hey, we can’t change an act of God, can we.”

“No, Mother Nature doesn’t discriminate.”

“And God always has His reasons, I suppose. Aunt Hilda says we should never question God.”

Mick watched as she jumped up—didn’t even give him a chance to help her out of her chair. Did she resent God, then, for taking her parents? No, she’d said she prayed to Him. But…maybe even though she believed in God, she still had some harsh thoughts holed up in that pretty head of hers. And since she couldn’t take everything out on God, Mick Love would probably come in handy.

He was getting the picture, all right.

And he’d have to tread lightly in order to avoid this cute little woman’s wrath. Or he’d have to flirt with her to take her mind off her troubles.

Either way, his time at Bayou le Jardin surely wouldn’t be boring. Not one little bit.

“We’ve still got a little bit of cleaning up to do in the rear gardens,” Mick told Lorna hours later, as they stood beneath the remaining live oaks in the backyard. “Then tomorrow we can start on that big one by the back gallery. I’m afraid there’s not much to do for that one but cut it down and break up as much of that massive stump as possible. Even your expert landscaper Mr. Hayes agrees with me there.”

Lorna placed her hands on her hips, then looked over at the tree that had clipped part of the roof during the storm. The tree looked as if someone had taken its trunk and twisted it around until it had reached the breaking point. “Yes, I suppose if you did try to salvage what’s left, it would only be misshapen and mainly a stump with twigs sprouting from it.” She shook her head. “That tree has been there for centuries.”

“I know,” Mick said, taking her by the arm to guide her around broken limbs and torn roof tiles. “I’ve always loved trees.”

Lorna glanced over at him. He was filthy dirty from stomping around in mud and bushes all day, but he still had an air of authority about him that dirt and sweat couldn’t mask. He’d worked side by side with the ten or so men on his crew, issuing orders in a clear, precise way without ever raising his voice or exerting power. She certainly couldn’t fault him—he’d done a good job of clearing up the debris.

But he sure could use a shower.

Glad she’d had one herself and even more glad she’d changed into a flowing denim skirt and printed cotton scoop-neck T-shirt, Lorna told herself to stop being silly. It had been a very long time since she’d taken time to dress for a man. She wasn’t about to start now. But she had washed her hair, just in case.

Just in case of what?

Wanting to get her mind off Mick Love and back on business, she asked, “Is that why you became a forester, because you like trees?”

Mick shook the dust and dirt out of his tousled hair, then smiled over at her. “Yeah, I guess so. I grew up in rural Mississippi—nothing but trees and kudzu. I used to climb way up high in this great big live oak out in the woods behind our house and pretend I was Tarzan.”

Lorna laughed out loud. “Did you swing through the kudzu vines and yell like Tarzan?”

He actually blushed, just a faint tinge of pink against tanned skin and dirt smudges. “Yeah, and I beat my chest, too.” Then he demonstrated, his fist hitting his broad chest as he made a strange and rather loud call.

“Hey, boss, stop trying to impress that pretty woman and tell us it’s time to call it a day, please.”

Mick and Lorna turned to find Josh Simmons, Mick’s assistant and crew foreman, laughing at them from the corner of the house.

Josh stepped forward, his hard hat in his hands, a big grin on his chocolate-colored face. “Miz Dorsette, that’s the only way he knows how to attract females.”

Mick groaned. “Yeah, and sometimes it only brings out the wrong kind.”

Lorna could understand that. Even pretending to be a savage, Mick Love made her shudder and wonder. He was definitely all male, and every bit as tempting as any Tarzan she’d ever seen at the movies. And he was as tanned and muscular as any outdoorsman she’d ever been around.

Stop it, Lorna, she told herself. Then to bring her simmering heart back under control, she asked, “Where are you and your crew staying?”

Mick looked surprised. “Hadn’t really thought about that. Is there a hotel around here?”

Lorna scoffed, then waved a hand. “We are a bed-and-breakfast, Mick. Why don’t you stay here?” And wondered immediately why she’d just invited the man to stay at her home.

“But that would be way too much trouble,” Mick replied, his blue eyes skimming over her face, her hair. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense,” Lorna exclaimed. “Most of our guests have checked out because of the storm, anyway.” Trying to hide the fact that his eyes moving over her made her feel like a delicate flower lifting to find the sun, she turned to Josh, instead. “We have several guest cottages around the bend in the lane. The storm missed them—just some minor repairs. They sleep six to a cottage, so you and your men can take the first two. They’re clean and waiting, and they have bathrooms and everything you need to be comfortable. Breakfast is at the main house, and the restaurant should be open again in a day or so. We’ll furnish all of your other meals there, free of charge. And if we can’t open up again, don’t worry. Rosie Lee and I will see to it that you’re fed properly.”

“We couldn’t—”

“Mick, you drove for hours to come here and help us—I insist.”

They stood there, staring at each other. Lorna knew she’d just issued more than an invitation for a place to stay. And so did Mick Love. At least, the expectant look in his eyes gave her that impression.

“Well, what’s it gonna be, boss?” Josh said, a questioning gaze widening his face. “These fellows are dirty and hungry and about to fall asleep in their boots.”

Mick looked back at the trucks, where the men sat gathered and waiting for his next order. Then he turned back to Lorna. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” she told him, wishing that were true. Having Mick Love underfoot day and night meant having a big complication in her life. And she didn’t need any complications right now. As far as men were concerned, anyway. She’d had enough of those to last a lifetime. But then, she couldn’t send the man away. Not after the hard work he’d put in cleaning up the gardens. And there was still lots of work ahead.

“It just makes sense,” she said aloud, but more to convince herself than Mick. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

Mick wrinkled his nose, which made him only look more adorable. “At least a couple of days, maybe all week.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll have Rosie Lee get the keys and some fresh towels, and Tobbie can show you to the cottages.”

“Okay,” Mick said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. We owe you our own thanks.”

After finding Rosie Lee and telling her what needed to be done, Lorna watched as Mick and his men followed Tobbie to the cottages. She could handle this. She could handle having him around for a couple of days. Soon, this mess would be cleaned up, and he’d be gone, and life would return to normal.

Then Lucas came strolling up, a lopsided grin on his handsome face. “Chère, you look tired. Long day?”

Lorna nodded her head, then frowned up at him. “Yes, long day. And where have you been?”

Her brother shrugged, tipped his black curly haired head. “Never you mind. I had things to see about.”

Lorna knew she wouldn’t get anything more from Lucas. He was either playful or moody, depending on which way the tide was flowing.

She hurried ahead of him. “I want to survey the damage once more before dusk. Since you didn’t take the time this morning to see for yourself, you can come with me or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Little sister isn’t pleased with Lucas,” he said, his long fingers, touching her on her chin, trying to tickle a smile out of her.

Lorna refused to give in to her brother’s charms. She was furious with him for staying away all day. Just like Lucas to slink off and hide from his responsibilities. Or maybe he just couldn’t face the natural disaster that had almost destroyed his beloved Bayou le Jardin. He’d been up before any of the rest of them, and gone by sunrise.

Lucas was always full of surprises, so she wouldn’t put it past him to have been off helping someone else get through the devastation of the storm, rather than face his own close brush with mortality. Lucas laughed at death, had stood out on the gallery in the wee hours, daring the storm to pass over Bayou le Jardin. And had probably been just as scared and worried as any of them. But he’d never come out and admit that, of course.

Well, this storm had rattled all of them. Lorna offered a prayer for peace and calm. She just wanted things fixed and back to normal. After everything she’d been through leading up to her return to Bayou le Jardin, she now liked “normal.”

But then Lucas grabbed her by the hand, his next words really taking her by surprise. “Oh, by the way, I just ran into Mick Love. Seems like a nice enough fellow. I invited him up to the house for supper.”

And that’s when Lorna Dorsette realized her life might never return to normal again.

Chapter Three

“I can’t believe Lucas asked the man up here for supper. I was fully prepared to send something down to Mick and the rest of his crew.”

Lorna flounced around in the big kitchen, worrying over the thick, dark shrimp-and-sausage gumbo she and Rosie Lee had been preparing all afternoon. After stirring the gumbo yet again, she opened the door of one of the two industrial-sized ovens to make sure her French bread was browning to perfection.

“Will you relax,” Lacey told her from her spot across the kitchen. “Lucas probably heard about the ruckus between Mr. Love and you this morning, that’s all. Knowing Lucas, he deliberately invited Mick here just to get on your nerves.”

Lorna whirled to glare at her sister. Why did Lacey always looked so pulled together, when Lorna felt like a limp, overcooked noodle? In spite of the cool night, the spring humidity and the heat from the ovens was making her sweat like a sugar-cane farmer, while it only made her older sister glisten like a lady.

Blowing hair off her face, she said, “Well, you’re all getting on my nerves. You with your smirks and teasing remarks, Lucas with his shenanigans—and now I’ve got to sit through supper with Mick Love hovering around. I just want to curl up with a good book and then sleep for twelve hours, but I’ve got the restaurant repairs to worry about and a million other things to keep me awake.” Never mind Mick Love, she thought to herself.

Lacey finished putting ice in the tall goblets Rosie Lee had lined up on a serving cart, then turned to her sister. “Well, you can prove Lucas wrong, you know. He just likes to shake things up, then sit back and watch the fireworks. So, don’t give him anything to watch.”

Lorna lifted her chin a notch. “You might be right there. If I act like a perfect lady, using the impeccable manners Aunt Hilda instilled in all of us, then Lucas will be sorely disappointed and Mick Love will be put in his place.”

“And just what is his place?” Lacey said, lifting her perfectly arched brows. “I think Lucas is right, if he did figure this out. I think Mick Love gets to you.”

“Don’t be a dolt,” Lorna retorted. “I simply meant that Mick Love is here to do a job, and that should be that.”

“You’d think.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“If the man has no effect on you, why are you so nervous? You’re jumping around like a barn cat.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Lorna retorted again. “And if everyone around here would just mind their own business—”

“Have we ever?” Lacey shot her a tranquil smile, then took the tea tray. Pushing through the swinging door from the kitchen to the formal dining room, she called over her shoulder. “Better take a deep breath, sister. Mr. Love just walked in the back door.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lorna mumbled, after her sister was well out of earshot. “Nothing ever ruffles your feathers. Smooth as glass, calm as a backwater bayou. That’s our Lacey.”

She’d often wondered how her sister got away with it. Lacey held it all together, no matter what. She was the oldest, had witnessed the death of their parents. Lacey had saved Lucas and Lorna from a similar fate by hiding them away, but none of them ever talked about that. Ever.

Especially Lacey. She kept it all inside, hidden beneath that calm countenance. And she’d done the same thing when she’d become a widow at an early age, and through all the other tragedies in her life since. She’d even remained calm during the thrashing of the storm, never once moaning or whining or worrying.

Lacey had herded the few terrified guests—an older couple staying in the downstairs blue bedroom and a set of newlyweds staying in the honeymoon suite on the second floor—down into the kitchen root cellar along with the family, soothing them with soft words all the while, telling them not to worry.

Lorna had done enough of that for all of them, she supposed. But she hadn’t whined aloud. She’d pleaded and prayed with God to spare her home and guests, to spare her town, from any death or destruction brought on by the wailing tornado bearing down on them.

Even now, she could hear the wind moaning, grinding around the house…. Wind that only reminded her of that other night so long ago.

“Hey, need any help here?”

Lorna pivoted so fast, she knocked a wooden spoon off the counter. She turned to find Mick standing there in clean jeans and a faded red polo shirt, a lopsided smile on his interesting, little-boy face.

He pushed still-wet hair off his forehead. “Guess I shoulda knocked.”

Lorna held up a hand, willing it not to shake. “It’s okay. You just startled me. I was thinking about the storm and remembering—”

He was across the spacious room in three long strides. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Anger at her brother for putting her in the position of polite hostess, and a need to find control, brought Lorna out of her stupor. “I’m fine. It was just…so scary. I was concerned for our guests, of course. I’m not really afraid of the weather—they say the weather in Louisiana changes every thirty minutes and that does hold some truth—but this storm was different. It was so powerful, so all-consuming. And I just keep remembering—”