Sweetheart Bride

Chapter Three

Callie came waltzing into the café and strolled around the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. “I hear Nick came by to see you this morning,” she called to Brenna.

Cringing for the second time that day, Brenna shut the door to the supply closet and grabbed her smirking sister by the arm. “Do you have to announce that so loud they heard it in New Orleans?”

“Well, did he or didn’t he come by?” Callie asked, her loosely knotted bun bouncing against her head. Why did she always have to be so perky?

“Yes, he came to eat breakfast,” Brenna replied. “And how do you know this already?”

“I have my sources,” Callie said, spinning on her short suede boots. She slid onto a barstool and did a matching twirl. “I knew you two would hit it off right away.”

“We didn’t hit it off,” Brenna replied while she stacked napkins into the nearby holder. “But he did offer me a good job.”

Callie actually clapped. “Sounds like you did more than just hit it off. This is better than I expected.”

Brenna held up her hand. “Whoa! Don’t get the wrong idea. We clicked enough that I think I can enjoy working for him. The man offered me a huge amount of money, so yes, we got to know each other rather quickly.”

Callie beamed with pride. “I told you he’d hire you on the spot, didn’t I?”

“You did and he did,” Brenna confessed. “It seems a bit too easy to me. I’m afraid there’s a catch.”

“What catch? No catch other than you’ll be doing the work you love with a handsome man who also appreciates art and beautiful homes.” Callie grabbed a piece of sweet potato pie and began to dig in with relish. “Oh, this is so good. I love Winnie’s sweet potato pie.”

Brenna giggled. “I can tell.” She took a fork and had a bite, then dropped the fork onto a napkin. “I miss Alma.”

“Me, too. She’ll want to hear all about this. You and Nick, I mean.”

“Hey, there is no ‘me and Nick,’ got it?”

“Got it,” Callie said between chews. “I wonder if he’ll want children. Does he know you’re kind of gun-shy in that area?”

Brenna slapped her sister on the arm. “Will you stop talking like that, please? I don’t intend to marry the man. I just want a good job for a good day’s work.”

“And I just want nieces and nephews and another wedding to plan. And I wouldn’t mind living at Fleur House, while we’re wishing.”

Brenna pretended to not notice the sadness in her sister’s eyes. Callie deserved to be happy and she’d make such a wonderful mother. She said a prayer for her sister, then teased, “Get your own man. Preferably, the one who actually owns the house. I hear he’s filthy rich and quite mysterious. He’ll have to show up to claim his property sooner or later. You’d better be ready.”

Callie shook her head. “No, I had my turn. One divorce is quite enough for me, thank you.” She gave a dainty shrug. “But this mysterious owner is intriguing.”

“So you’ll just mess in my life to occupy yourself until the owner shows up?”

“Yep. Seems to be working. Wait until I tell Elvis. He’ll be thrilled, too. He loves Nick.”

Brenna finished filling napkin holders. “That big mutt loves anybody who breathes. But I can agree with your dog on one thing. Nick is nice-looking.”

“Of course he is. Would I set you up with just any ol’ body?”

“We are not set up, remember? We’re working together.”

“Got it.” Callie finished her coffee and pie, then waved her hand in the air. “Just working together. Right.”

Brenna shook her head, then finished her busywork, her mind in turmoil at the thought of working so closely with Nicholas Santiago. She didn’t even know the man and already, he was messing with her head. Telling herself to stick to the plan—business, business, business—she decided it wouldn’t hurt to research her new boss just so she’d be familiar with his style and the demands of her job. She’d do that first thing when she got home tonight.

* * *

He’d research her, see what kind of credentials she had. Nick rarely hired anyone without doing a thorough vetting, but he had no doubt Brenna Blanchard would be an asset to his renovation team. She knew the area, knew the history and she seemed to have a passion for art and literature—two things his boss demanded in all of his employees.

Nick remembered the pride she’d displayed when discussing Fleur and the surrounding areas. Brenna might not want to spend the rest of her life in her quaint little hometown, but she sure did care about the place. That was the kind of intimate passion he needed to renovate and decorate Fleur House. While he had a great interior designer ready to re-create and decorate the house, he also wanted a curator to oversee hanging the art pieces his employer already owned and to buy other pieces to complement the entire house and collection.

Brenna would do the job and he’d enjoy the fringe benefits of her delightful company. A win-win situation. Or one he’d regret when it came time to pull up stakes and leave. Which he’d have to do sooner or later.

Nick got up and looked out the window of his temporary home—a construction trailer parked behind Fleur House. The nondescript trailer served as an office and a place to stay. He’d designed it that way so he didn’t have to rent out a room or stay in run-down hotels. And while Fleur had some quaint little cabins along the bayou, he much preferred to be alone in his own traveling home. He liked the privacy and the ease of transporting himself.

A quick, clean getaway.

That was how the last woman he’d left had described his mode of operation. Or rather, she had called his trailer a means of a quick and easy escape.

And she’d been so right.

He liked to get in, do the job and get out.

No ties to bind him. No hassles to hold him.

So why was he sitting here now doing an online search for any information he could find on Brenna Blanchard?

Because he needed to know her so he could work with her. Of course.

When he pulled up a society picture from the Baton Rouge Advocate newspaper, Nick pored over the words with a hungry intent. Dated a few months ago, the caption stated that Brenna Blanchard and her fiancé, Jeffrey Patterson, had attended a dinner to raise funds for a Baton Rouge art event. The note went on to talk about Brenna’s position at the art gallery and Mr. Patterson’s work at a Baton Rouge law firm. Nick quit reading after that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in the picture.

Brenna, dressed in a shimmering dark blue cocktail dress, smiled up at the man next to her, her gaze bright with love and admiration. And happiness.

Fiancé?

Had she been engaged to this man?

If so, they must have broken up. Maybe that was why she was unemployed and back in Fleur. Her attitude regarding marriage indicated she wasn’t the marrying kind.

And she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring now.

So much for vetting.

Nick had more than enough information on Brenna Blanchard. She wouldn’t stick around too long, either.

So he had nothing to worry about really.

* * *

She worried with the collar of her blouse.

Not sure how to dress for her first official meeting with Nicholas, Brenna waffled between jeans and a T-shirt to a blue button-up cotton shirt and dress pants.

She finally settled on putting the button-up shirt over some nice trouser jeans. Sensible cushioned loafers would be better than heels while walking throughout the house. She didn’t want to listen to the tap-tap of her shoes while she was trying to envision art on the walls.

Or maybe she didn’t want to distract her new boss with a pair of high heels because she planned on keeping this relationship strictly professional. But she did mist herself with perfume, just for good measure.

After researching him online, she’d found him only in a few professional pages, but his work reviews were all five-star. Clients raved about his work ethics and his professionalism. Apparently, he was that good. His client list read like a who’s-who of prominent Texas tycoons. Only she couldn’t find any reference to Fleur House or his current client. That was interesting.

She’d found something else interesting, too.

Nicholas Santiago was also an artist. Some paintings had shown up under the name Nick Santiago, paintings he’d done as a teenager. Or at least she figured it had to be the same Nick—her Nick? Well, not her Nick, but the man she’d agreed to work with. One of the paintings was of a beautiful dark-haired girl on a horse. She looked young and carefree. He’d won an award for it in high school.

“Jessica.” That had been the name of the painting. Of course, now she wondered who Jessica was and what did she mean to Nick.

She’d seen another article, but Callie had called her and they’d chatted too long for her to go back and read that one. It had something to do with that painting, though. She’d have to remember to read that later. Right now, she had to get to Fleur House.

A few minutes later, she was in her car about to leave when her daddy, Ramon, came strolling out of the house. She loved being back here with her father. She tried to pamper him as much as she could, but her overly protective father seemed to think she was fifteen again. So he lectured her. And worried about her.

Brenna cranked the car and tried to make a quick exit.

In spite of his bad knees, he shot down the brick steps of the white clapboard house. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, missy?”

Brenna stuck her head out the open car window. “Papa, remember I told you I got a part-time job? Today’s the day for the first meeting with Nicholas.”

Ramon adjusted his suspenders and eyed her with a sharp intent. “You mean that fancy fellow over from San Antonio? Are you sure about working for some stranger?”

“Very sure.” She cranked the car and waved at her perpetually perplexed father. “The pay is good, so I’ll be able to help you with some rent money.”

“Don’t need no rent from my own daughter,” Ramon said on a disgruntled huff, his south Louisiana accent thickening like a steaming roux.

They’d already had this argument. “I know that, but your daughter wants to contribute.”

She blew him a kiss and took off before he insisted on escorting her. Papa was such a sweetheart. It was rather endearing how he watched over his three girls. But they all put up with it because they loved him and they all missed their mother, Lila. Especially Papa.

That strong thread of love kept Brenna going each day when she woke up in her old bed and stared at the aged pictures of her cheerleading days and the pictures of now-old rock stars she often dreamed about. Those still hung curled next to her prints of Van Gogh and Monet. She’d always loved sunflowers. She’d dreamed of going to Europe to explore all the places she’d only read about in art books. Maybe even get back into painting pictures herself.

So many dreams, and all for naught. She’d had to admit defeat and come back home. Who could paint that picture?

But at least she had a welcoming home and a solid foundation of faith to guide her. Jeffrey Patterson, her ex-fiancé, had frowned on such things. He didn’t need anyone to “guide” him, as he’d often told her.

Now she had to wonder what she’d ever seen in the man. Maybe a bit of prestige and a way to penetrate the high-brow society of Baton Rouge? Now she realized she didn’t need those things as much as she needed someone to love with authentic intent. And someone to love her back completely.

So when she pulled her car up the winding drive of Fleur House and saw Nicholas standing there in jeans and his own button-up shirt, she ignored the little dips and sways of her battered heart. The man cut a fine figure, there on the porch of the looming mansion.

Too fine.

Maybe she should turn around and go back to waiting tables.

* * *

Nick heard the car roaring up the drive. So she drove a late-model economy car that looked like a go-cart. Interesting. The car was cute in a strange kind of way and seemed to suit her. He watched as she climbed out and adjusted her briefcase strap over her shoulder. Even though she was dressed in casual clothes, she looked ready to be professional. He needed to be professional, too.

“Hello,” he called as he moved down the rounded stone steps to meet her. “You’re right on time.”

She smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t want to be late.”

Nick discreetly checked her fingers for an engagement ring. Her fingers were bare, but she wore a nice watch on one arm and a dainty flower-encrusted bracelet on the other. Sunflowers. Quaint and totally unexpected.

He let go of her hand, the memory of her slender fingers now burned into his mind. “I think you’re already familiar with the layout of the house, but we can do a walk-through and I’ll explain what I’d like to do. We’ve cleared away the debris and cobwebs and done most of the heavy renovations, but we kept some of the furniture the previous owner sold with the house.”

She took a sweeping look at the brick-and-stone house. “Are you the decorator, too?”

“No, I have a designer coming from San Antonio to oversee that area. I’ll mostly work on the structure and design of the house, preserving its history but improving it and bringing it up to speed, code-wise. The owner understands the historical significance of this place, but he requires the modern amenities, too.”

Her gaze landed back on him. “And who is this mysterious owner?”

He held up his index finger and wagged it. “I’m not at liberty to say right now.”

She gave him a questioning glance but didn’t press. “All right, then. As long as his money is green, I’m good with that. Let’s get on with the job.”

Nick smiled and guided her up into an enclosed porch surrounded by an intricate stone facing that consisted of wide arches and then opened to the double front doors. “We’ve kept all of the fan transoms over the doors. Brings in a lot of light all over the house. Most of the windows have been replaced with more weatherproof glass, but we’ll make sure we keep the hooded design.”

“Wow.” Brenna stood in the big open hallway and stared at the curving staircase. “This sure looks different. Last time Callie and I sneaked in here, it looked like cattle had run through the house.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that cows might have found shelter here along with a lot of other things,” he said. “It was a mess.”

“But it’s gold underneath all that grim.”

Nick knew this project would be his biggest challenge. “It is a work of art,” he said. “But a true representation of a time gone by.”

Even though the wallpaper had been aged and crumbling and the floors were scratched and rotted out in places, the house was striking.

Brenna seemed to see that, too. “It’s just as beautiful as I remember—from peeking in the windows, even as run-down as it looked back then. I can’t believe I get to help with the renovations. Callie loves this place more than I do. She’s always dreamed of living here.”

“Yes, she’s mentioned that to me several times.”

Nick enjoyed the blissful expression on Brenna’s face. It took his breath away, but he held that breath so she wouldn’t notice. But this attitude was new and refreshing. Most of the women he knew only wanted the house, not all the pain and work that would need to go into the house. They’d be bored with the details but more than willing to find someone to help them gut this house and make it what they thought it should be.

Brenna wanted it to be the same, only better.

That made her the perfect choice for helping him to find just the right pieces to complement the enormous walls and high ceilings throughout the place.

“Italianate Second Empire,” she said on a sigh of appreciation. “Built in 1869 by a rich man from Paris who married a Creole woman from New Orleans. She named the town and the house. It’s called Dubois House, after their last name, but the locals call it Fleur House. She did, too. I think because the gardens used to be full of all sorts of exotic plants and flowers.”

“I’m impressed,” Nick said. “And to think I had my doubts about hiring you.”

She clutched her briefcase strap. “You did? But you said I’d be perfect.”

Why did that little bit of uncertainty in her voice shake him to his core?

“I think you are.” He tested her a bit more. “But we didn’t exactly go through a formal interview.”

“No, we met at a wedding. And didn’t hit it off too well. And you hired me in a diner, after I’d waited on you with an attitude. I had my doubts, too.”

He accepted that and bowed his head in agreement. “Sí. That makes us even.”

“And...cautious.”

He’d have to remember that.

“The parlor is to the right,” he said, trying to stay on track. “And the dining room to the left.”

She rushed into the huge square parlor, her flats making a nice cadence against the aged wooden floors. “Look at these windows—love those high arches. And that fireplace. I can just see some sort of outdoor scene surrounded by a gilded frame. Or better yet, a blue dog painting.”

“Blue dog?” Nick chuckled. “You mean by George Rodrigue?”

“Yes, maybe something that bold and different would offset these amazing floor-to-ceiling windows.”

She had that dreamy look on her face again. That look that made him want to sweep her into his arms and dance her around this big, empty room.

“I’ll make a note—blue dog.”

“Is he married?”

“Who?”

“Your boss?”

Nick snapped back to reality. “Uh, no. He was once, but his wife died.”

She stopped smiling. “How awful. Our mother died several years ago. Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry. Callie did mention that. I can’t imagine going through that. I still have both my parents and I’d be lost without them.” He didn’t tell her that he had lost a loved one, too. He knew the pain of grief, but he refused to open up that wound to someone he’d just met. “Your mother sounds like a special person.”

She turned, her forest-colored eyes full of a richness that looked every bit as pretty as any picture he could imagine. “She was. You’re blessed to have both of your parents. Enjoy them and love them.”

“Good advice.” He did love his family, but they’d grown apart over the years. Did he dare tell her that grief had stricken his family to the point of denial?

Better to focus on work.

He motioned toward the dining area. “Let’s go to the other side.”

Brenna let out a little squeal of delight, her smile lighting the room with an ethereal glow. “Look at that mural. Can we keep that?”

“Yes,” he said, thinking he’d meant to do away with it. He’d have to tell the interior decorator that the elaborate rendition of a garden party with a steamboat in the background was off-limits.