A Second Chance

CHAPTER TWO

“LUC. TO WHAT DO I OWE this dubious pleasure?” Luc’s grandmother, Celeste Robichaux, was a grande dame in every respect. She had agreed to “receive him” in the parlor of her huge Garden District home in New Orleans as if she still lived in a different era. She’d even had her maid bring them tea and French pastries.

Celeste herself was exquisitely outfitted in a linen dress, complete with stockings, pumps and a full complement of jewelry. He’d never seen her anything but fashionably dressed and perfectly pressed, whether she was attending a party or staying home to tat doilies, or whatever it was she did with her leisure time.

He’d heard horror stories about Celeste from his father. Supposedly Celeste banished him from home and cheated him out of his cut of the family fortune.

Luc had since learned there was another side to the story, and Celeste, while stern and a little bit scary, wasn’t the devil incarnate. In fact, out of all his extended family, Celeste was the one who’d offered him a way to make restitution for the damage he’d done by sending him off to Indigo to renovate the summer house and start the B and B, keeping him out of jail by doing so.

“Thanks for seeing me on short notice, Grand-mère,” he said, adopting the French moniker his cousins used. “I have a problem and I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me out.”

“Is something wrong at La Petite Maison?” she asked, her nose twitching at the possibility that her now-valuable asset might be in trouble.

“No, the B and B is great. I’m making progress on the suite.” He was converting one of the outbuildings to a separate suite for guests who wanted more privacy.

“Then what is it?” she asked impatiently.

As succinctly as he could, he outlined Loretta’s desperate need for an experienced chef to organize the VIP dinner. Celeste listened, her mouth pursed as if she’d bitten into a bad peach.

“I fail to see how this concerns me. Why aren’t you talking to Melanie?”

“I had hoped you might intercede on my behalf.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not your errand girl. If you want Melanie to help this Loretta person, ask her yourself.”

He’d been afraid this might be Celeste’s reaction. And really, there was no reason for her to care whether the music festival was a success or a flop. She didn’t know Loretta. She probably didn’t know most of the people involved in the festival-they were too young.

“Melanie has no reason to do me any favors.”

“Oh, take off that hair shirt. I can’t claim you’re the most popular family member at the moment, but it’s been over a year now. Everyone has mellowed. Mon Dieu, just ask her. Make it sound like overseeing this whatever-it-is dinner will be a feather in her cap. She’ll love the chance to do something unusual.”

Luc figured his doubt must have shown on his face, because his grandmother scowled at him.

“Your father certainly wasn’t afraid to take risks,” she chided. “That’s one of the few good things I have to say about him. Surely he didn’t raise a coward.”

Now she was making him angry, as she no doubt intended. “Let’s not bring my father into this. Anyway, he didn’t raise me. He left when I was a kid and only came back a few years ago.”

He stood, indicating the meeting was over. It wasn’t Celeste’s refusal to help him that made him angry, but the reasoning behind it. As usual, she was trying to manipulate him. Nothing gave her greater joy than playing her children and grandchildren like pawns on a chessboard in the belief that her actions were for the greater good.

But he knew better than to let his temper show. Celeste was his benefactor. If not for her, he would have no job and no place to live, and he had no idea exactly how much power she wielded with his probation officer.

He didn’t want to find out.

“I’ll go call on Melanie, then,” he said. “Thanks for the tea.”

“You didn’t drink the tea,” she said with a slight smile. As if she’d known he wouldn’t.

CELESTE WATCHED Luc go, her smile fading. She knew her grandson thought she was a mean old lady. But she had her reasons for not interceding on his behalf.

She had to accept at least some of the blame for the events eighteen months ago that had very nearly destroyed her daughter’s hotel. Luc Carter was his father’s son, and his father-well, she hadn’t done right by him.

For years, she’d been expecting Pierre to reenter their lives like the bad penny he’d turned into. She’d never expected it would be his son who came instead.

What Luc had done was reprehensible. But she’d seen something in him, some indication that he was not yet lost. She’d believed him when he’d claimed to have grown fond of the family he’d never known as a child. She’d believed him when he said he was deeply sorry for having tried to ruin the hotel’s reputation so his disreputable partners could buy it cheap.

But she’d been worried there was too much of Luc’s father in him. Thrusting the B and B on him had been her way of testing him in a situation where he couldn’t do too much harm. She figured that if the hard physical labor required to renovate the place was too much, he would take off to some part of the world where U.S. authorities couldn’t touch him, and that would be that.

But he’d stayed in Indigo, somewhat to her surprise, and had thrown himself into his task with great abandon, if her spy could be believed. He’d transformed a basically worthless piece of property into a showpiece and a moneymaker.

Now, she was fully committed to the idea of saving Luc Carter. It was a means of making amends for the way she’d treated Luc’s father. But she needed to get the rest of the family in her corner. They wouldn’t take her word for it, oh, no. Her daughter, Anne, was no pushover, and Anne had raised four intelligent, opinionated girls who, while all in favor of forgiving Luc and welcoming him into the family, were nowhere near convinced he could be trusted.

He was going to have to prove himself personally to them-and now, at least, he had a way to do that with Melanie. Unless Celeste missed her guess-and she seldom did-the motivation was a woman named Loretta Castille.

LUC HAD NOT RETURNED to the Hotel Marchand since that horrible night when he’d been shot and left for dead by Richard Corbin, who’d been trying to acquire the hotel with Luc’s help. He felt a strange mix of emotions as he gazed on the luxurious French Quarter hotel where, for the first time, he’d felt he belonged. As concierge, he’d been embraced by the Marchand sisters and their mother-his cousins and aunt-even when they had no idea he was a blood relative. They had treated all of their staff honorably, and almost from the beginning, Luc had begun to regret the path he’d taken to avenge his father.

He should have listened to his gut.

But that was behind him now. He was moving forward.

He entered the hotel lobby, and the first person he saw was Charlotte, his eldest cousin, behind the front desk. His mouth went dry, but he pressed ahead. He’d e-mailed her since he’d been in Indigo, but he hadn’t seen her in almost two years.

Charlotte had spotted him, too, and there was no welcoming expression on her face as he approached her with his best, most charming smile.

“Hello, Charlotte. Looks like the hotel is doing a brisk business today.” The lobby was filled with small groups of well-heeled patrons, sipping their complimentary coffee. He could see through the windows that the courtyard outside Chez Remy, the hotel restaurant, was already filling with an early lunch crowd.

“No thanks to you,” Charlotte said, but there was a hint of devilment in her eyes. He figured she must have softened since falling in love and marrying last year. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is Melanie available? Indigo is putting on a Cajun music festival in a few weeks, and a lot of fine restaurants from the area are participating. I have a special role I’d like Melanie to play, if she’s willing.” He’d stayed up half the night getting the wording of his request just right, so that it sounded like a terrific opportunity rather than a desperate request for charity. It was, in fact, a little of both.

“The festival’s had a lot of publicity,” Charlotte said. “It’s been written up everywhere. End of next month, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Isn’t it a little late to be lining up participants?”

“Yes, but the woman who’s coordinating the food has run into a snafu. She asked if I would help.”

Luc could see the wheels turning in Charlotte’s head. A keen businesswoman, she wasn’t one to let an opportunity for good public relations slip away.

“If Melanie does agree to help-and that’s up to her, of course-could the Hotel Marchand be listed as a sponsor?”

“I know we could arrange something. I can’t make promises because I’m not in charge, but I’ll bet Marjo-she’s the organizer-would be willing to work with you.”

“I’ll see if Melanie has a few minutes.”

Melanie offered ten minutes, and Luc didn’t waste a second of it. Crowded into her office with Charlotte, Melanie and Melanie’s husband, Robert LeSoeur, the head chef, he outlined how the VIP dinner had been promoted.

“I take it there are no cooking facilities on the premises?” Melanie asked. She hadn’t smiled once.

“No. You would have to prepare everything elsewhere and transport it. Loretta has a kitchen and a first-class wood-burning oven you can use, and my kitchen is at your disposal, though it’s very small.”

Robert, who’d sat mute, arms folded, finally spoke up. “You’ve got your nerve, coming here and asking for favors.”

Startled, Melanie placed a calming hand on Robert’s arm.

“It’s the nerviest thing I’ve ever done,” Luc agreed. “None of you owes me the time of day, and I would never have come here if Loretta wasn’t in such a spot.”

“Who is this Loretta?” Charlotte asked.

He could have expounded for days on who Loretta was-a feisty single mom, as passionate about baking bread as some people were about a lover. A devoted daughter, helping her parents market their honey products. A good friend, one of many who’d accepted him as an equal in Indigo. Gorgeous, bursting with energy and enthusiasm and ideas, never slowing down.

But his ten minutes were almost up.

“She owns a bakery. She’s fantastic. You’ll really like her.”

“Luc says he might be able to swing a sponsorship for the hotel,” Charlotte added.

“You’re in favor of this?” Melanie asked her older sister.

“I’m in favor of anything that promotes the hotel. And…well, Luc is family.”

“Yeah, the black sheep,” Robert grumbled.

“Don’t do it for me,” Luc said. “Do it for a little town that’s trying to survive. Do it to preserve your Cajun heritage. Remember, the more tourism in Indigo, the more people who stay at La Petite Maison, which is your family’s legacy.”

He’d played his last card. Now it was up to this impromptu tribunal to decide his fate.

LORETTA HEARD the school bus coming up the road and hurried to wrap up three loaves of cranberry bread and slap on “Indigo Bakery” stickers. When school started, she got the brilliant idea to offer free bread samples to the kids and the driver, Della Roy. Soon she’d had orders pouring in from the kids’ parents-many from neighboring towns who might not otherwise have thought to try her baked goods. Today’s was just a small order, but every little bit helped.

She ran outside just as the bus pulled to a stop and Zara hopped off, though not with the usual spring in her step. Loretta handed the small bag of breads to Della. “Kane, Schubert and Cauberraux. And the shortbread cookies are for you.” Della was a cookie fanatic, so Loretta baked her a few in return for delivering bread orders along with the kids. She seemed to enjoy the break in her routine.

“Thanks.” Della beamed. “If you get any more business, I’m gonna be big as a house. See you tomorrow.” She pulled away, leaving Zara standing forlornly by the side of the road.

It was then that Loretta noticed the bruise on Zara’s cheek, and the fact her little yellow T-shirt had a torn sleeve.

“Zara, what on earth happened to you?” Loretta smoothed back her daughter’s red hair, inspecting the bruise and checking for other injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Long story.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it, please.”

Zara headed toward the bakery, which had been built onto the front of Loretta’s small frame house. The space was just large enough to accommodate a glass-front case along one wall, a commercial fridge, a marble-topped work space, and the brick oven, which dominated. There was also a sturdy oak table and four ladder-back chairs, for those times when a customer wanted to sit down with their bakery treat and consume it on the spot. An old-fashioned cash register handled the money.

Right now, though, the shop was deserted. Zara dropped her backpack on the floor with a clunk and plopped into one of the chairs.

“May I have a snack, please?”

“Of course you may.” Baked goods held little appeal for Zara, since she lived and breathed them all the time. Loretta opened the fridge and pulled out a small plate with a sliced apple, some cheese and one small cookie. She poured a glass of milk and brought it to Zara, who solemnly handed Loretta a wrinkled note.

Loretta sighed. The note was from Patti Brainard, Zara’s third-grade teacher.

Zara has been fighting again. Please call me. And don’t worry, we’ll work it all out.

Patti was a doll and Zara adored her, but Loretta was hardly reassured. Her nine-year-old daughter was getting the reputation of a thug.

“So what happened?” Loretta asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

“Thomas called me a cheater and said I was a criminal just like my daddy and I was gonna go to jail someday.”

“Why did he call you a cheater?”

“Because I won his best Harry Potter card.”

“Did you win it fair and square?”

“Well, I might have lost count on how many points I won on my last turn. But it was an honest mistake.”

“Zara Castille, what have I told you about cheating at cards?”

“I wasn’t cheating. If he’d been paying better attention-”

“Never mind that. What did you do when Thomas called you a cheater?”

“I hit him with my notebook, not even very hard. And he, like, attacked me.”

Loretta groaned. Her beautiful, intelligent, talented daughter was a budding juvenile delinquent.

“Before you say anything, I know I shouldn’t take advantage of Thomas just because he’s stupid and doesn’t keep count, and I know I shouldn’t hit first no matter how mad somebody makes me. But I barely tapped him.”

Loretta pulled a chair close to her daughter and sat down, again smoothing Zara’s bright red hair from her face. “Oh, honey, it’s not how hard you hit him that’s important. You’ve got to learn to control your temper. The older you get, the harder it is to change your habits.”

“Thomas shouldn’t have made fun of my daddy.”

“No, that wasn’t nice of him. But you’re going to have to deal with not-nice people your whole life.”

“I just wish-” Zara stopped herself and crammed an apple slice into her mouth. Her eyes were shiny with tears.

“What do you wish, sweet angel?”

“I wish everybody didn’t know that my daddy died in prison. I wish I had a normal family.”

“I wish you did, too.”

“How come you don’t get married again?”

“Because there’s no one around here I want to marry.”

“Then why don’t we move?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’d be so sad if we moved away. Your grandparents are here, and who would teach you fiddle if we moved away from Mr. Boudreaux? And even if I ever did marry again, that wouldn’t erase history.”

Zara sighed. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to be bad. I’ll count to ten next time, I promise.”

“And you must not take advantage of little boys who aren’t as smart as you. If I hear any more stories about that, I’m taking all your Harry Potter cards away.”

“Mrs. Brainard already did that. She said she’d give ’em back next week.”

The front door opened, and Loretta gave Zara a quick hug and a kiss before turning to greet her customer.

It was Luc, in faded jeans and a T-shirt advertising the music festival. He’d been one of the first in line to buy one, she recalled, and was selling them at the B and B. He was still tanned from putting on a new roof this past summer, his shaggy blond hair streaked with pale gold from the sun.

“Luc!” Zara jumped out of her chair, almost upsetting her milk, then halted as if she weren’t quite sure what she wanted to do. Zara’s reaction to Luc had been strange almost from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. At first, Loretta figured it was the fact he was blond. There weren’t many fair-haired men in these parts. Zara had stared endlessly at him, despite Loretta’s asking her not to because it was rude. But then she’d started talking like a magpie to him every chance she got. The only other adults Zara was that open with were her grandparents, and even they lavished so much loving attention on her that they embarrassed her into silence sometimes.

“Hi, gorgeous. Hey, what happened to you? You look like you just got out of the ring after doing a couple of rounds with George Foreman.”

“His name wasn’t George, it was Thomas,” Zara corrected him. Loretta’s advice not to correct adults hadn’t sunk in with her daughter.

“You mean you really were in a fight?” Luc sounded impressed. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

“Luc, don’t encourage her,” Loretta protested.

“Thomas doesn’t have a scratch,” Zara said.

“I used to do a little boxing,” Luc said, addressing his comments to Loretta. “If Zara needs to learn how to defend herself-”

“I could have punched him,” Zara insisted. “But by then Mrs. Brainard was looking and I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“All right, that’s enough talk about fighting,” Loretta said firmly. “Luc, what can I help you with?” Coffee cake, tea bread or me?

“The question is, what can I help you with?” He had a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Loretta stifled a gasp. “You talked to Melanie?”

“I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll give me a sample of whatever it is I smell cooking.”

“It’s pumpkin bread. A new recipe.” She went to the cooling rack and selected a small loaf, still warm from the oven, and brought it to the cutting board. “Talk, or you’re not getting a single bite.”

“Melanie said she’ll do it.”

Loretta’s knife clattered to the cutting board. Operating on pure instinct, she launched herself at Luc, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, you wonderful man!”

Luc put his arms around her. “Wow, any more favors I can do for you? I like the way you say thank-you.”

Oh, this felt good. Way too good. Luc was tall and hard and warm and all-male, and he smelled so…so not like everything else in her world of baking and laundry and little girls with their own special scents.

She let the moment stretch as long as she dared, then gave a nervous laugh as she extracted herself from Luc’s embrace. “Sorry,” she said, straightening her shirt. But it had been so long since she’d let herself get anywhere close to a man other than her father. “I’m just so excited. You’ve saved my skin. How did you do it? How did you convince her? What’s the next step?”

“Mama, calm down,” Zara said, giggling herself. “You act like Luc just handed you a million dollars or something.”

Loretta hated it when Zara behaved more like the adult. “All right, then, one question at a time. What did you say to Melanie to get her to agree?”

Luc nodded toward the cutting board.

“Right.” Loretta quickly cut two thick slices of the pumpkin bread and slathered them with whipped butter. She pulled out the chair opposite Zara and placed the plate of bread on the table. Luc sat, took a bite and sighed appreciatively. “Oh, man. Put some of this in my next delivery.” He closed his eyes, savoring the treat, and made Loretta think of a different kind of sensual pleasure.

“I told her the hotel could have some type of sponsorship. I’ve already talked to Marjo and she’s amenable. She’s putting the Hotel Marchand logo on the banners and the program. But I also appealed to Melanie’s pride, about how she’d be helping out a worthy cause and preserving her father’s Cajun culture. She’s actually excited about it. She wants to meet with us this week sometime to plan the menu and go over logistics.”

“Us?”

“That was part of the deal. I promised Melanie I’d help. Anyway, since your entire committee self-destructed, you need another pair of hands.”

She could think of all kinds of ways to put those hands to good use, and immediately felt her face heat. Why was she doing this? Why was she so intensely attracted to Luc Carter?

“When do you want to meet with her?” Loretta asked, busying herself by wrapping up the partial loaf in plastic. “Is tomorrow too soon? It’ll have to be early so I can be home in time to meet Zara’s bus.”

“I can’t tomorrow,” Luc said. “I have a meeting in New Iberia. Wednesday’s good, though.”

“I can’t on Wednesday,” Loretta countered. “Back-to-back deliveries, then a doctor’s appointment. Thursday?”

“I’ve got a big party arriving on Thursday.”

“Well, shoot. I don’t suppose you could rearrange Tuesday?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t meet her gaze, either. Then she remembered Justine Clemente, the town busybody, remarking on the fact that Luc drove out of town every other Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. He’d been doing it like clockwork since he moved to Indigo.

Loretta’s immediate suspicion was that he had a girlfriend. But if she were dating someone like Luc, she’d darn sure see him more often than every other week. Unless the woman was married…

Luc had always been a bit mysterious about his past and his personal life. Other than vague references to the fact he had hotel experience, what did she really know about him? Yes, he was Celeste Robichaux’s grandson, but did that automatically make him a sterling citizen?

Well, whatever he did every other Tuesday was none of her business, and she decided not to think about it. “How about Wednesday afternoon? I can juggle the deliveries and change the doctor’s appointment. My parents can keep Zara for a few hours.”

“I’ll see if Melanie can do it then.” Luc’s sunny smile returned. He polished off the pumpkin bread and the glass of milk Loretta poured for him, and all seemed right with the world again. But Loretta was determined not to forget that strange, evasive look that had come over his face.

Her husband had been a man with a mysterious past, and at first that had been part of his appeal. He’d kept so many secrets from her, all the while charming her with his flattery and his monumental plans for the two of them. When he did occasionally reveal something of himself, she felt positively blessed. And whenever she sensed his inner torture, she loved him all the more.

But the darkness inside him had been his undoing, as well as her and Zara’s, for he could never be truly satisfied, not with a loving wife and beautiful daughter, not with the sweet little house her grandmother had left her, not with a decent job. He’d wanted more-more money, more control, more freedom. Uncomplicated small-town life could never have satisfied him for long.

She’d been in the process of divorcing him when he’d died, and she’d sworn that if she ever hooked up with another man-and that was a huge “if”-it would be a simple man with simple needs, someone without secrets.

Most important, any man she associated with had to be honest, forthright and without a criminal cell in his body. She was already terrified of what Jim’s DNA had contributed to Zara. No way was her little girl going to be exposed to anyone who wasn’t open and honest.

So Luc Carter was out of the question, no matter how much he heated her blood.