Midnight Bayou by Nora Roberts

  “Good.”

  “I’m going to have to wear my hair back with them. Show them off. Damn it,” she said as she ran for the door. “I have to see.” She stopped at the mirror, held her hair back with one hand. “Oh God! They’re fabulous. I’ve never had anything so lovely in my life. You’re a sweet man, Declan. A hardheaded, crazy, sweet man.”

  “When you marry me,” he said from the doorway, “I’ll give you diamonds for breakfast once a week.”

  “Stop that.”

  “Okay, but keep it in mind.”

  “I’ve got to get on. I want to stop by and see my grandmama before I head back.”

  “Give me a ride over? I’ve got something for her.”

  Her eyes, when they tracked to his in the glass, were indulgent and just a little frustrated. “You bought her another present.”

  “Don’t start on me,” he warned, and stepped back out to gather up the bowls.

  “Why do you have to buy things all the time, cher?”

  She knew him now, and the little ripple movement of his shoulders told her he was annoyed and uncomfortable. So she softened the question by giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ve got money,” he said. “And I like stuff. You trade money for stuff, which is more fun and interesting than having a bunch of green paper in your wallet.”

  “I don’t know. Me, I like that green paper just fine. But . . .” She fingered the diamonds at her ears. “I could grow mighty fond of these pretty rocks. Go on, get whatever you’ve gone and bought for Grandmama. Bound to brighten her day, whatever it is, ’cause it’s from you.”

  “You think?”

  “She’s sweet on you.”

  “I like that.” He turned, wrapped his arms around Lena’s waist. “How about you? You sweet on me?”

  A long line of warmth flowed down her spine, nearly made her sigh. “You make it hard not to be.”

  “Good.” He touched his lips to hers, then eased away. “I like that even better.”

  He carried a little gift bag out to her car. It struck her as odd and charming that he would think of things like that. Not just a present, a token he could so easily afford, but the presentation of it. Pretty bags or bows, ribbons or wrappings most men—or men she’d known—would never bother with.

  Any woman she knew would call Declan Fitzgerald one hell of a catch. And he wanted her.

  “I’m going to ask you a question,” she began as she started the car.

  “True or false? Multiple choice?”

  “I guess it’s more the essay type.”

  He settled back, stretched out his legs as best he could as she started down the drive. He’d always aced his tests. “Shoot.”

  “How come with all those fine ladies up in Boston, and all the good-looking women here ’round New Orleans, you zeroed in on me?”

  “Not one of them ever made my heart stop, or sprint like a racehorse at the starting gun. But you do. Not one of them ever made me see myself ten years, twenty years down the road, reaching out to take her hand. But you do, Lena. And what I want most in the world is to hold onto you.”

  She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare, as everything inside her seemed to fill up so she knew one glance at his face would have it all spilling out. Warm and sweet and conquered.

  “That’s a good answer,” she managed.

  “It’s a true one.” He took one of her tensed hands off the wheel, kissed it. “God’s truth.”

  “I think it is. I don’t know what to do about it, Declan. You’re the first man who’s ever made me worry about what to do. I’ve got powerful feelings for you. I’d rather I didn’t.”

  “Here’s what I think. We should elope to Vegas, then you won’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Oh, I’m sure the Boston Fitzgeralds would just be thrilled hearing you’ve eloped to Vegas with a Cajun bar owner from the bayou. That’d set them up right and tight.”

  “It’d give them something to talk about for the next decade or two. My mother would like you,” he said, almost to himself. “And she’s no easy mark. She’d like that you’re your own woman and don’t take any crap off anyone. Run your own business, look after your grandmother. She’d respect that, and she’d like that. Then she’d love you because I do. My father would take one look at you and be your slave.”

  She laughed at that and it loosened some of the tightness in her chest. “Are all the Fitzgerald men so easy?”

  “We’re not easy. We just have exceptional taste.”

  She pulled up in front of Odette’s house, and finally turned to look at him. “Any of them coming down for Remy and Effie’s wedding?”

  “My parents are.”

  “We’ll see what we see, won’t we?”

  She hopped out, headed to the door ahead of him. “Grandmama!” She bumped the door open and strolled in. “I brought you a handsome gentleman caller.”

  Odette came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a red checked cloth. The smells of fresh coffee and baking followed her. She was, as always, decked out in layers of jewelry and sturdy boots. But there was a strain around her eyes and mouth even Declan spotted instantly.

  “A gentleman caller’s always welcome. Bébé,” she replied and kissed Lena’s cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Baked me some brown bread this morning,” Odette said, evading Lena’s question. “Y’all come back to the kitchen.” She wrapped an arm around Lena’s waist to nudge her along. “What you got in the pretty bag, cher?”

  “Just a little something I thought you’d like.” In the kitchen, Declan set it on the table. “Smells fabulous in here. Maybe I ought to learn how to bake bread.”

  Odette smiled as he’d hoped she would, but the tension in the air didn’t lessen. “Could be I’ll teach you a thing or two. Kneading dough’s good therapy. Takes your mind off your troubles, gives you thinking time.”

  She took the small wrapped box out of the gift bag, turned it in her hand, then tugged the ribbon free. “Lena, you don’t nail this boy down, I may just snatch him for myself.” When she opened the box, her face softened.

  The trinket box fit into the palm of her hand. It was heart-shaped and hand-painted with a couple in old-fashioned formal dress sitting on a garden bench. When she lifted the lid, it played a tune.

  “I’ve been hearing that song in my head for weeks,” Declan told her. “So when I saw this, I figured I’d better buy it.”

  “ ‘After the Ball,’ ” Odette told him. “It’s an old waltz. Sad and sweet.” She looked up at him. “Maybe you got a nice widowed uncle you could send my way.”

  “Well, there’s Uncle Dennis, but he’s homely as a billy goat.”

  “He’s got half your heart, I’ll take him.”

  “Isn’t this a pretty picture?”

  At the voice, Lena went stiff as if someone had pressed a gun to her head and cocked the hammer. Declan saw the look pass between her and her grandmother. Apologetic on Odette’s part, shocked on Lena’s.

  Then they turned.

  Lilibeth slumped against the doorjamb. She wore a short red robe, loosely belted. Her hair was a tumble around her shoulders, and her face already made up for the day with her eyes darkly lined, her lips slick and red as her robe.

  “And who might this be?” She lifted one hand, languidly pushed back her hair as she sent Declan a slow, feline smile.

  “What’s she doing here?” Lena demanded. “What the hell is she doing in this house?”

  “It’s my house as much as yours,” Lilibeth shot back. “Some of us have more respect for blood kin than others.”

  “I told you to get on a bus and go.”

  “I don’t take orders from my own daughter.” Lilibeth pushed off the jamb, sauntered to the stove. “This here coffee fresh, Mama?”

  “How could you?” Lena demanded of Odette. “How could you take her in again?”

  “Lena.” All Odette could do was take her hand. “She’s my child.??
?

  “I’m your child.” The bitter fury poured out and left its horrid taste on her tongue. “You’re just going to let her come back, stay until she’s sucked you dry again, until she and whatever junkie she hooks up with this time steal you blind? It’s cocaine now. Can’t you see it on her? And that doesn’t come free.”

  “I told you I’m clean.” Lilibeth slapped a mug on the counter.

  “You’re a liar. You’ve always been a liar.”

  Lilibeth surged forward. Even as Lena threw out her chin to take the blow, Declan stepped between them. “Think again.” He said it quietly, but the heat in his voice pumped into the kitchen.

  “You lay a hand on her, Lilibeth, one hand on her, and I’ll put you out.” Odette stepped to the stove, poured the coffee herself with hands not quite steady. “I mean that.”

  “She’s got no call to speak to me that way.” Lilibeth let her lips quiver. “And in front of a stranger.”

  “Declan Fitzgerald. I’m a friend of Lena’s, and Miss Odette’s. I’ll get that coffee, Miss Odette. You sit down now.”

  “This is family business, Declan.” Lena kept her furious eyes on her mother’s face. She would think of the embarrassment later. Right now it was only a dull pinch through the cushion of anger. “You should go.”

  “In a minute.” He poured coffee, brought a cup to Odette. Crouched so their faces were level. “I’m Irish,” he told her. “Both sides. Nobody puts on a family fight like the Irish. You only have to call me if you need me.”

  He squeezed her hand, then straightened. “Same goes,” he said to Lena.

  “I’m not staying. I’ll drive you back.” She had to breathe deeply, to brace for the pain her own words would cause. “Grandmama, I love you with all my heart. But as long as she’s in the house, I won’t be. I’m sorry this hurts you, but I can’t do this again. Let me know when she’s gone. And you.” She turned to Lilibeth. “You hurt her again, you take one dollar from her or bring any of the scum you like to run with in this house, I’ll hunt you down. I swear to God I will, wherever you go. And I’ll take it out of your skin this time.”

  “Lena, baby!” Lilibeth rushed down the narrow hall as Lena strode to the door. “I’ve changed, honey. I want to make it all up to you. Give me a chance to—”

  Outside, Lena whirled. “You’ve had your last chance with me. Don’t you come near me. Don’t you come near my place. You’re dead to me, you hear?”

  She slammed the car door, ground the engine to life, then sped off, spewing up a thin cloud of smoke that obscured her mother and the house where she’d grown up.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Lena punched the gas. “I bet your family would just love a load of Lilibeth Simone. Whore, junkie, thief and liar.”

  “You can’t blame your grandmother for this, Lena.”

  “I don’t blame her. I don’t.” The tears were rushing up from her throat. She felt the burn. “But I won’t be a part of it. I won’t.” She slammed the brakes in front of the Hall. “I need to go now.” But she lowered her brow to the wheel. “Go on, get out. Va t’en.”

  “No. I’m not going away.” Others had, he realized now. And that’s where the hurt came from. “Do you want to talk about this out here, or inside?”

  “I’m not going to talk about it anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are. Pick your spot.”

  “I told you all you need to know. My mother’s a whore and a junkie. If she can’t earn enough to feed her various habits on her back, she steals. She’d as soon lie as look at you.”

  “She doesn’t live around here.”

  “I don’t know where she lives. No place for long. She came to my place yesterday. Stoned, and full of lies and her usual talk about new starts and being friends. Thought I’d let her move in with me again. Never again,” she said and leaned her head back on the car seat. “I gave her fifty dollars for bus fare. Should’ve known better. Likely it’s already gone up her nose.”

  “Let’s take a walk.”

  “This isn’t something you walk off or kiss better, Declan. I need to get back.”

  “You’re not driving into town when you’re still churned up. Let’s walk.”

  To ensure she didn’t just drive away when he got out, he took the keys out of the ignition, pocketed them. Then he climbed out, walked around the car. Opening her door, he held out a hand.

  She couldn’t drum up the energy to argue. But instead of taking his hand, she slid out of the car and dipped hers in her pockets.

  They’d walk, she figured. They’d talk. And then, it would be over.

  She imagined he thought his gardens—that new blossoming, the tender fragrances—would soothe her. He would want to comfort. He was built that way. More, he’d want to know so he could find solutions.

  When it came to Lilibeth, there were no solutions.

  “Family can suck, can’t it?”

  Her gaze whipped to his—dark and fierce, and sheened with damp. “She’s not my family.”

  “I get that. But it’s a family situation. We’re always having situations in my family. Probably because there are so many of us.”

  “Not having enough canapés at a cocktail party, or having two aunts show up in the same fancy dress isn’t a situation.”

  He debated whether to let the insult pass. She was, after all, raw and prickly. But he couldn’t quite swallow it. “You figure having money negates personal problems? Takes the sting out of hurts, buries tragedies? That’s pretty shallow, Lena.”

  “I’m a shallow gal. Comes through the blood.”

  “That’s bullshit, but you’re entitled to feel sorry for yourself after almost taking a slap in the face. Money didn’t make my cousin Angie feel much better when her husband got her and his mistress pregnant the same month. It didn’t help my aunt when her daughter died in a car wreck on her eighteenth birthday. Life can fuck you over, whatever your income bracket.”

  She stopped, ordered herself to calm down. “I apologize. She tends to put me in a mood that’s not fit for company.”

  “I’m not company.” Before she could evade, he cupped her face in his hands. “I love you.”

  “Stop it, Declan.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m no good for you. No good for anybody, and I don’t want to be.”

  “That’s the key, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He reached down, lifted the key she wore around her neck. “It wasn’t a man, but a woman who broke your heart. Now you want to lock it up, close it off so you won’t accept love when it’s offered. Won’t let yourself give it back. Safer that way. If you don’t love, it doesn’t matter if someone walks away. That makes you a coward.”

  “So what if it does?” She shoved his hand aside. “It’s my life. I live it the way I want, and I get along fine. You’re a romantic, cher. Under all that Yankee sense, that expensive education, you’re a dreamer. I don’t put stock in dreams. What is, that’s what counts. One of these days you’re going to wake up and find yourself in this big, old house in the middle of nowhere, wondering what the hell you were thinking. And you’ll hightail it back to Boston, go back to lawyering, marry some classy woman named Alexandra, and have a couple pretty children.”

  “You forgot the pair of golden retrievers,” he said mildly.

  “Oh.” She threw up her hands. “Merde!”

  “Couldn’t agree more. First, the only woman I know named Alexandra has teeth like a horse. She sort of scares me. Second, and more important, what I’m going to do, Angelina, is live out my life in this big, old house, with you. I’m going to raise a family with you, right here. Golden retrievers are optional.”

  “You saying it, over and over, isn’t going to make it so.”

  Now he grinned, white and wide. “Bet?”

  There was something about him when he was like this, she realized. Something potent and just a little frightening when he wore that sheen of affability over a core of concrete stubbornness.


  “I’m going to work. You just stay away from me for a while, you hear? I’m too irritated to deal with you.”

  He let her walk away. It was enough, for now, that her anger with him had dried up those tears that had glimmered in her eyes.