by Shirley Jump
The parish fire chief had traced the source to a faulty wire in the wall. “Old buildings,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes they just go.”
But why this building? Why now? Her family had invested everything in the funeral home, and in an instant, it had been erased from the landscape of Indigo.
“Marjo, you okay?” Cally stepped carefully through the debris to reach Marjo’s side.
The arrival of her best friend seemed to unlock something Marjo had barely kept hold of all morning. Tears spilled from her eyes, drizzled down her cheeks. “Yes.” She paused. “No.”
“Oh, sweetie, it’ll be all right.” Cally wrapped Marjo in a quick, tight hug. “I came by to see if you wanted some lunch. You really should take a break. After that, I’ll stay and help you. I took the rest of the day off work.”
It was past noon already? Marjo looked up at the sky. The sun was high above them, and she realized she’d skipped two meals.
“I’m not hungry. I’m just…lost.” Marjo stared at the wasteland in front of her. The elegant, two-story building had been reduced to a pile of rubble a few feet high. Not a single wall remained, not the sign, not even the mailbox. Starting over seemed like an insurmountable task, one Marjo couldn’t even consider at the moment. “I have no idea what to do. No plan. Nothing.”
“That’s okay.” Cally laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Take some time off, think about things. There’s no rush.”
“But I don’t have time,” Marjo cried, scooping up a palmful of ashes and letting them sift through her fingers. The breeze caught them and carried them away. “The CajunFest is tomorrow, my life is a shambles, my job is toast—literally.” She was too drained to even laugh at the irony of her words. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Move forward.”
Marjo jerked around at the familiar voice. Paul Clermont stood behind her, tall and handsome as ever, seeming more like a mirage than a miracle.
He had returned.
Cally gave her a knowing smile. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She winked, then headed back to her car.
“What are you doing here?” Marjo brushed the soot off her capris and hoped like heck that her hair wasn’t a mess. Had she remembered to put on makeup today?
What did it matter? He was probably here to oversee the rest of the repairs on the opera house, or worse, to start the process to divest himself of the building.
She swallowed, then voiced the words she’d been dreading to hear. “Are you here to put the opera house on the market?”
“No.” He took her hands in his, clearly not caring about the gray soot that covered her fingers. “I’m here for you.”
Her heart thudded hard in her chest. “For me? Why?”
“I read about the funeral home on the Web in the New Iberia paper. I’m so sorry, Marjo.” He glanced over the devastation and she could see in his eyes the same disbelief and sorrow she felt. “There’s nothing left?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Are you okay? And Gabriel?”
“I’m okay, so is Gabriel. No one was hurt.”
“Thank God.” Paul studied her for a long moment, as if convincing himself that she was fine. “But I was already on my way down here for another reason.”
“For what?” Hope sang in her chest, adding its melody to the hum of attraction still running through her.
“You, silly.” He grinned, then traced the outline of her lips. “I’d rather be with you than in Tibet any day.”
“Really?”
“You’re a lot prettier and a whole lot more fun.” He took her hand and helped her climb over the charred wood. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
She went with him, silent as a wall, unable to think of a single thing to say. In the two days since the fire, she had felt numb, not really alive, but now her mind was a whirl of thoughts and feelings.
Paul helped her into his rental car, then a few minutes later pulled up in front of her house. He hurried around to her side before she could open the door, then took her hand and led her up the walk.
Never before, even when her parents died, had she felt this overwhelmed. It was as if those years of being the one who had to take charge had caught up with her, the final straw broken by the loss of the funeral home. Since the fire, Gabriel had been great, staying up with her until the wee hours of the morning last night. He’d fretted over her, made her tea, got her a blanket she didn’t need and generally fussed over her like a mother hen.
This morning she’d handed him some money and told him to take Darcy to a gumbo cook-off in a neighboring town. Marjo didn’t want him to see his sister crumpling like a piece of paper. She was supposed to be the strong one, to support her brother—not the other way around.
“Here, sit down,” Paul said when they were inside. He led her to the small love seat that flanked the living room wall and she sank onto the soft cushions.
Paul knelt beside her, reached up and brushed the hair out of her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thirsty, from working out in the sun all day, but okay.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you’re okay.” A smile crossed his lips. “You look dazed and dusty—”
“Sorry. I’ve been going through the rubble—”
He put a finger on her lips. “But still beautiful. You’ve had a hell of a time, Marjo. Let me take care of you.”
She raised her eyes and met his gaze. “Take care of me?”
“That means you don’t do a thing and someone else watches over you, catering to your every need. You’ve been caring for the entire world for too long.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers.
When he moved to turn away, she grabbed his arm. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
He smiled. “I was just going to get you a glass of water.”
“Stay,” she whispered, rising to him and pulling him closer. The feel of him against her was like a healing balm. “Make me forget.”
“Forget the fire?”
“Everything,” Marjo said, then leaned forward, and quit thinking with her head. She kissed Paul Clermont with all the want that had built up over the past week as she waited, hoping he would come back to her.
He returned the kiss, his lips covering hers with a sweet passion that surprised Marjo. He cupped her jaw, then his hands dropped down over her shoulders to her waist, then up again to brush against her breasts.
When he did that, a volcano of need exploded within Marjo. It wasn’t about forgetting the fire, the day, the stress of the past years; it was about this man and finally quenching her thirst for him.
“Oh, God, Marjo, I want you.”
“I want you, too.” To hell with waiting any longer, playing this game of seeing how far they could go without going over the edge. She took her shirt, tugged it over her head and tossed it into the corner of the room.
He smiled his surprise at her bold move, then cupped her breasts through the lace of her bra, his thumbs teasing her nipples. Marjo grabbed his shirt, fingers flying to undo the buttons, wanting only the feel of his skin against hers. She tossed it aside and slid her body against his, amazed by the warmth, the connection she felt.
“Let’s go—” she sucked in a breath, fighting to concentrate, to make sense “—into my bedroom.”
“Good idea,” he said, casting a dubious glance at the hard cypress floor beneath them.
She laughed, then took his hand and led him from the living room. In the hall, he twirled her against him, unable to wait, his mouth once again hungrily devouring hers. She stepped back, pulling him with her until they hit the wall. With her firm against the plaster, his hands roamed the path up to her waist, over her breasts, sending her senses into overload.
She slipped her hands down his back, into the waistband of his pants, over his buttocks, squeezing the tight, firm flesh and pulling his pelvis toward hers, aching for him.
Paul yanked down her capris, then slid his palms up her smooth thighs, teasing the la
cy edges of her panties. She stepped out of them, kicked the fabric to the side.
Fumbling, she reached for his belt, tugging it undone then freeing him from his khaki pants.
He hoisted her up, straddling her legs across his hips, and carried her into her bedroom, kicking open the door, then shutting it the same way.
They tumbled onto the bed together, ripping off their remaining clothes. Marjo slid her hand along his hard length, and he answered her by slipping two fingers inside her wet warmth. She arched against him, desire exploding within her. His thumb caressed while his fingers dipped in again and again until she knew she was going to die.
“Now, Paul,” she gasped. “Now.”
He slipped inside her and began to move, his strokes long and slow, building the fire between them.
Her hands grasped his buttocks, and she begged him without words to end this delightful agony. Intuitively understanding her need, he moved faster and brought his lips to her neck, whispering a kiss along her skin as they spiraled higher, their bodies melding in perfect harmony.
As the climax ebbed, Paul rolled to Marjo’s side, tugging her to him. She curved perfectly into the space against his body. Never had she felt so secure, so safe—
So cared for.
Tears threatened, and try as she might to hold them back, one trickled down her cheek.
“Was I that bad?” Paul asked with a smile, whisking the tear away with the back of his hand.
She laughed. “No, no. It’s not you. It’s…” She took in a breath. “No one has ever taken care of me, not like that.”
“A clear sign we need to do it again,” he said, catching a second tear before it could drop off her lashes.
“I wouldn’t want to get too used to it.” What if his stay here was temporary? There was probably a return plane ticket in his wallet, and all of this would disappear as quickly as it had begun.
She knew how fast life could change. In a split second, everything could be gone, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in her heart.
Paul’s face sobered. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
No, it wouldn’t, Marjo realized, not if it meant waking up next to this man every day. But, she still resisted saying the words.
Because she realized the man she’d just made love with was still, in many ways, a stranger. A man who may have shared his body with her.
But had yet to share his heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
INDIGO HAD BECOME a town transformed. People were bustling up and down the streets, circling the town square and the opera house, adding the finishing touches for the CajunFest.
Last night, Loretta’s VIP dinner in the opera house lobby had been a huge hit. The food was great, catered primarily by Luc’s cousin, a chef in New Orleans, and after all the paint and polish, the lobby and auditorium of the opera house looked much as they must have years ago. There was still work to be done, but the guests last night had been duly impressed. Marjo took that as a good—no, very good—sign of the opera house’s future.
The morning had dawned sunny and slightly warm. Colorful booths crowded the grassy lawn like some exotic market. The scent of Loretta’s tasty artisanal breads drifted through the air from her booth, along with the hum of musicians tuning up inside the opera house. The doors of the building were open, welcoming anyone who wanted to step into Indigo’s past.
Marjo gave tours of the building in the morning, then helped the various acts on and off the stage, doing the introductions so Alain could coordinate security with his deputies and off-duty officers he’d called in from neighboring forces.
The busier Marjo stayed, the easier it was to push her worries about the funeral home and her future to the side. She also wasn’t quite ready to deal with the incredible night she’d spent with Paul Clermont. As awesome as it had been, all it had done was muddy the waters, leaving her more confused than ever. Was this a fling? Or the start of something more?
And if it was, did she have room in her life for that right now? Was she willing to risk the safe, secure world she had created for herself and Gabriel for something that might not end in happily-ever-after?
Tomorrow, she’d deal with all that. Hadn’t that philosophy worked for Scarlett O’Hara?
Okay, it hadn’t, at least not with a happily-ever-after.
During the day, Jenny and other committee members had come up to Marjo, apologizing for wanting to pull the plug on the project. “You’ve worked a miracle,” Jenny said. “Thank God you finally convinced Paul Clermont to back this.”
Marjo wasn’t so sure she’d convinced Paul of a darn thing. At least, not after last night. He’d left before she woke up, leaving a note on her pillow that said he had a special surprise for her today.
There wasn’t a word of affection in the note. He’d simply scrawled his name at the bottom. What did that mean?
She pushed him out of her mind and made her way back up to the opera house stage. Nearly every seat was filled. She wasn’t sure about numbers yet, but from what she’d seen of the crowds around town and here, the festival was going to be even more successful than they’d thought. Jenny had told her they’d sold hundreds of the vintage postcards Hugh had had printed before his death from different periods of Indigo’s history.
Marjo slipped behind the thick curtains and peeked out. She saw plenty of happy faces, and many people had bags filled with purchases from the various booths. Sophie’s idea of expanding the CajunFest to include businesses from neighboring towns had been a great idea and ensured wider media coverage. Already, there had been some buzz about future performances at the opera house.
The future of the opera house and the town, which Marjo and so many others had worked hard for, was finally coming to fruition.
“They’ll be talking about this day at the Blue Moon for the next year,” Alain said, coming up beside her. “I’ve never seen this many people in Indigo. We’re practically a city.”
Marjo laughed. “It is amazing, isn’t it? I mean, the committee was hoping to hit twenty thousand attendees, but I don’t think any of us really thought it would happen.”
“You should see Luc. The man is in heaven. His bayou cruises are booked for today but people are making reservations like crazy. He’s going to have to hire someone to help him and maybe even spring for another boat come spring.”
“We have a party going on,” Cally said, coming up to them. She swiveled her hips in a little dance. Cally was in charge of set design, moving the backgrounds and curtains for each act. Her clothes were a bit dusty, but the smile on her face said she was having fun.
Marjo laughed. “It does feel pretty festive, doesn’t it?”
“Totally.”
They waved Alain off as he headed over to check on the next act. Loretta’s daughter Zara was just beginning her fiddle solo, and Alain was already beaming at his young student. Zara had really come around in the last few weeks, as if her mother’s happiness with Luc had rubbed off on her daughter, too.
Cally touched Marjo’s shoulder. “I just wanted to pop in with a quick hello before I find a seat to watch the Indigo Boneshakers. Billy Paul is playing and I’d hate to miss it.”
“Things seem to be heating up between the two of you,” Marjo said.
“Hey, he’s a drummer.” Cally winked. “You know I can’t resist a man who knows how to use his sticks.”
Marjo was still laughing as Cally left. The Indigo Boneshakers were the next act, and once they were set up, Marjo headed out to the stage to introduce them. She glanced at the bio that had been printed in the program, then noticed the next act.
Paul Clermont and Alain Boudreaux. Fiddle duet.
Her heart skipped a beat. She’d been too busy today to see much more than a glimpse of Paul, and each time she had, he’d been in the company of one of the locals.
It seemed as if the man from Cape Breton had been unofficially adopted by the town. All Marjo had to do was to look to see why. His contribution had been like
a shot of caffeine to a town that had almost given up on this festival, especially since Hugh’s death.
Marjo finished her introduction, then returned to the wings of the stage, watching the Boneshakers get their show under way. In the back corner of the auditorium, a friend of the band’s was selling copies of their newly created CD.
“There you are.”
She turned and saw Paul standing a few feet away, a fiddle in his hand. He had on a light blue button-down shirt, open at the neck, exposing just a tease of the chest she had explored last night. His jeans hugged his hips, sending a shiver of desire through her. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi, yourself.” He grinned, the approval in his eyes making her glad she’d chosen a figure-flattering dark cranberry dress. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That…and more,” she said, one corner of her mouth turning up.
He chuckled. “Maybe we can, uh, get acquainted again, after my set.”
“Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?”
“Considering you nearly killed me last night, I might need to keep a defibrillator on the nightstand.”
“Hey, the fourth time was all your idea.”
“I can’t help it.” He took a step forward, his hand reaching up to cup her chin, thumb tracing along her lower lip. “You make me crazy. You have from the first day I met you.”
“At least it’s a better crazy now than it was that day.”
“Much better,” Paul murmured just before leaning down and kissing her.
Everything went still within her at his touch. When he pulled back and looked down at her, there was something in his eyes that was much deeper than the simple heat of attraction.
“Marjo, while I was in Cape Breton, I did a lot of thinking,” he said. “I didn’t just come back to Indigo to see you. I also came to tell you that I want you to be with me.” He took her hands in his. “All the time.”
For a second she thought he was proposing, then she realized the word marriage hadn’t even skated along the edge of his sentence.
“I can’t leave here.” She gestured toward the stage. “I’m introducing all the acts.”