French Quarter

by Stella Cameron

  Now there was a job waiting for Leigh at Gabriel’s Place, a bar and grill in a forested setting a few miles south of Langley. She found the help-wanted ad in a discarded newspaper at a Seattle coffee shop and called on impulse before she could change her mind.

  Gabriel Jones had interviewed her on the phone and told her she was hired. Just like that. Of course she knew him from the times she and Chris had eaten at the restaurant north of the little stone house Chris’s grandfather had built almost entirely with his own hands.

  As soon as she had hung up the phone from speaking with Gabriel about the job, and to make sure she didn’t find an excuse to back out, Leigh gave notice at Microsoft and took her software engineering skills north to the island she had tried to stay away from in case she couldn’t deal with the memories. But after all, thanks to Chris, she owned the house and land at Chimney Rock, and knew the area intimately. And she didn’t care if designing a web page for a local bar and eatery, getting the accounts computerized and generally trying to drag the place out of the red was a huge step down from what she was trained to do.

  The measly pay would cover expenses, not that she cared about that either, and she wouldn’t be the first woman to be way overqualified for a position.

  This was where she had been happier than at any other time in her life and sadness had become so old. She was ready to laugh again, to make a friend or two maybe

  She was talking herself into this.

  Perhaps she was succeeding. The least she could do was see how she did spending a night alone in the house. She filled her lungs with crystal air and shivered at the tingle that whipped over her skin.

  Time to pick up and make a life again, that’s what she had told herself, many times, until she finally got the message and knew she was right.

  The phone rang, and rang, and rang. She picked it up on the fifth ring, figuring someone didn’t intend to leave her alone until she answered–not that anyone was supposed to know she was here.

  “Hello.” The wintry evening snapped cold outside but she could see a steel blue moon rising beyond the windows, even with all the lamps switched on.

  “You okay?”

  Leigh didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”

  “Gabriel Jones…at Gabriel’s Place. I’ll be there in an hour or so. I picked up a few groceries for you. Enough to get you started. Sorry to be so late coming.”

  Of course it was Gabriel. Who else would it be? Puffing air into her cheeks and holding it, Leigh tried to think coherently but failed. She wanted to tell him not to come, didn’t she? Yes, definitely.

  “I’ve got a couple of phone numbers for your neighbors just in case you need to call someone,” he said. “You can always reach me if you’ve got a problem.”

  She and Chris had only come up on weekends and she didn’t recall ever talking to a neighbor. The nearest house, which must belong to Niles Latimer, was built farther south on a piece of land that jutted out to the water’s edge beneath the bluff. Chris said he didn’t think he would like it there when the tide was in and water lapped around concrete bulkheads built to protect the foundation of the cabin.

  “You still there?” Gabriel said. He had one of those deep, vibrating voices that sounded like he would sing baritone–and as if he smoked. Leigh didn’t know about either. She did know he was an ex-football player who was imposingly huge.

  “You don’t have to do all this,” she said. But she couldn’t be rude. “I’d be very grateful for the groceries but you don’t need to bother with anything else. It’s all fine here.”

  “I’m not checking the electricity,” Gabriel said. “Niles will do that. He knows all that stuff.”

  “We already met. The power seems fine. Thank you, both of you, for getting the gutters clean and the wood in.”

  Leigh tried to ignore Jazzy who was scratching the front door. The dog should not need to go out again.

  Gabriel cleared his throat. “Good. Wanted to make sure I told you how glad I am you’re here. I couldn’t believe my luck when you took the job. It’s real different from what you’re used to. Could be a breath of fresh air for you. Different air anyway. The pay’s not much but by the time you’ve started bringing in more customers—and I know you will—I’ll be able to afford more. You do know all your meals are found. That’ll help.”

  She didn’t know how to answer.

  “Anyway, Leigh, give yourself a few days to settle in. Start here when you’re ready. I’ll be over with the groceries.”

  Leigh opened her mouth to say she intended to begin work tomorrow but Gabriel said, “Bye,” and hung up the phone.

  The scratching continued, and an uncharacteristic whining. Leigh made her way back from the kitchen and through the living room with its assortment of slightly sagging armchairs covered with a fabric resembling tartan carpet in shades of rust and green.

  She let Jazzy run outside where he only went as far as the edge of the weathered gray porch and sat with his head raised, sniffing. The fringes of blond fur on his ears and above his eyes, stood straight up in the breeze.

  The open door let in a whiff of air off the water. Very little about the house had been changed since Chris’s grandparents’ time. He had liked it that way and Leigh still did.

  She wasn’t ready to climb the stairs to the loft yet. That’s where they had slept and felt so cocooned and isolated in their own world–safe in each other’s arms and in their love.

  Leigh did look up at the patchwork quilt draped over the loft railings. Even that was grungy-looking. Many months of neglect had coated the whole place with dirt but cleaning would help her adjust and keep her mind busy at the same time.

  A while later the downstairs had begun to feel the way Leigh liked it. She had tied her hair back with a scarf and rolled up her sleeves and the legs of her jeans. Sweating from physical labor helped ease the tension.

  Illuminated by the yellowish porch light, buckets of dirty, sudsy water made a river through mud near the porch. Leigh wiped her face on a sleeve. The house smelled clean. Within days it would be its old shiny self.

  She heard the powerful engine of Niles Latimer’s truck start. By the time she got to the kitchen door his taillights were disappearing through the canyon of firs as he drove up the track leading to the road. Leaving him alone like that for hours without as much as the offer of some coffee stank. She had been so preoccupied she got used to the sounds of him working and now she was sorry he had left. He had been there a long time.

  She grabbed a flashlight and stepped outside the door. The woodshed was full and extra logs stood in piles covered with tarpaulins. The whole area was raked free of debris and he had pulled out the jungle of weeds from behind the shed. No wonder he had spent a lot of time there. She would take him some cookies or a pie, or both, and write a thank-you note.

  “Neighbors look out for neighbors.” His voice came to her clearly, and the vision of a vibrant man with steady, amazingly blue eyes.

  Loneliness could become a dangerous companion.

  Losing herself in work again was the best way to shut out unwanted thoughts.

  Darkness became complete and milky mist rose off the water to curl up over the bank. Seat cushions from the chairs had been vacuumed and stood propped on the porch to air out. If she didn’t bring them in they would get damp.

  Followed back and forth by Jazzy, she hauled in the cushions and replaced them. The bookshelves were dusted, including the books, and the crystal birds Chris had inherited and liked had all been washed in ammonia until they sparkled. Every table had been polished, the big Oriental rug vacuumed and the wooden floors washed. Leigh had done the dark boards on her hands and knees.

  Dragging stiffness dug between her shoulders. She looked up at the unlit loft. If she was going to have a place to sleep, there was no putting it off any longer. Clean sheets and the swipe of a duster over the obvious surfaces would have to do for now. She had already freshened up the one bathroom in the place, a shower combi
nation that was downstairs.

  Moving rapidly, she climbed the stairs and coughed when she pulled the hanging quilt from the railings. It must go to the cleaners. She would have to do something about getting a washer and dryer here–if she stayed. Not that she knew where they could be hooked up other than outside.

  Using a set of sheets she had brought from the condo in Seattle, the bed was changed in record time and everything for the laundry gathered into a pile in one corner.

  Gabriel hadn’t come with the groceries. Smiling to herself, Leigh went wearily downstairs again. The main reason Gabriel needed help was because he was disorganized and disinclined to attend to detail–like milk and bread for Leigh. She got her keys and bag, hoping there would be somewhere open in Langley. If all else failed, the gas station carried a few things.

  “C’mon, Jazzy,” she said. “We’re going for a ride.”

  Jazzy rolled his eyes. Leigh couldn’t tell anyone her dog did that, but he did–sort of–if there was something he didn’t want to do. Jazzy didn’t much like riding in the car, particularly not when he was already curled up and comfy on one of Leigh’s freshly cleaned chair seats.

  She opened the front door and barely stopped herself from falling over a box and a small ice chest. Gabriel must have sensed on the phone that she wasn’t ready for visitors. “You’re a good man, Mr. Jones,” she said aloud, hauling the box, then the ice chest to the kitchen. A potted poinsettia with leaves in two shades of deep pink, nestled between coffee, bread and several boxes of cookies.

  Leigh sighed. This was all part of tackling a normal life again and she had better get used to it. Gabriel was being thoughtful and kind and the plant was beautiful, obviously one of the many that had not been sold over Christmas.

  “Doggy treat,” Leigh called out, producing a surprising box of rawhide chews.

  Instantly, Jazzy raced into the kitchen, his blackcurrant eyes shining behind the wispy fringe of beige hair. He stood on his hind legs and danced, until he could grab the chew and take off.

  Leigh put the poinsettia on the draining board and gave it some water. When she turned around, Jazzy was back–without the chew—and standing on his hind legs again, pawing the air like a miniature wild horse.

  “Pig,” Leigh said, knowing her shaggy friend’s penchant for hoarding. “Okay, but don’t come back again.” She gave him another, bigger chew and scratched his head.

  Half an hour later, the groceries put away and a cup of tea in hand, Leigh headed into the living room, sat down and stretched out her legs. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall asleep in the chair and appealing as that might be, it wouldn’t feel so good in the morning.

  The front door was still open–just a few inches–and a cold draft slid through.

  Leigh got up trudged across the floor. She could hear Jazzy gnawing on his chew. Arching her back, she listened again and held her breath. The sound of teeth scraping across something hard got louder—too loud to be made by her little dog.

  She looked outside and it took all the restraint she had not to scream.

  Side-by-side on the porch lay Jazzy and a new companion. Jazzy chewed the little piece of rawhide. His friend gnawed the other one.

  “Jazzy, come here,” Leigh croaked,

  Her contrary buddy stared at her, then licked the face of the other animal…wolf, giant mutant dog, something escaped from a zoo somewhere or whatever it was. Leigh wanted to slam her door on the blue-black creature with massive shoulders, hard muscle that undulated with even the slightest move, and lion-sized feet.

  It stared at her with soft golden eyes while she shivered and poised herself to grab her silly, trusting little dog and pull him to safety.

  The giant rose slowly, backed away a step or two. He was a magnificent dog, she decided, and very scary. With one paw he batted Jazzy on the butt, sending him toward Leigh a whole lot faster than he ever moved by choice.

  Back rippling beneath the wiry fur along its spine, what was left of the chew delicately balanced between his teeth, their bizarre visitor lumbered from the porch and was instantly absorbed into shadows.

  She thought she heard soft, measured footfalls that entered the forest and kept on loping. Only, of course she couldn’t hear an animal walking on spongy ground from this distance. Or see a faint, gauzy trail of silver slipping from the bluff to follow in the dog’s wake…

  About the Author

  Stella Cameron is the New York Times best selling author of the acclaimed Court of Angels Series, the Bayou Books and many others. There are fourteen million copies of her books in circulation worldwide. She is the recipient of the Pacific Northwest Achievement Award for distinguished professional achievement and for enhancing the stature of the Northwest Literary community. She lives in Washington State.

  Learn more about Stella Cameron on the web at:

  http://www.StellaCameron.com

  http://www.Facebook.com/StellaCameron

  Discover more of Stella’s eBooks at:

  http://www.stellacameron.com/ebooks.html

  More books from Stella Cameron

  French Quarter

  Breathless

  Out of Sight

  Out of Mind

  Out of Body

  Cypress Nights

  A Cold Day in Hell

  Target

  A Marked Man

  A Grave Mistake

  Body of Evidence

  Now You See Him

  Kiss Them Goodbye

  Cold Day in July

  Finding Ian

  Tell Me Why

  Novellas from Stella Cameron

  Bargain Bride

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Portrait of a Scoundrel

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Key West Teaser

  Key West Excerpt

  Darkness Bound Teaser

  Darkness Bound Excerpt

  About Stella Cameron

  More Books

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Portrait of a Scoundrel

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

 
; Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Key West Teaser

  Key West Excerpt

  Darkness Bound Teaser

  Darkness Bound Excerpt

  About Stella Cameron

  More Books