Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  “Well, I’m headed home for the night.” Bix gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t fret so much Miss Alice. Everythin’s gonna work out.”

  She nodded, trying to smile. Bix wouldn’t say that if he knew everything. She watched him walk out of the store, her chest growing tight. Bix had been part of her life for as long as she’d owned the store. She couldn’t imagine telling him that she was closing it down. She could only pray that she would never have to.

  ***

  The smell of warm ribs made Paul’s stomach rumble. The Round’emup Café was packed, even in the middle of the week. He hoped that meant good things. His mama had called a few minutes before and said she would meet them at the apartment for dinner. He’d placed his order and waited for his number to be called. Andy texted a few minutes later that the cable guys were done and gone.

  The evening was shaping up pretty nicely. Good Louisiana barbecue, high-speed Internet, his mama over for dinner, and a very productive conversation with his lawyer about Alice’s legal situation.

  Paul opened his email and stared at the screen. He should wait for Alice to write him first, but he missed her. Ridiculous, but there it was.

  Dear Alice,

  I thought of you today. I imagined you as “fire answering fire,” the way Shakespeare wrote it. Did you triumph? Or perhaps it was just the promise of good things like Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote “as kingfishers draw fire and dragonflies draw flame.” I hope your spark brought you closer to success.

  Your friend,

  BWK

  Paul sat back and waited. She would have closed up the shop by now and gone upstairs. He grinned at the thought of her making one of those peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. You could never say Alice was boring, that was for certain.

  A familiar voice cut into his thoughts. “When we get married, she’ll have to sell the place. It’s probably not up to code and we’ll need someplace safe to raise a family. That is, if we stay in Natchitoches.”

  Paul swiveled his head to the right and saw Eric, both hands covered in sauce. He had a white napkin tucked into his collar. One cheekbone sported a large purple bruise. He chewed, bits of rib on full display. He was talking to an older, balding man.

  “But I can’t loan you money on the promise of a sale sometime in the future. It don’t work that way, boy.” The man’s voice carried the sharp twang of a man right out of Tennessee. “And I sure can’t loan you money without her signin’ the building over as collateral.”

  Paul edged closer. Eric must be some player to have moved on so quickly from Alice. Apparently, he was also a player with money issues.

  “See, here’s the problem,” Eric said. He took a moment to wipe his fingers. “Alice has this old aunt, and she promised the old aunt that she wouldn’t sell the store, ever. Now, if Alice signs something and the aunt finds out, then it would cause a rift in the family. You see? So, she can say it, but she can’t put her signature on a piece of paper.”

  Paul wanted to rewind that conversation and listen to it again. It sounded like Eric was bartering Alice’s building.

  The other man shook his head. “I dunno. My bosses don’t work like that.” He looked down, putting a hand in his pocket. He pulled out a phone and tapped the screen. “I gotta take this. Be right back.”

  The older man scraped back his chair and headed for the door. As he passed, Eric met Paul’s eyes. His expression went from shock to fear and then defiance.

  Paul walked to the table and sat down, pushing the other man’s plate away.

  “I could have you arrested for what you did the other day.” Eric glanced around, looking a little panicked.

  Paul said nothing. These were the moments when he wished he had been blessed with being able to think of just the right thing. As it was, all his words were lost in rage.

  “You think you can intimidate me. You think because you’ve got a lot of money that you’re better than me.” Eric had started to sweat. His forehead glistened in the dim overhead light.

  Paul put his elbows on the table, not breaking eye contact. He didn’t know where to start arguing. He wasn’t anywhere near close to punching Eric, but the guy leaned back quickly.

  Eric’s eyes started to water, making the light blue almost gray. “You don’t understand. I have dental school bills to pay. And even if Alice thinks we’re done, I know I can convince her to give me another chance.”

  Paul shifted in his chair and Eric flinched. “Fine,” Eric said, his voice high and strained. “She’ll never give me the time of day again, now that she’s got you. The least you can do is compensate me for my loss. You stole her right out from under me.”

  Letting the words sink in, Paul’s hand curled into a fist. If he had ten more minutes he could come up with something really frightening to say. Eric watched him with wide eyes, his whole body vibrating with anxiety.

  “If you ever involve Alice or her store in any of your schemes, I will know.” He leaned forward. “If I hear that you so much as mentioned her name in relation to your bad business deals, I will come looking for you.”

  Eric nodded. “Okay, okay.”

  “Now get up and go home.”

  Scooting back his chair, Eric dropped some cash on the table and ran out the door. Paul stood up, feeling anger blazing a path of destruction through his insides. Some people would do anything for money, even stealing from a sweet girl like Alice. Eric obviously never cared for her. He’d only wanted her store.

  Paul took up his place near the door and tried to get his heart rate back under control. He knew what it was like to be a target, to have people drop your name in their business deals, to be involved in frivolous lawsuits, to learn you were used as bait or collateral. He also knew what it was like to find out a kiss wasn’t just a kiss, but a carefully thought-out strategy to entrap a person. He could understand how his wealth attracted those negatives, but Alice had been barely scraping by. It made him sick that Alice had to deal with people like Eric and Norma, when she was simply trying to earn a living.

  His phone dinged and he pulled it out of his pocket. He swiped the screen, his heart still thudding in his chest.

  Dear BWK,

  I’m not sure if I was fire today, but I tried. Maybe everything will work out “so long as fire outlives the parent spark”, like Shelley says.

  I thought you might come by the store today. I have your copy of The Duke’s Secret behind the counter. I’d like to meet my new friend face-to-face. But if not, I’m still thankful for this, these words. Like our Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I’ve been feeling “a little sunburnt by the glare of life”, and your notes are like a cool shade.

  If you give me your P.O. box address, I’ll send the book along so you can add it to the site. I believe in your project, but I also have my own ulterior motive. You seem to be driving customers to my doorstep.

  Your friend,

  Alice

  Paul smiled at the “our Elizabeth Barrett Browning” part. Our. And he was like cool shade for her. He felt his heart lifting. Looking ahead was only making things more complicated. He should just be the kind of friend she needed, the only way he could be, as BWK. Being with Alice in real life was preferable, but it somehow always ended in misunderstandings or embarrassing clinches. She needed a friend right now, especially a friend with money and power. Pursuing her romantically wouldn’t help either one of them.

  Dear Alice,

  I’m glad customers are coming to find more of what I’m adding to the site. I started this project on a whim but it’s become a passion.

  As for this city, it’s “a slow sort of country,” like the Queen says in Alice in Wonderland. I arrived not a week ago and feel like I’ve been here for years. Even those I’ve just met seem almost like family to me now.

  My P.O. box address is below.

  Your friend,

  BWK

  Paul sent the email just as his name was called from the register. A pretty young waitress handed him his bill and smiled
nervously as he handed her his card.

  “I’m Tiffany and I hope you enjoy your dinner, sir.” She handed him his bags and took a breath. “You come back now, Mr. Olivier.”

  Paul nodded. “Thanks, I’m sure I will.” He took the bags with a smile and headed out the door. It was nice to have such polite service. In New York City getting takeout could be a nightmare if you crossed a grumpy shop keeper. It didn’t matter who you were. If someone decided you shouldn’t get service, you wouldn’t.

  In a few minutes he was back at By the Book. He saw a new set of stickers in the window, notifying visitors of an alarm system with remote cameras. Looking around, he saw the tiny camera above the door and resisted waving. He already knew which package she’d chosen because the bill had been sent to him. Or to BWK. She would get a note about it from the alarm company.

  Paul paused, a bag of hot, barbecued ribs in each hand. He wondered if Alice would be suspicious of BWK paying for the system. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would be. They were friends. At least, he had thought so. Well, time would tell if she would be irritated or pleased. Maybe he was overstepping, but since he was anonymous, it removed the burden of repayment or feeling indebted. He smiled to himself. Just like when she heard from Norma Green’s lawyer.

  He turned to the back of the building and went up the narrow stairs. He hesitated for a moment at his door. Looking down the hallway, he fought to control the urge to walk down there, knock on her door, and invite her for dinner.

  But BWK was more useful to Alice. She wouldn’t accept Paul’s help like she might accept BWK’s, so it was better if he just stayed away. He turned the handle and went inside, his heart sinking at the thought.

  “Finally,” Andy exclaimed. “I was ready to eat my hand.”

  “Here, sweetie,” his mama said. “Let me help you.” She reached for the bags and opened them. “Mmmm, Round’emup has the best ribs.” She opened the other bag. “And you got some slaw, beans and biscuits. That’s my boy.”

  “Look, I even changed.” Andy showed off his T-shirt, all black with the seraph logo in deep red. “If I drop barbecue sauce on it, it won’t even show.”

  “Funny,” Paul said, dropping onto a stool in the kitchen. He fiddled with the knob on the kitchen drawer. It was always loose. Maybe he could find a screwdriver.

  “Uh oh.” His mama paused in the act of putting some ribs on a plate. “Mais, what happened?”

  “Nothing. Why?” Paul straightened up.

  “You have that sparkly vampire thing going on again.” Andy pulled an exaggerated sad face.

  “Everything is fine.” He looked at the plates. “Probably just hungry. And I ran into Alice’s old boyfriend in the café.”

  “The guy you punched in the face?” Andy asked.

  “The who you did what to?” His mama looked from Paul to Andy, half-smiling. She looked as if she expected them to start laughing and explain that no, Paul hadn’t ever punched anyone in the face.

  “It’s a long story.” Paul shot Andy a look that said he should be afraid to sleep because he was going to pay for that comment. Andy responded with an apologetic grimace.

  “Alice is the gal we met at church, right? The one you were… dancing with?” She’d completely forgotten about the ribs now. “The one who supposedly hates you?”

  Paul sighed. “Yes. The one who just filed a petition with the city to stop our store from opening. The one who is suing for personal hardship because my ugly building will cause her property values to drop.”

  His mama put down the bag and headed for the door, her mouth a thin line.

  “Wait! What are you doing? Don’t go over there and yell at her.” Paul jumped off the stool and tried to beat her to the door.

  “Oh, honey, I would never do that.” His mama stepped into the hallway. “I’m fixin’ to invite her for dinner.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The ‘Net is a waste of time and that’s exactly

  what’s right about it. ― William Gibson

  She set off, heels clacking down the hallway. Paul stood there, immobilized.

  “Well, this should be interesting,” said Andy. He dragged a bag closer and looked inside. “I’ll just get a biscuit while we wait.”

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t want her to… It’s not about…”

  “You’re not even forming complete sentences,” Andy said through a mouthful.

  Paul looked down at himself and smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. He didn’t shave that morning and his five-o’clock shadow was closer to an eighteen-hour one. Ducking into his bedroom, he stripped off his shirt, applied fresh deodorant, and grabbed something with a collar. Slipping it on, he buttoned it up as fast as he could. There was nothing he could do about shaving, but he ducked into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and combed his hair in record time.

  Paul turned to leave and nearly jumped out of his skin. Andy was standing in the doorway, shaking his head.

  “This is bad news. I don’t see this ending well.”

  Paul ignored him, brushing past and heading for the kitchen. His mama wasn’t back yet, and she might not even be able to convince Alice to come, but at least he was presentable.

  “Buddy, are you hearing me? Whatever is going on, it needs to stop. Romeo and Juliet isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.” Andy perched on a stool and bit into another biscuit. “Why can’t you chase supermodels like all the other billionaires?”

  Paul paced the kitchen, feeling his palms sweat. “Shut up.”

  Andy grinned. “That’s more like it.”

  The sound of voices came down the hallway and they both froze, watching the open door. Seconds later, Mrs. Olivier appeared, leading Alice into the living room. “Come on in and make yourself comfortable. We’re just going to warm up the ribs.”

  Alice looked nervous and a little wary, but she smiled brightly. She lifted a hand. “Hi, Andy. Hey, Paul.” Her cheeks were pinker than usual, but maybe that was because his mother had just pulled her from her apartment and down the hall to dinner. She’d already changed from her work clothes, now in a comfortable-looking pink T-shirt and jeans.

  Paul tried to lean against the counter in a nonchalant way and put his elbow squarely onto a plate of ribs. He jerked it back, grabbing a napkin to wipe off the sauce now covering his shirt. Andy started to laugh and choked on his biscuit, almost tumbling off the stool.

  “Don’t mind them.” Mrs. Olivier gave them both a stern look.

  “Hmmm.” Alice responded. She looked half-amused but as she scanned the living room, her smile faded away. She walked to the window and stared at the hole the cable men had cut into the floor.

  “What― What happened here?” Her voice was high and tight.

  Andy coughed. “Cable. For Internet.” He was still struggling to remove the biscuit from his windpipe.

  She turned to Paul, her eyes wide with shock. “You didn’t say he’d be cutting holes in the floor.”

  He walked forward, looking for the first time at the cable work. He hadn’t actually been in the room when it had been installed. Fat orange cable wound up from the floor and followed along the wall to the fireplace.

  Alice traced it with her steps, walking toward the fireplace where the sixty-inch flat screen was mounted. “How is that staying up there? And the speakers? And those… boxes?” She pointed to all of the equipment. Stepping closer, she peered underneath the screen.

  “I guess they’re held on with brackets.” Paul had a very bad feeling that they had done something wrong. He hadn’t thought about the bricks. He should have known better. A stand for the screen would have been better, not screwing brackets into the wall. “Definitely not very elegant, but since it’s temporary there’s no way to hide the cables.”

  Standing on tiptoe she looked onto the top of the mantel and sucked in a breath. “You let them put holes in the fireplace?”

  Paul stepped up beside her and saw the orange cable staple
d up the side of the fireplace mantel, then all along the top. “I guess I should have made sure they used the wireless set up, with the connector plugged in to the TV. Then the cables…” He stopped talking as he met her eyes. They were filled with tears.

  “The floor is wide plank, hand-hewn, quartered oak from a grove north of here,” she said, her words spilling out in anger. “The bricks were made by one of the biggest Creole businesses of the day, and we know the names of the men who laid the bricks for this wall. This is a two-hundred-and-twenty year old, cherry wood mantel, imported from France. It was brought here by boat and survived a hurricane on the way. I know it just looks like wood. I know it seemed like none of these things matter because you can just buy another, but they’re important. They can’t be replaced. They’re part of this building’s history. You can’t just,” she hauled in a breath, “cut holes and pound staples in something without asking.”

  “I’m sorry.” Paul knew as he said the words it wouldn’t make any difference. He had failed her. She’d asked him to watch the workers. She’d trusted him. He felt sick to his stomach. The damage to the mantel could be fixed, but only in the way that items were fixed as long as no one looked too closely. The floor could be patched but it could never be whole.

  He saw her reach for her necklace, and the wave of anguish on her face urged him forward. He desperately wanted to wrap her in his arms. But he was sure that any move like that would be an insult after what he’d just done. The silence in the room was deafening and he couldn’t even look toward the others, knowing his mama’s expression would be utter disappointment in him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. He rubbed a hand over his face. There was no way to make up for what he’d done and for once, all the money he had didn’t make a difference. What she said hit home, hard. His answer to everything was to throw money or favors at it. But sometimes someone just needed you to pay attention.