“To be honest, I don’t really know. I’ve heard whispers of rumors, but none of the guys really talk.” She smiled and twitched her brows.
Rowan read “boys’ club” all over the lawyer’s expression and fought back a sigh. Perfect. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was an additional hurdle she didn’t need.
Jimmy always had a big heart. Often, in a derogatory way, Rowan’s mother would tell stories about how he’d always bring home strays of all shapes and sizes as a kid. And those ‘strays’ weren’t only limited to dogs and cats. He’d brought home baby birds, a couple of snakes, several toads, a lost ferret, and once, a school friend who was angry that his mom wouldn’t buy him a new bike. She wondered what kind of stray Luke Meunier classified as.
“Of course, he may decide it would be a good time to, um, move out and spread his wings or whatever.” The man’s image did a quick turn in her brain and she shoved it out. Idiot. Logic before hormones.
“Perhaps.” Margie’s dark eyes caught hers, a hint of amusement bouncing around that had Rowan frowning. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled. Would 11:00 tomorrow morning work for you? I have a couple of appointments earlier. You have the address still? It’s only a twenty-minute walk. Perfect way to learn the neighborhood.”
Rowan nodded, her mind slipping and sliding.
“Oh, you’re going to need these.” Margie reached out to deposit a ring of keys in Rowan’s hand before giving her a friendly arm squeeze.
“Thanks so much for everything.”
“Very welcome.” The older woman slid through the door. ‘See you in the morning.”
After the lawyer disappeared, Rowan continued to sit on the sofa’s arm. She glanced around at the apartment, looking but not absorbing.
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself against a sudden chill. “What the hell have I done?”
Chapter Two
At one AM, Luke shooed the last regular out and locked up the building. Sonny was in the back cleaning the kitchen, while Taylor and Christy wiped down tables and straightened the dining room.
His mind hadn’t stopped its crazy pinwheel all night. He’d known Jimmy had left the Goose to his niece, but from his understanding, she was some kind of actress on the West Coast. If she was juggling a career like that, hell, the last thing he would expect would be for the woman to hop the first flight and move in to the little apartment upstairs.
Maybe it had just been wishful thinking on his part, but he’d hoped the tavern would have been left in his care, or at the very least, Jimmy’s beneficiary would have hired a management company. That would have made sense. Especially after what had happened.
Yet here the girl was, ready to be underfoot and pull the owner card.
Then again, it was possible she was unaware of the details.
Luke pressed his lips inward and his jaw tensed.
Her image paraded within the walls of his skull. She was nothing like he’d expected. At all. Jimmy had been a great guy, but with his broad brow, bulbous nose, and thick fish lips, he had hardly been what anyone could construe as good-looking. As a result, Luke had kind of expected Rowan O’Herley to resemble a lawn gnome, but without the little stocking hat or beard. He couldn’t have been any more mistaken.
Grabbing both register tills, he turned to shove through the double doors and head toward the cramped business office. Agitation crept under his skin and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to take a late-night ride on the bike or blow off steam with some calisthenics. Hell, maybe both.
Or not. Annoyed with himself, he shook his head and clenched his jaw.
Pulling his keys out to unlock the office, he stopped and pivoted when the stairwell door closed.
Rowan O’Herley stepped under the bright halogen lights, her gaze roaming before catching his.
There it was. She and her uncle shared the same odd eyes, a pewter gray with slivers of black floating within. The resemblance between uncle and niece crashed right there though. Jimmy may have sported some sparse strands of ginger, but this girl had hair the color of rich, polished cherry-wood and the smooth, natural cream complexion of near-perfect genetics. The curve of her cheekbones and small, slightly upturned nose complemented the delicate sweep of her jawline and throat. She was breathing evidence the other side of the family must have been dominant. Even the deep shadows hollowing her eyes didn’t disguise that kind of beauty. It also guaranteed some long nights for him. Luke tried not to stare, choosing to pretend indifference instead.
He’d really wanted, even needed her to look like a lawn gnome. God, he felt like such an asshole.
“I’d think you’d be sleeping the sleep of the jetlagged.”
She shrugged, looking past him before bouncing back. “Same here. Too tired and too wired, I guess. Thought I’d observe closing procedures since I’m up.”
“You ever run a business?”
Rowan hesitated before lifting her chin. “I took some business courses when I was in school.”
“Business courses.” He smirked, turning to let himself into the office. “Not exactly real-world experience.”
Her face stilled, but color rose in her cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’m a fast learner.”
“Hope so. I’d hate to see the Goose take a dive. I’ve grown quite fond of her.” Luke shouldered his way into the small room and dropped into the threadbare desk chair. Logging onto the computer, he brought up the necessary screens before he started counting down the tills, aware the girl had followed, her gaze intent upon his actions.
“Feel free to explain while you go.”
He bit back a smile at her dry tone, but verbally noted his steps, keeping his words clipped. The young woman stepped close, leaning over his shoulder to gaze at the computer screen. Despite her long day, a soft scent of orange blossoms lingered near him. Something inside tightened, his lungs suddenly slower to pull in oxygen. He cleared his throat and wished she’d step back.
Her questions were smart, direct, hazing his doubts, but not eradicating them. It was way too early to tell whether she’d be an asset or a detriment to the old place. But it wasn’t too early to consider she might be a problem for him.
Initially, he’d guessed her age barely out of her teens, not much more than a child, but he’d now upped his estimate. Life experience coated her like a mist, evident in manner and movement. He wondered what her story consisted of, but he cut off the thought before it could flourish. No. He didn’t want to know.
“Oh, my goodness, what are you doing up? You must be exhausted!” Christy peeked into the office, reaching behind her to undo her apron, her expression thick with disapproval. “Pauvre fille!”
“She’s a big girl, Christy.” Luke didn’t look up, continuing his paperwork. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rowan frown in bemusement.
The older woman clucked her tongue and stepped into the office to wrap one arm around Rowan and pull her toward the hallway. “Be quiet, Luke Meunier. The girl’s obviously ready to drop.”
Glancing up, he caught the expression of utter incredulousness on Rowan’s face at Christy’s maternal fussing. He dimly wondered what the girl’s real mother was like. “I think you’re scaring her, Chris.”
“C’est bête!”
“It’s not silly. Look at her.”
“It’s fine. Really.” Rowan smiled at the other woman, the gesture encompassing her entire face, and Luke took a moment to stare. A yawn followed and she covered it with the back of her hand. “You might be right, though. Maybe I should try to grab a bit of rest. Tomorrow is more than enough time to work on learning the ropes.”
“You bet it is.” Christy guided the young woman out, chattering at her, asking questions with the relentlessness of a machine gun. A moment later, the metallic slam of the stairwell door echoed through the hallway. Luke presumed the waitress had been successful in her endeavors to shoo Rowan O’Herley back up to the apartment.
Relief settled within, tanglin
g with the buzz of anxiety in a disparate mix. Luke leaned forward, his head dipping into his hands.
Why the hell did Jimmy have to up and croak on them all? He wouldn’t be in this position if the old guy was still alive. Luke missed him. He missed long conversations over a couple of beers. Politics, sports, women, gambling, sometimes the past if Luke had had a few too many.
Unbidden, the memory of James Broussard’s body flooded his mind and Luke pressed his fingers to his eyes and rubbed. Fireworks popped at the pressure but did nothing to dissolve the image. The slide of footsteps had him looking up to blink the shooting lights away.
Sonny leaned against the doorjamb to wish him a goodnight, grinned, and raised his bushy brows. “She sure don’t look like Jimmy, eh?”
“Fortunately for her.” The cook’s leering but harmless mug chased death from his head for a moment, and Luke’s lips quirked.
The man let out a gusty donkey bray of a laugh, but sobered quickly. “You, uh, think she’ll be okay?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Luke’s stomach gave one dull throb as he studied the cook.
He lifted and dropped one thick shoulder, but his grin returned. “’Course she got a big, strong man downstairs if she get scared … or lonely.”
“’Night, Sonny.”
“Okay, okay. I get gone. The ladies are ready to leave too. I’ll walk them out.”
“You do that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He heard the murmur of conversation, gossip, no doubt. The girl upstairs would be big news for a long while to come. The heavy slam of the steel back door reverberated through the old building and Luke let out a sigh.
No. Nothing was what he’d ever hoped or expected.
Finishing up, he closed down the computer, stuck the registers and deposit in the safe, locked the office, and strode to the door adjacent to the stairs. Using his key, he let himself in, flipped on the lamp next to the bed, and flopped on the mattress.
Luke lay back against his pillow, staring up at the unfinished ceiling above him. He had a chest with clothes and toiletries, a borrowed novel, and his guitar propped in the corner of his small space. The rest of the room was devoted to storage, and that was okay with him. Had been for quite a while now. He didn’t need much. He’d learned that needing and wanting only led to crippling grief and he had no intention of following that thorny path again.
He thought about the young woman above him and wondered if she’d been able to get to sleep. That wonder evolved into worry as the image of Jimmy’s body soaked into his brain for the second time that evening.
No, it would be fine. Whatever the old man had gotten tangled in couldn’t possibly affect his niece. Why the hell would it?
Disquiet remained and he softly cursed. He didn’t want to get involved. As he pictured the guarded sadness in her eyes, he reminded himself that he didn’t want to care. He couldn’t afford to.
On a whim, he pulled his wallet from the front of his worn jeans to gaze at the single tattered photo next to his driver’s license. He traced the two faces with a reverent finger, looking for some semblance of comfort. Instead of sliding into bittersweet memories, persistent hollowness inside echoed dully.
Luke replaced his wallet and closed his eyes.
Chapter Three
Rowan floated in twilight. Thick humidity pressed to her skin, coating it with a thin film. The water beneath her lapped gently, just as warm as ambient temperature. The shimmer of stars above lay bright against the infinite darkness, and she found herself smiling toward the heavens.
Relaxed, she hovered, not thinking of the past or the future. The mental blankness felt freeing and she wished she could be thought-free more often.
A light breeze licked at her, shoving at the humidity, cooling her overheated skin. Stretching, she tilted her head back, hair spreading across the surface of the water. In the daylight, it would breathe like dark fire, but night subdued the flames into ink.
Her peace ebbed away as images of her family slid behind her eyes. Her mother weeping, her father supporting her with one strong arm. Their actions were uncharacteristic, and confusion fogged her brain. The two of them began to wave, their figures shrinking and blurring in the distance. Even her dream-self recognized the symbolism for what it was: a break in the family dynamic, courtesy of her “bad” choices. Of course, it had been a long while in the making. She’d more or less stopped listening to her mother years ago.
Not that the disappointment lighting the woman’s eyes had ceased to hurt.
Isolation stripped away her peace, burning her eyes, stinging her nose. She blinked back persistent tears while a pang of sadness darted deep inside her heart.
Another figure replaced them and Rowan frowned as she squinted toward him, depression dimming. The image pulsed and yawned and became a semblance of human before crystalizing for a moment into the unfamiliar and disappearing the next instant. Her vision was left with emerald eyes hiding within a sketch.
“Rowan…”
The word teased her consciousness, the voice unrecognizable and less than a whisper. It penetrated into her mind with the hiss of a snake, blanketing her thoughts, prickling the base response of panic.
She tried to calm her thoughts and concentrated on easing her rabid breaths. Still unsettled, she gazed back at the stars, seeking comfort in their beauty and vastness, but they were no longer visible. A heavy cloud cover crowded the night sky as the breeze strengthened to a strong gust kicking up around her. It brought waves to white-capped peaks, crumbling her self-control as the sea whipped into violence of an incoming storm. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears and Rowan seized to float and flipped over to swim toward the shore.
She must have drifted farther than she’d anticipated. Land once within easy sight had dissolved into a dense murkiness, and Rowan lost direction. Waves slapping from all angles had her struggling to keep her head above the churning foam, scissoring her legs against the current.
The sound of a man’s deep chuckle assaulted her ears the moment a strong, bony hand clamped around her ankle to pull her into the tepid depths. Rowan kicked out, trying to shake the grip, fear rising to terror when she couldn’t break free. She flopped on the surface, arms slapping, mouth open to scream, gargling when salt water rushed in to fill her lungs.
****
Rowan jerked from sleep to brilliant morning sunshine slicing into her eyes through the glass panels of French doors. She blinked and squinted around the room in panic, memory blank. Her breathing came in harsh rasps and her heart seemed to pound through her entire body.
Trembling, she sat up to look around, allowing the throw tucked around her to slide to the floor.
That’s right. My uncle’s bar. New Orleans.
In an unprecedented move, Uncle Jimmy had left this place to her. Rowan still found it unbelievable. It was even more unbelievable that she’d made the choice to actually move to Louisiana.
Christy had shooed her upstairs, prattling on about her need for rest. The woman’s careful maternal meddling had been, at once, annoying and endearing. There’d only been concern in her warm brown eyes, so Rowan had let it slide. After all, she’d been right. The day had been exhausting.
Despite the unexpected comfort of the old sofa, Rowan didn’t feel rested. She’d collapsed by two, and seven hours of fitful sleep left her hazy and headachy. It also left her uneasy.
Damned dreams.
Too much emotion, too much insanity. Too much … change.
Rowan pressed her hands to her face, rubbing downward before looking around again. Details which avoided her blank eyes last night now came into focus. LPs lined the bottom shelf of the stereo rack, the one visible record from Blue Oyster Cult. Above the TV, two framed lobby cards held a place of seeming honor: Blondie and Supertramp. The bar separating the living room from the kitchen was swept clean with the exception of one statue about eight inches high.
Pushing to legs still a little wobbly, Rowan crossed the small room to inspect t
he figurine. Picking it up, she ran a thumb over the head. The skeleton crouched in a position of prayer, a cape spread over its shoulders. Etched on the base were the words “San Pascualito.”
Frowning, she stared at the crude likeness of bones and the wide, toothy grin. It meant nothing to her and she replaced it.
There were no other personal items in the living area. It could have been a shabby motel room if she didn’t know better.
Glancing at the time, she shoved the nightmare behind her and headed for a shower and a change of clothes. Despite her misgivings, there was only one thing she could do. She needed to move forward.
****
Rowan took a long moment to analyze the route to the lawyer’s office before shoving her phone in her pocket. The French Quarter was basically a big square, so she didn’t figure she’d have too much of a problem. Maybe she’d do some exploring after her appointment to get a feel for the place. The previous night of bedlam and long, dark shadows had succeeded in sparking her disquiet. No doubt it had served as a catalyst for her odd dream. In the light of a new day, she wanted to at least give the place the benefit of the doubt.
Den of iniquity.
Her mother’s words pummeled her. She shook her head and rolled her eyes in response. The woman had always been a little over the top.
Locking the apartment door behind her, she grabbed hold of the bannister at the top of the stairs and descended the first step. A cold breeze touched her skin and the strong scent of roses permeated her sinuses. Puzzled, she stopped to glance around. The landing was small and square, essentially only leading to the apartment, but above to her left, a vent rattled, blowing an anemic trickle of cool air.
A moment later, the aroma was gone.
It was too early for the choice fragrance of a customer to somehow recirculate upstairs. Shaking it off, she chalked it off to memory sense. Her paternal grandmother had nurtured roses in her tiny backyard when Rowan was little. She still remembered her clumsy attempts to “help,” which consisted of playing in the soil and running with the hose.
Soul Reckoning Page 2