Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou SweetheartThe Firefighter's New FamilySeason of Redemption

by Lenora Worth

  He wouldn’t force her to come. He’d try a new tactic. He’d pray that she’d come. And he’d continue to pray to the God he’d scorned and shunned, to please spare her life.

  As the day wore on and more and more people showed up to see his home, Tomas realized the people of Fleur had given him the best gift possible. They had accepted him as one of them, in spite of his initial reasons for coming to town, in spite of his bitter need for revenge on the family that had shunned him.

  By the end of the day, he felt humbled and refreshed, less regretful and more hopeful. Everyone had seen his home, shared his food, played games on his fresh, new lawn and admired the gardens and landscaping that Callie had created out of weeds and shrubs and hard dirt.

  But no sign of Callie. She wasn’t going to make it today. She would probably never set foot at Fleur House again.

  Tomas stood in the gazebo, waving goodbye as the crowd began to thin. When he saw Ramon Blanchard coming toward him, he stepped out and greeted him with a wave. “Hello there.”

  “Hello,” Mr. Blanchard replied. “I need to talk to you.” He glanced around. “Just you and me.”

  “Of course,” Tomas said, wondering what he’d done. Mr. Blanchard looked so serious. Then Tomas’s heart did a little jolt. Was this something about Callie?

  “I have to get something outta my car,” Mr. Blanchard said.

  “All right. I’ll be in the upstairs sunroom,” Tomas replied. “It’s quiet and private up there.” And it made him feel closer to Callie.

  He waited, every nerve in his body tingling with doubt and dread, until Ramon Blanchard came up the stairs and entered the coolness of the big oval-shaped sunroom.

  He was carrying a flat square package wrapped in brown paper.

  “What do you have there?” Tomas asked, motioning for the older man to have a seat.

  Ramon sat down and stared out into the gloaming. “I’m a proud man,” he began, “so dis is very hard for me.”

  “What is it?” Tomas asked, impatience to know pushing at him. Concern tearing at him.

  Ramon ripped the paper off his package but held it away so Tomas couldn’t see. But he thought he knew what Ramon held in his hands.

  “The love offering,” Ramon said, tears forming in his eyes. “I thought about giving money but dat’d be silly since dat’s my daughter we’re all fighting for.” He sniffed and turned the painting around. “Dis is a treasure in our home,” he began. “My Brenna painted it for her sister. Painted it for all of us.” He stopped, sniffed, shook his head. “But rumor has it dat you tried to buy it off my Daughter Number Three.”

  Tomas held a clenched fist at his side, his own emotions drenching him in a burning heat. He nodded, swallowed. “I did, sir. Brenna refused to sell it to me.”

  “Dat’s my girl,” Ramon said, laughing through his tears. “She believes just like me dat you have to earn treasures here on earth.”

  “I understand,” Tomas replied, fighting his angry pain. “So why do you want me to see this painting of Callie now?”

  Ramon grunted and sniffed again. “I want you to make me an offer,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of money, but my girl needs my help. I told you I’m a proud man, so...I can’t just outright ask for money, but...I know you want this painting and so...I’m willing to part with it as long as whatever you pay goes toward the love offering for my Daughter Number One. Oui?”

  Tomas couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He sat there staring at the old man holding the painting of Callie—Callie, laughing, smiling, out in a bright garden with butterflies around her. The painting Tomas had coveted from the first time he’d seen it.

  “I can’t buy your painting, Mr. Blanchard,” he said, growling through his emotions. “But I will gladly help pay for Callie’s medical expenses. I don’t mind doing that at all. But you don’t have to sell her portrait to me.”

  “Yes, yes, I do,” Ramon replied. “I won’t take money I can’t repay. But I can trade something precious to me for money dat will help my daughter. It’s the only way I can accept what you have offered.” He looked down at the portrait he held in front of him. “Dis way, you can honor her and celebrate her life and I can keep my honor and know I did the right thing. You see, I’d rather have her alive and well in the flesh, than just an image of her hanging in my house. I got me enough of dat with her mama’s face smiling down at me every day. I cherish her image, but...I don’t want the same for my Callie. So please, just pay what you can and...help me get our girl well. Please?”

  Tomas reached for the painting, took it and placed it up against a nearby table. Then he turned to Mr. Blanchard and helped the man to stand. “I’ll be glad to make a donation to Callie’s medical fund.” He stopped, gathered his thoughts. “And when this is over and she’s well, I’ll return this painting.”

  Ramon gave him another solemn glance. “Me, I’m thinking we’ll have to see about dat.”

  “Fair enough,” Tomas replied.

  They shook hands and Ramon nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I appreciate dis,” he said, pumping Tomas’s hand. “More than you will ever know.”

  “I know exactly how much it cost you to make this deal,” Tomas said. “And I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

  “Just take care of her,” Ramon replied. “Whatever it takes.” With that, he turned and left, wiping his face with a handkerchief before he stepped back outside.

  He’d never once asked how much Tomas was willing to pay.

  That was because some things, Tomas knew, were priceless.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Callie loved the quiet beauty of the old cemetery where her mother was buried. She’d picked today, when she knew most everyone in town would be at the Fleur House picnic, to come and visit her mother’s grave.

  Her head wrapped in a floral scarf, she walked toward the rows of various mausoleums and tombstones and enjoyed the whisper of the afternoon wind lifting through the ancient mossed-draped live oaks and swaying palmetto palms. When she reached the Blanchard plot, she stopped and read the names of her grandparents and long-ago ancestors then found the crypt where her mother was buried.

  Lola Calynda Blanchard. Callie was named after her mother, but no one had ever called her Calynda. Her mother hadn’t liked that name, but her papa had insisted. So she’d given her firstborn the nickname of Callie and it had stuck.

  Callie placed the fragrant white lilies she’d gathered from her yard against the warm stone, touched a hand to her scarf and smiled down on the verse from Proverbs etched in the marble. A virtuous woman...her price is far above rubies.

  “You were priceless, Mama.” She brushed away some lost magnolia leaves and wished she could give her mother just one more hug. She could almost smell the scents of almond cream lotion and vanilla flavoring.

  Callie stood for a while, talking quietly. “I hope you’ll help me figure this out. Tomas is a good man but he holds back. He wants to get closer to me, but he’s still so distant at times. Maybe that’s the real reason I can’t let him into my life. I don’t understand his life. And I’m not so sure I’ll have a life much longer.” She let out a long sigh. “Yes, Mama, my cancer is back. Can you believe that?”

  Her mother would tell her to never give up. To stand tall and fight with all her heart. Cassie wanted to do that, but she was tired. She’d been through this fight before and she’d lost her marriage right along with her hair. How could she dare turn to a man she’d fallen for instantly and completely and ask him to stay by her side through the ugliness of cancer? She didn’t even know if Tomas had staying power. She just knew he’d come into her life at the wrong time, or maybe at exactly the time she’d needed him. Only she didn’t want to need him.

  She didn’t want to love him, but her treacherous heart hadn’t given her a choice. She wondered what plan Go
d had for her life. Was she destined to be alone and sick, dying and wishing, dreaming and accepting?

  She thought about the one special night when Tomas had held her close and made her feel safe and secure and...equal. While she valued her freedom, she also longed for a strong marriage with a soul mate, with a man who could accept her hopes and her dreams and take her ups and her downs and still keep her on equal footing.

  “I think he could have been that man, Lord.”

  Callie moved through the cemetery, looking at other tombs, reading names of people who’d gone before while she tried not to think about Tomas and what might have been.

  A few rows over from her mother’s grave, she found the Dubois mausoleum. Curious, she studied the tombs, reading each name and date. Then she strolled past the stone markers surrounding the designated Dubois boundaries. When she saw the name Delacorte on a tiny rose-etched headstone off to the side of the vast rectangular lot, she stopped and stared.

  Rebecca Delacorte, beloved mother of Tomas Delacorte.

  Callie gasped, put a hand to her mouth then glanced around. Tomas’s mother was buried here in the Fleur cemetery? Callie remembered that he’d told her his mother had died when he was young but...they’d never discussed the details.

  And even more puzzling, why was his mother buried so near the Dubois plot?

  * * *

  The sun hovered like a golden dome over the bayou.

  Tomas waved goodbye to the last of his guests, memories of Nick and Brenna and Aunt Serena laughing and talking with Mr. Blanchard still fresh in his mind.

  He’d missed Callie.

  They’d all missed Callie.

  “My sister is strong and brave,” Brenna had said to the crowd when she got up to thank everyone for the love offering. “She will fight this and she will win.”

  Brenna had glanced over at Tomas, her eyes full of hope. Did she believe he could be strong and brave, too?

  He could be, for Callie. He would be. He wasn’t going to give up on her.

  When he heard a car lumbering up the shell-encrusted drive, he turned with a frown. He was done with company for the day.

  But when he saw Callie’s old truck, his heart changed his mind and he instantly felt joy. Callie was here.

  Tomas hurried to the truck. When he saw Pierre behind the wheel, disappointment hit him like a rogue wind. Then he saw Callie sitting in the passenger’s seat.

  “Callie?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “You can come back in an hour, Pierre. Thanks.”

  Pierre nodded, gave Tomas a questioning look and waited for her to climb down out of the truck. “I’ll be here,” he said in parting.

  Tomas came around to help Callie. She was wearing a close-fitting straw hat. She looked so fragile he almost scooped her up in his arms. “Hi,” he said, giving her a tentative smile. “You just missed the party. Everyone has gone home.”

  “I know,” she said, her hand going up to her hat. “I...I need to talk to you.”

  Hopeful, Tomas pointed toward the gazebo.

  She shook her head. “Can we maybe go inside? To the sunroom?”

  Tomas nodded, talking to her the only thing on his mind.

  He walked her through the house, his hand on her elbow. “Margie and Eunice went into town with Bob. They were delivering some leftovers to a couple of shut-ins.”

  Callie seemed to take in the house all over again, her gaze lingering here and there. “They’re good people. We’re blessed to have them as part of the community.”

  When they reached the sunroom, he asked, “Where do you want to sit?” He wasn’t sure how to handle a quiet Callie.

  “Here is fine.” She chose a wicker chaise covered with a floral cushion, centered in front of one of the big bay windows.

  Tomas helped her onto the chaise and quickly offered her a yellow chenille throw. “If you’re cold.”

  She settled back, then took off her hat, her eyes on him. She was wearing a scarf.

  “Are you—” Tomas stopped, shook his head. “Your hair? You’ve lost your hair?”

  She touched a hand to her scarf. “It started falling out. We had a shaving party.”

  “Excuse me, a what?”

  “The girls and me, we had a shaving party. They helped me shave my head.”

  Tomas stared into her big eyes and saw the defiant light shining through. What could he say to that? How could he not grab her and hold her and...mourn the loss of all those luscious golden curls and waves? Her hair. He hated this. He hated cancer and illness and...death.

  But he loved her. If he’d doubted that before, now, right now, he knew he loved her more than he’d ever imagined loving someone. And that scared him because he couldn’t save her.

  He had never felt so helpless and out of control.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever been to a shaving party,” he blurted out. Then he looked away. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No.”

  She sat still. So still he had to turn back and stare at her. She looked gaunt and hollow-eyed. Some of her spark was missing, but she still shone a bright light on his life. “How are you?”

  “Today is a pretty good day,” she said. “Sorry I missed the picnic. I’m not supposed to be around large crowds—to avoid getting a cold or worse. I didn’t want to have to explain anything.”

  He could understand that. People would stare, look sad. Mark her as almost-dead. But to Tomas, she was alive. Still very much alive.

  “Callie...”

  She glanced around then let out a gasp. “Where did that come from?”

  Tomas looked over to the table to the right of her chair.

  The portrait. He’d forgotten he’d left it here earlier.

  “Tomas?”

  “Your father brought it to me.”

  She looked shocked then her expression filled with anger. “Why?”

  He sat down across from her. “Callie, he loves you so much. We had a love offering, to raise money for you. He offered me this.”

  “No,” she said, hurrying to get up. “No. You can’t just buy my health, Tomas. You shouldn’t have taken this.”

  Tomas settled her back down. “I want to help and I have the means to do so.” When she put up a hand to protest, he held tight to her arm. “I couldn’t help my mother. I couldn’t save my wife. I can help you. Don’t deny me that, please. I won’t keep the portrait, but I couldn’t crush your daddy’s pride. I intend to return it after you’re well.”

  She sat there, silent and torn, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “I’m too tired to argue, but I don’t like this.”

  “I understand, but your father expects you to get well. Let him hang on to that hope, okay? Let me hang on to that hope, too.”

  She stared out the window for a long time then surprised him with her next words. “Your mother is buried close to the Dubois lot at the Fleur Cemetery.”

  That comment knocked all the air out of Tomas’s lungs. He sat staring at her, wondering how to explain. Wondering why he hadn’t considered that she might find out. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, she was buried there.”

  “Why?”

  Tomas knew it was now or never. Callie expected nothing more than honesty. Pure honesty. And he hadn’t been honest with her. “That’s a long story.”

  “I have some time,” she replied. She pressed her head back against the high back of the chaise. “Tell me.”

  Tomas stood. “I’ll call Pierre and tell him not to come back. I’ll take you home. If you want to hear my story, you need to stay here for more than an hour.”

  She held the chenille throw up against her, her hands clutching it. “Okay.”

  Tomas made the call then sat down across from her. “My mother
lived down the road from this house when the last of the Dubois sons inherited the estate. There were three, but one died young and the other one left and went on to make his fortune in electronics. That left Gerard, and he took over when his father died. My mother worked all of her life and when she was in her teens, she’d occasionally do ironing and seamstress work for Mrs. Dubois.”

  Callie nodded, absorbing that bit of information. “So you’ve been here before?”

  “No.” He closed his eyes, prayed for courage. “It’s a bit cliché, but when she was nineteen, Gerard Dubois had an affair with her and...she got pregnant. He was much older than her, but I guess they thought they were in love.” He stopped, hung his head. “I’m...his son. His only son.”

  Callie’s shocked breath brought his head up.

  “Tomas, are you telling me you’re the heir to Fleur House, to the Dubois fortune? Is that how you got your money?”

  He laughed at that. “No. I’m not the heir. After my mother realized she was pregnant, she told Gerard but he kicked her to the curb and refused to help her or acknowledge me. He gave her a check and told her to stay away from his wife. He wanted no part of us, you see.”

  “Tomas—”

  “No.” He got up to pace around the long rectangular room so he wouldn’t see the sympathy in her eyes. “No, you don’t get to pity me. I’m okay now. I’m fine.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He sat back down, brushed at his hair. “My mother’s parents turned her way. They’re buried somewhere in that cemetery, too. After I was born, we moved about ten miles from here and got on with our lives. But we were so poor. Very poor.” He took a breath, looked around at the grandeur of this house that had loomed like a dark shadow over his life. “I remember Christmases without food or clothing or toys. I never believed in Santa Claus and I gave up believing in God.”

  “Tomas—”

  “You can guess the rest,” he retorted before she could ask questions.

  “Yes, I think I can,” Callie replied. “You obviously worked hard and got a good education.”

  He smiled over at her, the bitterness he’d tried to hide bubbling up like quicksand. “I also got my real estate license and become successful in buying and selling commercial developments. I was the right-hand man to a very successful entrepreneur and when he retired, I took over.”