“What other reason did you have for flying down to Louisiana? It wasn’t as if I couldn’t handle the assignment without your help.”
“As I said before, you seemed to have turned a simple profile into a puff piece for this guy.”
“And you couldn’t question that over the phone? No. You expected me to do a hatchet job on him, whether it was warranted or not. When it didn’t happen, you decided it was because I’d lost objectivity, rather than because the selected gentleman was everything the contest entry filed for him claimed. You thought you could go down there and straighten me out, make me see things your way. When it didn’t happen, you flew into a rage and wound up in a losing fight. Now you want revenge, and think publishing the first article I wrote will not only smear the man who knocked you down, but make him loathe me. Well, I won’t let you do it.”
“Because you’re so infatuated you can’t stand the thought of him seeing your first impression of him in print.”
“Because he’s too good a person to be harmed by such a spiteful trick.”
“He’s a rube with more brawn than brains.”
“You’d find out differently if you ever got to know him. But whatever he may be, Trevor Crandall, he’s a better man than you are, and far more of a gentleman!”
The laugh he gave had an incredulous sound. “My God, I think you’re in love with him.”
She flushed; she couldn’t help it. “Maybe I am, but it doesn’t change what’s right and wrong. And what you’re doing is wrong.”
Diane sat forward. “When you say this man is more of a gentleman, Carla, exactly what do you mean?”
“She means he’s too precious for words,” Trevor said before she could speak. “He was raised by a maiden aunt who taught him to wipe his feet when he comes into the house and drink his tea with his pinky in the air. There’s a lot more to being a gentleman than that!”
Carla clung to her manners with an effort. “I mean he’s generous with his time and goes out of his way to help those in need. He listens when people talk and remembers what they say. He’s caring and gentle, knows the meaning of self-control, and never willingly hurts anyone.”
“He’s perfect.” Trevor threw up his hands in a gesture of contempt.
“Not really. He has a temper, expects a lot of people, and can be tough at times. But he knows his faults and does his best to correct them.”
“For God’s sake, Carla, resting his weight on his elbows while he’s humping you doesn’t mean he’s a gentleman.”
“And saying such a thing is a fair indication that you are the last man to judge.”
Trevor turned to Diane. “You see? I can’t be expected to work with someone who has so little respect for my opinion or for me as a person. The piece she wrote the first time around was the real deal, and it’s the one that should go into the magazine.”
“You can’t do that!”
He turned on her. “I think you’ll find that I can.”
“Enough,” Diane said, her voice stern. “The quarrel between you two, and question of gentlemanly behavior, may be all very interesting, but neither has bearing on what’s best for South of Normal Magazine. “I have the two pieces you have written, Carla. Trevor, I have your complaints. I will give everything my careful attention.”
“Please understand the first piece I wrote was a mistake. I—”
“You can’t really mean to print that piece of garbage in—”
“I said enough!” Diane rose to her feet. “I’ll make my decision on this tonight. You’ll hear from me tomorrow.”
Chapter 20
Beau knew what was coming the minute he saw Granny Chauvin headed his way. She had a magazine rolled up in her fist, waving it at him, and a stubborn, I-know-what’s-good-for-you look on her face. He hefted the fifty pound bag of bone meal he carried into the back of his dually and turned to wait for her to come to him. No use meeting trouble halfway.
“You see this, boy?”
He ducked his head in a half nod, half bow. “I saw it.”
“You talk to Carla?”
“Nope.”
“Why in Sam Hill not?”
He only lifted a shoulder in answer. He could have said it was because she’d gone off and left him, but that would raise questions he didn’t want to answer, couldn’t answer without admitting she’d slept with him. Granny belonged to a generation that would think less of her for that. Less of him, too.
Her fine old eyes flashed fire. Unfurling her magazine, she flipped quickly to the pages with the Perfect Southern Gentleman profile. Holding it open, she tapped the half-page photo that went the article. “You take a good look at this?”
“Hard to miss.”
He’d stared at it a good half hour, lost in the memory of that kiss at the foot of the stairs the first time he’d stepped out to meet Carla there at the end of her spiel. She’d been surprised, shocked even, yet had come into his arms as if she belonged there. He’d been so lost in the moment he hadn’t realized someone snapped a shot. Must have been one of the other ladies using Carla’s camera, otherwise how—but that didn’t matter. The thing that bothered him most was the expression on his face, a look of something so real and deep it was almost like pain.
Granny Chauvin smacked the print with the back of her hand. “You read what she wrote here?”
Only a hundred or so times.
“Yeah.”
“Why in tarnation are you still here then?
“Instead of Baltimore, you mean.”
“That’s where she is, isn’t it?”
“Far as I know. It’s where she wants to be, too. And maybe where she belongs.”
“Did she say so?”
He felt the groove of a frown form between his eyes. “She didn’t have to.”
“She’s not Leesa, Beau. She was never Leesa. When are you knights going to understand all women are not alike?”
“I do know that.”
Granny Chauvin matched his frown. “Did you ask her to stay?”
He let his silence answer for him.
“What I thought.” She slapped the magazine against his chest. “Read this one more time and think about it real hard. Then get on your ten-toed pony and go get her!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beau watched the grand old lady storm off down the street. He moved then from where he’d stood to keep her from seeing into the back of his truck. It would be all over town by morning that he’d bought a four-wheeled carry-on suitcase at the hardware store, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. And he wouldn’t have missed being blessed out by Granny Chauvin here in public, not for the world.
He was climbing into the cab of the dually when he looked up and saw Lizzie coming toward him. Her hair was flying out behind her and her legs in pink shorts looked bird-like and gangly as she ran, though there was a strong hint about her of the beauty she’d become one day. She was waving a copy of the magazine.
Beau sighed, but got down from the dually and waited for her. She came to a halt, red-faced and out of breath.
“Did you see this?” she demanded, shoving a South of Normal Magazine at him with its pages open to the article.
“Sure did. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
She wasn’t to be side-tracked. “Teacher’s workshop today. So what are you going to do about it?”
Since he’d agreed to Granny Chauvin’s orders, the whole town would know what he was about soon enough; there was no point in keeping it secret. “I’m going to go see her.”
“Good!”
Lizzie stepped close and flung her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his rib cage as she squeezed tight. Beau returned the favor, holding on as long as she wanted. He could always use a hug, and just might need this one to get through what lay ahead of him.
Carla was in her office, emptying her desk and putting the last of her belongings into a box. She was almost done. All that was left was her antique ink well and its matching pen, the photo
of her mom, and one of Beau as he laughed at something somebody, Granny Chauvin or Trey, had said. Her concentration was so total that she didn’t really notice the disturbance in the outer office with its cubicles and sales desks. It was a high-pitched squeal that brought her head up.
“It’s him!”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Be still my heart. Be still, be still.”
“Fan me, y’all. Talk about a hunka-hunka burning luv!”
“Ohh, honey child, I do believe I feel a swoon coming on…”
The women were having fun, she could tell that much from the sound of their voices, but there was an undercurrent of genuine fascination in the murmurs beneath the exclamations. Through the open door, she could see them gathering near the walkway that served as a corridor through the office.
From the size of their eyes and way they whispered back and forth while leaning on each other, pretending to faint, she thought there must some male film star or manly sports hero swaggering in for an interview. She’d heard nothing about it, but that was hardly surprising. She was no longer part of the organization.
Dropping the last of the photos into her box, she placed the cardboard lid on top. Taking her purse from where it sat on the desk, she set it on top of the box, and then picked up both items together. Driven by curiosity, then, she turned toward the door.
A man’s shadow glided across the industrial gray carpet outside. The shoulders were wide, the stride long-legged, steady and without an ounce of swagger.
Carla went perfectly still. A shiver wavered down her spine.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
The visitor came even with the open door, glanced inside. He came to an abrupt halt.
Beau.
Her breath caught in her throat. She felt her heartbeat stutter in her chest. Amazed disbelief held her where she stood, while the blood drained from her head so she felt lightheaded.
She’d known he was good looking back in Chamelot; of course she had, not being blind. Yet it was only here, in this place where she was used to seeing other men, that she realized how devastatingly handsome he was in truth.
He was tanned and strong, vibrant with health and energy, his hair shining like polished gold. That was in addition to features molded in exact proportions beloved by the ancient Greeks, a mouth made for doing wicked things to a woman, and eyes of such a pure blue they were mesmerizing.
He smiled, and half the women watching them hummed an audible sigh.
“Carla,” he said, his voice little more than a low vibration in the air.
“Where—how did you…”
“Sorry to chase you down like this. I tried calling when I got into town, but you didn’t answer.”
That what he said had echoes of how she’d found him on her first day in Chamelot wasn’t lost on her. “My cell service was canceled.”
“No matter. I asked out front, and they told me where to find you.”
“Accommodating of them.” Her smile was wry as she borrowed his comment from weeks back. She could have explained that her phone had been a perk of working for the magazine, but it didn’t seem important.
“Wasn’t it? The woman at the desk said it was irregular to let me come back here, but she’d make an exception in my case.”
“I’ll just bet she did.”
“Because of the piece in the magazine, I mean.”
Sure. Or maybe it really was. Though Carla was fairly certain the way he looked, in a blue dress shirt that matched his eyes and black sneakers worn with crisply pressed jeans, had something to do with it.
He glanced at the bare office behind her, the box she held, and her purse on top of it. “But were you going somewhere?”
“I was, as a matter of fact.”
His face turned grim. “Crandall won then. You’ve been fired.”
“Not exactly, though it’s nice of you to be concerned. Trevor doesn’t work here anymore, either.”
At that moment, Diane appeared in the corridor outside. She walked to where the two of them stood, barely inside the door. “I’d have kept Carla on in a heartbeat, maybe even promoted her to editor-in-chief, but she had other ideas. I’m Diane, by the way.”
Beau took the hand she held out to him. “Oh, the Dragon Lady.”
Diane laughed, even as the group behind them gasped. “Yes, as a matter of fact. And you’re our Southern Gentleman.”
“I guess you could say that,” he allowed.
“I do say it, though it’s your fault I had to come back to work.”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind, since you did me a favor. I was dying of boredom, not being the kind of female who can be blissfully happy getting mani-pedis, playing bridge and sitting on charity committees.”
Beau looked to Carla as if for help. She thought he was doing fine on his own, but stepped in anyway. “Diane was editor-in-chief before she married the man who owns the magazine. She’d been overseeing operations from home, but is back to hands-on management now that Trevor is gone. It was the bloody nose you gave him, and the reason for it, that brought on the change.”
“And Carla is leaving me to it,” Diane said with a grimace. “But I’m not letting her get away entirely. She’ll be working on another pet project of mine, one that will take her back to your part of the country.”
“You don’t say?”
He spoke to Diane, but Carla answered the inquiring gaze he turned on her once more. “Her husband’s publishing empire includes a wing that puts out nonfiction books. I’ll be doing one on the historical landmarks of Louisiana, with emphasis on the old houses and their stories.”
His smile warmed his eyes to a bright, shimmering blue. “Will you, now?”
“I developed a special interest in that kind of thing while I was down there, you know.” She barely noticed that tacked on bit of slang that she’d picked up in Chamelot.
“I know.” He turned back to Diane. “It was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, but—”
Diane laughed. “But you came to see Carla. I’ll leave you to it, then. Before I do, let me say, from all of us here at South of Normal Magazine, that it was a great joy to get to know you through Carla’s profile and the photos she took while she was doing it. I do believe you’ve single-handedly restored faith in men for a good many here in this office. To see you in person has been wonderful indeed.”
“Yeah!” The women gathered behind her cheered at that, most of them smiling like crazy and one or two wiping away tears.
“That’s kind of you to say, ma’am, but I didn’t do anything special.”
“We know. That’s what makes it so extraordinary.”
He flushed until the tops of his ears were bright red, but bent his head in the truncated bow he’d perfected. As Diane walked away, then, he stepped inside the office and reached for the door, closing it behind him.
Carla caught a glimpse of disappointed yet dreamy faces. She wasn’t sure what the women outside thought he was about to do, but figured it was probably something along the lines of sweeping her into his arms. She wasn’t going to hold her breath.
She was caught by surprise, then, as he took the box and purse she held and set them on the desk. Turning, he took her hand. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to talk to you.”
“And you intend to whether I mind or not?” An electric shock ran up her arm from his touch, though she did her best not to show it. She was on to him now, knew all too well that the more polite he became, the more wary she should be.
“As you say—or as you wish.” Holding her hand in a careful left-handed grasp, he touched her arm with the gentle fingers of his right. “Your wrist is better? You can use it again?”
“It’s fine.”
His smile was crooked. “You would say that, no matter what. But this new job of yours, will it require traveling?”
“Some.”
“Farther south.”
She saw where he was headed, or thought she did, and it was an eff
ort to push words through the tightness in her throat. “It would be quite a commute from Baltimore.”
“So there was maybe a reason you no longer have a phone? Maybe because you’re moving to a different area code?”
She’d spent the past two weeks getting rid of what she didn’t need, arranging to put things in storage, giving up her apartment and, of course, having utilities disconnected. “That’s the plan.”
“It would maybe be safe to say this is your last day here?”
He was making small circles with his thumb on the back of her hand. It was so distracting she almost missed his question. “I’d have been gone days ago, but needed to train my replacement.”
“I’m glad I caught you. I might have been a little slower, except folks in Chamelot were so sure I should get myself up here.”
“Folks?”
“Eloise, Granny Chauvin, Lance, Lizzie. Everybody I’ve seen since the magazine came out, really. They miss you. And they all love the photo of the two of us at Windwood.”
She smiled a little. “So did Diane. She thought it set the tone for all the rest.”
“The rest was—is—something else. Mandy said it shows exactly how you feel about me.” Carla started to speak, but he went on without pausing. “I don’t know about that, but I thought I should come and tell you how I feel, in case it makes a difference. I need you at Windwood. I need you and I miss you. Nothing is the same without you. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t work, can’t decide from one minute to the next what I ought to be doing. My temper and my manners have gone to pot so bad that Eloise is threatening to quit unless I do something. So I’ve come to tell you I was an idiot to let you go.”
Her smile was wobbly and tears crowded behind her lashes. “Because Eloise said so?”
“Because I love you, Carla Nicholson, and want you with me at Windwood all the rest of my days. That is, if everybody is right, if what you said about me in the magazine is how you really feel, and you think you can be happy there.”
“Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, you have to know that.” She looked down at their clasped hands, unconsciously tightening her grip. “But I’d written this terrible profile before I really knew you, back when I thought—well, the worst. Trevor was going to run it instead of the one I wrote later, and I couldn’t stand the thought of that, or of what you might think.”
Galahad in Jeans (Louisiana Knights Book 2) Page 20