A Second Chance

by Kara Lennox

  “What’s artisanal bread?”

  “It’s bread crafted by hand the old-fashioned way. Traditionally, you use just flour, water, salt and yeast. You knead it by hand and make it into round loaves, the way bakers have done for centuries—you don’t use pans.”

  “I see.” Though he wasn’t sure he did. He was all in favor of natural ingredients, but he wasn’t sure what difference a wood oven or the absence of a pan would make. Still, Loretta was the expert.

  “It’s all the rage in California. I want to print up a little flyer about how it’s made. But I need to experiment more so I get it just right. And I can’t do that if my oven won’t draft!”

  Luc walked over to the oven and inspected it. He hadn’t paid that much attention to it before. But now that he knew Loretta had helped to build it, brick by brick, it was a lot more interesting. There was a large lower compartment, where the wood was stored, and a smaller baking chamber above, which was currently covered with white residue from a fire extinguisher.

  “How does it work?” he asked.

  She was more than happy to explain. “You build up the fire in the baking chamber. And when it gets good and hot, you push the embers to the edges and put your bread right on the floor of the oven. The oven stays hot for hours and hours, so you just keep baking.”

  “Can you make pizza in here?”

  Loretta laughed. “You’re such a guy. Yes, pizza made in a wood-burning oven is to die for.” She joined him, standing close enough that he could smell the lavender scent of her shampoo even underneath the smoke. “Ugh, what a mess.” She poked at the soggy wood, which was now covered with white powder. “This fire extinguisher stuff is bound to be horribly toxic, and it’s all over my beautiful oven.”

  “I’ll help you clean it up.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Just let me, okay?”

  She smiled. “All right.”

  Using insulated gloves, Loretta removed the ruined logs from the oven, and Luc carried them out to the backyard, where he doused them with the hose to be sure they were truly extinguished. When he returned, Loretta was scouring the inside of her oven with soapy water and a scrub brush. He found another brush and went to work on the oven’s exterior and the floor, all of which had gotten sprayed by the fire extinguisher.

  When everything was sparkling clean and cool to the touch, Loretta dried it with old towels.

  “The damper is definitely open,” she said. “I need to look up inside the chimney and see if it’s stopped up or something. Maybe some leaves collected in there.”

  “You’re going to climb inside your oven?”

  “It’s not hot. I’d barely lit the fire when it started smoking and I put it out right away.”

  She got a flashlight and pulled a chair over to the oven and climbed onto it, then leaned back and stuck her head in the baking chamber so she was facing up. Then she wiggled her way farther inside. Luc watched with fascination.

  She switched on the flashlight. “I can’t see anything. It’s pitch-black and I should be seeing blue sky. There’s definitely something stopping up the chimney.”

  “Maybe we should go at it from outside.”

  She emerged from the oven and climbed off the chair, allowing Luc to give her a hand for support.

  “Maybe I should call my dad.”

  “No need to bother him,” Luc said. “We can figure this out.”

  “Are you willing to get up on the roof?”

  “Sure.” In renovating the cottage, he’d gotten used to being up on the roof. “Where’s your ladder?”

  She showed him where the ladder was stored, and he leaned it against the roof and climbed up while she watched anxiously. “I could call a chimney sweep.”

  “I can handle it,” he said again with more confidence than he felt. He’d never unclogged a chimney before. But how hard could it be?

  The roof pitch wasn’t too steep. Luc made his way to the chimney and peered down.

  Something hissed at him.

  He jumped back. “Holy—”

  “What?” Loretta called.

  “There’s a creature in there.”

  “A creature?” She sounded alarmed. “What kind of creature?”

  “Toss me up the flashlight.”

  She did, and when he shone it down the chimney, he saw two beady black eyes in a masked face. “Raccoon. And it’s not very happy. I think it’s stuck.”

  “Oh, the poor thing! I almost burned it up. Can you get it out?”

  Only a complete fool would stick his bare hands inside a chimney with an angry raccoon. They grew big in bayou country. “Can you get me those gloves you used earlier?” They were thick, heat-resistant gloves, similar to the kind firefighters used.

  She disappeared inside and returned moments later with the gloves, tossing them up to him. They were a tight fit, but he hoped they would offer some protection if the creature decided to bite.

  “Now, maybe if you could push it from below, I could pull it from up here,” he said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Unless you want to take your chimney apart brick by brick—”

  “No! I’ll—I’ll get a plunger and try to push with that. At least I won’t hurt it that way.”

  Luc liked the way Loretta was worried about the welfare of an animal most people considered a pest. While he waited for her to find a plunger and stick it up the chimney, he looked back down at the raccoon, who was making a low growling noise. This was not a friendly animal. Maybe he should call the fire department and have them deal with this. It wasn’t a cat stuck in a tree, but close enough.

  “All right,” Loretta called from below, her voice barely carrying through the obstructed chimney. “I’m ready.”

  Sending up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t end up with rabies simply because he wanted to be Loretta’s white knight, Luc reached down the chimney. Sure enough, the first thing the raccoon did was bite him. But his teeth couldn’t penetrate the Kevlar-and-leather glove. Luc grabbed the thing by the scruff of its neck and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Are you pushing?” he called.

  “I’m pushing!”

  The raccoon came loose like a cork out of a bottle. It freed itself from Luc’s grip, climbed up his arm, over his head and down his back, clawing and hissing and basically scaring the bejeezus out of Luc before breaking free and running wildly for the nearest tree branch.

  Luc’s arms windmilled as he tried to regain his balance, but it was hopeless. He fell backward and rolled off the roof, landing with a thunk on the ground.

  The fall knocked the wind out of him, but he didn’t think he’d broken anything. He lay there, trying to suck air into his lungs as Loretta came crashing out the back door with the plunger still in her hands.

  “Luc! What happened? What was that noise?” She looked up at the roof, expecting to see him, and when she didn’t, she glanced all around, finally spotting him lying on the grass.

  Her face crumpled into an expression of horror. “Luc!” She was at his side in an instant. “Are you hurt? What am I saying? You fell off the roof. Of course you’re hurt.”

  He opened his mouth to reassure her, but he still wasn’t breathing normally, and all that came out was a croak.

  She cupped his face in her hands. “Don’t try to move. I’ll call Doc Landry. He’ll know what to do.” She started to get up, but he grasped her hand before she could escape.

  “I’m…okay. Just had…the wind…knocked out of me. Give me…a minute.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He liked having her worry over him. He liked it a lot, so much that he considered milking this accident for all it was worth. But no, he couldn’t do that. That was the old Luc, the one who wasn’t above manipulating people for his own selfish interests. He’d made a solemn vow not to live like that anymore, to be honest—well, as honest as he could be—with everyone he dealt with.

  So he forced himself to push up ont
o his elbows, then his hands. “I’m fine, Loretta. I’ll have a few bruises and I’ll probably be stiff and sore, but that’s all.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure. I’m just thankful you have a one-story house.”

  Still, she helped him to his feet and brushed the leaves and grass off his shirt.

  “Oh, you’re bleeding.” She indicated a place on his arm where the raccoon’s claws had dug in during its panicked escape. He probably had a few more claw marks on his head. “Did the raccoon do that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Where is it?” She looked around warily.

  “Halfway to Mississippi by now. That was one terrified animal.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder, after I almost lit its tail on fire. Come on inside. I’ll patch you up and fix you lunch. It’s the least I can do for you after you nearly killed yourself.”

  “Don’t you have bread to bake?”

  “I always have bread to bake.”

  Loretta made him take off his shirt so she could treat a grazed area on his back, where he must have scraped against the rain gutter on his way over the edge of the roof.

  As she dabbed antibiotic cream all over his body, the minor pain ebbed and a pleasant tingling took its place. Oh, yeah, he could get used to this. It had been a long time since anyone had cared this much about his welfare, and it felt damn nice.

  Nice enough to make him want to rethink the rolling-stone lifestyle he’d enjoyed for most of his adult life.

  As she ministered to a nasty gouge near the small of his back, her hand lingered, and Luc tensed. He knew exactly what had snagged her attention—a small, round, slightly puckered scar that could only be one thing. If she asked about it, he would have to tell her the truth. Lying about having a girlfriend had been bad enough.

  But she said nothing, and after a moment she continued her first aid.

  Relaxing slightly, Luc entertained Loretta by describing his close encounter with nature, playing it up for laughs until she had tears streaming down her face. “It’s not really that funny,” she insisted. “You could have been killed. Next time anything like this comes up, I’m calling in a professional, I don’t care how much it costs.”

  LORETTA HAD known Luc was handsome, that he had a good build, but she’d had no idea until she’d seen him shirtless what a gorgeous specimen he truly was. All the hard work he’d done renovating the cottage had given him a hard set of muscles and a golden tan. When he stretched forward so she could put a bandage on his scraped back, she saw a narrow strip of paler flesh peeking out from his jeans, which made her wonder if he wore underwear.

  What did they call it when you went without? Going commando?

  Her face heated, and she chastised herself for letting her thoughts wander in that direction. She was taking advantage of Luc’s injury to run her hands all over his smooth, muscled back, forgetting that he belonged to another woman.

  “There, I think that should do it,” she said briskly. “You can put your shirt back on.” She’d done everything but run her fingers through the light dusting of gold hair that grew in a diamond shape between his nipples.

  Argh! She was doing it again.

  “Let me just get the fire started again, and I’ll find something for lunch.”

  He put his shirt back on, much to her disappointment. “You don’t have to feed me—”

  “No, I insist.” She wasn’t quite ready to let him escape. It was so novel, having a man in her home. It had been just her and Zara for so long.

  She found she was nervous as Luc watched her start the fire, using straw and matches and small, dried branches.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to soak the logs with lighter fluid?” he asked.

  “Oh, heavens, no. This is artisanal bread, remember. I have to do things the way they did hundreds of years ago. I don’t want any of that chemical residue in my oven.”

  She was pleased when the fire caught right away. It had taken her a long time to learn the proper technique.

  “How about grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch? It’s not very fancy, but I always crave it when the weather starts to turn cool.” It wasn’t exactly sweater weather yet, but at least the hot, muggy days were giving way to pleasantly cool weather, and a few of the leaves had started to turn. They didn’t get much in the way of fall foliage in Indigo, but their autumn had its own charms.

  “That sounds great. What can I do to help?”

  She appreciated that Luc wasn’t like most men she knew, incompetent in the kitchen. Well, that wasn’t completely true. A lot of the Cajun men knew how to cook up a mess of crawdads or barbecue a hunk of meat. But Luc actually cooked a full breakfast for his B and B guests on an almost daily basis, and he sometimes provided lunch or dinner, too.

  “Where did you learn to cook?” she asked. “Did your mother teach you?”

  Luc hadn’t been very forthcoming about his past, usually tossing off flip answers when she asked him anything to do with his family. But she guessed after the raccoon incident, his guard was down, because this time he answered her honestly.

  “My mother couldn’t cook at all. She worked in a casino—long, long hours—and she always ate free at work. I had to fend for myself, and I decided if I didn’t want to live on peanut butter sandwiches, I’d better learn my way around a stove.”

  “So you’re self-taught?”

  “No, not entirely. I’ve worked in hotels all my life, sometimes in the kitchen. I learned a lot by watching some really good chefs.”

  “Hmm, maybe it’s in your blood, what with your cousin Melanie being a chef, too. Was it your mother or your father who was a Robichaux? Oh, that’s a silly question,” she said before he could answer. “Since your last name is Carter, it must be your mother.”

  “No, actually, my father was Celeste Robichaux’s son. My mother’s name was Carter. She took it back and changed mine, too, after she divorced.”

  “Oh.” Way to put your foot in your mouth, Loretta. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t know my father well growing up, and that’s probably a good thing. He was the proverbial black sheep of the family, although it took me a long time…”

  “What?” She paused in slicing the cheddar cheese to look at him, wanting him to continue. She was surprised at how badly she wanted to know more about him.

  He abruptly clammed up. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear all that old family history. People who drone on and on about their past are a dead bore. And if you’re going to all the trouble to fix me lunch, you don’t deserve to be bored.”

  “I wasn’t bored,” she said pointedly, but she sensed that was all she was going to get right now, so she didn’t press.

  She thought, not for the first time, that there was something very mysterious about Luc and the way he’d shown up in Indigo. Something painful had brought him here. Maybe it was a divorce, or a broken romance, or that mysterious long-distance girlfriend. Maybe he’d lost a job and hadn’t had any place to go, although Loretta doubted that. With his startling good looks, his charm, his intelligence and his experience, this man would have no trouble getting a job anywhere he pleased.

  She was dying to know, but she sensed she wouldn’t get the answers she wanted from him, not till he was ready to reveal them.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LUC AND LORETTA talked of trivialities while they ate their lunch, and afterward she expected Luc to leave. So she was surprised when he asked if he could watch her make her artisanal bread.

  “It’s not that interesting,” she said, though she was thrilled at the idea that he wanted to hang around some more.

  “It is to me.” His voice was low, seductive. Or was that just her, misinterpreting everything? “Besides,” he added, “someday I might be stranded in the wilderness with only some flour and a couple of matches. I might need to know how to do this.”

  She laughed at his justification. He wasn’t t
rying to seduce her. He was just Luc being Luc. And the attraction she felt toward him wasn’t simply because he was an exotic outsider. He was an interesting person. And, most flattering, she supposed, he found her interesting.

  “Fine,” she said, “you can help me.”

  Preparing the dough was a simple enough process. Loretta sifted equal amounts of white and whole wheat flour, then some sourdough starter and just enough water to form a thick dough. She floured her marble preparation surface and began to knead.

  Luc leaned against the counter and watched intently. “Where did you get your starter?”

  “Believe it or not, I inherited it. I come by my baking genes honestly—my Grandma O’Donnell baked all the time and I spent my formative years helping in her kitchen.”

  “So you’re part Irish. I wondered where you and Zara got all that red hair.”

  She didn’t confess that she hadn’t always been a redhead. Her natural color was a rather dull brown. Zara’s beautiful red hair had inspired Loretta to try to match it, and the short spiky cut meant she didn’t have to spend a lot of time caring for it.

  Her red, spiky ’do also ensured she stood out in a town full of dark-headed Cajuns. There was something inside her that refused to be ordinary or commonplace. It was the very thing that had gotten her into loads of trouble as a child and had caused her to rebel and marry Jim against her parents’ wishes.

  It was the thing that made her start this crazy baking business in a small town in the middle of nowhere, where conditions weren’t that favorable to a small retail business. She wanted to make a mark, be someone special.

  And it was the thing that drew her to Luc. Because he was special, and the fact he was attracted to her made her special, too.

  The logic was flawed, she was sure of it. She should be setting a good example for Zara by living a sane, ordered, responsible life. Lord knew Zara had much of her mother in her, which was both good and bad. Certainly Loretta would prefer her rebellious streak to Jim’s penchant for criminal behavior.