Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou Sweetheart\The Firefighter's New Family\Season of Redemption (12 page)

Yes, oh, yes. She'd taken a chance and she'd lost.

Last night was just a dream...in an ordinary world. Her world had just gone from ordinary to difficult and trying, frightful. And doubtful. She'd seen what this disease could do to two people. Dewayne had caved under the pressure. She wouldn't watch Tomas do the same.

Please let me survive this test, Lord. And please give me the strength to stay away from Tomas Delacorte.

Because he deserved a second chance with someone who could be there with him for the long haul.

Chapter Thirteen

A
week had gone by.

Tomas had not heard a word from Callie.

He roamed the big house at night, thinking about her. During the day, he threw himself back into his only salvation—work. He went back to what he was so good at—brooding and buyouts. But he couldn't forget that one night and having Callie in his arms.

He'd given up on calling her. She did not respond to his calls and the only explanation he could pick up by casually asking was that she'd gone to New Orleans for a few days of rest and relaxation. That almost made sense because she'd worked hard on his property for weeks now. She deserved a break.

But why hadn't she mentioned it to him or at least called to let him know?

Had Callie left because of him?

He stayed away from town, determined to go back to his solitude. But unlike before, his solitude was now a torment rather than a comfort. He read books but hardly remembered the words. He listened to music but barely heard the lyrics.

Eunice and Margie shadowed him, worried, concerned, frightened. They'd seen his black moods before. But they had not seen him this dejected and brooding.

Tomas realized just how bad things had gotten when Eunice brought in a lunch tray and left it by the door, rather than bringing it to his desk and staying to chat awhile.

Tomas stared at the soup and sandwich and the glass of iced tea. On a side dish, the ever-present cookie lay warm from the oven. They always remembered his sweet tooth.

He stared at his computer screen then got up, walked past the tray and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. He heard them whispering in hushed tones but kept walking.

They both looked up, shocked and unsure, when he rounded the open arch from the hallway.

“Oh, hello,” Margie said, scurrying to look busy. “Did you want more tea, another sandwich?”

“I can get you something else if you'd like,” Eunice added.

“No, nothing. I'm...fine.” Tomas motioned to the big chunky pine table. “Let's sit.”

Both women did as he asked, their expressions filled with concern. Margie brought the plate of fresh-baked cookies with her, a soft smile pasted across her wrinkles. Eunice got the coffee, her brown eyes filled with a hopeful light.

Tomas waited for them to find their chairs then leaned forward, his gaze on the sisters who'd lived next to his mother and him and had taken care of him for so long. Even Margie's husband, stodgy old Bob, had helped him along when he'd been at his worst. At least Bob had the good sense to get out of the house. He'd gone into town to repair a porch for an elderly lady.

“Are you gonna fire us?” Eunice asked, her fingers twisting a frayed dish towel.

“Did we do something you don't like?” Margie asked, her hand on the sturdy table.

Tomas shook his head and pushed a hand over his hair. “I'm not firing anyone. I came in here to apologize to you. I'm sorry I've been so moody lately.”

Margie shot Eunice a pointed glance. “I told you he wouldn't fire us.”

Eunice shrugged. “We were part of the conspiracy.”

“What conspiracy?” Tomas asked. “What are you talking about?”

“We helped set things up for your big date with Callie. We thought—”

“You thought Callie and I would hit it off and that she'd come around more and more?”

“Yes.” Margie bobbed her head. “Did we do something wrong?”

“Not you, but me,” Tomas replied, glad to have someone to talk to. “I think I said or did the wrong thing. She's not talking to me now.”

“Have you been into town to see her?” Eunice asked.

“I tried to see her after our date. But...she's never around when I happen to go by Callie's Corner.”

“She's a busy woman,” Eunice said. “But she should come out here to check on the place. She needs to make sure this landscape will hold. You should call her and remind her of that.”

“She finished her part,” Tomas said. “Maybe when she's finished with a project, she's really finished.”

Margie gave him a sympathetic smile. “Callie's not that way, Tomas. She liked you. We all saw that. It must be something else.”

“What?” he asked, truly wanting to know. “What else could it be? Do you think she's figured out who I really am?”

“We didn't tell her,” Eunice replied, shaking her head. “We haven't mentioned that to anyone. We haven't told anyone that we used to live next to you, either.”

Margie broke a cookie in half. “As far as I can tell, no one knows you're related to the Dubois family.”

Relief flooded over Tomas. “Let's keep it that way.”

Eunice handed him a cookie. “But...maybe if you did talk to Callie and tell her the truth, maybe she'd understand.”

“I can't do that,” he replied. “I'm not ready for that.”

The sisters fell quiet, their expressions full of both disapproval and understanding. And loyalty.

Tomas stared out at the sloping backyard. The brilliant colors hurt his eyes. He couldn't talk about this anymore. He had to get over Callie. “I'm sorry I took things out on both of you,” he said, standing. “I'm going to eat my lunch now.” He grabbed an extra cookie just for show.

“He's eating again,” Margie said to Eunice. “That's a good sign.”

“Silly, he never stopped eating,” Eunice retorted. “But he did stop smiling.”

“I can hear you,” Tomas called with a wave of his hand.

“We know,” they said in unison.

That did make him smile. Where would he be without Eunice and Margie and Old Bob? They'd protected him from an early age and he'd never forgotten their kindness. They would remain in his house, under his watch, for as long as they needed.

Determined to get on with his life, Tomas took his tray out onto the terrace. Settling on one of the black wrought-iron chairs, he took a bite of the chicken salad sandwich and tried not to think about days when Callie was out there in her floppy hat, Elvis by her side. This was his garden, after all.

Then he thought up a new tactic. He could always call her and file a complaint. Callie would come running if she thought her work was below par. He hurried through his lunch then headed out into the yard. He had to find something that would bring Callie back out here to check on her work. And once she was here...well then maybe he could talk to her and find out what was really going on.

But an hour later, Tomas was even more frustrated than ever. The place was as perfect and pristine as Callie had left it over two weeks ago. Tomas stood there, his hands on his hips, surveying the immaculate gardens. She'd placed trails everywhere, so anyone who came to Fleur House could stroll among the azaleas, crape myrtles and dogwoods, or smell the lilies and the magnolias. The scent of Confederate jasmine and newly budding gardenias wafted through the air. Wisteria threads bloomed up in some of the old pine trees, their vines clinging tightly. Callie had insisted on leaving a few of the old roots so the wisteria could decorate the backyard.

He watched as a blue heron walked gracefully through the shallows down by the new dock. A fine lady enjoying his garden in her own lazy way. The graceful bird only added to the natural beauty that Callie had nurtured and pruned and weeded and cleared.

She'd also done that to his heart, too.

So why had she suddenly decided to avoid him?

When someone tapped him on the arm, Tomas almost jumped with joy, thinking it might be Callie.

“She's in town, working at the community garden,” Margie said, her tone knowing. “I mean, she's watching everyone else work at the community garden. Bob's there and just called me. There's a big lot beside the church that she wants to use to grow vegetables, but the owner's playing hardball about selling it to the church.” She leaned in. “Bob says Callie looked tired and frazzled when he saw her there earlier.”

“How much?” Tomas asked, hope rising like the tide out in the bay.

Margie named a price.

“Do you know who owns the land?”

“Sure do. We all do. Bob's tried to convince him to let it go at a fair price, but...he wants the money more than he wants to do a good deed, I reckon.”

“Do you have a number where I can reach him?”

Margie bobbed her head. “We've all got that man's number. He lives on the edge of town, out toward the shipyards.”

Tomas followed Margie into the house and waited while she found the phone number. Pointing to the information, she said, “He's a real estate agent, so his signs are all over the place.”

Tomas nodded, thanked Margie then got in his car and headed out to the edge of town.

* * *

Callie stood surveying the beginnings of the meek little garden they always planted behind the church. She was late in getting started this year, but they'd have beans and peas, tomatoes and cucumbers and several other vegetables in a few weeks. She was disappointed that Mr. Tillman refused to part with the half acre of land right next to the church.

But then, she'd been disappointed in a lot of things lately. She had to get this done before she went into New Orleans for her first round of chemo. Her summer would be a rough one, with treatments every two weeks. She'd been through another biopsy, but at least no major surgery for now. She was thankful for that.

So it was either plant in the old, smaller garden or have no vegetables to share for the rest of the summer. Besides, she needed something to do to keep her mind off of cancer and...the man she couldn't forget.

She went over the grid with Bob and the other volunteers. “So, tomatoes, corn, field peas, butter beans, okra, green and red peppers, hot peppers. Did I forget anything?”

Bob pointed to the tender shoots sitting on the bed of the old pick-up. “Potatoes and turnips. And herbs. You know how much Alma uses fresh herbs.”

“Yes. Margie and Eunice requested those, too.” Callie stopped when they heard a motor rumbling.

Tomas. Pulling up to the church office.

What was he doing?

Her heart beating enough to shake her ribs and remind her of the sore spot where her doctor had done the biopsy, she turned and regarded the dirt for all it was worth. Maybe he wouldn't notice her out here.

“Let's get busy then,” she said on a shaky voice, her emotions as clotted and dry as this unearthed soil. She started barking orders like there was no tomorrow.

And in her case, that might become the truth.

When she heard the motor revving again a few minutes later, Callie glanced up and watched as Tomas took off in the other direction. He'd never once glanced her way.

What was he up to, anyway?

A few minutes later, Reverend Guidry came out of the office with a big grin on his face. “Y'all won't believe what just happened,” he said as he jostled up to the group.

Bob gave Callie a wink. “Tell us, Rev.”

The minister rocked back on his heels. “He really didn't want anyone to know, but since y'all just saw him leave...Mr. Delacorte just bought old man Tillman's lot and then donated the whole space to us for our garden.”

“He did what?” Callie had to sit back on the tailgate of her truck. “Are you sure?”

Reverend Guidry nodded. “Oh, yeah. Very sure. He paid Mr. Tillman with a check—a mighty big check. They did a gentleman's deal and shook on it, but Tomas said he'd have the lawyers make it all legal. But we can start digging over there. Like right now.”

Callie couldn't believe what Tomas had just done. How could she ever thank him? And why had he done it without so much as a word to her?

Because you've hurt him,
she told herself.
Because you've shut him off without an explanation. He did it to show you in the only way he knows that he still cares.
And she still cared, too, even if his act of kindness had involved throwing around a lot of money. At least this was for a good cause.

But he hadn't bothered to come and tell her himself.

Of course not. She'd been rude to him without any explanation. But...she couldn't talk to him, couldn't see him now. She'd fall into a heap if he so much as looked at her.

Nice to know he could be so kind, and it was sweet of him to do, but Callie reminded herself that in spite of his good deed, she couldn't have a relationship with Tomas. It wouldn't be fair to him.

She'd rather hurt him now than get closer to him and cause him a horrible kind of grief later, the same grief he must have gone through with his wife. Callie didn't want Tomas to stay out of some sort of misguided obligation.

“Let's refigure this and get busy over there then,” she said, smiling in spite of the pain arching through her system. “We've got some land to clear.”

Reverend Guidry gave her a sympathetic smile. “You need to thank Tomas, Callie.” He'd also encouraged her to tell Tomas the truth.

“I will,” she promised. “One day very soon.”

* * *

That day came sooner than she'd imagined.

Tomas Delacorte came to church the next Sunday morning.

She should have known it was him when she heard the whisperings and rustlings that always occurred when someone new walked into the church. But she'd been so involved in reading the bulletin, so involved in trying not to think about Tomas and how much she missed him, that she'd completely missed his entrance.

But when all eyes seemed to move from her to the aisle behind her, Callie turned around to find him heading straight to her pew,
his
eyes clearly centered on her and only her.

Papa, looking worried and pale, gave her a long, hard stare. She knew that look. He was wondering when she planned on telling everyone about her illness. Papa wanted as many prayer warriors on the case as possible.

While Callie only wanted to be done with it.

Alma poked her in the ribs, a hopeful look on her face. “Do you see what I see?”