Menu for Romance (4 page)

“Oh.” Doogie Howser blushed. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

Major shrugged into his coat and exited the center into the frigid, pouring rain. He pulled the collar up around his ears and ran toward Kirby. His cell phone vibrated against his waist, and as soon as he climbed into the vehicle, he unholstered the phone and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hey, Major. It’s Forbes.”

His best friend’s voice came as a welcomed relief. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Wondered if you might have time to get together one day this week.”

His mind still occupied with his mother and her issues, Major couldn’t think clearly. “I think I should be able to get free one day, now that Steven’s handling lunch service. But I’ll have to check my calendar once I get back to the office tomorrow to let you know for sure.”

“Okay. Good. I’ve been reviewing the paperwork you gave me on your restaurant idea, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

No more bad news. Not today. Major slumped forward until his forehead pressed against the top of the steering wheel. “My restaurant proposal?”

“Yeah. I don’t really want to get into it over the phone. Let’s just try to get together as soon as possible next week.”

“Sure. I’ll shoot you an e-mail tomorrow to let you know when.”

“You all right?”

“Just exhausted. You know, the event last night...” He wasn’t really lying to his friend—just not divulging the truth.

“Why don’t you come over and watch football with us this afternoon—Dad and the boys and me—over at Mom and Dad’s house?”

“Thanks for the invite, but ... I’ll be at the open house for a few minutes; then I’m going to head home for some peace and quiet.”

“I gotcha. I’ll talk to you later.”

After they disconnected, Major tossed the phone into the passenger seat. “Lord, why did I get out of the bed today?”

You’d better not mess up my car, buddy-boy.

The puppy thumped its tail a couple of times against the floor then put its head back on its paws. The veterinarian at the quick clinic had said the little guy would be out of it from some of the shots.

Meredith pulled her jacket over her almost-dry hair and dashed across the small lot to the store’s front door.

“We close for lunch in thirty—oh, hey, Glamour Girl.” The proprietor rounded the sales counter and shook Meredith’s hand. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit today?”

One of the things she loved about Robichaud’s Hardware was the fact that no one cared if she arrived in paint-splattered clothes, wearing no makeup, and looking no better than that puppy had when she’d pulled him out from under the porch.

“Since you’re having your big New Year’s Day sale, I figured I’d come in and clean you out of the rest of that paint stripper. And I need some wood epoxy, as well. Same aisle?”

“You know where stuff is in here better than I do, gal.” He handed her a shopping basket. “If you think of anything else you need, or if I don’t have exactly what you’re looking for back there, give me a holler.”

“Thanks, Rob. Will do.” Meredith dropped her wallet and keys into the basket and headed for the painting supplies section in the back of the store. Her work boots thudded slightly on the wide-plank pine floor.

She breathed deeply and let it out as a sigh. The smell of wood and metal and turpentine and hard work welcomed and embraced her. She was certain she could get what she needed at the warehouse-like home improvement center a few miles closer to the house, but she preferred the sounds, scents, and service she experienced here.

She grabbed the last two one-gallon cans of the gel-style solvent she liked best for removing old paint and moved down the aisle to the display of all the caulks, glues, and epoxies. The few products that she needed to look at were, naturally, on the bottom shelf. She set the heavy basket on the floor and crouched down to read the labels.

In the stillness, the front-door bell chimed faintly, followed by Rob’s echoing voice calling out that the store would be closing for lunch in twenty minutes. Meredith turned her attention back to the product labels, not wanting to leave her leather seats at the mercy of the puppy any longer than necessary.

The light above her dimmed. She glanced up—and nearly lost her balance.

“Do you need help finding something, miss?” The man who asked towered over her.

She jumped to her feet, balancing the can, bottle, and tube of epoxy in her hands. “No, thank you. I’m just reading to try to see which one I want to buy.” The can shifted and her fingers spasmed and cramped trying to keep hold of it—to no avail.

Before it could fall, the giant with curly dark hair caught it. “Whoops. Don’t want that falling and popping open. We might be stuck here forever.” He had a jaw like a sledge hammer and a grin like a teen idol.

She shook her head. So he was good-looking—so what? “Thanks.”

“You’re buying wood epoxy?” His gray eyes twinkled.

“Yes.” She shifted the tube and bottle into her left hand and reached for the can.

He didn’t immediately let go, a crease forming between his thick brows. “Are you sure this is what you’re looking for?”

Annoyance prickled up Meredith’s spine. “Unless you know of something else I can use to fill in years’ worth of wear and tear in my woodwork.”

“If it’s molding or baseboards, you’d be better off just replacing the piece of trim completely.”

She pulled a little harder and finally succeeded in getting him to let go of the can. “If they weren’t period and prohibitively expensive to replace, I might consider it. But I can’t replace all of the moldings, baseboards, and cabinets in a craftsman house.”

His brows elevated in tandem with his low whistle. “A craftsman—not the cedar-sided one over on Destrehan Place?”

She stepped back, hugging the epoxies to her. “Yes.”

“Whaddya know? A buddy of mine owned it—bought it to flip right before the market crashed. I helped him as much as I could with the exterior. We’d just started on the interior when he ran out of money.”

“As in, y’all ripped the kitchen out completely without any means of putting another one in?” The corners of Meredith’s mouth twitched.

The six-and-a-half-foot-tall giant rubbed his hand over his short curls. “Yeah,” he drawled. “I told him not to do that until he knew for sure he could get another line of credit. You—” He regarded her curiously. “You aren’t actually living in that house with no kitchen, are you?”

Meredith smiled at him for the first time since the conversation began. “No. I’m not currently living in the house. But at the rate I’m making progress, it’s not going to be in much better shape when I do need to move in a few months from now.”

“Lease on your current place ending?” He motioned for the bottle and tube she held, took them at her nod, and set them back on the shelf.

“Sort of.” More like Anne and George would be returning from their honeymoon to England and wanting to get started on restoring the Victorian.

“So are you thinking about hiring a contractor?” He rested his elbow against the second shelf as if settling in for a long chat.

Who was this guy? “Yeah, I’m thinking about it. Why—do you know one?”

His full lips split into a smile, revealing too-white-to-be-natural teeth. He reached into the pocket of his denim shirt and produced a business card.

Meredith read it—then did a double take.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t read your card right the first time.” She looked up at him. At his quizzical look, she decided to confess. “I’ve just never actually met anyone named Ward before.”

“I know—it’s odd, isn’t it? But Edward’s a family name, and my parents didn’t want me being ‘Eddie the fourth.’ I’ve never seen it anywhere else as a first name.”

“You’ve never heard of Ward Bond?” She slipped the card into her pocket.

Ward Breaux shook his head. “No. Who’s he?”

Meredith’s jaw unhinged momentarily. “
The Searchers? Rio Bravo? The Quiet Man?
” At the title of each film, the contractor shook his head. “Surely, you’ve at least seen
Fort Apache?
”

“Um ... if those are westerns, I can guarantee you I’ve never seen them.”

“They’re not just westerns, they’re John Wayne classics—Ward Bond costarred in all of those and a bunch more with John Wayne.”

“Well, there you go.” Ward winked at her. “I’ve never seen a John Wayne movie.”

“Never? Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing.
Fort Apache
and
She Wore a Yellow Ribbon
are my two favorite movies.”

Ward’s eyes crinkled a bit at the corners when he smiled. “Then I guess I’ll have to watch them sometime if they’re your favorites.”

Movement behind him caught Meredith’s attention, and she bent to grab her basket. “Sorry, Rob. I’m ready—” She glanced askance at Ward and held up the can in her hand. “At least, I think I am.”

“That’s the putty I always use.” Ward turned toward Rob. “I’ll be done by the time you finish ringing up Miss...?” He swung his head around, brows raised.

Her skin tingled at the way his dark lashes perfectly framed his gray eyes. “Meredith Guidry.”

“Miss Guidry.”

Meredith tried her best not to look back as she followed Rob to the sales counter. She nearly bounced on each step, buoyed by high spirits. Never before had a man flirted with her like that.

After handing her check card to Rob, she pulled a business card out of her wallet. She stared at it a moment. MEREDITH E. GUIDRY, EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR, EVENTS & FACILITIES MANAGEMENT. Her title always made her feel pretentious, though she supposed it did reflect her real job better than “the event planner,” which is what most people called her. She signed her receipt and willed Rob to move slower in bagging her purchases.

Her heart jangled like a cartoon telephone when footsteps approached from behind. She drew in a calming breath. Strange. In the eight years since she’d first met Major, she’d never experienced this level of attraction toward anyone else. Maybe she was finally getting over him.

She handed Ward her business card while Rob scanned Ward’s three cans of primer.

“Impressive.” Ward’s flirtatious gaze made her almost want to forgive him for having been so condescending to her a few minutes ago. “Never would have expected someone as young as you to be such a bigwig with a company as huge as B-G Enterprises. You must be good at what you do.”

Rob’s chuckle brought flames of embarrassment to Meredith’s cheeks. All of a sudden, all she could think of was her grubby appearance. Who was she kidding, thinking that a man like Ward Breaux was flirting with her?

“E-mail or call me, and we can set up a time for you to come by the house to look it over and then review my plans so that you can start putting together a bid.” She grabbed her bags off the counter. “Thanks, Rob. Happy New Year.”

She didn’t usually take the coward’s way out, but she pretended not to hear Ward calling for her to
wait up
and ran through the rain to her SUV.

The puppy awoke with a yip when the can of epoxy fell off the seat and bumped him.

“Oh, goodness—I’m so sorry.” She leaned over the console and rubbed his head before returning the can to its bag and putting the supplies on the floor behind her seat. One glance at the rearview mirror showed Ward exiting the store. Stomach churning, Meredith started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so dense as to think he was flirting with me for any reason other than wanting my business?”

The rain slapped the windshield all the way back to the house, doing nothing to improve her mood. She sat for a moment after parking under the protection of the carport.

He probably hadn’t seen her as anything more than a potential client. How many people had she sucked up to in the past, believing they could potentially become clients? But she couldn’t deny that while the delusion lasted, she had felt the stirrings of attraction toward him.

Maybe, just maybe, she was finally recovering from her eight-year affliction—the affliction that went by the name Major O’Hara.

Cars—mostly expensive, foreign models—lined the street of the upscale subdivision. Major parked a few houses down from the Guidrys’, pulled his coat collar up, and ran through the rain to the cover of their wide, wraparound porch.

He reached the front steps at the same time as a pair of other guests—familiar looking and smart enough to be carrying a huge black and red umbrella. One of Major’s part-time staff opened the door and grinned at him, dressed in the standard black pants and white tuxedo shirt all servers at B-G events wore.

Major stepped aside for the woman to enter first. As she passed, the small dog draped across her arm snapped and growled at him. Behind her, folding the umbrella, the man rolled his eyes and sighed—and Major finally recognized him. Gus McCord, Bonneterre’s new mayor. Major hadn’t realized how short the man was. He always looked much taller on TV.

When the mayor drew even with Major, he extended his right hand. “Sorry about the dog. She can’t go anywhere without that thing. You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”

“Major O’Hara, sir.” Major returned the politician’s firm, brief grip.

The quick processing of Major’s name registered in Mayor McCord’s brown eyes. “You played football with my son at ULB.”

Major reined in his surprise. “Yes, sir. He was a couple years ahead of me.”

“And now you’re the most popular chef in Beausoleil Parish—if not all of Louisiana.” Mr. McCord handed his dripping umbrella to the doorman.

Maybe Major shouldn’t have voted for the other guy last fall. “Mr. and Mrs. Guidry would be pleased to hear you say so.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them, then.” Mr. McCord motioned Major to enter ahead of him.

Major stopped just inside the door, awestruck. He didn’t know much about architecture, but this house reminded him of the big plantation houses down on the river he’d seen on school fieldtrips. The dark-wood-floored entryway echoed with a hum of voices coming from all around. To his left, the walnut and green library featured a large, round table laden with a display of fruit, guests hovering around it like hummingbirds in a flower garden.

For a moment, professional jealousy reared up in his chest. Why hadn’t they asked him to cater? Then, before the envy could take full root, he spotted Maggie Babineaux, Mairee Guidry’s sister—the caterer who’d taught Major more about food service than they’d ever imagined teaching in culinary school. She waved at him but didn’t break away from her conversation. He waved in return.

To his right, circulating around the twenty-person dining table piled high with exquisite displays of pastries, he recognized a few people—the mayor’s wife and her little dog, the state senator for Beausoleil Parish, the pastor of Bonneterre Chapel ... who motioned Major into the room.

“We’ve missed you the last couple of Sundays.” Pastor Kinnard shifted his plate and extended his right hand.

Major smiled and shook hands with him. “I’ve missed everyone, too, but I was filling in for the chaplain out at ... one of the nursing homes.”

Reverend Kinnard nodded. “When are you boys going to sing for us again?”

Major shrugged. “Everything’s been so crazy with the holidays and then with the Christmas musical before that—we haven’t practiced in months.”

“Three weeks enough notice?”

To pull together four professional workaholics to learn the intricate harmonies of a southern gospel song and have it memorized? “Shouldn’t be a problem—oh, but I think Forbes said something about going to a conference in Baton Rouge in a couple of weeks, so let me check with him—and George and Clay—and I’ll try to let you know by Wednesday.”

“Sounds good—ah, Mairee, no doubt you’re here for our chef extraordinaire.”

Average height, like Meredith, with dark auburn hair, Mairee Guidry entered the dining room with a majestic air. “I hate to steal him away, Frank, but I do have some business to discuss with everyone’s favorite chef.” She hooked her arm through Major’s and, though ever polite, steered him through the crowd without interruption.