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Praise for Lenora Worth and her novels

“Lacey’s Retreat by Lenora Worth is rich in characterization and romance with an endearing hero.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Lenora Worth’s A Perfect Love is a beautiful testimony to the true meaning of family and forgiveness. The romantic pacing is just perfect, and the faith message is subtle but heartfelt.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Lenora Worth creates a character with a Heart of Stone that will have readers longing to melt it. Her best story yet, it is filled with spiritual depth and hidden meaning, including an interesting bit of history.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Easter Blessings: The Lily Field by Lenora Worth is perhaps the most beautiful and moving Love Inspired book I’ve read.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Something Beautiful & Lacey's Retreat
Lenora Worth

CONTENTS

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

LACEY’S RETREAT

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

LENORA WORTH

has written more than thirty books, most of those for the Steeple Hill line. In addition, she works freelance for a local magazine, where she has written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for five years for the local paper. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-two years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.

Something Beautiful

So we do not lose heart….

For this slight momentary affliction

is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory

beyond all measure, because we look at what

cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary,

but what cannot be seen is eternal.

—2 Corinthians 4:16–18

In memory of my mother-in-law, Patsy.

And to all the breast cancer survivors out there.

Chapter One

She was a vision in the mist.

Lucas Dorsette quietly eased his pirogue through the dark, brackish swamp waters, maneuvering the long paddle pole around blue-blossomed water hyacinths and gnarled gray cypress stumps until he reached the boathouse nestled between the back garden and the bayou. But he stopped before anchoring the small canoelike boat against the weathered dock.

He looked again through the low mist, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining the woman who stood under the ancient weeping willow tree on the shore, her head turned so he could see her profile as she looked over the dark, chocolate waters of the bayou.

No, he wasn’t seeing things. This vision was real.

And she was exactly his type.

She was tall and slender, with a classic face that spoke of strong bone structure. She held her arms wrapped against her midsection, as if to ward off the humid chill the rising dawn had left. Long blond hair that changed from white-gold to rich yellow in the growing light hung down her back almost to her waist. She was wearing white—a long, flowing cotton dress that made Lucas think of other, more simple times. The woman looked as if she’d just stepped out of another century.

Curious, Lucas kept his eyes on her while he roped the pirogue to the dock. Then he hopped on the planked boards, his actions quick and quiet, so as not to startle the woman who stood only a few feet away, her eyes centered on the water, her body turned away from the summer gardens of Bayou le Jardin.

Lucas stood there in amazement, his gaze taking in the woman with the old southern mansion behind her. He had to swallow, blink his eyes. It was the way the rays of first light shot down from the sky to touch the woman’s face there in the soft mist, as if the very hand of God was reaching out to this fascinating stranger.

Which certainly made for a breathtaking picture. One Lucas would surely never forget.

In her long white dress with the early morning breeze lifting her thick, lush hair from her shoulders, she looked as if she belonged right there in that spot under the willow tree. Especially with the backdrop of his beloved home behind her.

The stark, classic beauty of the mansion always left Lucas a bit awestruck, even though he’d lived here since he was nine years old. He respected the quiet dignity of the old house, though he rarely stayed in his bedroom on the third floor.

Lucas preferred the swamp to the house, preferred the gardens to the parlor, preferred to be left to his own devices whenever time and duty permitted. He had a nice, cozy cabin deep in the swamp, a cabin he’d salvaged and renovated with his own hands, along with the help of some good, hardworking people. He had ample food from the gardens, the fields and the bayou; he had good books to read at night and good tunes to play on his saxophone when the mood struck him. He had his plane to fly when he wanted to be up above it all, his horse to ride when he wanted to feel the wind on his face, and he had several lucrative ventures going, enough to bring in plenty of cash for a man of simple means. And he had friends to find on a lonely Saturday night and church to attend on any given Sunday. Aunt Hilda would remind him that he had the blessed assurance of Jesus Christ, too, of course. If he ever stood still long enough to listen for it.

Lucas was content to travel through the bayou, content to watch over his aunt Hilda and his sisters, Lorna and Lacey. Content to flirt shamelessly with all the local belles while never seriously getting involved with any of them. He’d never wanted for anything else.

Until now.

Now, Lucas saw the home he loved, the home he respected and had vowed to watch over, in a different light.

Now he saw her there in the picture—this mysterious, lovely creature who’d somehow appeared, like a vibrant flower sprung to life, in the dew-kissed gardens.

Lucas didn’t know who the woman was.

But he certainly intended to find out.

His sisters accused him of falling in love too easily and too often, and he supposed that was right.

‘Cause it was about to happen again. In a very big way.

Lucas grinned, then started walking toward the woman, instinct telling him this time things might be different. Because this time, he knew in his heart he’d just stumbled across…something beautiful.

And then the cameras started flashing.

Lucas blinked twice, watched as the tranquil woman whirled and with a loud groan took off in a mad dash toward the house, her long hair and long dress flying around her as if she were a runaway bride.

The cameras followed her. Two of them with big zoom lenses, carried by two rather burly-looking men who’d popped out from behind a cluster of camellia bushes.

“Willa?” one of the men shouted. “Just one picture, Willa. C’mon, people want to know why you backed out of that runway show in New York!”

“Go away,” the woman shouted in a voice that was as cultured and gleaming as the single strand of pearls she wore around her neck. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

But the two determined photographers kept right on coming. Like a set of hound dogs chasing a rabbit into the swamp, they practically fell over each other in their haste to get to the elusive woman.

Lucas watched, angered and amazed, as one of the overstuffed men stomped right through Aunt Hilda’s prized miniature rose garden then almost tripped over his own feet as he sprinted to get a close-up of the woman he’d called Willa.

“Get away from me,” the woman said, her hands on her hips, her stare full of anger and defiance.

The cameras took it all in, clicking with a constant whine. One of the men laughed. “Good shot. That’ll make the cover.”

“I’ll get a better one for my cover,” the other one snarled.

Lucas took two long strides and stepped between the beauty and the beasts.

“You heard the woman,” he said on a low growl, one hand shoving at the first man while he held his other hand in warning toward the second photographer. “Get away from her now.”

“And who are you?” Burly Number One asked, his double chin jutting over his cheap navy and red striped tie.

Lucas grinned, then shifted his gaze from one man to the other. Slapping a hand across the rough denim of his jeans, he turned and winked at the beauty who’d automatically taken up a position behind his protective back. “Who am I? Moi?” He chuckled low, then shook his head. “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Lucas Dorsette. I live here. And you two seem to be pestering this lovely lady, not to mention trespassing on private property.”

Burly Number Two looked at Number One, rolled his eyes, then adjusted his heavy camera. “Let’s go, man.”

“We weren’t talking to him,” Number One replied, frowning at Lucas. “And I just wanted a minute with you, Willa. Just a couple of pictures for this week’s issue.”

“Me, too,” Number Two added, glaring at the other photographer. “We have a much bigger circulation than that rag he works for.”

Lucas turned to smile at the woman and felt the up-close essence of her beauty in a gut punch right to his stomach. It was hard to speak, but he managed to keep his cool so he could continue defending that beauty and look good in her eyes. “Willa, do you have anything to say to these two…gentlemen?”

“Not a word,” she replied, gratitude sparkling like rainwater in her breathtaking crystal-blue gaze. “I’d really like them to just go away,” she added through a perfect row of clenched gleaming white teeth.

Lucas shrugged, then dropped his hands to his sides. “Then I guess that settles it, hein?” Taking a step toward the two photographers, he said, “Get off my property right now or I will call the sheriff.”

“Let’s go,” Number Two told Number One, backing away. “We got enough pictures, anyway.”

“Speak for yourself,” Number One retorted, posing his camera toward Willa. Until he saw the look in Lucas’s eyes. Then he shrugged and brushed past the apparent competition. “Okay, guess I do need to get back to my hotel room and get these developed—so I can beat you to the scoop.”

The race was on as the two jostled each other.

“Hey, hold on there, fellows,” Lucas said, surprising the entire group. Then he turned to the woman. “Do you want these two to have pictures of you?”

“No,” she said, her incredible eyes burning holes through the two motley, perspiring men.

Lucas held his hand up, motioning to the two. “Let’s have it, please.”

“Have what?” It was a whining chorus.

“The film,” Lucas replied, a smile forming on his lips. “Now.”

“You can’t take our film,” Burly Number One protested, sweat popping on his pale forehead.

“Watch me, mon ami.” Lucas grabbed the man’s camera, opened it and took the film out, inch by inch.

“Hey, you just ruined that!”

“Yes, I did.” Then he turned to the other man, his hand outstretched. “Hand it over, unless you want me to report you to the authorities.”

Reluctantly, and with great disgust, the man handed over the roll of film from his camera. “That belongs to me, you know. To Famous Faces magazine.”

“Yeah, well, now it belongs to me,” Lucas stated as he dropped the ruined film on the ground and rubbed his suede hiking boot across it, disdain evident in his actions. “Now, leave the way you came in—which was probably over the side fence.” He’d have to remember to have Tobbie check that broken fence again.

“Can’t you let us out the gate?” Number One whined.

Lucas turned his head in a gesture of disbelief. “Since I didn’t invite you in, why should I be gracious in letting you out?” Then he motioned toward the driveway that wound around the gardens. “Dig a trench, for all I care, but get out of here, and don’t let me catch you back again. Ever. Or mine will be the only famous face you remember.”

“You’ll be hearing from my publisher,” one of the men called as they trudged away, both huffing and puffing.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Lucas replied, chuckling.

He pulled a walkie-talkie off his leather belt.

“Tobbie, you there?” At Tobbie’s crisp answer, Lucas said, “Two men are approaching the side fence, that place near the tulip gardens where the fence needs repairing. Would you kindly escort them off the property?”

“With pleasure, for true,” Tobbie said, his hoot of laughter echoing over the static.

Satisfied that the oversize Tobbie Babineaux would scare the living daylights out of the two and send them packing, Lucas grinned.

And then her turned to her. “Fans of yours?”

Willa O’Connor looked at the man who’d come to her rescue and wished she knew how to answer his question.

“Not exactly,” she replied, still in shock after being ambushed in what she’d taken to be an isolated, secluded spot. “They work for some of those supermarket tabloids. Celebrity Exposé and, as you heard, Famous Faces. They like to travel in packs so they can attack from several different angles, then fight each other for the best shots.”

“So you’re a celebrity, then?”

“Somewhat,” she replied, not wanting to reveal too much.

She waited as the man took his time letting that little tidbit settle in. While he did that, he looked her over, his dark eyes full of doubt and mirth, his olive skin alive with a fine sheen of sweat in spite of the early morning breezes. He was certainly a handsome thing, with his long, curling brown-black hair and those chocolate-colored eyes that seemed to take in everything around him with a careless, lazy observation.

“Lucas,” she said, recognition making her gasp as she remembered the name he’d given the two reporters. “You’re Lorna’s brother, right?”

“Oui, and her favorite brother, at that,” he said, his grin full of promise and trouble as he reached a hand toward hers. “And from what I gathered from those two camera-toting clowns, your name is Willa?”

Willa tentatively took his hand, shaking it as she nodded then tried to pull away. But he held her. His hand was warm and work-callused, with long, artistic fingers that seemed to cling to her palm a bit too much for comfort. Lucas Dorsette didn’t just shake her hand; he held it as if it were a treasure. And then he did something even more unexpected. He bent his head and kissed her hand.

“Hello, Willa,” he said as he lifted his head, those dark, mischievous eyes sparkling with way too much charm. “Where on earth did you come from?”

“She came from New York,” Lorna said from behind him. “And she’d probably like her hand back, big brother.”

Willa watched as Lucas shrugged, then turned his head toward his sister and her husband, Mick, as they strolled down the garden path from the house. But he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he kept it tucked in his then brought it down, holding it as if they’d been lifelong friends. “I’ll give it back…in a little bit.”

Willa didn’t wait for him to decide when. She gave him a slight smile, then pulled her hand away so she could wave to Lorna, glad for the distraction and glad to have her tingling hand away from his overly warm fingers. “Hello there. I was just about to explain to your brother what I’m doing here.”

“Let me,” Lorna said, giving Willa a light hug. Then she turned to Lucas. “Lucas, this is my friend Willa O’Connor. She arrived late last night. I met Willa in Paris a few years ago, and we’ve kept in touch since then. She needed a few days to herself, so I invited her to come down here to Bayou le Jardin. And I expect you to give her some much-needed space.” Then she yanked playfully on a silky strand of her brother’s unkempt hair. “And I expect you to behave yourself.”

“Don’t I always now?” Lucas said, his gaze zooming in on Willa with all the bright-eyed intent of someone who never, ever behaved himself.

Oh, she loved his accent—part southern gentleman, part backwoods Cajun, slow and easy and downright irresistible. Lucas Dorsette was everything his sister had described and more. A true contradiction—fierce and gentle, mysterious and gallant. Handsome and fun-loving.

A lethal combination of charm and rebellion.

Lorna had warned her.

But he had come to her rescue like some gallant knight from a romance novel. Only who was she kidding? Willa knew she needed another man in her life like she needed another pair of designer shoes. She’d had way too many of both.

And she’d come down to Louisiana to clean her closet, get the cobwebs out of the attic, so to speak. Decide what to do about her crumbling life. She didn’t need Lorna’s handsome brother complicating her already complicated existence.

And yet, she could still feel the warmth of his lips on the back of her hand.

“Your brother has behaved perfectly this morning,” she told Lorna. “He helped me out of a very sticky situation.”

“What happened?” Lorna asked as she leaned against her good-looking husband’s chest. Mick automatically wrapped his arms around Lorna, holding her close as they waited for Willa to answer.

Willa envied the happiness her friend had found in the spring, envied Lorna’s glowing face and contented newlywed smile. She was glad Lorna had found some peace at last. She’d come to Lorna’s beloved gardens hoping to find some peace of her own.

But apparently, it wasn’t to be.

“I’m afraid I’ve been found,” she said. “The press—two goons from the tabloids.”

“They were hiding in the bushes like possums,” Lucas said, his dark brows lifting as he watched Willa. “And hey, jolie fille, mind telling me what that was all about? Why did those two want pictures of you so bad, besides the fact that you’re beautiful and so obviously photogenic, and as you said, somewhat of a celebrity?”

Willa had to smile at the innocence of his question. A man who didn’t know her face? A man who really didn’t follow every aspect of her career? She found that hard to believe, but it was a refreshing change, at least.

Lorna gave her brother a gentle slap on the arm. “You dolt, don’t you know who she is?”

Lucas nodded. “Yes, she’s Willa O’Connor, fair maiden and friend of Lorna. Isn’t that all I need to know?”

“Yes,” Willa said.

“No,” Lorna replied, rolling her eyes. Then she took her brother by the face, holding a hand to his jaw. “Willa is a supermodel. Her face is famous all over the world. And right now, she’s supposed to be resting—away from all the cameras and the spotlights. So you did the right thing by sending those two away.”

“They’ll be back, and they’ll bring others with them,” Willa stated, her head down. “Which means I probably should leave soon. I don’t want to disrupt your home or bother any of your other guests.”

“Nonsense,” Lucas said before Lorna could reply, his dark eyes gleaming with new knowledge. “If you came here to find rest and relaxation, then that’s exactly what you’ll get. And I’ll put myself personally in charge—just to make sure.”

Lorna’s husband, Mick, spoke up. “How, uh, noble of you, Lucas.”

“Ain’t it, though?” Lucas replied, clearly unaffected by his brother-in-law’s teasing. “Personal detail—I’m good at that. I can be your tour guide, your bodyguard, whatever you need me to be.” He held his hand over his heart, then gave Willa a besotted, lopsided grin that had her laughing in spite of herself.

But the way he’d spoken left her wondering exactly what his many talents entailed. Probably heartbreaker, rake, charmer, just to name a few.

“Easy, brother,” Lorna cautioned. “She needs to rest. And if I know you, that word translates more into restless. Don’t drag her out into the swamp for any ‘gator sightings just yet.”

Lucas looked affronted. “The swamp can be a very restful spot. And highly romantic.”

Willa had to smile again. “Rest I need. And as for romance, I’m afraid I’ve given up on that forever.”

“Forever is a long time, suga’,” Lucas countered. “Me, personally, I couldn’t survive without a little romance now and then.”

His dark, unwavering gaze washed over her, telling her that neither could she—if he had his way.

“I warned you,” Lorna reminded Willa, taking her husband’s hand to head to the house. “Breakfast is ready, if you can tear yourself away from my poetic brother.”

“I’ll escort you,” Lucas told Willa, tucking his arm around hers before she could take a step. “According to our aunt Hilda, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“Willa’s already met Aunt Hilda,” Lorna called over her shoulder. “She had an early meeting in town so she couldn’t stay for breakfast with our guests, but she did urge Willa to eat a good meal.”

“See?” Lucas ducked his head low, his words coming in a warm rush near Willa’s ear. “And she always let’s me say grace.”

Grace. Willa wondered what that word meant, exactly. She’d been told she had a natural grace. She was in demand because of that, at the top of her career. And she’d just walked out on one of the most important fashion shows in the industry. How was that for having grace? How was that for saving grace?

She knew Lorna’s family was devout. Lorna had never made any secret of her Christianity, nor of her strong faith. Was that what real grace was all about? And could this beautiful, timeless garden really bring Willa the spiritual and physical healing her doctor and her friend had told her she needed?

Not if her first morning here was any indication. Two photographers in the bushes and a handsome Cajun on her arm, and all before breakfast.

“I’ve been up since before dawn. I’m stark, raving starving, and beating off thugs only added to my appetite,” Lucas said, bringing her out of her tormented, confused thoughts.

Willa had to wonder how he stayed in such good shape if he ate like a madman all the time. But she decided it’d be better to put such thoughts out of her mind. “Thanks for your help back there,” she told him, meaning it. “I was hoping no one would find me here.”

“They won’t again—not with me on the case, I guarantee.”

He’d stretched out that last word, his Cajun accent every bit as teasing as his merry grin. Obviously, he wasn’t as concerned about intrusive reporters as she was.

“I don’t expect you to be my protector, Lucas. I’m capable of handling them myself. After all, I’m used to it.”

He looked at her, those dark, dancing eyes touching her as closely as his arm holding hers. And making her feel extremely warm in the morning sunshine. “So you’re a model. That figures. You’ve got the face and figure for it.”

Willa looked away, toward the house where the few other guests had gathered around the long buffet table set on the downstairs gallery. “That’s what they tell me. Always in demand.”

If Lucas noticed the sarcasm in her tone, he didn’t let on. “But you didn’t come down here to be in demand, so you don’t have to handle it while you’re here. I’ll beef up security and make sure we watch everyone who comes in and out the gate. If you came here to rest, then that’s what we want you to do.”

Rest. The word made Willa want to sit down on that lovely old swing behind the big house and rock back and forth all day. Maybe with Lucas there to tease her and make her smile. Quickly shaking off that particular image, she told him, “This is certainly a perfect spot for rest and relaxation. I don’t know why I waited so long to accept Lorna’s invitation.”

Lucas pulled her close, his dark head almost touching hers as he whispered in her ear. “I sure wish you’d come sooner, and that’s a fact. We’re still recovering from the spring floods, but the gardens are coming along fine.”

The warmth of him was just too much. Willa managed to extract herself from him as they reached the back gallery, where Lorna had a full breakfast set up on the wrought-iron buffet table. “Well, I have a fact for you,” she told Lucas as she pretended to be interested in the food. “I need coffee.”

“That we’ve got. Hot and strong.”

“Then I’ll be perfectly content.”

“What about all this food? I reckon even supermodels need to eat,” he said, his arm somehow linked once again through hers. “Aren’t you hungry?”

His closeness seemed like a natural thing. Lucas was probably used to touching, hugging, being close to people.

She wasn’t.

“Maybe a little,” she replied, feeling sick to her stomach as she scanned the fresh banana bread and strawberry muffins, grits, eggs, bacon and fruit the other guests seemed to be devouring.

Lucas shoved a gleaming white plate at her. “Well, Lorna’s probably made a big production—brunch with an old friend and all. You’ll find we love to eat around here.”

Willa swallowed, thinking she probably wouldn’t be able to eat a bite. After her encounter with those photographers, she was too keyed up, too worried, too nervous to eat. She had a lot of things to work through in her time here. A lot of decisions to make. She couldn’t let Lucas Dorsette’s charming, easy ways sidetrack her. Even if he did smell so good—like water and trees, like fresh air after a slow, soft country rain.

Once again, Willa reminded herself she’d better keep such thoughts out of her head. Way too dangerous.

But she certainly could allow Lucas to show her around a little bit, act as swamp guide, maybe. That couldn’t hurt.

Unless he kept looking at her the way he was looking at her right now.

Willa couldn’t allow Lucas to get too close.

Because she knew in her heart that would be the worst thing that could happen. For both of them.

Chapter Two

“Do you have any of those fashion magazines lying around?” Lucas asked Lacey when they were alone in the kitchen.

He’d excused himself from Willa and Lorna so he could follow Lacey inside. He wanted to see for himself that Willa O’Connor was truly a fashion model. Not that he doubted it. She was the perfect example of high fashion. He wanted to be able to stare at her without anyone noticing, and he figured finding a glossy picture of her in a magazine would do the trick until he could figure out how to be around her twenty-four hours a day and still get his work done.

Lacey shot her brother a quizzical look, then grinned. “I see you’ve met Willa.”

Lucas nodded, grabbed a fresh sweet-potato roll, then chewed thoughtfully before answering. “I didn’t just meet her. I saw her standing in the morning mist on the banks of the bayou and lost my heart to her forever.”

Lacey nodded, then went right on placing fresh fruit on a tray for the breakfast guests gathered on the back gallery. “Uh-huh. How many times have I heard you say something such as that, only to find some poor brokenhearted woman at church the next Sunday, glaring at you across the pew because you suddenly found you wanted to keep your fickle heart intact, after all?”

“Ouch, that hurts. You’re cruel, Lacey, love. Very cruel.”

“And you wouldn’t know real love if it bit you on your adorable nose,” his older sister countered as she headed out the open French doors. Then she turned to face him, all seriousness and as prim and proper as ever in her pearls and lace. “Lucas, be careful with this one, will you please? From what Lorna’s told me, Willa O’Connor is dealing with some major issues right now. She doesn’t need you pestering her with one of your obsessive but rather short-lived infatuations.”

Lucas didn’t answer her. He stood, leaning against the counter, his eyes scanning the small crowd to make sure the object of this discussion was still chatting with Lorna and Mick. And wondered what issues lay behind Willa’s incredible blue-eyed million-dollar smile.

But Lacey wasn’t finished. “Besides, I don’t think Willa is the type to fall for your irresistible charms. She’s way too smart for the likes of you. She went to school at some fancy college up north, graduated with honors.”

Leave it to Lacey to drop a zinger like that with a sweet, serene smile plastered across her classic face. Lucas let out an aggravated sigh as he watched his sister play hostess with all the ingrained manners of a true Southern lady. And wished he could do something really childish like put a lizard down her starched collar.

“Do you have a magazine?” he asked Rosie Lee Babineaux, their longtime housekeeper and cook, as she passed him on her way to the industrial-size refrigerator.

“Lucas, Lucas,” Rosie Lee replied, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. “You need to put your eyeballs back in your head, hein?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“You got the look,” Rosie Lee told him, wagging a finger at him, her Cajun accent twice as distinctive as his.

“And what look would that be, chère?”

“That Lucas look,” Rosie Lee explained, rolling her eyes. “The one you get whenever a pretty woman is anywhere within five miles of you.”

Lucas knew she was right. But, hey, he was having fun with it, so why couldn’t everyone lay off? “I just want to investigate things a bit further,” he explained. “Maybe hang a picture of her near my pillow, so I can gaze at her with adoration….”

Rosie Lee’s burst of laughter stopped him. She had to wipe her eyes, but she lifted a hand toward a set of swinging doors. “I think Em left a few fancy magazines in our sitting room. Go see.”

Lucas took off like a rocket, heading into the small family room tucked off the kitchen, a place where he’d spent many happy hours with the Babineaux clan since he’d arrived, nine years old and scared to death, at Bayou le Jardin. Falling across a worn plaid couch that had been salvaged and cleaned since the spring floods, he remembered feeling safe here in this little room that had at one time been servants’ quarters. He’d naturally blended right in with the six Babineaux children. To the point that they’d included him as one of their own—just like another son, even though he was a few years older than their four boys and two girls.

Glancing around, Lucas remembered Tobias Babineaux, or Big Tobbie, as everyone called him, teaching him all about the dark, mysterious swamp waters that ran behind the grounds of Bayou le Jardin. Tobbie had taken Lucas under his wing, teaching him how to hunt and fish and track, teaching him how to show respect to Mother Nature and how to stand up for what he believed in, teaching him how to survive.

And Lucas had drunk it all in, wanting very much to survive, but always, always challenging life in the midst of learning his lessons well.

A daredevil. That’s what they’d called him.

Reckless. Juvenile. Too full of life for his own good. That’s what he’d always heard about himself.

Too full of life. So full of life that he dared anyone or anything to change that fact.

Even God.

And because of that reckless, careless streak, Lucas had come close, so close to getting into serious trouble over the years, that he’d reached the point where everyone just left him to it—as if they’d all given up on changing him.

But that didn’t stop his loving sisters from reminding him on a daily basis of his shortcomings.

“Why start worrying about that now?” he said with a shrug as he looked around for the much-coveted magazine. Right now, he wouldn’t dwell on how lousy he’d felt since the spring night all those months ago when he’d left Lorna alone in the mansion, in the dark.

He wouldn’t stop to think about what she must have suffered before Mick had found her there. And saved her from herself.

“It should have been me,” Lucas said as he reached into a cabinet and grabbed a handful of tattered fashion magazines.

But then again, Lucas knew in his heart it had to be Mick. Mick Love had fallen in love with his sister in spite of her fears and her self-doubts. And Lucas had accepted that, welcomed it. It was only fitting that Mick be the one to come to Lorna’s aid, to bring her such strength in her faith and herself again. But still…Lucas couldn’t get past that night.

And the promise he had made to his sisters so long ago, on another dark, storm-tossed night.

“Did you find it?”

Lucas looked up to see Rosie Lee’s round, olive-skinned face smiling at him, her long black, silver-streaked braid swinging over one shoulder. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, a teasing light in her dark eyes.

“I hope so,” Lucas said, winking at her as he made a point of lazily flipping through the pages of a thick magazine. Then more to himself than her, he repeated his wish. “I certainly hope so.”

“So, now you’ve heard all the news about us,” Lorna said to Willa. “It’s your turn.”

Willa sank back against the soft floral cushions of her chair, a fork in one hand while she pretended to eat more breakfast. True, she had managed to down some fresh strawberries and cantaloupe and a freshly baked, grain-rich roll. But she couldn’t force herself to eat anything more, in spite of her friend’s best efforts.

Hoping to keep the focus of the conversation off herself, Willa glanced across the table at Lorna and Mick. “Even though I missed your wedding because of that shoot in Spain, I’m so happy for both of you. Surviving a tornado and then a flood, only to find each other…that’s a remarkable story.”

Lorna looked at her husband. “Yes, very remarkable, considering how I resisted Mick from the first day.”

“But it was love at first sight for me, I think,” Mick replied, his hand reaching for his wife. “We’ve been through a lot together, that’s for sure. My whole life changed once I set foot on this old plantation.”

Willa was amazed that Mick Love had been willing to pick up and move to be with the woman he loved. She’d never known a man with that type of commitment, a man willing to give up everything, change his whole lifestyle because of being in love. Her mother had done that all these years, followed the man she loved, but Willa had to wonder, if it were the other way around, would her father have done the same? She doubted it, so she had to question Mick further. “And you didn’t mind—moving here, relocating your business?”

“Why should I?” Mick said, his hand trailing through Lorna’s hair. “I didn’t really have anything to lose. Business is better than ever, I’ve got a wonderful wife to come home to each night, and hey, my best friend even relocated here with me and married the woman of his dreams, too. He’s training to be a fireman.”

“It must be the coffee,” Willa said, laughing. Maybe that would explain why she kept looking for Lucas to come to the table. He’d hopped up a few minutes ago, excused himself with a flourish, then disappeared inside the kitchen. And why did she care?

“There is something about Bayou le Jardin,” Mick agreed, finishing his brew. “It…can heal all wounds.”

Lorna nodded. “Aunt Hilda—you met her earlier, before she headed off to work—firmly believes that we are all closer to Christ here in this garden. She takes her troubles to Him and she’s taught us to do the same.”

Mick shrugged. “But it took a tornado and a flood for me to understand that concept.”

“You really believe that?” Willa asked, wishing with all her heart that Mick was right. She needed to be healed, both physically and spiritually. “That God somehow had a hand in bringing you here?”

Mick got up, looked at Lorna, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’m a believer now.” With that, he kissed his wife. “And…I’ve gotta get to work. Justin needs some help with a little pruning, then I have to ride into Kenner to do an estimate on that remodeling work we’ve been discussing.” He lifted a hand. “We’re still trying to get this place back the way it was before the storms. And that is going to take some doing, considering we still have some water damage.” He touched Lorna’s hair again. “I probably won’t be back in my office in town for a few hours, so I’ll see you later this afternoon, okay?”

“Okay,” Lorna replied, her gaze filled with love as she kissed her husband. “Don’t work too hard.”

Mick grinned, then waved to Willa. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” Willa told him. After he left, she sighed long and hard. “Lorna, he’s…”

“Perfect?” Lorna asked, her expression dreamy and serene. “Mick has helped me in more ways than I ever dreamed possible. He’s brought me peace, made me feel secure, helped me get over my fear of the dark. He still has to travel a good bit, but I’m okay with that—it’s part of his job. And sometimes I take off and head out with him.”

“I’m so glad,” Willa told her, meaning it. “I envy you.”

“Don’t,” Lorna replied, concern bringing a frown to her face. “You can find happiness, too, Willa. I know it. I believe that now—I didn’t believe in happily ever after before.”

“But you’re in love, married to the perfect man. That tends to change one’s perspective on these things.”

“Actually, Mick is far from perfect, but he’s a good, decent man and…just like Mick, I truly believe God brought us together here in this old garden.”

Willa was much too cynical and jaded to believe that. She’d seen too many broken relationships, been a part of too many herself, to ever believe there was such a thing as a lifetime love between two destined people. Fate was way too fickle for that to happen.

Then she looked up to find Lucas Dorsette leaning against a rounded white column, his eyes centered on her, his expression a mixture of curious charm and conquering hero. He gave her a soul-searing smile, then lowered his head, appearing to be completely engrossed in a magazine.

“What’s the story with your adorable brother?” she asked Lorna. “Does he break hearts by the week, or only on a monthly installment?”

Lorna shot her hovering brother a long look. “Oh, Lucas breaks hearts on a daily basis. I think every single woman at church has tried to win him over to matrimony, but our Lucas is a sly one. He can see them coming a mile away, so he flirts with them, teases them, makes them think they are the only one, and then he moves on. He treats women like flowers, picking them and enjoying them until they wilt away, then he discards them for another fresh bloom.”

Willa studied Lucas, glad she was immune to charming, shallow men, but somehow disappointed to hear that Lucas might be that way. “You certainly don’t paint him in a very pretty light.”

“Just being honest with you,” Lorna replied. “Lucas is a wonderful person, the best brother in the world, and I love him dearly. But…he doesn’t take life very seriously.”

“Maybe we could all learn a lesson from that,” Willa replied, thinking she took everything far too seriously for her own good. Which was why she was in such turmoil right now.

Lorna nodded. “As long as you remember, with Lucas, it’s all a big game. Enjoy it while you’re here, Willa, but just be forewarned. My brother will never settle down.”

Willa groaned, then shrugged. “I’m not looking to settle down. You of all people should know I’m not here looking for love, and I certainly have no intention of trying to snare your elusive brother.”

Lorna reached out a hand to her. “I know. You need to find some peace and quiet, and you really need to rest…and take care of yourself. We can’t forget your reasons for coming here. I just don’t want my beautiful brother interfering with that process.”

“Why can’t I be part of the process?” Lucas said from behind them, making both of them jump.

Willa sat bolt upright. She’d only looked away for a minute. How had he moved so quickly and so quietly?

Another thing to remember about Lucas Dorsette, she supposed.

Lorna didn’t bat an eye as she got up. “You can be a lot of things while Willa is here,” she told her brother. “A companion, a tour guide, a security guard. But Willa needs to—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Willa needs her rest. Willa needs to be left alone. Willa needs to know that Lucas is walking trouble and not worth a minute of her time. Did I leave anything out?”

Lorna reached out a hand to touch his face. “That just about covers it.” Then she kissed him on the cheek. “I know I can trust you, so be nice.”

Lucas grabbed his sister’s hand, his gaze changing with mercurial speed from teasing to intense. “Do you know that, really? Can I be trusted?”

Lorna tightened her hand in his. “Yes, you can. I’ve always trusted you, Lucas. And I know what you’re thinking. But…I’m fine. I’m great. Mick is taking good care of me, and we’re very happy. So stop worrying.”

Confused by the exchange, Willa felt uncomfortable. As if she’d stepped into an intimate setting where she didn’t belong. But then, she’d never been so close to another person that she could share a sort of language, the way Lorna and Lucas seemed to talk to each other. Almost in riddles, but they both seemed to understand each other exactly.

She’d noticed that about them, and Lacey, too. She knew they’d survived a terrible horror only to grow up secure in their faith and to become closer as a family. Sharing that kind of bond had held them together, but as Lorna had told her months ago when she’d called Willa to invite her to the wedding, perhaps that bond had also held them captive.

And yet, Willa wished she’d had some sort of bond to make her closer to her parents. They’d never really been a family, the three of them. They’d coexisted in a big, rambling house. That is, whenever they were there together.

Family. The word always made Willa flinch. Oh, she had a family. A mother and father who adored her but who also wanted to control her. But she’d never really felt loved, for some strange reason. Not in the way Lorna seemed loved, at least.

She envied her friend. And longed to get to know the intriguing Lucas Dorsette.

“Me, worry?” Lucas shrugged and lifted his dark brows, bringing Willa’s thoughts to the present. “Never.”

“I have to get to the restaurant and start things for the lunch crowd,” Lorna said to Willa. “Will you be okay?”

“I think I’m going to wander around in the gardens,” Willa told her, intensely aware that Lucas was watching her. “Maybe finally read that thick romance novel I’ve been carting around for months now.”

“We’re still recovering from the flood,” Lucas said, his hand lifting in an arc. “But I’d be happy to show you some of the more beautiful spots.”

“That sounds nice.” She glanced at Lorna, saw no censure in her friend’s eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

She’d been warned about Lucas Dorsette too many times to care. She didn’t understand why his sisters seemed so concerned that he’d break her heart. She’d turned down suitors from all over the world, after all. Playboys, a prince or two, politicians, they’d all courted her and some had tried to corrupt her. But luckily, the one thing her distant, worldly parents had instilled in her was a sense of caution and integrity—an O’Connor could never bring shame or scandal to the family honor. It simply wasn’t permitted.

And because Ambassador Eugene O’Connor and his lovely wife, Candace, had frowned on their daughter’s choice of careers, Willa had at least tried to stay out of trouble and stay away from the many temptations lurking in the world of high fashion.

Would her parents approve of Lucas Dorsette? Hardly. But she was only going to be here for a short time, and her parents were far away, traveling yet again. Willa was an adult, after all. She could take care of herself; she’d been doing it for most of her life. So she wasn’t afraid of spending a few mindless days with Lucas Dorsette.

He seemed harmless enough.

As long as they both kept their perspective, of course. As long as she remembered Lucas liked to keep things light.

Well, so did she.

She wouldn’t let the legendary gardens of Bayou le Jardin mess with her head.

And she wouldn’t let the legendary Lucas Dorsette mess with her heart.

But when he took her hand and pulled her down a cool, shaded path dripping with ancient hot-pink crape myrtle trees, Willa had a feeling it was already too late to turn back.

Chapter Three

He was taking her off the beaten path.

“Where are we going?” Willa asked Lucas as they moved away from the house and closer to the bayou.

Here the vegetation grew more lush, green and rich, thriving in spite of the summer heat. The smell of wet earth and brackish water mingled with the scent of honeysuckle and wild-blooming jasmine. The mid-morning sun played a game of chance as it tried to pierce the cool shadows cast by the tall, moss-draped cypress trees.

“You’ll see,” he told her, his hand in hers as he pulled her down the winding path.

“At least it’s cooler here.”

“One of the many beautiful things about Bayou le Jardin. There’s plenty of cool spots, even in the middle of summer. And I happen to know where they all are.”

Willa noticed the creepers surrounding the narrowing path—the English ivy that grew wild and free, the ancient camellia bushes and sweet-smelling lilies. She could hear bees buzzing hungrily in the dense garden. She could hear a child’s laughter ringing out from the house. Probably that cute little Tobias—the little boy Lucas had rescued during the flood.

Lorna had told her all about that, too. And how Lucas had berated himself for not getting back to the mansion to help Lorna, who had been deathly afraid of the dark, after the electricity had gone off and left Lorna stranded alone in the dark and the flood. Lorna explained that Lucas blamed himself, but no one else saw it that way. He’d saved a child’s life. That had to count for something.

She watched his face, wondering what lay behind that square jaw and those lush, full lips. And those dark, mysterious eyes.

The agencies in New York would love a portfolio of pictures of Lucas Dorsette, she figured. His face rivaled those of any of the overpaid male models she knew and worked with on a daily basis. But Lucas had one trait that many of her co-workers didn’t possess. He looked completely real, completely male. Not prettied up for the cameras.

And he looked very dangerous.

“I suppose the other guests don’t know about this path,” she said, hoping Lucas would tell her where he was taking her.

She wasn’t afraid of being alone with him, but she had this thing about always knowing about what might lie ahead. No surprises. No room for any mistakes.

“Non. I keep this one to myself.”

“Is it special?”

“I think it is.”

So, he was going to be tight-mouthed about this. Willa watched him as he moved in front of her, his feet steady and sure, his steps silent. With his dark good looks and intense concentration, he reminded her of some ancient warrior stalking through a jungle.

Was she his quarry, then?

“Lucas, where are we going?”

He stopped, whirled to stare at her.

His nearness confused her, enticed her, made her want to turn and go back to civilization. Or give up being civilized altogether.

“Are you all right? Tired?”

“I’m fine, just wondering what you’re doing.”

“I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots.”

“Okay.”

She decided to stay quiet. He took her hand, guiding her through hanging vines and wild dogwood trees. They moved downward, toward the marsh, then up until they were on a grassy little incline.

“Look,” he said, pointing.

Willa followed the direction of his gaze, then laughed. “Oh, my. Well, this was certainly worth the trip.”

He’d brought her to a pagoda sitting on top of a moss-covered mound. The pagoda was rustic and ancient, but the wood and stone blending together on the high walls looked solid, and the shingled, slanted roof seemed to be holding up. Or at least, the English ivy was holding the building together. It covered the entire structure and ran down over the mossy rocks that formed the walls of what looked like a walk-through grotto.

A playful morning breeze rustled the nearby tupelo trees, bringing with it the tinkling sound of bells. The almost melancholy melody seemed to be coming from inside the pagoda.

“Chimes,” Lucas told her, his keen gaze centering on her face. “I like chimes.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her breath coming hard and heavy, whether from the long walk or the sheer beauty of this place, she couldn’t say. “So this is your secret garden?”

“You could call it that,” Lucas told her as he led her up a narrow stone footpath toward the rectangular structure. “Aunt Hilda discovered it in her younger years, when she could get around more. She showed it to me when I first came here.” He smiled, then closed his eyes. “I can still remember what she told me. She said, ‘Now, Lucas, most would tell you that this is a temple, a shrine. But we only have one temple—and that is our little chapel where we worship the Lord. This is not a place of worship, but it can be a place of retreat, if you ever need it. God will hear you here in this place, if you need to get away and talk to Him.’”

“She sounds like a fascinating, wise woman.”

He opened his eyes, gave Willa one of those heart-stopping looks. “She is. She’s traveled all over the world, seen all sorts of shrines and temples, cathedrals and churches, but she loves the Chapel in the Garden more than anything she’s ever seen. And that’s where she expects us to be each Sunday.”

Willa thought that was quaint and sweet and again felt that distant tug of longing in her own heart. “And yet, you come here sometimes, to find your peace, talk to God?”

He nodded. “No one else bothers with this place. Not even Justin, our landscaper. I try to keep the swamp from taking it over completely.”

“So you weed it and clear it out, prune the bramble and sweep away the spiders and snakes?” She hoped.

He nodded, as silent as the still, waiting wind and trees. Then he said, “I don’t like spiders and snakes, but I respect them. If I find any, I usually send them in the other direction.”

Somewhat comforted, she asked, “Even the poisonous ones?”

“Even those, unless of course they attack first. Then I don’t ask any questions.”

Willa imagined that was probably how he handled life, too. Since he seemed used to being attacked a lot, based on what Lorna had told her.

She could envision him standing here, the hunter in him alert and wary, willing to kill to survive. But she could also see him bending to nudge an innocent creature in the right direction so he wouldn’t be forced to harm it. It was that image, rather than the more macho one of him as a hunter and a scrapper, that endeared him to her.

“Well, you’ve done a good job. It looks well-kept and completely snake free,” she told him, her gaze taking in the antique sundial centered near the entryway. “But I have to admit, this place looks a little lost and sad.”

“It is,” he replied. “It was once a garden spot, centuries ago. It wasn’t part of our land then, but the family that owned the neighboring plantation suffered through a yellow fever epidemic, probably brought here from New Orleans. The landowner lost his entire family—his wife, his son and daughter—they all died. He let the place go to ruin during the Civil War, then he died many years later, a lonely, reclusive old man. I’m not sure how my family wound up owning the land—Lacey could tell you all about that—” He stopped, looked at the winding stream that flowed from the Mississippi River to the bayou from the other side of the small, slanting hill. “The story goes that he used to come here and grieve his loss in this hushed, decaying garden. I come here when I’m feeling lost and sad myself. Sometimes I get in that kind of mood. Aunt Hilda says, c’est l’heure solennelle.”

“The solemn hour.” Willa knew enough French to translate what he’d told her. And wondered why he’d brought her here. Did Lucas sense that she was sad and lost underneath all her fame and fortune?

Just the thought that he might, coupled with the tragic tale he’d told her, brought tears to her eyes. But she quickly dashed them away, not willing to explore the underlying turmoil of her problems right now. She didn’t want pity, refused to wallow in self-doubt and despair.

And yet, this place seemed to be beckoning her to do just that. Or maybe it was telling her to let go and let her inner torment boil to the surface in a cleansing purge. So she could get on with her life. If she had a life to get on with, that is.

Wanting to change her somber thoughts, Willa said, “You don’t strike me as the type to wander around moping. From everything Lorna has told me and from what I’ve seen of you, I wouldn’t have imagined you’d have such a place, so beautiful yet so melancholy, tucked away from the world.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes locked on hers in a heated black gaze, his secrets as tangled and overgrown as the swamp around them. “’The beauty remains; the pain passes.’”

“What a lovely thing to say.”

“You can thank Renoir for that one,” he told her, looking away briefly.

“The painter?”

“The very one. He knew a thing or two about pain.”

“And it sounds as if you know a thing or two about art,” she replied, her opinion of him rapidly changing.

“I know enough to get by. But then, that’s how I am about most things in life—whatever it takes to get by.” He shifted, ran a hand over his long, curly bangs. “But I didn’t bring you here to get you down or talk about art.”

She wanted to ask him exactly why he had brought her here, but then the smile was back, taking her breath up and away. The tiny bells hanging on a silvery chain just inside the open pagoda door tinkled and laughed along with him, but to Willa, the sound changed in the wind.

It almost sounded like weeping.

“Well, this is a strange and mysterious place,” she said, her voice low. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Depends,” he said, pulling her into the cool darkness of the rustic structure. “Look over that way.” He pointed through one of the open windows toward the path they’d traveled.

Through a gap in the trees and brush, Willa saw the mansion. From this spot atop the small mound, Bayou le Jardin could be seen in all its splendor just to the west. The great evergreen oaks and ever-changing gardens cascaded from the house like colorful lace on a belle’s ball gown, while the mansion stood brilliant and sparkling with its Doric columns and classic Greek Revival design.

“How lovely.”

“Oui. I like to come here and look back at it. I’m close enough to watch over things, but far enough away that I can’t be bothered if I don’t want to be found.”

If I don’t want to be found.

Willa watched him, knowing that there was much more to Lucas Dorsette than he wanted the world to see. He was witty, flirty, a charmer, no doubt. But there was a serious side to him that she could see clearly, in spite of the shaded, secluded garden where he’d brought her. Or maybe because of it.

“Do you bring all your conquests here?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Actually, you’re the first,” Lucas told her, his mood as dark and hard to see into as the swamp below them. “Conquest, that is.”

And that’s when Willa knew she was treading on very dangerous ground. Lorna had warned her about Lucas’s lighthearted, carefree nature.

But her friend had failed to warn her about the other qualities that made up Lucas Dorsette. He was obviously a very complex, interesting man. A man who had a deeper, more spiritual side that he hid from the world with a nonchalant shrug and a breathtaking smile.