Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou Sweetheart\The Firefighter's New Family\Season of Redemption (5 page)

Then he thought of Callie. She'd care. She'd probably gasp and get up and leave the room. She'd probably refuse to finish designing his garden and grounds. He thought of her, dancing in the rain.

But he'd come here for a reason so he squared his shoulders and asked God to help him through this. Did God listen to the prayers of a person who'd never bothered to enter a church, a man who'd once been a scared little boy, thrown away and ignored? Could Christ see inside his soul? Would he ever find any peace? Or would he still feel like that lost little boy even after he'd finally gotten his revenge?

Chapter Five

“H
e's closing down Fleur Shipyard.”

“No, he's gonna rebuild it or merge it or something like that. You heard the man.”

“What I heard is I'll be let go.”

Callie listened to the whispers of conversations going on around her, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak. Tomas Delacorte had come here with a purpose, all right. But she hadn't quite decided if his intentions were good or bad.

Or maybe a little of both. In a voice as smooth as French roast coffee and as commanding as a sea captain, he'd announced that the Fleur Shipyard would be shut down indefinitely in one month. Then after the chaos had finally turned to shocked disbelief, he'd also announced that he would merge the Fleur Shipyard with two others he'd recently acquired, to form Delacorte Shipbuilding and Repair, LLC. This would become a full-service industry with new state-of-the-art technology and the ability to build supply vessels and research vessels and to obtain naval contracts, all backed by a vessel repair service that would be the best in the country. This would be good for the state of Louisiana and especially for Fleur and several other small towns along the Gulf.

That was the press-release, polished version.

Callie wanted the truth, from him.

Brenna poked Callie in the ribs. “What do you think?”

Alma had hopped up to talk to Julien, but Brenna remained beside Callie. Callie glanced around. “I don't know what to think. Papa's not smiling.”

“Papa rarely smiles.”

“Tomas is not smiling, either.”

“He never smiles.”

But Callie had seen him smile, kind of. Now he simply sat back and let the discussion continue until it had reached fever pitch. The meeting was over now, after several shouted questions, after mass panic, after reassurances by both Nick and Tomas and after each council member had given it either a blessing or a nay.

“He could have given us this information in a more gradual way,” Alma said as she sank back down beside Callie. “I think the old shipyard could use some improvements but I don't know. Steel. This is all about steel. I guess it's a good thing.”

“And industry,” Callie finally said. “He's bringing new industry to our area. He did tell me that, in a word.”

“Only no one wants things to change,” Alma replied. “We want the old shipyard. The workers want that one to stay open and running even if it's on its last legs.”

“They should want this,” Brenna retorted. “A new shipyard is a big change, and if what Tomas told us is true, it could mean jobs, lots of jobs.”

“But he also said he might have to let a lot of workers go before he can put his plan into motion,” Alma replied. “What will happen to them?”

Brenna lowered her voice. “Some of them are near retirement anyway. He's going to buy them out. He's going to bring in more qualified, more educated, skilled craftsmen. Or at least that's what he just told us.”

“Did you know all of this?” Callie asked Brenna.

“No.” Her sister shifted on her chair. “I knew he was coming here to do a buyout, but Nick had to be careful about what he said. He's not actually involved in the buyout. He's only involved in building and renovating offices. He'll hire locals for that, at least.”

“I've got a bad feeling,” Alma said. “A very bad feeling.”

Callie didn't know what to say. Did Tomas Delacorte have good intentions? Or was there some other motive for his actions? How long would he leave this town hanging on his promises?

“Surely he has some heavy-duty investors,” she said. “I mean, shipyards don't come cheap. You can't just roll into town and say ‘I'd like one shipyard, please.'”

“Or two or three.” Brenna nodded. “He has investors, yes. Big-shot investors. But he's also a very wealthy man.”

“How did he get that way?”

“I'm not sure. Oil and gas, naval contracts, lots of industry.”

“Industry.” Callie said the word once again. “He wasn't lying about that.”

“He's not lying about anything,” Brenna replied. “He's a businessman. I don't think he's out to do us harm.”

“We'll have to wait and see,” Callie finally said. “It's a done deal. The council approved it even if it was just symbolic. This is more of a state thing—approval, permits, logistics. But they seemed to think eventually this will be a good thing.”

Brenna glanced behind them. “Yes, but barely. I thought Mrs. Laborde was going to keel over.”

“She's a widow who lives on her husband's pension, and that's very little as it is.” Alma crossed her arms and stared at the now-empty council chairs. “I don't know. A lot of new jobs will bring a lot of new people to town. The Fleur Café will be busy. We might have to hire more people ourselves.”

“That's the right attitude,” Brenna replied. “Think positive.”

Callie got up and lifted her shoulder bag onto her arm. “I'm going home.”

Her sisters stood, too. “Are you all right?” Alma asked.

“I'm fine. New people will mean new homes, and they'll need someone to help with landscaping and plants and trees and bushes and, you know, I'm an industry. I mean, I run an industry myself. Small scale but...”

“You are a smart businesswoman,” Brenna said, latching on to the few good notes in the symphony of fear moving through the room. “This will work out fine. Nick wouldn't work for a man who intended to shut this town down.”

Callie walked with her sisters to the door. Outside, the night was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. The wind played against the old oaks while all sorts of scenarios played out inside her head.

She headed to her battered red pickup truck and stood, digging her keys out of her purse. She wanted to get home and into her pajamas and into her bed. She needed to think, to pray. To sleep.

“Callie?”

She closed her eyes and stilled.

Tomas.

“Yes?” She didn't dare turn around.

But she didn't have to. He was there beside her, urging her around. “You left without saying good-night.”

“Good night.” She couldn't look at him.

Tomas leaned down so she was forced to face him. “You're not too happy about this, are you?”

Finally, she glanced up and into his unreadable eyes. “No. You're shutting down the shipyard with a vague promise of opening it back up. We've heard that kind of vague promise before. It never is good. We need a solid assurance. We need jobs.”

He leaned a hand against her car, trapping her too close. “I have my reasons.”

“And those reasons are?”

“It's time for a change. I think I can make that change.”

“It's you taking over and telling us that we no longer matter,” she blurted. “You gave a good spiel and you made a lot of promises, but—”

“I'm not taking over anyone. I don't want to own this town. I don't need this town.”

But something in the way he said that made Callie lift her head to stare at him. “Then what do you want? What do you need?”

He stood staring down at her, the moonlight reflecting in his velvet dark eyes, the gray night washing over his intense scowl. His hard, harsh expression softened in the moonlight. “Callie...”

“I have to go,” she said. “I work for a living. I have to get up early.”

She struggled with her keys.

He grasped her hand, took the keys from her and opened the truck door. Not used to him being so kind, she moved around him and slid into the seat, but he held the door open and leaned in. “I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk then.”

“You don't owe me any explanations, Tomas. You told me this was about industry. And it is. There's good and bad in your announcement. Change is hard on a place that's used to tradition, but we do need some sort of change. So I'm asking you to make it a good one. Don't disregard the people of Fleur. We depend on each other around here, help each other, pray for each other. It's hard on us when an outsider comes in and takes over, even if it is a write-off investment.”

“It's progress, Callie. It's business. And that means there are winners and losers.”

She took a deep breath and cranked the car. “Well, sometimes progress comes at a high price. And no one wins.”

He stood inside the truck door. “Don't leave yet.”

She tugged on the door handle. “I have to go.”

He finally lifted his hand off the door. “Good night.”

Then he stepped back.

Callie didn't dare look at him as she cranked the old truck and backed out of the parking space, but when she was a safe distance away, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him standing there staring after her.

This time, he hadn't walked away.

* * *

The sun peeked over the morning horizon in pastels of shy pink and timid yellow. Callie and her crew arrived at Fleur House just as the shimmering rays filled the tall pines and ancient cypress trees along the bayou, casting out a path of light that seemed to absorb the stone-encased walls of the looming house and give them new life.

But she had to wonder if this house would ever feel alive. She didn't think the lone man inhabiting it really knew about real life. But she'd decided not to dwell on Tomas Delacorte and his mysterious ways today.

Pulling her cranky old truck up underneath a just-green tallow tree, Callie got out and waited for the work van full of a half-dozen workers she'd hired to help her oversee this project.

“Gather around,” she called, smiling at Pretty Mollie and several younger teens from the church youth group. “Okay, we've talked about your pay and how many hours I'll need y'all. Weekends and after school, of course. This is our first Saturday together, so I wanted to remind everyone of how this works. We'll be here most of the day. My sister Alma will send out lunch so you won't starve. But please remember to behave and work hard. The faster we get this done, the sooner you can go on home and get on with your Saturday-night plans.”

“You got any plans, Miss Callie?” one of the teens asked, grinning, his brown eyes twinkling.

Callie had known the kid since his birth, so she was used to his good-natured teasing. “No, David Lee, I don't. Other than finding a quiet spot and reading a good book.”

“That sounds boring,” blonde-haired, blue-eyed Hannah said, one painted fingernail clawing at her spiral curls.

“You should try it sometime,” David Lee retorted. “Reading makes people smart. Oh, I mean some people.”

Hannah stuck out her tongue at him. “Then obviously you don't read much yourself.”

Everyone laughed at that, except David Lee, of course.

Ah, young love. Callie remembered that. She and Dewayne had sparred and flirted in just such ways when they'd been in high school. And they'd married right after high school and moved into the tiny little house where Callie still lived not far from her papa's house. Life had been good for a few years, but...life had a way of changing pretty fast.

“Let's get to work,” she said, turning to open the tailgate of the truck so she could hand out shovels, picks and rakes. “I have a grid that we need to follow. “David Lee, why don't you and the other boys start unloading these plants.” She pointed to a spot she'd already tilled and fertilized. “Set them right there and I'll show you the grid once we get our tools in place.”

David Lee and the boys started doing as she'd asked while Callie and the girls gathered the tools. “We have a water jug,” Callie called out. “And drinking cups. Put your trash in the bag I brought, okay?”

The teens all mumbled and went about their various duties, and soon Callie was knee-deep in mud and manure and magnolia bushes. She tried not to look toward the house, toward that big window where Tomas usually stood. She hadn't seen him since the meeting Wednesday night, but she knew he was somewhere in that big house, making plans for his future empire.

Hannah shoveled soil and shifted on her old tennis shoes. “I've heard a lot about Mr. Delacorte.”

“Me, too,” one of the other girls said. “My daddy says he's gonna fire everybody down at the shipyard.” She stared up at the imposing mansion. “I guess he's filthy rich if he lives here. Daddy says Fleur will never be the same since he moved in.”

Callie had thought the very same thing, but she refused to engage in idle gossip. “Girls, we're here to plant not to stir up.”

“Is that a joke, Miss Callie?” Hannah asked, a smug look on her face.

“No, it is not,” Callie retorted. “Let's talk about something else besides the man who's paying us to do this.”

“My daddy said you'd take up for him,” the other girl replied. “Since he's paying you so much money and all.”

Callie stopped shoveling and stared over at the sassy teen. “Your daddy needs to keep quiet since he has no idea what I'm being paid. I have to work for a living, and Mr. Delacorte needed a gardener.”

“Well, your sister works for him, too,” the girl said, anger coloring her words. “And she's engaged to that other man, Nick. So my daddy might just be right about you defending him. It's like your whole family is depending on him or something.”

“Enough.”

They all turned toward the masculine voice that echoed out over the trees and water.

Tomas was standing about ten feet away.

And he was not smiling.