Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou Sweetheart\The Firefighter's New Family\Season of Redemption (7 page)

His eyes held hers. “I'll like anything that will make life easier for these two.”

Well, that was mighty kind of him. And yet another layer exposed. He did have a heart.

She glanced up at Eunice. “Do y'all travel as a pair?”

The two women giggled. “We're sisters,” Eunice replied. “After my Ed died, Margie and Bob asked me to move in with them.” Then she looked over at Tomas. “And...since they've been with Tomas for a long time, when it came time to come here, they insisted I tag along.”

Margie giggled, but her eyes turned misty. “Tomas insisted, too.”

“Like Ruth and Naomi,” Callie replied, touched. She watched Tomas's expression soften and her heart seemed to turn to quicksand. “So you brought them all here.”

“I was outnumbered,” he said, but she could see the pride in his eyes. “Margie and Eunice were friends with my mother.”

“We practically raised him after—” Eunice stopped, a hand to her mouth. “Listen to us going on and on. Y'all need to eat your chicken salad casserole before it gets cold. We have fresh strawberries and cream for dessert.”

The two women bustled back inside without another word.

But Callie couldn't let it go. “After what?” she asked, hoping to understand what made him tick. “What was Eunice talking about?”

Tomas glanced out into the yard and then lifted his chin toward Callie, his eyes a shielded blue. He didn't speak for a moment or two, his expression taut and tight-muscled. “After my mother died,” he said. “Pass the bread, please.”

Chapter Seven

C
allie passed the bread and watched him butter it, his movements calm and carefully calculated. This man seemed to analyze his conversations and his every move. Had he been raised to be gentlemanly or had he trained himself?

“Tomas?” She waited for him to look at her. When he finally did, she dropped her fork and gave him a direct stare. “I'm so sorry. When did she die?”

He placed the freshly baked bread back on his plate and positioned the butter knife back on the butter tray. “When I was a teenager,” he replied. “Heart disease. She needed a transplant but she was way down the list. We didn't have insurance and we didn't have transportation to any state or charity hospitals. Friends tried to help, but...she'd waited too late. She was too sick. After she died, our house was repossessed and I was left with a lot of medical bills. We lost our home.”

The summary seemed well rehearsed and blunt, as if he'd had to tell it so many times he'd memorized the method. And he'd learned not to show any emotion in telling it.

But Callie had to know. “And your dad? Is he still alive?”

He stared down at his uneaten food. “Yes, but I don't acknowledge my dad. Never did. Never will.”

In spite of her keen curiosity, Callie tried to hold back on the subject of his father. But she wanted to know how he'd gone from a motherless teen to a successful tycoon.

“So what did you do...after your mother passed away?”

He shoved a spoonful of the tasty chicken-and-rice casserole into his mouth and chewed. Swallowing, he said, “At first, I moved in with my mother's brother and his family in Texas but...we didn't get along. I came back to Louisiana and asked Bob for a job. He and Margie never had any children of their own, so they were willing to give me room and board and some cash as long as I finished school and helped Bob with his construction business. When I turned eighteen I struck out on my own.”

Well, that was an understatement. Callie's heart burst with the hurt of knowing that this confident, secure, successful man had once been a hurt young boy without a home, without a family. What could she say to comfort him, to understand him?

“I'm so sorry, but you obviously overcame any adversity you suffered.”

He looked into her eyes then, his expression guarded and dark. “Did I?”

Maybe not. “You're self-sufficient now. You can take care of yourself and a whole lot of other people.”

Or could he?

“I'm secure,” he replied. “I like security. I like being in charge and in control.”

Because his life had once been out of control? Callie could certainly identify with that notion.

She ventured into deeper waters. “You said you grew up near here. Where is that, exactly?”

He lifted his fork. “Eat your casserole before it gets cold.”

Callie couldn't hide her shock, but she lifted the creamy concoction to her mouth and tried to swallow it. “You don't like talking about yourself, do you?”

“No.”

They both ate their food for a moment or two, then he said, “Tell me about your mother.”

Should she? Or should she clam up like he had? No, Callie wasn't the tight-lipped kind. “She was wonderful. Always had a kind word for anyone. She was a true Christian. She didn't judge, didn't condemn. She just loved with all her heart.”

“You must be a lot like her.”

Callie didn't know what to say to that. “I try, but no one can ever be exactly like Lola Blanchard. She was one of a kind.” She touched her napkin to her mouth. “People told us after she'd died that God needed her in heaven.” She shook her head. “I kind of got tired of hearing that.”

His blue eyes flared like firelight at that comment. “Did you blame God for her death?”

“No. I blame cancer for her death. God didn't take her. He healed her, in the only way He could. I've accepted that, but I still miss her. And...I don't need platitudes to comfort me. Sometimes, I just need someone to listen.”

He looked over at her, his eyes full of understanding. “I'm a pretty good listener.”

Embarrassed, she shook her head again. “I'm not asking you to do that, but I appreciate the offer.”

He sipped his iced tea then lifted his gaze to Callie again. “You...had cancer.”

Okay, this man was forever shocking her. “Yes, I did. But I survived. Coming up on my five-year checkup soon.”

He ran a finger down the condensation on his crystal drinking glass. “And you're healthy, taking care of yourself?”

“I think so. I mean, I try to take care of myself. We eat a lot around here, but we also have a lot of fresh food. Healthy food. If you don't count bread pudding, of course.”

He attempted a smile at that, his gaze sweeping over her face. “Alma's bread pudding is hard to resist.”

“Yes, it is.”

He took another bite of his food. “I suppose you've heard I was married once.”

And yet another shocking confession. “Yes, just like me. How 'bout that?”

He sat back and stared across the table at her. “She died.”

Callie went for honesty. “I'd heard that, too.”

But she wanted to ask him how his wife had died and if that was why he seemed so shut off and cautious. Or if there was something else about his childhood that had shaped him, too.

“We didn't have a good marriage.”

Another revelation. “I'm sorry for that, too, then.”

“I couldn't help her.”

Callie was beginning to wonder if this was a confession or a warning. “You've had some tough times.”

“Yes, I have. But so have you.”

“We can compare notes.”

“No comparing. My wife had issues and they finally caught up with her.” He looked away again, out toward the flowing water of the little bayou. “It's hard to help someone when they don't want to be helped.”

Callie threw down her white linen napkin and gave up on eating. “Okay, Tomas, I have to ask this because I'm the curious type. What exactly happened with your wife?”

“An overdose,” he said, his tone flatlined. “She was addicted to prescription pain medicine. I tried everything—rehab, clinics, therapy.”

So that explained why he'd taken her away. And probably explained why he didn't like roses. Didn't people always send roses, no matter the sickness?

“Oh, my. Oh, how horrible.” Callie wished she hadn't pushed him, but at least now she knew the truth. “That's just—”

“Tragic,” he said, his face a blank. “What about your ex-husband?”

“What about him?” She sat back up, moved her fork over her food. “He couldn't handle me being so sick. He couldn't handle a lot of things about me.”

Tomas lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I can't imagine that.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, I'm being serious. You seem like a dependable, hardworking, loving, lovely woman. What's not to handle?”

A confused heat rushed across her skin. “Well, when you put it that way...”

He leaned forward. “Callie—”

But the door opened and out came Eunice with their dessert. Just like that, the tension left Tomas's face and whatever he was about to say remained unsaid.

“All fresh and chilled,” Eunice said with pride as she placed the pretty china dessert plates and two cups of steaming coffee in front of them. “Did you enjoy your lunch?”

“We did,” Tomas said, his gaze hitting on Callie with a touch of regret. “As always, the food was great.”

Callie thanked Eunice and tasted the strawberries. “This is wonderful.”

Eunice gathered their entrée dishes and smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. “Take your time with dessert and coffee. It's a nice day.”

After Eunice went back inside, Callie put down her fork. “I should get back to work.”

“Finish your dessert first,” Tomas said. But the command was gentle. “Don't let me scare you, Callie.”

“I'm not scared,” she said. “I've always been nosy and curious, so thank you for being honest with me.”

He stared at his plate, his own strawberries and cream barely touched. “I want...”

He didn't finish.

Callie watched his face for signs of anger or confusion, trying to understand what he really wanted. “You don't have to explain anything to me, Tomas. I'm a big girl. You and I have been through similar circumstances. We've both been married and we've both lost a lot. That makes us doubtful and cautious.” She stood, her need to flee the scene overcoming her need to understand him. “I don't even know what I'm trying to say. I don't even understand what you're trying to tell me.” She turned to leave. “Thank you for lunch.”

But his hand on her arm stopped her. “Callie, wait.”

“What is it?” she asked, her heart bumping a heavy thud, her brain trying to connect the dots. “What do you want to say to me that you're afraid to say? That you can't do this again? That I'm just here as one of your hired people and you don't want anything else from me? I get that. I'm okay with that. I had a bad experience with my husband and...as selfish as this sounds...I'm not looking for anything else. I'm not looking for
anyone
else. So relax. We'll get through this.” She looked down at his hand holding her there. “We both know we don't want to go through anything heavy again, right?”

He tugged her an inch closer, his eyes turning a dark blue. “I wanted to tell you... What I wanted to say to you is...your husband left. I stayed, Callie. I stayed. I stayed with my wife until the very end. So I'm not like him.” He let go of her arm then. “You need to think about that.”

Shocked, Callie could only nod. “All right, I think that's admirable and I'll remember that, but you don't owe me any explanations, Tomas. Now I have to get back to work.”

“I'm coming with you,” he said.

“What?”

“I want to help you, with the garden.”

Callie wasn't so sure about that. She needed some alone time to digest his doublespeak. “But you don't need to—”

“My estate, my choice,” he replied. “C'mon. We're burning daylight.” Then he whistled to Elvis and started off down the steps.

* * *

Three hours later Callie stood back to admire their handiwork. After she'd called a few of her hired workers to give her an excuse not to be alone with Tomas, they'd planted more lilies, several azaleas, some cast-iron plants and lots of lush ferns and hostas. Callie wanted the long, wide garden paths to be covered with a mixture of different plantings, so she'd spent the afternoon absorbed in that task, rather than thinking about the man who'd insisted on helping her.

“It looks great.”

She ventured a glance at Tomas now, remembering their intimate conversation at lunch. He looked adorable with dirt all over his shirt and hands. A fine sheen of perspiration colored his tanned face. He'd worked beside her and the others without complaint and with very little conversation. But just having him near had added a whole new dynamic to the workday.

“Thanks,” she said, wondering how she'd been able to concentrate with him hanging around all afternoon. But she had to admit it had been nice having some adult help. He'd been polite to the team, but not overbearing or bossy. “And thanks for helping. You don't have to do that, you know.”

“I wanted to help.”

The sound of the teens loading up their tools echoed through the late-afternoon wind.

“They sure are ready to get going.” He took a quick glance at the finished garden. “Why do you come alone sometimes? I told you to hire as many people as you need.”

Did he think she was taking advantage of him? Or maybe not taking what he offered had insulted him?

“I like being alone out here,” she admitted. “It's quiet and peaceful and...it gives me time to reflect and talk to God.”

He smiled at that. “You talk to God?”

“All the time,” she replied. “Don't you?”

“Rarely.” He shook his head. “But I'm beginning to get reacquainted with Him since I've been here.”

“That's good,” she said. “I like that.”

Tomas moved closer to her. Out over the water, the sun was beginning to set. Callie watched the shimmering rays piercing through the cypress trees, their heat changing from bright yellow to muted gold. At this very minute, with Tomas standing so near, with her plants and flowers freshly embedded in the ground, she realized two things.

She'd made a mark on Fleur House, left it better than she'd found it, created beautiful colors to surround it and complement it.

She'd also been marked by this place and its new owner. Marked in a permanent way that would bring her right back to this spot and this sunset over and over. This was the kind of memory a person saved tucked away, the kind a person only brought out at special times.

“What a sweet sunset,” she said, her heart content and full of an overwhelming thankfulness, even while her knees knocked with awareness. This man made her jittery, but she liked being near him all the same. “I love the sunset over the bayou.”

“You didn't want to be alone with me, did you?”

Shocked, she shook her head. “What?”

“You called in reinforcements.”

Was she that obvious? “I needed their help.”

“We could have done this without them.”

“Maybe, but you are paying them to work.”

He gave her one of those scowl smiles. “Okay, we'll go with that then.”

She dusted her hands against her jeans. “Let's go get washed up.”

When Tomas reached out his hand to her, Callie took it and felt the grit of dirt and mud pressed there between them, branding them and changing them.

“You're still scared of me.”

“I'm still trying to figure you out.”

“Good luck with that.”