The Legacy (9 page)

Paul scanned the room again. “I never could have pictured Sticklys and Chippendales in this building.”

Marjo leaned against the concession stand and gave him a smile. “Sometimes you find treasures where you least expect them.”

“Is that the case with you?”

The tease in her gaze disappeared and she
wrapped her arms around her chest, creating a distance between them. “Not me. I’m a ‘what you see is what you get’ girl.”

“I doubt that.” Paul waited until she turned back to look at him again, her blue eyes filled with such spirit and strength. Had he ever seen eyes quite that beautiful before? They drew him in over and over again. “There’s definitely more to you than meets the eye.”

“I have to get to work.” But she didn’t move. She kept her gaze on his, their heartbeats locking in rhythm. “I, uh, have Hugh’s funeral in a little while. I can leave you to finish taking pictures or—”

“Stay a minute longer. Please.” He reached out and touched her hair, pushing back a stray tendril then allowed his hand to linger. He wanted to touch more of her, so much more, but for now, this would do.

She hesitated a fraction of a minute, then relented. “Okay.”

He released her, then inspiration struck. He dug into his backpack for his portable strobe and attached the light to the camera. A flick of the zoom and he captured a railing, a newel post, the corner of a frame. A flick in the other direction and his camera caught the blend of golds and crimson, the wood and plaster.

Beneath his feet, wide wooden planks still bore the scars from Yankee boots. There was both archi
tectural elegance and a link to the past in this little building.

Unfortunately, the years of neglect were also evident in the peeling paint, the chipped wood and the missing tiles. Although it wouldn’t take too much to make the building ready for public use, restoring it with historical accuracy would be much more time-consuming and costly.

“You’re having the CajunFest here…when?” Paul asked.

“A little under two weeks. The festival will be held outdoors, but we were counting on using the opera house for some of the performances.”

He let out a low whistle. No wonder she’d been so panicked when he’d tried to put it up for sale. “But there’s so much to be done.” He lowered his camera and turned around, taking in the small lobby that extended across the width of the building. It was definitely in need of a facelift.

Marjo sighed. “There’s not enough funding for anything beyond the most pressing repairs. And as of yesterday, there’s no more Indigo Opera House Restoration Committee.”

He turned back to face her. “What?” Had the committee given up on the opera house?

She lovingly trailed a hand along the edge of the display case. “With Hugh gone, the group decided that the restoration was too monumental a task. To do this right, we need to be historically authentic, and the committee is afraid we’ll never raise the rest
of the money we need. They decided—” she took in a breath “—to give up on it.”

“And what do you think?” he asked.

Marjo bit her lip, then sighed. “Even I can see when I’m beaten. I may love this town and this opera house, but Jenny was right. One woman can’t do it all. So…” Her shoulders sagged. “Mr. Clermont, you have my support in selling it.”

He stared at her, mute. Of all the things he had expected Marjolaine Savoy to say today, that hadn’t even made the list. In her eyes, he could see what it was costing her to admit defeat, and for a moment he wanted to reach out, pull her into his arms and make it all go away. “But how can you give up?”

“Don’t argue with me.” Her smile was bittersweet. “I’m giving you what you wanted.”

“I’ve talked to Luc Carter. I know how important this CajunFest is to Indigo, to its economy. If you allow the public to see this part of Bayou Teche history, it can only help everyone.”

She put the keys into his hand and closed his palm over them. “It’s yours. Do what you want with it.”

“What I want, huh?” The metal was hard and cold against his fingers. He slid the keys into his pocket, then began to wander the lobby, running his hand over the woodwork. All these years, this little opera house had been part of his family’s heritage….

A week ago, those words hadn’t meant much to him. But now…

Paul raised the camera, squinting through the
viewfinder, snapping shot after shot. The digital numbers on the Nikon ratcheted up quickly. Ten, twenty, a hundred, two hundred, filling the memory with impressions.

As he moved around the room, a funny thing happened. The story of Alexandre and Amelie not only began to come alive, but became a part of him. The stories Marjo had told him took on a new meaning, as if finally being here, touching the woodwork, feeling the solid floor beneath his shoes, made these people real, rather than the stuff of legends.

And then there was Marjo, the fiery woman who fought hard for the things she believed in, for the people she loved. In every line of her body, every sparkle in her eyes, he saw the one thing he had been lacking for a very long time—

Passion.

He wanted that. Hell, he wanted her. Being here had, for the first time in months, maybe years, reignited something Paul thought had died inside him. And being around Marjo ignited even more.

Putting a For Sale sign on the opera house seemed like a betrayal of her, and his past.

“I’m not going to sell it,” he said after a while, the idea taking shape in his head as the words emerged. He was jumping off a dock he had stood on all his life. “I want to keep it.”

She blinked. “You want to…what?”

As soon as the decision was made, a surge of excitement rose in his chest, new images filling his
mind now, ones that he would later capture with his camera. He was as swept up in this place as Marjo, as if her passion were contagious. “And I want to pay for the repairs, and down the road, the rest of the historical restoration. The performances for the CajunFest will be held here, as planned.”

“But…” Her jaw dropped and she shook her head. “How…? Why…?”

“One of the benefits of not having a mortgage means most of my pay over the years has gone into the bank,” Paul said, knowing this was the right thing to do with that money, feeling it in his gut. He was enjoying the stunned look on Marjo’s face. It felt good—damned good—to give her this. To give her town this. “I have quite a lot of savings built up, just sitting there, collecting dust. I’d like to use it to restore this place to what it used to be. It clearly meant a lot to my people—my family and others—over the years, and now, I guess…” he paused and gave her a grin “…it’s starting to grow on me, too.”

Marjo’s eyes lit up as his meaning sank in. “But that will cost so much. Too much.”

“I really want to do this.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes.” He’d do it again, just to see that look on her face. Hell, he’d buy and renovate half of Indigo if she’d smile like that again.

Something in his heart swelled as she hurried into his arms in an impetuous, joyous hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said, his voice rough,
the tension tightening in his gut. She rose up on her toes, and then—

Kissed him.

Her kiss was filled with exuberance, excitement, but those emotions quickly yielded to one that had little to do with the opera house. Heat rocketed through Paul. It felt as if a hundred years had passed between their last kiss and this one, as if he’d been away from her forever.

Paul lowered the camera, seeking blindly for the nearest flat surface to lay it on. As soon as his hands were free, he tangled them in her hair, in that long, dark, glorious hair, bringing her closer to him.

She curved into him, her breasts pressing against his chest. His hand roamed down the silky fabric of her dress, outlining curves, slipping down her back, over her hips.

Five seconds ago, they’d been talking about the distant past. Now, with Marjo against him, the Valois story, the opera house, all of it seemed a million miles away. On some other planet.

She let out a soft moan, her hands ranging over him, answering the thoughts of his body, as if she could read him. Her tongue dipped into his mouth, tasting and teasing, sending him down a crazy, fiery path.

He moved with her, backing Marjo up against the concession booth, the need for her pounding loud and insistently in his head, drowning out every other rational thought. Of their own accord, his hands slid
between them, curving around the firm flesh of her breasts, causing her to dip her head and trail heated kisses along his neck, asking without words for more.

More would be a mistake. More was the kind of thing that went down a road Paul wasn’t yet ready to travel. “Marjo,” he said, struggling for sanity as she tempted him, “I—I think we better stop before we, uh, christen this place in a way the committee might not like.”

“You’re right,” she said with obvious regret. She pulled back, dropped her head to his shoulder and inhaled. “That probably shouldn’t have happened.”

“It was a hell of a thank-you.”

She laughed softly, a merry sound that echoed within the walls of the old building.

Paul caught her chin in his palm, then trailed a finger along her jaw. “I guess the opera house hasn’t lost its magic.”

A devilish gleam shimmered in her eyes. “Imagine what could happen when it’s restored.”

He grinned. “Maybe I should tip the contractors extra for a rush job.”

Marjo laughed, and he couldn’t help but think how great it was to see her so happy. “As long as we’re done in time for the CajunFest, then I think that’s a great plan.”

“Oh, we’ll be done in time,” Paul said, twining a tendril of her hair around his fingers, then letting the silky tress slip through very, very slowly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Anticipation pooled in his veins, a feeling he hadn’t had in years. At the same time, an alarm went off, reminding him that he needed to pay attention.

He may be supporting his family history by preserving this little piece of it, but he had no intentions of repeating his father’s mistakes. Doing that would be about as smart as skinny-dipping in the alligator-infested waters.

M
ARJO PACED THE FLOOR
of her kitchen later that night, circling the small room again and again. Every few seconds, she looked at her watch, but the time kept moving forward, and the front door had yet to open.

She poured a glass of Chardonnay and took it out to the veranda, settling into the rocking chair and allowing the quiet of Indigo to help still the nervous patter of her pulse. It wasn’t just Gabriel coming home late that had set her heart on edge.

It was Paul Clermont.

She’d never expected that he would listen to the story of Alexandre and Amelie and be as moved as she had been when Hugh had first related it to her. Or that Paul would reverse course and opt to pay for the repairs on the opera house, giving them the gift of a true historical restoration.

Just when she thought she could predict his actions, he made a U-turn. And that set her off kilter, driving her back into his arms, even though she’d vowed she wouldn’t get involved.

Not that a couple U-turns didn’t have their perks. Every ounce of her body wanted to go back to the opera house, to pick up where they’d left off and to let him fill the lonely spaces in her heart and her bed.

She rose, pacing again. Inviting Paul into her bed, or anything else, was not an option. Gabriel needed more of her attention than ever, especially since he’d started coming in late, leaving work early, disappearing for hours on end. She was all he had, and if she deserted him—

She would never forget the look in his eyes the day she’d had to tell him their parents had died. Marjo never, ever wanted to see that heartbreak again.

Her life had been so wrapped up in Gabriel for so long, she couldn’t imagine anything else. Besides, Gabriel wasn’t equipped for life on his own, just because he’d taken a couple of home ec courses in high school and attended the life-skills class for kids with similar disabilities.

He needed someone to oversee the details. Because if there was one thing Gabriel rarely worried about, it was the minutiae of life.

Marjo headed back into the house, her wineglass still full, and got busy cleaning out a kitchen cabinet, because she knew if she didn’t keep her hands occupied, her thoughts would undoubtedly wander toward the worst-case scenarios.

Finally, a little after eleven, she heard the squeak of the screen door. “Gabriel! Where have you been?”

“Out with Darcy.” He laid the camera Paul had given him on the kitchen table, then crossed to the sink, poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter drinking it, as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t worried his sister half to death.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And why are you coming in so late?”

“Because I wanted to see Darcy. She’s my girlfriend. We go out on dates.”

That Marjo knew too well. Darcy was a nice girl, but things between Gabriel and her had become too serious, too fast. Marjo had tried to tell her brother that playing house wasn’t the same as actually doing it—preparing meals, doing laundry, paying the bills.

Gabriel’s mental handicap didn’t preclude him from ever living on his own, with some help from Marjo to fill out applications, balance his checkbook. And Darcy was already doing some of that, but still…

Was Darcy the best influence on Gabriel?

“You shouldn’t be out this late, Gabriel. What if—”

“How old am I, Marjo?” he asked, cutting her off.

“Almost twenty-two, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“I’m old enough to make decisions.
By myself.
”

“Of course, Gabriel,” she said, her voice softening, knowing how much her little brother wanted to
be an adult, and knowing, too, how the odds were stacked against him. “But you’re young and…I just don’t want you out on the roads this late.” She didn’t voice the hundred other worries she had, the concern that Gabriel wouldn’t be able to handle himself if something went wrong. That he would panic, as he had last year when he’d cut his finger while slicing a tomato. Or the time a car accident had happened in front of his school and he’d run from the playground all the way home.

Doc Landry had told Marjo that Gabriel was a few years behind his peers, but he was going to catch up as adulthood helped level the playing field. Until then, her job was to protect him, finish raising him. And lately, he was making that very difficult.

In the last year or two, the relationship between her and Gabriel had edged toward confrontational. There’d been more arguments, less fun and, worst of all, a lack of the closeness the two of them had always had, that “us against the world” camaraderie. She couldn’t blame him entirely. Her focus had been split, ever since Paul Clermont came to town.

There were responsibilities in her life, responsibilities that would still be there when Paul Clermont left town, and she couldn’t afford to neglect him.

“Why were you out with Darcy so late?” she asked.

“Because I love her and she loves me.” Gabriel stood straighter, taller. “In fact, I asked her to marry me.”

“You did
what?
” Her voice was barely below a
scream. “You are
way
too young to get married. In fact, way too young to even think about it.”

“No, I’m not, Marjo.”

She shook her head. This marriage thing, like so many of Gabriel’s “interests,” would undoubtedly pass. When he was twelve, he’d wanted to be an artist one day, a musician the next. Surely the relationship with Darcy would cool any day now, the same as his passion for painting had.

“Marriage is a big step, Gabriel.”

He scowled. “I know that.”

“It’s something you need to think about for a long time before you rush into anything, and from now on,” Marjo said firmly, “I want you home at nine. You need your sleep.”

“No, Marjo,” Gabriel said. “I need my own life. You tell me not to take pictures, tell me when to go to work, when to come home. I can do all that.
By myself.
” He spun on his heel, then left the room.

Marjo sighed and sank into a chair, wishing she had a crystal ball, anything that would help her fix things with Gabriel and get her life back to the way it used to be. Lately, it seemed as if everything was changing.

Even her own emotions. She thought of Paul Clermont, of the kiss they’d exchanged in the opera house today. Of how it had done the one thing she’d resisted all year—changed the status quo. And yet, he’d told her he had no interest in settling in one place, reminding Marjo of her mother.

Elaine Savoy had never been happy here because she’d never really put down roots. Marjo
had
roots, and the last thing she wanted to do was to forget those just because some handsome guy from Canada swept her off her feet.

Clearly, it wasn’t just things around her that needed to be set to rights. It was the feelings inside her.

As she listened to the sound of an angry Gabriel heading to bed and the slam of his door, she knew that only by ending any thoughts of a relationship with Paul Clermont could she refocus her priorities and find a way to get through to Gabriel.

Then everything could be the way it should be, before Paul had come to town.

The thought should have made her happy, but instead, she felt as dejected as the drooping pink camellias on her dining room table.

W
HO’D HAVE THOUGHT
anyone could make rolling a wall with paint look so damned sexy?

As Paul watched Marjo roll the sky-colored paint up and down the plywood that would create a backdrop for the opera house stage, his thoughts were definitely not on what kind of coverage the paint would give him for his dollar.

Her hair was back in the braid again today, but in a looser version, as if she’d rushed to style it this morning. The wispy tendrils whispering around her face made her look younger, more innocent. And most of all, more tempting.

She wore a cropped blue T-shirt that exposed her taut belly every time she reached for the top of the plywood with the roller, and her khaki shorts showed off absolutely amazing legs.

He’d called Joe earlier this morning and found out the fishermen back home in Nova Scotia had gone out on a quick trip to recoup some of the money they’d lost in the storm. That bought Paul some time before he had to leave, a couple of days at most. For the first time in his career, he wished it were two weeks instead of two days.

Paul quickly finished cutting in the base of the green bayou water for the Indigo landscape they were creating, then stepped back to admire their work—and Marjo. “You give painting a whole new meaning.”

She laughed, exchanging her roller for a smaller brush dipped in green to create trees. “How do I do that?”

“By looking like that. You’re much too distracting.”

She glanced down at the sprinklings of paint on her shirt. “Do you want me to leave? I’d hate to keep you from your work.”

He caught her hand before she could start working again, the movement causing a bit of paint to splatter on her nose. With one finger, he wiped it off, then caught her chin in his palm and looked down into her eyes. “No. Stay.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say
something, or perhaps kiss him. Desire pounded in his head.

He leaned down, about to taste those sweet lips one more time, when someone hollered, “Lunch break!”

Aw, hell.

Marjo stepped back quickly, her face flushed. She turned away from him and put her roller onto the edge of the paint pan, then brushed her hands together, as if she was done with the job—and with him. “We better go eat. There’s a lot left to accomplish today.”

She was avoiding him. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. As far as he knew, nothing monumental had happened since her excitement yesterday at his financial support for the project. Nevertheless, a decided coolness had entered their relationship, as if she were purposely trying to keep them from becoming anything more than business partners.

In the lobby of the opera house, the members of the restoration committee chatted excitedly, buoyed into action by the financial windfall that gave them the funds they needed to complete the repairs in time for the festival. He had set aside enough funds to pay for the more painstaking historical restoration that would happen later.

The volunteers and contractors stood in line, waiting for bowls of gumbo from Willis and Estelle’s diner, as well as sandwiches, pies and icy cold
drinks. The hum of conversation carried throughout the room.

“Thanks for doing this,” Luc Carter said, coming up beside Paul in the food line, which stretched around the entire perimeter of the lobby. “The whole town is behind the project now that you’ve stepped up to put some serious dollars for a full restoration. I, for one, really appreciate it. I mean, the town supported this project before, and there are a lot of businesses signed up and excited about the CajunFest, but today, the mood is different.” He glanced around the room, clearly pleased. “I’ve never seen so many people out to help,
and
they’re even more enthusiastic than before. It’s like they’ve received a shot of confidence adrenaline. Indigo might have a revival yet.”

“I can’t take the credit,” Paul replied. “It’s Marjo. She showed me what a great place this was.”

“Told you the tragic story of Alexandre and Amelie, didn’t she?” Luc laughed. “That one got to me, too. I ended up volunteering for both the restoration committee and the CajunFest. She is one persuasive woman. And a hell of a storyteller.”

“That she is,” Paul said, accepting a bowl of soup from Estelle.

The owner of the Blue Moon Diner greeted him by name, then put an extra piece of bread on his plate, something he noticed she hadn’t done for anyone else.

“Be sure you get enough, Mr. Clermont,” Estelle said.

Paul glanced over at Luc, who had left the line to greet his fiancée, Loretta. The two of them were engaged in an intimate conversation and their love for each other was hard to miss. Something heavy sank in his gut. Something that felt a lot like envy.

After he had exited the food line, he placed his tray down on a table and took up his camera, wanting to capture a few more images of the people of Indigo working together. Luc and Loretta didn’t seem to be the only couple in this town who were in love.

When Paul had married Diane, it had been a relationship based more on convenience and common interests than passion. She’d been in college, interning for a client who’d hired him for one of his first commercial photo shoots. For a while, he and Diane had talked about working together professionally. He’d figured her graphic design background meshed with his photography, like minds and all that. He’d proposed in record time, caught up in the idea of marriage more than anything else.

In the months that he and Diane were together, he had never seen her look at him the way Loretta looked at Luc. He’d never felt that overwhelming urge to see her, just to talk to her, touch her hair—

The way he did with Marjo.

Diane had been a great woman, just not the one who made him want to run home from work to be with her.

He scanned the room, hidden behind the Nikon, looking for the Cajun woman who had set off a fire
storm in his gut. He finally sighted her, at the end of the food line, talking with her brother. Gabriel looked over, saw Paul and waved. He elbowed Marjo, who turned, her blue gaze direct and clear in his viewfinder. A smile appeared on her lips, then disappeared.

Did she feel this same intense firestorm that he did?

Or were they simply experiencing an infatuation that would end as soon as he left this place?

Either way, these were crazy thoughts. He must have inhaled too many paint fumes. But as he made his way over to one of the tables that had been set up in the lobby, he knew that wasn’t the case.

Paul pushed the thoughts away. Regardless of what might be happening—or not—between him and Marjo Savoy, he had a job to get back to. A job that would send him far from Indigo.

He put his camera in his backpack, then took a seat at the table where he’d left his food. Immediately, several residents joined him, greeting him by name and making small talk about the weather and local news. Given their friendliness, it felt as if he’d lived here all his life. Even people he hadn’t been introduced to treated him like one of their own.