Midnight Bayou

young to establish a business, one that’s proven itself out when most go under within three years.”
    She leaned back. “What difference does it make? Counselor.”
    “Okay.” He shrugged and kept eating. “I’ll just assume you robbed a bank, paid off the mob, seduced then murdered the previous owner—after he left you the building in his will. And continue to run illegal gambling and prostitutes out of the back room.”
    “Why I’ve been so busy. But I like your version better. Mine’s very dull in comparison. I worked after school and summers, saved my pennies. I’m very good at saving pennies if I need to. Then I worked, tending bar, serving drinks, and went to business school part-time. Just before I turned twenty-two, my grandpapa died. Fell off a ladder, broke his damn fool neck.”
    Her eyes filled as she said it. “Guess I’m still pissed off at him.”
    “I’m sorry.” He covered her hand with his. “You were close.”
    “I loved him more than any man in the world. Pete Simone, with his big laugh and his big hands. He played the fiddle and always carried a red bandanna. Always. Well . . .” She blinked away the tears. “He had an insurance policy, bigger than it ought to have been considering. Half for me, half for Grandmama. In the end she made me take all of it. Nothing you can do to change her mind when she digs her heels in. So I invested the money, and a year later I opened my place.”
    “There’s nothing dull about that. You run a good bar, Lena.”
    “Yes, I do.” She rose, picked up the plates. “You’d best get yourself dressed, cher , if you want a ride home.”
    H e couldn’t talk her into coming inside. He had to settle for a mind-numbing kiss before she pushed him out of her car and drove away.
    Arriving home at nine in the morning in a wrinkled suit gained him a grin and a wink from Big Frank as the man carted dead tree limbs to a burn pile.
    “You fell into some luck last night, Mister Dec.”
    Into something, Declan thought and, rubbing his heart, went into the house to get to work.
    She wouldn’t see him that night, or the next. He had to content himself with phone calls that made him feel like a teenager as he wandered the house with his portable phone and rattled his brains for any conversational ploy that would keep her on the line.
    Mardi Gras celebrations, and business, were under way, she told him. While they were, she didn’t have time to come out and play.
    He knew when he was being tested and stalled and tangled. And decided he’d let her string out his line. Until he reeled her in.
    Remy dropped by one afternoon wearing Hugo Boss and gold beads. He took the beads off, tossed them over Declan’s head. “When you coming into town?”
    “I thought I might join the insanity over the weekend.”
    “ Cher, it’s Mardi Gras. Every night’s the weekend.”
    “Not out here. Come take a look.” He led the way into the parlor, where Tibald was high on a ladder patiently detailing the ceiling plasterwork.
    “Hey, Tibald.” Remy hooked his thumbs into his pockets and craned his neck back. “That’s some job.”
    “It surely is. How’s Effie doing these days?”
    “Driving me to drink with wedding plans. Picked out the cake yesterday, and you’d think it was a matter of life and death whether it has yellow rosebuds or full-blown roses around the edges.”
    “Best thing a man can do in these situations is nod at whatever she likes best, and just show up on the day.”
    “You might’ve said something of that nature before I told her I liked the big, fat roses when it turned out she had her mind set on the buds.” He pulled a small bottle of Tylenol out of his pocket. “You got something I can down this with, Dec? That woman’s given me the mother of all headaches.”
    Declan picked up a half-empty bottle of water. “Did you come out here to hide?”
    “Till she cools off.” Gulping down the pills and water, Remy wandered over the drop cloth. “You do these walls in here, Dec, or you hire them out?”
    “I did them.” Pleased, Declan ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the Paris green walls. “Spent the last three days on this room.” And nights, he thought. “I think this color will make the room seem cooler than a patterned paper, and I like the way it looks with the trim.”
    “You’re a regular Bob Vila and Martha Stewart combined. What do you tackle next?”
    “The library. Still some details to deal with in here,