Midnight Bayou

house, the more overt and volatile the . . . paranormal activity, we’ll call it. Especially, well, when I veer off from the original scheme.”
    Lena scooped up a forkful of grits—a particular southern culinary custom Declan had yet to get his tastebuds around. “What do you mean?”
    “For example, the plasterwork. The areas where that is going on, things are pretty settled. I’m restoring them, replicating. But in places where I’ve made changes—bathroom setup, tiles—things get really interesting. It’s like whatever’s in the house gets royally ticked that we’re not sticking with the original plan.”
    “Something to think about,” Odette commented.
    “I have been. I figure Josephine Manet.” Even here, with Dixieland bright in the air and champagne fizzing, the name coated his belly with dread. “Mistress of the Hall. You only have to look at her photographs to see that was a woman who didn’t like to be crossed. Now, I come along and put my fingerprints all over what’s hers.”
    “You resolved to living with her?” Odette asked, and watched his jaw firm.
    “I’m resolved to living in the Hall, and doing it my way. She wants to kick up a fuss about it, that’s her problem.”
    Lena sat back. “What do you figure, Grandmama? Brave or stubborn?”
    “Oh, he’s some of both. It’s a good mix.”
    “Thanks, but I don’t know how brave it is. It’s my house now, and that’s that. Still, I think you can’t blame a man who doesn’t have any more than his time and labor invested for taking a hike. Anyway, Miss Odette, what do you think? Am I tangling with Josephine?”
    “I think you’ve got two opposing forces in that house. The one that brought you there, the one that wants you to go away. It’s going to come down to who’s strongest.”
    She opened her Sunday purse, took out a small muslin bag. “I made this up for you.”
    “What is it?”
    “Oh, a little kitchen magic. You just keep that in your pocket. May not help, but it can’t hurt.” She picked up her glass again, smiled at it. “Imagine, drinking champagne for breakfast.”
    “Come with me to Borneo, you can bathe in it.”
    “ Cher , I drink enough of this, I may take you up on it.”
    “I’ll get us another round.”
    H e was so sweet with her, Lena thought. Flirting with her grandmother until there was a flush of pleasure onOdette’s cheeks throughout the long, lazy meal. He troubled himself for people, she mused. Took the time, made the effort to find out what they might enjoy, then saw to it.
    He was attentive, clever, sexy, rich, tough-minded and kind.
    And he said he was in love with her.
    She believed she understood him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t have said it unless he meant it. That’s what unnerved her.
    For added to those other qualities was a wide streak of honesty. And sheer stubborn grit.
    He could make her fall in love with him. She was already halfway there and sliding fast. Every time she tried to dig her heels in, she lost her balance again. The tumble was as worrisome as it was thrilling.
    But what would happen when she hit? Once she dropped all the way, there’d be no climbing back out. That was something she understood about herself. Relationships were easy when they didn’t matter, or mattered only for the moment.
    When they mattered forever, they changed everything.
    Things had changed already, she admitted. It had started with that yearning for him inside her. And now with the comfort and challenge she felt when she was with him. With being able to imagine feeling it day after day, year after year.
    He’d want promises she was afraid to give.
    Not afraid, she corrected, irritated with herself. Reluctant to give. Unwilling to give.
    Then she watched him lean over and kiss her grandmother’s cheek and was afraid—there was no point in pretending otherwise—that she’d end up giving him anything he asked for.
    H e courted her. It seemed a particularly appealing southern word to Declan, bringing images of moonlight and porch swings, tart lemonade and country dances.
    Throughout March, two things occupied his mind, his time and his plans. Lena and the house.
    He celebrated the clear results of his neurological tests by taking the day off to antique. Spring had jump-started the flowers and had pedestrians strolling in shirtsleeves. The carriage horses the tourists loved prancing with bright clip-clops of hooves on pavement.
    Summer would drop her heavy hand soon