valuable asset might be in trouble.
“No, the B and B is great. I’m making progress on the suite.” He was converting one of the outbuildings to a separate suite for guests who wanted more privacy.
“Then what is it?” she asked impatiently.
As succinctly as he could, he outlined Loretta’s desperate need for an experienced chef to organize the VIP dinner. Celeste listened, her mouth pursed as if she’d bitten into a bad peach.
“I fail to see how this concerns me. Why aren’t you talking to Melanie?”
“I had hoped you might intercede on my behalf.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not your errand girl. If you want Melanie to help this Loretta person, ask her yourself.”
He’d been afraid this might be Celeste’s reaction. And really, there was no reason for her to care whether the music festival was a success or a flop. She didn’t know Loretta. She probably didn’t know most of the people involved in the festival-they were too young.
“Melanie has no reason to do me any favors.”
“Oh, take off that hair shirt. I can’t claim you’re the most popular family member at the moment, but it’s been over a year now. Everyone has mellowed.
Luc figured his doubt must have shown on his face, because his grandmother scowled at him.
“Your father certainly wasn’t afraid to take risks,” she chided. “That’s one of the few good things I have to say about him. Surely he didn’t raise a coward.”
Now she was making him angry, as she no doubt intended. “Let’s not bring my father into this. Anyway, he didn’t raise me. He left when I was a kid and only came back a few years ago.”
He stood, indicating the meeting was over. It wasn’t Celeste’s refusal to help him that made him angry, but the reasoning behind it. As usual, she was trying to manipulate him. Nothing gave her greater joy than playing her children and grandchildren like pawns on a chessboard in the belief that her actions were for the greater good.
But he knew better than to let his temper show. Celeste was his benefactor. If not for her, he would have no job and no place to live, and he had no idea exactly how much power she wielded with his probation officer.
He didn’t want to find out.
“I’ll go call on Melanie, then,” he said. “Thanks for the tea.”
“You didn’t drink the tea,” she said with a slight smile. As if she’d known he wouldn’t.
CELESTE WATCHED Luc go, her smile fading. She knew her grandson thought she was a mean old lady. But she had her reasons for not interceding on his behalf.
She had to accept at least some of the blame for the events eighteen months ago that had very nearly destroyed her daughter’s hotel. Luc Carter was his father’s son, and his father-well, she hadn’t done right by him.
For years, she’d been expecting Pierre to reenter their lives like the bad penny he’d turned into. She’d never expected it would be his son who came instead.
What Luc had done was reprehensible. But she’d seen something in him, some indication that he was not yet lost. She’d believed him when he’d claimed to have grown fond of the family he’d never known as a child. She’d believed him when he said he was deeply sorry for having tried to ruin the hotel’s reputation so his disreputable partners could buy it cheap.
But she’d been worried there was too much of Luc’s father in him. Thrusting the B and B on him had been her way of testing him in a situation where he couldn’t do too much harm. She figured that if the hard physical labor required to renovate the place was too much, he would take off to some part of the world where U.S. authorities couldn’t touch him, and that would be that.
But he’d stayed in Indigo, somewhat to her surprise, and had thrown himself into his task with great abandon, if her spy could be believed. He’d transformed a basically worthless piece of property into a showpiece and a moneymaker.
Now, she was fully committed to the idea of saving Luc Carter. It was a means of making amends for the way she’d treated Luc’s father. But she needed to get the rest of the family in her corner. They wouldn’t take her word for it, oh, no. Her daughter, Anne, was no pushover, and Anne had raised four intelligent, opinionated girls who, while all in favor of forgiving Luc and welcoming him into the family, were nowhere near convinced he could be trusted.
He was going to have to prove himself personally to them-and now, at least, he had a way to do that with Melanie. Unless Celeste missed her guess-and she seldom did-the motivation was a woman named Loretta Castille.
LUC HAD NOT RETURNED to the Hotel Marchand since that horrible night when he’d been shot and left for dead by Richard Corbin, who’d been trying to acquire the hotel with Luc’s help. He felt a strange mix of emotions as he gazed on the luxurious French Quarter hotel where, for the first time, he’d felt he belonged. As concierge, he’d been embraced by the Marchand sisters and their mother-his cousins and aunt-even when they had no idea he was a blood relative. They had treated all of their staff honorably, and almost from the beginning, Luc had begun to regret the path he’d taken to avenge his father.
He should have listened to his gut.
But that was behind him now. He was moving forward.
He entered the hotel lobby, and the first person he saw was Charlotte, his eldest cousin, behind the front desk. His mouth went dry, but he pressed ahead. He’d e-mailed her since he’d been in Indigo, but he hadn’t seen her in almost two years.
Charlotte had spotted him, too, and there was no welcoming expression on her face as he approached her with his best, most charming smile.
“Hello, Charlotte. Looks like the hotel is doing a brisk business today.” The lobby was filled with small groups of well-heeled patrons, sipping their complimentary coffee. He could see through the windows that the courtyard outside Chez Remy, the hotel restaurant, was already filling with an early lunch crowd.
“No thanks to you,” Charlotte said, but there was a hint of devilment in her eyes. He figured she must have softened since falling in love and marrying last year. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Is Melanie available? Indigo is putting on a Cajun music festival in a few weeks, and a lot of fine restaurants from the area are participating. I have a special role I’d like Melanie to play, if she’s willing.” He’d stayed up half the night getting the wording of his request just right, so that it sounded like a terrific opportunity rather than a desperate request for charity. It was, in fact, a little of both.
“The festival’s had a lot of publicity,” Charlotte said. “It’s been written up everywhere. End of next month, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t it a little late to be lining up participants?”
“Yes, but the woman who’s coordinating the food has run into a snafu. She asked if I would help.”
Luc could see the wheels turning in Charlotte’s head. A keen businesswoman, she wasn’t one to let an opportunity for good public relations slip away.
“If Melanie does agree to help-and that’s up to her, of course-could the Hotel Marchand be listed as a sponsor?”
“I know we could arrange something. I can’t make promises because I’m not in charge, but I’ll bet Marjo-she’s the organizer-would be willing to work with you.”
“I’ll see if Melanie has a few minutes.”
Melanie offered ten minutes, and Luc didn’t waste a second of it. Crowded into her office with Charlotte, Melanie and Melanie’s husband, Robert LeSoeur, the head chef, he outlined how the VIP dinner had been promoted.
“I take it there are no cooking facilities on the premises?” Melanie asked. She hadn’t smiled once.
“No. You would have to prepare everything elsewhere and transport it. Loretta has a kitchen and a first-class wood-burning oven you can use, and my kitchen is at your disposal, though it’s very small.”
Robert, who’d sat mute, arms folded, finally spoke up. “You’ve got your nerve, coming here and asking for favors.”
