The Legacy (13 page)

P
AUL PUSHED
the doorbell of the massive white Colonial he used to own, then waited, sure that when the door was opened, he’d be sent packing. And probably deserve it, too.

“Paul!” Diane’s voce was friendly, not accusatory. He’d expected his ex-wife to react differently, but clearly, he hadn’t known her as well as he’d thought. She opened the door wide, and waved him inside. “Come on in.”

Diane looked nearly as young as she had the day they’d dissolved their marriage fifteen years ago. Her blond hair was a bit lighter and cut in a bob, her eyes had laugh lines that hadn’t been there before, but otherwise, she hadn’t changed much.

“How are you?” she asked.

“The same. More or less.”

“Still a man of few words, I see.” She gave him a good-natured grin as she led him down the hall and into the formal living room.

Once they were seated on the plush velvet sofas, Diane indicated a pile of
World
magazines on the
end table. “I see your pictures from time to time. I even have a subscription.”

“Really?” She had never taken that much interest in his career when they were married, mainly because the travel he did had become a bone of contention between them. “You surprise me.”

“I guess I started it because I wanted to see what stole you from me,” she said, toying with one of the magazines. “And after a while, I understood.”

“Diane…”

“No, don’t feel bad. I’m okay with it, really. And I understand now.”

“You do?” He’d expected her to be unwelcoming, distant. After all, he’d been the one who had deserted her, and their marriage. He’d never have thought that she would understand why.

“It wasn’t anything you had against me,” she said. “It was simply that the call of the story was stronger than anything you felt for me and our marriage. We never talked about it.” She sighed. “We never talked at all, and maybe if we had, it might have changed things. Or maybe we just weren’t right for each other and were trying to shove square pegs into holes.”

Diane was right. Always, it had been the story that had nagged at him whenever he’d been in this house. He’d felt as if he were only doing time until he could head off into the jungle or wherever the story was, camera in hand. “I never meant to hurt you. I should have been a better husband.”

Diane rose, reached out and placed a hand over his. “It’s okay. We were young and we rushed into things.”

They had, indeed. He’d been looking, he supposed, for someone to care for him, after so many years of worrying about Faye and his parents.

“We should have talked,” Paul said. “Actually, I should have.”

Diane smiled. “It’s not exactly one of your strong points. You can speak a novel’s worth of words with your pictures, but when it comes to relationships, you just don’t know how to articulate your feelings.”

Was it the same for Marjo? Should he have opened up and shared his feelings with her?

“Are you happy now?” he asked his ex-wife. “Really happy?”

“Yes. Very.” Diane’s gaze went to a photograph that hung on the wall. It featured her and her husband, dressed in matching khaki pants and white shirts, smiling on the white sands of a Caribbean beach. A soft smile crossed her face as she looked at the photo—the same smile Paul had seen on Luc Carter’s face whenever he looked at his fiancée. The same one he’d seen on Alain Boudreaux when the police chief talked about Sophie.

Paul envied them all. Although he was glad to see Diane so happy, a little part of him felt as if she had something he could never hope to experience.

“And,” she added, pressing a hand to her abdomen, “we’ll be having an addition to our family this spring.”

“You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, joy suffusing her face. “Due May first.”

“That’s wonderful, Diane.” He meant it. She deserved to be happy.

“You could do the same, you know. Meet the right woman, settle down.”

Paul rose from the sofa and crossed to the window, watching a trio of birds dipping into a wooden bird-feeder hanging from the old oak in the backyard. The yard was better tended than when he’d lived here. Shrubbery now ringed the old tree, with colorful, hardy mums circling the base. The sight made him think of Marjo’s camellias. “I think I already have.”

“Really?”

He turned back to her. “Anyway, I came by because I wanted to apologize. A long overdue apology.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For marrying you and then pretty much ruining your life.”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad being married to you,” she said. “I like to look at it as a…learning experience.”

Paul chuckled. “That’s an interesting perspective on divorce. Maybe you should go on
Dr. Phil.
”

Diane crossed the room and stood beside him. “When I married you, Paul, I did it because I wanted to get out of my parents’ house. I thought putting a ring on my finger would make me grown up. But it didn’t. All it did was push me into a role I wasn’t ready for yet. You weren’t the only one who made a
bad choice.” She took in a breath and for a moment watched the birds out the window. “From that experience, I learned a lot about what I
did
want out of life. After our divorce, I went back to college, finished my degree in communications and worked my way up in an ad agency. I learned who I was, way before I met Dave.”

“I’m happy for you.” The words were honest, true. He
was
happy for Diane, and wished his ex-wife nothing but the best.

“If you
have
found the right woman, Paul, you should go after her, and never let her go. And take my advice—leave your camera behind.”

“Leave my camera…?”

“I think that’s one of those things you’re going to have to figure out for yourself, Paul.”

As he left his ex-wife’s house a few minutes later, Paul realized he had just closed one chapter of his life. It was time to start the next one.

Assuming, of course, that it wasn’t too late.

W
HEN
P
AUL GOT BACK
to Faye’s, he made a call to Joe. Then, as he logged on to the Internet with his laptop to book a flight, he found himself Googling Indigo and followed a link to a news story in New Iberia’s online paper.

He read the small headline once. Twice. Dread filled him as he scanned the paragraphs below.

He didn’t have to worry about being too late—he already was.

M
ARJO SPENT
the day after the fire picking through the rubble. She found a few photos, charred around the edges, a cushion from one of the armchairs, the pink fabric turned a sad, dark gray, a file cabinet that had remained oddly untouched while everything else in the office had disintegrated. Nearly the entire contents of the funeral home were either burned or so blackened and infused with the smell of smoke that they were unusable.

The parish fire chief had traced the source to a faulty wire in the wall. “Old buildings,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes they just go.”

But why this building? Why now? Her family had invested everything in the funeral home, and in an instant, it had been erased from the landscape of Indigo.

“Marjo, you okay?” Cally stepped carefully through the debris to reach Marjo’s side.

The arrival of her best friend seemed to unlock something Marjo had barely kept hold of all morning. Tears spilled from her eyes, drizzled down her cheeks. “Yes.” She paused. “No.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’ll be all right.” Cally wrapped Marjo in a quick, tight hug. “I came by to see if you wanted some lunch. You really should take a break. After that, I’ll stay and help you. I took the rest of the day off work.”

It was past noon already? Marjo looked up at the sky. The sun was high above them, and she realized she’d skipped two meals.

“I’m not hungry. I’m just…lost.” Marjo stared at the wasteland in front of her. The elegant, two-story building had been reduced to a pile of rubble a few feet high. Not a single wall remained, not the sign, not even the mailbox. Starting over seemed like an insurmountable task, one Marjo couldn’t even consider at the moment. “I have no idea what to do. No plan. Nothing.”

“That’s okay.” Cally laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Take some time off, think about things. There’s no rush.”

“But I don’t
have
time,” Marjo cried, scooping up a palmful of ashes and letting them sift through her fingers. The breeze caught them and carried them away. “The CajunFest is tomorrow, my life is a shambles, my job is toast—literally.” She was too drained to even laugh at the irony of her words. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“Move forward.”

Marjo jerked around at the familiar voice. Paul Clermont stood behind her, tall and handsome as ever, seeming more like a mirage than a miracle.

He had returned.

Cally gave her a knowing smile. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She winked, then headed back to her car.

“What are you doing here?” Marjo brushed the soot off her capris and hoped like heck that her hair wasn’t a mess. Had she remembered to put on makeup today?

What did it matter? He was probably here to oversee the rest of the repairs on the opera house, or worse, to start the process to divest himself of the building.

She swallowed, then voiced the words she’d been dreading to hear. “Are you here to put the opera house on the market?”

“No.” He took her hands in his, clearly not caring about the gray soot that covered her fingers. “I’m here for you.”

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. “For me? Why?”

“I read about the funeral home on the Web in the New Iberia paper. I’m so sorry, Marjo.” He glanced over the devastation and she could see in his eyes the same disbelief and sorrow she felt. “There’s nothing left?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Are
you
okay? And Gabriel?”

“I’m okay, so is Gabriel. No one was hurt.”

“Thank God.” Paul studied her for a long moment, as if convincing himself that she was fine. “But I was already on my way down here for another reason.”

“For what?” Hope sang in her chest, adding its melody to the hum of attraction still running through her.

“You, silly.” He grinned, then traced the outline of her lips. “I’d rather be with you than in Tibet any day.”

“Really?”

“You’re a lot prettier and a whole lot more fun.” He took her hand and helped her climb over the charred wood. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

She went with him, silent as a wall, unable to think of a single thing to say. In the two days since the fire, she had felt numb, not really alive, but now her mind was a whirl of thoughts and feelings.

Paul helped her into his rental car, then a few minutes later pulled up in front of her house. He hurried around to her side before she could open the door, then took her hand and led her up the walk.

Never before, even when her parents died, had she felt this overwhelmed. It was as if those years of being the one who had to take charge had caught up with her, the final straw broken by the loss of the funeral home. Since the fire, Gabriel had been great, staying up with her until the wee hours of the morning last night. He’d fretted over her, made her tea, got her a blanket she didn’t need and generally fussed over her like a mother hen.

This morning she’d handed him some money and told him to take Darcy to a gumbo cook-off in a neighboring town. Marjo didn’t want him to see his
sister crumpling like a piece of paper. She was supposed to be the strong one, to support her brother—not the other way around.

“Here, sit down,” Paul said when they were inside. He led her to the small love seat that flanked the living room wall and she sank onto the soft cushions.

Paul knelt beside her, reached up and brushed the hair out of her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Thirsty, from working out in the sun all day, but okay.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you’re okay.” A smile crossed his lips. “You look dazed and dusty—”

“Sorry. I’ve been going through the rubble—”

He put a finger on her lips. “But still beautiful. You’ve had a hell of a time, Marjo. Let me take care of you.”

She raised her eyes and met his gaze. “Take care of me?”

“That means you don’t do a thing and someone else watches over you, catering to your every need. You’ve been caring for the entire world for too long.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers.

When he moved to turn away, she grabbed his arm. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He smiled. “I was just going to get you a glass of water.”

“Stay,” she whispered, rising to him and pulling him closer. The feel of him against her was like a healing balm. “Make me forget.”

“Forget the fire?”

“Everything,” Marjo said, then leaned forward, and quit thinking with her head. She kissed Paul Clermont with all the want that had built up over the past week as she waited, hoping he would come back to her.

He returned the kiss, his lips covering hers with a sweet passion that surprised Marjo. He cupped her jaw, then his hands dropped down over her shoulders to her waist, then up again to brush against her breasts.

When he did that, a volcano of need exploded within Marjo. It wasn’t about forgetting the fire, the day, the stress of the past years; it was about this man and finally quenching her thirst for him.

“Oh, God, Marjo, I want you.”

“I want you, too.” To hell with waiting any longer, playing this game of seeing how far they could go without going over the edge. She took her shirt, tugged it over her head and tossed it into the corner of the room.

He smiled his surprise at her bold move, then cupped her breasts through the lace of her bra, his thumbs teasing her nipples. Marjo grabbed his shirt, fingers flying to undo the buttons, wanting only the feel of his skin against hers. She tossed it aside and slid her body against his, amazed by the warmth, the connection she felt.

“Let’s go—” she sucked in a breath, fighting to concentrate, to make sense “—into my bedroom.”

“Good idea,” he said, casting a dubious glance at the hard cypress floor beneath them.

She laughed, then took his hand and led him from the living room. In the hall, he twirled her against him, unable to wait, his mouth once again hungrily devouring hers. She stepped back, pulling him with her until they hit the wall. With her firm against the plaster, his hands roamed the path up to her waist, over her breasts, sending her senses into overload.

She slipped her hands down his back, into the waistband of his pants, over his buttocks, squeezing the tight, firm flesh and pulling his pelvis toward hers, aching for him.

Paul yanked down her capris, then slid his palms up her smooth thighs, teasing the lacy edges of her panties. She stepped out of them, kicked the fabric to the side.

Fumbling, she reached for his belt, tugging it undone then freeing him from his khaki pants.

He hoisted her up, straddling her legs across his hips, and carried her into her bedroom, kicking open the door, then shutting it the same way.

They tumbled onto the bed together, ripping off their remaining clothes. Marjo slid her hand along his hard length, and he answered her by slipping two fingers inside her wet warmth. She arched against him, desire exploding within her. His thumb caressed while his fingers dipped in again and again until she knew she was going to die.

“Now, Paul,” she gasped. “Now.”

He slipped inside her and began to move, his strokes long and slow, building the fire between them.

Her hands grasped his buttocks, and she begged him without words to end this delightful agony. Intuitively understanding her need, he moved faster and brought his lips to her neck, whispering a kiss along her skin as they spiraled higher, their bodies melding in perfect harmony.

As the climax ebbed, Paul rolled to Marjo’s side, tugging her to him. She curved perfectly into the space against his body. Never had she felt so secure, so safe—

So cared for.

Tears threatened, and try as she might to hold them back, one trickled down her cheek.

“Was I that bad?” Paul asked with a smile, whisking the tear away with the back of his hand.

She laughed. “No, no. It’s not you. It’s…” She took in a breath. “No one has ever taken care of me, not like that.”

“A clear sign we need to do it again,” he said, catching a second tear before it could drop off her lashes.

“I wouldn’t want to get too used to it.” What if his stay here was temporary? There was probably a return plane ticket in his wallet, and all of this would disappear as quickly as it had begun.

She knew how fast life could change. In a split second, everything could be gone, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in her heart.

Paul’s face sobered. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

No, it wouldn’t, Marjo realized, not if it meant waking up next to this man every day. But, she still resisted saying the words.

Because she realized the man she’d just made love with was still, in many ways, a stranger. A man who may have shared his body with her.

But had yet to share his heart.