Chapter Two
Trey
Thomas Evans LeBlanc III—known by his friends as Trey—felt a trickle of sweat run down his back as he and Bobby Duchamp wrestled the newly hurricane-proofed stained-glass window back where it belonged above the massive double doors of the library.
When he’d started this project to bring the only remnant of St. Ignatius College left on Petite C?te Island back to life over a year ago, he’d known it would take hard work, but he hadn’t guessed how much.
“Up a little bit on your side,” Bobby barked out, the strain evident in his voice as he and Trey worked to keep the heavy glass steady even as they attempted to slot it into the circular opening in the wall.
“Damn, boy, if I knew how heavy this thing would be, I’d have had Tricia tell you I was permanently off island. ”
Trey felt his muscles burn as he shifted the window like Bobby had asked.
He’d known the other man since they were kids on the small barrier island off the coast of Louisiana, and he’d trust Bobby, or any of the Duchamps, with his life, but he was pretty sure if he himself had known how heavy this damn window would be, he’d have left it in his great-aunt’s storage unit in New Orleans, where he’d found it.
But he didn’t tell that to Bobby. It was bad enough he’d commandeered his boyhood friend into working on one of his rare days off from running the charter boat business he and his brothers had started over a dozen years ago.
He wasn’t going to add insult to injury by suggesting they might not have had to do this at all.
“Never took you for a crybaby, Bobby,” he said, nearly wheezing as they struggled to fit the heavy leaded glass into place.
“Shit,” Duchamp gritted out through his teeth. “Only one crying here is you. Shut up and lift.”
And with one last powerful burst of energy, the two men finally settled the window into place, where it could be seen by anyone facing the facade of the neoclassical library building that looked as if it had been plucked from a college campus by a giant and settled back down on some random beach.
The fact that it had once been part of a college campus—a campus that had been wiped away by a series of hurricanes decades ago—was part of its charm in Trey’s opinion.
That and the fact that he’d spent some of his happiest childhood summers in the building his great-aunt Khaki and Uncle Remy had made into a home for themselves years after the college had moved to the mainland and Remy had purchased the abandoned library as a gift for his bride.
The window finally in place, the two men leaned forward with their hands on their knees and struggled to get their breath.
Despite the industrial-strength air-conditioning system Trey had installed in the massive building using his own money months ago, they were currently some three stories above the ground.
And with the evening sun bearing down on the newly installed window, and the circular gap once open to the breeze coming off the gulf now closed, it was becoming oppressively warm up here.
“Come on downstairs and get a cold beer,” Trey said, clapping his old friend on the back. “Since you won’t let me pay you, I can at least give you a chance to cool off.”
“Won’t say no to that,” Bobby said with a grin.
“And who said anything about refusing to let you pay me. I plan on extracting payment in kind the next time I have some hard labor to do at the house. I don’t know what it will be yet, but one thing I can trust in like clockwork is that sooner or later Tricia will find something heavy that needs doing before too much time passes. It’s a gift.”
Giving a grunt of amusement, Trey followed his friend onto the metal floor of the stacks, which took up the west side of the building.
When they emerged into the open area that had once been the reference area and reading room, Trey was surprised to hear a voice call out from the floor below, where the main entrance and offices that had been converted into bedrooms with adjoining baths and a large chef’s kitchen were situated.
“You got company,” Bobby said, his teeth a flash of white against his tanned skin.
“Probably the woman who answered my ad for somebody to clean this place. You’d be amazed how much work it takes just to dust it.” Trey hurried down the highly polished mahogany staircase toward the terrazzo-tiled entryway.
But when he came out into the foyer, he was surprised to see a pretty but wholly unfamiliar woman with shiny dark hair in a ponytail holding a cat in her arms. And suddenly, he felt a stab somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
He had a good guess who this woman might be.
And he realized his nearly yearlong idyll in the home of his childhood was about the end.
He wished his great-aunt was still around so he might be able to ask her why the hell she’d decided to leave the last bit of property on the island that held any sentimental value for him to a total stranger. And a Northerner at that.
“Can I help you?” he asked the lady with the cat.
Something about the question must have irritated her because she pulled the cat against her as if he’d threatened to throw it in kitty jail or something.
“I hope so, since you seem to be squatting on my property.”
If she’d been searching for the fastest way to get his back up, she couldn’t have landed on a more successful opening gambit. But knowing that he’d do better to defuse the situation than to escalate it, he offered her his hand and said, “I’m Trey LeBlanc. Miss Khaki was my great-aunt. And you are?”
Watching his proffered hand with the same enthusiasm with which he’d expect her to greet a cottonmouth, the newcomer finally gave a small sigh and reached out to take his hand.
“Callie Jameson,” she said, and he was a little surprised by the zing of attraction that ran through him as their hands touched.
“As you might have guessed, I’m Miss Khaki’s beneficiary.
It’s been a long couple of days driving down from Cincinnati.
And they lost my reservation at the Sand Dollar and Stella needs her dinner and I’m exhausted and—” As if realizing what she’d just blurted out, she clapped a horrified hand over her mouth and shook her head.
A pretty blush spread over her cheeks and Trey found himself just a little bit charmed by this stranger who’d managed to trick Khaki into leaving her a large part of her fortune as well as the only home Trey had ever known.
He needed to nip that in the bud right now or she’d be doing the same thing to him.
Before he could say anything, however, he heard the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Belatedly realizing he’d forgotten about Bobby, he turned to see his old friend standing behind him with the hint of a smile on his face and a raised brow that told Trey he’d seen everything.
“I’m Bobby Duchamp, Miz Jameson,” the other man said with a charming smile that Trey knew had broken some hearts before he settled down with Tricia.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet Miss Khaki’s librarian.
The whole island’s been talking about you ever since we heard the news.
Didn’t know about the kitty cat though.”
At the mention of Khaki, the librarian looked abashed. But when Bobby talked about the cat, her whole face lit up. For a minute there, Trey was jealous of that dang cat.
“This is Stella,” said Callie with a grin.
“She’s been a very good girl on our drive down from Cincinnati, but she’s finally run out of patience.
It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Duchamp.” As if to emphasize her frazzled temper, Stella chose that moment to stare straight at Trey and offer him a heartfelt and succinct hiss.
Unable to stop himself, Trey laughed. “Nice to meet you too, Stella.”
“Just like you, Trey,” Bobby said with a grin. “Making friends wherever you go.”
Callie looked mortified. “I am so sorry. She’s usually so happy to be on the road. But I guess even a cat as well traveled as Stella can get tired of it after a while.”
But Trey wasn’t about to take offense at a cat’s rudeness. Especially when he had more than enough pent-up resentment against the cat’s owner. “We all have grumpy days,” he said, waving away Callie’s apology. “But you said something about the Sand Dollar losing your reservation?”
Before she could respond, Bobby turned to Trey and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna head out, man. Tricia will have me by the b—uh, will be upset if I don’t make it home in time for supper. Especially on my day off.”
Thanking his friend for his help with the window, Trey watched as the other man said goodbye to Callie and gave Stella a chin scratch before he left them alone.
Noting that the librarian was about to drop where she stood, he told her to follow him into the kitchen, where he indicated she should take a seat at the midcentury modern Formica table.
When he saw her hesitate to let go of the cat, he said, “I’ll shut this door and you can let her loose in here.
There’s not anything she can do damage to. ”
With a look of gratitude, Callie waited until Trey did as he promised and shut the door, then set Stella down on the black-and-white marble tile. And Stella, who had more than her fair share of curiosity, set about exploring her new surroundings.
She was watching the cat poke her nose into a door that seemed to lead to a pantry when she saw a glass of iced tea land on the table beside her.
“You looked like you needed it,” Trey said at her questioning look. “That drive is bad enough without a finicky feline along for the ride.”
Startled, she looked over at him, where he stood rummaging through a nearby cabinet. “You’ve driven here from Cincinnati?”
“Columbus,” he said shortly as he turned to stride over with a package of Oreos. At her questioning look, he added, “Buddy of mine got his architecture degree at Ohio State.”
He didn’t add that he too had gotten his architecture degree there.
Before he knew more about Miss Callie Jameson’s motives for convincing Khaki to leave her the library, he would tell her as little about himself as possible.
Besides, he hadn’t worked as an architect for nearly a year, so he might as well let her think he was the contractor he’d been acting as on the island.
“Interesting,” she said thoughtfully as she took a big gulp of tea. But almost as soon as she swallowed, she started coughing as if it burned.
“This is sweet tea.” Her tone was accusatory, as if he’d given her a tall glass of single malt scotch on the rocks instead of the most common beverage south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
“Yes, ma’am, it is,” he said solemnly. “That unsweet stuff is against my religion. I’m surprised Khaki didn’t tell you about sweet tea.”
Taking another swallow, this time of a more moderate size, she took a moment to savor it.
“She did tell me about it, but she never made it for me. I did know she didn’t approve of unsweet tea in general.
But I thought she was just exaggerating about the sweetness.
I mean, I knew it would be sweet but this is—”
“Refreshing and delicious?” Trey asked, taking the chair opposite hers and taking a sip of Blue Moon.
At her look in his beer’s direction, he explained, “I thought you’d prefer tea. Though you’re welcome to a beer if you like.”
But she shook her head. “You were right. And Khaki was right about the sweet tea. How have I gone my whole life without knowing how delicious this is? It’s better than soda.”
He watched as she downed half a glass in a few gulps. “You might want to pace yourself, there, slim. You don’t want to get sweet tea sickness your first time drinking it.”
At his words, she set down the glass abruptly. “Sickness? It can make you sick?”
“If you drink too much too fast,” he said with a nod. “But you should be OK for now.”
She nodded. Perhaps reminded that she wasn’t here to simply explore new beverages and let her cat roam around, she leaned back in her chair then and ran a finger down the condensation that had formed on the outside of the tea glass.
“The way Khaki described this place, I thought I’d find a dilapidated old wreck filled with water-logged books.
But it’s beautiful in here. Frank at the Sand Dollar said you’ve been renovating this place. Does that mean it has living quarters?”
“Khaki and Remy had the first floor transformed into a four-bedroom apartment years ago, which is where they lived for thirty years,” he said, surprised that this woman didn’t already know that.
“I’ve just been updating what they did back when they first bought the place.
En suite bathrooms for every bedroom, new appliances in the kitchen, just bringing it into the twenty-first century. ”
He was pretty sure she couldn’t have looked any happier if he’d told her Commander’s Palace had agreed to relocate to this kitchen for the remainder of her time on the island.
“I know you weren’t expecting me, but since the Sand Dollar lost my reservation and everywhere else on the island is booked solid with birders here for their convention, I need somewhere to stay.
And since this is technically my place—”
This last thing she said with a hint of apology, but it was enough of a kick in the gut to remind him that there were some questions he needed answering before he offered her a room. “It might technically be your place,” he said gravely. “But I need to talk to you about that.”
At the sudden turn of her eyes in his direction, he continued. “Why don’t you tell me, Miss Jameson, just how you managed to talk my great-aunt Khaki out of a cool million and this building that happens to be the only place my family has left on Petite C?te Island?”