Sweet Talking Man

Abigail’s eyes widened. “You’re going to bring beer to a committee meeting?”

“No?”

“Probably shouldn’t. We’re meeting at Hilda’s.”

“Scotch, then?”

“Uh...”

“Well, I’m running out of the fun stuff.” He gave her a wolfish smile just because he wanted to. Maybe he wanted her to feel the full effect of his charm or maybe he simply liked putting her out of her comfort zone. Because it was...fun.

“I’m sure you don’t have to bring a thing but a willingness to serve.”

She sounded like a Sunday schoolteacher. Abigail wasn’t just a good girl—she was the girl everyone hated because she didn’t screw up, because she gave others “that look” when they did. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

Abigail pulled back. “Oh, no, that’s not true at all. We’re just very different people with different views.”

“But different is good. Makes life much more interesting, don’t you think?”

Abigail seemed to turn that over in her head—a virtual convenience-store hot-dog rack. “Sure. I guess that’s a good way to look at it.”

But he could see she was lying. Different likely scared Abigail right out of those loafers. He glanced at her feet and saw that she wore boots. Sensible boots. The woman was as challenging as a blank canvas. What wonder could be brought forth if one bothered to spend the time creating on her page?

But as tantalizing as the thought of pulling out his brushes and tackling the wall she’d erected was, something inside him warned against delving beneath her stoic facade. It was presumptuous of him to think he stood a chance with the obviously damaged woman. Still, he’d seen her gaze linger on him. He’d felt the interest she tried to hide behind her disapproval.

But Leif never went where he wasn’t welcome.

Birdie gave a sigh, lifting her drawing, eyeing it critically.

“So I’ll see you at the next meeting?” Leif said.

Abigail had been staring at him, her eyes revealing...desire. She quickly looked away.

At that moment he wanted to gather her close to him, push back that intriguing dark hair with the silver streak, cup her face and break through her wall. Whether either of them admitted it, the music had started. There were only two ways to go—leave the dance floor or hold on tight.

Abigail raised her chin—the gesture seemed stubborn to him—and looked at him with eyes the color of emerald gulf waters. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Yes, you will.”

The sound of the door opening and a “Yoo-hoo” made them all turn. In the doorway was a man Leif had never seen before.

“This the Intro to Drawing class?” he asked, his gaze landing on Birdie and Abigail. He laughed. “Well, well. There’re my girls.”

Birdie jumped from her chair, sending it screeching back. “Daddy!”

Abigail stiffened, a panicked look on her face. “Hello, baby doll,” the man said, catching Birdie in midair as she launched herself at him. “A little birdie told me my little Birdie was taking art lessons.”

“Cal?” Abigail said, her voice incredulous. She appeared to vibrate beside him. As if a unicorn had stepped through the door. Or, on second thought, a dragon.

“Hey, babe.” The man looked uncertain but determined.

“What are you doing here?” She moved away from Leif, stumbling over the chair Birdie had abandoned.

The man with the broad face and silver-flecked dark hair offered a smile. “Well, no good reason to keep it from you—I’m moving back to Magnolia Bend. To stay.”

“What?” Abigail clapped a hand to her chest before dropping it to her side.

“Yay!” Birdie shouted, sliding out of her father’s embrace. “You’re going to live here again?”

“You’re... Wait, what about Morgan? And LA? You haven’t been back since—”

“Don’t worry, we’ll work it out. I’m home now and ready to be the man I need to be. For Birdie.” He chucked the child under the chin. “And for you, too.”

Abigail blinked, looked at the scuffed tile floor and then at Leif, her eyes jumbled with emotion. “But why are you here?”

“I told you—”

“No. Here.” She jabbed a finger toward the floor. “Why would you come here? We’re taking a class. Couldn’t you have waited?”

Cal’s smile reminded Leif of an alligator. “Well, honey, when you wake up from a trance and see who you’ve been for the past few years isn’t who you really are, you want to get back to where you belong as fast as you can.”

Abigail shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

Cal’s smile flickered. “No, I was crazy. Now I’m sane. I’m ready to make things up to you and Birdie. When I crossed that city limit sign, I felt like my life started again. Mama told me where y’all were so I came. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.”

“Well, you should have. This is just like you. You don’t think. You should have called me. You should have—”

“Mom,” Birdie cried, shaking her head. “Don’t turn this into something bad.”

In Birdie’s eyes was a soft plea, a child’s yearning for her father. Leif could feel Abigail soften. So could Cal. “We’ll talk about this later. This is obviously not the time or place.” She shot Cal another look.

The man ignored it, directing his attention to Leif instead. “Sorry for interrupting your class. The older lady said y’all were finished and my girls were still inside. Didn’t mean to impose.”

Leif nodded because he had no other choice. This was Abigail’s business. Not his. And even though an emotion he barely recognized as jealousy welled inside him, he knew this was the universe’s way of reminding him that Abigail Orgeron was not his...no matter how much he wanted to rip her from her world of schedules, logic and reason to a place where only sensation reigned. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” Cal said, wrapping an arm around Birdie. “Don’t be mad, Abigail. I couldn’t wait to see Birdie.”

“Really? Wish you had felt the same way at Christmas.”

Cal’s eyes shadowed. “Don’t, okay?”

Abigail snatched the two art pads and pencil cases sitting on the table, muttering “surreal” and “bastard” if Leif heard correctly. “Thank you, Mr. Lively, for the interesting class. I’m sorry about this last bit with Cal. Sometimes life hands you—”

“It’s not lemons, Mom,” Birdie called, impatience mixing with disappointment in her voice. She looked at her father and beamed. “It’s lemonade.”

Her father tweaked her nose and Leif almost vomited in his mouth. He couldn’t picture Abigail with this slimeball with the saccharine smile and slick ways. He wondered what had happened between them. Wondered if Cal had left her and now regretted his choice. Leif understood regret. But he didn’t understand a man abandoning his wife and child. He knew what it was like walking life’s path without a father. Not easy.

But there was no sense jumping to conclusions.

Abigail rolled her eyes before passing him a sheet of paper. “Here’s Birdie’s assignment.”

“Thanks.” He took the sheet and placed it over Abigail’s drawing of an apple...or a blob. Either descriptor worked.

Abigail walked toward her ex-husband and daughter. “Let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”

“Can I ride with Dad?” Birdie asked.

“Sure,” Abigail said, following them out the door. Just as her nice derriere disappeared, she stuck her head inside, the dark curtain of her hair swishing. “Hey, at least I don’t have to shower.”

“What?”

“My blast from the past didn’t bring cake.”

Leif laughed. “There’s that.”

“Yeah. See you Thursday?”

“Thursday.”

And then she was gone, leaving nothing but eraser crumbs on the table in front of him.

CHAPTER FIVE

ABIGAIL PEEKED IN at Birdie curled beneath her quilt. The girl slept on her back, mouth slightly open, out like Lottie’s eye. Abigail had no idea who Lottie was, but her mother had used that expression all her life and it had stuck.

“She down?” Cal said from over her shoulder. The family quarters were on the third floor of Laurel Woods’s main house. Abigail had wanted to revamp one of the guest cottages to serve as their home, but money had been tight after the divorce—and Cal hadn’t been there to carry out their former vision. Instead, her part-time employee and friend Alice Ann occupied one lone cottage, dividing her time between Laurel Woods and her son’s place in town. Abigail nodded, closing the door with a soft click and motioning toward the stairway. She walked down the stairs to the B and B’s common area, Cal following.

When she reached the main floor, she saw Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks had returned from their day-long swamp tour aboard the Creole Princess.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Orgeron,” Rita called, wiping snickerdoodle crumbs from her mouth. Abigail set hot cocoa and cookies out each evening for her guests, and her great-aunt Vergie’s snickerdoodle recipe always garnered rave reviews. “I adore these cookies. You must tell me the recipe.”

“Sorry, it’s a secret family recipe. My great-aunt would haunt me if I gave it away...and I’m not sure there’s room for any more ghosts in this house. Rufus is about all I can handle.”

“Rufus, eh?” Mr. Hendricks laughed. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of your Confederate ghost.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Cal said, smiling at the older couple. They looked questioningly at him, so he extended a hand and his most charming grin. “I’m Cal Orgeron, Abigail’s husband.”

“Ex-husband,” Abigail said smoothly, wiping up the drips of cocoa on the antique sideboard, ignoring the awkward pause.

“Yes, ex-husband,” Cal clarified with a laugh. “And now ol’ Ruf will have to make an appearance. He doesn’t take to doubters.”

“Oh, my,” Rita said, looking to her husband.

“Don’t worry. If Rufus shows, he’s harmless. Not a mean bone in his noncorporeal body,” Abigail said.

The Hendrickses chatted for a few more minutes, before retiring for the evening.

“How many people are staying here tonight?” Cal asked, snagging a cookie. They had always been his favorite.

“Five,” Abigail said, picking up the tray and pushing through the swinging door into the large kitchen. Cal followed.

“That’s pretty good for midweek.”

“Yeah, an early Mardi Gras piggybacking onto Christmas has me busier this year.” She set the tray on the counter, frowning slightly when Cal snagged another cookie. She didn’t like the way he made himself at home. Laurel Woods no longer belonged to him. She’d received the house in the divorce settlement, and though she struggled to make ends meet, she was proud of what she’d done on her own.

“I love these things. If I ate these every night, I could play Santa in the Candy Cane Parade.” He patted his still trim stomach.

“Well, it’s fortunate you don’t eat them every night,” Abigail said, sealing the leftovers in the plastic storage container and tidying up the kitchen. A last-minute arrival had made her almost late for the art class, but she couldn’t turn away a paying customer.

Leif’s image flitted across her mind, and she let it gallop past. She had to deal with the man presently in her kitchen.

“I’ve got some questions, Cal.”

He swiped a hand across his mouth, the silver threads in his hair glinting in the pendant lights hanging over the granite-topped island. California had agreed with her ex-husband. His sun-soaked skin gave him a healthy glow and the crinkly lines around his eyes weren’t as pronounced. Maybe he’d had some work done. She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t really looked at him in years. No reason to take stock of the man who’d broken her heart, betrayed their vows and treated their daughter like she didn’t matter.

“About me coming home?”

“No, about the playlist on your iPod.” She bit off the “dumb ass” she wanted to add. “Of course, that’s what I mean. Why are you back?”

“Because one day I woke up and wondered what in the hell I’d been doing.”

“Simple as that?”

Cal shrugged, settling his behind against the counter. “Yeah. Look, I know I’ve been an ass, but I want to make amends for—” he paused, his dark brown eyes staring into the space above the oven hood “—my midlife crisis? I guess that’s what most would call it.”

Exactly. That’s what everyone in Magnolia Bend had called it.

“Yeah, that’s what they call it,” she said, casting her gaze at the herbs growing in her garden window. The thyme looked a bit yellow. Maybe she’d watered it too much.

“I’m ready to show you how much regret I have. I want to press Rewind, but I can’t.”

“Where’s Morgan?”

Cal flinched. “We’re, uh, not together anymore.”

“Why not?”

His gaze rested on her, searching her face for any crack of sympathy. She wouldn’t give him any and he seemed to sense this. “She’s moved on.”

“Ah,” Abigail said, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from tipping up. “You were forced to ‘wake up’ because she left you. Another man?”

He nodded. “But even before that, I knew what I’d done was wrong.”

Abigail’s laugh tasted bitter.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect your forgiveness. I just hope you’ll let me back into my daughter’s life. I love Birdie and I owe her so much. I don’t know where to start, other than being present.”

“I would never keep you from your daughter.”

“And you?”

“Me?” Abigail’s butt hit the opposite countertop, echoing the jarring in her soul. “What are you saying?”

“I’m asking if there is anything left between us.” His eyes beseeched her, his strong throat moving as he swallowed nervously.

At one time, her heart would have leaped at the suggestion of Cal wanting her. She’d known him since elementary school. Big solid Cal, football star, wide smile, girl at each elbow. He’d gone to prep school in Tennessee and returned his senior year, more handsome and confident than ever. With his parents’ prestige and his classic good looks, he’d been the quintessential Southern boy, a little wild, but mostly grounded. He’d come by the church tailgate party after a district play-off win, his truck idling with beer in the cooler, and crooked his finger at Abigail. Her sophomore heart had cartwheeled and her friends had sighed. Cal Orgeron wanted her. And she’d let him have her—body and soul. For a time, nothing else existed but Cal.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore.

“No.” She turned away from him. “It’s too late.”

“Don’t say that, Abi. I lost my mind, had some kind of mental breakdown, but I never stopped loving you.”

“Don’t you dare.” She whirled, jabbing a finger at him. “We’re over and you know it. Don’t try to play me. I’m not some twentysomething-year-old fool with stars in my eyes.”

Cal didn’t say anything, just watched her, like a hunter assessing his prey. Abigail wanted to retreat from the emotions throbbing in the room. She wanted to slap the devil out of him. She wanted to scream all the outrage she’d sat on night after night, knowing her hurt did no good, knowing her pain only trickled into Birdie. She hadn’t wanted Birdie to suffer any more than she already had.

But Abigail didn’t lose control. She dropped her hand and shook her head. “We can’t go there, Cal. You regret what happened now because you’re alone. You were never good at being alone. You think you can slip into our lives like you pressed a pause button and we froze. You want comfort, and I have none to give you.”

Cal inhaled. “Okay, fine. I understand how you feel, but I’m not letting you go that easily.”

“News flash, Cal. You don’t have me anymore. And I suggest you leave well enough alone.” She couldn’t believe him. He was going to try to win her back? Sorry...not going to happen.

“I’ll concede the battle for now, Abi.”

“It’s Abigail. Wave the flag now and concede the war. The last thing we need is another thing we’re at odds over. Focus on Birdie and doing whatever else it is you’re going to be doing in Magnolia Bend. I’m guessing you won’t be headlining at the Sugar Shack?”

Cal gave a sheepish smile. “I think my music days are over. LA has a way of stomping out dreams and pissing on them. I’m going to work for Dad. He gave me my old job.”

She raised her eyebrows, surprised Buster Orgeron would be so quick to accept his son in the family company again. The president of Orgeron Fertilizer hadn’t supported his son’s dream of bright lights and big titties. As far as Buster was concerned, when Cal left his wife, daughter and job, he’d lost his damn mind.

Buster and Minnie Orgeron had been gracious to Abigail, helping with Birdie and providing some of the financing for the Laurel Woods renovation. Abigail had let them help not because she thought they owed her anything, but because she’d been fighting depression along with creditors.

Their anger at Cal had stayed in place for a good year, but then, as to be expected, it had faded. Well, it had waned for Minnie. Cal was her only child and she convinced herself that his running from his life in Louisiana had been Abigail’s fault, that she’d failed to make Cal happy. Minnie believed they’d married too young and never should have bought the Harveys’ historic house. It was too much pressure for Cal. Minnie understood his wanting to leave.

Which was utter bullshit.

Buster hadn’t been as understanding, however.

“Well, that’s good. You staying with them?”

“Until I can find a place. I’m thinking about the subdivision behind here. Nice to be close by in case you or Birdie need me.”

Something shrank inside Abigail. She didn’t want Cal that close. It was bad enough he’d come home, showing up like a bad penny just when she’d developed an interest in another man.

Wait.

Not a true interest. A potential flirtation. Or maybe just good fantasy fodder for cold, lonely nights. Leif wasn’t an actual contender for her affections. That was crazy, premenopausal delusion talking.

Then she recalled the heat in his gaze when she’d caught him looking at her in art class. So maybe Leif was a contender?

She wasn’t a big-boobed Marcie, but she wasn’t chopped liver, either. She knew how to kick off her loafers. WD-40 might be in order, but the parts still moved.

“Well, once you get settled permanently, let me know. You have my phone number.”

He frowned, pushing off from the counter. “Oh, you’ll see me before then. I thought I might come over tomorrow night and take you and Birdie to dinner.”

“I can’t leave the bed-and-breakfast two nights in a row. But Birdie will want to spend some quality time with her father. She didn’t see you for Christmas.” Abigail tried to not make her statement an accusation, but it stuck anyway.

“I couldn’t fly home. Airline prices were crazy and Morgan—” His voice faded. A hurt expression flitted over his face before he regained control. “Things were unsettled.”

So he’d been trying to save his relationship with the twenty-six-year-old, while putting his daughter on the back burner once again. Morgan wore her South Louisiana roots well with her olive coloring, big brown eyes and soft bayou accent. Lithe and sexy, her voice had a mesmerizing, otherworldly quality. Abigail knew because she’d been the dumb ass who had suggested she and Cal watch Morgan perform with her local zydeco band six years earlier. No doubt, Morgan had now moved on to bigger fish who could further her career.

“So you said. I suppose the upside to ending your relationship with Morgan is being more present in your daughter’s life.” Abigail walked toward the kitchen door, hoping Cal would get the hint. His appearance at the art class had pulled the rug out from beneath her. Abigail needed to think. And plan. And think some more. She had to be careful with Cal and Birdie, especially since her daughter had been buzzing with excitement, her eyes sparkling at the news that her father was home. The child had been cut adrift when Cal left five years ago and she’d never really recovered.

“True,” Cal said, following her into the formal parlor with its richly colored carpets, marble fireplace and Audubon painting of a crane standing vigil over the bayou. “I should’ve called you, but I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to surprise Birdie. And you.”

Again, warning bells sounded. “We’ll figure things out. I’ll tell Birdie you’ll pick her up for dinner tomorrow night. Needs to be early since it’s a school night.”

“Good,” Cal said, stepping closer to Abigail. She moved back. “I appreciate that, Abi. I mean Abigail.”

He ducked his head toward her.

Abigail threw up a hand, hitting his chin. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing your cheek. Saying good-night.”

“Don’t.”

Cal scowled. “Jesus, it’s just a friendly gesture. We can be civil, can’t we?”

“Sure. As long as it’s not with your lips.”

“Goddamn, you’re cold,” Cal said in a hurt voice.

“What did you expect? I’d be the same as I once was?” Abigail opened the front door. “I’ll treat you cordially, Cal, because of Birdie. But if we didn’t have a child, you would have never crossed this threshold.”

Cal studied her for a moment, saying nothing, before slipping out the door, leaving behind the scent of Brooks Brothers Gentlemen cologne. She watched the taillights of his truck fade before she stepped out into the chilly night. The porch that ran across the front of the house was deep enough for several sets of rocking chairs perfectly centered on the plantation windows. Her breath puffed white as she shuffled toward the swing at the end of the porch. Her body felt brittle, her soul tormented by tonight’s events. Cal was in her life and she had no say about it because they shared Birdie.

Wonderful, temperamental, soulful Birdie.

She released a breath.

“Sounds like you need a drink.”

Abigail nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun toward the porch railing. Standing in the moonlight, clad in a down-filled jacket, was Leif. He held a liquor bottle and two glasses.

“You scared me to death.”

His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “You look alive to me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you.”

“Checking on me?” She stiffened, grappling with the idea that Leif cared enough to check on her.

“And bringing you a drink.”

“A drink?”

He climbed the steps, his shoes quiet on the slats as he moved toward her. “You expected something more herbal from me? I’ve heard the rumors, but I don’t smoke weed. I do, however, like a good Scotch.” His blue eyes were sparkling with warmth. He wagged the bottle.

“I could use a drink.” She sat on the swing and glanced at the spot beside her. If he were anyone else, she would have expected him to sit in the rocker a few feet away, but she wanted to feel him beside her.

Yeah. She’d gone nuts.

Leif settled beside her, twisted the lid off the bottle and poured two generous fingers of what looked to be Balvenie. He’d brought the good stuff. Handing her one, he clinked his glass to hers. “I’d make a toast but this isn’t about futures or well wishes. You just need a drink, hon.”

“No shit.”

She didn’t bothering sipping. Tonight called for a belt.

“Whoa. Slow down there, soldier.” Leif leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers.

Abigail did as he bid and took a demure sip. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you being nice to me? You don’t know me.”

He tilted his head. The move made him cuter. “Best way to get to know someone is over a good Scotch.”

“But why would—”

He pressed his finger against her lips. “Shh...sometimes it’s enough to be still. Just relax.”

It was the second time he’d said that to her, and she let the words sink in. She leaned against the swing, folding in on herself like a bouncy castle deflating after a kiddie birthday party. Sweet comfort.

Leif kicked the swing into motion. The clunk of the bottle hitting the porch was the last sound she heard before the night tucked them into quiet contemplation.

After several minutes, Abigail released a sigh.

“Ah, there you go. A good Scotch cures a lot of things.”