Something Beautiful and Lacey's Retreat: Something Beautiful / Lacey's Retreat

Mrs. Gilbert looked embarrassed, then she smiled at Lucas. “Of course, Mr. Dorsette. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She shrugged. “It’s just that, well, a supermodel, right here at breakfast. It’s not every day you find that.”

“I agree,” Lucas said, his hand squeezing Willa’s arm. Her skin felt silky soft, but cold in spite of the heat. “Miss O’Connor, have you met Mrs. Gilbert? Margaret Ann Gilbert and her husband, Dr. William Gilbert. They’ve been coming to Bayou le Jardin every summer for several years now. Two of our favorite guests.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Gilbert said, playfully slapping Lucas on the arm as she batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s so very nice to meet you, Miss O’Connor. My, you’re so tall.”

Willa gave Lucas a grateful look, then reached out to shake Mrs. Gilbert’s hand. “I’m sorry if I acted rudely, Mrs. Gilbert. It’s just that I thought I’d have some privacy here, and seeing that picture—”

“It’s not a very clear shot, is it?” Mrs. Gilbert replied, obviously enjoying Willa’s discomfort.

Dr. Gilbert, a tall man with a tuft of white hair, came ambling over to take his petite wife by the arm. “Margaret Ann, I declare, can’t you see the woman doesn’t want to be bothered? Now stop gawking and come on back to our table and eat your breakfast. Lorna made these cinnamon rolls especially for you, dear.”

“Yes, I certainly did,” Lorna said, getting up to find more of the freshly baked concoctions. Emily came rushing out of the kitchen with a steaming batch. “Look, here’s Em with more. Have another, then take a nice stroll around the gardens. The butterfly garden is especially pretty this time of year.”

Mrs. Gilbert gave Lorna and Willa an envious stare. “Well, I shouldn’t have any more, but I suppose I’ll never be supermodel thin like the two of you. Might as well enjoy myself in my old age, huh?”

“Exactly,” Lucas told her as he let go of Willa to escort Mrs. Gilbert to her table. Then he leaned low to whisper in the captivated woman’s ear. “And thank you for understanding about our special guest. You are such a discreet person, I hope I can count on you to know exactly the right thing to say—if anyone asks about Willa being here, that is.”

“Oh, my, of course,” Mrs. Gilbert said as Lucas gently pushed her into her chair. “William, pass me another roll, sweetheart.”

“Of course, honey,” Dr. Gilbert said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Think I’ll have another myself, too.”

Lucas left them smiling and cooing over Lorna’s fluffy iced cinnamon rolls, their coffee cups filled to the brim with a fresh brew, thanks to Emily. Lorna gave Lucas a thankful look, then headed over to entertain and distract the Gilberts.

“Thank you,” Willa said as he drew near. “I appreciate that.”

She still looked pale and shaken.

“Why don’t you sit back down,” Lucas told her. He indicated her chair. “Do you want something else? Some more juice?”

She sank into her chair. “No, no. I’m fine, really. Seeing that picture just startled me. I didn’t want anyone to know—”

“That you’re here.”

She nodded, then looked at him. “And that I didn’t live up to a commitment. I’ve never backed out of a show in my life, especially when it’s a charity event.”

Lucas snagged a crisp piece of bacon Lorna had left on her plate. “Couldn’t be helped, I reckon.”

“I should have gone through with it, but I did have my reasons for being a no-show,” Willa replied, more to herself than to him. “I’d hate to think—I don’t want people to believe—”

“People will believe what they want to believe,” Lucas interjected, his hand on hers. “You’ve obviously got a good reason for deciding to cancel out on the show.”

She looked up. “But you don’t believe me, either, do you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering exactly what the rest of the world is wondering—how could I be so shallow and self-centered?”

She jumped up to stare down at him.

Lucas caught her before she could bolt for the house. “Hey, now, slow down. Yes, I’m wondering what happened. But I refuse to believe gossip or half-truths. What I’d really like is for you to talk to me, tell me what’s bothering you.”

She lowered her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not? You can trust me.”

Willa pulled her arm away. “It’s not about trust. This is something I have to deal with on my own, in my own way. I just need some time to think things through, make a decision.”

“And you’d rather be left alone?”

Her expression told him one thing, but her eyes told him that she needed someone to help her through whatever crisis she was dealing with.

“I have to resolve this on my own terms, Lucas,” she replied. She reached a hand up to absently scratch a bright red spot on her arm. Then she turned to leave.

Lucas moved like lightning to catch up with her. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

She shrugged, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. Just a few bug bites from our excursion into the swamp the other day. I’ve got some lotion in my room.”

“Oh, no,” he said, pulling her toward the French doors. “Rosie Lee has this stuff she makes up herself with herbs and witch hazel. It’ll take the sting out. C’mon, we’ll find it. These Louisiana mosquitoes can be fierce.”

She smiled. “It does itch.”

“We’ll fix it,” Lucas told her, taking her into the kitchen.

Rosie Lee glanced up from the industrial-size dishwasher. “Can I get you anything, Lucas?”

“Nah. We’re just gonna head into the sitting room to doctor Willa’s bug bites.”

Rosie Lee nodded, then turned to her work. “Poor bébé. You’re sure too pretty for da mosquitoes to tote off, for true.”

“Thank you,” Willa said, smiling at the other woman.

Emily came in and glanced shyly at Willa. “Miss O’Connor, I just love…I love seeing you in all the magazines. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Willa gave the teenager a soft smile. “Thanks, Emily. Just remember, what you see in the magazines is the product of a whole team of people—makeup artists and hairstylists, not to mention the marketing and advertising gurus. I know it might sound trite, but real beauty comes from within. And your pretty smile shows me that you have an inner beauty all your own.”

Emily blushed, looked at her mother, then shook her head. “But I’ll never look like you.”

“You weren’t meant to,” Willa replied. “Just be yourself. You have beautiful olive skin and glorious dark hair. Would you believe, I used to wish I had dark hair like yours?”

“Non,” Emily said, laughing. Then she touched her rich brown locks. “It is natural.”

“Keep it that way, suga’,” Lucas interjected with a wink. “Em, you know you’re the belle of Bayou le Jardin, don’t you, now?”

“Lucas, you’re teasing me,” Emily said, grinning.

But Lucas saw the way she held her head high. Willa’s praise had given the young woman some much-needed confidence.

“Em, get back to your chores,” her mother said softly, a look of pride on her face.

Emily rolled her eyes, then grinned again. “I’ll see you later.”

“Medicine’s on the shelf in the pantry,” Rosie Lee told Lucas. Then she glanced at Willa. “Thanks for talking to her. She’s at that age where she thinks she’s ugly. Me, I think she’s the prettiest thing in the world, but I’m just her mamma, hein?”

“She is pretty,” Willa replied. “She’ll blossom into a beauty soon.”

“Oui, her papa is worried about that very thing.”

While Rosie Lee went back to work, Lucas tugged Willa into the little sitting room. “There,” he indicated, placing her on the couch, his gaze holding hers. “That was a very nice thing you just did.”

Willa shrugged, then looked away. “What? Talking to Emily? I was telling her the truth. She’s at such a hard age—caught between baby fat and hormones. I certainly can remember those days.”

Lucas let his gaze move over her slender frame. “Did you actually ever have any baby fat?”

“Yes, I sure did. But I was all arms and legs, so awkward and gangly. I felt like an ugly duckling.”

“And turned into a beautiful swan.”

He saw the sadness falling across her like a cloud over the sun.

“Where’s this soothing medicine?” she asked, her eyes on her itching bite. She rubbed it with obvious nervousness. To avoid looking at him, he guessed.

After rummaging through the first aid kit in the pantry that connected the sitting room with the kitchen, Lucas found the antiseptic lotion that Rosie Lee kept handy for just such purposes.

“Ah, here it is,” he told Willa, coming to sit on the footstool in front of her. Noticing the tabloid on the table, he quickly shoved it to the floor before she had a chance to see it.

Then he took her arm in his hand and began to rub creamy, fresh-scented medicine on the swollen bite. “That ol’ skeeter got you bad, love. Does it still sting and itch?”

Willa looked at him, her big blue eyes filled with gratitude and resolve. “It’s not that bad. I’ve got a couple of others, mostly on my legs. I’ll doctor those with Rosie Lee’s medicine later, if you don’t mind.”

“I could do those, too,” he teased, glad to see a smile tugging at her beautiful lips. “I guess in your profession, you have to be extra careful about bug bites and scrapes—the camera probably isn’t too kind to injuries.”

She nodded, her thick ponytail falling over her shoulder. “I have to be careful, but we have the magic of airbrushing and touching up the photos to help us look perfect—even when we’re not.”

“You’re as close to perfect as any woman I’ve ever met,” Lucas said, his hand going still on her arm. “I just need to take better care of you next time we venture out.”

“I can take care of myself,” she reminded him. “You need to stop coming to my rescue all the time. And you also need to understand that I’m far from perfect.”

Lucas sat back, his fingers touching her arm, his other hand still holding her steady. “Okay, I’ll accept that you probably have your failings, whatever they might be, but I like rescuing you. And besides, I’m a highly trained professional. I took a six-week course at Tulane University on how to handle damsels in distress.”

“Funny, I didn’t know Tulane offered such a course.”

“They only let certain people go through it.” He winked, grinned, then continued to rub her arm. “And they prepare us for lovely, long-limbed models. They warn us that we might lose our hearts, so we have to be strong and prove our worth. It’s a tough challenge—only for the very brave. But we take our job very seriously.”

“You’re completely crazy,” she told him, scoffing. “How many women have you told that tall tale, anyway?”

“I don’t go around rescuing every woman who comes around that big curve in the road,” he told her, serious. “But…you’re different, Willa. It seems as if I’m just supposed to be here for you.”

She abruptly pulled her arm away. “I don’t need anyone to be here for me, Lucas. I’ve been on my own for a very long time.”

“And why is that?” he countered, ignoring the way she’d successfully cut off any shred of intimacy between them.

“I’m adopted,” she blurted. Then she lowered her head, as if ashamed.

Lucas lifted her chin with his thumb. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Looking up, she said, “My parents were older than most when they decided to adopt a child. My father is an ambassador—to a small country halfway around the world. And my mother…she always followed my father around, clinging to him, hoping to be the best possible wife she could be. But she couldn’t have children, and my father wanted a child more than anything. I think that’s the only reason she agreed to an adoption, because he wanted it so much. They both needed a child for appearances’ sake.”

Lucas thought that was a terrible thing to think about your own parents, and especially about yourself. That brought thoughts of his dead mother and father and how much they had treasured their three children. Pushing bittersweet memories away, he held Willa, his hand cupping her face. “Why do you think that, chère?”

Willa didn’t try to twist away. Instead, she leaned into his touch. “They were so distant, so formal when I was growing up. They still are. And they expected so very much, more than I was ever able to give.”

“Do you see them now? I mean, are they still alive?”

“Oh, yes, I see them during holidays—the obligatory visit. But they travel here and there with the social set, their image intact in spite of their daughter’s disgraceful antics.”

“I don’t see anything disgraceful in this face,” he told her, inching closer.

“I was supposed to be just like my mother,” she explained, her expression grim. “I went through boarding school, prep school, college. Then I was supposed to marry some Ivy Leaguer with plenty of old money and settle down to charity events and committee work.”

“I guess that didn’t happen.”

“No. I was ‘discovered’ when a modeling scout came to our campus to do some photo shoots. A friend talked me into going to the shoot just for fun. Well, the agency rep seemed to like me, but at first, I resisted the offer. I’m not one to be impulsive, you see. But the scout and the agency were very persistent. Signed me up on the spot a week before graduation.

“I think I agreed just to spite my parents and their latest catch, a very eligible bachelor who met all their credentials. It was a way to run away, get away. When I turned down his marriage proposal and told my parents I was heading to France for my first modeling assignment, they practically disowned me.”

“But you’re famous, rich, accomplished. What’s the matter with these people?”

“I’ve asked my therapist that many times,” she said, her smile warming his hand. “And I’ve longed to know what’s wrong with me just the way I am.” She stopped smiling. “Then, after I informed them I wanted to find my real mother—”

Lucas watched as she became silent again. He saw the pain marring her face, felt it in the touch of his fingers to her skin. “Did you—find her, I mean?”

Willa put her hand over his, pulling it away from her face. “I’ve been searching for so long. I had just about given up. But about a month ago, the private investigator I hired came up with a family name and a location. Now I’m trying to get up the courage to go and see if this family might be my family.”

“Wow.” He held her hand in his. “So…what’s holding you back?”

Her eyes misted over, but she held the tears at bay.

“I’m afraid,” she finally admitted. “I’m so afraid of what I might find if I do go to see my real mother. What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“That would be tough,” he said, nodding. “But if this is something you have to do—”

“It is.” She got up, the aloof nature intact once again. “Thanks for the medicine. The itching’s stopped now.”

“Willa, wait.” He rose to go after her. But she was already in the hall, heading up the winding stairs. “Willa, do you want to talk about this?”

“No,” she told him, turning to stare at him. “Thanks, Lucas. But there’s so much more to the story. And I really can’t explain all of it right now.”

“When?” he asked, his heart hurting for her. “When, Willa?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t think I should stay here too much longer. It’s only going to get worse if I do.” With that, she turned and fled up the stairs to the second floor, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

Lucas turned from the stairs to look out the French doors, his gaze scanning the great oaks surrounding the front of the house. “How could it get any worse?” he wondered out loud.

After all, he’d already lost his heart.

He could be persistent. He would find out what Willa was so worried about, what secrets she’d brought to Bayou le Jardin with her.

And he’d gladly help her to find her long-lost biological mother, if she’d let him. Because he wasn’t about to let Willa leave these gardens in her current state of mind. Nor anytime soon, if he had his way.

And Lucas Dorsette always got his way.

Chapter Five

“I let you get away with this one, Willa, but if you keep pulling these stunts your career is going to be in serious jeopardy.”

Willa held the cell phone tightly to her ear, the warning words from her agent reminding her that her life was falling apart even as she sat here.

“I understand that, Samuel. But I need a little more time. I’m exhausted, worried, confused. I have to have a few more days, at least.”

She sank back on the antique white wicker chair, one hand digging into the soft, plush floral cushion as she looked from the second floor gallery to the gardens below. Contrasting the peaceful, bucolic scene spread out in front of her with the impatient sigh of her longtime agent, Samuel Frye, only made Willa more conscious of her obligations and commitments.

“If you’d just let me in on what’s going on with you,” Samuel said, his words etched with exasperation as well as concern. “Willa, you are one of my best clients. We’ve made a whole lot of money together, me and you. You’re wholesome, the girl next door, and you aren’t a prima donna. So I don’t get this—”

“You mean, I’m acting like a prima donna now,” she interjected, her gaze scanning the distant row of hot-pink and fuchsia-colored crape myrtle trees Lucas had tugged her through a couple of days ago. Putting thoughts of Lucas and their time together out of her mind, Willa tried to find a reason to give Samuel for her refusal to come back to New York. “Samuel, have I ever embarrassed you? Have I ever before backed out on any of my contracts or my commitments? Haven’t I worked hard for you?”

“Yes, of course.”

She could almost see Samuel’s distinguished, cratered face. He’d been in the business for so many years some of the younger models called him Papa Frye. Samuel didn’t mind the title one bit. In fact, he encouraged it. He had a big heart, and he took care of his clients, especially the young women who were thrust into the sophisticated world of fashion modeling at such early ages. He set high standards for himself and his clients. Willa didn’t want to let him down.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said at last. “I’m not really accomplishing anything here, and unfortunately, that tabloid story is only going to alert the rest of the media as to my whereabouts. I know I can’t stay here much longer without more questions popping up, but there is something I have to take care of before I can come home.”

“But you do plan on coming home soon, to help me try to do some damage control regarding this benefit show?”

Willa looked over the gardens toward the bayou. She’d seen Lucas heading toward the restaurant and boathouse earlier, had watched as he’d steered his pirogue into the brown-black waters of the swamp. He’d disappeared in a low mist, like some figment of her imagination.

She wanted to escape and run after him, to ask him to take her into that lush landscape so she could hide from the world, hide from her responsibilities and her doubts. She was so very tired.

But Willa knew that would be a mistake.

“I just need until the weekend,” she told Samuel. “That’s three more days. I don’t have anything pressing anyway for a couple of weeks.”

Samuel sighed again. “Okay. I’ll hold off any bookings other than the ones we already have scheduled until I hear from you on Monday. But I expect you to be back in New York by then. And…I expect you to tell me what this is all about. You know I’m only here to help, Willa. If you need anything…”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Willa replied, wishing she could explain things to him. “Listen, I’ll be here through the weekend, but I know I’ve got to move on to avoid the press. And I’ve got some personal things to take care of. So…you have my cell number. You can track me down if something urgent comes up. But, Samuel, I’d really appreciate it if you could just back off for a while.”

“Okay, all right. I’ve sent out a press release explaining why you had to pull out of the benefit show—exhaustion, fatigue, the usual. I only hope people don’t think—”

“That I’m sick, that I’m hooked on drugs or alcohol?” She shook her head even though Samuel couldn’t see her. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Yes, we know that, but you have to understand how the press takes these things. Just like that two-bit tabloid, they make up what they can’t prove.”

Willa closed her eyes, letting the tiredness wash over her. “Yes, I know. But I need some privacy. I need to work through this without the press hovering around. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, she hung up, then tossed the phone on a nearby white wicker table.

How could she ever explain this to anyone?

She thought of Lucas, remembering his gentle touch this morning as he’d doctored her bug bites. He was such a kind man. So different from any man she’d ever been involved with.

Was she becoming involved with Lucas Dorsette?

Willa closed her eyes, wondered how to pray. She’d never been taught how to talk to a higher source, had never been encouraged to attend church on a regular basis. Her parents, so aloof, so worldly, had been inclined to look on religious practices as something to be tolerated, something to be used when time and circumstances called for it. As far as she knew, they didn’t even attend church.

Then Willa thought of Lucas and his sisters, of Aunt Hilda and the Babineaux family. All so devout, all so sincere and secure in their faith.

Why did she feel so safe with them? With Lucas?

She didn’t want to depend on him. She’d always depended on herself. Knowing she’d been adopted caused her to put up a shield around herself—distancing her heart from the tormenting questions that had always haunted her.

Did her real mother love her? Had she been forced to give up her child? Did her adopted parents really love her, or had they only taken her in to put up a facade of being the perfect family?

Lucas had lost his parents so long ago. Her heart went out to him. How he and his sisters must have suffered. And yet they carried on. They believed God would show them the way.

She got up to stand at the intricate iron and wood railing, a railing that had been forged and created right here on this land long ago, according to Lacey.

Tradition. Heritage. Roots. Family.

Willa longed to have those things, not a nomadic facsimile. She was plain tired of running from the truth. And she knew that healthwise, her own time might be running out.

She closed her eyes again, tried to form the words to ask the God she didn’t really know or understand to help her find her path in life.

And then she opened her eyes and looked down to find Lucas standing under a great oak tree, staring at her. Her heart stopped, lifted out in the wind to fill with a great, heavy longing.

“You look like a princess in her tower, standing there, love,” he called to her.

Willa leaned over the balcony, waving at him. “Are you my prince, come to rescue me yet again?”

“I just might be, at that.” Then he lifted himself off the tree’s ancient trunk, his head tilted back as he smiled up at her. “Or maybe that should be the other way around. Maybe you’ve come to rescue me.”

Willa wondered what he meant by that statement. He did seem in need of some sort of emotional rescue. But at other times he seemed content, living here far from the madding crowd. She could almost be content here herself.

Except I can’t stay. Except you don’t know the truth about me.

She should have shouted those words at him.

But she didn’t.

Because it suddenly occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, Lucas did need a bit of nurturing companionship, at least. It couldn’t hurt to extend the hand of friendship.

If only she had the courage to offer it to him.

Willa wasn’t accustomed to rash, impulsive decisions. But something in the mid-morning air urged her to follow her heart just this once. Just for the time she had left here.

“Stay there, my prince,” she called, laughing. “I’m coming down from my tower.”