Bayou Reunion
by Rebecca York

To his surprise, Chase Melancon has inherited the Belle Vista plantation in Louisiana. Old man Rousseau left him the grand mansion rather than leaving it to his grandsons, so Chase is preparing for trouble. But when Chase discovers that Julienne Rousseau is living in Belle Vista and needs his help, he knows he's in way over his head...

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Return of the Warrior

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Chase watched Julienne standing there with her breath shallow in her chest. He could throw her out right now. This house where she had grown up was his by the terms of her grandfather's will. But something stopped him. Maybe the ghost of their old friendship.

"This place was a mess," she said softly. "I cleaned it. I can help you fix it up. And I can cook." Before he could comment, she went on quickly, "You only remember the girl I was. I'm a lot different now."

He could see it. In her eyes. In the tight lines of her face.

"What are you really doing here?" he demanded.

"I knew you were coming home, and I needed a place to stay."

"Yeah? Well, let's be logical. You expect me to believe your brothers don't know you're here?"

"My brothers are in New Orleans. I went to them when I needed...help. And they turned me away. I haven't seen them since."

He felt his jaw drop open. "They turned you away? Why?"

She bent her head, spoke in a barely audible voice. "That's between me and them."

He took in her defeated posture and her low tone, and suddenly he didn't have the heart to keep jabbing at her. If she needed a place to crash, well, she could make herself useful around here for a couple of days. Then...she'd better leave, for both their sakes. Because if Hugo or Wyatt found her hanging out with Chase Melancon, they'd kill them both. And that would solve a big problem for the Rousseau brothers - because if the present owner died without heirs, this place reverted to the Rousseau family.

Julienne broke into his thoughts, and he could see she was making an effort to change the subject. "The electricity and the gas aren't turned on. But I have a cooler and a camp stove. I made Creole gumbo yesterday. Are you hungry?"

He realized suddenly that he was.

He followed her into the kitchen, silently acknowledging that she had told the truth about one thing at least. The room sparkled. She'd cleaned the countertops, the old appliances, the floor.

"I've got some of the old hurricane lamps out of the cellar. For when it gets dark," she said.

"Okay. Tomorrow I can check the electrical system, see if it's safe to turn it on."

"You know how to do that?"

"Yeah." Pulling out a chair, he sat down, stretching out his legs as he watched her efficiently prepare a meal on her makeshift equipment.

As the gumbo warmed, it filled the room with a wonderful aroma. She set a plate in front of him. And a cup of strong, chicory-laced coffee.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I had lunch a little while ago." She propped her hips against the counter, keeping several yards of space between them.

He forked up a bite of the seafood stew. It was rich and flavorful - the way he liked it.

She'd gone to a lot of trouble to please him, it seemed. Yet he found it was impossible to stifle the kernel of resentment that he'd carried inside himself all these years. Tipping his head to one side, he peered at her. "This is good. My compliments to the chef - and to your housekeeping."

Her cheeks colored, but her eyes turned suddenly wary. "Thank you," she said in a thin voice

His eyes traveled over her. She was wearing a shapeless man's shirt and baggy chino pants, clothing that almost but not quite hid her feminine curves. "What if cooking and cleaning aren't enough to earn your keep?"

He saw her swallow before asking carefully, "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I think you know what I mean. I might require a little more of you than just household help."

Her skin color changed from pink to white. "No."

"So even though I own this place now, I'm still not good enough for you?" he pressed.

She knitted her hands together in front of her. "I...can't."

The broken way she said it sent a ripple of cold skimming over his skin. Instinctively he knew that his words had cut her more deeply than he'd believed possible. "Julienne?"

He started to rise, started to go to her. But she was already darting out of his reach. She fled from the kitchen and he stared at the door flapping back and forth behind her long after she'd disappeared.

To be continued...



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