Kaye Dacus - Menu for Romance

She pulled a little harder and finally succeeded in getting him to let go of the can. “If they weren’t period and prohibitively expensive to replace, I might consider it. But I can’t replace all of the moldings, baseboards, and cabinets in a craftsman house.”

His brows elevated in tandem with his low whistle. “A craftsman—not the cedar-sided one over on Destrehan Place?”

She stepped back, hugging the epoxies to her. “Yes.”

“Whaddya know? A buddy of mine owned it—bought it to flip right before the market crashed. I helped him as much as I could with the exterior. We’d just started on the interior when he ran out of money.”

“As in, y’all ripped the kitchen out completely without any means of putting another one in?” The corners of Meredith’s mouth twitched.

The six-and-a-half-foot-tall giant rubbed his hand over his short curls. “Yeah,” he drawled. “I told him not to do that until he knew for sure he could get another line of credit. You—” He regarded her curiously. “You aren’t actually living in that house with no kitchen, are you?”

Meredith smiled at him for the first time since the conversation began. “No. I’m not currently living in the house. But at the rate I’m making progress, it’s not going to be in much better shape when I do need to move in a few months from now.”

“Lease on your current place ending?” He motioned for the bottle and tube she held, took them at her nod, and set them back on the shelf.

“Sort of.” More like Anne and George would be returning from their honeymoon to England and wanting to get started on restoring the Victorian.

“So are you thinking about hiring a contractor?” He rested his elbow against the second shelf as if settling in for a long chat.

Who was this guy? “Yeah, I’m thinking about it. Why—do you know one?”

His full lips split into a smile, revealing too-white-to-be-natural teeth. He reached into the pocket of his denim shirt and produced a business card.

Meredith read it—then did a double take.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t read your card right the first time.” She looked up at him. At his quizzical look, she decided to confess. “I’ve just never actually met anyone named Ward before.”

“I know—it’s odd, isn’t it? But Edward’s a family name, and my parents didn’t want me being ‘Eddie the fourth.’ I’ve never seen it anywhere else as a first name.”

“You’ve never heard of Ward Bond?” She slipped the card into her pocket.

Ward Breaux shook his head. “No. Who’s he?”

Meredith’s jaw unhinged momentarily. “ The Searchers? Rio Bravo? The Quiet Man? ” At the title of each film, the contractor shook his head. “Surely, you’ve at least seen Fort Apache? ”

“Um ... if those are westerns, I can guarantee you I’ve never seen them.”

“They’re not just westerns, they’re John Wayne classics—Ward Bond costarred in all of those and a bunch more with John Wayne.”

“Well, there you go.” Ward winked at her. “I’ve never seen a John Wayne movie.”

“Never? Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing. Fort Apache and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon are my two favorite movies.”

Ward’s eyes crinkled a bit at the corners when he smiled. “Then I guess I’ll have to watch them sometime if they’re your favorites.”

Movement behind him caught Meredith’s attention, and she bent to grab her basket. “Sorry, Rob. I’m ready—” She glanced askance at Ward and held up the can in her hand. “At least, I think I am.”

“That’s the putty I always use.” Ward turned toward Rob. “I’ll be done by the time you finish ringing up Miss...?” He swung his head around, brows raised.

Her skin tingled at the way his dark lashes perfectly framed his gray eyes. “Meredith Guidry.”

“Miss Guidry.”

Meredith tried her best not to look back as she followed Rob to the sales counter. She nearly bounced on each step, buoyed by high spirits. Never before had a man flirted with her like that.

After handing her check card to Rob, she pulled a business card out of her wallet. She stared at it a moment. MEREDITH E. GUIDRY, EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR, EVENTS & FACILITIES MANAGEMENT. Her title always made her feel pretentious, though she supposed it did reflect her real job better than “the event planner,” which is what most people called her. She signed her receipt and willed Rob to move slower in bagging her purchases.

Her heart jangled like a cartoon telephone when footsteps approached from behind. She drew in a calming breath. Strange. In the eight years since she’d first met Major, she’d never experienced this level of attraction toward anyone else. Maybe she was finally getting over him.

She handed Ward her business card while Rob scanned Ward’s three cans of primer.

“Impressive.” Ward’s flirtatious gaze made her almost want to forgive him for having been so condescending to her a few minutes ago. “Never would have expected someone as young as you to be such a bigwig with a company as huge as B-G Enterprises. You must be good at what you do.”

Rob’s chuckle brought flames of embarrassment to Meredith’s cheeks. All of a sudden, all she could think of was her grubby appearance. Who was she kidding, thinking that a man like Ward Breaux was flirting with her?

“E-mail or call me, and we can set up a time for you to come by the house to look it over and then review my plans so that you can start putting together a bid.” She grabbed her bags off the counter. “Thanks, Rob. Happy New Year.”

She didn’t usually take the coward’s way out, but she pretended not to hear Ward calling for her to wait up and ran through the rain to her SUV.

The puppy awoke with a yip when the can of epoxy fell off the seat and bumped him.

“Oh, goodness—I’m so sorry.” She leaned over the console and rubbed his head before returning the can to its bag and putting the supplies on the floor behind her seat. One glance at the rearview mirror showed Ward exiting the store. Stomach churning, Meredith started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so dense as to think he was flirting with me for any reason other than wanting my business?”

The rain slapped the windshield all the way back to the house, doing nothing to improve her mood. She sat for a moment after parking under the protection of the carport.

He probably hadn’t seen her as anything more than a potential client. How many people had she sucked up to in the past, believing they could potentially become clients? But she couldn’t deny that while the delusion lasted, she had felt the stirrings of attraction toward him.

Maybe, just maybe, she was finally recovering from her eight-year affliction—the affliction that went by the name Major O’Hara.

Cars—mostly expensive, foreign models—lined the street of the upscale subdivision. Major parked a few houses down from the Guidrys’, pulled his coat collar up, and ran through the rain to the cover of their wide, wraparound porch.

He reached the front steps at the same time as a pair of other guests—familiar looking and smart enough to be carrying a huge black and red umbrella. One of Major’s part-time staff opened the door and grinned at him, dressed in the standard black pants and white tuxedo shirt all servers at B-G events wore.

Major stepped aside for the woman to enter first. As she passed, the small dog draped across her arm snapped and growled at him. Behind her, folding the umbrella, the man rolled his eyes and sighed—and Major finally recognized him. Gus McCord, Bonneterre’s new mayor. Major hadn’t realized how short the man was. He always looked much taller on TV.