Brenda Jackson - Love In Catalina Cove

She came to a stop at a red light at the intersection of Adrienne and Sophie, the streets reputedly named for two of LaFitte’s mistresses. The entire downtown area was a close replicate of New Orleans’s French Quarter, a deliberate move on LaFitte’s part. The cove was where the pirate would return to when he and his team of smugglers needed some down time with their women. And if the naming of the streets was to be believed, he’d had several of them, she thought, making a turn on Margaux Lane.

Her thoughts shifted from Jean LaFitte to the man who had pulled her over earlier. That was something that had definitely changed in the cove. It appeared police officers were no longer middle-aged, potbellied men who looked like they’d eaten one blueberry muffin too many. The man who’d given her a ticket was so fit one would suspect he spent a lot of his time at the gym. He was definitely pleasing on the eyes. She hadn’t felt this much interest in a man since finding out what a scumbag Scott was. It was then she’d sworn off men. Nothing had changed, although she had gotten a jolt between the thighs, a sort of reminder of what she hadn’t had in over two years now. At some point she and Scott had begun engaging in what she called courtesy sex and then months later she’d decided not to bother at all. It hadn’t been worth the effort. It hadn’t seemed to bother him any, and now she knew why. His boss’s wife had been his sidepiece.

Reaching Adele Street meant she was entering the historical residential district. Stately older homes, most of them of the French Creole style, lined the streets with pristine manicured lawns. She’d always liked this style of house and recalled that a number of the same style were scattered around New Orleans. That was another deliberate duplication the pirate had taken from there.

It was a known fact that New Orleans had the largest French Creole population in the country. Catalina Cove was next. What a lot of people failed to realize was that being a Creole had nothing to do with your race. It didn’t matter what your skin color was. It had everything to do with your cultural heritage. Her father, a Creole born in Catalina Cove, had met her mother at Grambling University. They had returned here to live after they got married. As a child, Vashti remembered her paternal grandparents, and how her grandmother had told her about the rich Creole history and culture. To this day Vashti was proud of her Creole heritage.

She came to a stop in front of one of the stately looking houses. Bryce had purchased her house three years ago and this would be Vashti’s first visit. Her best friend had visited her many times in New York and Bryce had also joined her in New Orleans whenever Vashti happened to go there on business.

Vashti sat there a minute after turning off the ignition. It was a nice home, and she thought the two-story structure was perfect for her best friend. The previous owners had approached Bryce about being their Realtor and she’d ended up buying it herself.

The minute she got out the car, the front door opened and a smiling Bryce stepped out in the sunlight. Vashti felt her smile grow wide in return.

“Where did you get that thing?” Bryce asked, coming down the steps to meet her and giving more than an admiring glance to the Corvette convertible.

“A rental. It was ordered for an NFL player who had to cancel his trip at the last minute so I thought I’d take it.”

Bryce gave her a hug and she gave her one back. “Glad you got here in one piece.”

“Me, too, but not without a little bit of drama,” she said, opening the passenger door to retrieve her carry-on.

Bryce raised a brow. “Drama? What kind of drama?”

Vashti looped her arm through Bryce’s. “Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it. And I’m dying to see your home.”

CHAPTER THREE

SAWYER CLOSED THE file he’d been reading and leaned back in his chair. For some reason he couldn’t get the woman driving that red Corvette out of his mind. When he’d returned to town he took the route he usually traveled as a shortcut to get back to his office. That’s when he saw that same vehicle parked in front of the house where Bryce Witherspoon lived. The woman had definitely been a looker, even with all that wind-blown hair from driving with the top down. And there had been something about those soft brown eyes of hers and well-defined lips that enhanced her honey-brown skin. He figured her age to be in her late twenties, and evidently, she had a flare for flashy stuff, that rental Corvette convertible being one of them. But then she was a New Yorker. He’d dated a woman from New York once while stationed in New Jersey and the one thing he remembered about her was that she’d been a party girl who never took anything seriously. It was all fun and games. He wondered if Vashti Alcindor was the same way.

He looked up when he heard the knock on the door. “Come in.”

Trudy came in with purse in hand, which meant it was time for her to leave. Was it five o’clock already? It was a wonder Jade hadn’t called. She’d decided to try her hand at learning to cook and since he hadn’t gotten a call yet from the fire department he could only hope she hadn’t burned up the place.

“I’m calling it a day, Sheriff.”

He smiled. She always did at exactly five every day. Trudy, who liked to claim she was only fifty-five, was probably a good ten years older than that and should have retired years ago. But she was good at what she did and he was convinced she could work better and faster than a woman half her age. He hoped she wouldn’t bring up the issue of retiring anytime soon. Having worked for the previous sheriff, she was someone Sawyer had come to depend on. She was efficient and well liked by all.

“Okay, Trudy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t work too late. Jade is making beef strudel tonight.”

He lifted a brow. “And how do you know that?”

Trudy smiled. “Because she called for my recipe. There’s nothing like a teenager who prefers going home from school to cook instead of hanging out at the Livewire.”

Sawyer nodded. The Livewire was a hangout spot for the teens in town. It was a decent place that provided a safe environment for them to play arcade games and fill up on hamburgers, fries and milkshakes. There was even a quiet corner in the back for those who wanted to get an early start on their homework. Jade went there some days but she mostly preferred going on home, especially since she was trying her hand at cooking now.

“I can’t wait to try it out.” Okay he was lying. He could wait. The last recipe she’d gotten from Trudy was for a lemon cake, and she hadn’t thought the recipe called for enough lemon flavor so she added more. A lot more. He was certain he’d walked around with puckered lips for a week.

“Oh, by the way, Sheriff. I was logging in the speeding tickets you issued today and noticed you gave one to a Vashti Alcindor. I didn’t know she was back in town.”

Back in town? “She’s been here before?”

Trudy grinned. “Heck yes. Vashti used to live here. Born and raised.”

Sawyer frowned. “I asked if she had family here and she said no.”

“She doesn’t anymore. Her parents moved away years ago, and her aunt Shelby Riggs passed away a few months ago.”

Sawyer sat up straight in his chair. “Ms. Shelby was her aunt?”

“Yes, her mother’s sister.”

Sawyer nodded. He’d liked Ms. Shelby. When he first moved to Catalina Cove she had been one of the first to welcome him and Jade to town. He’d even stayed at her inn overnight when he’d arrived in town to interview for the sheriff position.

“I guess she’s here to finalize the sale of Shelby by the Sea. I’d heard her aunt left it to her and there’s a buyer already. While growing up here Vashti loved that inn as much as Shelby did. I hate that she’s decided to sell it. I was hoping the inn would get her to move back. But in a way, I can’t too much blame her, what with the way some of the townspeople treated her.”