Bourbon Street Blues Read online

  “My foot hurts,” she admitted, and tried to pull her leg free.

  “Wait, wait,” he ordered, right hand sliding down into the gaping hole and checking for breaks in her leg. “I think you’re okay, but pull it out slowly, all right?”

  “Right.” Carefully, she did as he asked, and when her foot was free, she groaned.

  “What? Are you in pain?”

  “My shoe,” she whined, and wiggled her bare toes as if to show him that she’d left something behind. “These shoes are brand-new and they cost a fortune and—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, choking back his worry. Still holding on to her, he reached down into the hole and fished around until he finally came up with a ridiculously flimsy-sandaled heel.

  “Thanks,” she said, and stood with his help. As soon as she put her weight on her foot, she yelped again and instantly lifted it up.

  “It is hurt.”

  “Guess so.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

  “Born under a lucky star,” she muttered. “That’s me.”

  He swept her up into his arms and tightened his grip when she tried to wriggle loose. “Forget it. You’re not walking down these stairs again.”

  “Down? No!” She made another futile attempt to escape. “I want to see the rest of the house.”

  “The rest of the house,” Parker said, heading for the front door, “will most likely fall down on top of you.”

  “Parker, stop.”

  “Not a chance, Holly.” His heart was still beating frantically at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been with her today. She could have been stuck in this damn house for hours. Days, even. His arms tightened around her until she squeaked in protest. “Sorry.” He loosened his grip on her slightly. “But no way are you trooping through this place anymore today.”

  “Since when do you get to tell me what to do?”

  “Since now. Deal with it.”

  “This may come as news to you, Parker, but I don’t really go for the Tarzan kind of man.”

  “I’ll make a note.” He stepped onto the porch. “Close the door and lock it.”

  She did, muttering a stream of words that he figured he was better off not hearing. When she was finished, he carried her out to the street and settled her into the passenger seat of his car.

  “I’m calling a cab, remember?”

  “No, you’re not. You’re coming with me.”

  “Fine. Take me home then.”

  “I intend to. My home.”

  STILL SPUTTERING angrily, Holly glared at him on the short ride to his house. She didn’t want his help. Okay, she might need it at the moment, but she didn’t want it. But arguing with him was as pointless as trying to talk a tree into moving from one side of the lawn to the other.

  So instead, she settled into sulky silence.

  Even when he’d parked in front of a beautiful but small home on a wide, neatly tended lot, she refused to speak. Childish? Maybe. But it was the only weapon she had left.

  He came around the car, opened her door and scooped her up again before she had a chance to slide out on her own.

  “I’m capable of walking, you know.”

  “Your foot is hurt. Let’s clean it up and check it out. See if you need a trip to the ER.”

  “The hospital?” She pushed away from the broad expanse of his chest, even though her instincts were to burrow closer. He was being high-handed and bossy, and a part of her was really enjoying it. Of course, she hated to admit it, but, oh, how she loved the feel of his arms around her. “I don’t need a hospital, for heaven’s sake.”

  “We’ll find out in a minute or two.”

  He stalked up the flower-lined walk, crossed the porch and had the door unlocked and opened in a few minutes. When he carried her over the threshold, she tried not to think of it in just those terms. Impossible, though. She couldn’t keep her mind from drifting in the direction it preferred. But she could do her best to combat it.

  “Nice place,” she said as he carried her down the hall and into a guest powder room. She didn’t get to see much more of the house than the hall and a quick glimpse of the living room. But what she did see was neat and very plain. Cream-colored walls, brown couches, a few paintings adding a splash of color. The man clearly didn’t put a lot of effort into decorating.

  “Thanks.” He set her gently on the sea-green granite countertop, stepped back and cradled her injured foot in his big hands.

  Goose bumps raced along her flesh and she tried not to focus on the feel of his hands on her. But, Lordy, it wasn’t easy.

  “So, Doctor?” she quipped with a forced lightheartedness. “Will I live?”

  “There’s a bruise already blooming on the outside of your ankle,” he said quietly, fingers tracing over her injured flesh. “Can you move your foot?”

  “Of course I can—ow!”

  One dark eyebrow lifted as he looked at her. “I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s a good sprain.”

  Pain still shimmered along her nerve endings. “That’s great. That’s terrific. Won’t I look gorgeous up on stage with a cane and my foot all wrapped up in some tasteful bandage?”

  “Yeah,” he said, running his hand up from her ankle, along her calf to the back of her knee. “You will.”

  At his touch, anticipation exploded inside her and Holly felt her body begin to hum. His fingertips were feather-light against her skin and every cell in her body ached for more. Oh, she wanted to touch him again. Wanted to feel his body along hers. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard before trusting herself to speak again.

  “Parker…”

  “Holly, I want you to know you…mean something to me,” he said, and she could see that he was biting off every word as though forcing himself to say it.

  Pain lanced through her, almost making her groan out loud. He cared. What a pitifully shallow emotion. It cost a person nothing to care. There was no risk to the emotions. No reward. The feeling was tepid at best and warmed neither giver nor receiver.

  Maybe someone else would have been satisfied with “you mean something to me.” But not her. She’d been down this road before and she wasn’t willing to travel it any farther this time.

  Jeff had “cared” for her until she had wanted more. Now Parker was looking into her eyes and telling her pretty much the same thing. She wouldn’t hang around long enough to watch him walk away.

  “Parker…”

  “I’ve missed seeing you,” he said before she could go on. “I think about you. Hell, I dream about you. I’m not sure how I feel about that.” He raked one hand impatiently through his hair. “But I wanted you to know.”

  “You wanted me to know that you ‘care.’”

  “Well, yes.”

  “God, Parker…” She swallowed hard past the knot of misery in her throat. How could she have set herself up for this yet again? How had she stumbled blindly into a situation that was as risky to her heart as the emotional minefield she’d survived three years before?

  Worse, how could she have allowed herself to feel so much more for this man? To let desire become affection? To let affection become love?

  Regret swelled inside her. He cared, but didn’t want to. He dreamed about her but didn’t sound happy about it. While her emotions were like a raging inferno, his were barely lukewarm.

  Shaking her head, she said softly, more to herself than to him, “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what?” he asked, gently releasing his hold on her foot.

  “This.” She waved both hands between them and looked him square in the eye. Oh, she’d be seeing those eyes of his in her dreams for years. The color of a cool, mountain lake, they held depths that she was willing to bet even he didn’t know about.

  And as she watched him, she knew just how deeply she loved him. Knew that every day without him was going to be a lonely one. Even walking away from him wouldn’t spare her heart the pain that
was already blossoming on her horizon.

  “I can’t, Parker. Seeing you, wanting you, fighting with you. I just can’t do it. It hurts me.” She fisted a hand and held it at her breast. “And if I stay, it’ll destroy me.”

  He took a step back, his mouth working as if he were chewing on words that wanted to get out. Finally, though, he said, “I’m not trying to hurt you, Holly. I’m only trying to be honest.”

  “I know that. I do. Really.” She scooted off the edge of the counter and kept most of her weight on her good foot. It would have been easier to say what she had to say sitting, but she needed to be on her own two feet—well, one and a half feet.

  He reached for her, but she lifted one hand to keep him at bay. If he touched her now, she’d shatter. “No, please don’t touch me. I won’t be able to think. Worse, I won’t want to think.”

  “Holly…”

  “Just let me talk.”

  Shoving both hands into his back pockets, he nodded and waited.

  “God, this isn’t easy.” He looked lost, she thought. And worried. His eyes shone in the glare of the overhead light. Holly breathed in the homey scent of pine cleaning solution and knew that she would always associate that scent with this moment. This memory would be with her forever. She wished it could have been a happier one.

  Hoping her thoughts and feelings would meld together and become the words she wanted—needed—to say, she started talking and hoped for the best. “You say I mean something to you—”

  “You do.”

  “That’s not enough, Parker.”

  He looked down and his dark hair fell across his forehead. It was all she could do not to reach out and brush it back.

  “Holly, I don’t know if I can give you anything more,” he said, focusing on her once again.

  Regret shone in his eyes and she wanted to weep. He couldn’t give her what she wanted from him. And if she hung around waiting, hoping, she’d only end up more wounded than she had been when Jeff had left her.

  She had thought, three years ago, that the pain engulfing her couldn’t have gone any deeper. Now she knew she had been wrong. This pain was so much more…because what she was feeling was so much more.

  Like the sun bursting out from behind a bank of gray storm clouds, the truth shone down on her, and it amazed her that she hadn’t recognized it sooner. But then, maybe she hadn’t wanted to. Maybe it had been easier to pretend differently.

  But in the end, the truth was all she had. And better to face it now than later.

  “You can’t give me more, and I can’t settle for less,” she said with a small shrug. “You see, Parker, I don’t just care for you. I love you.”

  Parker backed up until he was flat against the bathroom wall. If he’d had room, Holly was sure he would have bolted. She buried the hurt inside her, unwilling to let him see just how close to tears she really was.

  “I—”

  “Don’t, okay?” She found a smile somewhere and plastered it on her face. It felt false, almost painful, but she kept it there with determination. “Don’t say you’re sorry, or you wish things were different. It won’t change anything.”

  “Damn it, Holly,” he said tightly, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “Neither did I, Parker. But it did, and if it’s okay by you, I’ll just deal with this by myself. I don’t need you to hold my hand. I don’t need you worrying about me. Eventually, I’ll be fine.”

  God, please let her be fine. Please let the pain that was twisting her stomach into knots ease away day by day. Please let her find her balance again. Let her enjoy her life the way it was before Parker had wandered into it.

  “If you’ll just let me call a cab,” she said, “I’ll get out of your hair and we can each move on with our life. Forget all about this.”

  “I won’t forget you,” he said, his voice tearing from him like a groan. “Wouldn’t be able to even if I tried.”

  She forced a smile. “See? There you go, saying something nice that doesn’t change a thing.”

  “Holly—”

  “Please, Parker,” she interrupted quickly, desperate now to escape with what little dignity she had left. “If I mean anything to you at all, you’ll just let me get a cab and go home.”

  His blue eyes fixed on her as though he were trying to read her mind, her soul. But everything she was had already been laid out in the open for him. She still saw regret in his eyes and knew that if she didn’t get out of that house and into the comfort of her own space soon, she was going to embarrass them both by wailing.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “I’d rather not—”

  “I said,” Parker repeated flatly, with absolutely no hint as to what he was feeling, “I’ll take you home.”

  He wasn’t going to budge, Holly knew. The man had stubborn written all over his face. And in the end, did it really make a difference how she got home?

  “Fine.” Maybe he needed to play the gentleman to the last—and if so, she’d agree. Anything, she thought. Anything to get her out of his house and away from his blue eyes, so full of what-might-have-beens.

  PARKER STAYED AWAY from the Hotel Marchand for the next few days. Instead he burrowed into his office at the jazz café and worked hard to forget about Holly.

  I love you.

  He threw his pen down on top of the inventory sheet and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

  I love you.

  He heard Holly’s voice over and over again in his mind. He saw her eyes and the small flash of pain dulling the gray when he couldn’t say what she so wanted to hear.

  I love you.

  “God.”

  He’d like to believe that she was telling him the truth. To believe that love—real love—could happen so quickly. He’d like to believe that Holly meant what she said. That she looked at him and saw a man she wanted to spend her life with.

  But how the hell could he?

  “No,” he said out loud, more because he needed to hear the sound of his own voice in the suffocating silence than for any other reason. “I won’t risk it again. I can’t.”

  Sighing, he sat up and reached for his pen again. Maybe this time he could forget about Holly by losing himself in work.

  HOLLY TOOK some time off.

  She used her sprained ankle as an excuse and it worked well with Tommy, who didn’t question her. But she knew the truth. She knew that she was hiding. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to face Parker again. Not yet, anyway.

  Especially not now.

  “God really does have a sense of humor,” she whispered as she looked down at the plastic stick in her hand.

  The plus sign was unmistakable.

  She set it down on the bathroom counter, right beside the three other sticks, all displaying the same result.

  “Pregnant.”

  What was she supposed to do now? Should she tell Parker? Didn’t he have a right to know? Or would the knowledge of this baby only make things worse? He’d already made it clear he didn’t want Holly in his life. Why should he want her child?

  Her heart started to pound and a ball of nerves skittered uneasily in the pit of her stomach.

  Her child.

  She was going to be a mother.

  At last, she would have a family of her own.

  Someone to love. Someone to love her back.

  Someone to build dreams around.

  She and her child would live in that great old house and expand their family, welcoming other children, building lives that would be full and rich—everything she used to dream of.

  Staring into the mirror, she saw the worry and excitement tangling together in her own eyes. Funny, she’d spent so much energy hoping she wasn’t pregnant that she hadn’t for a moment considered how wonderful it would be to find out she was.

  Her hands dropped to her flat belly and rested protectively there, as if she could somehow soothe the tiny child within. It’ll be okay, she thought. We’ll be okay.
You’ll see.

  She took a long, deep breath and slowly, so very slowly, found a smile. Her baby’s father might want to disappear from her life—but she would have her child.

  Always.

  When the doorbell rang, a quick jolt of hope rose up inside her in spite of everything. Maybe it was Parker. Maybe he had come to his senses and realized that the love she offered him was a gift, not a trap.

  She swept the pregnancy tests into the trash can and gave her hair a quick check in the mirror, then turned and hurried as best she could to the front door.

  She opened the door to find the last person she was expecting to see.

  “Ah. The little jazz singer,” Frannie LeBourdais purred as she blithely blew past Holly to stalk into the living room. “It’s time we had a little talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FRANNIE DROPPED HER crocodile bag and a manila folder onto the magazine-strewn coffee table and let her gaze slide around the small room. Overstuffed furniture, tacky little knickknacks and a view out the front window of a yard that needed landscaping.

  Not very impressive, but it cheered her immensely.

  “What are you doing here?” Holly demanded.

  “Why, Holly—you don’t mind if I call you Holly, do you?” Frannie asked, carefully lowering herself to sit on the edge of a sofa cushion. “After all, we’ve known each other a very long time.”

  Holly walked across the room, limping slightly. “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh.” Frannie waved one hand to dismiss that statement. “Now, this is just between us girls, so let’s be frank, shall we? I remember you. You sang at my wedding.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we met the night before the wedding, as well.” Just recalling that moment filled Frannie with a fury she was hard-pressed to tamp down.

  Once she had received a complete file from her private investigator, she’d remembered everything. How she and Justine had been discovered by a nobody singer. Frannie had worried that the little bitch would spill the truth to Parker and ruin a match she had wanted very much.

  Odd that now, ten years later, the same little bitch was still a thorn in Frannie’s side. And the threat she represented was still very real. If Holly Carlyle were to tell Parker about her indiscretions, Frannie wouldn’t have a chance in hell of winning back her husband.