Parking the car, Campbell turned off the engine and leaned back on the white leather headrest, closing his eyes to the fatigue that seemed to be pushing him down. The old days of stepping out of poverty, only to step on everyone else to get ahead, were long gone. He’d had to take a step back, reevaluate his tactics. He’d been fast approaching burnout down in New Orleans. It had only taken a couple of panic attacks to show Campbell that he needed to slow down, take things easy. And it had only taken one quiet, rainy evening sitting in an empty church somewhere in the Garden District to understand that God, not Campbell Dupree, was the one in charge.
“So that’s how you wound up here,” he reminded himself, his voice echoing through the tiny garage. Campbell had found God, and God had found Campbell a place to hide out and find the rest he needed so much.
But tonight, Campbell felt that old restless energy swirling around him like heat lightning. He couldn’t wait to move out to the beautiful cabin he’d found on Caddo Lake. The cabin was being renovated now, but soon Campbell would be lost out there amid the moss-covered cypress trees and the dark, blue-black waters. The place reminded him of home, of his grandfather’s tiny cabin down near Bayou Lafourche in southwest Louisiana. Once his own more modern version of that cabin was finished, he could fish all day in his pirogue, or just float along with the current. Right now, he had to settle for weekend stays at the cabin.
Campbell Dupree, the risk taker, the adventurer, had a new set of rules: Work hard, but rest easy. Don’t overdo working or playing. Stop. Look. Listen. Appreciate. Have faith.
At least these days, he had more time to devote to the simple life his long-dead grandfather had taught him to appreciate. No more burning the candle at both ends for the new and improved Campbell. No, sir. He might have given up all things Cajun and learned how to blend in with the mainstream world of business, but he could never turn his back on the values his grand-père Marlin Dupree had taught him.
“Stand still and consider the wondrous works of God.”
That verse from Job came to Campbell now. His grandfather had always told Campbell that God was in charge, and that Campbell needed to relax and let God do his work.
But Campbell felt some of that old burning tension inside his gut, white-hot and fiery. Maybe his ulcer was coming back. Or maybe he was just worried about the pretty woman with the chestnut hair and amber eyes he’d left back in Paris. Autumn Maxwell.
He knew all about Autumn Maxwell. Her father doted on his only daughter. Richard had been so concerned about not bothering Autumn, however, he’d neglected to tell her that he’d suffered a light heart attack over a month ago. No one had that information, except Campbell and Autumn’s mother, Gayle. It wouldn’t do for a Maxwell man to look weak.
Especially not to the daughter who was too far away and too caught up in her work to be bothered. Somehow, though, Campbell got the impression that if Autumn had known about her father’s health scare, she would have dropped everything to come back to Texas. She struck him as that kind of person. From everything her parents had told him, at least. And from the shining love he’d seen in her eyes when she laughed and talked with her family.
He envied that.
Campbell had been living underneath Autumn’s soft shadow since the first day he’d set foot inside the plush but comfortable front-street offices of Maxwell Financial Group. Richard had made no bones about how he wished Autumn would come back and work for him. But then he’d explained how Autumn lived in New York and worked for some fancy global accounting and finance firm. Richard had hinted that he probably couldn’t begin to match her salary. Campbell knew the particular firm mentioned and had to agree. Not too shabby. Then Richard had shown Campbell a picture of Autumn when she was younger. Again, not too shabby.
“Why didn’t I recognize her at first today?” Campbell said as he shut the door of the ’Vette and headed into the house. He’d noticed her and realized who she was only when she’d come walking up the aisle of the chapel, her pretty dress shimmering around her slender figure, her amber eyes bright with happy tears.
Well, she’d looked different today, stylish and all dolled up. The woman in the picture at the office had been younger, more fresh-faced and carefree in her jeans and flannel shirt, sitting on a horse. She’d been smiling.
The woman he’d offended today at the wedding had been sophisticated and polished, confident, but she hadn’t smiled a whole lot.
“Okay, maybe she smiled a little bit,” he said.
But not at him, Campbell reminded himself. She obviously was not impressed with the completely impressive Campbell Dupree.
If he really wanted to, Campbell thought as he poured himself a glass of milk, he could at least match her pedigree. He’d come from an old New Orleans family. Old money and a lineage that dated back to some broke but noble aristocrat in France—on his mother’s side, at least. He knew his lineage was part English, part French and sprinkled with Cajun from his father’s side.
But he, just like his long-gone father, had disgraced his mother’s family one time too many to use their geneology for leverage. No, Campbell Dupree did things his way. Always had and always would. And that included running Maxwell Financial Group. Only this time around, he’d have the guidance of God on his side, he prayed. This time around, Campbell would do things his way, but only after he’d prayed to God for help and understanding.
“Whether the heiress-apparent likes it or not.”
Campbell downed his milk, clutched his aching stomach and wondered why it was so important that Autumn Maxwell did approve of him.
“So you don’t approve of your father’s choice to run the firm?”
Autumn turned to her mother, shaking her head. “I didn’t say that. I just said he seems a bit too self-assured and arrogant for my taste.”
Gayle Maxwell settled back in the overstuffed chair in one of the many bedrooms of the Big M ranch house, one hand moving through her clipped auburn hair. “Funny, he reminds me so much of your father.”
“Daddy?” Autumn’s shocked expression reflected in the mirror of the antique vanity. Rubbing lotion over her freshly washed face, she laughed. “Mother, that man is nothing like my father.”
“Not in looks,” Gayle agreed, a hand touching the crocheted pillow she held in her lap. “But…the way he acts. Honestly, I think your daddy handpicked him because they are so much alike.”
Autumn whirled to stare over at her mother, glad the family was staying here at the ranch for the weekend. She wasn’t ready to go home to Atlanta and face Campbell Dupree just yet. “Why did Daddy pick him? I mean, why didn’t he talk to me about all of this? I am his only child, after all.”
Gayle shrugged, then carefully placed the lace pillow back behind her in the chair. “We all urged him to do just that. But you know how stubborn your father can be. He refused to pull you away from your career in New York. He thought you were happy there.”
“I was,” Autumn admitted. “Then everything changed.”
“Well, that’s exactly what happened here, too,” her mother said. “Your uncle Stuart passed on, then James decided to retire from gallivanting around and settle down in Athens. And—” She stopped, taking a breath.
“What?” Autumn asked, getting up to sit on the stool at her mother’s feet. “What is it that y’all aren’t telling me?”
“Your father had a light heart attack a few weeks back,” Gayle said.
Autumn gasped. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“He wouldn’t let me,” Gayle said. “He wouldn’t even let me call James and Elsie. He didn’t want to worry anyone. He said it was too soon after Stu’s death.” She took Autumn’s hand. “He’s fine now, honey, honestly. I watch him like a hawk and he’s got a whole team of doctors lined up