Tomas swallowed, wondered why he’d even suggested having the painting. “You have to give it back to her—to your family.”
Brenna took the painting out and ran her hand over the wooden frame. “My papa made this frame and Alma and I helped Julien and him mat it. Callie probably hasn’t even missed it.”
“You have to keep it. Because you’re family,” Tomas said again, a trace of regret in the words. “I understand. You all had a part in this gift.”
Brenna stared at Callie’s image. “Yes. But Callie would be so touched that you wanted it. She needs to know that someone wants—”
“I understand,” Tomas finished, feeling awkward now.
Brenna turned to Nick. “What should I do?”
Nick shrugged. He kissed her on the nose. “Remember you and me? Remember?”
“Yes.” She took his hand. “We’re so blessed.”
Tomas could see their love. But he wasn’t sure what they were saying. “Obviously, I’ve upset you.”
Nick held out a hand. “The Blanchard sisters lost their mother to breast cancer. They get emotional about things.”
“I’m sorry.” Tomas wished he’d never suggested buying the painting. He was usually better at handling negotiations. “Put it away, Brenna.”
“I don’t mind you having it,” Brenna said. “I think it’s a beautiful idea. But...Callie’s been hurt badly by a horrible divorce. Her ex-husband couldn’t handle it when she got sick.”
Tomas lifted his head and stared at Brenna, his heart hammering as realization hit him like a hot wind. “Callie? She was...sick?”
“She’s a cancer survivor,” Brenna replied. “But...”
“But you don’t want anyone to hurt her ever again,” Tomas finished. “I understand. That’s a family thing, too.”
“Yes. We’re close. Tight-knit. I’d have to explain.”
And he’d have to promise to honor that gift and the woman he’d met the other day. Callie...with cancer. He didn’t like thinking about that. He wasn’t sure he was ready for something so strong, so tightly woven.
How could he even begin to understand what Brenna was saying to him? She didn’t want him to make a mess of her sister’s life. He didn’t want to be in anyone’s life anyway.
“Take it back to your father.”
Brenna wrapped the painting and placed it in the trunk. “Thanks for understanding.”
Tomas usually liked a good challenge. But this was a matter of the heart, and it had been a very long time since he’d given his heart to anything that truly mattered. “Don’t tell her I asked to buy it.”
“Of course not,” Brenna replied, her eyes full of hope and understanding. “If this portrait of my sister ever does wind up in your home, you’ll have to be the one to tell her. But you need to know—she likes surprises. The good kind, that is.”
“Thank you,” Tomas said. “It was good to see both of you.”
Then he turned and headed toward his big, lonely house.
* * *
“Surprise!”
Callie clapped her hands and beamed with glee. They’d planned a special shower for Brenna, the last one before her wedding, at Alma’s little cottage on the bayou.
“What is all of this?” Brenna asked as she moved through the dainty living room. “I already have so much from my other showers.”
“We know,” Alma said, smiling. “This is from us—your sisters and your close friends.”
Callie pulled Brenna close. “See—Winnie’s here and Pretty Mollie and—”
“And the other waitresses from the café and Mrs. LeBlanc and Mrs. Laborde,” Brenna finished. “So thoughtful. What do you two have up your sleeve?”
“Wait until you see your gifts,” Callie said, her heart bursting. After going through a bad breakup and losing her dream job in Baton Rouge, Brenna had found Nick—a wonderful man—to spend her life with, a man who recognized her talents and her temperamental, creative nature. Callie’s heart pierced at the thought of her sisters finding happiness. She’d thought she had it. Once. Long ago. But Dewayne Moreau was nowhere to be seen in Louisiana. He was long gone.
But she was here. She’d survived a divorce and breast cancer. Now she was grateful for each breath she took. Her prayers were sweeter, deeper, with more meaning. Because she’d been given a true second chance. Every minute had to count.
She missed their mother, Lola. “Mom would be so happy for you,” she told Brenna.
“I know. I know.” Brenna went around, looking at the presents scattered here and there. “What kind of shower is this, anyway?”
Callie and Alma both laughed. “It’s an artist type shower. Your husband-to-be has big plans for that new house he’s building you.”
Brenna’s expression went soft. “He’s so sweet. I can’t believe he decided we could live here part-time.”
“He loves you. And...you will be going back and forth between here and San Antonio,” Callie said.
“And he does have that adorable little hacienda in Texas,” Alma reminded her sister. “You are blessed.”
Brenna’s eyes grew bright. “But really, what kind of shower is this?”
“Oh, all right, impatient,” Callie retorted. “We bought you art supplies for that new studio Nick’s including in your house.”
Brenna burst into tears.
“Drama queen,” Callie said, grabbing her little sister close. “Why are you crying?”
“I...I just never dreamed I’d be so happy,” Brenna said through gulps. “I...I want all of us to be this happy.” She looked at Callie. “I want you—”
“Shh,” Callie said, her own tears hot against her cheek. “I’m always happy. Always. I get to see both of you married to good men. I get to design the garden of my dreams at Fleur House. I have Elvis. He’s the perfect companion.”
Out on the porch, Elvis barked in agreement.
Brenna’s tears disappeared. “What do you think of Tomas? Isn’t he so...mysterious?”
And so the conversation turned to the man who’d been centered in Callie’s mind for over two weeks. She’d been out to the house a couple more times, but he’d been away on business or off doing whatever a mysterious man did. Or maybe he’d been there, but he’d studied her from that lofty view up above the tree line, where people who didn’t want to be seen lived. Maybe he was some sort of superhero who fought crime by night and built empires by day.
“So...?”
She looked up to find several big-eyed women staring at her. “Oh, the punch. Yes, it’s almost ready.”
“We weren’t talking about punch,” Alma retorted with a wry grin. “Have you been doing any more dancing?”
“Oh, hush.” Callie busied herself with getting ice and mixing the creamy concoction of standard shower punch.
Winnie raised her hand. “I hear he reminds you of Heathcliff.”
Pretty Mollie, one of the younger waitresses at the Fleur Café located in front of Alma’s cottage, giggled. “Heathcliff, as in Wuthering Heights?”
“That Heathcliff, yes,” Alma replied. Mollie dated her husband, Julien’s,