Gift of Wonder. Lenora Worth

they don’t have anything to come back to. But I hope to market this as a good retirement place, near New Orleans and within easy access to all the major interstates. Small-town living near the big city.”

      “What if the neighbors who lived around the bend do want to come back? Several houses were either blown completely away or torn down. Do they have a choice?”

      “They have that choice. I’m only buying when lots are available and when I can buy land in volume.”

      “You mean you’re not coercing people to sell?”

      “No. I don’t operate that way.”

      She wondered about that, but she had to stay objective. “Okay, since I’m going to be neutral with this story, I’ll just pretend that I believe you, for now.”

      He leaned across the table then flipped the plans around. “Let me explain this and then you can take it back to the office and study it. I’ve got several sets so take your time. I’d like your opinion—and not just for a good story. I’d really like to know what you think.”

      That surprised her. Was he trying to flatter her to win points or did the man honestly want the truth? “My opinion? Why?”

      “Don’t look so doubtful. You live here and it’s obvious you care what happens to the bayou. I need someone to tell me if I’m on the right track—the style of the cottages, the size of the lots, what kind of trees and landscaping to plant. That sort of thing. I want this to be as natural and pretty as possible while still being environmentally sound. The homes will be energy efficient but comfortable. I want each one to be unique—not just cooker-cutter type houses.”

      Alice glanced over the graphs and charts and construction plans. “It was pretty and natural and unique before the storms came. I’d sure like to see that again.” She tapped a finger on the papers. “And even though I kind of denied it the other day, I’d like to have neighbors again, people I can get to know and socialize with. We used to have crawfish boils on the bayou, Christmas festivals right here on this main street with a big bonfire on the bayou, and we always celebrated Memorial Day and the Fourth of July with a lot of parties and get-togethers, and lots of fireworks.” She glanced out the window. “Sometimes, it seems like a ghost town out there. We’ve tried to bring all of that back, but I don’t think people have the heart for it the way they did before.”

      She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, those of us who were born and raised here feel strongly about this place and we celebrate, regardless of the past. But…something is missing. It’s like our heart is broken.” And she should know. Her heart was broken. Broken by lost dreams and empty promises, broken from grief and a hopeless feeling that ached inside her soul.

      “I want to change that,” he said, his fingers brushing against her hand as he started rolling the papers back together. “And I need your help to do that.” He tapped one of the house plans. “I’m going to start by building a model cottage right away so I just want to warn you about that. I haven’t quite finished the plans for that one, but I hope to get some inspiration while I’m here.”

      Alice took a sip of her tea. “Maybe I’ll get some inspiration, too. I need to be more positive about rebuilding this community.”

      He lifted his chin in agreement. “I understand. If things don’t go well, I’ll sell the model and move on. But…I’m hoping people will respond and we’ll be selling lots of land and houses in the coming months. And after that, new business should crop up to support the new citizens moving to this area.”

      Alice still didn’t trust him, but he looked earnest enough sitting there with that determined, almost dreamy expression on his handsome face. But that didn’t mean she was ready to give him a full-fledged endorsement. “I’ll help by giving everyone my honest observations in the article, stating both the pros and cons of this venture. That’s all I can offer for now. Take it or leave it,” Alice added with a shrug as their food arrived.

      “I’ll take it,” he replied, his eyes crinkling enough to give her a good view of the crow’s-feet etched around them. Had he gotten those crow’s-feet from laughing or from life in general? And why did that make him so endearing to her?

      “Just don’t make me regret this.”

      “Never.”

      When she looked up at him, he’d gone all serious, his eyes a dark, churning gray now, and full of such a sweet sincerity she almost regretted being so gruff and mean to him. He did seem a likable person and he wasn’t bad to look at—all suntanned and rugged and boyish.

      Almost. She almost regretted not trusting him. But almost didn’t make things right. She’d almost been married. Her parents had almost made it home. And almost regretting things didn’t make life any better.