“The garden will grow again,” Hilda replied. “It always does.”

Lacey turned back from checking the urn of strong coffee Hilda had suggested they brew for the workers and few remaining guests. “Lorna needs to get in here and see to breakfast. They’ll all be hungry.”

“Rosie Lee has breakfast well under control,” Hilda reminded her over her shoulder. Even as she said the words, they could hear dishes rattling in the large industrial-sized kitchen located off the main dining room. “Lacey, calm down. We’re all going to make it through this.”

“I’m calm,” Lacey retorted, then rubbed her forehead to ward off the headache clamoring for attention. “I’m calm, Aunt Hilda.”

But she knew in her heart that she wasn’t calm. How could any of them be calm after surviving the intensity of that storm? No wonder Lorna was taking out her anger on the very man who’d come to help them. It was Lorna’s way of dealing with the situation, of finding some sort of control over the chaos. Because they both knew only too well that, in the end, they had no control over either joy or tragedy.

When her baby sister’s heated words turned from English to French, however, Lacey knew it was time to take the matter into her own hands. “I’m going out there,” she told Hilda as she brushed past her. “I’ll drag her in here by her hair if I have to.”

Hilda stood leaning on her cane, her chuckle echoing after Lacey. “Maybe our Lorna has finally met her match.”

Lacey didn’t find that so amusing, but it would serve Lorna right if this Mick Love brought her down a peg or two. Lorna loved to boss people around, and she loved being the center of attention. Lacey was used to reining in her firebrand little sister, and, truth be told, she was getting mighty tired of it. How their brother Lucas could just take off and paddle away in his pirogue, heading out into the swamps and leaving Lacey to cover things, was beyond her. But then, she was the oldest and used to handling things.

“Lorna, we can hear you all the way to the river,” she said now as she made her way through branches and bramble.

Lorna turned to find her big sister standing with her hands on her hips, that disapproving look on her lovely face. Lacey, looking so cool and collected in her sundress and upswept hair, only added to Lorna’s aggravation. “Well, I don’t care who can hear me. This man and his big machines! Look what they’re doing to the garden, Lacey. Je voudrais—”

Mick held up a hand. “Don’t start that French again. If I’m being told off, I’d like it in plain English, please.”

Lorna ground her teeth and dug her sneakers in for a good fight. Deep down, she knew she was making a scene. Deep down, she realized she was still in shock from the storm and the tremendous damage it had left in its wake. Deep down, in the spot where she’d buried her most horrific memories, in a place she refused to visit, in the dark place she denied with each waking breath, her emotions boiled and threatened to spill forth like a volcano about to erupt. And the storm and Mick Love had both provoked that hidden spot, bringing some of her angst right to the surface. It didn’t help that she’d purposely gone out underneath the trees to find some semblance of peace, only to be broadsided by both a limb and a handsome stranger. It didn’t help that she hadn’t even had her coffee yet.

She let out a long-suffering sigh, then returned to English. “I would like…” She stopped, took time to relax, find control. “I would like for the past day or so to go away. I want my trees back, I want my garden intact again.”

She couldn’t stand the sympathy she saw in Mick Love’s deep blue eyes. So she ignored it. And the way the memory of his hands on her, his body falling across hers to protect her, kept coming back to bother her when she only wanted to take out her anger on someone. Anyone. Him.

“I can’t fix your garden until we get these trees out of here,” Mick told her, his hands held out palm down, his head bent as if he were trying to deal with a child.

“I understand that,” Lorna said, trying to be reasonable. “But do you have to stomp and shove everything that is still intact. Look at that big truck over there. They pulled it right up on top of that camellia bush. That bush has been there for over a hundred years, Mr. Love.”

“And if you let me do my job, I guarantee it will be there for a hundred more years, at least,” he told her, all traces of sympathy gone now. “How can you expect us to clean this up, if we don’t get right in there on top of those trees and limbs?”

“It’s a reasonable request, Lorna,” Lacey said from behind her, a firm grip on her shoulder. “Come inside and get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lorna huffed back. Her sister, always the mother hen. “But I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Then let’s find you one. And you, too, Mr. Love,” Lacey said, her voice so cultured and cool that Lorna wanted to throw up. Whereas Lorna pretended to be calm and in control, her sister’s serene countenance was no act. Lacey had it down pat. She never wavered. She never threw fits.

Lorna tossed her scorn back in Mick Love’s face, daring him to make nice. She had only just begun to make a scene.

He didn’t seem willing to take that dare. Eyeing Lorna with those arresting blue eyes, he said, “I don’t think—”

“I insist,” Lacey said, shooting Lorna a warning glare. “Come onto the gallery so we can talk. I want you to meet our aunt Hilda, anyway. You can explain to all of us exactly how you plan on clearing away all this debris.”

“Would that calm her down?” he asked, glaring at Lorna.

Lorna didn’t flinch, but that heated blue-velvet gaze did make a delicate shudder move down her spine.

“I think the coffee would help immensely,” Lacey stated, pinching Lorna to make her behave. “And some kind of explanation would certainly put all of us at ease. This has been so traumatic—we thought surely we were going to be blown into the swamp. I think we’re all still in shock.”

“Obviously,” Mick replied, his gaze shifting from Lorna to Lacey.

Lorna watched as Mick listened to her sister. Oh, he’d probably fall for Lacey’s charms, bait and hook. Lacey did have a way of nurturing even the most savage of beasts. And Lorna had a way of sending men running. No, she didn’t send them running, she just sent them away. Period.

Oh, she didn’t need this right now. The bed-and-breakfast mansion was booked solid for the spring season, and the Garden Restaurant located out back was always busy. But what choice did she have? They had to get things cleared up.

Feeling contrite, Lorna turned back to Mick. “I’m sorry. I’m at a loss as to what to do next, and I took it out on you. We do appreciate your help.”

Mick’s expression seemed to relax then. He had a little-boy face, tanned and energetic, playful and challenging. Mischievous, as Aunt Hilda would say.

And tempting. Very tempting. Like a rich pastry, or a fine piece of ripe forbidden fruit.

“Apology accepted,” he said. “And coffee would be most welcome.”

“Then come on inside,” Lacey told him, giving Lorna a nudge toward the gallery.

“Let me just talk to my men a minute,” Mick replied. “I’ll be right back.”

Lorna watched as Mick instructed one of the men, his hard hat in his hand. He had thick, curly ash-brown hair, sunny in spots and as rich as tree bark in others.

“Don’t break a stitch staring at him,” Lacey warned.

“Don’t pop a button telling me what to do,” Lorna retorted.

Then she gasped in surprise. The man Mick had been talking to headed to one of the big white equipment-laden trucks they’d pulled into the backyard—the truck parked over the camellia bush.

“He’s moving the truck,” Lacey whispered. “Lorna, do you see?”

“I have eyes,” Lorna stated, her hands on her hips, her brow lifted. Her heart picking up its tempo.