money, that she panicked and skipped town, that she ran off with some unknown lover. None of it is true.”
None of it makes sense. Lord, we need Your help. Please keep Leah safe and bring her home to us.
Releasing her cousin, Shelby started toward the crosswalk at the corner of Church Street and Main. Their destination was the restaurant inside the Loomis Hotel. Coffee made with chicory and scalded milk and the mouth-watering beignets at the posh Café Au Lait were a Monday-morning custom the women had enjoyed for the past two years.
Shelby, Wendy and Leah had first chosen the high-class setting to celebrate Shelby’s appointment as head librarian at the Loomis Public Library. The women had been starting their work week in the same way ever since.
When Shelby and Leah’s high-school friend, Jocelyn Gold, returned to Loomis to open up a practice as a child psychologist, they were quick to include her in their tradition. They’d shared some great times and plenty of laughter together.
Knowing Leah wouldn’t be joining them put a damper on what used to be a lighthearted gathering, but sticking to the ritual had become a means of keeping each other’s spirits up.
“How can y’all be so sure Leah isn’t guilty?” Wendy asked. “We never know what another person is capable of doing.”
Shelby didn’t hesitate. “Leah wouldn’t abandon Sarah. That little girl is everything to her.”
“You’re right. I’m going crazy with all the uncertainty. Leah couldn’t ask for a better friend than you, Shelby.”
“I wish that were true. If I’d been a better friend, she might have confided in me. I knew something was bothering her, I just didn’t think it was any of my business.”
They were almost at their destination when Shelby noticed a motorcycle occupying a parking space in front of the hotel. The custom chrome-and-black machine crouched in the line of sedans and SUVs, looking like a panther among a herd of milk cows.
The leather studded saddlebags over the rear tire conjured up images of life on the road, escape, excitement, daring. All the things Shelby read about in the books at the city library where she worked but had never experienced for herself.
Looking over her shoulder as she pulled open the café door, she couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice as she stepped inside. “I wonder who that belongs to.”
“It’s mine.”
At the sound of a man’s low rumbling voice, a feeling of electricity raced over her nerve endings. Her head whipped around, and Shelby found herself staring at the zipper of a black leather jacket decorated with the same silver studs as the saddlebags.
Looking higher, she met the owner’s dark hooded gaze and recognition hit her like a kick to the stomach.
Patrick Rivers was back in Loomis.
It took Patrick a few seconds to place the petite woman with a cascade of thick red hair swirling about her shoulders. Her light-brown eyes widened and color flooded her cheeks in two perfect circles of berry-bright skin.
Only one woman he remembered in Loomis could blush so sweetly. Chunky, shy Shelby Mason had bloomed into a true Southern rose.
A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. The word chunky no longer applied. Her soft lilac dress with tiny white polka dots accented her feminine curves to perfection.
Her quick indrawn breath and the backward step she took confirmed what he already suspected. She recognized him, too.
“Miss Mason, isn’t it?” he asked.
Irritation swept over him at how easily the Louisiana drawl returned to his voice. He’d worked hard to remove any reminders of Loomis from his life, including his accent.
Her hand went to her throat. A flutter of nervousness that she couldn’t hide made her fingers tremble. She regarded him with suspicion. Like everyone else in the gloomy city. Anger rose like bitter bile in his mouth.
There was no place like home—home sweet home.
To her credit, Shelby quickly regained her composure. “Mr. Rivers. I heard that your stepfather had passed away. Please accept my condolences.”
The pure charm of her lilting voice took him straight back in time. Back ten years to the days when the local college girls had flirted outrageously with a poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks because he could throw a football better than anyone in St. Tammany Parish.
Back to the night one spoiled, vain debutante ruined his life.
It didn’t matter that he had been innocent of the crime, that the charges had been dropped. Coral Travis had accused him of rape. The stigma stuck to him like the odor of rotting vegetation permeated the black mud of the bayou.
He had tried to face down the rumors, the looks, the mistrust, but in the end leaving had been his only option.
Gritting his teeth against the pain of those memories, he gave Shelby a brief nod. “Thanks, but Dan and I weren’t that close.”
Did he imagine sympathy filled her eyes before she looked down? He wanted to reach out and lift her chin to be sure. Kindness from anyone in Loomis was a rare thing.
Her long lashes fluttered up as she met his gaze again. The morning sunlight brought out flecks of green in her eyes that he’d never noticed before. Beneath the overpowering aromas of coffee and pastry he caught a subtle hint of her fresh flowery fragrance.
When had the self-effacing little librarian grown to be such a beauty?
Realizing he was blocking the doorway, he stepped aside and allowed her to enter. To his surprise, she didn’t rush past him the way her companion did, but paused at his side.
A half smile trembled on her lips. She looked adorably uncertain of the correct way to address an accused rapist. Finally, she managed to ask, “Will you be staying in Loomis long?”
A sharp gasp made him look beyond Shelby to see the architect of his disgrace staring at him in wide-eyed shock.
Coldness settled in his chest and spread through his body. This was exactly the scene he’d dreaded from the minute he knew he was coming back to Loomis.
Of course, it had to happen in front of dozens of witnesses.
Only years of practice at keeping his emotions hidden prevented him from bolting out the door. His indifference might be a veneer, but time and pain had made it thick. He didn’t move so much as a muscle.
Coral Travis hadn’t changed much in the intervening years. She was still a beautiful woman. Her hair, a lighter shade of blond now, was styled loose about her shoulders. Dressed in a white ensemble, she clung to the arm of a tall handsome blond man in a tailored gray suit. They made a striking couple. Behind them stood five more men in business attire.
Staring at Coral, Patrick saw the shock in her eyes quickly change to fury, then a hard look of calculation develop in their depths. Her gaze shifted to Shelby without softening.
He glanced around the café with its rich dark paneling. High-backed booths edged
