Bayou Hero by Marilyn Pappano

Author:Marilyn Pappano [Pappano, Marilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-11-30T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The time was nearing midnight when they left the bar. Since Alia had driven, Landry offered to walk back to the Quarter; Alia offered to walk with him. “If something happened to you on the way home, it would taint your image of my neighborhood forever,” she said with a smug smile.

“Your feet hurt.”

“My house is right over there.” She gestured vaguely, but he didn’t bother to look. He preferred to watch her face and her body and the way she moved. Just something as simple as lifting her arm to point off into the night was enough to leave him in an off-balanced daze.

“I’ll change shoes.”

He agreed to that much, not because he really expected her to walk with him but because he wanted to see where she lived. Which of these small, stately houses had she liked enough to live in, both with DiBiase and without? What kind of house appealed to a woman who’d never lived more than three years in one place?

So he followed her to the car. Again, she kicked off the heels, this time ignoring the seat belt as she reversed down the street and around the corner, then headed for Divinity ahead.

The block was quiet, the streetlights buzzing, each one surrounded by a halo of bugs, while at least one light showed in every house. One of Landry’s neighbors played the TV loud every night; another was a huge fan of Miley Cyrus at eardrum-piercing levels. When he stood on Alia’s sidewalk, he didn’t hear anything but a few birds, a dog or two, an occasional car a few blocks away.

“Home, sweet home.” Alia joined him, heels cradled in her arms with her purse. “Would you have picked it out as mine?”

Landry glanced from her to the house. It was a cottage with a little Creole influence, a little Gulf Coast influence and a few embellishments from a typical Victorian. A half dozen broad steps led to the deep porch that stretched from end to end, with the door off center in the middle. Typically in a cottage of this style, every room had an exterior door to improve airflow, but here the second door had been replaced with a full-length window. The wood was painted pale yellow with shutters and trim the color of lime sherbet, and it sat on a good-sized lot of lush green grass in need of a mow.

It was fairly small, probably only four rooms downstairs and maybe two up. Great for a woman alone or a couple, but cramped once you added a toddler or two.

“It suits you better than those bigger places.” He gestured toward a row of three-story minimansions across the street. “But if I’d been guessing where you lived, my money would have been on a riverside condo.”

“I get that a lot. I don’t know why. I’m not rich. I’m not elegant. I’m certainly not all about modern sterility.” She climbed the steps and unlocked the door, pushing it open to

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