The petite redhead clutched her violet baby blanket as she intently stared out the parlor window. Her chocolate brown eyes remained on the pristine avenue, nibbling on her half-eaten pancake as she eagerly watched her neighbors leisurely stroll down the sidewalk. The child heaved a doleful sigh since she didn't spot the remarkably tall man on the walkway.
Her older brother observed his sibling's recent routine. For days, Luc had watched Josephine anxiously wait for their father to return from his trip to Lake Charles. He shuffled to the settee, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Quatre," he sighed, "Daddy's not coming home today."
The nearly four-year-old shook her head. "He's comin'. He misses me."
"Josie, he's not coming today. It's not Friday yet," he groaned as her bottom lip quivered. "Are you gonna cry?"
"No," she whimpered, burying her face into the cushion.
"Don't cry. Please, Josie," Luc pleaded while climbing onto the sofa.
"Daddy's comin' home."
"He's not."
Josephine shoved her brother, slipping off the sofa, running full speed away from him. She wiped her eyes with her baby blanket and collided into her oldest brother on the landing.
Alexandre latched onto his sister's wrist before she landed on her bottom. "What's the matter?" he asked, sitting down on the stair. The almost ten-year-old held onto her hand, pulling her to him while she cried harder. "Josie, it's alright. What's the matter? Tell me."
"Luc…Luc said…" she spluttered through her tears, pressing the pointelle knit against her face.
The boy delicately pulled the violet blanket from her flushed face and wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb. "What'd he say?" Alexandre grit his teeth, ready to have a stern talk with Luc. He wished his younger brother had more patience with Josephine.
"Daddy's not comin'."
"Not today, Quatre," he gently told her. He knew the issue in Lake Charles had been serious for their father to leave the day after Christmas. Alexandre had been to the lumber mill once. He'd been amazed by how the trees were felled, branded to the mill, and skidded to the Calcasieu River to float downstream slowly. He rested his hands on her shoulders.
She wiped her nose with her blanket, whimpering, "I miss Daddy."
"I know you do. We all miss him, but he'll be home soon," Alexandre placated, slipping his arms around her in a gentle hug. He soothingly smoothed his hand up and down her back as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck.
"Soon?"
"Today is Thursday. Tomorrow is Friday. He'll be home tomorrow."
Josephine lifted her head, peering at her brother. "Tomorrow?!"
"Yep, tomorrow," Alexandre confirmed while grinning at her. "Tomorrow's New Year's Day, too," he stroked an errant curl behind her ear. "Tonight, we'll go to The Seraphine for supper. Maman's made sure that Caro has some of your favorites on the menu. We'll watch the fireworks from the balcony, and we'll play Resolutions. Have you thought of yours? Remember the sillier the better when it comes to the game."
A mischievous grin spread over Josephine's rosy lips. Her sister had patiently explained the simple party game to her. Vivienne promised she'd write any resolutions that Josephine thought of for herself or her family. She leaned in, whispering into her brother's ear, "I must quack like a duck when my sister says. For Luc," she added with a giggle.
Alexandre laughed. "I like that one, Josie. I'll make sure Luc gets that one to read."
The toddler tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "You will?"
"I promise I will. Feel better now?"
She dipped her head, smiling at her eldest brother. "Oui," she chirped.
"Your bow's loose. Want me to fix it for you?"
"Please," Josie sweetly requested, turning around for him.
Alexandre skillfully fixed the pine green bow that secured the tails of her copper braids. He flattened his hand over the white twill collar of his sister's green corduroy dress before pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "All done," he murmured, gingerly spinning the toddler around to face him. "No more crying, Josie. If you need to, you come to me. I'm always here for you."
"Je t'aime, Alexandre," she softly replied, kissing his cheek.
"Je t'aime. Now, weren't you supposed to have a French lesson with Vivi after breakfast?"
"Oh!" she cried, scurrying off to find her sister.
He chuckled, shaking his head until he heard his baby sister's squeal followed by babbling. Alexandre looked behind him, cheeks blushing from the awed expression on his mother's face. He knew she must have witnessed him comforting Josephine. He scrambled to his feet as she descended the remaining stairs. "Want me to take Lark?"
Kitty shook her head as she smiled warmly at her firstborn, adjusting the seventeen-month-old on her hip. "You are the best big brother."
"In all of New Orleans," he finished the phrase his mother always said to him, flashing a crooked grin as he dodged Lark's tiny fingers reaching for his tawny-brown curls. "Lark, no pulling," he grumbled. "Maman, Daddy is coming home tomorrow? Isn't he?"
She nodded, "That's what the telegram said."
"What if something happens? What if he's delayed? What if he misses our birthday?"
"Sweetheart, he won't miss your birthday," she confidently assured. She couldn't have said that of Matt Dillon ten years ago, but the retired lawman hadn't missed a single, crucial moment of his children's lives since taking off his badge.
The big man exited the heritage streetcar with his conker-brown leather travel bag at his side. He rambled down tree-lined St. Charles Avenue until he reached his home. Matt passed through the iron gate and noticed the lamplight on the second floor. He jogged up the stone steps with a boyish grin on his face. He cocked a brow at the cake crumbs on the door but shook his head, recalling all of the maid's New Year's superstitions. Delia never failed to throw a cake against the door to ensure a year without hunger. He used his key, passing through the double leaded glass doors just as the silver-toned noise of bells hit his ears.
"Marshal," the Creole maid greeted. "Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year, Delia. Got the evil chased away?"
"Workin' on it," she retorted with a wink, taking his wool coat from him. "Madame's still awake, but the children are asleep."
"With money in their pockets?"
"You know better than to ask. You got any in your pocket?"
Matt snickered but revealed a Morgan dollar from his pants pocket.
"Good man," Delia complimented, watching him drift up the stairs.
Within minutes, the man of the house was in the master suite. He noiselessly dropped his bag onto the foot of the king-sized bed while he listened to his wife's humming and occasional splashing from the bathroom. He sat on the chaise lounge, quietly removing his boots and unbuttoning his shirt. He mouthed appreciation to the maid as she brought in a champagne bucket and promptly took it into the bathroom.
As the door snicked closed, Matt rose from the chaise lounge and wandered into the bathroom, leaning against the frame to admire the redhead. He took in her smooth, bubble-covered calf propped on the rim of the claw-foot tub. His eyes roamed over her body, knowing she was fully relaxed. He breathed in the floral notes of her favorite olive oil bubble bath as he stepped closer to the tub, lightly trailing his fingers through the lingering bubbles on her fair skin.
Without opening her eyes, Kitty sank deeper into the hot water. "Get in here with me," she beckoned. Her sapphire eyes popped open as soon as the water sloshed from him quickly settling in. She laughed, winding her arms around his neck. "I should have known my cowboy was prepared," she whispered, nuzzling her nose against his before kissing him softly.
He hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer while savoring the sensation of her lips against his. "I missed you," he murmured.
"Not as much as I missed you."
Matt planted his lips to the middle of her forehead until he leaned over the tub, retrieving the bottle of Moët & Chandon. He glanced at his wife while she rested against the back of the bathtub. He felt her toes rubbing against his thigh as he popped the bottle. He filled the two glasses.
Kitty took the proffered flute, lightly clinking the crystal against his. "Happy New Year, Cowboy."
"Happy New Year, Honey," he murmured, sipping while edging around her.
"Matt," she laughed. "You're worse than the boys. Look at all this water on the floor," she teased, nearly spilling her champagne as he pulled her against him.
He pressed his lips to her freckled shoulder while she reclined against his broad chest. "I tried to get here as quick as I could. I hate I missed dinner."
"Caro outdid herself, Matt. Angus filet mignon with duck fat roasted fingerling potatoes, creamed spinach, bordelaise sauce, and chive butter. There's a plate for you in the kitchen if Alexandre didn't find it. He ate two steaks tonight."
Matt chuckled. "He's a growing boy, Kitty. No gumbo?"
"Of course, there was gumbo for Josie. She took three bites and was ready to play Resolutions."
"Did Vivi help her?" he asked but knew she most likely had.
"Vivi wrote the resolutions for her, but Josie and Alexandre teamed up. Luc has to quack like a duck whenever she says. She made him do it the whole way home."
"That'll go well with Lark's screaming," he remarked with a snicker. The youngest Dillon loved to express herself to ear-splitting effect. Doc constantly joked that the tot might have a future in singing since Lark enjoyed experimenting with different levels of pitch and volume.
"Oh, Luc fixed that. She was so loud yesterday. He screamed back at her. I believe she's still trying to figure out how she felt about that," she chuckled, recalling the stunned expression on Lark's face. "But she loved the fireworks."
He dipped his head. He'd been worried about how his baby girl would react to the noise. Matt listened to all that he had missed during his five-day absence. He finished his second glass of champagne as his wife eased out of the lukewarm water.
Kitty wrapped a fluffy towel around her, glancing at him over her shoulder. "You haven't said a word about the mill."
The big man heaved a sigh, standing and stepping over the side of the claw-foot tub. He took the offered towel, wrapping it around his waist. "No, I haven't," Matt solemnly responded.
"Is it a total loss?"
"Yeah," he drawled, feeling a fresh wave of disappointment over the loss of the business he'd spent months establishing.
"Damn," she muttered, toweling off her body. "Matt, I'm sorry. You worked so hard. We'll rebuild the mill, and we'll be better than ever," she proclaimed as he followed her into the bedroom.
"I'm not sure if we should, Honey."
"Oh, Matt," Kitty grunted while pulling her long-sleeved nightgown over her head. She dropped onto the seat at her vanity. "We're having a string of bad luck is all." Within the last several weeks, a few shipments hadn't reached their destinations, and lumber mill had caught fire.
"Kitty, I think it's more than that," he confessed, pulling on a pair of pajama pants.
Her brow arched as she stared at him through the mirror. "What? Why?"
"The fire at the mill was arson. I spoke with Arthur."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she brushed her auburn tresses. The nightwatchman at the Dillon Lumber Company wasn't the most reliable considering he liked to curl up with a bottle or two of whiskey during the winter months, but Matt had taken a shine to the man. He'd reminded him of Adam Kimbro. "Had he been drinkin'?"
"No, Kitty. Arthur's found him a woman. She's straightened him out. He hasn't touched a bottle for months."
"Isn't it amazing what the love of a good woman can do?" she quipped, batting her lashes at her husband.
With a smirk on his face, Matt drifted over to the liquor cart and poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass. "Kathleen."
The redhead stilled her movements, realizing her husband wasn't in the mood to be teased considering he rarely used her full name. She set her hairbrush aside, turning toward him as he lowered himself onto the chaise lounge.
"Arthur saw a man throwing a torch onto one of the beams. He didn't get a good look at him, but he doesn't think the man saw him."
Kitty dropped her hairbrush while her eyes widened. "The Michigan Men?" she wondered aloud, referring to the lumber tycoons from Michigan that owned over 150,000 acres.
"I don't think so. Our mill is small potatoes compared to theirs."
"Well, did Arthur tell the sheriff what he saw?"
"Sheriff Reid didn't want to hear it. He wouldn't listen to Arthur, and he had no time to talk to me. He put in the report that the fire was caused by an oil lamp being knocked over. I think someone paid him off."
"Who would do such a thing?"
"I don't know, Kitty."
And that thought had kept him awake the last few nights.
He waited, watching the first stars burn. He lit his cigarette, savoring the mild flavor of the Turkish tobacco while waiting for the right moment. For the entirety of his life, the man had waited for those short-lived moments. He hadn't decided if it was fortune or good judgment to sense those points in time.
He exhaled, hearing the feminine laughter tumble to his ears from the walls of the cabin. He thought of her, recalling her flaming red tresses and deep set, olive-colored eyes that could see into the depths of him. He'd waited for the right moment with her, too. He'd made her his wife in the summer and welcomed a baby girl in the spring. She'd had the same olive-colored eyes as her mother. He shoved down the painful swell of emotion, shaking his head to clear the memories away while the door swung open.
As he moved through the shadows with practiced care, he wondered what she'd see now if she looked into his soul. He reached into his leather boot. The silver blade glinted in the sliver of moonlight. He came up behind the nightwatchman, felt the familiar tremble of fear under his strong grip while he pressed the blade into flesh, slicing the older man's throat before he could beg for his life. He stepped over the gray-headed man, listening to the brunette's humming as he crossed the small room.
He heard the clatter of dishes in the sink, unaffected by the terror in her eyes as she turned to face him. He clamped his hand over her wrist before she could reach for anything to defend herself. "Shh," he murmured. He pushed the blade deep into her chest, scraping a rib on the way to her heart. He lowered her to the dirty floor and brushed his fingertips over her eyelids.
The man sheathed the knife, glancing around the one-room cabin. His hazel eyes narrowed, focusing on a loose floorboard. He found the nightwatchman's hiding place and removed the dusty bottle, knocking off cobwebs. "And the name that it goes by is quare bungle rye raddy rye," he sang in a baritone voice, uncorking the bottle of rotgut, pouring the liquid onto the table and floor. He struck a match. His eyes observed the flames catch, spreading quickly. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he exited the burning cabin.