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Once everyone had gumbo, Bernie joined the men, carrying a basket of cornbread muffins. As she approached the table, Gerard pulled out her chair and held it as she took the seat.
With all eyes on her, she forced herself to take up her spoon, even though eating was the last thing on her mind. With Gerard on one side and Remy on the other, she felt safe. For the moment.
The meal began with the men handing around the basket of muffins and the bottle of Tabasco sauce. Soon, the Brotherhood Protectors team, who’d spent the afternoon loading heavy watermelons onto the trailer, talked, joked, laughed and compared aches and pains.
Bernie relaxed and even ate a few bits of gumbo and half a muffin.
“Compliments to the chef,” Romeo said after eating half his bowl of the steamy stew. “Best gumbo I’ve ever had. Even better than my grandmother’s.” He frowned. “Don’t tell her. I might lose my status as the favorite grandson.”
Bernie stared across the table at Romeo, her expression serious. “Thank you. Your secret is safe with me. I would never break an old woman’s heart.”
Romeo grinned. “Ms. Bellamy, you might just be the woman of my dreams.”
She shook her head. “How can that be? You’ve only just met me.”
“You’ve got a helluva a green thumb, you can drive a tractor and make gumbo that belongs in one of those fancy Cajun restaurants in New Orleans. Best of all, you’re kindhearted.” Romeo tipped his chin toward Gerard. “Don’t go fallin’ in love with ol’ Grouchy Gerard before you give me a chance.”
Bernie forced a laugh, her cheeks burning.
“You can’t have all the pretty girls, Romeo,” Beaux said. “Besides, I thought you were into the pretty shopkeeper?”
“What shopkeeper?” Bernie asked.
“The one with the gift shop,” Beaux offered. “What’s her name? Elizabeth?”
Romeo frowned. “Her name is Giselle.” He gave Bernie a crooked smile. “Can I help it I love women?”
Bernie shook her head. “I’m flattered but not interested. No offense,” she assured him. “I just don’t have time for a relationship. I have a farm to run.”
“It’s a lot of work for—” Gerard started and stopped.
“A woman?” Bernie finished, her lips twisting.
He shook his head. “I was going to say for one person. You worked every bit as hard, if not harder, than any one of us. It’s just a lot to handle by yourself.”
She sighed. “It’s my livelihood. If I don’t do it, I can’t afford to keep the lights on, the animals in feed and taxes paid on the land. Or I’d have to find a job.” Bernie laughed. “This is a small town. There aren’t that many jobs available. That’s why so many young people leave after high school. I’d have to go to New Orleans or Baton Rouge to find work that would pay enough to support me and my menagerie. And who—”
“—would take care of the animals while you worked in the city?” Gerard nodded. “I get it.”
“Have you thought about selling the place and using the money to start over somewhere else?” Landry asked.
Gerard’s lips twitched. “She has.”
Bernie frowned. “Brokers representing the Grand Bijou Golf Resort Corporation would love nothing better than for me to sell this property to them. And they’d pay enough I wouldn’t have to find a job for a long time, if at all.” She tipped her head toward Gerard. “You know how I feel.”
Gerard turned to his team. “She’s not selling.”
Remy’s eyes narrowed. “You have something they want.”
Bernie’s eyes widened. “Do you think they’d go to the extreme of threatening me to get me to sell?”
Remy shrugged. “It’s worth checking into. What did you say was the name of the corporation?”
“Grand Bijou Golf Resort,” Bernie repeated.
Remy keyed the name into his cell phone. “Did you get the name of the Brokerage firm?”
“Worthington Brokerage out of Miami.” Bernie pushed back from the table and stood.
