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Re: An Angelic White Rose Meets the Rajon Cajun

Maurice's eyes softened, amused and intrigued.

"Well now," he said, his voice smooth as warm molasses, "that is quite an introduction, Madame Barkley."

He leaned back, lifting his glass slightly.

"Yes, I am Maurice Demarigny. No, I am not a stalker. And as for hurting you..." His smile faded just a little as his gaze moved toward the broken street outside. "New Orleans has had enough hurt."

He looked back at her.

"I was staring because you walked into this place carrying suitcases, heartbreak in your eyes, and courage on your shoulders. That is not something a man sees every day."

Maurice studied her carefully, but not rudely now. More like he was trying to understand the shape of her.

"You say you are a doctor," he continued. "And you came all this way to help strangers. To build a hospital in a city that is half-drowned and half-haunted." He gave a quiet breath of a laugh. "Either you are very brave, very stubborn, or completely out of your mind."

Then his smile returned.

"Possibly all three."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

"As for me, I know this city. I know its people. I know which streets are safe, which men are not, and which doors will open if the right name is spoken." His voice lowered. "And if you truly mean to build something here, Doctor Barkley, then you are going to need more than money and good intentions."

Maurice's eyes held hers.

"You are going to need a guide."

He paused, then added gently, "And perhaps a friend."

Outside, a cart rattled past over broken boards and mud. Inside the restaurant, the world seemed to shrink to just their table.

Maurice glanced at her suitcases.

"Have you found lodging yet?"

When Lynda did not answer right away, he nodded as though he already knew.

"I thought not." His tone became firmer, protective without being overbearing. "Then your first problem is solved. I know a respectable boarding house run by a widow who owes me a favor. Clean rooms. Strong locks. No foolish men lurking in hallways."

His mouth curved.

"Except me, perhaps, if I am invited."

He raised both hands slightly.

"That was a joke, madame. A poor one, maybe, but a joke."

Then, more seriously, he said, "Eat first. You look as if you have not had a proper meal since Seattle. After that, I will take you there myself. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to the people who can help with your hospital."

Maurice's gaze warmed.

"And Doctor Barkley?"

He waited until she looked at him again.

"Welcome to New Orleans."

Re: A Cajun Romantic Christmas with Beignets, Bells and Christmas Wishes (2025)

Maurice stepped inside with a gust of cold air following him, snow clinging to the shoulders of his coat and the brim of his hat. The moment he saw Lynda coming toward him, smiling like he was the only man in New Orleans worth waiting for, the weariness in his face softened.

"Well now," Maurice said, his voice warm and amused as she fussed over him, "if this is the welcome I get every time I come home, cher, I may have to start leaving and coming back twice a day."

He leaned down and kissed her properly, one hand settling gently at her waist. The cold had followed him in from outside, but Lynda's kiss chased most of it away. When she pulled back and started asking about his coat, his shoes, his briefcase, and a hot drink all in the same breath, Maurice chuckled low in his chest.

"Easy, Lynda," he said fondly. "You're going to wear yourself out trying to take care of me before I've even made it past the door."

Still, he let her help him out of his coat, watching her with that quiet look he often got when she didn't realize he was studying her. She had flour on one cheek, her hair was a little loose from cleaning and cooking, and she looked more like home than anything he had ever known.

"My day was cold, long, and full of men who think they are much smarter than they are," he told her, handing her his briefcase. "Nothing dangerous. Nothing worth worrying that pretty head over."

Then he paused, seeing the concern already forming in her eyes.

"And before you ask," he added gently, "yes, I ate lunch. Yes, I kept my coat buttoned. And yes, I came straight home to you."

He kicked off his wet shoes near the door and gave her a grateful smile.

"You can put the briefcase in my office, but don't let it sit too close to the fire. There are papers in there I would rather not explain to anyone if they turned to ash."

Maurice followed her toward the living room, rubbing his hands together as the warmth from the fire reached him. The house smelled of chicken, cornbread, and something sweet underneath it all — Lynda's perfume, maybe, or just the comfort she had brought into every corner of his life.

He stopped near the fireplace and looked around the clean room, then back toward the kitchen.

"You've been working hard today," he said. "The house looks beautiful. And dinner smells good enough to make a man forget there's snow outside."

His smile softened.

"But you, cher... you look tired."

Maurice crossed the room before she could protest and caught her hand in his. He brought her knuckles to his lips.

"I love that you want to take care of me," he said quietly. "But I need you to remember something. This home is not standing because you scrub every corner. And I am not happy because supper is on the table the moment I walk in."

He brushed his thumb over her hand.

"I am happy because you are here."

For a moment, he simply held her hand, his dark eyes warm and serious.

"So I'll take that hot drink, yes. But only if you sit with me for a few minutes while I drink it. Dinner can wait. The chicken can wait. Even Christmas plans can wait."

Then his mouth curved into a teasing smile.

"Though I admit, I am very interested in meeting this Nick and little Tommy you keep telling me about. I should probably start preparing myself now, yes? Something tells me your family does not do anything quietly."

Maurice leaned closer, lowering his voice with playful affection.

"And if Tommy is anything like his mother, I may need a whole strategy before Christmas morning."

Re: A Little Irish, A Lotta New Orleans and a Special Mardi Gras St Patrick's Day Party (2026)

Maurice smiled softly, still sitting on the rug beside Marie.

"Well now," he said warmly, "I think my wife just planned herself a whole St. Patrick's Day party, a family outing, and dinner before I even got a word in."

He chuckled, reaching over to tickle Marie's belly, making her squeal.

"But I love the idea," he said, looking back at Lynda. "A celebration here. Safe, happy, with people who love Marie. No loud drunks. No foolishness. Just family."

Then his smile turned playful.

"And for the record, Mrs. Demarigny... if you and Marie are wearing matching green and gold outfits, then I suppose I'll have to match my girls too."

Maurice stood and crossed to Lynda, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"As for lunch and the park," he murmured, "I think that sounds perfect. You get yourself and our little leprechaun ready, and I'll grab her bag."

Marie clapped her hands as if she understood.

Maurice looked down at her and grinned. "You hear that, ma petite? Your mama's taking us out."

Then he looked back at Lynda, his voice softer.

"And honey? I like that you think of these things. You're not keeping her from the world. You're just making sure the world meets her gently."

Re: Southern Nights + Spicy Cajun Food + Soft Western Lights = A Hot and Spicy Western Valentine's Day (2026)

Maurice was in the middle of reviewing mission reports when his phone vibrated on the desk beside him.
At first, he ignored it.
Then he saw Lynda's name.
A smile immediately touched his lips.
That smile vanished the moment he read the first sentence.
"I'm in the ER as a patient."
"Merde."
Maurice was already on his feet.
The agents around him looked up as he reread the message three times, his heart pounding harder with every word. By the time he reached the end and saw the heart emoji, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath.
"Lynda..." he muttered.
She was telling him not to worry.
Which, of course, guaranteed he would do exactly that.
He immediately typed back.
My beautiful wife,
You have absolutely no idea how impossible it is for me not to worry after receiving a message that begins with "I'm in the ER."
He paused before continuing.
Are you in pain? Have they run any tests yet? Did someone stay with you?
His fingers stopped over the keyboard.
Then a realization slowly settled over him.
Tired.
Dizzy.
Nauseous.
Throwing up.
The same symptoms she'd had years ago.
His eyes widened.
"Wait..."
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"No..."
He quickly continued typing.
Lynda... forgive me if I'm getting ahead of myself... but does this have anything to do with a certain little boy named Tommy?
A laugh escaped him despite his concern.
Because if it does, I may be having a heart attack for an entirely different reason.
He hit send.
Then immediately sent another.
And before you tell me not to come, I've already informed my team that I may need to leave. My wife comes before paperwork.
A few moments later, another message appeared.
I love you too, cher. More than words can say.
If this is what we both think it is... then Valentine's Day may have just given us the greatest gift imaginable.
Now please let the doctors take care of you, and promise me you'll call the moment you know anything.
I'm counting the minutes until I can be beside you. ❤️
Maurice stared at the phone afterward, equal parts terrified and hopeful.
For the first time in years, the master spy of New Orleans found himself completely unable to focus on his work.
His mind was already in that hospital room beside his wife, holding her hand and praying that both she—and perhaps a tiny new life—were safe. ❤️

Re: A Bayou Love Starts on Bourbon Street and Ends with Two Golden Wedding Bands

Maurice woke before dawn in the quiet room he was sharing with none of his usual comforts—except the thought of Lynda. Tradition had kept them apart for the last few days, and while he'd teased everyone about it, the truth was he hated every minute of being away from her.

He was already dressed in an undershirt and slacks, standing in front of the mirror adjusting his cufflinks for what had to be the hundredth time when his phone buzzed on the dresser.

The moment he saw Lynda's name, a smile spread across his face.

He opened the message immediately.

Good morning, my sweet Cajun Spy...

By the time he reached the end of it, his grin had softened into something warmer.

"Mon Dieu," he murmured to himself. "That woman still makes my heart race."

Without hesitation, he typed back.

Good morning, my beautiful bride.

I slept about as well as a man can sleep knowing he gets to marry the love of his life tonight.

And yes, I'm nervous too. Terrified, actually. Not because I'm having doubts—but because I still can't believe a woman as wonderful as you agreed to marry an old spy from New Orleans.

He chuckled and continued.

I miss you more than I can say. These last few days have felt like weeks.

Tonight can't come fast enough.

And for the record, the moment I see you walking toward me, I'm going to fall in love with you all over again.

I love you, cher. More than words.

Now eat your breakfast and stop worrying. Everything is going to be perfect.

I'll see you under the Bayou moon.

—Your Cajun Spy

After sending the message, Maurice stared at the screen for another moment before slipping the phone into his pocket.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and several of his friends stepped inside carrying garment bags, flowers, and enough nervous energy to power half of Louisiana.

"Well?" one of them asked. "You ready?"

Maurice laughed.

"Ask me again in about twelve hours."

The room erupted with chuckles.

Yet once the laughter settled, Maurice glanced out the window toward the city he loved.

New Orleans was already alive.

Soon enough the streets would fill with music.

Friends and family would gather.

Tommy would arrive.

The sun would set over the bayou.

And when the moon rose, Lynda Barkley would become Lynda Demarigny.

The thought alone made his chest tighten with happiness.

For all the adventures he'd lived, all the mysteries he'd solved, and all the dangers he'd survived, nothing had ever felt quite as important as the few short hours standing between him and the woman waiting for him on the other side of the city.

Tonight, he wasn't a spy.

Tonight, he was simply a man hopelessly in love with his bride. ❤️

Re: Hop Along the Bayou with a Western Easter Celebration (2026)

Maurice woke before she could hide the sigh.

His arm tightened gently around her waist.

"Chérie," he murmured sleepily, voice rough and warm, "you are thinking so loudly, I could hear it in my dreams."

He opened one eye and looked at her in the dim room, his face softening when he saw her wide awake.

"Come here."

Lynda let out a shaky breath. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." Maurice shifted closer, pulling her against his chest. "My wife came home after midnight, kissed our little girl, then climbed into bed carrying the weight of the whole hospital on her shoulders. That wakes a husband."

Lynda's eyes filled a little.

"I'm missing everything," she whispered. "Marie is growing up, and Easter is coming, and I haven't planned a thing. I keep telling myself I'm doing this for our family, but then I come home and you're sleeping with your arm around my pillow."

Maurice smiled sadly and kissed her forehead.

"That pillow is a poor substitute," he said. "It does not argue with me, does not steal the covers, and does not look beautiful when she is tired."

Lynda gave a small laugh despite herself.

Maurice brushed her hair back. "Listen to me. You are not a bad mother. You are not a bad wife. You are a woman trying to build something good while loving her family with everything she has."

"But Marie—"

"Marie knows her mama loves her," Maurice said firmly. "And I know my wife loves me. But yes... we miss you."

That made Lynda close her eyes.

Maurice softened his voice. "So we fix it. Easter will not be perfect because of baskets or dresses or painted eggs. It will be perfect because you are there."

Lynda looked up at him. "You really think so?"

"I know so." He kissed her gently. "Tomorrow, I will help. We will plan Easter together. Marie can make a terrible mess with dye, you can laugh, and I will pretend I know how to hide eggs."

"You don't?"

"I am a spy, chérie. I can hide eggs better than anyone."

Lynda smiled for real this time.

Maurice tucked her closer beneath the blankets. "But tonight, you sleep. No hospital. No guilt. No Easter panic."

She rested her head against him.

"And if I can't sleep?"

"Then I will hold you until you can." His lips brushed her temple. "That is my job."

Re: Creole Rose and Cowgirl Kisses for a Special Lady on Mother's Day (2026)

Maurice stirred beneath Marie's tiny bouncing body, one eye opening before the other.

"Well," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, "either the house is under attack... or my little princess has decided Daddy is a horse again."

Marie squealed like that was the funniest thing she had ever heard and slapped both hands against his chest.

Maurice let out a dramatic groan and lifted his head just enough to look at Lynda. The sight of her standing there, smiling in the soft morning light, made his whole expression soften.

"Good morning, my beautiful wife," he said warmly. "And good morning to you too, little terror."

Marie giggled harder.

Maurice wrapped both arms gently around her, making sure she was steady, then rolled just enough to sit up with her in his lap. He kissed the top of her messy hair, then looked back at Lynda with a sleepy, loving smile.

"You know," he said, "a man used to be awakened by an alarm clock. Now I am awakened by a two-year-old jumping on my ribs."

He bounced Marie lightly on his knee, earning another delighted laugh.

Then his gaze lingered on Lynda.

"You've been up cooking already, haven't you?" he asked, shaking his head fondly. "Lynda, sweetheart, you are supposed to be taking time off. That means resting. Letting me spoil you. Letting this little one and Tommy help me make Mother's Day perfect."

He paused, then smiled mischievously.

"And no, before you ask, I am not telling you what we're planning."

Re: A Family Cruise, A Rough Storm and a Deserted Island

Maurice stood in the doorway for a moment, his hand still resting on the doorknob as he simply looked at her.
For all the years that had passed, all the mistakes, all the roads they had taken that led them away from one another, seeing Lynda standing there with that smile on her face still had the power to make his heart stumble.
The kiss she greeted him with only made that feeling stronger.
When they finally pulled apart, Maurice rested his forehead lightly against hers and smiled.
"Business is done," he said softly. "At least for today. The city survived without me for a few hours. I suppose that's proof I'm not as important as I like to think."
His eyes twinkled with amusement.
"But don't tell anybody. It'll ruin my reputation."
When she suggested talking, he already knew from the sound of her voice that she was plotting something.
That giggle.
He remembered that giggle.
It was the same one she'd used years ago whenever she wanted him to agree to something before she'd even told him what it was.
Maurice chuckled as she pulled him toward the bed.
"You know," he said, kicking off his shoes, "I've always found it highly suspicious that every one of your serious conversations somehow ends with me being lured onto a bed."
He sat beside her and immediately reached for her hand.
The teasing expression faded from his face as he looked at her more carefully.
"Lynda..."
His thumb brushed gently across her knuckles.
"You don't ever have to apologize for your body."
His voice was quiet now.
"You carried those babies."
His gaze moved briefly toward the cribs before returning to her.
"And you've never needed to pretend to be anything for me."
Maurice leaned over and kissed her forehead.
"Besides, after everything we've been through, if all we do today is lie here and talk, that's more than enough for me."
He stretched out beside her, propping himself up on one elbow.
For a few moments he simply looked at her.
Really looked at her.
The woman he had loved.
The woman he had lost.
The woman who somehow kept finding her way back into his life.
"I missed you," he admitted.
The words came out almost unexpectedly.
"More than I wanted to admit."
A faint smile appeared.
"Every time I walked past that hospital you built in New Orleans. Every time I heard somebody mention your name. Every time Marie did something that reminded me of you."
At the mention of their daughter, his expression softened.
"I know things between you and Marie aren't easy right now."
He reached over and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lynda's ear.
"But she loves you."
"She may be angry. She may be confused. She may be trying to figure out where she belongs."
His smile grew slightly.
"Trust me. She's our daughter. Stubborn comes naturally."
Then he studied her face.
"And judging by that look you're giving me, I'm guessing the thing you want to ask me has something to do with this cruise."
Maurice laughed softly.
"Because I've known you long enough to recognize the expression."
He squeezed her hand.
"So go ahead, chère."
His warm brown eyes met hers.
"What exactly are you planning?