Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Love in Disaster

  In New Orleans for a conference, exhausted English professor Kit Kelly has been going through the motions in just about every regard for some time now. She’s tired of her job and sick of sleeping around, and her life is starting to feel like one long, stale rerun of similar days and nights. A chance encounter with Teddy, a local chef, stirs an enthusiasm for life she hasn’t felt in a long time, but news of an impending hurricane threatens to disrupt what they’ve just begun.

  Love in Disaster

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

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  Love in Disaster

  © 2017 By Charlotte Greene. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-886-3

  This Electronic book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

  New York, USA

  First Edition: March 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Melody Pond

  By the Author

  A Palette for Love

  Love in Disaster

  Dedication

  For my one, my only, my darling.

  Love you forever.

  Chapter One

  Kit stared out the window of the cab, her eyes shaded from the oppressive August sun. The airport in New Orleans was a good distance from downtown, where she was staying, and she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Flashes of brilliant green and long stretches of canals and bayous along the side of the road passed by her flickering lids before she finally gave in and closed them. She’d always struggled with jet lag and couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought traveling from Europe to New Orleans without a break was a good idea. Ostensibly, it had meant more time at the archives she was visiting in the U.K. and Ireland, but in practice she was exhausted, and she knew she would remain so for most of her time at the conference.

  Her department chair had asked her to attend the annual Irish Literature Association meeting last fall, long before she’d secured the funds for her archival visits. When she’d been awarded the money, it had meant some last-minute scrambling to cram everything into her summer. Well, here I am, she thought. Even if she walked and talked like a zombie through all her meetings the next few days, she would get her chair off her back for a while.

  She must have actually dozed off, as the next thing she knew, the cab had stopped and the driver was shouting to wake her. She shook her head a few times to clear the cobwebs and apologized to him before climbing out. As she’d come directly from Dublin, she had far more luggage with her than her week-long stay in New Orleans warranted, and she felt ridiculous as the driver pulled suitcase after suitcase from the trunk of the cab, lining them up neatly on the sidewalk next to her. Embarrassed by his efforts—he was a tiny man—she overtipped him, hoping her department would reimburse her later.

  Not until he drove away did she realize he’d dropped her off in front of the wrong hotel. Sagging with exhaustion, she felt frustrated tears prickle the corners of her eyes. She stared down at the piles of suitcases next to her in blank dismay, unable to formulate a single idea about how to proceed. She glanced up and down the street, hoping another cab would appear, but she was almost completely alone out here. Only the hotel’s doorman, who was greeting another guest, stood nearby. He finally spotted her and snapped to attention before bringing her a luggage cart.

  “Let me help you with that, miss,” he said, already slinging the first suitcase onto the cart.

  “There was some kind of mix-up.” Her voice was slightly slurred with sleep.

  He must not have heard her, or chose to ignore her, as he continued to load her luggage onto the cart. Realizing that she had no better options at this point, she let him continue and decided to call her actual hotel from inside. Perhaps they could arrange a pickup. She followed him as he pushed the cart and her luggage into the large and impressive lobby of the wrong hotel. As no one was in line, she was led directly to the check-in desk and, after tipping the doorman, was left to explain her strange predicament to the clerk.

  He stared at her, obviously confused. “So you don’t have a reservation here at the Roosevelt?”

  “No,” she said, starting over. “You see, my cab dropped me off at the wrong hotel—”

  “Unfortunately, miss, the hotel is completely booked,” the clerk broke in. “There are several conferences in town right now.”

  “I understand that.” She tried to keep the fury from her voice. Her frustration and exhaustion were making it harder for her to clarify her problem. “I just need to call my actual hotel to see if they can pick me up or arrange a taxi.”

  “I see,” he said, clearly displeased. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Ramada,” she said.

  “I see.” His tone suggested exactly what he thought of the Ramada. “So how can I help you?”

  “I just need a telephone.”

  He pointed at a bank of pay phones across the lobby, and disgusted by his rudeness, she grabbed her cart and pulled it over there. She spent several fruitless moments going through her things for change, finding only British pounds and euros. Getting out her credit card, she followed the convoluted instructions needed to make a call, finally getting through after twenty minutes of being continually disconnected.

  She got her hotel’s answering machine.

  Too tired to do anything else, she pushed her luggage cart over to a sofa in the lobby and collapsed into it, covering her eyes with her hands. She leaned her head back on the sofa and sighed, trying to make a decision.

  Once again, she must have dozed off, as the next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake, and not gently. “You can’t sleep here, miss,” a large man was telling her. He was dressed in a suit tight enough to show the outline of gun under the jacket. Hotel security.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I don’t care,” the man said. “You can’t sleep here. If you’re not a guest, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Too tired to argue with him, she climbed slowly to her feet and pushed her cart back outside. As she passed the front desk, she saw the desk clerk’s eyes following her and understood that he’d been the whistleblower.

  Outside, she nodded at the doorman, who raised his eyebrows, seeming confused to see her and her luggage again. “Where is the Ramada from here?” she asked him.

  “A couple of blocks that way.” He pointed. “Down on Gravier to the right.”

  Without trying to explain herself, Kit began pushing the luggage cart in that direction. She heard the doorman call after her, but she kept pushing, knowing that he likely wouldn’t chase her. She’d bring the cart back later. Maybe. That guy in there had been an awful prick. Also, she’d long ago realized that sometimes it was better just to do a thing than to ask permission.

  She passed several people on the streets between the hotels, and they stared after her, apparently startled, but no one said anything. The heat was oppressive, and the sun, to her tired eyes, nearly blinding even with her sunglasses. The walk was also longer than a couple of blocks, and harder with the luggage cart, but she finally made it to her hotel. The doorman there was surprised to see her coming down the street with a cart, but he nicely held the door open for her.

  “Welcome to the Ramada,” the clerk said as she approached the front desk. The girl was very young, her face bright with helpful politeness.

  Kit took off her sunglasses and sighed, trying to gather her strength for one last human encounter. “Hi. I have a reservation for Katriona—or maybe Kit—Kelly.”

  The clerk typed on her computer for a moment and then started frowning. “Can you spell your last name?” she asked.

  “K-e-l-l-y,” Kit said.

  The clerk typed the name again but continued to frown. “When did you make this reservation?”

  “Six months ago,” Kit said, alarm pinching her voice higher.

  “Do
you have the reservation number by chance?”

  Kit rooted around in her purse, finding nothing, and was forced to go slowly through each of her suitcases to find her hotel and conference reservations for New Orleans. As she looked, finding nothing but information regarding places in Europe, panic threatened to overwhelm her. She knew no one in town and wasn’t sure if she knew anyone at the conference. Her friend Becky might be here, but she hadn’t checked in with her in months. What on earth was she going to do? The information she was looking for, however, was, of course, in the last of the suitcases, crammed beneath most of her underwear. Too tired to be embarrassed by the explosion of her belongings all over the lobby, Kit pulled out the reservation sheet and handed it to the clerk before bending down in order to stuff things back in her bags.

  When she looked back up, the clerk’s face was red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, miss, but this reservation is not for our hotel.”

  Kit’s heart almost stopped beating. “What do you mean?”

  The clerk handed back the reservation sheet, and Kit saw, clearly and without reading anything else, the words Holiday Inn at the top of the page.

  Hearing laughter behind her, Kit turned, clutching the reservation page. Three people behind her in line she saw a woman about her own age. The woman had a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles.

  “Is something funny to you?” Kit spat.

  The woman was clearly amused. “I’m so sorry,” she said between chuckles. Her voice was surprisingly low. “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just so typical.”

  “Typical?” Kit almost shouted.

  “Here you are, holding up the line, searching through everything you own, and you’re not even staying here. It’s just the kind of thing that would happen to me.”

  “I’m so happy for your amusement,” Kit snapped. “Glad someone is getting some pleasure out of this.”

  The woman held up her hands. “Jeez! Don’t bite my head off. I only meant to empathize. It’s not the end of the world. You shouldn’t get so worked up about something so trivial.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, and you certainly can’t tell me how to feel about something. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Christ,” the woman said, sounding disgusted. “Excuse me for living.”

  “Can I call you a cab?” the clerk interrupted, clearly trying to break up the argument. “We can have you at the Holiday Inn in minutes.”

  “Please do,” Kit said, suppressing her anger one last time in order to be civil.

  She spent the next few minutes repacking her bags as well as possible and then dragged the luggage cart back outside in order to wait for the cab. The heat hit her again, hard, but the clouds had rolled in, making the light easier on her eyes. Her sunglasses still firmly in place, she looked around, curious. This was a seedier part of town than she’d expected to see on her visit. Graffiti and trash were everywhere, and several homeless people had congregated near a bus stop about a block away. She had heard about a thousand warning stories from a colleague about wandering around New Orleans outside of the tourist areas, and she was starting to regret her skepticism. Living in San Francisco, she’d learned how to locate the safe blocks from the rougher ones, but it was clearly a little different here.

  As she waited, she saw the woman she’d argued with inside appear in the doorway. The woman didn’t see Kit, or pretended not to, and Kit watched her walk away and back toward the nicer part of downtown. The woman had the tight, firm body of an athlete and moved in her black jeans and T-shirt with a lithe grace. Her hair was dark and slicked back, but Kit could detect the hint of curls beneath the hair product that was holding it in place. Her forearms were roped with tattoos, and she was wearing heavy, motorcycle-type boots. Kit had immediately regretted making such an ass of herself inside and had almost apologized to her in there. Now, seeing that hot body walk away from her, she felt even worse.

  The woman was just her type.

  Kit sighed as the woman disappeared around a corner, and then she shook her head, amused with herself. There was no earthly reason why she’d ever see the woman again, so why be upset about how she’d acted? All those weeks working in Ireland and the U.K. had meant a long dry spell, but picking up strangers from the street was rarely her MO anymore. There were, after all, guaranteed to be plenty of lovely academic pickings at the conference this week.

  The cab ride was a few short blocks, and relieved to finally be in the right place this time, she overtipped everyone who helped her get to her room. It was surprisingly large and airy, with high ceilings and a giant bed. She had a window that overlooked Dauphine, and, as she stood there in front of the air conditioner trying to cool down, she watched tourists scurry by on their way to fun and revelry in other parts of the French Quarter. While the last two hours had been one long headache, she was actually happy that her hotel was in the Quarter rather than downtown. It would be easier to see more of the city from here, and despite her fatigue, she was excited about her time in the Crescent City.

  Chapter Two

  Kit must have fallen asleep immediately upon lying down, as the telephone startled her so badly that she yelped in surprise. The light outside had softened considerably, and she judged it to be early evening. Groping around on the bedside table, she finally found the phone and picked it up.

  “Hello?” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “Hello?” she said louder.

  “When are you ever going to get a damn cell phone? I’ve called every hotel in town.”

  “Hello? Who is this?” Kit asked, confused.

  “It’s Becky. You know, Rebecca Lee.”

  Kit sat up and moved her feet over the edge of the bed. Becky was a colleague. While they’d never attended the same schools or worked at the same university, they ran into each other at conferences fairly often, as they both specialized in Irish Literature. “Hey, Becky. Nice to hear from you. I take it you’re here in New Orleans?”

  “Yes, and I saw your name on the program. Since we’re both presenting tomorrow, I assumed you’d be in town by now.”

  “I just got in a little while ago.”

  “Do you want to have dinner? I actually managed to get a reservation at this new place on Frenchmen. I think it must be because of a cancellation—the place is booked months ahead. It’s supposed to be the new hot thing, and I’d hate to go alone. It has one of those celebrity chefs or whatever.”

  Kit yawned and looked around for a clock. “Sure. What time?”

  “The reservation is for eight. We can either walk over there or take a cab.”

  Kit stood and stretched, still looking for a clock. “I’d love to walk, if we can. I was flying all night and day.”

  “Okay! I’ll be over there in half an hour.”

  “How fancy should I dress?” Kit asked.

  “No evening gowns, but nice. Probably nicer than you’d dress for work. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  Kit yawned again and then laughed. “Sorry to keep yawning in your ear. I’ll be down in thirty minutes.”

  Months in the U.K. and Ireland had trained Kit to take quick, efficient showers, and she decided to wear a dark-blue silk blouse and a conservative gray skirt with flats, since they were walking. Her hair was still damp, but she pulled it up into a loose bun, hoping the heat would dry it before they reached the restaurant. She slid a couple of loose red curls out to soften the hairstyle and swiped a little mascara on her light eyelashes before grabbing her purse and heading downstairs.

  Becky was already sitting in the lobby, staring into space. She was a large woman, and she was wearing a severe, men’s-style suit and shoes. Her hair was short and poorly styled, but when she spotted Kit, her face broke into a beautiful smile. With a little grooming and styling, Becky could be incredibly attractive, but she apparently did okay just the way she was. She and Kit had actually slept together once in their early conference-going years, but neither of them had been interested in repeating the experience. Becky heaved herself up and walked over, wrapping Kit in a bone-crushing hug that smashed Kit’s face into Becky’s breasts.