Bourbon Street Blues Read Online Free

sliding off the river.
    Near the corner, a wide front window glittered in the sunlight. Parker’s Place was written in scrollinggold letters across the glass, and the front door stood wide open as if in welcome.
    The old building had come through Katrina like a queen. She was far enough from the river to have escaped the flooding, and most of the wind had passed her by, for which Parker was grateful. So much of New Orleans had been tested during that storm. So many lives lost and so much of the city’s heart broken.
    They’d been lucky with the family business, too. Sure, the offices had taken a beating and they’d lost a fortune in inventory that had been stored on the docks. But considering what others had lost, the James family had come through with only a bad bruise or two.
    He stepped into the cool interior of his new place and paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The whine of saws and the conversations of the workmen washed over him. He nodded at a couple of guys as he wandered through what would be the jazz café he’d been dreaming of opening for years.
    A hand-carved chair rail ran around the circumference of the room and shone with the careful application of several coats of varnish. A century ago, talented hands had found the beauty in the wood, andParker took real pleasure in bringing it back to its original glory.
    The stage against the far wall was raised only a few inches off the floor. Low enough that the musicians would feel a part of the crowd and high enough to showcase their abilities under the lights strung along the ceiling. Floor-to-ceiling windows fronted the street, and he hoped that passersby would be enthralled by the view and step inside.
    Opposite those windows sat a bank of antique, brass espresso machines. In the overhead light, the brass gleamed like a new promise. The main floor was crowded with small round wood tables, and chairs were turned upside down atop them, their legs jutting into the air.
    Just another few days until his grand opening. His stomach pitched and fisted into a tight ball of nerves. He’d been dreaming and thinking about this place for as long as he could remember. Now that the time was here, he had to fight the panic. What if it tanked? What if no one was interested in one more jazz house? What if…
    “Okay,” he muttered thickly, shoving one hand through his hair distractedly. “No point in worrying about all of that just yet.”
    Besides, it would work. He knew it. Felt it. Already,Parker could see customers crowding around the tables. He could almost hear the sigh of jazz sliding through the air. And without even trying, he heard Holly’s silky voice whisper through his mind.
    And just like that, his brain was focused on the pretty redhead again. She’d gotten to him, he had to admit, jamming both hands into his jeans’ pockets. Somehow or other in the span of one short conversation, that woman had slipped beneath defenses he’d spent years putting into place.
    He remembered her smile, the cool gray of her eyes, the grace of her walk and the way she stirred her iced tea with concentration, as if it were the most important task in the world. Everything about her intrigued him, and damn it, he didn’t want to be intrigued.
    He’d spent an awful lot of time trying to ignore one woman. He was in no position to get mixed up with yet another one.
    Didn’t matter that Holly was different from Frannie. They were both female, and the one thing he’d learned over the last ten years was that trusting a female was a sure way to get your teeth kicked in.
    Still, his insides tightened and something hot and pulsing roared up in his gut as he remembered the deep, throaty sound of Holly’s voice caressing the melody of the song. He remembered how that voicehad drawn him into the hotel bar. How he’d been mesmerized enough that he hadn’t been able to leave even after she’d finished rehearsing.
    “Parker?”
    The woman had something. Something he