As the sky began to glow pink, then orange, the familiar chug-chug of Loretta’s old Volvo station wagon carried through the screen door.

On time, as usual. She was never late for a delivery. Loretta worked day and night to make a go of her baking business. It was hard to maintain any business in a small town like Indigo, but people managed.

Luc passed through the screen door and went out to the porch to greet Loretta. She was always in a hurry, with a long list of customers from St. Martinville to New Iberia awaiting her breads, and she appreciated not having to hunt him down.

The station wagon pulled to a stop, and before Loretta could even cut the engine, the passenger door opened and a red-headed, four-foot bundle of energy burst out of the car and straight for him. The child-Loretta’s nine-year-old daughter, Zara-looked as if she were going to run straight into him. But she skidded to a stop a few feet shy of Luc, as if she’d suddenly remembered that she wasn’t the type of child to go around hugging people.

And she wasn’t.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself, gorgeous.” She was beautiful, with a mischievous, pixie face, thick, wavy red hair and warm hazel eyes that would break a lot of hearts one day. She looked heart-stoppingly like her mother. “You’re up awful early for a Saturday morning.”

“I wanted to see the bird-watchers. Mama says you have bird-watchers all the way from Washington staying with you.”

Zara was the most curious child Luc had ever encountered. Not that he’d known many children, other than his little cousin, Rosie, in New Orleans.

“The bird-watchers aren’t up yet,” Luc told Zara. “But you’re not missing much. They look just like ordinary people, I promise.” Luc watched Loretta emerge from her car with a cheery wave. She looked fantastic, as always, in a pair of tight, faded jeans and a gauzy blue shirt, her spiky red hair sticking out every which way, as if she hadn’t combed it since rolling out of bed.