Luc took the juice glass Loretta was holding before her wild gesturing caused breakage. “Loretta. Just tell me what you need. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Well, I opened my mouth and said I was going to put on a full Cajun dinner for the musicians the night before the festival, and charge fifty dollars a head for anybody else who wants to mingle with the VIPs. But I can’t find anybody to fix the food for anything like a reasonable price. We’ve already advertised it. Forty tickets have been sold.”

“I don’t know anything about Cajun food,” Luc confessed, “except how to eat it.”

“I know, but you have a cousin, right? Melanie Marchand, the sous-chef at the Hotel Marchand in New Orleans?”

Oh, hell. He would do anything in his power to help Loretta with her problem. But ask his cousin to cook up dinner for dozens of people for free? He’d be uncomfortable enough asking any of his family for even a small favor. A huge commitment like this was unthinkable.

“I’d love to help you, Loretta, but I can’t.”

Her face fell. “I’ll do the asking. If you could just introduce us, I’d be forever grateful.”

“I really don’t think I can help.” How did he explain to Loretta that his relationship with Melanie-with all of his cousins-was strained at best? Although they had acknowledged him as their cousin, he no longer felt welcome in their hotel. They’d almost lost the Hotel Marchand because of him.

“Okay.” Loretta flashed him a quick, false smile. “Well, it was worth asking.”

“Melanie’s really nice,” Luc added. “Have you tried calling her?”

“I’ve left a couple of messages. But I wouldn’t expect her to return my call. I’ve contacted a dozen chefs, at least. Those who did get back to me aren’t able to help. The festival is only a few weeks away. They say there’s not enough time.”