Dear Reader:

Writing UNMASKED was one of the most challenging experiences of my career, not because of the story itself but because of where it took place. When I'd first been invited to participate in the Hotel Marchand series in April, 2005, I'd been thrilled at the chance to set a book in New Orleans. The romantic atmosphere of the French Quarter, the sexy throb of jazz in the air, the excitement of Mardis Gras, all in the fabled Big Easy... what a marvellous locale. Yet being a chronic procastinator (I seem to need that panic-induced adrenaline rush from a looming deadline to get my butt in a chair) I didn't begin writing the book until August, 2005, so I had barely finished the opening scene when Hurricane Katrina struck.

Like the rest of the world, I was horrified by the scenes of devastation and suffering that filled the news. How could I write about romance in the face of such tragedy? And even if I could somehow coax my overly sensitive muse out of her swoon, I had no idea what New Orleans would look like by Mardis Gras of 2007, the time in which my book is set, or even if there would be a Mardi Gras...yet I needed to finish my manuscript by the end of 2005.

So... it was a challenge. The outline of the Hotel Marchand series had to be tweaked to include Katrina and its aftermath, and the backstory of UNMASKED was adjusted to reflect a different reality. As for the setting, my muse and I put our faith in the resilience of the residents of New Orleans and in the legendary determination of the American people. 

The story at the heart of my book, about a woman struggling to preserve her family's legacy in the face of overwhelming odds, couldn't have been set in a more appropriate place after all. Because in the end, no matter what challenges we face, life does go on.

I hope you enjoy UNMASKED, as well as the rest of the heartwarming stories in the Hotel Marchand series!

Best,
Ingrid
 
 

1. IN THE DARK, Judith Arnold 0-373-38938-8 

2. THE SET UP, Marie Ferrarella 0-373-38939-6 

3. THE UNKNOWN WOMAN, Laurie Paige 0-373-38940-X 

4.  DAMAGE CONTROL, Maureen Child 0-373-38941-8 

5.  BOURBON STREET BLUES, Kristi Gold 0-373-38942-6 

6.  SOME LIKE IT HOT, Lori Wilde 0-373-38943-4 

7.  LOVE IS LOVLIER, Jean Brashear 0-373-38944-2

8.  UNMASKED, Ingrid Weaver 0-373-38945-0

9.  HER SUMMER LOVER, Marisa Carroll 0-373-38946-9

10. A SECRET LIFE, Barbara Dunlop 0-373-38947-7

11. A SECOND CHANCE, Kara Lennox 0-373-38948-5

12.  THE LEGACY, Shirley Jump 0-373-38949-3

     Charlotte Marchand tugged the hem of her jacket to straighten it and moved around her desk, bringing herself toe-to-toe with Jackson Bailey.  "Since your visit here is only temporary, there's no reason for you to get involved in my problems."
     "Charlotte--"
     "I realize there was a time when I asked you to stay, Jackson, but believe it or not, I've managed fine without you."
     "I can see you have.  I'm only trying to help."
     "Running one small family hotel wasn't noble or exciting enough for you twenty years ago.  You had no trouble keeping out of my life then, so I'm sure it won't be that difficult to stay out of it now." 
     There were countless things Jackson could say in return.  He had plenty of accusations he could toss out, as well as pain of his own to remember.  He'd kept out of her life because she'd pushed him out.  There wouldn't have been room for both him and her new husband. 
     Yet this was ancient history, he reminded himself, and he hadn't come here to change the past.  Charlotte's reaction was out of proportion to the circumstances.  Combined with the exhaustion he had noticed earlier, she was exhibiting the symptoms of someone under extreme stress.  His concern for her deepened.  "What's going on here, Charlotte?" 
    She brushed past him and jerked the door open.  "Goodbye, Jackson."
    He reached around her and shoved the door closed with his palm.
    She held herself motionless for a good ten seconds, her mouth compressed into a tight line.  Then she tipped back her head and glared at him.  Her eyes shone with a confused mix of emotions, and anger was the least of them. 
     Charlotte's calm wasn't merely cracked, Jackson thought, it had shattered and fallen away like the mangled Mardis Gras mask that lay on her office floor. 
Damn, he wanted to hold her again, but if he touched her now, it wouldn't be as a friend, or as a potential cousin-in-law.  He would be responding to a reflexive male urge to hold an attractive woman.  Neither of them needed a complication like that.  He took a steadying breath and kept his arms at his sides.  "All this passion isn't really about us, is it?"
     "What?"
     "As much as it would stroke my ego to think you've been pining for me for the last twenty years, I don't believe that's true."
     "Of course, it isn't true."
     "Well, then if the passion isn't about us, it has to be the hotel, right?"
     Tears brimmed in her eyes.  "I was doing fine until you showed up."
     "No, you weren't, or you wouldn't be this close to the edge.  But I get the feeling that I'm the last straw."
     "Yes, damn you!"
     "Why?"
     "How dare you act concerned about my difficulties when the truth is you'd be happy to see the hotel fail?"
     "That's ridiculous."
     "No, it isn't."  She pressed her index finger to his chest.  "You hate this place.  That's what you said the last time I saw you."
     She was right; he had said that.  "I was angry.  You know I didn't mean it."
     "No?  You certainly were in a hurry to go on your one-man crusade to save the world."  She tapped him with her nail.  "The great Doctor Jackson Bailey. How lucky for you that you came back now.  You're just in time to gloat."
     He tried to restrain himself from responding in kind, but it was tough.  The argument was an old one, and they'd never really finished it.  "Charlie--"
     "Don't call me that!"  She walked back to her desk, her normally graceful strides hard and choppy. 
     He rubbed his jaw.  "Are things really that bad?  Could the hotel fail?"
     "We have no more financial reserves.  We're mortgaged to the limit.  If we don't turn a profit by next week--"  She halted suddenly and stooped to pick up something from the floor.  It was a tiny, white feather. 
     Her shoulders trembled, as if the sight of that feather crumbled the final layer of her control.  She closed it in her fist and turned to face him.  "I've made this hotel my life, Jackson.  It's all I have.  The possibility of losing it..."  Her voice broke.  The tears she'd been struggling to hold back trickled down her cheeks. 
     She must have been bottling this up for weeks, Jackson thought.  It probably did her good to let it out, so he wasn't going to try to stop her.  But the urge to hold her was nearly overpowering...
     The significance of what she'd just said struck him all at once. She could lose the hotel.
     The irony was almost too much to believe.  After all these years, what were the chances the same thing would be happening to both of them?   "I understand what you're going through, Charlotte," he said. 
     She swiped her knuckles under her eyes.  "No, I don't think you could.  You followed your dream.  You became a doctor just as you planned. You always lived your life how you wanted to.  No one can take that away from you."
     "You're wrong.  I know exactly what it's like to watch everything you've built, everything you are, slip out of your grasp." 
     "How could you?"
     He lifted his right hand, palm out.  "Do you know how many nerves there are in the human hand?  How many muscles, bones and tendons?"
     "I have no idea.  Why?" 
     Still holding up his hand, he walked toward her.  "Look carefully."  He spread his fingers until the throbbing warned him to stop.  "You already saw the back.  Take a good look at the rest.  This is where the shrapnel went in."
     She blinked, her gaze going to his mutilated palm.  It took her a moment to focus on the mass of red gouges and puckered ridges that crisscrossed the center.  When she did, the color drained from her cheeks.  She stepped closer and grasped his fingers.  "Oh, dear God, Jackson," she murmured.  "The wound goes all the way through."
     "Human flesh is no match for shredded metal travelling at a hundred feet a second."
     "I hadn't realized the injury was this serious."
     "I was one of the lucky ones.  It was only my hand, so I lived."
     "It looks as if it's healing."
     "On the outside, yes."
     She clasped his hand gingerly between both of hers and lifted her gaze to his face.  "And on the inside?  How bad is it?"
     "I can't hold a scalpel.  I can't even tie a damn bandage."
     Fresh tears glistened on her lashes.  "Oh, no."
     "This is why I came home.  I'm going to see a friend of mine at Tulane for tests that will determine whether the damage to my hand can be repaired." 
     "Jackson, I'm so sorry."
     "I don't want your pity, Charlotte.  I just want you to know that I'm the last person who would gloat over your troubles."  He pulled free from her touch and dropped his arm to his side.  "And it looks as if we've both got plenty of those.  We sure as hell don't need to stir up the ones from our past."

You can read the rest of Charlotte and Jackson's story in
UNMASKED
by Ingrid Weaver
Harlequin
January, 2007
ISBN 0-373-38945-0