Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (40 page)

When Garrett asked if he knew any other Jacques Martins who might fit their criteria, the old man shook his head, turning sympathetic eyes to Tara.
“Je suis désolé, mademoiselle.”

Tara forced a half smile.
“Merci beaucoup.”

The gentleman said something else and Tara looked to Garrett for a translation, but it was Dylan who spoke up. “He said he wishes you were his daughter. It would be very nice to have a beautiful daughter like you.” The child's arm went around her leg for a quick hug.

She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. “Thank you.” She ruffled Dylan's hair and nodded to the old gentleman. “That's very kind.”

When she found her birth father—and that was the only possibility she was going to consider—she hoped his sentiments would be the same.

As they said their adieus
,
the old man squeezed her hand and said something.

“He said good luck,” Dylan told her.

Back outside the shop, Garrett let go of Dylan's hand and nodded, and the child took off at a run. Garrett's arm slid around her shoulder with a comforting hug as they followed in his son's wake. “Don't be sad, okay? You still have a lot of Jacques Martins on your list.”

“I know.” Her breath left her in a huff. “I told myself this wasn't going to be easy, but it's hard to not get my hopes up. Every time I find one, I'm positive it's him.”

Garrett leaned into her as they walked. “And I'll be here if it's not,” he whispered. “Every time.”

His breath caught on the rim of her ear and feathered down her neck, causing an unexpected shiver that slithered down her spine and coiled deep within her belly. A low chuckle confirmed he felt her response and had known what it would be. “I know what you need.”

Fueled by the frustration of another false lead, irritation flickered inside Tara at Garrett's words—and the smugness behind them. Men's minds were like boomerangs that always came back to the same thing. “Not everything can be fixed by great sex,” she pouted.

His eyes opened wide in surprise and then softened with a playful glint as he nodded toward the storefront they were approaching and where Dylan was already waiting. “I thought maybe
something from here
would lift your spirits. Berthillon.
World's best
.
”

Her eyes followed his nod, her face heating at the conclusion she'd jumped to. “Ice cream!” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry.”

“Never apologize when you've used
great
to describe it.” The corner of his mouth twitched before it broke into one of his dazzling smiles. “But maybe this will cool you off.” When he opened the door to the shop, the chilly air from inside did exactly that.

Sweetness hung in that same air as they entered, and Tara could taste the sugar on her tongue just from sniffing. Her mouth watered in anticipation as she looked over the list of flavors
du jour
.

“What would you like?” Garrett asked.

“A cup of strawberry,” Dylan announced.

Despite the many choices, Tara's mind stalled on the sixth one down. “One scoop of cappuccino chocolate chip on a cone, please.”

“My favorite.” Garrett shifted his smile toward the young woman behind the counter, words flowing so smoothly from his lips that Tara could almost imagine them having their own flavor named after them.

The woman's eyes drifted lazily down Garrett as she leaned forward in open flirtation. The woman saw something she liked, and she put her message out there without hesitation.

Thea was like that.

Since birth, Tara's sister had dared the world to try to stick the
preacher's kid
label on her while Tara had tried to live up to the expectation—until she was twenty-three. The irony that Thea was the preacher's kid by blood while
she
was the bastard child squeezed at her again.

If she found her birth father, it would be news she'd want to share. But how would that news go over in Taylor's Grove?

Garrett's low chuckle drew Tara out of her reverie. The woman behind the counter had evidently said something that tickled his fancy.

“She said she likes your tattoo.” He handed Tara the cone. “And I said I do, too.”

Tara didn't recognize the emotion that had flared briefly as jealousy until his words transformed it into butterflies in her stomach. “Thanks.” She tipped the cone in his direction.

He grinned.
“Je t'en prie.”

He paused, and she realized he was waiting for her to take her first bite. When she did, the silky texture spread a burst of coffee flavor across her tongue, and she let out a groan of pure pleasure.

A lazy smile touched his lips. “I like that sound.” He took a bite and tilted his head toward the door, calling to his son. “Come on, Dylan. Let's go back down by the river.”

Dylan dropped another spoonful of sprinkles into his cup and ran to join them.

As they walked along the Seine, eating their ice cream and enjoying the shade from the hazelnut trees, Notre-Dame came into view—majestic and serene. They approached Pont Saint-Louis, which connected Île de la Cité
with the small island they were on, and Tara pulled out her camera.

“Here. Let me get one of you.” Garrett took the camera from her and handed her his cone. Using mostly hand gestures, he positioned her with her elbow on the wall of the bridge and Notre-Dame in the background, and took quite a few shots, moving farther away each time. In between, she gave quick licks to the ice cream, which threatened to melt all over her hands. Satisfied at last, Garrett returned to her, laughing as she took a huge swipe with her tongue on both cones. He slipped the camera back into her purse and zipped it closed.

“Dad, can I go over there and watch the puppet show?” Dylan pointed to a knot of children sitting on the lawn of the cathedral in front of a portable puppet stage. Their giggles and claps infused the air with happy sounds.

“Sure, sport. We'll be right here.”

Tara and Garrett stepped off the bridge and moved to the side behind the group of kids.

Tara held Garrett's cone out to him, but he dropped his gaze to her mouth and paused. “You have chocolate on your lip.”

As her tongue made a quick jaunt around her lips, he leaned down and caught it with his mouth, capturing and muting her startled gasp. Her grip tightened around the cones she still clutched in each hand. She became aware of his erection forming against her front and the stone wall against her back. Whoever made being between a rock and a hard place synonymous with trouble had never been kissed by Garrett in Paris.

The tender kiss made her brain go all fuzzy.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

“Did I get what?”

“The chocolate.”

He laughed. “Yep
.
All gone.” He took his cone from her. “Now I have a much sweeter taste in my mouth.”

The kiss and the fire she'd felt in Garrett's touch brought heat to her lips. She cooled them by burying them deep in the ice cream and threw a worried glance in Dylan's direction, finding his attention glued to the puppet show. “What if Dylan had seen?”

Garrett took a lick from his cone, seeming to weigh his words. “He's seen me kiss people in the past, and he's never been traumatized by it.”

“Well, yeah, of course. But we don't want him to get the wrong idea that this is anything serious...like with you and your tutor.”

“Yeah. You're right.” He turned away to lean his back against the wall, and she felt the distancing in the move—both mental and physical.

Well, they'd had their night together...and their morning...and their afternoon. Twenty-four hours of romance was more than she'd ever expected on this trip. She should be grateful and satisfied that she had that to remember.

But Garrett's nearness made her feel hot and needy...and anything but satisfied.

When she took her next bite, the ice cream hung on the back of her tongue, making her shiver and causing a moment of excruciating brain freeze.

She remembered the admonishment her dad would give her when she did the same thing as a little girl.

“Don't bite off more than you can handle,”
he would say.

Now that she'd made love to Garrett, she knew exactly what her dad meant...though this time it had nothing to do with ice cream.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
T
WAS
9:25
A
.
M
.
ON
S
UNDAY
, and Faith was still in her pajamas. She couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

If ever.

Oh, she'd stayed home with the kids when they were sick, but she always gotten dressed, even if that just meant slipping on jeans and a T-shirt. When
she
was sick, getting dressed was a must because
her
being under the weather always brought the women with their casserole dishes. It wouldn't do for them to stop by unexpectedly and catch her in a robe. That would be snickered at in the community for three to five days, depending on what other gossip popped up in the meantime.

Sawyer was at church by now. What was he telling people? No one had paid any attention yesterday that she was at her mother-in-law's. It was commonplace for her or Sawyer or the kids to be running in and out. And she'd gone to their cabin on Kentucky Lake for the better part of the day. That's where she'd called the kids from. The situation didn't seem so dire when she sat on the dock, watching the sunset on the water.

It occurred to her that she should move in there rather than Lacy's, but that would leave Sawyer to face the community alone, and that hardly seemed fair since he was the innocent in all of this.

The Marsdens' house next door was dark when she'd returned. With any luck, they were out of town. But she hadn't heard anything about their being gone, so that was unlikely.

Still she could hope.

She took her coffee cup and wandered aimlessly around the house until she found herself on the screened-in back porch. The forsythia and spirea bushes, tall and gangly and in bad need of pruning, had formed a privacy hedge around the backyard. Lacy had said it amounted to laziness, but Faith always suspected it gave much-needed privacy from her neighbor's eagle eye...and serpent tongue.

Lacy's roses and hydrangeas were in full bloom, a living canvas of color, and the swing was usually the perfect place to enjoy the sight and scents, but she was too restless. She could, however, cut some of the blooms and bring the divine scent indoors. Maybe it would be good aromatherapy.

She pushed the door open and descended the steps, letting the spring slam it back.

Sawyer's beloved bass boat, a treasured inheritance from his dad, sat under the carport, covered and untouched since this ordeal started, despite her husband's passion for the sport. His best sermons usually contained some fishing stories. The day would come—soon, she hoped—when he'd hook the boat up and head for the lake. That would be her sign that healing had begun.

The dewy grass squished between her toes as she padded barefoot to the potting shed. Packets of unopened seeds lay in a pile on the potting bench next to the gloves and a hand trowel, placed there by hands that had expected to come back for them.

Well, hands were back—just not the same ones these items were waiting for.

Faith picked up the seeds and the tools and stalked out of the potting shed with a purpose. She was an action person. And until a better action came to her, this would do.

She dropped to her knees in the dirt, ramming her hand into one of the gloves with determination. Something squished in the tip of one of the fingers, wringing a startled cry from her tight throat.

She jerked the glove off and shook it. A black spider with long, crumpled legs fell out. It was dead, but she was terrified of the creatures and looking at it still raised goose bumps on her arms. Then her eyes caught the red hourglass shape on its back, bringing her to her feet with a squeal of horror. A black widow! “Eww!”

“Who's there?” a sharp voice demanded from the other side of the hedge.

Sue! Another black widow would've been preferable. Faith's flight-or-fight instinct kicked in, and she looked around wildly for a means of escape.

“Who's there, I said? Answer me, whoever you are, or I'm calling the sheriff.”

A flush of heat spread through Faith, but with it came an awareness of the cool dirt beneath her feet, which were firmly planted in a yard that belonged to her and her family.

Fight it would be.

“Don't be alarmed, Sue. It's me. A spider scared me.”

“Faith?”

She shouldn't have been surprised, considering who she was speaking with. Nevertheless, Faith was startled to see a pair of arms snaking through the middle of the thick bushes, pushing them aside, and leaving her completely exposed to her neighbor's gawk.

“What in the world are you doing here at nine forty-five on Sunday morning...in your pajamas? Why aren't you at Sunday School?”

“Why aren't
you
at Sunday School?” Oh,
that
was sure the perfect, snappy comeback.

“I'm not feeling well.” Sue sniffed as if she needed to add evidence. A sneeze followed, which couldn't have been faked.

It ran through Faith's thoughts that she could beg off the same way. She could say she wasn't feeling well, which was actually the truth, and had come to Lacy's house so Sawyer wouldn't catch it. But, any way she tried to spin it would be a lie. And when the news broke, which it might've already done, she'd be caught in her lie—even if the truth was nobody's business.

She'd told Sawyer she didn't care who knew. She was tired of living a lie. No use starting a new one now.

“I'm going to live here for a while, Sue.” She didn't have to try to keep emotion out of her voice. It was dull and lifeless with no effort needed.

“Why? Is something wrong with your house?”

“No. Nothing's wrong with the house.”

“Well, I don't understand why y'all would move out of your house that's only—what? Twenty years old?—into this place that obviously needs so much work. It'll drive Sawyer crazy. He doesn't have time now to take care of everything at the church that needs doing, much less fix this place up.”

“Sawyer isn't moving, Sue. Just me.”

“What? Do you mean to tell me...?” Aghast was too light a term to describe the woman's face. “Wait just a minute.”

The arms jerked from the shrubs, allowing the stems to shoot back upright into their intended positions. Before Faith could get her wits about her, Sue had made her way to the end of the hedge and was coming through the gate attached to the side of the house.

Faith met her by the Mr. Lincoln tea rose—Lacy's favorite.

“Do you mean to tell me you and Sawyer are separated?” Sue's voice was a hodgepodge of emotion with shades of disbelief, incredulity, curiosity and a tinge of unchecked amusement all balled together.

“That's correct.”

“Why?” Sue's eyes narrowed and anger took top billing. “Has he been messing around on you?”

“No.” Faith shook her head emphatically, wanting to squelch that rumor before it got wings. “Never. Sawyer's the most loyal, trustworthy husband who ever lived. He would never even
think
about cheating.”

Sue crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her bicep. “What is it then? I mean, why else do couples separate?”

“Couples separate for a lot of reasons, Sue. Sawyer and I have some things we need to straighten out, and I needed space to think. And time alone,” she added.

If she picked up on the hint, Sue chose to ignore it. “Well, who all knows? I mean, is he going to make a public announcement this morning at church? The congregation has the right to know if their preacher and his wife are going to get a divorce.”

“I didn't say anything about divorce.” Faith interlocked her fingers to keep from lashing out at the silly ninny.

“No, of course you didn't. But if y'all are separated, certainly divorce is a possibility. Anybody with any sense knows that.”

Faith took a deep breath, her head filling with the scent of Lacy's Mr. Lincolns. Her mother-in-law had lived by Sue for thirty-plus years and was one of the few people who truly cared about the woman. The thought cooled her temper and guided her words. “I pray it won't come to that. And I don't think it will, but whatever the outcome, Sawyer and I need the prayers of the community. And we need privacy.”

Irritation flared in Sue's eyes as her mouth clamped shut. At least it had stopped her from saying whatever her next comment was going to be. “Privacy isn't something Taylor's Grove's very good at. We're all family here. We care about each other.” She sneezed again, and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her khakis to wipe her nose, which was beginning to look raw.

“As long as people let that care guide their actions, I can't ask for anything more,” Faith said.

“Yes, well...” Sue looked at her watch. “I'll leave you alone. Give you some of that privacy you need.”

She turned and practically sprinted from the yard, leaving Faith to wonder why Sue had bolted the way she did.

Following a hunch, Faith went back into the house, changed out of her pajamas and took a seat in the living room next to the window.

Just as she suspected, Sue and her husband, Ed, left their house at 10:17 a.m. Their hurried pace gave away that they were trying hard to make the ten-thirty service at Taylor's Grove Church despite Sue's cold and the old people she'd be putting at risk with it.

As to what message they would hear, Faith couldn't be sure, but somehow Sawyer would manage to bring love into it.

She headed to the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee. She would need the caffeine. When church let out, her day was going to get very busy.

* * *

“I'
M
TELLING
YOU
, E
MMA
, if I'd made a list of things to include in my most perfect day, I could check most of them off. Finding the right Jacques Martin would be the only thing without a mark in front of it.”

Emma's dreamy sigh came across clearly. “Mmm. I'm thrilled for you, and jealous down to my star-spangled toenails.”

“Oh, that's right! Tuesday's the Fourth of July. It's weird being in a place that doesn't celebrate it.” That Garrett had provided her with the best fireworks she'd ever experienced ran through her mind, but she didn't voice it. She'd gushed enough about him already. Any more and Emma would get the wrong idea.

“But you'll be there for Bastille Day, right? That's sort of the same thing, isn't it?”

“Yeah, that'll be my last day here. I fly out the morning of the fifteenth.” Her gaze strayed across the terrace to Garrett's flat, where she watched the lights wink out in Dylan's bedroom, and followed Garrett's progression as he appeared in the foyer, headed toward his kitchen. Her stomach knotted and she changed the subject away from her leaving. “Are you going to the cabin for the Fourth?”

“I, uh.” Emma coughed loudly into the phone. “Sorry! Something went down the wrong way. Your parents cancelled the picnic this year.”

“Cancelled? Why?” The July Fourth picnic at the cabin on the lake had never been cancelled. It was a tradition.

“They're calling for the weather to be bad.” Emma's explanation didn't make sense.

“If it rains, we've always just moved the picnic into the cabin.”

“But this year, there's a chance of some really nasty weather. You know, tornadoes and stuff.”

“Oh.” Tara wasn't sure what “and stuff” referred to. Garrett appeared in his living room, sipping a glass of wine. He leaned over and picked something up from his coffee table, and a second later, strains of Miles Davis drifted through Tara's open window. “Garrett is so hot, Emma. I wish you could meet him.”

“Well, maybe some time when he's in St. Louis, we'll run up there and do some shopping.”

“Yeah, maybe we'll do that.” He disappeared into his bedroom, and Tara's mind shifted back to the cancelled picnic. “Tornadoes and stuff, huh?”

“Yeah. Hey, uh, I hate to cut this off, but my cycling group is riding the Tunnel Hill Trail today.”

“No problem. Talk to you soon.”

“Hope tomorrow's even better than today for you! Bye!”

“Bye.”

Tara stared at the phone for a minute. Something was up about the picnic. There was an edge to Emma's voice.

Mama had said Dad was down. Was he so depressed they would cancel the picnic?

She hit Trenton's number.

“Hey, pinky.”

She laughed. Garrett and Dylan had been so accepting of her deformity, she'd almost forgotten about it while she'd been there. “Hey, bro. I was just talking to Emma, and she said the picnic was cancelled.”

Trenton paused. “Yeah. Yeah, that's right.”

“But it's never been cancelled before. If it stormed, we always just moved inside.”

“Yeah, well, uh...tell me what you've seen since the last time we talked.”

Was he changing the subject? “What is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the last time I told you about my sightseeing, you told me your eyes were glazing over, but tonight, you want to know all about it. What gives, Trent? I feel like I'm getting the run—”

“You're fading out, sis. Hello?”

Tara checked her connection. Five bars. “Quit messing with me, Trenton. Is everyth—”

“Hello? Hello? Sorry, sis. I think I've lost you.”

“But you're coming in loud and clear.”

Beep.
Her phone read Call Ended
.
She called him back immediately, but it went straight to voice mail.

More angry now than worried, she punched Thea's number. It rang several times before going to voice mail. Was Thea avoiding her, too?

The air seemed hot suddenly, so she stepped out onto the terrace.

“You're pulling your lip. What's wrong?” Garrett was walking toward her with a glass of wine in each hand.