Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (51 page)

“So the freak had a price tag attached.” Tara wiped a hand down her face.

“What does that mean? You lost me.”

She cut her eyes away and waved her hand. “Never mind.”

He slid his grip down her arms and attempted to pull her into a hug, but she shook her head and pulled away. “So you were going to let me go home...go on for the rest of my life...never knowing I'd met my birth father?”

“I thought he would come around eventually, and that, until then, what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you.”

“Augh!” The sadness in her eyes morphed into anger. “How could you do that? You took the choice away from me, and gave it to him. And neither of those choices was yours to make.”

Her logic made his own seem horribly flawed in hindsight. “I'm sorry. I screwed up.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “How did you find him, anyway? This address wasn't on my list.”

His promise to Henri flashed through Garrett's mind. Damn it! “I can't tell you. I promised I wouldn't because it could get someone in a lot of trouble.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and it seemed as if her face became all eyes. “Ah! More knowledge about my father that I can't be trusted with.” She threw her hands in the air, which brought a taxi to a screeching halt at the curb beside her.

When she jerked the door open, Garrett moved to join her, but she blocked the way, shaking her head. “No, Garrett. I need to be alone.”

“We haven't finished talking.” He held the door as she climbed in, his jaws aching with tension.

“We have for now.” She pulled the door closed, and he heard the lock snap.

The sound caught in his ear, its finality jarring loose memories that ran a shudder up his spine.

He touched his phone, poised for the text message he feared might follow in the taxi's wake.

None came.

He raised his hand to hail a taxi, wondering whether Tara was going home or if she was headed somewhere else.

They would talk later when they both had clearer heads.

Right then, he needed to get back and talk to his bosses at Soulard
and hope he hadn't signed a death sentence for the company.

* * *

T
ARA
HELD
HER
COMPOSURE
fairly well as the taxi careened through the streets of Paris. She didn't go back to her flat. Couldn't. Not yet.

The hurt she felt wouldn't let her listen to Garrett's explanation again right then. Wouldn't let her get into what was sure to bloom into an argument in front of Dylan.

Tears glided from her eyes, but she held in the sobs.

The taxi dropped her off at the Tuileries—the gardens adjacent to the Louvre. The place brimmed with people, but she felt protected in her anonymity. Everyone here had cried at one time or another, and she likely wasn't the only one crying there even at that moment.

She found a small space at the end of a crowded bench and allowed the tears to continue falling, confident they weren't too noticeable behind her large sunglasses.

They slowed, and while she wasn't feeling better, she at least got her breathing under some control. So when the phone rang and she saw it wasn't Garrett but her dad, she answered with a modicum of confidence that she could handle this conversation.

Boy, was she wrong.

“Hi, lovebug.”

Just the sound of her dad's voice brought all of the wicked pain to the surface.

“Oh, Daddy...” She cried, channeling her inner four-year-old with giant sobs that garnered looks of curiosity and pity from the people near her. “Jacques Martin didn't want anything to do with me. Told me to get out. And his wife called me a fr-fr-freak.”

“Hey...hey,” the familiar, gentle voice soothed across the line. “Calm down. It's okay.”

“No, it's not okay,” she blubbered. “Nothing's okay. Garrett found him a week ago, but he doesn't trust me enough to tell me
how
. And then he set up a secret meeting between Jacques and me, but he didn't trust me enough to tell me the man I met was my father. He left it all to Jacques...who doesn't want me.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm not following all this, but it sounds like you've been treated badly. Just tell me how I can help.”

“You can't. Nobody can. My birth father doesn't want anything to do with me, and the man I'm in love with doesn't trust me.”

“But
we
love you. Your family...your friends...your students. The people here love you and trust you. You're in a strange place with strange people, but your life is back here. Nothing about the way
we
feel about you has changed.”

That made her cry harder.

Tension infused her dad's voice when he spoke again. “Tell you what...I'm going to have your mom call you, okay? I think she might be better over the phone than I am.”

“O-okay. Isn't she there?”

“No, she's at Mom's. I'll call her right now and have her call you, okay? It'll just take a couple of minutes.”

“Okay. Th-thanks, Dad.”

“Love you, baby.”

“I know.” She broke down sobbing again, words not coming in response to her dad's goodbye. She waved pitifully, knowing he couldn't see her, but wishing he was there.

When her phone rang again, she answered her mom's call with another loud sob.

* * *

F
AITH
'
S
HEART
ACHED
AS
only a mother's could.

If she could've gotten her hands on Jacques Martin at that moment, she could've easily rendered him incapable of fathering any more children with just a few twists—and thoroughly enjoyed herself in the process.

She didn't pass judgment on Garrett for his part in this. It sounded as if he'd tried, though his attempts to help were obviously misguided.

She cried in sympathy for Tara's disappointment and hurt and for her own frustration that this was not in the realm of things she could kiss and make all better.

As Tara talked, her desolate tone chilled Faith's soul. It wasn't fair that Garrett was involved. Her daughter needed someone's arms around her.

She
needed someone's arm around her, too. She longed for Sawyer's quiet calm.

“And he actually threatened Garrett's company?” Faith broke into Tara's lengthy blow-by-blow of what had happened, incredulous at the extent of Jacques Martin's vindictiveness. Obviously, life had changed the pleasant young man who always had a smile for everyone.

Tara, who seemed calmer now and could put several sentences together without her breath snubbing, filled in missing details of the backstory.

As Faith listened, a noise outside pulled her attention to the window.

Sawyer had pulled into the driveway.

Bless him! He knew she needed him, and he'd come to be with her.

The ache in her chest eased, knowing in a few minutes she wouldn't be alone. He would be in here with her. Would hold her. Comfort her. And together they would lift Tara up and hold her from across the distance.

This was it. This horrible incident was the catalyst meant to reunite them.

Healing would begin. Maybe already had begun.

Then she noticed what she hadn't before.

Sawyer hadn't pulled into the driveway. He'd backed in.

She watched in disbelief as he got out of the truck and gingerly hooked up the trailer to his bass boat.

He was going fishing!

At a time like this? When she needed him? Knowing that she
and
Tara both needed him?

He made quick work of the task as Tara continued to talk. Faith only added supportive, guttural phrases, “uh-huh...right,” at the appropriate lulls.

Sooner than she could've imagined, he pulled out of the drive, bass boat in tow.

Tara's story gave an excuse to cry openly, so she did.

But she cried not only for her daughter now, but also for herself.

Sawyer's action this time, even more than his inability to make love to her, screamed the message she hadn't wanted to acknowledge but which came through now with horrible clarity.

Their marriage was over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T
HE
LAST
TIME
G
ARRETT
had endured a day this bad was when Angie died.

For the past five hours since leaving Jacques Martin's office, he'd been sequestered with the
cadres supérieurs,
the upper management at Soulard, who'd brought in the
president-directeur général
after one hour. And a couple of hours later, the owners had been pulled in via teleconference from Brussels.

When all was said and done, they'd decided to do nothing at this point. The initial panic that stemmed around the possible identity of Martin's powerful friends gave way to logic that there was simply no way of knowing who these people were without confronting the man himself. That idea was vetoed because it would push the power in Martin's direction. Plus there was always the chance he would come to his senses and not do anything.

Garrett's gut told him otherwise.

But for now, a wait-and-see attitude had been adopted.

The construction worker in Garrett's brain had a jackhammer running full bore as he made his way home. His temples throbbed, his throat ached, he was starved, and talking with Tara was still on the agenda.

He did get to utter his one bit of good news to Henri's pale expression when his friend met him at his apartment door. “You can relax, Henri. I told them a private investigator found Martin for me, which isn't a lie. You did your investigation in private. That subject never came up again.”

Henri's shoulders slumped with relief. “
Merci beaucoup,
Garrett. I also spoke with Tara when she got home. I told her the truth about generating the list.”

“Thanks, man.” Garrett shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the couch. “And thanks for watching Dylan—was he good for you?”

“Dylan is always good for me. He played with the new puppy downstairs, ate a good dinner and fell asleep quickly.”

“And Tara? How is she?”

Henri tilted his head with a shrug. “Sad.”

Garrett glanced across the terrace. “Better than angry, I suppose.” The lights of her flat were still on.

“I am not so sure of that.” Henri's look was guarded and fretful, and neither boded well for what lay in store. “So tell me...what is the plan at Soulard?”

Garrett pressed his fingers into his forehead and rubbed hard. “It's difficult to know what to do because we don't know what direction Martin's strike will come from, if it comes at all. So, for now, we're going to sit tight and not do anything.”

Henri's pursed lips curved down at the corners. “I suppose that is all we can do.” His eyelids drooped with exhaustion. The past few hours had been hell for him, as well.

“Go on home, Henri.” Garrett clapped his friend's back, trying to lighten the mood. “I'll get Tara to talk with me here or on the terrace.”

“You are certain she will?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “But, if she'll talk to me at all, we need to be alone.”

“Je comprends.”
Henri laid his suit coat gingerly over his arm.
“Bon chance, mon ami. À demain.”

“Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow.”

Garrett saw him out and then wasted no time heading for Tara's.

She evidently had been watching for him because she came out on the terrace and met him halfway. He hoped that was a good sign, but one glance at her red, swollen eyes told him it wasn't.

The pounding jackhammer shifted into high.

Her rigid stance, with her arms locked across her chest as if it were freezing out rather than ninety degrees, held no welcome, and the hug he'd wished for didn't come, so he shoved his hands into his pockets for lack of anything better to do and waited for her to begin the conversation. Giving her control of the situation was a must, even though it went against every fiber of his being.

The fact was he'd gone behind her back, good intentions notwithstanding. He had to face the consequences.

“Henri told me what he did.” Her voice was quiet and low, her tone calm. “How he found my fa—Jacques Martin. I'm grateful for the lengths you both went to, and I'm sorry my actions put Soulard in jeopardy. If I'd had any inkling, I wouldn't have gone to see him.”

Garrett pulled his hands from his pockets, opening his arms to her. But she ignored the gesture, so he rested them on his hips. “I should've told you everything. Should've leveled with you from the start.”

Her eyes met his straight on. “Yeah. You should have.” She glanced away, running a hand through the top of her hair, sliding the other into a side pocket on her dress.

The outfit was the same she'd had on in Martin's office. There it'd looked fresh and crisp. Now, it was wrinkled as if she'd been wallowing in it, which, he realized, was probably exactly what she'd been doing. The thought pinched his heart.

“It might
not
have changed the way things turned out, but I keep wondering if it
could
have.” The wistfulness in her voice clawed at his insides. “If I'd approached him differently. In my own way. I'm good with people. With students and parents. Even the difficult ones.”

Garrett recalled the conversation with their mutual friend in the States and the guilt in his stomach took on more weight. “Josh told me that.”

“But you didn't believe him because anybody with my...interesting characteristics...” a bitter note edged into her voice as she held up her half hand “...couldn't be someone others would trust.”

Her words slammed into him, momentarily shattering his resolve to relinquish the control. He stepped toward her, and she stepped back before he caught himself. He didn't want her to leave. Things would be okay if he could just keep her talking. “When he told me that, I didn't know you well. Now I do, and the trust is there. Believe me.”

“That's the problem, Garrett.” Her voice grew quiet—ominously so—and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. “I don't know when I can believe you and when I'm being judged on the Angie scale.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks, scalding Garrett's heart with their honesty. “I love you, but love can't sustain a relationship. There has to be trust, and we're just not there yet.”

His heart caught on her last word and pounded it into his brain. “But we'll get there.”

“We don't have time.” She shook her head. “Even another three weeks isn't enough to build anything that can sustain the time and distance we're up against.” She took a deep breath and he watched it shudder in her chest. The next one he took responded in kind.

“Don't, Tara.” He held a palm up to make her stop talking. Giving her control was a mistake, and he had to slow this train down and veer it away from the cliff it was hurdling toward. Then she reached out and took his hand, and the gesture came so unexpectedly...so gently and so unlike anything Angie would've ever done, it threw his game off and shocked him into silence.

“I've decided not to change my ticket,” she went on. “I'm going home on the fifteenth like I originally planned. It'll be better for everybody this way.”

He found his voice again and opened his mouth to protest, but she countered with her coup de grâce
.

“Especially Dylan.”

His heart stalled in his chest, and his head felt like it would explode with the acknowledgment that she was right. This sure as hell felt like the worst that could happen, but devastating Dylan would trump everything.

“I love you, Tara,” he said simply.

She nodded. “Yeah. I think you do.”

Their eyes met for one horrible and tender moment that held all the passion of what they'd had together...and all the regrets of what might have been.

Then she turned and ran back to her door, flipping off the light on the terrace.

Leaving him in the dark.

* * *

T
ARA
WAS
STARTLED
AWAKE
and glanced at her clock.

Six fifty-two. Someone was knocking on her front door.

Garrett. He probably didn't come across the terrace because he didn't want Dylan to know he was talking to her. On his way to work? She realized she hadn't even asked what happened when he returned to the office last night. If he was going in this early, things must not have gone well.

She lay there, listening to him knock a second time, thinking how she didn't need to begin her day like this. It was going to be difficult enough without hearing his pleas for reconciliation right off the bat.

She blinked, trying to rid her eyes of the two hours of sleep she'd managed, but sandbags had replaced her eyelids. With all the crying she'd done, she probably should be thankful they'd even open.

Garrett knocked again, more persistent this time, and she resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going away. She stumbled from the bed still in yesterday's clothes, grimacing at the achy feeling that suffused her entire body.

She'd caught a bad case of heartbreak flu.

“I'm comin'.” Her voice crackled as if she were ninety.

She stopped at the door and took a deep breath to brace for the onslaught of emotion. Then she swung it open, and her chin hit her chest.

“Dad!”

“Hi, lovebug.”

Sawyer O'Malley didn't look quite as bad as she did, but he was running a close second. Tired and rumpled and unshaven, he was the most wonderful thing her eyes could've beheld at that moment.

He dropped his small bag and held out his arms, and Tara fell into his warm embrace, sobbing her joy and anguish.

“What are...you doing...here?” She jerked her way through the obvious question.

He didn't let go. Just kept holding her while he spoke, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion. “You sounded so miserable yesterday when I talked to you. I couldn't stand the thought of you facing all of this alone.”

“But, Dad...this is Paris. It's...not like driving...from Taylor's Grove...to Paducah. How'd you get here...so fast?” Her tears were leaving a wet spot on his shirt, but she didn't care. Her dad was there, holding her, and suddenly her topsy-turvy world had righted a bit.

“I bought a ticket, drove to St. Louis and got on a plane.” He kissed the top of her head. “The seven-hour difference helped. It was still morning at home when I talked to you.”

She loosened her grip so she could lean back and look him in the eye. “You shouldn't have come. But I'm so glad you're here.”

“Me, too.” He gathered her to his chest in a tight squeeze. “But if I don't get some coffee soon, I'm going to collapse.”

She pulled away with a smile, the first one she'd felt in what seemed like forever. “I can help with that.”

She showed him around her apartment and let him freshen up while she prepared breakfast. Her appetite still hadn't returned but she forced down a few bites of bacon, eggs and toast to help ease her splitting headache while she shared all the gruesome details of the visit with Jacques Martin.

Pain radiated from her dad's eyes as he listened, and every so often he'd shake his head in disgust or sympathy or whatever the appropriate emotion was at the time.

She didn't say too much about Garrett—only that she'd ended the relationship and how that seemed to be the smart thing to do. And, for the most part, her dad withheld advice.

“It just felt so right, Dad.”

Her tears turned on again, and he took her hand, his touch as gentle as his voice. “Maybe it
is
right.”

That certainly wasn't what she'd expected. “But not if the trust isn't there.”

“No, trust is important.” He swallowed hard. “It has to be earned, and that takes time.”

“Time Garrett and I don't have.” She shrugged. “I'm leaving Saturday.” She paused, realizing she'd been talking only about herself since he'd arrived. “Are you staying till then?”

He smiled, but sadness darkened his eyes. “No. Actually, my return flight leaves at three, and I have to be back at the airport at one, so I'll need to leave here by noon.”

“What? It's seven already! You're only here for five hours?”

“I have an important meeting at the church tomorrow. I have to be back for it.”

“So you came all this way...?”

“To show my daughter—” He looked at her then with an intensity she'd rarely seen except when her dad was preaching. He tapped his chest at the place over his heart. “To show
my daughter
...who is more precious to me than life itself...how much she's loved and treasured. And that I'll
always
be there for her.”

Tara's heart swelled so large it pushed the air from her lungs and for a moment she couldn't speak. “I'm sorry for what I've put you through, Dad,” she managed, at last. “I'm not sure I deserve you.”

“None of us deserve the blessings we're given. That's what makes them special.”

She glanced out the window and saw Garrett and Dylan stirring in their apartment. They'd blessed her life. She could only hope that in some small way she'd blessed them, too. And the best way to assure that she remained a blessing, at least to Dylan, was to leave while things were good between them.

She made her mind up quickly. “I'm going to call the airlines and see if I can move my flight up to today. I want to go home with you.”

Her dad's eyes widened. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Her heart, which had grown so large a minute ago, started to wither. She knew if she stayed, it would shrivel up to nothing in no time flat. “I came to Paris to find out who I am, and now I know. I'm Tara O'Malley from Taylor's Grove, Kentucky...and I'm proud of that,” she said more to herself than to him. “I need to go home, need to get back to my life.”