Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (53 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
ARA
PAUSED
OUTSIDE
THE
door of Jacques Martin's office. “Dad.” She would make one last attempt to talk him out of this, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears in the taxi. “This really isn't a good idea, and it could make things horrible for Soulard.”

Her dad placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look her directly in the eyes. “Tara, I believe in a master plan. If my meeting him is part of that plan, it will happen. If it's not, he won't be here.” He smiled and gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Besides, I've prayed about what to say, and I don't think what I want to tell him will be harmful to Soulard, Jacques's wife or anybody else.”

Her dad had never given her any reason to doubt that he only wanted what was best for her. She needed to trust him now. “Okay.” She nodded. “Let's do this.”

Sawyer opened the door and stepped back to let Tara enter first. Thank heavens, the waiting room was empty again. Just what kind of business never had any customers?

Yvette Martin's eyes widened at the sight of Tara, and she snarled something in French as she came to her feet. Pointing to the door, she raised her voice. “Get out. Now!”

Sawyer ignored the directive and pushed past Tara, extending his hand to the young woman. “Well now, there's no reason to get all huffy. Hi there. I'm Sawyer O'Malley. Tara's dad.”

“I don't care who you are.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “This is a private office, and I am instructing you to get out now.”

Sawyer shifted his look between the two women and grinned. “Whooee! There's no use getting all worked up like this. I just want—”

“Jacques!” Yvette turned toward the closed door down the hall and shouted.

While she continued shouting in French, Sawyer gave her an innocent shrug. “See there. You already knew what I wanted without me even having to ask.”

The office door flew open, and a red-faced Jacques Martin marched out, shoulders squared and obviously ready to tangle.

Sawyer rushed to meet him as Tara gawked, rooted to where she stood.

Her dad extended his hand once more, and again it was ignored. “Hello, Mr. Martin,” he said calmly. “I know this is a surprise, but I couldn't pass up what might be my only opportunity to ever meet Tara's birth father.”

“She is
not
my daughter. Now get out.”

Her heartbeat, which was already fast, didn't accelerate. Her stomach did no additional churning. In fact, his words had no effect on Tara this time. Perhaps the tears had done their job and left her numb...or maybe having her dad there with her made all the difference.

Sawyer turned to Tara and held out his hand to her.

She moved to where he stood, taking the hand he proffered, relaxing in his firm but gentle grip.

He turned back to Martin. “You're right. She's not your daughter. She's
my
daughter, and I thank God every day for her.”

Tara's face heated, but she noticed Martin's had lost some of its earlier color.

“And I want to thank
you,
Mr. Martin. Without you, I'd have no Tara.” Her dad's voice lowered. “You see, my wife and I produced two other children whom I love very much, but nothing I could ever have done would've allowed me to produce Tara. Only you could do that.”

Sawyer looked at Tara, and the smile he gave her held so much love she thought her heart would burst from it. She smiled back through eyes that brimmed with happy tears.

He tightened his grip on her hand before turning back to Martin while Tara stole a quick glance toward Yvette. The young wife was perched on her seat, arms crossed tightly, eyes boring into nothing but the top of the desk.

“And so I came here today,” Sawyer continued, “simply to let you know how much you've blessed my life, and I've asked God to bless you in whatever way he sees fit. Rest assured, you'll be in my prayers often.”

Martin said nothing, but just for a moment, Tara thought she could see a resemblance to the kind man she met at Place des Vosges
.

Her dad faced her. “Ready?”

A chuckle floated out of her on a bubble of joy. “Yep.”

She kept her arm linked through her dad's as they left the office, carrying in her heart a certainty that she was bound to this man with a bond even deeper than blood.

* * *

G
ARRETT
HAD
ALWAYS
heard that 95 percent of the things you worry about never happen.

Just his luck that this incident lay in the remaining 5 percent.

The owners had announced, to the groans of shock and dismay from the audience, the immediate, temporary closing of Soulard until such time as this crisis could be resolved. Because most of the missing forms were those dealing with the labor force, it would be inadvisable to keep the brewery open until the documents were back in place.

Guilt that he had caused this whole, nightmarish fiasco was eating Garrett's insides like acid. Bile had actually risen into his throat when the official announcement was made.

He'd made up his mind to offer his resignation as soon as the meeting adjourned. It might not help anything, but if there was a chance it would call off the jackal that was Jacques Martin, it would be worth a try.

He and Dylan could make it for a while. He'd never touched the insurance money from Angie's death, which was tucked away in savings for Dylan's future, but he could borrow against it if a crisis arose.

Damn, he was going to be sick if he didn't get out of this room soon. He wiped his face with Henri's handkerchief. The walls were closing in on him, squeezing the breath out of his lungs.

The CFE
representative was droning on and on with his apologies and reiterating the importance of having all required paperwork complete, and how he couldn't accept the copies on hand because all official documents must be originals.

It was a highly unusual breach of protocol for the receptionist to interrupt a meeting, especially one of such magnitude, and a nervous titter moved through the crowd when she pecked on the door and entered, waving a piece of paper.

She handed it to the man from CFE,
who frowned and apologized, but then pulled out his cell phone and stepped from the room to make what was assumed to be an urgent call.

People remained oddly quiet, maybe wondering what else could possibly have happened that would rank high enough to interrupt this meeting. There were a few nervous whispers around him, which Garrett didn't try to discern. Instead, he studied the grim faces of those who sat in silence. He, at least, had some income to fall back on. Some of these people were the sole providers for their families. They wouldn't be able to wait around for months to be called back to Soulard.

The man from CFE returned to the front of the room. The room fell silent, and he cleared his throat.

“
I have just received a call,” he began in his smooth French, which Garrett had no trouble following, “and I must offer my personal apology to each of you for the turmoil you have been through this day.” He paused and cleared his throat again, and Garrett wondered what else could be so difficult for him to say that he hadn't already said.

“Just say it,” Garrett muttered under his breath, causing several people around him to look his way.

“It appears a grave error has been made. The documents for Soulard Brewery have been located and are all accounted for. The brewery is in no danger of being closed. You may all return to work immediately.” He stopped and gave the owners a sheepish look. “Or as soon as you are instructed to do so.”

The loud cheer that filled the room soon gave way to a myriad of mixed emotions. Some people cried tears of joy. Others laughed and hugged. Still others spoke in harsh, angry tones that they'd been made to suffer for several hours over what turned out to be nothing.

Garrett slid to the floor in a sweaty heap of happiness, anger and frustration.

Had Jacques Martin gone to this extreme just to flex his muscles and show his strength?

What a bastard!

Tara was fortunate Martin didn't have a part in her life. Perhaps someday she would realize that.

Garrett pulled his phone out and switched it on, hoping to find another call from her, but there wasn't one.

Perhaps, if
he
was fortunate, he might have a part in her life again.

They had been good together.

Perhaps someday she would realize that, too.

* * *

F
AITH
RUSHED
TO
MEET
S
AWYER
when he pulled into the driveway, getting there even before he could switch the motor off. To her surprise, Tara was waking up in the passenger seat.

Faith opened the door for her sleepy daughter. “I didn't expect to see you, sweetheart. I thought Sawyer would drop you off in Paducah.”

Tara shook her head as she lumbered from the truck and grabbed Faith into the tightest hug she'd felt from her eldest child in years.

“I didn't want to go to my place tonight. I wanted to come
home.
” Her heavy emphasis on the word brought a warm glow to Faith's heart. “Oh, Mama, I'm so sorry for everything y'all have been through. Dad filled me in, and I feel just awful.” She started to whimper, and Faith recognized that it was exhaustion coupled with jet lag speaking. Tara had been through a lot the past couple of days.

They all had.

She cooed soothingly while Sawyer came around the truck. She'd never seen him as disheveled as he was right then, but he'd never looked sexier. When their eyes locked, she recognized the flame burning in his gaze, and felt the spark from it deep within her.

He spread his arms and pulled them both to his chest, voicing a quiet prayer of thanks.

It was just after eight, and the sun hadn't set yet, so they were very much on display to the people that passed. A few passersby waved or tooted their horns in greeting.

“Let's go inside for a bit.” Faith tilted her head toward the door.

“I'll wait for you out here.” Tara staggered back to the truck and crawled into the backseat.

“I don't want to go inside.” Sawyer pulled Faith against him and locked his arms around her. “I want the world to see me kiss my wife.” His lips captured hers in a knee-weakening kiss, and his obvious erection pressed boldly against her. It went on far longer than she would've ever imagined, his tongue blissfully exploring the deepest reaches of her mouth, and Faith became vaguely aware of the loud blaring horns, catcalls and applause from the residents of Taylor's Grove.

“Sawyer, we're becoming a spectacle,” she gently chided when they finally came up for air.

“I don't care.” His eyes remained locked on hers with a burning intensity that said he wasn't aware anyone else was around. His arms loosened from around her back, moved up her arms and shoulders to cup her face. “Forgive me, Faith. I've been such a fool these past few weeks. Come home with me, now. Let me make love to you. Let me show you how blessed I am to have you as my wife and the mother of my children...my three precious, wonderful children.”

“Jacques Martin...?” The name pushed from her lips on a rush of air.

“And
you
gave me a blessing beyond value. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how grateful I am.” He lowered his lips to hers slowly this time, and hers trembled at the tenderness in his touch.

No longer caring who was watching, she slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his when their lips slid apart. “Take me home,” she whispered. “I'll get my stuff tomorrow.”

He growled hungrily in response, and she laughed at the pleasant shiver the sound sent through her.

He led her to the truck and gallantly opened the passenger door for her. A soft snore came from the backseat as she buckled her seat belt.

Faith breathed a deep, lung-filling breath. What tomorrow would hold for them was a mystery, but the happiness she felt right then was enough to sustain her for a long while.

As Sawyer backed the truck out of the driveway, she glanced toward her neighbor's house to the north.

Sue Marsden had come outside, no doubt checking to see what all the commotion was about.

And if her crossed arms and angry glare were any indication, she wasn't at all happy with what she'd observed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

G
ARRETT
WALKED
INTO
HIS
office and slapped a hand to his backside. Yep, his ass was still there. After the chewing it had just received, he was surprised there was anything left.

The president and the upper management had pretty much ignored him yesterday after the horrendous threat had passed. Spirits had been much too high to do anything that would bring them down. But this morning, the president had wasted no time. He couldn't be sure the incident had been Jacques Martin's doing, but he needed someone to blame, and Garrett seemed like the logical choice.

He'd been lambasted for his actions and told he needed to keep his girlfriend “under control.”

Garrett didn't bother to correct his boss about his now-defunct relationship. He was having a hard enough time accepting that himself.

God, he missed Tara.

He shut his door and went over to stand by the window, looking out on the city.

Control Tara, indeed. He snorted and gave his head a shake. There was no controlling Tara...nor did he have any desire to control Tara.

He
had
wanted to control Angie, and, damn it, she'd ended up controlling him.

And still was.

He balled his hand into a fist and hammered the butt end into the wall.

Tara was right. Angie haunted him. He lived his life in fear of Angie, running from memories that dredged up guilt, so afraid of making the same mistakes again.

This time it had cost him plenty—almost everything, in fact.

Well, no more. He couldn't keep putting Dylan—or himself—through this.

The time to stop running was now. He had to face his fears and put Angie's ghost to rest at last.

He drew a deep breath and felt his head clear completely for the first time in four years.

And for the first time in four years, he knew exactly what his next move needed to be.

He strode from his office to Henri's with a purposeful stride, barging in on his surprised friend without bothering to knock.

“Henri,” he said. “We need to talk.”

* * *

T
HE
CROWD
WAS
SO
LARGE
for the Board of Fellowship meeting, it had to be moved from the pastor's study to the Fellowship Hall of the church.

Remains from the Wednesday night potluck had to be cleaned up first, but, with so many hands there to help, that task didn't take long.

Faith knew she should be upset about the single item on the agenda, but she wasn't. Her breath came easily, her heart beat at a normal speed. Her family was all there together—Tara on one side of her, Thea on the other, Trenton between Thea and Sawyer. Even Emma was there on the far side of Tara. They were a loving, united front and nothing that happened tonight would change that.

Ollie had stopped by for a few minutes as they were leaving for the church. He asked if he could play them one song, then he'd pulled out his violin and played the old hymn “Wherever He Leads, I'll Go.”

The song had been playing in Faith's head ever since.

Like Sawyer always said, there was a master plan, and they were all part of it. If that plan included a move away from Taylor's Grove, so be it. As long as she could be with Sawyer, she'd go to the ends of the earth.

A hush fell over the group as Arlo James began the meeting with roll call. All five members were there, and, as Faith considered each one, she was pretty sure she knew how four of the votes would go.

Sue Marsden played Duane Abell like a puppet. He always voted with her on everything. On the other hand, Arlo and Sawyer were fishing buddies, and Johnny Bob Luther treated Sawyer like a son, so it was doubtful either of them would vote against him now.

That left Miss Beulah May Johnson, a matriarch of the church, who sometimes threw out pearls of wisdom the size of golf balls, and other times was sillier than a pet coon.

Her flights of fancy hadn't come on with old age. She'd always been that way, and everybody accepted what she said with a grain of salt.

But how Miss Beulah May would vote was anybody's guess.

Sawyer was listed on the agenda under New Business, and because there were no Committee Reports and no Old Business, his position came up quickly.

It was Sue, of course, who made the motion to “relieve Pastor Sawyer from his duties due to gross lack of leadership and lack of transparency in his personal life as behooved a spiritual shepherd.”

Faith felt her hackles rise at the ridiculous drivel, but as expected, Duane seconded the motion.

Then came the call for discussion.

Tank Wallis was the first to speak. “Sue's motion seems to be based on old facts,” he said. “Not current ones. Everybody in town knows Sawyer and Faith are back together. And their actions in Lacy's front yard last night were pretty transparent to anyone looking on. I think the motion should be withdrawn.”

Sue butted in without being called on. “Their actions in Lacy's front yard last night make my point. A preacher and his wife shouldn't behave in such a vulgar manner.”

“I'm kinda sorry I slept through it,” Tara whispered, and Faith gave her a wink.

“And,” Sue continued, “I believe they only made a show of reconciliation because they knew what was coming. If we let him off tonight, she might still move her things out tomorrow. They're just trying to buy some time and weasel the church out of his salary for another month.”

“Oh, that's ridiculous, Sue.” Faith recognized Ivadawn's loud voice from the back.

“It's not ridiculous. We still have no idea what any of this separation was about, and why everything suddenly became so hunky-dory when Tara got home. If we don't know the reason, how can we be sure it won't come around again?”

Tara had flinched at the mention of her name, and Faith felt her own spine stiffen. Her child had been through way too much lately, and it had shown in her mood today.

Faith had never seen Tara so down—not even when Louis had come home from Honduras with a wife on his arm. It hadn't bothered her to speak of Jacques Martin, but any mention of Garrett Hughes made her mood plummet lower than a snake's belly.

Faith reached for Tara's hand too late. Her daughter was already on her feet.

“I can't believe this has even gotten this far.” Tara shook her head in disgust as she addressed the crowd. “What business is my parents' separation to anybody here except them? And y'all know my dad is the finest example of a loving spirit Taylor's Grove has ever known. I was in Paris, alone and sick at heart, and as soon as he heard that, he sold his bass boat—you know...the one that belonged to Grandpa Ian?” There were a few gasps from people who knew what a sacrifice that was, and Faith's throat tightened. “Yeah, that one. He sold it in order to have the money to come see about me. If that's not love, I don't know what is.” She looked directly at Sue. “And neither do you.”

A bubble of pride swelled in Faith's chest. Her daughter had become quite a woman.

“Well, of course, you're going to be on his side,” Sue snapped. “You're his daughter.”

“Yes, I am.” Tara turned a beaming smile toward Sawyer. “And proud of it.”

“I understand Sue's point,” Randall Lively called out. “The preacher needs to be somebody you can go to with your troubles. If he's too worried 'bout his own, he ain't likely to be too interested in mine.”

A few nods and grunts of agreement followed.

“Everybody's got troubles, Ran,” Tank growled.

“And maybe that's what we need to think about.” Ollie stood up from his seat in the front row. “We all have our troubles—that's no secret and it shouldn't be a big deal. So why keep secrets?”

Where was he going with this? For the first time that evening, Faith squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

“Let's just let it all out.” Ollie swept his arm dramatically. “You see, I have the mother of all secrets.”

Faith felt herself blanch.
No, Ollie. Please, don't.

“Years ago,” Ollie said, “when I was a much younger man and had just been told I was probably gonna lose my sight, I was depressed. Mightily so.” Faith clasped her hands together to stop the trembling. “I couldn't sleep at night, so I took to walking the streets of town. I was trying to memorize everything so I'd have the images in my brain when I couldn't see them with my eyes anymore.”

He paused and looked around slowly. “Y'all have no idea the things that happen in this town after the sun goes down...but I've seen them all. I have the mother of all secrets because, you see, I
know
the secrets.”

Ollie's gaze shifted from one side of the room to the other, but he couldn't see who was sitting where, so his eyes held no accusation. “I've seen the cars driving into garages at night, occupying the space where the out-of-town spouse's car usually sits. I've seen the clandestine meetings in the dark parking lot behind the school.” He smiled. “Yes, kids, I've known for years about the smoking and drinking that goes on down by the marina when it's closed for the night. And the skinny-dipping, too.”

An embarrassed laugh passed through the crowd.

Ollie shook his head sadly. “I've heard the arguments and seen the abuse through windows that weren't quite closed and shuttered all the way.” He sighed. “And I'm here to tell you tonight, that if you demand complete transparency from the preacher, I'm gonna unload everything I know about everybody. If the preacher can't have secrets, ain't nobody gonna have secrets.”

There was a long, anxious moment of silence before Nell Bradley stood up. “Y'all are just turning this meeting into a big gossip session, and I for one won't stand here and listen to it.”

“Yeah!” A number of people shouted their agreement while Nell excused her way across the row of people sitting by her.

“We don't need this!” one particularly hostile voice shouted from the back. Faith thought it was Bobo Hudson, but she couldn't be sure.

“You're right,” Ollie agreed. “We don't need this. Maybe we don't need transparency. Maybe all we need is love. We all have secrets, and we love each other in spite of them. If we knew everything about each other, I don't think we'd love each other nearly as much.”

That brought a much-needed laugh of relief.

Miss Beulah May stood up. “I think we just all need to relax. And I believe I'll go home now and pour myself a good stiff shot of bourbon.”

“Miss Beulah May!” Sue's chin dropped to her chest. “You can't say things like that in church!”

Miss Beulah May gave a smile and a pageant-queen wave to the crowd. “I think I just did.” She looked very pleased with herself as she moseyed her way to the door.

“You just lost your swing vote, Sue.” Tank gave a delighted laugh.

Johnny Bob Luther stood up in the middle of the aisle. “I reckon the preacher ain't gotta be perfect. He just needs to be better'n me.” He slapped Sawyer on the back as he passed him. “And I reckon he is.”

The meeting dissolved with that. People started talking, moving about and leaving.

“Sit down!” Sue snarled, but everybody ignored her. “This meeting's not over yet.”

“Yes, it is,” Arlo shouted over the noise. “The motion's withdrawn. This meeting's adjourned.”

Sue slammed her palm to the table. “You can't do that!”

Arlo smiled at her and did a good imitation of Miss Beulah May's wave. “I think I just did.”

The outpouring of love Faith felt from the congregation filled her heart to the brim. This was why they'd stayed in Taylor's Grove all these years. It was a good place. A loving place. It wasn't perfect, but, like a successful marriage, you took the good with the bad, for better or worse.

Sawyer's arms slid around her waist in a hug from behind. “I love you.” He kissed her ear. “I've been too lax about showing it in public, but that's all changed.”

Palming his cheek, she pressed his face to hers. “I'm never going to get tired of it, either.” As he moved away, she held her arms out to Ollie, who had moved within reach of her, and hugged him across the folding chair. “You said what nobody else could, Ollie. I'll never be able to thank you enough.”

“I only spoke the truth. We're not made to be perfect. The blessing lies within the fact that we're loved in spite of our imperfections.”

“Amen,” she agreed.

“You have a good man, Faith.”

She glanced at her husband, who, at the moment, was hugging all three of his children at once. “The best,” she said.

“Don't ever forget to tell him that.”

“I won't,” she promised.

And she never did.