Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (52 page)

“But...?”

“No buts.” Resolve brought her to her feet. She had a plan of action. It may not be the best one, but at least she wouldn't be wallowing in sorrow here for four more lonely days.

She could wallow at home just as easily...surrounded by people who loved her.

“I'm going to shower and pack.”

“Can you be ready by eleven-thirty?” Her dad's eyes held a strange glint.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I have one thing I want to see during this whirlwind trip to Paris.”

She gave a small laugh. He was so predictable. “Notre-Dame's not far. I'll hurry and maybe we'll even have time to walk there.”

He shooed her in the direction of the bedroom. “Go on. I need to call your mom.”

Tara grabbed her luggage from the hall closet and hurried to her room to begin stuffing it with clothes.

* * *

I
T
WAS
JUST
AFTER
MIDNIGHT
, but Faith wasn't asleep. She wasn't even in bed. She'd been staring at the same words on the same page for a long while, debating with herself whether to call the sheriff and report Sawyer as missing.

He'd texted her around five saying he'd talk to her tomorrow. She'd been so hurt and angry he'd gone fishing, she hadn't texted him back.

But an hour or so ago, she swallowed her pride and called him because he still hadn't returned from the lake and all sorts of scenarios had started messing with her mind. Most of them centered around him falling out of the boat and being knocked unconscious and drowning.

Of course, he'd specifically texted
tomorrow,
so he could be ignoring her calls or might even have his phone turned off. He did that sometimes when he needed to think.

She picked up her car keys. She would just drive over to the house. He might've taken the boat home since her car wasn't taking up the extra space in the garage. She could run over there and peek in the garage window....

Her phone rang, shattering her thoughts. The caller ID said it was Sawyer, but what if someone had found his phone in an empty boat?

Panic flooded adrenaline through her system. “Hello?” she practically screamed into the phone.

“Whoa!”

“Don't whoa me!” she snapped. All of the frustration that had been bottled up since morning came spewing out. “Where are you? It's after midnight and you haven't brought the boat back and you haven't been answering my calls and I've been imagining your dead, unconscious body floating around some dark cove on Kentucky Lake.”

He laughed? How dare he?

“Dead
and
unconscious, huh?”

“You know what I mean. I've been scared out of my wits.”

“I'm in Paris, Faith.”

“Well, you could've at least told me you were going down there.” She huffed. “Is there a tournament?”

He chuckled again. “Not Paris, Tennessee. Paris, France. I'm with Tara.”

Faith's knees buckled, and she plopped down on the floor. “You're in France? With Tara?”

“I couldn't stand the thought of her being over here alone, dealing with all she's going through.”

Faith winced at the raw emotion in his voice. “Oh, Sawyer. How's she doing?”

“Hurting. Depressed.”

Shock began to dissolve her brain matter into a mishmash of relief and worry, releasing a flood of questions into her brain. “How'd you get there so fast? Why didn't you tell me you were going?”

“I left as soon as I could get the arrangements made, and I didn't tell you because I knew you would try to talk me out of it.”

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. She would most definitely have tried to talk him out of such an extravagant trip, especially with their income on the chopping block... Oh, Lord! “Did you forget the meeting with the Board of Fellowship tomorrow night?” With him not there to defend himself, Sue would ramrod her way through the process in record time.

“I didn't forget.” The weariness in his tone caught in her chest and squeezed her heart. “I'm booked on a return flight this afternoon. Tara's decided to come home with me. She's going to try to change her ticket to that flight.”

“Ah...” A worried gasp escaped from Faith's lungs. “How are we going to pay for all this, Sawyer? If you lose the church...?”

“Don't worry about the money. Everything's already taken care of.” The gentle voice lowered. “Love always finds a way.”

The reality of the situation finally rooted in Faith's mind, warming her through and through. Sawyer, bless his heart, had gone all the way to Paris, France, to take care of his daughter.
His
daughter, regardless of the circumstances surrounding her conception. He'd used their savings, no doubt. But that didn't matter because he was there for Tara, taking care of everything...like he'd always done. And Faith could feel his steadfast love holding
her
up, too.

“You're a wonderful man, Sawyer.” Faith hoped her voice could convey a tiny part of the pride she felt. “Tara's so blessed to have you in her life.”

“I'm the one who's blessed, Faith.”

She couldn't stifle the sob that sprang from her lips.

“Hey, don't cry.” His soothing voice caressed her from across the miles...across an ocean. “I'm going to let you go now. I'll call you when we get back into St. Louis. But adding in the four-hour drive, it might be late when I get home.”

“I don't care how late it is. I'll be up.”

“Yeah, I figured that.” She heard the smile in his voice.

A final question popped into her mind. “But if you drove the truck to St. Louis, what did you do with the boat? It's not here.”

There was a long pause, and then an even longer breath. “I sold it.”

Faith felt another blow to her system that shook her to the core. “You sold your dad's bass boat? Why?”

“I used the money to come to Paris.”

“But, Sawyer, you loved that boat.” Faith couldn't stop the tears now if she wanted to, and her voice started to blubber as her nose and throat clogged.

“No, the boat was nice to have, but I love my family. Trust me, it was a small price to pay for the love I get in return. I'll talk to you later.”

He hung up quickly, and Faith understood he didn't want to hear her cry. But that didn't stop her. She cried for Tara, for what she was enduring. And for the bass boat, the family heirloom...gone now.

But, most of all, she cried for the conclusions she had jumped to that morning.

Sawyer loved their children. All three of them.

And he loved her.

He proved it day after day...had proven it as long as she'd known him.

He would get home, and they would work out their problems.

“‘Love always finds a way.'”

She branded his promise on her heart.

* * *

G
ARRETT
FELT
THE
TENSION
as soon as he walked in the door at Soulard.

Far from the usual morning bustle of activity and conversations, people were scurrying around like scared mice, speaking in hushed whispers, eyes wide with alarm or narrowed and tight with agitation.

Through the conference-room window, he saw the same group he'd met with last night, but two others had been added to the group. Adrienne Goffinet, Soulard's brilliant young attorney, and a middle-aged man he didn't recognize, but who was speaking and had everyone's attention. Adrienne's face was ashen and drawn into a scowl.

It took only a quick glance for the solemn atmosphere in the conference room to creep into Garrett's gut and chill him to the bone...only another few seconds to know that Jacques Martin was behind it.

He'd barely had time to set his briefcase on his desk before Henri came in and closed the door. His friend held no coffee. This was even worse than he'd thought.

“What's happened, Henri?”

“
C'est mauvais, Garrett.
C'est très, très mauvais.”

“Tell me what's happened, damn it!”

Henri unbuttoned the top button on his shirt and loosened his tie. “An official is here from
le CFE.
”

An official from the
Centre de Formalités des Entreprises
was here? Henri was right. This was very bad. “What does he want? Do you know?” Garrett empathized with Henri's loosening of his tie. His own felt like a noose around his throat now.

“I hear the rumor there is a threat to close the company temporarily. Important documents are missing from the Soulard file.”

“Shit!” Garrett's ability to stand left him in a rush and he dropped into his chair. The terror he felt was reflected in Henri's eyes.

How long was temporarily?

Adrienne had often complained of the hellish number of documents the CFE required to start up the company. But it was beyond belief that the attorney, who was meticulous to the point that Garrett suspected she might have OCD, could've missed anything. It had taken her months to complete all the required paperwork. That was three years ago. How was it that missing documents were just being discovered today? “This is Jacques Martin's doing.” The coincidence was too great for Garrett to attribute the crisis to anyone else.

Henri nodded gravely as he pulled up a chair and sat down. “I fear you are correct.”

Neither of them said anything for a long minute. What was there to say? What was done couldn't be undone. He'd screwed up royally, and they both knew it.

Henri rested his arms on the desk and leaned forward, his voice low and sympathetic. “What about you and Tara?”

Garrett glanced away, unwilling to share the full depth of the grief churning low in his belly. “Well, let's just say if bad news was counted like hits in baseball, this morning I'd be batting a thousand.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“A
RE
YOU
READY
?” Her dad gave the living room one final inspection.

Tara had contacted the landlord and made arrangements for the cleaning service to come by. They'd assured her they would take care of any food left in the cabinets and refrigerator. She'd stripped the bed and left all the linens on the washer, and checked under the bed and in the closets for anything left behind. And she'd taken care of the trash.

Everything was done.

Well...there was one thing left to do. The most heartbreaking thing. But it was inevitable.

“Just one more thing, Dad. Come here. I want you to meet somebody.”

Dylan looked up from his book when they stepped onto the terrace. He was all smiles and boyhood charm, and, for a few agonizing seconds, Tara thought her heart would stop for good.

She called on all her teacher reserves that kept her from bawling whenever she read a sad story to her classes.

“Hey, Dylan.” She motioned him over. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

He placed his book on the bench and came running at her invitation, stopping by her dad with a big grin that said “See how fast I am?”

Tara stooped down and put her arm around his waist. “You remember I told you I was looking for my father?” He nodded. No use complicating this more than necessary. “Well, I found him,” she said simply.

Dylan's expression of wonder made him look so much like Garrett, she had to cut her eyes away to breathe. She pointed. “This is my dad from Kentucky, Sawyer O'Malley. Dad, this is Dylan Hughes.”

Dylan's face turned somber for a moment, and he stuck out his hand.
“Bonjour, Monsieur O'Malley.
Comment allez-vous?”
The formal facial expression gave way to a wide grin. “That means hi.”

Tara could tell by her dad's smile that the child had already won him over. He laughed and grasped the little boy's hand. “Well, bone jur to you, too, bud.”

“Hey, my dad calls me bud sometimes!”

A tremor shot through Tara at the mention of Garrett. She stood up and patted Dylan on the back. “My dad has come to...uh...” Lord, this was even harder than she had imagined. “To take me back home. So, I guess I have to say bye.”

In a nanosecond, Dylan's happy expression went south. “But I don't want you to go.”

Tara knelt down again and took his hand. “I know it's hard. It's hard for me, too. But remember when we talked that day at the Luxembourg Gardens, and I told you I'd have to leave sometime soon?” His bottom lip protruded as he nodded. “Well, everything I told you that day is still true. Your dad—” She paused and swallowed. “Your dad has my number, and I want you to call me anytime you want. As often as you want.”

“But talking on the phone's not the same as being with you.”

Tara shrugged. “I know. But it's the next best thing for people who live so far apart. And I have something for you that will make it seem like I'm still here, sort of.” She reached into her tote and pulled out the purple Crown Royal bag containing the GPS locator and all the homemade tokens. “I want you to keep this so you and your dad can do lots of geocaching and find lots of treasures. And I want you to call me every time you find one.”

“Wow!” The surprise brought a smile to Dylan's lips and Tara's heartache eased a smidgen when he took the bag. “Thanks!”

She pulled a card from her tote. “I wrote down the addresses of some geocaching clubs that meet here in Paris. I thought y'all might consider joining one.”

“I wish you could be here to join it with us.” Dylan's eyes grew cloudy. She had to get this over with quickly or it was going to be a major trauma for them both.

She raised her chin. “I wish I could, too.” A sob was building in her chest. Its weight pulled at her heart. “But I really have to go now, so give me a hug, and let me get out of here.”

He grabbed her around the neck with such force she struggled to stay upright. “I love you,” he said.

She nodded. “I love you, too.”

She let him break the hug first, and then she stood up. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

When they turned away, her dad's arm came around her shoulder and she leaned into him, appreciating the support.

“Hey, Tara,” Dylan called.

They stopped and turned back around as the little boy came running to her, holding out one of the tokens they'd made together. “You'll need this in case you find a treasure.” His innocent grin told her he didn't realize the devastating consequences his parting gift would wreak on her emotions.

She took the token and squeezed it. “I think I've already found one.” She gave him a quick peck on the top of his head and somehow managed to hold her outburst until she and her dad were safely back in her flat with the door closed.

Then the dam broke, rendering her amazed at the volume of tears her body could still produce. They had to be nearly all gone by now.

Her dad held her, silently rocking back and forth again, until this wave passed.

“What a great kid,” he said.

She nodded and blew her nose on the tissue he handed her. “Dylan's the best.”

“I was talking about you.”

His joke brought a wan smile to her lips.

“Are you ready now?” He glanced at his watch as she flipped out the lights.

“Yeah.” She opened the door to let him pass. “But we'll have to take a taxi to Notre-Dame. There's not enough time to walk.”

He took the handle of her duffel and rolled it out the door. “I don't want to go to Notre-Dame. I want to meet Jacques Martin.”

Tara's startled movement slammed the door behind them, and its echo surrounded them in the dark corridor. She slapped the light switch on to find her dad's calm expression looming in front of her.

“No, we can't.” She wasn't about to face the jerk or his condescending wife again.

Her dad nodded calmly. “Yeah, we can.” He punched the button to call the elevator.

“He was mad yesterday, Dad.” She had to make him understand. “And he threatened Soulard. No telling what he might do if I or anybody connected to me shows up again.”

The doors opened and they stepped inside. “I've made up my mind,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can either give me the address, or I can call Faith and get it.”

Tara sighed dramatically and didn't answer. She seethed in silence the rest of the way down, her brain whirring to come up with a way to talk her dad out of this absurdity. As they stepped off the elevator and made their way through the myriad passages, she tried to fight her growing anxiety by pointing out the items she used as markers to help her find her way through the building.

When they finally made their way to Madame LeClerc's post, the woman seemed truly sorry to see Tara go and hugged her, muttering things in French Tara didn't understand, but they sounded kind.

Something niggled at Tara, though, and when they stepped into the open air, she narrowed her eyes to look at her dad. “So...how'd you get past Ironpants LeClerc this morning? The woman is a guard dog.”

Her dad shrugged. “It seems Madame LeClerc might be a pushover for the American Southern accent.”

Tara shook her head. “It didn't work for me.”

“Let me qualify that.” His grin turned positively boyish. “Madame LeClerc might be a pushover for the American
male
Southern accent.”

“Daddy!” Tara was aghast. “You flirted?”

“You do what you have to do.” He sped up his steps. “And I have to speak to Jacques Martin.”

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
G
ARRETT
MADE
it into the conference room, the seats were all gone and there was standing room only. Not a breath of air stirred.

The only other time the entire staff had been crammed in like that was on opening day. Then, the atmosphere had sizzled with excitement. Today, it was sultry and stifling.

The owners, the president, the upper management—all the people he'd met with last night—regarded him solemnly when he entered. They were joined at the front table by the representative from the CFE
and the company attorney, both of whom had no reason to look at him, and didn't.

He was almost grateful the less crowded area was in the back of the room, where he'd be shielded from the intensity of some of the accusing glares.

As he made his way to the back, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Shit!
In his haste, he'd forgotten to turn it off. He pulled it out to do so, but stopped short at the sight of Tara's name on the ID.

His heart catapulted into a gallop. Had she changed her mind about the break-up?

Damn!
He couldn't take the call. Not now. As difficult as it was to do, he pushed
Ignore
and sent her to voice mail. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Only a minute later, he felt the vibration again. People were still filing in, filling up the empty spaces and using up what little remained of the air conditioning...and the oxygen.

He pulled his phone out and glanced at it.

A text from Tara. Nothing good
ever
came to him in a text. He broke out in a cold sweat, suddenly aware of rivulets of perspiration coursing down his back, his shirt clinging to his clammy skin as he leaned against the wall.

I called. No answer. I'm going back home today. Thanks for everything. Sorry things didn't work out and for any trouble I've caused. Please let Dylan call me anytime he wants, but please don't call yourself. It will only make the pain worse.

Garrett closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. A nudge startled him, and he opened his eyes to find Henri standing beside him, holding out a crisp white handkerchief.

“Is this in case I want to surrender?” he asked, and held the phone so Henri could read it.

His friend's deep sigh sucked the last good breath from the surrounding air.

Garrett turned the phone off and dropped it in his pocket as one of Soulard's owners started to speak.