Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (36 page)

He paused and Tara stayed quiet, willing to let him have the floor as long as he wanted it.

“Sally left,” he continued, “and I went to Dylan's room to check on him. Angie grabbed the keys and took off before I could stop her. I called the police. They said she hadn't committed a crime, but they'd keep an eye out. Thirty minutes later, I got the text and then a few minutes after that, I got the call from the police. She died on impact.” He shrugged slowly as if a heavy barbell lay across his shoulders, or maybe the weight of the world. “End of story.”

Tara rolled her shoulders forward and back to loosen the muscles, which had tightened considerably during his tale. She waited to see if he had anything else he wanted to add. When he didn't, she eased the subject in a different direction. “You and Dylan have been through a lot...and you've done a wonderful job of raising him alone.”

The compliment brought a tender smile to Garrett's lips. “Thanks, but I can't take all the credit. Dylan probably learned early on to adapt to any situation. He's one of those kids who's easy to be with.”

“I couldn't agree more. He's a very kind little boy.” She filled him in on the details of Dylan's actions, which she'd observed at the park. As she'd seen so many times during parent-teacher conferences, Garrett's whole demeanor changed when she told him complimentary things about his child. Even parents who came in loaded for bear about a bad grade would calm down and leave with a smile when she told them what a great kid they had. The best part was that she didn't have to fake it. All of them were great kids to her. She didn't always like how they acted, but she always liked
them
.

She shared how touched she was by Dylan's actions toward her. “He doesn't mind holding my hand, but he's cautious and doesn't want to hurt it.”

“I didn't mind holding your hand a few minutes ago, either.” Garrett's mouth twisted up at the corner. “Fact is, it felt pretty nice.”

So the man
was
capable of flirting after all! The heat started in her back and worked its way into her neck and face. She held up her half hand. “It used to feel twice as nice.”

Garrett laughed at that. Reaching for the bottle once again, he filled her glass, then emptied the bottle into his own. “This evening took much too serious a turn. Weren't we supposed to be celebrating?”

“Yes, we were. And you also need to fill me in on Dylan's schedule so I'll know what time to be where.”

He stood up. “Be right back.”

He was gone for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he handed her a sheet of paper. “Dylan's schedule. My friend Henri designed a spreadsheet for me.”

She glanced down the entries, which included not only Dylan's school schedule but also his Wednesday schedule, Garrett's numbers and an array of other numbers. The man was nothing if not efficient—and so was his friend. “We haven't discussed it, but I'd like to keep Dylan until Monique is able to come back. Not just tomorrow. If that's all right with you.”

Garrett gave his head an emphatic shake. “That's too long, Tara. You're only here for a month. I can't take an entire week of your time. And this is the last week of school. Next week, he'll be around all day.”

At that moment, being with Dylan seemed more important than finding Jacques Martin, and she wasn't sure exactly why. It had to do with the privilege of being with him that she'd felt that afternoon while watching him play. Now that she knew the story of his mother's death, she had a fierce instinct to let him know he was worth every second of her time. And Jacques Martin wouldn't be going anywhere other than where he'd been for twenty-eight years. She could pick up the search for him when Monique got back, even if it wasn't for a couple weeks.

She tilted her glass in Garrett's direction. “Even all day will be fine. I've got lots of sightseeing to do. If it's okay with you, he can be my tour guide. I'm going to spend a day at the Louvre, and one at the Musée d'Orsay. And I also want to go to Notre-Dame and Sainte-Chapelle.”

“He loves all those places.” Garrett grew quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was steeped in gratitude—and sexy as all get-out. “You're sure you don't mind?”

“I'm sure. I told him I'd take him geocaching if you were okay with it. We can do that while we're exploring the city.”

Garrett's heavy brows gathered in question, so she delved into more detail about the pastime. He leaned toward her, hanging on her every word just like Dylan had done when she explained it to him. “Hell!” He slapped the table lightly. “That even sounds like fun to me!”

Was he asking for an invitation? She ventured out to test the waters. “Then, maybe some evening we can all search for a cache together.”

“I'd like that. I'd like that very much.” A look came into his dark eyes that was part fun but part something else entirely, and a tingle that couldn't be attributed to the champagne zinged through her. Their gazes locked for a few seconds, charging the air between them with electricity.

They teetered at the edge of something momentarily before Garrett backed off. “So...tell me about the town you grew up in.”

“You want to hear stories about Taylor's Grove?”

He grinned. “Actually, I just like to hear you talk.”

“Well, if talking's what you want, I'm the girl for the job. When I go to talking, my mouth runs like the clatter bone of a goose's ass.”

Garrett's laugh was deep and mellow, bringing a certain heat to the air around her that made her want to hear it again.

For the next half hour, Tara enthralled him with stories about life in her corner of small-town America. She told only the comedies, the things that would keep them laughing, staying away from the dramas that infused life in Taylor's Grove as surely as they did everywhere else—of which her own family was solid proof.

The champagne and camaraderie had finally worked its magic. Her muscles, which had been so tight before, were loose and relaxed, and she tried ineffectually to stifle a yawn that popped out unbidden. “Oh, wow, I'm getting sleepy.”

Garrett looked at his watch. “Yeah, it's way past my bedtime, too. And I've got another long day tomorrow.”

They stood up slowly...and reluctantly on Tara's part.

“I hate for nights like this to end.” Garrett echoed her thoughts.

“Me, too. But we can pick up where we left off tomorrow night.”

“I'd like that.” Garrett's tone was husky again. He paused as if he was on the verge of saying something else, but then he picked up the glasses and the bottle. “Thanks for sharing my celebration and volunteering to keep Dylan.”

“It's my pleasure.” She started toward her flat, feeling Garrett's eyes on her, following her progress across the space they shared. When she got to her door, she turned to look back.

Sure enough, he hadn't moved. “Good night,” he called.

She blew an impetuous, giddy kiss in response.

CHAPTER TEN

G
ARRETT
FELT
HIMSELF
crashing. If the Soulard bigwigs didn't finish their speeches and toasts soon, he was going to fall face-first into the remains of his chocolate soufflé. The rich meal and the magnums of champagne made it impossible to comprehend all that was being said, and he was exhausted enough not to give a damn.

He wanted to be home with Dylan, and...okay, yes, with Tara. The two of them had barely scratched the surface the other night getting to know each other, and there was so much more he wanted to know. But for the third night in a row, he wasn't going to make it home before midnight—too late for any real interaction, which was probably just as well. The more he was around Tara, the more he liked her, and liking her too much would be dangerous territory for him and Dylan.

He took a sip of water to clear the fog from his brain. Thank God tonight was the end of the campaign and the outrageous hours.

Things weren't supposed to have been this hectic, but he could hardly complain. The day after his and Tara's celebration, one of the television programs—sort of a French version of
Entertainment Tonight—
had requested an interview with the company's owners, so the marketing department had been thrown into extra-double duty to write fresh, snazzy new lines that would make the owners look cool and hip for the young audience.

The interview had been taped this evening and then the entire company had gone to Le Pamplemousse for an exquisite celebratory seven-course meal that had gone on for five hours and twenty-two minutes, but was almost over.

Tara had been so understanding about all of this, though how he would ever repay her was still up in the air. She acted miffed every time he brought up the subject of money.

The speaker's words faded as his imagination took over with some totally inappropriate things he could offer to make her stay in Paris more enjoyable for them both.

That his mind shouldn't drive on that side of the road was a no-brainer. His life was complicated enough without adding a fling with a neighbor into the mix. But the woman had wormed her way into his consciousness and parked her fine ass there—
not
thinking about her was impossible. An instant, full-blown erection made him shift in his seat, which woke him up just in time to stand and join in the cheer of what he could only hope was the final damn toast.

It was. Everyone around him hugged and said their adieus
and made their French-equivalent promises to show up for work Monday
bright eyed and bushy tailed
. It was a good thing the weekend lay before them because they were going to have one hell of a collective hangover.

“Garrett!” Henri hurried from his table, and they clasped in a hug of camaraderie.
“C'est fini.”

“Oui, c'est fini, Henri.”
Garrett wasn't sure if they were discussing the campaign or the dinner, but he was thrilled both were done.

They hadn't chatted in days. Not since he and Tara had made their peace. A power outage Wednesday had sent Henri and his staff into panic mode and put them behind with the all-important reports everyone was expecting. And then Garrett and the marketing crew had gotten slammed. His friend was still unaware that Tara was watching Dylan, but tonight wasn't the time to bring it up. Henri would demand all the details.

“Veronique and Jean Luc will come to my house tomorrow.” Henri's tired eyes brightened when he spoke of his youngest sister and her son. “Would you enjoy to come to dinner, also? The boys can play, and Dylan can stay the night,
peut-être?
”

Dylan would want to go. He and Jean Luc always had a great time together. But Garrett had really been looking forward to a dinner with Tara, and tomorrow night was the night he'd earmarked.

“Um, actually...you remember my American neighbor, Tara?”

Henri's chuckle was a low growl.
“Mais oui.”

“Well, Monique's father is in the hospital, and Tara has been keeping Dylan for me. I'd sort of promised her we'd make dinner for her tomorrow night. I owe it to her after all she's done this week.”

Henri's face split into a wide grin.
“C'est parfait, Garrett. Prépare le dîner pour Tara.
Dylan will come to my house and stay for the night, and you will have the time alone.”

Alone time with Tara, and Dylan nowhere around? Garrett's mouth went dry. Even the mention of it filled his head with all kinds of possibilities—dangerous thoughts involving the two of them naked and a treasure hunt where he would search her body for hidden tattoos. His head spun as all the blood in his torso headed southward.

Guilt took a swipe at him. “I've been away from Dylan a lot the past two weeks.”

“Oui.”
Henri was always Dylan's champion. “But you will have the complete day together tomorrow. And Dylan will not want to miss the chance to have a sleepover with Jean Luc.”

“That's true,” Garrett admitted. But the chance for a sleepover with Tara was what he needed to get out of his mind. Maybe it would be better to go out to dinner? Give her a real night on the town to repay her for her help...and avoid the risks that an intimate dinner on the terrace might lead to.

He clapped his friend on the back. “You're right, Henri. It's
perfect. Dylan will be so excited. What time would you like him at your house?”

“I do not care,
mon ami.
But, if I were you, I would bring him as early as possible,
oui?
And allow him to stay late the next day, so you can
sleep
—” Henri half smiled and half leered at the young woman bussing the table “—for as long as you desire.”

Garrett sucked a breath deep into his lungs. What he
desired
and what he
allowed
were two altogether different things.

He wouldn't even think of this as a date. This would be a nighttime sightseeing excursion with a friend.

And that was all.

* * *

F
AITH
COULDN
'
T
STAND
the pressure anymore.

What she was about to do would be a life-changing event for her and Sawyer, the kids, the church...maybe the whole town. But she couldn't bear one more second in this tortured hell of a life she'd been living for the past month.

This change was necessary. She'd tried suffering in silence. Remaining stoic. Facing the world with a calm demeanor and pretending everything was fine.

But everything wasn't fine, and her serene facade was crumbling. People were noticing her weight loss. Friends were whispering, speculating on illness. Cancer had been mentioned...and leukemia. Her mom had died of heart disease, so some people were betting on heredity.

If people were talking anyway, why not give them the truth to talk about?

She'd let a lie exist between her and Sawyer for twenty-eight years, and that lie had ended and come to light at long last. She refused to let another one take its place—at least, not for any longer.

All the lying ended today.

She grabbed a luggage handle with each hand and hauled the two pieces from the bedroom.

The door to Sawyer's study was closed. He always used Saturday morning to fine-tune his sermons.

The pot of coffee she'd heard him making a half hour before had barely a cup gone, and the paper sack of Ivadawn's cinnamon-glazed yeast doughnuts still bulged with its contents, a big grease mark soaking through the side.

The sights. The smells. Everything was as it had always been—and yet nothing was the same.

No doubt, Sawyer waited on the other side of the door for her knock—her bidding him to stop his studies a little while and share a cup of coffee and a doughnut.

Faith blinked, expecting tears, but she had none. She'd cried them all. Maybe that's where the weight had gone.

She pulled the luggage across the kitchen floor, the wheels making a racket on the tile. They beat out a
thunk-thunk
rhythm, squealing like piglets who'd been pushed off the hog's teat. She ignored their protest. She'd thought this through for days and had come to the conclusion that only a separation would give her any peace.

Being within touching distance of the man she loved yet not being allowed to touch him was a torture she could bear no longer.

She jockeyed the luggage through the door to the garage and popped the trunk with the button on the key fob. There were already a few items in there boxed up—just a few sentimental things from the kids that she wanted with her...homemade birthday cards and valentines...a few pictures.

She wasn't taking much.

She shuddered at the finality in the sound of the trunk slamming, closing her eyes and allowing the vibration to move through her and out.

“Faith?”

Her eyes flew open to find Sawyer standing in the doorway, his coffee cup poised chest high, a look of bewilderment on his face as if he'd forgotten where his mouth was.

“What are you doing?”

She stepped around the car to face him with nothing between them. “I'm leaving, Sawyer. I can't stand this. I was going to come back in—I wouldn't have left without saying goodbye.”

“You're leaving?” His tone was the same one she'd heard when they got the call from the police about Tara's accident. “Where are you going?”

“To your mom's.”

It was just across town—a few blocks away. The house was still fully furnished. They hadn't gotten rid of anything since Lacy died. It wasn't an ideal location. She'd still be smack-dab in the middle of the talk and the meddling. But it would give her a quiet space that wasn't a forced quiet, and it wouldn't cost their tight budget anything extra.

Sawyer's other hand came up to grip the coffee cup like he didn't trust the finger through the handle to hold the weight. “Faith, don't do this. Please don't do this.” His normally calm voice shook with emotion. “I've counseled enough couples to know that people don't separate to work things out. People separate to start the process of living away from each other permanently.”

She placed a trembling hand to her throat, feeling the steady pulse. Somehow she was living through this. “I don't know what I'm starting. I only know what I'm ending. The lie. I've had all I can take of the pussyfooting around town like everything's fine...pussyfooting around each other, trying to act like we're one thing when we both know we're something else entirely now. I don't know what that something else is, but I'm not getting any answers here. I need some alone time to sort things out for myself.”

“I love you, Faith.” His words sucked the air from her lungs. “I'm just having a hard time right now.” He stepped into the garage, watching her closely like he did the deer in the backyard, afraid the wrong movement might send her scurrying.

She squared her shoulders to show him her leaving wasn't a fear-induced reaction. She'd thought it over for days and hadn't come to the decision lightly. “I know you are, Sawyer. And I'm so, so sorry for putting you through this. But what's done is done, and I can't take it back. But I also can't continue living in what feels like a perpetual state of punishment.”

He leaned against his workbench, pushing some tools out of the way to clear a place for his cup. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel that way. I'm not trying to punish you.” His hands thrust deeply into his pockets. “This isn't even about you. It's about me, and the lie I perpetuate week after week. Every Sunday I preach about love. How love is the answer to everything.” He shrugged. “
I
love. And yet, my love isn't enough. I'm trying to figure out why.” His hand came out of his pocket, balled into a fist that he rapped against his chest, punctuating his words. “I could understand if it had just been you. But it isn't enough for Tara, either. What am I missing? What do I need to change my message to? How do I lead people to the answer when
I
don't have the answer?”

Seeing him like this made her sick to her stomach. Sawyer—the rock...battered and broken into pebbles. “I don't have the answer, either. But this—” she wagged her finger between them “—isn't the way to find it. So I'm ready to try something else.” She jerked the car door open.

Sawyer was there in two steps, holding the door to keep it open. “The whole town will know ten minutes after you get to Mom's. Maybe not even
that
long with Sue as your next-door neighbor.”

The woman's name sent a surge through her. “You don't get it, Sawyer. I. Don't. Care. I
want
people to know. I'm tired of living a lie. I am who I am, and you and the town can try to pretend I'm someone else, but that doesn't make it so.” She pressed the button on the key fob, and the garage door started grinding open.

“Then, let
me
go.” Sawyer's eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You shouldn't have to be the one to leave when I'm the one with the problem.”

Dear Lord! She was finally beginning to understand the depth of Sawyer's misery...and the mindset behind the impotence. She had to get out of there before the man broke completely. “I've thought this over, Sawyer. Stay. Leave. Do whatever you want. Just find your answers so we can start getting our lives back together.”

“What about Tara? This will ruin her trip if she finds out.”

“I thought about that, too.” The past few nights, all she'd done was think, her mind wandering aimlessly, shifting directions like a rabbit being chased by a fox. But her focus always came back to Tara. “She's got enough on her plate over there. She doesn't need to be worrying about us, too. When I call Thea and Trent, I'll ask them not to say anything when they talk to her. I'll call Emma, too.”