by Liz Talley
Garrett shoved the thought from his mind. One bridge at a time. The one he’d crossed last night had landed him in Wonderland, and he would stay there as long as possible.
“Garrett? Entre, entre!” Henri’s voice came from somewhere deeper inside the house.
Jean Luc and Veronique showed up close on Dylan’s heels, both of them excited to see Garrett again, so he wasn’t quite through the introductions when Henri entered the room.
His friend took one look at Tara—not a quick look, but a bold, head-to-toe-and-back ogle that made Garrett want to punch him in his handsome face—and immediately transformed into the sexy, suave Frenchman women flung themselves at. He stepped toward her, hand extended. “Bonjour, Tara. Bienvenue chez moi.”
Garrett’s hand instinctively went to the small of her back to stake his claim, but he reminded himself that he didn’t have a claim on this woman—she was a free spirit who would be going away soon, disappearing out of their lives as suddenly as she’d popped in. He dropped his arm back to his side.
Tara gave Henri’s hand a brisk shake. “Thank you, Henri. It’s nice to meet you.” As soon as she pulled her hand free, she caught Garrett’s arm and latched on to the crook of his elbow.
Henri’s eyes followed the movement, and his smile softened into a look of genuine affection. Then he shifted his gaze to Garrett and gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder. “Can you stay? The boys help Veronique plant the lettuce.”
“Please, Dad?” Dylan was always reluctant to leave any place where he was having fun.
Garrett was aware how anxious Tara was to check out the two addresses they had, but he wanted Henri to spend a little time with her, too. “Okay.” He nodded. “But only for a few minutes.”
“It will only take a few minutes, and I will try to keep him clean,” Veronique assured them with a smile as she followed the two boys outside.
Henri led Garrett and Tara into his living room with its low-slung, ultramodern furniture, which Garrett detested. The Italian leather in white and gray tones reminded him of a lounge that might be frequented by the storm troopers from Star Wars.
Their host indicated they were assigned to the love seat, throwing a wink Garrett’s way while Tara was getting settled. It was a small piece with abrupt ends and no arm rests, and two people sitting on it made for cozy conditions.
Garrett started to protest, but they weren’t staying long...and Tara’s thigh pressed tightly against his was nice.
“Do you enjoy Paris, Tara?” Henri asked.
“Yes. Very much.” She shot Garrett a grin that would’ve seemed innocent if she could’ve controlled the blush that crept into her cheeks. “It’s a beautiful city. Photos can’t do it justice.”
“What sights have you seen?” Henri settled into his favorite chair that looked to Garrett like a giant check mark.
Tara started naming off the places she’d visited, and Garrett watched Henri’s face tighten with concentration.
“You have the beautiful accent, but I am sorry that I do not understand all you say.”
Tara laughed. “I’ve been encountering the same thing for two weeks now.”
Garrett could tell that Henri hadn’t picked up all of that, either, but it didn’t seem to matter. His friend liked Tara, and he was glad for that. And if Tara felt uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. She had a manner about her that put people at ease. Now it seemed silly that he’d gone out of his way to avoid being around her.
“Do you happen to know anyone around here named Jacques Martin?”
Tara’s question startled Garrett, and he shifted in his seat. She turned to him and shrugged. “I figured I could just ask Henri about the address that’s close by. It might save us some time.”
“Tara is in Paris looking for someone,” Garrett explained to the unspoken question in Henri’s eyes.
“My birth father,” she added. “I just found out about him, and I came to Paris to try to meet him. His name is Jacques Martin.”
Garrett translated what Tara said into French, along with an abbreviated version of Tara’s story, and how she’d been going to addresses she’d generated from the phone book and the internet.
When he finished, Henri shifted his attention back to Tara. “The world, she is small. Oui, I know of the Jacques Martin who lives near. But he is not of the age to be your father.” His words were slow and distinct and edged with a tenderness Garrett had heard often when they spoke of Angie...or Dylan. “He is peut-être thirty or thirty-five.”
Tara’s shoulders had visibly stiffened with Henri’s declaration that he knew such a man. Now they sank...and slumped...and Garrett’s heart sank with them. He saw her lip tremble slightly before she caught it between her teeth, but she gathered her composure quickly. “Well, thank you anyway, Henri.” She looked at Garrett and let out a deep breath. “Another one bites the dust, huh?”
Reflexively, his arm looped around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “That will just give us more time to spend looking for the right one.”
She nodded and gave a tight smile that he sensed covered a flood of disappointment. She was strong, this one. And though she didn’t need his arm anymore for physical or moral support, he left it around her anyway.
* * *
TARA AND GARRETT ROUNDED a corner and emerged from the cool shadow of a building into the bright sunlight. Dylan had been walking between them, holding both of their hands, but now he ran ahead to look into the window of a shop with a kite hanging outside. Despite the heat, Garrett tucked Tara’s hand under his arm as they walked, bringing her right side into a contact that felt much more intimate than he probably meant it to. She realized with a smile that her body was still stuck on some kind of thrill mode from last night.
She’d had an adequate six hours of sleep, dozing off around four, a full hour after Garrett’s soft snores started. But his kisses had flavored her dreams, and she’d woken to find his desire still raging. Then there had been breakfast and the visit with Henri. Hours had passed, yet she remained suffused with an excitement that made the events of last night seem only moments ago.
Now Garrett’s hand casually caressed hers as if it had always been there, and they were heading to rue Dante, an address that housed a map shop owned by a Jacques Martin.
“Have you thought about what you’ll say to your father when we find him?” Garrett shot her a sidelong glance as he maneuvered the two of them down the narrow sidewalk, all the while, keeping an eye on his son.
“I’ve gone over the scene in my head almost nonstop, but it plays out differently each time, depending on his reaction. I’ll just play it by ear.” Her cell phone rang before he had a chance to respond. “Hello?” she answered.
“Hey, lovebug.”
The nickname brought a smile to her lips. “Hi, Dad. This is a surprise.”
“Yeah, I haven’t talked to you in a few days. Is, uh, everything going okay over there?”
Worry tinged his tone. Was it related to this quest for her birth father, or was something else bothering him?
“Everything’s wonderful. I’m having a great time.”
“That’s good. Thea said your neighbor is showing you the sights?”
So her mom had told Thea, but hadn’t said anything to her dad. That meant Mama had figured out it was a bona fide date.
She didn’t want her dad to get the wrong idea about Garrett—or maybe the right one—and she felt weird talking about him in front of him. She chose her words carefully. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m taking in all the tourist attractions. In fact, my neighbor Garrett and his son and I are on Île Saint-Louis right now. We’re going to visit Notre-Dame and Sainte-Chapelle this afternoon.” She didn’t mention their first destination on the island.
“Sounds like you have good neighbors.”
She could almost
hear her dad’s inner voice convincing him this guy was just being neighborly. Taking her under his wings, which, of course, in her dad’s point-of-view, would have to belong to angels.
“The best,” she agreed.
“Well, I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“And?” She laughed.
“And you sound like you’re having the time of your life.”
“I am, Dad.”
“I’ll let you go then. Love you, lovebug.”
“Love you, Dad.” She slid the phone into her pocket as Garrett and Dylan stopped in the middle of the block.
Garrett pointed to a small shop across the street. “That’s the address.”
This could be it. She swallowed and nodded. The sweet phone conversation that had brought home and Dad so close was suddenly replaced by what felt like an unknown, scary universe only a few yards away.
Garrett dropped her arm but held her hand as she stepped into the street, anchoring her to this side of the abyss.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Tara?” He spoke low, like he might give away a secret if he raised his voice. Dylan held his other hand, but the child’s attention was farther down the street.
She looked hard into his eyes. “I’m sure.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“You love your dad. I hear it in your voice. And he loves you. What will it do to him if you find the man who conceived you?” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And that’s all he did, Tara. He merely deposited some sperm.”
His last sentence jolted her, considering he’d done the same thing with her a few hours ago. Though, hopefully, the condoms caught all the frisky creatures. But was this his way of reminding her that one-night stands were no big deal?
She jerked her hand from his. “This isn’t about my dad.” His question was the same one her parents had asked her over and over when she started planning this trip. How many times would she have to explain her actions? “It’s about me—about who I am. I need to know my true roots. Is that so difficult to understand?” Maybe it was to someone who’d always known who he was. “I always thought I knew who I was, but there’s a half of me I know nothing about. I’m not trying to hurt anybody. I’m simply trying to know myself better.”
Garrett gave a resolute nod, grabbed her hand again and tucked her arm under his, close to his side once more. “Then come on. Let’s do this.”
“Are we going to Berthillon, Dad?” Dylan tugged his father’s hand and pointed.
Garrett stooped, not letting go of either hand. “We’ll go a little later. But first, we’re going to go in that shop over there. Tara is looking for someone.”
“Like a geocache? But with people?” The child held up the plastic ring from the canister they’d located a half hour before.
“Just like that,” Garrett agreed, and the thought that she might be on the verge of finding a treasure made Tara’s heart race.
The three of them marched across the street to the door beneath the engraved copper sign, which was worn to a weathered green patina.
Garrett opened it and stood back for Tara to enter first.
An elderly gentleman rose to greet them from behind a desk covered with neat stacks of paper weighted down by miscellaneous items that included a jewel-encrusted sword hilt and a marble ashtray in the shape of Italy.
“Bonjour, monsieur. Je cherche Monsieur Jacques Martin.” The words she had practiced so often fell from Tara’s tongue.
“C’est moi. Je suis Jacques Martin.”
Tara understood his answer—she’d heard it several times before—and her heart sank with disappointment. This gentleman had to be in his seventies, or eighties even.
“Parlez-vous anglais?” she asked.
The old man shook his head. “Non.”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them as he waited for her to speak, curiosity plain in his eyes...and maybe a hint of fear.
She wasn’t sure what to do next. She couldn’t just leave. He deserved an explanation that she couldn’t give him in French. She turned to Garrett for help.
At just a glance from her, he picked up the conversation, explaining their reason for being there. Tara watched the transformation in the man’s face as he gained understanding of their mission.
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.