Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever GirlMoonlight in ParisWife by Design

by Liz Talley

  “And her poor hand! Mon Dieu! Does it cause her pain?”

  “She never complains about it, but she warns Dylan and me not to squeeze it too hard. She sustained some major injuries in that motorcycle wreck. It’s amazing she’s even here.” A lump swelled in Garrett’s throat at that thought. He tried to get rid of it by swallowing his espresso in one gulp, which garnered him a disapproving eye roll from his friend. “But, I’m thrilled she is.” Even that felt like an understatement.

  “Oui, c’est évident.” Henri paused, weighing what was coming next. “Can you share with me the circumstances of her father, this Jacques Martin? Did she recently learn of him, or has she known of him throughout her life and has only now the means or desire to search for him?”

  Garrett didn’t think Tara would mind, so he brought his friend up to speed on the circumstances surrounding Tara’s conception.

  “Très interéssant.” Henri thrust his bottom lip out and made a French sound that meant he was mulling something over. “And you say she found names and addresses in the telephone book and on the internet?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Henri shook his head. “Such lists would not be complete. He might be not listed. He has the cell phone, probablement. Oui?”

  “Yeah. She knows that.” He and Tara had already talked about her archaic means of searching. “But she’s doing it the only way she knows how.”

  “Did she consider to hire a private detective?” His shrug suggested it was so obvious he shouldn’t even have to mention it.

  Garrett leaned back in his seat to get comfortable. He appreciated Henri’s interest in Tara’s predicament. Had his friend already figured out how very special she was to him?

  “I suggested that, but she said she didn’t know anyone in Paris who could recommend one, and she was afraid, if she hired someone blind, he’d turn out to be a shyster.”

  Henri’s nose wrinkled like he smelled something unpleasant. “Qu’est-ce que ça veut dire—‘shyster’?”

  “A crook.” Garrett explained. “Someone who cheats people out of their money.”

  “Ah!” Henri nodded. “Je comprends. But what if she finds this Jacques Martin, and he is the shyster?” His eyebrow lifted to make his point.

  “We’ve discussed that, and she’s aware that she’ll have to be careful and trust her instincts,” Garrett agreed. “She’s a pretty good judge of character. She told me that if you’d looked her up and down one more time, she was going to ask you to leave a few clothes on her because she didn’t want to catch a cold.”

  Henri had a good laugh at that. “It was the test for you, mon ami. Not Tara. And it worked. Your hand made the fist very quickly.”

  Garrett recalled the flare of jealousy that had shot through him, and he had no doubt Henri was speaking the truth.

  “But do not worry.” Henri gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I will allow you to keep Tara for yourself.”

  That pulled a laugh from Garrett. He’d never encountered a woman who would choose him over Henri—until Tara. But she left him no doubt as to who her choice would be, and it felt damn good to be the winner for once. Good enough that he had to rub it in a bit. “This is one you have no chance with. Did you see the way she latched on to my arm after you ogled her? She wasn’t the least bit affected by your debonair French ways.”

  Henri’s warm smile lit up his face. “The woman was blind. I have heard that the climaxes may cause that condition.”

  Garrett’s face warmed at the truth in Henri’s folklore, but he wouldn’t cheapen what he had with Tara with locker-room talk. “Back to Jacques Martin.” He made his point by switching to their former subject. “It doesn’t look promising that she’ll find him. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Henri’s nostrils flared. “What is this needle in the haystack I always hear of? American idioms do not make sense. Why would someone put a needle in a haystack? Would he be sewing in a hay field? Why would it not be like finding a needle in the pin cushion?” He crossed his arms imperiously, making Garrett certain Napoleon Bonaparte’s blood ran in his friend’s veins.

  “I don’t know, Henri. Make it a needle in a pin cushion if you want, but, either way, finding him is difficult and not likely to get any easier.”

  Henri drummed his fingers on the desk, staring at them for a minute. Then he slid his eyes up slowly to meet Garrett’s. “You are falling in love with her. I see this in your eyes when you speak her name.”

  “Yeah, I, um...” The serious turn in the conversation was far removed from their usual banter. “I believe I am.”

  “Dylan is very fond of her. He brought her into most conversations during his visit.” A hint of worry edged Henri’s voice. “You had a fear this would happen.”

  The strong coffee...or something...made the muscles around Garrett’s heart tighten. “But love’s a process that takes time, Henri, and if the right woman comes along, I have to open myself up to the process. Unfortunately, that means opening Dylan up to it, too.”

  “And you think Tara could be the right one?”

  Garrett took a deep breath, and the tightening loosened a smidgen. “Let’s just say it feels right at this time.”

  Henri broke eye contact, brushing at something on the desk. “And when will she leave?”

  “The fifteenth.” The reality of the time they had left closed off Garrett’s throat and made breathing impossible for a few seconds.

  “If she found her birth father, would that change her plans? Would she stay longer, peut-être?”

  Garrett hadn’t considered that, but it was certainly a possibility. Extending her stay to get to know her father would make perfect sense. “I don’t know. I guess that could change things. She has the summer off, so she wouldn’t have to be back until the middle of August.” His heart beat faster at the thought.

  Henri pushed out of his chair. “Well, I must begin the work, oui?”

  “What’s your hurry?” His friend’s swift change in manner was out of character. With the campaign over, Garrett had expected him to take it easy today.

  “I have important things to do.” Henri pointed his finger dramatically upward as he hurried from the room.

  Garrett rolled his eyes at his friend’s theatrics. “Frenchmen.” He chuckled. “Probably headed to the restroom.”

  * * *

  “DO YOU SEE IT YET, Dylan?”

  Tara glanced up anxiously into the sprawling tree where Dylan was searching.

  “Not yet.” The child caught the branch above his head and used it to make his way to the other side of the trunk.

  Tara checked the cache finder again. The treasure had to be up in the tree. “I’ll give you a couple more minutes, then we’ll have to give up on this one.” Her eyes darted around the park. No security guard in sight.

  “I don’t want to give—wait! I see something!” Dylan swung his arm over a branch and ducked under it. “There’s a hole! And it’s got something in it!”

  The giddy excitement in his voice was infectious. Tara held her breath as he slid his hand in to retrieve what he’d found.

  “Got it!” He held up a small plastic container in triumph.

  “Drop it to me, so you have both hands to climb down.” Tara held her arms out, and her partner did as he was instructed.

  Following the tradition to keep geocaches secret, they strolled leisurely with the treasure to the closest bench and pretended they were merely opening a mundane plastic box.

  Dylan’s bottom lip drooped in disappointment when he ripped the lid off and peered inside. “There aren’t many items. Not like the one we found yesterday.”

  Tara gave him a pat. “Yeah, but that makes this one even better.”

  “Why?” He gave her one of those skeptical looks kids save for wh
en they know adults aren’t being completely truthful.

  She flipped open the log. “This cache was hidden on March 3, 2011, and it’s only been found...” She counted the entries. “Nine times. That means it’s a really difficult cache to locate, and you found it!”

  The grin that broke across his face was a duplicate of his dad’s, making Tara’s breath hitch. “Wow! That means we’re good at this, aren’t we?”

  “We’re better than good. We’re freakin’ awesome!” She held up her hand, but then thought better of allowing him to hit the one that had been injured. She switched to the other. “I want an official high-five for that. A high-three just won’t do.”

  Dylan giggled and slapped his palm against hers. Then he dug in their Crown Royal pouch, which had been donated to the cause by Garrett, pulling out one of the special tokens he and Tara had made that morning, and traded it for a gold medallion with a fleur-de-lis embossed on it.

  Then he shimmied up the tree and placed the cache back in the hole where he’d found it.

  Tara was absorbed in watching Dylan and didn’t hear the police officer approach. When the man spoke, she wheeled around to find him giving her a look that was none too friendly.

  He shook a finger at Dylan, then at her, his voice stern and unyielding. She couldn’t understand a word he said.

  “I’m sorry.” She had no idea how much a tree-climbing fine might run, but she didn’t want to find out. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Dylan was making his way back down. “I un—”

  “Be quiet, Dylan.” She shot a silencing look his way.

  The policeman’s facial features lost their hard edge. “Madame.” He spoke slowly and precisely. “To climb trees is not allowed. We warn of the danger.” He pointed at the sign in front of their tree.

  Tara willed her face to flush, and she touched her hand to the base of her throat for added drama. “Oh, I’m so sorry. My French isn’t very good, so I didn’t realize that’s what it said. I should’ve checked my phrase book.”

  Dylan dropped from the bottom branch to land beside her. “But you said you wouldn’t need that book as long as I—”

  She pulled him to her, clamping her hand lightly over his mouth. “Shh, Dylan. Don’t interrupt the adults.” Then she turned her attention back to the police officer, smiling sweetly while thickening her Southern accent. “The visitor’s guide said that the Luxembourg Gardens were a wonderful place to bring children.” She played the sympathy move by wiping her face with her injured hand.

  Just as she’d hoped, the policeman grimaced at the sight, caught himself and then gave her an overly cheery grin. “It is of no great importance, madame. Your son is safe.”

  Dylan nudged her leg at the policeman’s error.

  She ruffled his hair with her good hand and placed her other index finger to her lips. “Shh. Let the nice man finish what he’s saying.”

  The policeman leaned toward Dylan and wagged his finger. “You may not climb these trees. And when you climb the trees at your home, you must always be very careful. Do you understand?”

  Dylan nodded. “Yes, but I don’t have any trees at my house.”

  “That is unfortunate.” The man’s chin buckled in a look of sympathy. “Perhaps someday you will.” He turned his attention back to Tara. “Au revoir, madame. I hope you will enjoy your stay in Paris.”

  “You’re very kind. Thank you.” Tara gave a small wave as she guided Dylan toward the walkway.

  “You sort of told that policeman some fibs.” Dylan threw an accusing frown her way.

  “Yes, I did,” she admitted.

  One corner of Dylan’s mouth curved into a half smile that was identical to, and just as charming as, his father’s. “You let him think we didn’t know what that sign said.”

  “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I didn’t want him to fine me—fine means paying money as a punishment for breaking a law.”

  “I know what it means. It makes Dad mad when people park on the sidewalk. He says he’s glad they got a fine.”

  She chuckled at the child’s honesty.

  “You let him think I was your son, too.”

  His half smile burst into a full-blown grin that Tara answered with her own. “I didn’t think that one would hurt anyone. It wasn’t something he could fine me for. I mean, you’d look pretty weird with one of those yellow tickets stuck to your head.”

  His childish giggle filled her ears and warmed her heart at the same time.

  “I wish you were my mom.” He took her hand. “You’re fun.”

  The air whooshed out of her lungs, but she managed a choked “Thanks, Dylan. You’re fun, too.”

  Backed by the swiftness of a six-year-old’s attention span, his face lost its smile. “Yesterday, Dad said you were trying to find your father. How’d you lose him?”

  Oh, wow! This one was going to require the most finely honed of her teacher talents. “Well, your dad has told me that you lost your mother when you were three. That kind of lost means—”

  “That she died, and now she’s up in heaven.”

  “That’s right. But I didn’t lose my father that way. I think he lives here in Paris.” Dylan’s knitting brows said the explanation wasn’t enough. “He moved away before I was born.” She tried again. “So we’ve never gotten to meet. But I came to Paris to look for him.”

  “Do you have a mom?”

  “Yes, I have a mom and a dad.” She anticipated his next question. “A man named Sawyer married my mom. He loves me very much, and he’s my dad just like your dad.”

  “Did they have sleepovers?”

  Tara swallowed her startled gasp. If she’d learned anything from teaching, it was that sometimes a kid’s wording could be wonky. “What do you mean?”

  “My friend Michelle has a new dad. He used to eat with them a lot. And then he and her mom started having sleepovers, and they got married. Now she’s going to get a new baby sister.”

  “Sometimes it happens that way,” Tara agreed.

  Dylan pinned her with that wide-eyed look that was so easy to read, and she braced for what was coming.

  “You want to have a sleepover at our house tonight?”

  “Thank you for asking, but that’s probably not a good idea.” She could read the disappointment in the child’s dangling lower lip.

  “Well, if you wanted to have sleepovers, that would be okay. Maybe you and my dad could get married and you could be my mom.”

  His suggestion was so innocent...and so earnest...it filled her heart to the point of breaking. “Let’s sit a minute, okay?” She sat down on a nearby bench and pulled him into her lap. “You planted seeds with Veronique yesterday, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “Veronique said they would grow into a salad.”

  “Well, see all these trees and flowers?” She motioned to the artfully landscaped area around them, and his eyes followed her gesture. “Each of these plants started from a seed, and each of them grew into something special. Now, I like you and your dad very much, and that’s like planting a seed of friendship. Sometimes friendship grows like a flower. It’s very beautiful, but it stays small. And sometimes friendship grows into something much bigger and stronger like a tree. That’s the kind of friendship that becomes love. The thing is, both kinds of friendships, whether they’re the like kind or the love kind, both need time to grow.”

  She paused, but for once the little boy didn’t have any questions. “So, like I said, you and your dad and I have planted the seed—” She drew his attention to a green sprout just popping from the ground. “But we don’t know yet what it’s going to grow into. We’ll just have to wait and see.” She pressed on, determined to keep her message upbeat. “I’ll have to go back to my real home soon, but even after I leave Paris, o
ur seed is going to continue to grow into something.”

  “You could stay with us.”

  “If I did, my mom and dad would really miss me, just like I’m going to miss you and your dad when I leave. But he and I have already decided that we’ll talk on the phone a lot—talking is sort of like sunshine to a seed—and you’re going to call me whenever you feel like it—like you do with your grandmas and grandpas. And after a few months, let’s say like after Christmas, if it looks like we’re going to grow into a tree, we’ll make plans for me to come back for another visit...or for you to come visit me. Deal?”

  He smiled and nodded. “Deal.”

  With no forewarning, he threw his arms around her neck. He was soft and warm, and the summer sweetness of the tree he’d climbed earlier still clung to him.

  Just as suddenly, the tears that had been hovering close to the surface since the start of this conversation burst from Tara’s eyes like a spring shower.

  Dylan loosened his hold and sat back, gaping at her. “Are you crying?”

  Tara sniffed. “We can’t expect our seed to grow with just sunshine, can we?”

  He shook his head.

  She swiped at the tears, and flung the excess water from her fingers. “Then I’ll water it, too.”

  He grinned and she pulled him into another quick hug. Her words had been playful and light—the exact opposite of the weight she carried in her heart.

  Garrett’s worst fear had come true. Dylan had imprinted onto her like a newly hatched duckling. Problem was, she felt the same way about him and his dad.

  Oh, she talked a good game. Give the seeds time to grow and all that. But when the time came for her to leave and these hugs were the goodbye kind, how would she ever be able to let go?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FAITH PUSHED THE BOX OUT of the way with her calf and pulled out the last one from the depths of the hall closet. She’d set a goal to work through a closet each day, throwing away what was of no use or sentimental value, boxing up the items the family might want to keep, and filling trash bags with things that could be donated to charity.