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

by Liz Talley

  But Garrett had been badly mistaken when he thought he’d be able to eat after filling Henri in on the details. The looks of horror that kept cracking the Frenchman’s perfect facade were shredding Garrett’s insides almost as much as the information he was hiding from Tara.

  “Several times I started to level with her, but the damn tattoos and piercings kept reminding me of Angie and her wild ways and I’d remember that she has a bit of a wild side, too. I mean, we haven’t known each other very long. What if...” The waiter brought Henri’s third martini while Garrett declined a second glass of sauvignon blanc. “What if she decides she has to see him no matter the consequences?”

  “And Tara does have the wild hair.” Henri pointed a philosophical finger upward as he sipped his drink. “What if you and she break up and she desires to hurt you? The women like the revenge.”

  “I don’t believe Tara would ever stoop that low.”

  “The blood of the son of a bitch runs in her veins, oui?” Henri growled into his glass. “And you did not believe Angie would ever leave Dylan. C’est vrai?”

  Garrett flinched as the comment pierced the protective area of his psyche. Yes, he’d ignored signs that Angie was spiraling out of control. He’d battered himself for years over that one. But for Henri to bring it up right now was out-of-character.

  “That’s your last drink, Henri. You’re getting drunk and mean, and I’m cutting you off.”

  Henri sneered. “You would cut me off from the last drink I may get in a very long while? They do not serve the cocktails in prison, mon ami.”

  “You’re not going to prison.” Garrett massaged the back of his neck where the muscles were in knots. “No matter what happens, I’m not going to let anyone know—” he lowered his voice to a whisper “—where I got his address. Not Tara. Not anyone. I told you your secret is safe with me, and it is. I promise.”

  Henri sat the drink on the table, looking more downcast than Garrett could ever imagine. “I am sorry, my dear friend. I say the cruel things in anger. I only wanted to help Tara, and now the sweet soufflé goes poof! into my face.” He drummed his fingertips on the table.

  “If we’d been together longer, I’d feel more comfortable telling her the truth. But right now...” Garrett ran his hand through his hair. “I just can’t. And I feel like such a lying sack of shit because I can’t.”

  Henri took another drink, and his mouth pulled into a deeper frown. “Is the sack of shit lying as in telling an untruth? You cannot know what it is because the sack disguises what is inside? Or is the sack of shit lying on the ground doing nothing and is therefore worthless?”

  “You can take whichever meaning you want, Henri.” A remorseful sigh pushed from Garrett’s lungs. “Either one fits me perfectly.”

  What he’d done hit him with the impact of a sledgehammer to his chest.

  If things with Martin worked out, Tara surely would forgive the underhanded means he’d used to obtain the end. If they didn’t work out—if Jacques Martin never made contact—Garrett would have to live with his lie, but Tara’s exemption from the heartbreak of the rejection would serve as his consolation.

  His gut churned the way it used to during a championship baseball game. In his mind’s eye, he was once again standing in the batter’s box. The pitcher had just given all he had to a well-executed curveball. Garrett had swung and connected, and the ball was hurtling into the stands.

  Now he had to wait for his vision to clear to see if he’d hit it foul or if he’d scored the game-winning home run.

  * * *

  “TARA HAD TUNA ON HER pizza today, Dad.” Dylan made a retching sound and squinched his face into a mask of horror. “Doesn’t that sound icky?”

  “It does sound icky, sport. But let’s leave the sound effects off at the dinner table, okay?” Amusement twinkled in Garrett’s eyes when he turned back to Tara. “Did you do that on purpose?”

  “No.” She reached over and gave a gentle tweak to Dylan’s nose. “And I shouldn’t have even told you, you little twerp.”

  Dylan giggled around his last forkful of mashed potatoes.

  “I was craving pizza, and I couldn’t translate the toppings, so I just pointed to one.” She squinched her face to match Dylan’s. “I chose poorly.”

  Garrett’s laugh heated the already warm night air. She took a sip of the sweet iced tea she’d made to go along with the special Southern dinner she’d prepared of country-fried steak and gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, fried okra and biscuits.

  “You were hungry.” She pointed to Garrett’s plate, which looked as if it had been licked clean of his second round of helpings.

  He nodded. “I didn’t eat much lunch. Had too much on my mind.” The tight lines around his eyes softened, and his lips relaxed enough for the scar to deepen. “But this meal—whew!” He leaned back and patted his stomach. “Gave me back my appetite.”

  “You want to talk about whatever’s on your mind?” Tara prodded. He seemed better than last night, but something was still eating at him.

  He winked and gave her a gentle smile. “Later.”

  The way he said the word tightened a coil deep inside her. Oh, for heaven sakes! The things this man could do to her with one word.

  “Dylan!” A child’s voice called from below, and Dylan ran across the terrace to the opening that accessed the courtyard beneath their terrace.

  “Sit.” She ordered Garrett back into his seat when he started to help her clear the table.

  Dylan ran back to the table. “Jules has a new puppy! Can I go see it?”

  “Sure.” Garrett pointed to the opening. “Yell at me when you get down there and when you start to come back up.”

  Dylan nodded.

  “Be back in a half hour.”

  “I will,” the boy promised.

  A little enticement would help him get back on time. “I fixed ambrosia for dessert,” Tara informed him.

  He cocked his head, giving her a quizzical look that made him a miniversion of Garrett. “Was it broken?”

  “What?” It was her turn to be confused.

  “You said you fixed it.”

  Sheesh! Nothing got by the little scamp. “I prepared ambrosia for dessert,” she explained. “We’ll have it when you get back.”

  “Okay.” He took off at a full gallop and they heard the front door slam behind him.

  Tara shook her head in feigned exasperation. “Guess I thought some Southern cooking would infuse some of the jargon into him.”

  Garrett stood and stretched. “I haven’t had a meal like that since I’ve been here. You’re a good cook.”

  She grinned. “When I get the hankering.”

  Garrett chuckled as they moved to the railing to watch for Dylan’s appearance in the courtyard below. The little boy with the new puppy held it up proudly to show them, and they praised and cooed at it from one floor up.

  In no time, a red-faced Dylan scampered into view, waving at them and then turning his complete attention to the neighborhood’s newest member.

  Garrett took her hand as they walked back to the table. “I’m up now, so you’re going to let me help with these dishes.” His stern voice didn’t match the smile that teased at his lips.

  She held up their locked hands. “Guess we have to let go, first.”

  He stacked the plates as she took care of the empty serving dishes. Not a scrap of leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch. Her mom always said that was a good sign.

  “So what did you do today, other than cook...and order an icky pizza?” He didn’t ask about her Jacques Martin quest for the day, so she didn’t mention it.

  He was obviously aware she’d tell him when she found the right one, so for once, she left her elusive birth father out of the conversation. Besides, last night the subject had ma
de him antsy. She didn’t want a repeat performance of that.

  “I went to Sacré Coeur.” She loaded the dishes into the dishwasher as Garrett put things back into the fridge and cabinets.

  “Oh? Did you take the funicular up to it?”

  “No, I wanted to walk the hill,” she answered. “The basilica was so beautiful, and the view from up there? Spectacular!” She chatted on about the Montmartre area’s quaint streets.

  “What else did you see?” He wet the dishcloth and wiped the crumbs and drips from the countertops.

  “Well, I went to the cemetery and then I roamed around the Moulin Rouge area, but I didn’t go in the theater.” She paused, studying which button to push. She chose one and gave a satisfied smirk when the sound of water met her ears. “Man, those sex shops around there are sleazy. Not what I expected.”

  Garrett threw the dishcloth into the sink and pulled her into his arms. “Not a place I want you going without me, either.”

  His mouth came down on hers hard and insistent in a kiss that left her breathless and quivering. When he straightened and their lips parted, his arms remained locked around her as if he knew she would need the extra support.

  And she did.

  She leaned back and shook her finger. “You shouldn’t kiss me like that so early in the evening. It sends my mind to places it shouldn’t be. Gives me a terrible hankering for you.”

  He grinned, but then his eyes grew dark, his face serious. “I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.” He nodded toward the door. “But we need to go back outside and listen for Dylan.”

  Her stomach squeezed at the intensity of his tone. “Is everything okay?”

  “It will be if I can get you to consider something with an open mind.” With a hand on her back, he led her outside to the terrace and the area with the railing.

  “You sure are being cryptic.” She peered into the courtyard below, but Dylan hadn’t reappeared. He still had about ten minutes of his half hour remaining. She leaned an elbow on the wrought-iron barrier, giving Garrett her full attention.

  “I don’t mean to be.” Garrett’s voice was husky. “Fact is, I want to lay it all out for you.” He faced her, leaning on his elbow. “I love you, Tara. We’ve said that’s crazy to say this soon, but it’s how I feel. But...” He paused and took her hand. “I’m not crazy enough to think we know each other as well as we need to in order to make any commitments.”

  For a minute there, she’d had the crazy idea he was going to propose, and it had her heart thudding so hard she could feel it from her temples to her toes. His last sentence calmed that quaking some, but she still couldn’t trust her voice not to squeak.

  Garrett didn’t give her time to respond anyway. He plunged ahead with his proposal of a different kind. “I want you to consider staying longer. You’ve said yourself, you really don’t have to be back until August. Stay a few more weeks.”

  “My ticket...”

  “Can be changed. I’ll pay the fee. Stay with me and Dylan, Tara.” He let go of her hand and slid his fingers into the sides of her hair. “Let’s use whatever time we have to explore this thing between us. It feels more right to me than any relationship ever has.”

  Tara stood speechless for a moment, her brain whirring too fast for her mouth to catch up.

  Garrett seemed to understand. He leaned in to capture her mouth with another kiss that was soft and beguiling, packed with emotion.

  More time with Garrett and Dylan was exactly what her heart had been yearning for, and it leaped in her chest as she considered his offer. “I would love that.”

  “Dad?” Dylan’s voice broke the moment. He stood in the courtyard below, hands on hips. “I called you three times before you heard me,” he chided, but his grin said he really didn’t mind.

  “Sorry, sport. Didn’t hear you.”

  “Yeah, because you and Tara were kissing. I’m on my way up,” he called as he disappeared from view.

  Garrett’s gaze returned to hers, his hands still in her hair. “That was a yes from you, I think?”

  She nodded. “That was an enthusiastic yes from me.”

  “Good.”

  His mouth closed down on hers again, and it was his kiss that she felt this time from her temples to her toes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “AND IT’LL GIVE ME MORE time to look for you-know-who and visit some places I haven’t had time for yet.”

  The verdant, rolling hills of the French countryside came into view as Tara’s train pulled out of the station, while images of the opulence of Versailles still spun in her head. Trying to accurately describe the place to Emma had proven futile, and even the photos she’d taken wouldn’t do justice to the unfathomable beauty of the palace and its grounds.

  “Garrett says we can take a weekend trip to the Loire Valley,” she continued. “And we can do a weekend in Brussels, too, which is only four hours away. Isn’t that crazy? He can be in Brussels, Belgium, in about the same time it takes us to get to St. Louis.”

  “What’s crazy is my best friend’s falling in love with a guy I’ve never met, who lives across the ocean, and she’s pretending that she’s extending her trip because she wants to see more of the country.”

  Tara grinned at the exasperation in Emma’s tone. Ms. Counselor could take anything a troubled teen threw at her with calm patience, but Tara’s quirky manner could send her into a dither faster than a bluegill on a cricket.

  “I can’t help it, Emma.” Soul-lifting fields of sunflowers appeared in the distance. The train’s speed increased, and Tara could feel the thrum of the movement low in her belly. “I’ve got a feeling I’m headed toward something...something big. Yes, I want more time with Garrett and Dylan. I love being with them. But it’s more than that. My father’s here and he’s alive, and I’m on the verge of locating him. I just know it.

  The woman occupying the seat in front of her turned and gave a sympathetic glance, so Tara lowered her voice. “I only have nine addresses left. My odds have got to be getting better.”

  “Now I remember why we only went to Vegas once.” The train was quiet enough for Tara to hear the sigh all the way from Kentucky to France. “I’m just jealous. Garrett’s getting your whole summer. By the time you get back, we’ll be heading back to work, and there won’t be time for any of those things we’d planned to do.”

  “We’ll still take that road trip to Memphis,” Tara promised. “Graceland’s on the to-do list this summer, no matter what else comes up.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  Emma’s barely recognizable imitation of Elvis sent Tara into a fit of the giggles. “That was god-awful.”

  “Yeah? Well, you ought to try it with drool running from a totally numb bottom lip.”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “One little filling, you baby. Try cutting off half your hand.”

  “I’ll leave that to you.”

  The words were blotchy, and Tara realized they were about to lose reception. “Hey, you’re cutting out, but before I lose you, do you think my mom and dad are doing okay?”

  The line went silent, and Tara checked her phone. Call Ended was soon replaced by No Service.

  She let out a frustrated sigh. Dad went fishing July Fourth. The family had a picnic at the cabin and had included Emma. Things were back to normal; she just needed to cool it with the worrying.

  For the millionth time since she’d arrived in this country, she imagined how it would be when she met her father. He would smile, embrace her, introduce her proudly to his family. It seemed strange to think other siblings might be waiting in the wings to make their appearance on her life’s stage.

  She pressed her forehead to the train window, turning her attention to the landscape outside.

  This trip was the most important journe
y of her life.

  She didn’t want to miss a single detail.

  * * *

  “WE MISSED YOU AT Ladies’ Prayer Group, Faith. And the prayer meeting Wednesday night.”

  The voice behind her caused Faith’s teeth to clench involuntarily. She’d known that Sue would make a beeline to her if she stepped even one foot outside. But she was tired of feeling like a prisoner in her mother-in-law’s house. Besides, she could hardly do the gardening at night.

  Faith tossed the handful of weeds into the bucket without turning around. “I didn’t feel like going.” She grabbed another clump of chickweed.

  “All the more reason you should’ve been there. When we’re at our lowest, we need to be lifted up. You need prayer right now more than anyone else I know.”

  Faith could swear she heard a smile in Sue’s condescension. “Prayer I need.” The chickweed broke loose. She tossed it away and turned to face her neighbor. Yes, indeed, the woman had a smug, mule-eating-briars grin on her face. “Gossip I can do without.”

  “Avoiding people isn’t going to stop the gossip.” Sue wrinkled her nose and sniffed as if the clean air harbored some kind of stench.

  “Maybe not. But it gives me a rationale for avoiding people I don’t like.” Faith gave a fake grin of her own. “Like you.”

  “Don’t blame me for your personal problems.” There was the anger that always lay just below the surface of Sue’s insecurity. It never took much scratching to bring it to the top. Fact was, Faith had always suspected Sue enjoyed being mad. She seemed to delight in telling people off, and this morning she was going to get a chance to start her day on the upswing.

  “I’m not blaming you for my personal problems. I’m blaming you for leading the charge against my husband.” The words left Faith’s mouth in a much calmer state than they’d been formed.

  “Somebody has to take the reins in a situation like this.”

  Faith snorted. “You mean, somebody has to stir the pile. So tell me, Sue, just what kind of situation are you making this out to be?”