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

by Liz Talley

  “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

  “ARE 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.”

&
nbsp; 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.”

  * * *

  BY THE TIME GARRETT 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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  TARA PAUSED OUTSIDE THE door of Jacques Martin’s office. “Dad.” She would make one last attempt to talk him out of this, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears in the taxi. “This really isn’t a good idea, and it could make things horrible for Soulard.”

  Her dad placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look her directly in the eyes. “Tara, I believe in a master plan. If my meeting him is part of that plan, it will happen. If it’s not, he won’t be here.” He smiled and gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Besides, I’ve prayed about what to say, and I don’t think what I want to tell him will be harmful to Soulard, Jacques’s wife or anybody else.”

  Her dad had never given her any reason to doubt that he only wanted what was best for her. She needed to trust him now. “Okay.” She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  Sawyer opened the door and stepped back to let Tara enter first. Thank heavens, the waiting room was empty again. Just what kind of business never had any customers?

  Yvette Martin’s eyes widened at the sight of Tara, and she snarled something in French as she came to her feet. Pointing to the door, she raised her voice. “Get out. Now!”

  Sawyer ignored the directive and pushed past Tara, extending his hand to the young woman. “Well now, there’s no reason to get all huffy. Hi there. I’m Sawyer O’Malley. Tara’s dad.”

  “I don’t care who you are.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “This is a private office, and I am instructing you to get out now.”

  Sawyer shifted his look between the two women and grinned. “Whooee! There’s no use getting all worked up like this. I just want—”

  “Jacques!” Yvette turned toward the closed door down the hall and shouted.

  While she continued shouting in French, Sawyer gave her an innocent shrug. “See there. You already knew what I wanted without me even having to ask.”

  The office door flew open, and a red-faced Jacques Martin marched out, shoulders squared and obviously ready to tangle.

  Sawyer rushed to meet him as Tara gawked, rooted to where she stood.

  Her dad extended his hand once more, and again it was ignored. “Hello, Mr. Martin,” he said calmly. “I know this is a surprise, but I couldn’t pass up what might be my only opportunity to ever meet Tara’s birth father.”

  “She is not my daughter. Now get out.”

  Her heartbeat, which was already fast, didn’t accelerate. Her stomach did no additional churning. In fact, his words had no effect on Tara this time. Perhaps the tears had done their job and left her numb...or maybe having her dad there with her made all the difference.

  Sawyer turned to Tara and held out his hand to her.

  She moved to where he stood, taking the hand he proffered, relaxing in his firm but gentle grip.

  He turned back to Martin. “You’re right. She’s not your daughter. She’s my daughter, and I thank God every day for her.”

  Tara’s face heated, but she noticed Martin’s had lost some of its earlier color.

  “And I want to thank you, Mr. Martin. Without you, I’d have no Tara.” Her dad’s voice lowered. “You see, my wife and I produced two other children whom I love very much, but nothing I could ever have done would’ve allowed me to produce Tara. Only you could do that.”

  Sawyer looked at Tara, and the smile he gave her held so much love she thought her heart would burst from it. She smiled back through eyes that brimmed with happy tears.

  He tightened his grip on her hand before turning back to Martin while Tara stole a quick glance toward Yvette. The young wife was perched on her seat, arms crossed tightly, eyes boring into nothing but the top of the desk.

  “And so I came here today,” Sawyer continued, “simply to let you know how much you’ve blessed my life, and I’ve asked God to bless you in whatever way he sees fit. Rest assured, you’ll be in my prayers often.”

  Martin said nothing, but just for a moment, Tara thought she could see a resemblance to the kind man she met at Place des Vosges.

  Her dad faced her. “Ready?”

  A chuckle floated out of her on a bubble of joy. “Yep.”

  She kept her arm linked through her
dad’s as they left the office, carrying in her heart a certainty that she was bound to this man with a bond even deeper than blood.

  * * *

  GARRETT HAD ALWAYS heard that 95 percent of the things you worry about never happen.

  Just his luck that this incident lay in the remaining 5 percent.

  The owners had announced, to the groans of shock and dismay from the audience, the immediate, temporary closing of Soulard until such time as this crisis could be resolved. Because most of the missing forms were those dealing with the labor force, it would be inadvisable to keep the brewery open until the documents were back in place.

  Guilt that he had caused this whole, nightmarish fiasco was eating Garrett’s insides like acid. Bile had actually risen into his throat when the official announcement was made.

  He’d made up his mind to offer his resignation as soon as the meeting adjourned. It might not help anything, but if there was a chance it would call off the jackal that was Jacques Martin, it would be worth a try.

  He and Dylan could make it for a while. He’d never touched the insurance money from Angie’s death, which was tucked away in savings for Dylan’s future, but he could borrow against it if a crisis arose.

  Damn, he was going to be sick if he didn’t get out of this room soon. He wiped his face with Henri’s handkerchief. The walls were closing in on him, squeezing the breath out of his lungs.

  The CFE representative was droning on and on with his apologies and reiterating the importance of having all required paperwork complete, and how he couldn’t accept the copies on hand because all official documents must be originals.

  It was a highly unusual breach of protocol for the receptionist to interrupt a meeting, especially one of such magnitude, and a nervous titter moved through the crowd when she pecked on the door and entered, waving a piece of paper.

  She handed it to the man from CFE, who frowned and apologized, but then pulled out his cell phone and stepped from the room to make what was assumed to be an urgent call.

  People remained oddly quiet, maybe wondering what else could possibly have happened that would rank high enough to interrupt this meeting. There were a few nervous whispers around him, which Garrett didn’t try to discern. Instead, he studied the grim faces of those who sat in silence. He, at least, had some income to fall back on. Some of these people were the sole providers for their families. They wouldn’t be able to wait around for months to be called back to Soulard.