A Touch of Passion (boxed set romance bundle)

by Uvi Poznansky

  She took the elevator to the sixth floor tonight, unable to run up the stairs as was her habit. In the older, yet prestigious, building where she and her father had made a very comfortable home for Max, it worked as a form of daily exercise.

  The tree-lined street where they lived gave the neighborhood a residential appearance that made them feel they were much further, than a mere two blocks, from the heart of the city.

  “Ma fille, you’re late tonight. Did you have lots of customers?”

  “Bonjour, mon père. To my amazement, the last hour I had only one. A very special one. Rose Walsh arrived from Texas unexpectedly. She stayed a little later than I realized. Were you worried? I’m sorry.”

  “A little, but it’s fine now. Max wouldn’t settle until you came home. I insisted he wait for you while in bed. I left the light on so he could draw.”

  “Was he a monster today? You look tired. I think my son wears you down.”

  “No more than usual. He’s a little boy, full of energy. I’m an old man. He slows a little, I try harder and we work it out.” André leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, ma cherie, we get along just fine. Why didn’t you bring your friend home with you? I don’t imagine you’re comfortable leaving her in a hotel?”

  “She was too tired to move tonight. She’ll be arriving in the morning and will spend a few days with us.”

  “What’s wrong, Anne? You look sad.” André caressed her cheek with his warm palm. “Something has happened.”

  “Yes. Let me go and tuck Max in and then I’ll share a glass of wine with you and explain everything.”

  André nodded. “I’ll set us up in the den.”

  Anne watched her father amble toward the kitchen; his shoulders seemed more stooped than usual. Remorse attacked, and this time she couldn’t shake it off. Her father, being in his seventies, tried to pretend he enjoyed his days looking after a frisky eight-year-old, but it was getting more difficult for him to manage. Not blind to the situation, Anne knew they could now afford to hire a nanny for the hours when Max wasn’t in school. Since she’d tried before and had been shot down by her father, who’d insisted he wanted those hours with the boy, she knew she’d be in for a fight. Just one more problem to worry about.

  Her loud sigh seemed to echo in the hallway and galvanized her toward her son’s room. She found him lying across the bed with his drawing pad spread out, surrounded by dozens of multi-colored pencils, which he insisted need sharpening as soon as he’d used them a few times. Not sure if the electronic pencil sharpener was the attraction or it really was crucial to have an ultra-sharp point; Anne normally ignored this behavior, thinking—Don’t sweat the small stuff.

  “Hello, shorty.” Anne had nicknamed him shorty since he was rather tall for his age, and tended to swagger a little like his father. In everything else, he’d taken after her: thick copper-colored hair, vivid blue eyes that matched hers and a dimple in each cheek.

  “Maman. You’re late tonight. I stayed up. Grandpère said I could.” As always, his arms rose the minute he’d seen her. He waited for her to hug him and smother him with the kisses she insisted on—the ones he pretended to dislike.

  Once they’d finished their routine, he lifted his face from where he’d hidden it in her neck. Then he ran his fingers through the waves of her long hair, smoothing it away from her face. He took his time making his request. “Can you read to me tonight—another chapter of Harry Potter?”

  Like any attentive mother, she reminded him of his manners. “What do you say?”

  “S'il vous plait, maman.”

  “Of course, Max. You get your book and I’ll clean off the bed. My goodness, what do we have here?” She’d picked up his latest drawing. Delight at his talent came in second to the shock of his content. Like most boys, horses were often his subject, but this time he’d drawn a corral and barns as if he had envisioned a lifelike ranch setting. The precision was stunning. “This is beautiful, Max.”

  “Grandpère told me about the farm where he lived as a boy. I drew this for him. Do you think he’ll like it?”

  Since her father had wallpapered his bedroom with Max’s pictures from the time the boy had first picked up a pencil; Anne knew it would find a place of honor on his almost-filled walls. “He’ll especially love it, Max. You’re getting better, kiddo. Much better.”

  Preening from her compliments, and accepting the truth from the genuine astonishment he’d heard in her voice, he carefully placed it on the nearby desk and then crawled under the covers. “One day, I wish to go to a farm and ride a real horse.”

  “You’ve ridden horses, Max.”

  “Not really, only ponies.”

  Anne had discovered a love of riding during her year at the ranch and had hoped to instill this in her only son. This wasn’t an easy feat in a city like Paris; so she’d found a place near Bordeaux where they’d visited on numerous occasions. He loved those weekend trips as much as she did.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll be bringing home a guest, Rose Walsh, who’ll stay with us for a few days. As I’ve told you many times, tante Rose lives on a real ranch in Texas. She might have some pictures to show you.” Anne knew Rose had brought her iPad and there were dozens of photos on it to delight her oh-so-curious boy.

  “Tante Rose has come to visit me?” Like any child, it was all about him. Anne smiled and corrected him gently. “She’s come to visit us all, Max, but she especially requested to meet you. So, you must behave. She’s not well and we have to take care not to tire her.”

  “Like Grandpère?” So Max had noticed how tired André had looked lately.

  “Yes, son. They’re both older and need their rest, so we mustn’t let them get too tired. Papa told me you were being thoughtful and helping him not to overdo things. I’m really grateful, Max. You’re a good boy.”

  Red-cheeked, her son answered, “Sometimes, I forget.”

  Smiling, she ruffled his hair. “Then I’ll have to beat the tar outta ya!”

  He giggled, recognizing a line from one of his favorite cowboy films. “From now on, I’ll try and remember better. Can I show Tante Rose my drawings?”

  “Of course, she’ll be thrilled. Now I must read to you and then go and visit with your grandpère. We have some top-secret, serious adult plans to settle.” She tickled him to move him over, settled onto the bed next to him and began the story from where they’d left off the night before.

  ❋

  André spoke first. “You’re suffering, child. It’s worrying me, so quit leaving me in suspense.”

  Anne had joined her father in the sitting room where they stored most of the valuable artifacts her family had gathered over the years. Vases worth a fortune, and paintings she’d grown up with were just a few of the things they treasured. The soft-lit, spacious area filled with old-fashioned burgundy furnishings and draperies was André’s favorite place in the large apartment. When she was a child, her father had warned that a certain kind of deportment was expected in this room. Since she loved spending time with him, she’d curbed her natural exuberance and behaved. Now Max did the same and it warmed her heart.

  Picking up the lovely crystal glass topped with her favorite white wine, she took a sip and sorted out in her mind how to start her story.

  “Just spit it out, child. I only have a few years left and I’d hate to expire before you decide on what, and how, you are going to tell me about what’s so obviously bothering you.”

  “You’re right, Papa. I’ll just tell you what I know. This afternoon, Rose Walsh arrived in Paris with the sole purpose of informing me she has lung cancer and is dying.”

  “Mon Dieu, how terrible! Today there are treatments, operations—”

  “Sadly, she put off having her checkup. Now, she’s in the final stages and has a portable oxygen tank on hand for when she overdoes anything. She tires very easily. The doctor has given her a few months–at best.”

  “I’m so sorry, Anne. I know how much you love her.”
André’s voice, like warm syrup, eased her pain, and she smiled her love. “She was like a mother to me. I never understood how important another woman’s affection could be until she gave me hers, unstintingly. Goodness, she took me into her home and welcomed me into her heart. And it was her hugs that kept me from dying of homesickness when I first got to Texas.”

  “After I put you on the plane, I prayed that the woman who wrote to me was everything I’d expected from reading her letters. It thrilled me that she was.” André’s hand shook slightly as he lifted his glass and Anne knew her news had distressed him.

  “I’m so glad you talked me into doing the exchange program for my last year of schooling. You were right. Travelling to another country did make me more aware that Europe is not the only place in the world.”

  “Don’t digress, child. There’s more you need to tell me.”

  Anne sighed, aware that she’d never been able to fool her father. “Yes. Rose also asked me to return to Texas and be with her until she passes on. Her wishes are for me to care for her granddaughter, Debbie—to help her accept Rose’s death. She’s worried about the little girl. I understand the child is very attached and dependent.”

  “Yes. I guessed something like that. They must be very close. I remember what you’ve told me from her letters. If I recall correctly, she’d always wanted to be a grandmother and was ecstatic when she found out that her son had produced an offspring.”

  “Yes. Rose always wanted a passel of grandkids. She only had the one boy herself, Clint, and hoped he’d fill the house with lots of babies.” Anne smiled to herself, remembering Rose’s teasing words to Clint when they’d got into one of their playful bouts. “Quit dawdling, boy. Go find yerself a pretty wife and get busy giving me some grandbabies to love.”

  André broke into her musings. “It must be very painful for her, knowing she must leave the child when she needs her so much. What about the mother?”

  “They’re divorced and I gather she’s out of the picture completely. Rose said that Clint has taken his wife leaving him very badly, and is withdrawn and bitter. It’s hard to imagine the happy-go-lucky, smooth-talking cowboy I remember acting in such a way.”

  Sarcasm seeped into his voice. “Was it his happy-go-lucky personality or his smooth-talking abilities that caught you?”

  Anne chuckled, no humor visible. “I thought I was in love with the whole package… a handsome, horse-riding cowboy with a smooth tongue and twinkling blue eyes as vivid as the Texas sky. Every single young female in town wanted him. And the one he wanted turned out to be a bad girl.” She shook her head and took a large sip from her glass. “Life sure is strange sometimes.”

  “Did you tell Rose she has another grandchild?”

  “No, I couldn’t. It’s been our secret for so long that it’s become impossible to reveal.”

  “I can see your guilt. But remember back, child. You believed you were doing the right thing. By the time you found out you were pregnant, you’d gotten the letter that he’d married and was expecting another baby. We both made the decision that you should leave things alone.”

  “Yes, you’re right. And I don’t know what I would have done without your help, Papa. You’ve been an angel, supporting me and Max while I attended Le Cordon Bleu, and even helping Sophie and me start the shop. “

  “It’s been my pleasure, chérie. You’ve kept me from being a lonely old man. I feel blessed to have had you and Max living with me these past years, brightening up this large, old apartment. Sadly, I believe I might be losing you soon.”

  Chapter Four

  Later, while getting ready for bed, Anne revisited her time with Rose. She’d adored the woman and loved being with her again. Eight years ago, they’d bonded instantly. When she’d arrived in Texas as a young, self-conscious girl full of idealism and with a romantic view of a world she’d known nothing about, she’d sensed that Rose would be her ally. What one saw in movies was nothing at all like the harsh land, and ruthless workload that cowboys were faced with every day.

  Not that Rose ever asked, but Anne worked harder there than in any previous time in her life. The conditions weren’t luxurious like those she’d always known. The brutal weather, lonely lifestyle and backbreaking labor had destroyed many of the smaller spreads.

  The Walshes had a huge amount of acreage and a history with generations of knowledge to fall back on. Their ranch ran like clockwork, propelled by a tough rancher, Jake Walsh. His rigid stance, on every aspect of the work, forced his employees to give their all or get the hell off his land. That included his son, and, Anne had no doubt, his son’s wife—and anyone who thought they could live with them for a year and not pull their weight.

  Anne loved it! Never one to shirk her duties, she dug in and became so useful that Rose constantly complimented her. Sincere words about how she’d ever managed without Anne were shared with everyone who’d listen.

  Between the affection, hugs and womanly discourses, Anne flourished. Not one to push herself forward, it took longer for her relax at school, but eventually a young girl living on the nearest farm approached her with friendship and they became inseparable. Later, they sent Christmas e-mails, but their differing lifestyles interfered, and they eventually lost touch. For a second, Anne wondered if Denise was still in Walsh Creek, or if she and her husband Marty, Clint’s one-time best friend, had moved on.

  Once under the covers, snuggled between her silken sheets, and resting on the multitude of pillows she loved to pile around her; Anne let the reminiscences of the best, and worst, night of her life flood into her mind. It had been years since she’d allowed this indulgence. These remembrances always left her in tears, and wrought with pain that took weeks to shake. Therefore, she’d weaned herself off them by pure force of will. Not to mention the sleeping pills, when the persistent memories had refused to be blocked.

  ~Eight years earlier – Walsh Creek

  Anne sat on the porch’s rocking chair, shelling peas and letting her thick curls dry in the sun. They streamed down her back, a heavy reddish-gold mass, and she knew it would have taken forever with the hairdryer. Wearing her short-shorts and a flimsy blouse, that barely reached her waistband; she welcomed the slight breeze from the overhead fan.

  A movement to her right caught her attention, and she blessed the sunglasses that shielded her eyes from the cheeky cowboy approaching. Most times, Clint didn’t get to her, even though it was a game they played. He tickled and teased, and she slapped him away. Both knew that neither one was serious. After all, he considered her a child at eighteen, compared to his elderly twenty-three.

  When she’d first arrived, he’d been the one to sense her homesickness, saying he’d had the same unsettling feelings when he gone to college. He’d never made her feel silly or childish. Instead, he’d wiped away her tears, listened to her ramble on about her life in Paris and about her father. In that way, he’d made it onto the list of her most favorite people in the world.

  Eventually, Anne didn’t need as much support. And Clint’s life became embroiled with trying to woo Cathy Lang, a new girl in town. She'd had the cowboys buzzing around her like a video game everyone wanted to challenge and win.

  For months, she and Clint hadn’t had any late night exchanges and Anne missed those times. His teasing hadn’t stopped though. Their ongoing banter certainly kept life on the ranch interesting and left her emotions riding a never-ending seesaw.

  As long as he never found out that her heart tripled in size and pumped with a lot more zest whenever she saw his long shadow on the dusty ground, she’d be safe. Considering that she seldom looked up at him long enough for him to read her eyes, most times this was how she knew when he approached. Or when she noticed his hat hanging on the front rack, which meant he was already inside the house. She had a number of warning strategies that gave her time to wrap her heart in silver foil. That way his sweet talk, careless hugs, or flipping her over his shoulder to carry her to the barn didn’t go to her head.
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br />   He was a devil, wearing tight jeans, a sweat-marked cowboy hat and dusty boots. His laughter had enough power that every female, within a hundred miles, knew to hide her heart when he came around. The man was lethal and he loved the girls. All the girls! Until recently. Lately, he’d had his sights set only on Cathy, and she was leading him a merry dance.

  “Hey, chickpea. Wanna grab me a beer?”

  “Your legs broke?”

  “Don’t be sassy or I’ll put you in the water trough again. It was priceless listening to you cuss in your own language. Bet if Ma had known the words, it would’ve curled her hair.” He grinned when her eyes narrowed. “I took a few years of French in high school. Enough to know that you called me some pretty nasty things.”

  “So! They were all deserved.” She hid her grin.

  He waved his finger in her direction. “Naughty girl!”

  She stuck out her tongue. “I could just go into the house, up to my room and lock my door, now couldn’t I?”

  “But you won’t.” He smiled in a way that always managed to tear up her backbone and turn it to mush. “Get yourself one while you’re at it. It’s hot as hades out here.”

  She returned a few minutes later and passed him an icy can. He took it, but held her hand at the same time, and dropped a careless kiss on her palm. “Have I told you lately that I adore you?”

  She pulled her hand free—her skin scorched from his lips—and sat in her rocker. “You’re incorrigible. No wonder all the men want to thrash you.”

  “They know it’s just my way. And no one out here thrashes anyone. They beat the living tar outta ya. Keep to your cowboy talk like I’ve bin ateaching ya.”

  She laughed as he’d intended and changed the subject. “Now that they’ve talked you into it, are you going to bring Cathy to the tavern tonight to hear you sing?”

  “Might! She’s been frisky as a filly lately and it’s hard to keep her bridled.”