Having the Frenchman's Baby

by Rebecca Winters

  Her explanation appeared to mollify him somewhat because his curiosity finally won out enough to ask, “Have you come across anything interesting?”

  Rachel’s eyes closed tightly.

  It wouldn’t be possible to answer his question with one succinct answer. Too much had happened since she’d met Luc Chartier. Getting to know him had done something to her. But it was too soon to find the right words to describe what was going on inside her.

  “I’m discovering that Alsace is a land of enchantment. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.” She needed to change the subject. “How is Grandfather? What about his pulse-ox level?”

  “I never got the chance to find out. Last night John barged in, so I left.”

  The rivalry between her dad and his half brother reminded her of her own unwitting problems with her sister. They lived too far apart with Rebecca working in New York as a highly successful advertising executive.

  Though they were unidentical and conducted different lives, they were alike in dozens of small ways. Rachel knew instinctively Rebecca would be enamoured of Alsace too. How sad they couldn’t have shared a trip like this.

  She heaved a troubled sigh. This morning she didn’t want to think about insoluble family problems.

  “Dad? I have to go, but I’ll call you when I get to Champagne.”

  “Don’t stay in Alsace too long.”

  “I won’t.” She frowned. “What else is bothering you? You sound more upset than usual this morning.”

  “Titan stepped on a rusty nail. The vet took care of him, but he’s not himself yet.”

  Translated, the Dobermann had been well sedated. Too bad that couldn’t be his permanent condition.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  Her father’s dog made everyone nervous, even Rachel. She preferred Saffy, the miniature poodle who belonged to her father’s wife, Bev. The poor little thing cowered every time she saw Titan coming.

  That was exactly what Rachel did when her father felt threatened by John and became difficult, which was most of the time these days.

  “I’ll talk to you soon, Dad.”

  She hung up the phone, thankful to have found a small corner of paradise here in Thann where she could put that seething cauldron of tension aside for a little while.

  A few minutes later she entered the hotel dining room. During those times when she had to sample wines, she always ate a good meal first, even if she wasn’t hungry. Today was a case in point. Luc Chartier’s stranglehold on her feelings seemed to have affected her appetite as well.

  Luc couldn’t swallow the croissant, let alone his coffee. He pushed himself away from the breakfast table and got to his feet, startling his mother.

  “Where are you going at this early hour?”

  “To the hospital. Where else?”

  “But you were there late last night—has something happened to Paulette you haven’t told us about?”

  “Maman—” Giselle blurted impatiently. “Surely if there’d been any change in her condition, we would all know about it.”

  She switched her dark gaze to Luc, “But I have to admit I’m curious why all this extra vigilance over her. What’s going on with you, mon frère?”

  That was a question he couldn’t answer yet.

  “I’ve been so busy lately, I decided to spend quality time with her. Dr Soulier says the more stimulation, the better.”

  “As you should do,” his mother remarked.

  Giselle threw her napkin down. “Why do you encourage him, Maman? After three years, we all know she’s not going to wake up.”

  “None of us knows that,” Luc countered. “As long as there’s a chance, I’m going to do everything in my power to make it happen.”

  “I don’t understand this obsession,” Giselle cried in frustration.

  “I do,” their mother snapped. “Despite a piece of paper, Luc is still married to her in the eyes of God, and don’t you forget it, ma fille!”

  At this point Giselle was on her feet. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright as she turned to him. “I can’t stand to see you go on like this.”

  He and Giselle had always been close, but the situation with Paulette had strained their relationship.

  “After today you and Jean-Marc won’t have to. I’m sleeping at my new house from now on, starting tonight.”

  “So soon?” his mother questioned. “I was hoping you would stay here a little longer. Since your papa died, I love having my children around.”

  He kissed her cheek. “We all need our space, Maman.”

  “But you have no one to cook for you.”

  “That’s the least of my worries.”

  “Well, it’s one of mine! I’ll be by to bring you some food so you won’t starve to death.”

  Giselle eyed him soulfully. “Paulette’s not going to wake up. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Enough!” their mother cried, pointing her finger at Giselle.

  “You have your hands full taking care of your own husband and children. I would like to see how you would react if it were Jean-Marc lying in that hospital bed.”

  Giselle’s cheeks went a ruddy color. “If we were already divorced, I can assure you I wouldn’t have stayed at his bedside three years waiting for the impossible to happen.”

  “Nothing’s impossible,” their mother said firmly.

  Giselle continued to look at Luc. “Remember what Papa always said? There comes a time when we must laissez-le de se faire.”

  Trust his vintner sister to remind him of the old expression their father lived by.

  Don’t add anything artificial to the process. Leave the wine to do what it is meant to do.

  Translated, let Paulette’s family decide to shut off the machines and then see what happens.

  Tears filled her eyes. “You’re not meant to live a monk’s life. At this rate you’re going to have a breakdown.”

  Breakdown.

  An interesting choice of words his guilt hadn’t allowed him to contemplate since last evening, when he’d first laid eyes on Rachel Valentine. A woman like her didn’t need a man with his kind of baggage.

  “I have to go.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  Giselle was in pain for him, but right now he was too fragmented by opposing forces to think. At this point it felt as if all his energy was focused on the beautiful wine buyer from the UK who was less than an hour away from here.

  “Tell the children I’ll be over soon to take them to the park.”

  Luc pressed a kiss to her cheek, and another one to his mother’s. Then he strode out of the house to his car and drove away. But when he reached the crossroads where he would normally turn left into town, he yanked the wheel to the right and took off for Thann as if unseen hands were driving the car for him.

  Rachel pulled into the courtyard of the convent. There were no other cars in the parking area. She was being given exclusive treatment by Luc Chartier’s right hand and ought to be thrilled about it.

  A trim man with thinning brown hair came out the door to greet her. He looked to be about her grandfather’s age, but, unlike him, this man was in excellent health.

  When she commented that he moved like a person twenty years younger, he said, “Blame it on the fruit of the vine.”

  Rachel knew better. Giles had been blessed with good genes. So had her grandfather. But two years ago he’d gone into the hospital with blood clots in his legs, and had been bothered by them on and off ever since.

  “I feel guilty that you’re spending your day off to show me around, Monsieur Lambert.”

  “Call me Giles. There’s no reason to feel guilty. With my wife gone, I need to keep busy. This is a pleasure for me, and Luc knows it. Come along and we’ll get started.”

  “Thank you.”

  She followed him inside and through the door to the cave.

  It was a marvelous room with a vaulted ceiling. There was a long bar and
a fabulous stock of wines behind it she was dying to inspect. But what caught her interest was the huge, ancient-looking armoire on the wall opposite the counter. The doors remained open to display wine-making artifacts placed behind glass.

  Next to it hung a massive chart that walked the layman through an understandable explanation of wine-making. The text was in French, English, German and Spanish.

  “This is absolutely fascinating,” Rachel declared. “I’ve never seen anything like it on any of my buying trips.”

  While she snapped pictures, Giles busied himself putting wine bottles on the counter for her to sample.

  “It was Luc’s idea so it would cut down on the time the staff spends explaining everything to our customers. As a result, we can handle more clients at a time.”

  “Genius innovation.”

  She read everything, then moved in front of the armoire where the items were labeled.

  “What a wonderful treasure!”

  She took more pictures, but her gaze lingered on an old jade-green flagon. The placard read, “The Chartier family nuptial wine jug. Fourteenth Century.”

  A cry of delight escaped her throat. “Tell me about this!”

  “Which item are you referring to?”

  Suddenly the blood pounded in her ears because it wasn’t Giles who’d asked the question.

  She would know Luc Chartier’s heavily accented voice anywhere.

  She spun around trying to catch her breath because he’d entered the room without her being aware of it.

  “G-good morning,” she stammered, attempting to gather her wits. “I thought this was your day off.”

  He looked fantastic in a gray turtleneck and white cargo pants. She couldn’t prevent her eyes from traveling over his hard, fit body before their gazes fused.

  “I decided the things I needed to do today could wait.”

  His words sent curling warmth through her body.

  “What about Giles?”

  “He likes to potter around here.”

  The old man winked at her.

  “To borrow your metaphor,” Luc said in a low aside, “he’s like a mother with a new baby. His work is never done.”

  “I heard that,” Giles muttered. Rachel couldn’t help smiling.

  Luc studied her as if he enjoyed looking at what he saw. “Now tell me which item in the cupboard fascinates you so much.”

  As he moved closer she could smell the soap he’d used in the shower. Her senses seemed to have come alive around him.

  She turned toward the glass. “The nuptial jug. I’d love to hear the story behind it.”

  He stood near enough that she could feel his warmth in the cool room whose walls were several feet thick.

  “When a Chartier man has found his heart’s desire, he pours his favorite wine in that special jug from which he and his beloved both drink, whereupon he declares his undying devotion.

  “It’s called the marriage ritual of the vine. My father, like his forebears, proposed to my mother in the time-honored Chartier way. They both drank from this jug before they were married in the convent chapel.”

  Rachel trembled at the evocative image his words had conjured.

  She’d been a lover of fairy tales all her life. What he’d just told her was a real-life fairy tale.

  How would it be to marry a man like Luc and share in such a thrilling ritual?

  He’d told her he was divorced. She couldn’t comprehend the pain his ex-wife must feel to live apart from him now.

  She cleared her throat. “That’s a beautiful story, monsieur. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath. “After spending time with you last evening, I’m convinced you’re one person who can appreciate it.”

  “Such a ritual is a very romantic tradition.”

  “You value tradition?” he questioned silkily.

  Her gaze flew to his. She swallowed hard to discover his dark brown eyes searching hers.

  “Let’s just say I envy those who have established traditions to follow. I believe their lives are enriched for them.”

  He continued to examine her features in the shadowy light, sending ripples of sensual pleasure through her system. How could that be when he wasn’t even touching her?

  “So do I,” his voice rasped. “Now tell me what brought you to Thann besides wine buying.”

  She blinked. “How did you know there was another reason?”

  “Since you hadn’t heard of Chartier et Fils until the concierge told you, I assumed you’d ventured into my territory because something else brought you here.

  “Be honest. How many people do you know who have ever heard of Thann, let alone could point it out on a map of France?”

  His mouth curved upwards, causing her heart to turn over. She couldn’t help reciprocating with another smile.

  “Actually I do know one person.”

  When she didn’t reveal anything else, his eyes narrowed.

  “But you’re not going to tell me who it is because it’s none of my business. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No—” she protested, embarrassed that Giles could hear them. “Not at all—I just don’t want to bore you with the details of my personal life when you’re such a busy man and have a thriving company to run.”

  She was trying to remain professional so she wouldn’t endanger her business relationship with him. But it seemed as if everything she was saying now caused his features to harden a little more.

  “If you bored me, do you honestly think I would have driven from St Hippolyte to be here with you this early in the morning?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. She averted her eyes, not knowing what to believe. All she knew was that by some miracle her hope of spending time with him this trip had just been granted. She never wanted it to end.

  “The truth is, I already knew some of the Alsatian wines were excellent. But I have to admit it was my grandfather who put the idea in my head to come here.”

  “The one who started the restaurants to honor his wife?” Luc interjected.

  Rachel couldn’t have been more surprised. “Yes—how did you know about that?”

  “I told Philippe to do some homework for me so I could better serve you.”

  Rachel had had no idea Luc had gone to those lengths. No wonder he hadn’t asked her a lot of questions about the family business last night. He hadn’t needed to because his secretary had done it for him.

  He left nothing to chance. The knowledge made him even more remarkable in her eyes.

  “My grandfather has been ill. About three weeks ago he asked me to go through an old trunk for him and sort out his memorabilia.

  “I’m making a journal of his life, so I was excited to see old letters and pictures he’d kept.

  “When I handed him some photos to identify, I learned things I’d never known before. He heard I was leaving for France on another wine-buying trip, and urged me to come to Thann to look up an old French friend he’d met in Italy during the Second World War. Apparently they lost track of each other in the intervening years.”

  “Ah, oui?” Giles spoke up. “What was his name?”

  “Louis Delacroix.”

  Giles smacked his forehead with his palm. “Sacré bleu—Louis? Did you hear that, Luc?”

  “I did,” her host murmured, staring at her with a strange new light in his eyes that made her legs grow weak.

  “Louis was a good friend of mine,” Giles explained, “but he died of pneumonia four years ago. Before he became ill, he went to live with his younger sister in Ribeauville.”

  Rachel was crushed by the news. “Oh, I’m sorry, not only for your loss, but for my grandfather’s. He was eager to talk to him and reminisce about the old days. I have pictures I brought with me.”

  The older man’s eyes dimmed for a moment. “Many of us from Thann were in the war. Not everyone came back, but Louis did.”

  “So did you, thank goodness. It was Louis who told Gra
ndfather that Alsace produced the best white wine in the world. Of course my grandmother Lucia argued that Italian wine was better.

  “Grandfather asked me to look him up so he could tell me which vintner in the region made the best white wine. After what you’ve told me, I have no doubt it was Chartier.

  “When I couldn’t find any ‘Delacroix’s listed in the phone directory, I asked the hotel concierge his opinion. He told me the Domaine Chartier.”

  “You’ve made our day,” Luc declared in a husky voice.

  “Hasn’t she, Giles?”

  “Mais oui!” The news had caused the old man’s expression to brighten again. “Your coming here is incredible!” he admitted.

  Rachel found it pretty unbelievable too.

  “I tell you what, Mademoiselle Valentine. Tomorrow we will drive to Ribeauville and pay Louis’s sister a visit.”

  “Could we?” she cried eagerly. “Do you think she’d be willing to talk to my grandfather on the phone?”

  He lifted his hands in a typical French gesture. “She will talk until his ear drops off.”

  While Rachel laughed, Luc said, “I have an even better idea, Giles. While you make arrangements with Solange for tomorrow, I’ll take care of Ms Valentine today. We’ll tour the vineyards and en route she can sample the wines you picked out for her. I’ll get in touch with you later.”

  “Parfait.” Giles packed the bottles in a carton. “I’ll put this out in the car for you.”

  After he left, Luc’s gaze trapped hers. “How does that plan sound to you?”

  Though a little voice in her head warned her not to read too much into this, another part of her was screaming to go with him.

  She moistened her lips, feeling a sudden nervous excitement over being with this arresting man who by some magic had caused her to abandon common sense.

  “If you’re sure.”

  He flicked her a questioning glance. “What’s going on in that intelligent mind of yours?”

  It could never be as brilliant as his. She had to think fast not to give her deepest reservation away.

  “When my grandfather recovers, I’m going to bring him to Thann. Since he and Giles were friends with Louis, I’d like the two of them to meet. They’re both remarkable people.”