Moonlight in Paris

by Pamela Hearon

  Her accent coupled with the expressive, vivid green eyes battered at Garrett’s resolve, but the cautious voice inside him whispered its repeated warning about getting too friendly. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t think we’d better. I work long hours, so dinnertime is special for Dylan and me. Alone time, you know?”

  “Oh, sure.” A deep blush crept up her neck into her face. “I should’ve thought of that.”

  The disappointment in her voice was palpable, but the first snip was made, and Garrett was determined to stop any more buds of friendship before they blossomed. “Well, there isn’t a lot of privacy around here, so we’ll try to respect yours as much as possible while you’re here.” A movement from the corner of his eye told him Dylan was headed back toward them. Garrett laid his hand on the door handle. “I’m sure you’ll do the same for us,” he added before sliding the door open and stepping back through it.

  His escape wasn’t quick enough to keep him from catching the hurt look in Tara’s eyes—the same look that was reflected in his son’s eyes when he met them.

  “Now, how about some dinner?” Garrett clapped his hands together in a fake show of enthusiasm.

  Dylan shrugged, looking like lead weights were attached to his shoulder. “I’m not very hungry.”

  Garrett’s gut twisted at the words.

  But they also told him without a doubt he’d done the right thing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FAITH PUSHED THE BEIGE DRESS to one side, and studied the next one carefully—a sleeveless shift in a pretty shade of mint green that Sawyer had always liked on her. But, like everything else in her closet, it was modestly cut and gave no hint that the creature clothed in it had a clue that such a thing as sex existed.

  Just once, she’d love to wear a dress that was a little provocative...that showed a little cleavage or more of her back than was strictly proper. Nothing vulgar. Just something feminine and sexy. Something that would remind her...and Sawyer...who she was at her center. The way God made her before the congregation of Taylor’s Grove Church had molded her into who it wanted her to be.

  The green dress was her best option for tonight, though.

  Changing out of her white slacks and navy blue knit top into the new pink lace and satin bra and panties gave her a rush as if she was doing something scandalous...and fun. She paused to look in the mirror and evaluate the effect. A subtle attack was what she was going for. Just a touch of sexiness that would spur Sawyer on if she got him to the stage where he wanted to undress her.

  The idea came to her after prayer group this morning. She’d never had to seduce her husband before, so shopping for sexy underwear this afternoon with that motive had been venturing into foreign territory.

  Until four weeks ago, Sawyer had pursued her with a vigor that sometimes made her question all the jokes about middle age. She’d counted herself blessed to have someone who’d always made her feel attractive and desired despite the frumpy clothes and the weight gain that had crept up on her in her forties. They both understood that the preacher’s wife had to be appropriately dressed at all times. They’d accepted that fact and had made ultimate use of their private time. And when all the kids finally moved out, she and Sawyer had had plenty of...how did the younger generation put it? Bow-chicka-wow-wow?

  Well, this chicka was going to try her darnedest to coax the wow-wow out of the bow tonight.

  She swiped on just a touch of foundation, and a light application of mascara defined her lashes. The salesperson had assured her that the pink lip gloss would make her lips irresistible. It looked like any other pink lip gloss, but maybe the extra price indicated it had some esoteric qualities perceived only by men. If the manufacturer truly wanted to make it irresistible, it would’ve been bacon-flavored.

  A quick brush-through to fluff her hair, a squirt of cologne and a pair of beaded flip-flops finished the look that she hoped was casual yet sassy.

  Back in the kitchen, the timer indicated it was time to put the cornbread in to bake alongside the meatloaf. The green beans were done, tomatoes sliced, and ears of fresh corn were buttered, wrapped in waxed paper and ready to be popped into the microwave.

  New sexy underwear. Sawyer’s favorite dress. His favorite meal. Fresh strawberries waited in a bowl on the counter, but she hoped she would be his dessert of choice.

  Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door open.

  “Hey,” he said as he entered the room.

  She watched his eyes skim over her. “Hey,” she answered, trying to keep it casual. “Supper’s almost ready. You hungry?”

  “Famished.” He paused, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “You, uh...you look pretty.”

  That’s a start. Don’t scare him away. “Thanks.” She started the corn cooking in the microwave and pointed to the plate of tomatoes. “I was out in the garden—you can put those on the table—and I got sweaty and itchy. I had to take a shower to cool off. By tomorrow, we should have a nice mess of okra.”

  The light came on in his eyes—the one she hadn’t seen in far too long—as it dawned on him that tonight she wasn’t going to try to talk about their problems. She watched the transformation as his shoulders relaxed and the lines disappeared from between his eyebrows. With an easy, compatible fluidity, they fell into their routine of her dishing up the food and him setting the table, and for the first time since Memorial Day, her hopes ran high that perhaps the dry spell was over.

  After supper, she set the second part of her plan into action. “Let’s walk down to the park. Are you up for that?”

  His hand hovered motionless for a moment before he placed the dish into the dishwasher. “Yeah. Sure. If you want.”

  Faith’s pulse quickened. That he was willing to face the park together was a positive sign. She adjusted the strap of her new bra and smiled to herself.

  Sawyer wiped off the countertops while she swept, and when the kitchen was clean, they started their stroll to the park at the center of town.

  They’d managed to stay under the radar because, since Tara’s accident, their park visits had become more sporadic rather than a daily occurrence. One or the other of them would show up a few times each week, armed with plausible excuses about the other’s absence. Tonight’s two-minute walk was a journey of a thousand miles as it was the first time they’d made it together since the Memorial Day Faith would never forget.

  The park, which had no other official name because it was the only one in town, was the official gathering spot for the whole community. On any given night, you could catch up on the happenings of the day within a ten-minute period.

  It was the park where everyone came after weddings to celebrate, after funerals to mourn and after births to pass out cigars and roses.

  It was the park where Sawyer had proposed to her in the gazebo under the stars after everyone had gone home for the night.

  It was the park where Tara had taken her first step in an endeavor to join the children playing on the swings.

  The park at the center of town was the center of the town’s life. The heart of Taylor’s Grove.

  As they approached, the sweet strains of “Gentle Annie” being played by Ollie Perkins on his violin met Faith’s ears, and the poignant tune encouraged her to slip her hand into Sawyer’s and pull him in the old man’s direction. He didn’t protest. While macular degeneration was doing its best to steal away the last vestiges of Ollie’s sight, his ability to make the violin sing seemed to increase in an indirect proportion to what he lost. His renditions of Stephen Foster tunes could squeeze a tear from the devil himself.

  Bobo Hudson vacated his seat beside Ollie and motioned for Faith to sit down. She could hardly refuse, but felt the sting of disappointment when she had to let go of Sawyer’s hand.

  Ollie finished his song. “Ev’nin’, Faith.”
He turned his head slightly and nodded in her direction.

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  The disease had wiped out Ollie’s central vision almost completely, but left a bit of the peripheral. He wiped his forehead with his trademark red bandanna. “I recognized your cologne.”

  She patted his knee affectionately. “You gonna play my favorite?”

  She always requested “Shenandoah,” and he always obliged, but, this time, he shook his head and tucked the bandanna between his chin and the chinrest on his instrument. “Nope, not yet, anyway. Got something different tonight. I was thinking today about Tara, and how she’d always ask for something Irish she could dance a jig to. Well, since she’s in Paree, I thought we might just join her there, instead.”

  Faith cringed inwardly and cut her eyes to Sawyer, who blanched at Ollie’s words as “Pigalle” rolled off the strings. The subject of Tara’s being in Paris still cut Sawyer to the quick. He barely lasted until the song was over, then hurried away to join a small knot of men who always discussed the county’s politics while they refereed the checker game between Johnny Bob Luther and Kimble Sparr. Faith, however, was stuck in Ollie’s audience for a while longer.

  She tried not to despair...hoped the mood of the evening hadn’t been spoiled completely by Ollie’s innocent comment.

  When Al and Mary Jenkins walked up, Faith gave up her seat to them and found her way back to her husband’s side. He and Tank Wallis were discussing how badly the crumbling steps on the front of the church needed repair. The project had been at the top of Sawyer’s list for months now, but he couldn’t get the maintenance committee, which Tank was the chairman of, to get off dead center with it.

  “Some of those cracks are getting so big, it’s just a matter of time before somebody catches a toe in one and breaks a hip,” Sawyer declared.

  “I hear you, Preacher, but it’s not time to fix them until Sue says it’s time.”

  The mention of Sue’s name reminded Faith of their little verbal skirmish that morning, and with it came a flicker of irritation. The woman’s power over the church, over the town and, yes, over Sawyer, was sickening.

  Sue hadn’t earned that power. Her daddy, Burl Yager, was the one who sold a huge tract of land on Kentucky Lake to a developer. And it was Burl who built the Taylor’s Grove Church out of that money and set up the trust fund that paid for the upkeep of the building, as well as the preacher’s salary. Burl had been a fine man who loved the church and wanted it to thrive.

  When Sawyer, as a teen, had surprised everyone in town by accepting God’s call to become a minister, it was Burl who’d paid for his college and seminary study. But, when Burl died, Sue had inherited everything, except his benevolence. The church had tried to circumvent her ways by forming committees. But that had done little good. Sue held the purse strings.

  “I’ll talk to Sue again,” Sawyer said, but his tone indicated he doubted that would do any good.

  A chuckle rolled out of Tank’s big belly. “Maybe you ought to send Faith this time.” The big guy gave her a knowing wink. “Word from the prayer group says it’s one to nothing in Faith’s favor.”

  Sawyer sent her a questioning glance. He hadn’t heard yet. Good. At least she could give him her side first.

  She smiled and rolled her eyes. “No scorekeeping in Taylor’s Grove. We’re all playing for the same team.” Turning her attention to Sawyer, she added, “Strawberries are going to get mushy if we don’t get back and eat them pretty soon.”

  He nodded. “Can’t let that happen. See you tomorrow, Tank.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in parting. They crossed Yager Circle and headed down Main Street before he finally asked, “So are you going to tell me what happened at prayer group?”

  She dreaded bringing up the subject of Tara’s trip, and related the incident to him as innocuously as possible, stressing Sue’s general displeasure of Tara’s nature.

  Just as she’d hoped, his eyes flashed anger at Sue’s snide comments, but his guarded chuckle about her own retort came with a warning. “You know she’s not going to let you have the last word.”

  “I don’t care.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth. She did care...too much. About Sue’s opinion, and everybody else’s in this antiquated fishbowl of a town. She and Sawyer turned up their driveway, bypassing the front door and going around to the patio doors in the back. “I just get so tired of her holier-than-thou attitude.”

  “You know better than to let Sue get to you.” Sawyer opened the door, letting her pass through first, then followed her in. “She means well.”

  The irritation that started with the mention of Sue’s name flickered higher. “You always take up for her.”

  “I just try to understand where she’s coming from.” He got two bowls from the cabinet and set them on the kitchen counter.

  Faith clutched his arm, and pulled him around to look at her. “How about me? Have you tried to understand where I’m coming from?”

  His look lasted a long moment, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “We’re not talking about prayer group anymore, are we?”

  “We’re talking about the fact that you haven’t touched me for nearly a month. Are you even trying to understand?”

  The cloak of sadness that had been absent in his eyes during supper dropped back into place. “Faith, I can’t—”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Emotion sent a tremor through her body. “Why can’t you understand? Why won’t you let yourself understand?” She reached behind her and jerked the zipper of the shift down. “I love you.” She pushed the dress off her shoulders and arms, exposing her breasts clad in pink. The dress caught on her hips. She hooked it with her thumbs and shoved it free to pool around her ankles. “You always forgive Sue. I want you to forgive me. I want you to want me.” She stepped into him, sliding her arms around his waist, plastering her body against his.

  His hands found her shoulders, and he pushed her gently away to hold her at arm’s length. “I want that, too, Faith. I pray for that every night.” He let go of her, his arms dropping like heavy weights to his side. “But, it’s not happening. My prayers get clogged by other thoughts like, what if I lose Tara completely? What if she finds Jacques Martin and chooses him over me?”

  “That’s not going to happen, Sawyer.”

  “It could happen. The man was able to lure you away from me.” He turned his gaze away from her toward the back window. “Oh, I know it was only one night and alcohol was involved. I get that. But your night with him caused a major change in us. It changed the way you relate to me. I tell myself that he gave us Tara...and she’s so precious to me...but what if finding him changes the way she relates to me?”

  Faith stayed quiet. She would let him talk and get it all out. Surely, that could only help.

  He wiped a hand down his face, leaving a glistening dampness below his eyes, and turned back to her. “And every night I try to talk myself into going to you in our room.” He looked her up and down, his face contorted with anguish. “You’re a beautiful, vibrant woman, Faith.”

  She stepped into him again, pleading with her eyes. “Then do it. Make love to me. Please.”

  The anguish settled into a look of despair. “I can’t.” He took her hand and moved it slowly to his groin.

  It was a familiar gesture, but it took on a surreal quality as her hand groped for something that wasn’t there. Nothing. No detection of even the first stirring of an erection. The bulge she’d expected was instead a small mass as soft and pliable as putty.

  His whisper was coarse and strangled. “I. Can’t.”

  He released her hand, and she stepped away from him quickly. Her eyes blurred as she leaned over to gather her dress, snatching it up and making a dash for the bedroom.

  She slammed the door and locked it behind her, then collapsed against it onto the
floor as the wave of understanding washed over her.

  Sawyer—the only man she’d ever loved—couldn’t get an erection for her.

  He didn’t want her.

  And maybe never would again.

  * * *

  TARA SAT AT the café in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, still ogling the beauty of Paris’s quintessential landmark while practicing her lines. The addresses of forty-three Jacques Martins were programmed into her GPS, and, though she was aware of the challenge she faced linguistically, she was armed emotionally for whatever happened. Or so she hoped.

  Garrett Hughes’s stuffy behavior last night had been good practice, reminding her that first impressions weren’t always reliable. What a surprise he’d turned out to be—and not the pleasant kind. She’d been looking forward to some occasional American conversation while she was here, and yeah, maybe a little casual flirting, as well. But the guy had turned out to be a contrary curmudgeon who obviously resented her staking a claim to part of the terrace that he used like it was his sole dominion.

  Well, he could go piss up a rope. She’d paid the rent for a month, and that gave her terrace privileges. Much as she liked the apartment, she wasn’t going to spend all her time inside when she could be taking her meals and her books outdoors.

  Besides, Dylan was a delight. He made her feel at home. And from where she was sitting at the moment, looking out over a park that could very likely hold a huge chunk of Taylor’s Grove, it was obvious she wasn’t at home anymore.

  She signed the receipt the waiter brought and picked up her things. The GPS dangled from her wrist, where she could check it often. She punched up the set of coordinates for the maybe-father closest to the Eiffel Tower and began her first search, following the map toward the blinking dot. It was just like the geocaching she’d explained to Dylan yesterday, but with what could be a priceless treasure as the find rather than a box of trinkets.