“Let’s change the subject,” Victor said, unnerved by such a different vision of religion from that he’d always perceived.
She smiled. “So tell me, when do I get to see a windmill?”
His mind whirled. He had expected an argument from her, and yet, she hadn’t said a word. She was really something else. He was actually off balance. “How about Monday? That way you’ll have the weekend to rest.”
Wiping his fingers on the napkin, he waited patiently allowing the maid to take the main course and set down dessert.
“Really?” she asked. “I mean, I was only kidding. I honestly don’t expect you to be my tour guide, though I have to admit, today was one of the best days I’ve had in my life.”
He chuckled and simply shook his head. “It would be my pleasure, Annie, to take you on a tour of the countryside and show you the windmills and even a few beautiful fields of tulips if you’d like.”
She smiled. “Do you know, that’s one of the reasons I chose Holland for a vacation? I love tulips. They’re my favorite flower. Harry preferred roses, but I always cherished a secret longing for tulips. Not the multi-colored ones, but the solid-colored beautiful flowers.”
He watched the dreamy look on her face as she discussed tulips and was entranced.
“My favorite colors are blue and pink and yellow. Well, almost any of them. I imagine if I found a really pretty multi-colored one I’d like it as well.”
“Do you plant them where you live?”
“No. I’m not a gardener. I tend to kill plants. All plants. Even houseplants.” She gave him a mournful sigh before taking a bite of the soufflé. Then she perked up. “I really think you should give your cook a raise.”
He burst into rich laughter. This woman was a pleasure. She kept him unbalanced in a world where he was always balanced and in control.
“I’ll see about it.”
They finished their desserts in silence. When they were done, Victor stood and strode to Annie to assist her from her chair.
She rose to her feet, without a repeat of this morning’s stumble, much to Victor’s dismay. He wouldn’t have minded having her fall into his arms again. Third time, they say, is a charm. He motioned toward the sitting room. “I’d like to hear about the poetry you write. I also write poetry.”
Surprised, Annie looked at the man beside her. “You’re kidding. Is there anything you don’t do?”
“I don’t play football, that’s soccer to you, or American football for that matter. Nor can I grow plants.”
“Ah-ha. You’re not perfect. I was beginning to wonder.” And she was. As far as she was concerned, he was perfect—except for his relationship with Christ. Someone had hurt him in his past.
He was pretty closed to the gospel, and unfortunately that was probably what his problem was. If he was unwilling to let Christ in to heal his heart, then he wasn’t going to find the peace he was searching for.
That concerned her. However, she thought perhaps God had allowed her to be here to minister to this man. Nothing ever happened that wasn’t in God’s control, though she often wondered about that sometimes when bad things happened. She had to rely on the fact that God could see the entire picture and she couldn’t. She had wondered sometimes why Harry had died so young. One day in heaven she would ask God. And if she didn’t ever find out why she’d ended up here in this man’s house, she just might ask Him about that too.
Still, the fact remained that Victor was hurting, and she could help him—maybe. So what would it hurt to stay here for a while? He’d offered her the comfort of his house and his services as tour guide.
She certainly could have done worse. She most likely would have been lonely by now, sitting in the hotel all by herself.
Instead she was enjoying herself more than she had in eons and actually learning some new things in the process. She felt alive again.
Could things get any better than this?
She hadn’t thought so at breakfast, but here they were at dinner, going into the parlor to talk about poetry.
She had a feeling she was going to be up way past her bedtime.
And she found she didn’t mind.
Chapter Six
Annie was in the depths of burgeoning guilt. How could she have forgotten to call Mark and Susan until last night? They were upset that she wasn’t at the lodge. She explained that she’d met a nice American who was allowing her to stay in a château—she didn’t mention the American was a man—and they’d gotten even angrier. Mark had insisted that she couldn’t stay with someone she didn’t know. The people might kill her in her sleep—she didn’t tell them he was alone except for his staff, either. Susan said that she was there to see the countryside, not make friends with strange people who might be after her money.
They both suggested she consider coming home early.
She was glad she hadn’t told them about her accident.
She hadn’t given them the phone number, promising to find out what it was and call them back the next day with it.
When she’d hung up, all of the joy of the day had evaporated. She had thought to share more with them about learning to paint and the wonderful dinner, but it hadn’t worked out that way.
Saturday she and Victor had stayed around the house and painted as well as worked on her Dutch. She’d spent a lot of time resting, the exhaustion from her accident catching up with her. And she’d spent a lot of time feeling a connection developing between her and Victor. To say she was attracted to this man was an understatement. She was fascinated with everything he said, deriving joy from simply being with him, and when he touched her—which he did often—attraction seemed to flare to life instantly.
Sunday he’d actually called his driver and had him take her to church. It was an interesting church, she thought, and then sighed, thinking it really hadn’t been at all. It was nothing like she was used to. If that was the type of church Victor had grown up in, no wonder he was turned off by religion.
She vowed to ask around and find a different church for next Sunday.
Church was actually what had reminded her about the kids. That evening she’d called. She had wanted to make sure they were up and home from church first. The time difference was quite drastic from Holland to America. Holland was seven hours ahead of Louisiana.
She shouldn’t have come. Mark and Susan were worried and upset and she found she hadn’t slept much at all last night.
She couldn’t toss and turn because the cast kept her anchored. At one point she’d awakened to find her other leg asleep because it was pinned under the cast.
She had black circles under her eyes, and she didn’t feel like doing anything.
But Helga had shown up at her door this morning to help her dress.
So, she’d showered and slipped on the last of the four dresses she’d brought, a blue one that was straight and sleeveless. It tied around the waist.
Of course, it was too chilly outside to go anywhere in this dress, but then, she had found out the first day when trying to dress herself that she couldn’t wear any of her pants because of the cast.
Helga did have a pair of hose for her this morning, however, saying she’d had Cook purchase them while in town. They were thigh-high hose, something she’d never worn, nor thought about wearing.
She was very grateful to Helga and thanked her—in Dutch no less. She managed to slip a stocking on the one leg that wasn’t in the cast and then put a shoe on.
She felt much more together when she finally, slowly made her way down to breakfast.
Victor was waiting, reading the paper when she entered. He glanced up and his eyes lit up like Christmas lights. He immediately folded the newspaper and set it aside before standing.
“Goedemorgen,” he said and repeated it in English, “Good morning.”
“Goedemorgen,” she repeated.
He smiled, the smile melting away the bad mood she’d awakened in. “You’re getting better with your pronunciation.”
“Dank u,” he corrected.
“Dank u,” she obediently repeated.
He reached her side and paused, lowering himself to her height to look into her eyes. “You had a bad night last night. You look tired.”
Ah well, she had hoped he wouldn’t notice with all of the makeup she’d applied. “I had trouble sleeping,” she offered.
He took the crutches from her and rested them against a chair, then slipped an arm around her waist to help her to her seat.
So very physical, she thought and smiled in pleasure. She felt at home, strangely enough, with his touch.
“Is it the bed?” he asked.
She shook her head and eased down into the chair.
His hands slipped down, catching her left hand as he squatted next to her. “Are you in pain?”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand gently, his eyes showing concern.
She couldn’t let him go on thinking it was somehow his fault. “No. Actually, the crutches are causing me more pain than anything. But well…” she paused and glanced down at the plate in front of her.
“Yes?” he said, soft, low, the deep timbre of his voice inviting her to open up and share her burden.
“I called the kids last night.”
She felt his hand tighten a bit before he said, “And this is what caused you not to sleep?”
She shrugged a bit. “They’re very upset about me being here. They were really beside themselves when they found out I was staying in someone’s chateau. They think you will kill me in the middle of the night for my money—or worse.” She tried to chuckle but it didn’t come out sounding much like a laugh.
Victor squeezed her hand and then stood. He paused behind her to rest both of his hands on her shoulders and press in a comforting gesture of warmth. “But you’re the mother and the wiser. You know you’re safe. So why do you worry?”
“Because they’re so upset.”
“Give them my phone number so they can contact you if they’d like,” he offered.
Relief flooded through her. She’d felt funny asking for his phone number and was so glad he offered it. “You don’t mind?” she questioned.
“You’re a guest in my house. Of course I don’t mind. If my son wanted to contact me, I’d want to make sure he had the phone number of where I was staying. Beyond that, however, Annie, you simply must allow your children to grow up and get along without you for eight weeks.”
He released her and strode back to his chair even as she gaped.
“Eight weeks? No, Victor. You misunderstood me the other day. I’m only planning to stay two weeks.”
He grinned that half grin of his and his eyes sparkled with amusement. “You don’t want to disappoint your friends who want you to stay eight weeks, do you?”
Annie rolled her eyes and then chuckled. “You’re impossible.”
He shook his head. “No. I just like seeing you happy.”
“Why?” she asked seriously.
His eyes turned dark and serious. “Because you didn’t get enough of it most of your life from what I’ve gathered, and,” he said when she started to interrupt, “when you’re happy, it brings me joy.”
“Why?” she asked again. “You don’t really know me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, Annie. But I do know that, inside me, a thirst is filled when I’m with you. Your laughter causes something to swell within me and even bubble over.”
His poetic words had her smiling. He had such a way of saying things sometimes.
“What is that smile for?” he asked.
“I was thinking of your poem the other night that you read to me.”
“Ah, ‘The Lament of an Empty Soul’?”
She nodded. “It was very beautiful.”
He nodded once, bowing his head slightly and reminding her of a knight of old. “I thank you.”
The maid showed up with breakfast and they ate.
When they were done, Victor assisted Annie to a standing position. “How are you doing on the second floor?”
“If you didn’t have the elevator, I’d be in trouble. But with that, it’s manageable.”
“The lift was put in to transport food from the basement to this floor, but whoever designed this house also made sure the upper floor was accessible as well. For breakfast in bed, I would guess.”
“Well, I thank you for having it in the house.”
“You’re going to be chilly in that dress if we get out at any of the stops,” he said as they started out of the dining room.
Annie sighed. “I know. But I only brought a few dresses and this is the last one I haven’t worn.”
“Don’t you have any pants?” he asked, surprise in his voice.
She felt her cheeks heat. “Well, yes. But they don’t fit over the cast.”
He paused. “That would be a problem. Tell you what, why don’t we get the housekeeper to alter them so they’ll fit and then we’ll see about finding you a sweater to wear today while we’re out? When we return she can have at least one or two pairs of pants ready for you to wear.”
“I don’t want to put anyone out.”
“You aren’t. That’s their job, Annie. They’re servants. That’s what they get paid to do.”
She sighed. “I’m not used to servants.”
He chuckled. “Trust me, they’re used to doing things like this. Sometimes it’s a lot more hectic. Just tell Helga what you’d like her to do and she’ll see the message gets to the proper person.”
He called for Helga and then quickly rattled off something in Dutch. When he was done, he turned to Annie and said, “The car is being brought around.” He took the crutches from her and handed them to Helga and then scooped Annie up into his arms.
“I told you I’m too heavy for this.”
He huffed as if out of breath and then said, “If—you’re—too—heavy,” huff huff, “I’ll just…drop you,” and acted as if he was about to drop her.
She gasped and latched on tightly.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Relax. How much do you weigh? One hundred and thirty? Forty? I lift weights and you’re light compared to what I lift.”
She flushed. “I’m not going to answer that question. Don’t you know you should never ask a woman a question like that?” She weighed one hundred thirty-nine pounds and it was all in her hips as far as she was concerned.
He grinned cheekily. “You don’t have to answer. I’ll just go to the gym tomorrow and carry weights around until I figure it out.”
She growled in her throat, though there was no heat in it.
Victor chuckled again and bounced her slightly before heading out of the house. She couldn’t believe how fast she’d adjusted to allowing Victor to help her around or carry her. It made her feel like a fairy princess in some ways, a Cinderella, living an entirely new life of discovery and surprise.
When they started down the stairs the car was waiting and the driver stood, holding the door open for them.
Victor allowed her feet to drop but kept his arms around her waist for a moment as he stared into her eyes. “My Cinderella,” he murmured and a small smile played about his lips.
Oh brother, she should never have mentioned that to him. He was never going to let her live it down.
Looking into those eyes of his, she also realized she was getting herself into trouble here.
She hadn’t misread him the other day. This was definitely something a stranger didn’t do.
She felt an answering yearning inside herself. His arms holding her waist so closely to him, his gaze touching the planes of her face. She returned the stare, her gaze traveling lightly over his now-stubbled face, touching his lips, returning to his smoldering gaze.
Dangerous territory indeed.
She shuddered from the feelings that thrummed along her nerve endings.
Victor broke contact and cleared his throat, releasing her.<
br />
That fast, the electricity between them was gone, leaving her feeling short-circuited and as if she were missing out on the next step. She wasn’t sure if she was upset or relieved. Still, she found she wanted to be around him. His poetry, their long talks, his sense of humor—they all drew her to him.
She turned and slid into the car, wondering if Victor even knew.
Boy did he know.
What had he been thinking?
He was attracted to this woman, but she wasn’t the type of woman he dated.
She was what would be termed, in contemporary phrases, old-fashioned, a conservative chick or even worse expressions by some of the people he knew.
He didn’t consider her any of those things, however. He thought she was a woman with a value system.
He’d almost kissed her.
But he wasn’t looking for commitment right now, and if he started down that path, she was the type of woman who would expect it. He remembered too well the type of life he’d had with his parents. Their near hatred for others who weren’t of ‘the faith,’ the rabid obsession that he keep all things worldly out of his life. He couldn’t go back to that…and he wondered if Annie was like that at all. More and more he was realizing the Jesus his parents preached wasn’t the same Jesus Annie was talking about. Still, it was there, deep down in him, that fear to commit and end up back in the bondage he’d once been in as a child. But what if Annie’s description was real? What if it wasn’t about a set of rules and regulations, but a relationship? What then?
He slid into the car and smiled politely at Annie, trying to see deeper into her, beyond what he knew. One thing he did know for sure, she’d mentioned her concern that her daughter was dating a man who wasn’t a Christian.
She loved her kids and worried about them—too much in his opinion. And they manipulated her. Of course, who was he to talk about relationships?
Calling out instructions in Dutch to the driver on where to take them, he thought about Annie.
He didn’t want to ruin what they had. He’d felt so great around her, so happy for the first time in his life that he was certain a relationship would ruin it. That’s what always happened. He just didn’t know how to go about relationships—from his parents to his ex-wife to God. Relationships just never worked out.
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