“I should go in.” She needed to get ready for the morning. But she didn’t want to leave him. Yet she knew she was not ready for the next step. Not that he’d said anything to indicate he wanted a next step.
“Morning comes early, I know.” He turned and started walking toward their towels.
Disappointed, Jeanne-Marie followed. She dried off, wrapped her hair in the towel and donned her cover-up.
He had toweled off as well and pulled on a T-shirt.
Taking several steps toward the inn, she realized he wasn’t going with her. She turned. “Good night, Matt. Thank you again for today.”
He stood near the water’s edge, barely visible.
“Good night, Jeanne-Marie. It was a good day, wasn’t it?”
She caught the hint of surprise in his voice. “It was.” She turned and walked back to the inn and straight through to her private quarters, her heart racing. She licked her lips, tasting salt water and Matt. When she shut the door behind her, she shook her head trying to dislodge the desire that simmered. They had no business kissing like that. She knew there was no future with them.
But, oh, for a moment she could dream of them sharing kisses well into the future.
Matt watched her go with some regret. He clenched his hands into fists, wishing he knew what was going on. Her soft body inflamed him. Her guileless gaze when she looked into his eyes caused his own common sense to flee. Her mouth was sweetness and passion.
He had enjoyed the day. That was a minor miracle in itself.
Kissing her had driven all thought from his mind. Now sanity returned.
She was nothing like Marabelle, but she was gradually pressing out his memories of his wife.
Panicked, he turned and began walking toward the cliffs, leaving the inn, the town and the partygoers behind. The faint moonlight of a waxing moon gave enough illumination. His thoughts were torn. He couldn’t forget Marabelle. She’d been his life’s love. And his son. The ache of their loss would never go away.
Yet as he walked, he could hear the echo of Jeanne-Marie’s laughter. See the way her eyes sparkled when they dodged that one kid on the bike who’d almost ran into them. She hadn’t gotten angry, but excused him for his youthful exuberance. And commented on how agile they’d been. She’d been enthusiastic about the entire day, including the meal they’d shared before returning to St. Bart.
It had been a good day. Not what he’d expected when he’d come to climb the cliffs. For two years he’d lived in a kind of limbo. Today, he’d been involved.
When he reached that section of shoreline where rocks tumbled from cliffs above him, he turned to retrace his steps. He’d take one last short climb in the morning, then head for home.
Thoughts of home, of the work awaiting, began to crowd in. The break had been welcomed, but he had the company to run. It was time to end the holiday and return to his life.
Matt entered the kitchen the next morning, his mouth watering at the aroma that filled the air. Jeanne-Marie was baking cinnamon rolls and he could almost taste them from the cinnamon scent alone.
“Good morning,” she said, scarcely looking up when he walked over to the counter where she was filling another pan. “Hot chocolate will be ready in a moment,” she added.
“Good morning to you. I can pour my own hot chocolate if you like,” he said, watching her. He’d like to kiss her, but wasn’t sure if she’d welcome the gesture in the midst of working. If they didn’t stop at one kiss, breakfast could be seriously delayed.
At her nod, he reached for a mug and poured the hot beverage. Leaning against the counter he studied her as she worked. It was like poetry in motion. Her hands rolled the dough, then swiftly cut it into strips to coat with the cinnamon spread and roll into tight wheels. They would expand when baked. Her concentration was complete.
“Can I help in any way?” he asked.
“No. Sit. I’ll bring you a roll as soon as the first batch comes from the oven in about three minutes.” With that she darted a glance in his direction, then looked instantly back at the task at hand.
“It’s supposed to rain this afternoon,” she said. “I would suggest being off the cliffs when the storm comes.”
Matt nodded. He knew better than she how dangerous wet rock could be. If lightning was in the mix, storms could become lethal.
Despite his best efforts, she would not be drawn into conversation, remaining firmly behind the counter preparing the rolls, then moving to another kind of bread. At that rate she’d have enough bread to feed the entire town of St. Bart.
Feeling vaguely dissatisfied, and yet unable to pinpoint exactly why, he left once he’d finished eating. She’d prepared him another box lunch, which he stuffed into his backpack before he headed out. The dawn sky was luminescent in pale pink. He found a short route to a ledge he’d try for today, eat one last time on Les Calanques, then pack and head for home.
The appeal of climbing had waned, he admitted as he stood at the base of the faint track left from previous climbers and considered the best route up. He would rather have spent the day with Jeanne-Marie, even if they just sat on the beach and talked. Though if it were to rain later, that probably wouldn’t be feasible. Sitting together in the lounge, maybe lighting a fire in the fireplace to chase away the chill, talking, learning more about her wouldn’t be bad, either.
“Forget it,” he muttered, reaching out for the first protrusion and raising his body up with fingertips and toeholds only.
It took less than three hours to reach the ledge. An easy climb, just as he’d wanted for this last day. He stretched out on the narrow lip and pulled out the lunch she’d made. Still early to eat, he nevertheless munched the fresh bread, cheese and grapes. Already he was changing from vacation mode to business mode as he began to itemize all the things he needed to look into upon his return to work.
He looked toward St. Bart. He couldn’t see the inn from this vantage point, but could see the farther end of town as it curved into the sea. Boats sailed in the water, which was more a steely-gray today than the normal blues and aquas. He studied the overcast sky. It looked as if it would start raining earlier than predicted. Finishing rapidly, he made sure he left no trace and began to descend, trying a different route for variety.
The first raindrops hit before he was halfway down the face. Seconds later a deluge poured down on him, water running down the face of the cliff, running into his own face, blinding him as it splashed into his eyes. Dusting his hand with resin only to have it turn to paste when it got wet did not give him the secure purchase he needed on the rock face. He made an extra effort for speed while not sacrificing safety. Maybe he should have remained on the ledge until the storm had passed. Waiting would ensure water wouldn’t be sheeting on the rock, making each hold more treacherous than before.
Not able to wipe the water from his face, he shook his head again and again to clear his vision. Not that he saw much—wet rock, gray skies and, if he glanced down, the waiting rocky ground.
When he was about twenty feet from the base, he lost his footing. For a moment he hung by his fingertips, searching for a toehold to keep him in place. One foot found a tiny knob. Adrenaline spiked. He took a breath, feeling his fingers slip. The knob gave way. For an instant he stared dumbfounded at the rock face, slipping past him at an astonishing rate.
A split second of pain, then blackness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE RAIN CAME so hard it almost obliterated the sea as Jeanne-Marie sat at the registration counter catching up on bills and receipts. Once it began, it was as if the storm settled in over St. Bart. It poured for hours, a hard driving deluge. She hoped Alexandre was enjoying his visit and wondered briefly what his grandparents would do with him in the rain. From time to time she glanced up, wondering where Matt was. He couldn’t still be climbing. He was too experienced to try it in this downpour, so he was probably holed up somewhere to wait out the rain.
It was almost time for her next guests to arrive. To
o bad they were coming on a day like today. The beauty of the village and sea were hidden in the rain. It looked close to twilight, though it was still midafternoon. She would be leaving to pick up Alexandre as soon as Rene arrived.
She heard a car on the gravel of the parking lot and checked things around her. Everything looked warm and welcoming with scattered lights on. She took a registration card from the stack and placed it and a pen on top of the counter.
To her surprise a police officer entered. Suddenly her heart dropped. She blinked as fear flooded. She’d been through this once before. Mesmerized by the officer’s solemn look, she tried to breathe but felt her breath catch in her throat. Matt—something had happened to Matt. No, please, not that!
“Madame Rousseau,” the police officer greeted her. “One of your guests is a Matthieu Sommer, n’est ce pas?”
“Yes. He has a room here.” She couldn’t say anything else as her heart raced. Please don’t let him tell me Matt died, she prayed.
“He was in an unfortunate accident today—he fell while climbing. He’s being transported to a hospital in Marseilles. He asked to have you notified.”
Her worst fear—yet not quite. He had not died from the fall. She had to catch her breath.
“Ah, then he’s alive.”
“Oui, and not happy from what I heard. But he did not wish you to worry when he didn’t return today.”
She gave a brief prayer of thanks and tried to smile. But the fear that coursed through her had her blinking back tears instead. “Thank you for letting me know. Is he badly hurt?” she asked. How far had he fallen? What had happened?
The man checked the small notebook in hand and nodded. “Broken arm plus scrapes and bruises and a concussion. He won’t be climbing again for a while.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” she said to the officer. Her fear diminished only slightly. A concussion wasn’t good. And a broken arm would slow him down. She couldn’t imagine him injured. He was in such great shape.
The officer touched the brim of his hat and turned to leave. Then he turned back. “St. Mary’s Hospital. On Girard Street.”
“Thank you.”
The police officer was crossing the veranda when the new guests showed up. Looking surprised and curious, they entered the inn. It took only a few moments to explain his visit, register them and show them to their room. Jeanne-Marie went through the motions like a zombie. Her every thought was with Matt. She had to go see him, to verify for herself that he was alive and going to recover. She didn’t question why she felt that compulsion; she just knew she had to see him.
When she came back downstairs, she yearned to pick up the phone and call the hospital. It was highly unlikely they’d tell her anything. She needed to see him for herself. But she couldn’t leave before Rene arrived.
Matt’s fall was her worst fear. Made more immediate with the feelings that were growing. She didn’t want to care for anyone the way she had Phillipe, but Matt had become so dear to her, so important, now she knew love had slipped in unawares. She pressed against the ache in her chest. Every instinct urged her to his side. Damn the responsibilities she had to see to first. She could hardly think of what they were, so intent was her longing to get to him.
She wanted to see him, touch him, reassure herself he was alive and would be all right. Looking at the clock she seethed with impatience. Rene wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes. She didn’t know if she could wait that long. Her poor Matt. She hoped he wasn’t in much pain. Surely they’d give him some medication for any pain. How could there not be pain, he’d fallen off a cliff!
Or could they medicate with a concussion? She didn’t know—only that she had to get to him as soon as she could.
Rene arrived promptly at three.
Two minutes later she relinquished the front desk and hurried to her car. She was going to see for herself that Matt would be all right.
The drive to Marseilles seemed to take forever. Each mile mocked her with the distance between them. It was nothing to the distance once he returned home. She’d deal with that later. Right now she needed to see him.
When she reached St. Mary’s, she dashed in and asked for his room.
“He’s still in surgery,” the receptionist said after checking. “They had to pin the arm and stitch up some cuts. He’ll be in recovery soon. Are you a relative?”
“No. But a very concerned friend,” she said. “I really need to see him.”
The receptionist nodded. “Second floor, west. There’s a surgery waiting room there and you’ll be called when he’s conscious again.”
She was closer, but still not with Matt. Jeanne-Marie took a chair in the waiting room, staring dumbly at the television that played softly in the corner. She saw nothing but images of Matt lying at the bottom of a cliff. She wanted to see him!
Who had found him? How had they gotten him to an ambulance? How badly was he injured if he needed surgery? The minutes seemed to drag by. Questions flooded. There was so much she needed to know.
“Madame Rousseau?” A nurse stood in the doorway.
“Yes.” Jeanne-Marie jumped up.
“You can see Monsieur Sommer. In fact, he’s asking for you.”
She followed the nurse to Matt. He was hooked up on tubes, his right arm in plaster, cuts and bruises all over his skin, with a white bandage across an area from above his ear to above his left eye. A couple of stitches on his cheek and another set on his left arm.
“What happened?” she said, going to stand right by his bed, reaching out to take his free hand, gripping it in her need to feel him, to know he was alive. “That police officer scared me to death. I thought for a second—” She wasn’t going to say it. He was alive. He would be all right eventually.
“Sorry.” He was slightly groggy, staring at her with eyes darkened with pain.
“I’m just glad you’re going to recover. You are, right?”
“So they tell me.” He frowned. “I didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t. Maybe I wouldn’t have cared a year or so ago, but not now. I didn’t mean to fall.”
She squeezed his hand gently, nodding. “Of course you didn’t. It’s okay. You’re going to be all right and back to climbing in no time.” Her heart squeezed in sorrow. She knew how hard it was to go on when a loved one died. She would never ever think of Matt trying to end his life. But he might have felt that if chance had him falling, it was meant to be. She was so glad he no longer felt that way.
He closed his eyes a minute, then opened them. “My head hurts, my arm’s throbbing, I ache all over. I banged up one knee.”
“But you’re going to be fine, give it time.”
He closed his eyes again.
“I’ll leave you to get some rest,” she said, not wanting to go, but knowing he needed rest to heal. She could leave, having seen him. She didn’t want to, but she could.
His hand gripped hers tighter. “No, don’t go. It’s just I’m seeing double, so it’s easier not to have my eyes open.” He looked up at her. “I don’t think I’ll fall asleep just yet. They just woke me up from the anesthesia.”
“Five more minutes, then we’re taking him to his room. You can visit there,” the nurse said, coming to his bed and reaching out to gently dislodge Jeanne-Marie’s hand so she could take his wrist in her hand. “How do you feel?” she asked, checking his pulse.
“Like I fell off a cliff,” he muttered.
Jeanne-Marie hid a smile. Grumpy she could handle. Some of her fears eased. She wanted to believe he’d be better in no time. Or as long as it took for his arm to heal. She hoped there would be nothing lasting from the fall. She couldn’t bear to think of him as incapacitated in any way.
When the nurse left, Jeanne-Marie took his hand again and squeezed it gently. “Oh, Matt, you could have been far more injured or worse.”
“Hey, I could have but I wasn’t. The storm came in earlier than I expected. I was almost to the bottom. Short fall. I didn’t mean to, truly!”
/> “I know.”
He stared up at her for a moment. “It’s important you know that.”
“I do know it. Close your eyes and rest. I’ll stay a bit longer.”
While Matt was being moved to a private room, Jeanne-Marie went to call the Rousseaus to let them know she would pick Alexandre up later than originally planned. Then she went to find Matt’s new room.
She peeped around the door and saw him lying in the hospital bed in the pristine room. The rain continued outside the window. His precious face was battered, scraped and bruised. His right wrist had a bandage around it. When he turned to see who had entered, she saw both eyes were growing black.
He smiled when he saw her and her heart flipped over. He looked as if he’d been in a fight—with the other guy winning.
“You stayed,” he said.
“I said I would,” she replied, coming in, pulling the visitor’s chair near the bed and sitting. That put her slightly below him. She hungrily searched his face, noting the damage, thankful he was still alive. Unwilling to examine feelings that had been on a roller coaster since she received the news, she smiled and asked, “Feeling any better?” Wishing she dared reach out to touch him as she had earlier, she clenched her hands in her lap. To Matt, she was merely a friend nearby when he was injured.
“Worse than before, actually. The more the anesthesia wears off, the more I feel every inch. And all of me aches to one degree or another,” he said with a wry smile. His gaze never left hers. It was as if he were drawing strength from her.
“What does the doctor say?”
“The doctor says the headache will go away and so will the double vision, but they’re not sure exactly when.”
“Close your eyes. You can talk with them closed.”
He gave a half smile. “Guess I can,” he said, closing both eyes.
From Daredevil to Devoted Daddy Page 12
