by Liz Talley
“You want anything?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m good.”
“Your husband?” The man nodded toward Garrett as he left.
“Boyfriend.” The words felt good on her lips. She couldn’t keep from smiling, waving bye to him when he glanced back over his shoulder.
The man pointed to the half hand she’d waved with. “You have had an accident.”
“A wreck on a motorcycle.” She ran her fingertip up the scar on her arm. “But I’ve since sworn off those things.” She held her hand out for a shake. “I’m Tara O’Malley, by the way.”
“I am—” he paused to throw the ball for the dog whose energy didn’t seem to be waning in the least “—François Martin.”
All of the moisture in Tara’s mouth abandoned her at the sound of the man’s surname. “Martin?” The word came out as a croak.
“Oui, Martin. It is the most common surname in Paris.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Much like Smith or Jones in the U.S.”
Tara nodded mutely. She already knew that, but to have an actual Martin sitting beside her seemed an amazing coincidence. She’d been feeling like she was getting close to finding her father. Maybe this man was here to help.
“I, uh.” She sucked in a breath. “I’ve been looking for a friend of my family while I’m here, and his name is Martin. Jacques Martin. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone by that name, would you?”
A hint of laughter lit the man’s eyes before he gave her a small smile. “Oui, Tara O’Malley. I know two men who have the name of Jacques Martin.” He held up two fingers and ticked the names off. “My father’s name was Jacques Martin, though he died many years ago. And my son is also Jacques Martin. He is fifteen years old and could not be the friend of your family, I think.”
“No.” Tara’s chest heaved with disappointment. She tossed the ball for the waiting Attila. “You don’t know of any others. Cousins...?”
The man shook his head, his heavy brows drawing in and nearly touching. “No, but as I said before, there are many Martins, and Jacques is also very common.”
Garrett headed back toward them from across the park, and a spark of joy lit Tara’s insides at the sight of him. Thankfully, he’d ignored her when she declined the offer of a drink. He held a bottle in each hand.
“Are you originally from Paris?” She continued to make conversation.
“Yes. I was born here and have lived here most of my life although I also travel extensively.” The touch of pride was evident again.
“It’s such a beautiful place.” Tara rolled her shoulders to loosen the muscles that had tightened when the man told her his name. “I’m glad I got to come see it for myself.”
The Frenchman’s eyes met hers directly. “Yes, she is a beauty.” He swallowed hard before he glanced away, obviously moved by his love for the city. “I have much to be proud of.”
The wistful timbre of his voice and the sudden serious tone the conversation had taken made Tara a little uncomfortable. A shiver scampered up her spine, though there was no logical reason for it. But Tara sensed sadness in this person. Perhaps he’d experienced a recent loss...or maybe he was the type of wealthy person who was never quite satisfied no matter how much he had.
“Here you go.”
Garrett’s familiar voice wrapped her in instant warmth. She took the Orangina he proffered, enjoying the solidness of him as he settled down beside her again. She downed the small bottle of liquid in two gulps, the cool drink soothing her parched throat.
Garrett laughed. “Thought you weren’t thirsty.”
“I’m glad you knew better than I did.” Pointing to her companion, she added, “I should introduce you two. Garrett Hughes, meet François Martin.”
She should have timed it better, should have allowed Garrett to swallow what was in his mouth. Instead, she watched him choke when the name Martin left her lips. He managed not to spew Orangina, but his face turned so red she was afraid he was going to burst a blood vessel. His body jerked with spasms and he finally gave in to a series of long, loud coughs.
“Sorry.” At last, he got himself under control enough to extend his hand. “François Martin, is it?”
“Yes, that is correct.” François’s hand dropped to caress Attila’s head, his several-carat diamond ring glinting sunlight into Tara’s face.
She turned to face Garrett. “His father and his son are both Jacques Martin.”
Sympathy softened Garrett’s features as he brushed the back of his finger to her face. She gave him a soft smile and kissed the finger.
The weight of his arm settled on her shoulder and he pulled her to him in a quick hug. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into her hair and then kissed the same spot.
She winked to let him know everything was okay.
Attila’s energy had finally run out, and he snuggled into Tara’s lap. A tiny snore escaped, which made them all laugh.
“Ah, the excitement of the day has tired out the great Attila the Honey.” François stood and held out his arms. Tara handed the sleeping dog to him, and François gathered him to his chest. “I think it is time for us to say au revoir.”
A sudden restlessness spurred Tara to her feet. “It was nice to meet you, Monsieur Martin.” She gave Attila a final scratch, her eyes tangling with François’s dark gaze. “If you’re ever back in Kentucky near Paducah, please look me up.”
“Thank you, lovely Tara.” François’s hand rested briefly on top of hers. “I shall remember your generous invitation. Au revoir, my dear.”
As he left them, Tara tracked his movement until he was completely lost from sight, then she plopped back down beside Garrett. “Can you believe that? A Martin. Right here beside me.”
“Yeah, that was quite a coincidence,” he said, but without any enthusiasm. “C’mon, Tara.” He stood up and held his hand out. “Let’s go see the crafty stuff Hugo cut his teeth on.”
She let Garrett take the lead, her mind still occupied by the new acquaintance she’d made.
Allowing her hopes to get too high would be a mistake. But her growing love for the Hughes guys and the conviction that nothing happened by chance made her heart feel like it could soar with happiness.
Luckily, Garrett’s grip on her hand kept her firmly grounded.
* * *
FAITH HAD CALLED TO TELL him she was on her way, so Sawyer was waiting for her at the back door when she arrived.
She hadn’t been back to the house since she’d left a week ago yesterday. It felt odd to be welcomed into her own home. She glanced around, relieved to see he was keeping the place clean. But, of course, he would be. Sawyer’s standard of clean living reached into even the tiniest crevices of his life.
A faint aroma of burned food hinted that his cooking skills hadn’t improved, though.
“I was glad to see you at church tonight.” He handed her a glass of iced tea, their fingers touching as she took it. If he felt the jolt from the touch like she had, he gave no indication.
“You preached a good sermon.” She took a sip, finding the strong brew sweetened and lemoned exactly the way she liked it. “You always do.”
She’d skipped the morning service for the second week in a row, but Ollie had come by on his way this evening and talked her into accompanying him. He convinced her that a show of confidence and solidarity with Sawyer might encourage the Board of Fellowship to stop and consider what they were doing.
She was glad she’d taken his advice. It also put that first-time awkwardness behind her, although the stares and whispers had sent her into the mother of all hot flashes.
But she’d survived.
And now she knew she could.
Sawyer nodded toward the den. “Let’s go in there where we’ll be comfortable.”
Finding her favorite spot on the s
ofa, she slipped off her shoes and pulled her legs up under her, making herself at home. Sawyer sat in his recliner, but he didn’t kick it back.
“You first,” she said.
When he’d invited her to come by after church, she’d hoped he was going to ask her to move back home. If he did, it would make what she wanted to talk about much easier.
But the distance he kept didn’t bode well that reconciliation would be their topic of conversation. She steeled herself against whatever the purpose of this visit turned out to be.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve already thought about it, but we haven’t talked about it.” Sawyer leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “If I lose the church, we’ll have to put the house up for sale. I’ve been studying our finances all week, and I just don’t see any other way. Selling Mom’s house and the cabin will help, but it won’t pay off the mortgage.” He leaned back and passed a hand across his eyes. “Of course...if another church will have me...it would mean a move anyway.”
If another church will have me. If was the definitive word. Their future together was not so definitive though—have me, not have us.
Before all this, he’d always referred to them as a team.
Guilt pushed a heavy finger into her chest. The house they’d planned and built together. The place where they’d raised their family. Their sanctuary from the world.
All of it would be lost.
Because of her lie?
Yes. But what it actually came down to was her lack of faith in Sawyer’s love.
If she’d trusted his love enough to tell him the truth all those years ago, they wouldn’t be going through this now.
She would never make that mistake again.
“We’ll do whatever we have to do.” She deliberately chose the plural form and felt some of the guilt seep away with her words. “Sell the house. Sell both houses and the cabin. I’ll get a job. I’ll get two jobs. It’s not like I have kids to stay home for anymore.”
His tired eyes regarded her for a moment over the rim of his glass. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, setting his drink down with a shrug. “Thanks for not going all emotional on me. I don’t think I could’ve stood that.”
“I’m giving up emotional...except with Sue.” She saw his chin buckle at that admission, but Faith wasn’t here to mince words. They’d already been through yesterday’s argument with Sue. No use pretending it hadn’t happened. “I’ve decided that logical’s a better fit at my age.”
“It looks good on you.” Her heart fluttered as she watched the corners of his mouth turn up, and the tiniest light of interest flare in his eyes. “But then, everything looks good on you.”
His tender smile and flirtation made her heart race. But she couldn’t let herself get carried away. The news she bore would douse that flicker in a hurry.
And there was no use letting the flirtation go any further. Building hope only to dash it again was cruel to them both. So, without preamble, she blurted, “I’ve found a promising connection to Jacques Martin, and I think I can get his address for Tara.”
Sure enough, all the emotion drained from his face and the flame went out, leaving behind a white mask, devoid of expression.
“I got it Friday.” She plunged ahead, just wanting to get this—all of it—over with. “But I didn’t bring it up because I can’t do anything about it until tomorrow, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it anyway.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure what to do about it?” Sawyer’s fingertip brushed his lip, back and forth.
“I have the number for someone who may be able to give me his number and address.” She took a fortifying breath to help her get through this next part. “But I think I need to leave it up to you whether or not I make the call.”
His head tilted in question. “Me? Why?”
“Because you appear to be the one with the most at stake.”
His lips pressed together into a thin line. “Because, if she finds her birth father, she may push me out of her life.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. But it’s possible he could visit if they hit it off. She might bring him here to show off where she grew up. Next to Tara, you seem to be the one who could be the most affected, so the decision of whether I call or not has to be yours. I refuse to do anything else that might screw your life up worse than I have already.”
“You haven’t screwed my life up, Faith.” The voice was flat again, almost robotic, so the words, placating as they were, didn’t live up to their intention.
She snorted in return. “Well, I haven’t made it a rose garden lately.”
She wasn’t interested in debating the issue. It was all water under the bridge, and she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “I’m not here to discuss that. I just need to know whether to make the call in the morning or not?”
Sawyer leaned forward again, studying his tightly clasped hands. “The whole time she’s been over there, I’ve been praying that she wouldn’t find him. That’s selfish, I know. It was me I was worried about.” His eyes drifted up to meet hers. “What kind of father would I be if I put my happiness ahead of hers?” He paused and shook his head. “Not the kind I want to be.” He sat up straight, opening his hands to rest them on the arms of the chair. “Make the call, Faith. She needs this, and in some weird way that I don’t understand, maybe I need it, too.”
His fingers brushed at the corner of his eye, and Faith’s throat constricted. “You’re sure?”
“I’m committed,” he answered. “But the truth is that I understand a little better how Abraham must have felt when he was leading Isaac up the side of that mountain.”
She nodded. “I’ll call first thing in the morning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
GARRETT WATCHED THE FIRST light of dawn break through the bedroom window and catch in Tara’s wild curls. Snuggled against his side, her naked breasts rising and falling to the rhythm of her soft breathing, she had the countenance of an angel—or so he’d been thinking. But the fiery glow suddenly surrounding her reminded him what a she-devil she could be in bed—a tempting red-haired seductress whose magic brought out a passion that he’d buried years ago and had all but forgotten.
She stirred in her sleep and he felt himself stir in response, despite his lack of shut-eye the past two nights.
Since Saturday, he’d been waiting for the call that hadn’t come—the invitation he’d been sure Jacques Martin would extend to Tara to join his life after their encounter.
Seeing the fulfillment of her quest sitting next to her, while she remained so blissfully unaware brought out a protective instinct in Garrett that he’d thought was reserved for only Dylan. He wanted to grab Martin and shake him until he loosened the part of the man’s brain that would allow him to think clearly instead of filtering everything through his wallet.
Just wake her and tell her the truth. Lay out the entire story about Martin’s fears of losing his wife and his fortune, his threat to Soulard. Make her promise never to approach the man.
Tara stirred again, shifting her head slightly. The sunlight had eased over enough to catch in the ring that decorated her thin brow line. It flashed like the beacon from a lighthouse, warning of dangerous waters.
Warnings he’d ignored from Angie.
I hate you.
His insides coiled into a hard knot pulling from his stomach to his throat.
He closed his eyes, taking long, deep breaths, and ran a hand over his sweat-drenched face.
Tara was nothing like Angie, and he couldn’t continue this asinine habit of allowing his guilt over his wife’s death control the workings of his heart.
If any warning was truly flashing, it was the one in his brain to guard against broken promises.
He’d promised Henri to ke
ep his secret safe. He’d, also, given Martin his word he wouldn’t interfere.
A man was only as good as his word.
And he’d learned the hard way that he had no business trying to control other people’s lives.
But he had to believe that Jacques Martin would make that call. It might take a few years, but it would happen. And, when it did, he would be there with Tara in his arms, holding her, protecting her, dancing with her in her time of joy.
He opened his eyes to find her watching him, sunlight on her face and lovelight in her eyes.
“Good morning.” She slipped her arm around his waist and her leg moved subtly between his. Not quite as subtly, she pressed against him in unspoken invitation.
“Good morning.” He kissed the brow ring and then let his lips wander to her nose, her mouth and on to her neck.
Her contented sigh feathered around his ear. “I love you, Garrett.”
The words spread through him like wildfire across a dry plain. He moved lower, covering her with kisses, igniting her heat with his mouth and hands, fanning the flame.
The blaze raged hotter, an inferno that burned away any lingering doubts of whether true love could grow in such a short span of time. Garrett allowed it to consume him, reaching for only the slightest protection as the combustion moved toward their collective core, shattering them both in a simultaneous cataclysm of passion.
He held her tightly until the delicious spasms subsided and her breathing returned to normal. He loosened his hold then, but only with his arms. His heart gripped tighter than ever.
“Wow,” she whispered. “I never knew it could be like that. Like this. Just...wow.”
The room was bright now with a light that Garrett wasn’t sure originated from the sun. An ember from the wildfire continued to burn in his heart, waiting for the next piece of kindling—a touch or a whisper—to make it burst into flame.
Wildfire could be destructive, he knew, but it could also be beneficial in the larger scheme of things. Though its uncontrollable blaze moved through an area with thoughtless destruction, the final result was ultimately freshening.
