Moonlight in Paris

by Pamela Hearon

  Tara sat her glass down gently and leaned forward to clasp her hands on the table. “And what exactly is it about me that reminds you of her? I mean, you really don’t even know me.”

  “I know. But when Angie would get on one of her highs, she would do things on the spur of the moment. She’d come home with a piercing or a tattoo.” He waved his hand in her direction. “She had lots of them...said the pain made her feel real and alive.”

  While he talked, Tara had been listening intently, brushing a finger lightly up and down on her lips. She now used that finger to make figures in the air as if she were adding up some kind of imaginary math problem. “So, since that first day, it’s been in your head that I might be mentally unstable because I have a few tattoos and a couple of piercings?”

  “Well...” When she put it that way, his logic did sound a little weak. “You also admitted to the motorcycle wreck that cost you part of your hand...and your gorgeous red hair has blue streaks in it. Angie would do wild things like that to her hair, too.”

  Tara started like he’d pinched her, and Garrett grunted in frustration. He wasn’t explaining himself very well and was probably pissing her off, beating around the bush with his dance of avoidance. “Oh, hell.” He downed the remainder of his glass. Grabbing the bottle, he topped off Tara’s glass and refilled his own. “I know I’m silly. I know that not everyone who has piercings and tattoos and blue hair is crazy like Angie. I know you’re not crazy. And if I thought you were, Josh pretty well squelched that.”

  The side of Tara’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “I grew up in a small town as the preacher’s kid, and I was always held to a higher standard. I followed the rules and never got into trouble. But as an adult, I realized I’d never learned to express myself. I have a reason for all of these.” She gestured to the ring in her eyebrow and the tattoo under her ear. “Play nice and maybe someday I’ll tell you what they are.”

  It had to be the champagne because something about her words shot straight to Garrett’s groin, causing a stiffness that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He shoved the idea of playing nicely with Tara from his mind. “I guess we all have our reasons for doing the things we do. And my objections to your being around Dylan go back to Angie. He lost his mom when he was three, and he has a definite soft spot for women.” He was in too deep to turn around now, so he laid it all out. “I got involved with my French tutor when we first moved here. Big mistake. Dylan latched on to her, and it was really tough on the little guy when we broke up. Ever since, I’ve been trying like hell to protect him from getting too attached to someone who’s only going to vanish from his life.”

  “Oh, Garrett.” Tara dropped against the back of her chair, throwing her arms into the air. “I understand now. You’re afraid Dylan will see me every day for a month, and then I’ll be gone.” Her finger settled on her lip again, brushing back and forth.

  Garrett shifted in his seat again, wishing she’d stop calling attention to her luscious lips. “Exactly.” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat.

  “But there have to be other women in Dylan’s life that he’s attached to. Teachers? Grandmothers? How do you handle other situations?”

  “Teachers he’ll see occasionally even after he’s left their classes. We call my mom and Angie’s mom a lot, usually a couple of times a week.”

  She tipped her glass his direction. “If that works, then we have our answer. Even after I go home, I’ll be as close as a phone call. Dylan can call me whenever he wants to, and I’ll take his calls as long as he needs to make them. But I have a feeling he won’t need them too long. People have a way of forgetting. Out of sight, out of mind, you know?” A shadow crossed her face, and Garrett got the feeling she wasn’t just referring to Dylan, but he didn’t press her about it. Whatever it was, it was none of his business.

  That she understood and was taking his concern for his son so seriously filled him with gratitude. “You seem to know Dylan pretty well. Have you been spending time together I haven’t been aware of?”

  Tara’s smile was gentle...and disarming. “We play catch almost every night before you get home.”

  * * *

  “THAT’S TROUBLESOME.” A GROWL of displeasure underscored his voice. “I gave him strict orders not to bother you. It’s not like him to disobey. At least, I didn’t think it was like him to disobey.”

  Tara hadn’t meant to get her little friend in trouble. “Relax, Dad.” She leaned across the table, laying a hand of reassurance on Garrett’s. “He told me from the beginning that he wasn’t supposed to bother me. He only comes over to my section if he’s invited. And playing catch is usually my idea.”

  Garrett chuckled and turned his hand over to grasp hers. “So you’re telling me you and my son have been having clandestine meetings for...?”

  “About a week now.” She filled in the blank.

  He laughed and shook his head. “And here I thought I was keeping him safely out of your clutches.”

  He gave her fingers a light squeeze. It felt nice, and she squeezed back before letting go. “I’m the one caught in the clutches, I’m afraid. Dylan’s a heart stealer.”

  Pride bloomed on his face. “Yeah, he’s pretty special.”

  The second glass of champagne was making them bold, adding warmth to the conversation, convincing her she could get away with more than what would normally be proper. “Garrett, if you don’t mind my asking—and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to...”

  “Suicide,” he answered.

  Tara recoiled at the word spoken so matter-of-factly, though the tense set of Garrett’s jaw and the shadow that veiled his eyes belied a deep pain within.

  His response hadn’t been what she expected. Cancer. A horrible accident. Those she’d been prepared for. But suicide? How did one respond to that? “I’m—I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “It’s okay.” Garrett downed the remainder of his champagne in one gulp. He reached for the bottle. His hand hovered near it momentarily before he drew it back. “The coroner declared it an accident. She was texting and smashed her car into a tree. But there were no skid marks. No sign of any braking at all.” His eyes found a faraway point to focus on—one from three years ago, if she were guessing. “The text was for me. It said, ‘I hate you.’”

  The icy words sent a shiver down Tara’s spine despite the lingering heat of the evening. “That’s horrible.” Garrett’s Adam’s apple bobbed in agreement. “No,” she corrected herself. “It’s cruel. No one should have to live with something like that hanging over his head.”

  His gaze jerked back, crashing headlong into hers, and this time the pain wasn’t hidden. It oozed from him like a sore that had lost its protective scab. “We don’t get a choice in the matter, do we?”

  “No. No, we don’t.” Emma had used those same words when they’d talked about the bizarre twist of Sawyer not being Tara’s birth father. Her brain spun in circles, searching for a topic she could switch to. Anything that would shift them from this sad conversation. But how could she do that tactfully and without seeming callous?

  “She got it in her head I was having an affair.”

  He didn’t wait for any prompting, so obviously he wanted—maybe needed—to talk about this. Tara took a large gulp of champagne to dull her senses.

  “I worried about leaving Dylan at home alone with her, but I had to work, so I hired a woman—a housekeeper to clean and cook, but mostly just to be there to keep an eye on things. I never even gave her a second look, but Angie was convinced we had a thing for each other.” His hand mopped his face again, and he blew out a long breath. “The night she died, she flew into a rage because I’d given Sally a Christmas bonus that Angie thought was too much. The truth was, Sally was threatening to quit at the first of the year because Angie was getting so
hard to deal with, so I’d hoped the extra money would be an incentive to stay on.”

  He paused and Tara stayed quiet, willing to let him have the floor as long as he wanted it.

  “Sally left,” he continued, “and I went to Dylan’s room to check on him. Angie grabbed the keys and took off before I could stop her. I called the police. They said she hadn’t committed a crime, but they’d keep an eye out. Thirty minutes later, I got the text and then a few minutes after that, I got the call from the police. She died on impact.” He shrugged slowly as if a heavy barbell lay across his shoulders, or maybe the weight of the world. “End of story.”

  Tara rolled her shoulders forward and back to loosen the muscles, which had tightened considerably during his tale. She waited to see if he had anything else he wanted to add. When he didn’t, she eased the subject in a different direction. “You and Dylan have been through a lot...and you’ve done a wonderful job of raising him alone.”

  The compliment brought a tender smile to Garrett’s lips. “Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit. Dylan probably learned early on to adapt to any situation. He’s one of those kids who’s easy to be with.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. He’s a very kind little boy.” She filled him in on the details of Dylan’s actions, which she’d observed at the park. As she’d seen so many times during parent-teacher conferences, Garrett’s whole demeanor changed when she told him complimentary things about his child. Even parents who came in loaded for bear about a bad grade would calm down and leave with a smile when she told them what a great kid they had. The best part was that she didn’t have to fake it. All of them were great kids to her. She didn’t always like how they acted, but she always liked them.

  She shared how touched she was by Dylan’s actions toward her. “He doesn’t mind holding my hand, but he’s cautious and doesn’t want to hurt it.”

  “I didn’t mind holding your hand a few minutes ago, either.” Garrett’s mouth twisted up at the corner. “Fact is, it felt pretty nice.”

  So the man was capable of flirting after all! The heat started in her back and worked its way into her neck and face. She held up her half hand. “It used to feel twice as nice.”

  Garrett laughed at that. Reaching for the bottle once again, he filled her glass, then emptied the bottle into his own. “This evening took much too serious a turn. Weren’t we supposed to be celebrating?”

  “Yes, we were. And you also need to fill me in on Dylan’s schedule so I’ll know what time to be where.”

  He stood up. “Be right back.”

  He was gone for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he handed her a sheet of paper. “Dylan’s schedule. My friend Henri designed a spreadsheet for me.”

  She glanced down the entries, which included not only Dylan’s school schedule but also his Wednesday schedule, Garrett’s numbers and an array of other numbers. The man was nothing if not efficient—and so was his friend. “We haven’t discussed it, but I’d like to keep Dylan until Monique is able to come back. Not just tomorrow. If that’s all right with you.”

  Garrett gave his head an emphatic shake. “That’s too long, Tara. You’re only here for a month. I can’t take an entire week of your time. And this is the last week of school. Next week, he’ll be around all day.”

  At that moment, being with Dylan seemed more important than finding Jacques Martin, and she wasn’t sure exactly why. It had to do with the privilege of being with him that she’d felt that afternoon while watching him play. Now that she knew the story of his mother’s death, she had a fierce instinct to let him know he was worth every second of her time. And Jacques Martin wouldn’t be going anywhere other than where he’d been for twenty-eight years. She could pick up the search for him when Monique got back, even if it wasn’t for a couple weeks.

  She tilted her glass in Garrett’s direction. “Even all day will be fine. I’ve got lots of sightseeing to do. If it’s okay with you, he can be my tour guide. I’m going to spend a day at the Louvre, and one at the Musée d’Orsay. And I also want to go to Notre-Dame and Sainte-Chapelle.”

  “He loves all those places.” Garrett grew quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was steeped in gratitude—and sexy as all get-out. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’m sure. I told him I’d take him geocaching if you were okay with it. We can do that while we’re exploring the city.”

  Garrett’s heavy brows gathered in question, so she delved into more detail about the pastime. He leaned toward her, hanging on her every word just like Dylan had done when she explained it to him. “Hell!” He slapped the table lightly. “That even sounds like fun to me!”

  Was he asking for an invitation? She ventured out to test the waters. “Then, maybe some evening we can all search for a cache together.”

  “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” A look came into his dark eyes that was part fun but part something else entirely, and a tingle that couldn’t be attributed to the champagne zinged through her. Their gazes locked for a few seconds, charging the air between them with electricity.

  They teetered at the edge of something momentarily before Garrett backed off. “So...tell me about the town you grew up in.”

  “You want to hear stories about Taylor’s Grove?”

  He grinned. “Actually, I just like to hear you talk.”

  “Well, if talking’s what you want, I’m the girl for the job. When I go to talking, my mouth runs like the clatter bone of a goose’s ass.”

  Garrett’s laugh was deep and mellow, bringing a certain heat to the air around her that made her want to hear it again.

  For the next half hour, Tara enthralled him with stories about life in her corner of small-town America. She told only the comedies, the things that would keep them laughing, staying away from the dramas that infused life in Taylor’s Grove as surely as they did everywhere else—of which her own family was solid proof.

  The champagne and camaraderie had finally worked its magic. Her muscles, which had been so tight before, were loose and relaxed, and she tried ineffectually to stifle a yawn that popped out unbidden. “Oh, wow, I’m getting sleepy.”

  Garrett looked at his watch. “Yeah, it’s way past my bedtime, too. And I’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

  They stood up slowly...and reluctantly on Tara’s part.

  “I hate for nights like this to end.” Garrett echoed her thoughts.

  “Me, too. But we can pick up where we left off tomorrow night.”

  “I’d like that.” Garrett’s tone was husky again. He paused as if he was on the verge of saying something else, but then he picked up the glasses and the bottle. “Thanks for sharing my celebration and volunteering to keep Dylan.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” She started toward her flat, feeling Garrett’s eyes on her, following her progress across the space they shared. When she got to her door, she turned to look back.

  Sure enough, he hadn’t moved. “Good night,” he called.

  She blew an impetuous, giddy kiss in response.

  CHAPTER TEN

  GARRETT FELT HIMSELF crashing. If the Soulard bigwigs didn’t finish their speeches and toasts soon, he was going to fall face-first into the remains of his chocolate soufflé. The rich meal and the magnums of champagne made it impossible to comprehend all that was being said, and he was exhausted enough not to give a damn.

  He wanted to be home with Dylan, and...okay, yes, with Tara. The two of them had barely scratched the surface the other night getting to know each other, and there was so much more he wanted to know. But for the third night in a row, he wasn’t going to make it home before midnight—too late for any real interaction, which was probably just as well. The more he was around Tara, the more he liked her, and liking her too much would be dangerous territory for him and Dylan.

  He
took a sip of water to clear the fog from his brain. Thank God tonight was the end of the campaign and the outrageous hours.

  Things weren’t supposed to have been this hectic, but he could hardly complain. The day after his and Tara’s celebration, one of the television programs—sort of a French version of Entertainment Tonight—had requested an interview with the company’s owners, so the marketing department had been thrown into extra-double duty to write fresh, snazzy new lines that would make the owners look cool and hip for the young audience.

  The interview had been taped this evening and then the entire company had gone to Le Pamplemousse for an exquisite celebratory seven-course meal that had gone on for five hours and twenty-two minutes, but was almost over.

  Tara had been so understanding about all of this, though how he would ever repay her was still up in the air. She acted miffed every time he brought up the subject of money.

  The speaker’s words faded as his imagination took over with some totally inappropriate things he could offer to make her stay in Paris more enjoyable for them both.

  That his mind shouldn’t drive on that side of the road was a no-brainer. His life was complicated enough without adding a fling with a neighbor into the mix. But the woman had wormed her way into his consciousness and parked her fine ass there—not thinking about her was impossible. An instant, full-blown erection made him shift in his seat, which woke him up just in time to stand and join in the cheer of what he could only hope was the final damn toast.

  It was. Everyone around him hugged and said their adieus and made their French-equivalent promises to show up for work Monday bright eyed and bushy tailed. It was a good thing the weekend lay before them because they were going to have one hell of a collective hangover.

  “Garrett!” Henri hurried from his table, and they clasped in a hug of camaraderie. “C’est fini.”

  “Oui, c’est fini, Henri.” Garrett wasn’t sure if they were discussing the campaign or the dinner, but he was thrilled both were done.