“You never told...anyone.”
“Not until Memorial Day. The whole family found out at the same time. Sawyer included. Now he’s questioning our relationship.” She leaned forward, pressing the matter. “But that one incident doesn’t define us, does it?”
“Only if you let it.”
It was hard to believe that, with all the women in town Faith could’ve turned to, it was a seventy-seven-year-old man she was confiding in. But it felt right somehow. Ollie understood. And now she understood the passion always present in his music.
“What do I do now? I’ve apologized so many times, I can’t say those words anymore with any feeling. But Sawyer can’t get past my betrayal. I knew I was pregnant when we got married. I made him believe Tara was his.”
“You accept the situation for what it is. And what it is is over and done with. We can’t go back and change the past. Do you want me to talk to Sawyer?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He has to decide on his own who to turn to.”
Ollie closed the lid of the violin case and latched it. “Your secret’s safe with me, Faith.”
“And yours with me.”
“I knew that before you told me. But as for Tara’s lineage, I think that’s Tara’s choice to tell or not. People are making all kinds of speculations as to what this separation stems from. Nobody’s focusing on the past. Everybody thinks y’all have been through a recent trauma. An affair or maybe a near-affair. I’ll tell you though, some in our midst are out for blood and they don’t care what the cause is or who’s to blame.”
“I...we anticipated that.”
“I’m sure you’ve thought through everything. In the middle of the night when you shoulda been sleeping would be my guess.” He picked up his case to leave.
Faith stood up to show him out. “Ollie? Whatever happened to the man you loved?”
“Died too young.”
She hugged him like she would have one of her children. “I’m sorry things couldn’t have been different for you two.”
The old man sniffed and wiped his eyes on his bandanna. “‘The universe is unfolding as it should.’”
How desperately she wanted to believe that...wanted to believe that somehow all of this was going to turn out okay. “Thank you for coming by.” She gave his back a pat in parting. “You gave me an hour of sheer joy.”
“No better compliment than that. Keep your chin up. This’ll pass.”
She watched him stroll down the steps and all the way to the sidewalk that ran along Main Street.
“Bless your heart, Ollie,” she whispered as she closed the door. “If you can endure this town, so can I.”
* * *
“I’M GLAD MONIQUE’S FATHER is doing well enough for her to come back, but I’m going to miss my time with Dylan. I talked to him about my leaving, by the way.”
The subject dampened Tara’s spirits even more than the rain that was keeping them from the terrace this evening. She’d fought tears all afternoon—weepiness wasn’t usually in her nature.
“How did he take that news?” Garrett closed the terrace door against what was now a downpour as a streak of lightning lit the sky.
Tara secured her hair into a ponytail. The humidity was making it feel like a bush had sprouted on her head. “He didn’t like it much.” She reached for the bottle and divided the remainder of the wine between their two glasses.
Garrett flipped the air conditioner on. “I don’t like it much, either.”
An accompanying rumble of thunder added drama to his words, and jarred a renegade tear from Tara’s eye. She brushed it away while Garrett’s back was to her, determined not to spoil one of the precious few nights they had left.
“I guess it’s back to the search for dear old Dad tomorrow.” She cringed at the subject she’d changed to. Her futile search for Jacques Martin was the second most depressing thing on her mind.
Garrett sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Maybe tomorrow will be the day.”
“Maybe.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel as she handed him his glass and sat down.
Garrett stretched his legs out and put his arm across her shoulders, its weight a comfort, an anchor in this stormy emotional sea she was currently tossed about on. His fingertips brushed her temple, and she leaned against him. “What’s the matter, love? You seem down tonight.” His concern was edged with caution. He’d practiced those same words on Angie time after time, no doubt. Tara wanted no resemblance between her actions and those of his deceased wife.
“I’m just more emotional about this Jacques Martin stuff than I want to admit.” She settled on the half truth, leaving out the part about him and Dylan, gnawing her bottom lip when it quivered.
“Don’t give up hope.” His fingertips brushed her forehead and her hair. “There’s still time.”
She nodded, but her mind was shaking its head. Time with him and Dylan was growing much too short. Another tear eased from her eye, catching on Garrett’s finger as it brushed her cheek.
He leaned forward and looked directly into her face. “Oh, baby, don’t cry,” he said, and, of course, the gentleness in his manner opened her water works to full force. He took her glass from her, and set both of them on the coffee table.
“I’m s—sorry.” She swiped at her eyes and tried to control the sobs, but the words came out on snubbed breaths. “I’m...usually...not the...crying...kind.”
“I know.” He kissed each of her eyelids. “I can tell.”
“You...can?” Her breathing stuttered in her chest.
Garrett nodded. “You’re the bravest woman I know. Facing the things you’ve gone through.” He kissed her injured hand. “Coming here alone in search of a man you’ve never met.” His labored sigh filled the space between them. “I’ve acted like such a coward at times. You put me to shame.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. His touch was calm and warm. It stilled her...and excited her. “You should never feel that way because you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “You lived through hell and carried Dylan safely through it all.”
A fleeting grimace touched his mouth and then it was gone, replaced by a small pucker that deepened the scar on his upper lip. “You know, maybe we haven’t been making the most of the manpower available.” He shifted to face her. “Why don’t we split up the remainder of the names on your list? Between the two of us, we could get all of the Jacques Martins covered. You’d have to take the ones farther away, but I could cover the ones closer to the office and on my way home.”
“You’d do that for me?”
He cupped her face in his hands, tilting it so she was looking directly into his. “I would do anything for you, Tara.” His eyes took on a darker hue, and he kissed her with more fervor than before.
Her body stirred with longing, and she pressed closer. “Well, I’d like to do something for you...to repay your kindness.” She gave him a soft smile. “Think Dylan’s asleep?”
“Long ago.”
She stood and held out her hand. “We can talk when he’s awake. Let’s make better use of our time alone.”
She led the way to his bedroom.
Barely inside the door, he kissed her, long and hard, and the stirring intensified. The way this man affected her with just a kiss! Heat surged through her, every fiber sizzling.
They broke contact only briefly while she pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it on the bed. Then her eager palms sought the taut planes of his stomach muscles. His hands lost no time reciprocating, ridding her of her clothes. He grasped her rear and pressed her front against him.
With a little hop, her legs were around his waist, and he backed over to his bed, pausing only long enough to grab a condom from the drawer. He lay down, keeping her on top.
&
nbsp; Astride him and in the driver’s seat, she shifted into high gear and stomped on the gas.
Their lovemaking was fast and furious and wild like the storm that battered the window, leaving them sweaty and gasping for air.
But soon, and with what turned out to be fortuitous timing, a burst of lightning struck, followed immediately by a rolling concussion of thunder. It sent a chill through Tara and had her grabbing for Garrett’s cast-off tee. She slipped into it just as the bedroom door flew open, and a terrified Dylan streaked into the room.
“Dad, the thunder’s too loud!”
He drew up short at the side of the bed, the terror in his eyes giving way to confusion. “Tara?” His face broke into the wide grin she adored. “You decided to sleep over!” he crowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well.” She looked to Garrett for help, but he answered her with an I’ve-got-nothing shrug. She glanced at the clock that read 12:43 a.m. “We just remembered that it’s July Fourth, which is a holiday in the States. Why don’t we make a tent and pretend we’re camping out?”
“Cool! I’ll go get my pillow!” The child ran from the room on a mission, and Tara and Garrett lost no time jumping from under the covers to don their shorts.
“Seriously? Sleeping on the floor?” Garrett speared her with a disgruntled look. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“Oh, shut up.” She laughed and pulled the blanket from the bed. “And go find me some rope.”
Garrett’s frown dissolved into the same enthusiastic smile Dylan displayed. “Now you’re talking.”
He sprinted from the room, as well.
“For the tent!” she called after him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE FIRST RAYS OF SUN caught the prism Lacy had always kept hanging in the side window of her bedroom, coloring the opposite wall with a rainbow that required no rain.
Faith was awake and had been for some time. As she watched the hues deepen, she was reminded of the story of Noah and his ark. If only her rainbow could be a sign like his had been—a promise that the storm was over...or maybe would be soon.
It was going to be a beautiful Fourth of July. Maybe she would call the kids and Emma and have a picnic at the cabin after all. Then they could stop lying to Tara.
An unexpected noise drew her from the bed to the front window. She cracked the blinds to find Sawyer hooking the bass boat onto his truck. Another good sign! If he felt like going fishing, it surely meant he was getting back to normal.
She held her breath, hoping he would knock on the door and invite her to go along. But when he got back in the truck and slammed the door, she let the breath out slowly, waving goodbye to him with an unseen hand.
They’d only spoken briefly since the conversation in the garage Saturday. Three days ago—though it seemed like three years.
She picked up the novel she’d been reading and wandered to the kitchen. Bacon and eggs sounded good for breakfast. Or an omelet perhaps. Her stomach had been so upset, food seemed like the enemy. But since Ollie’s visit yesterday, she’d managed to eat lunch and supper, and breakfast was on her agenda for this morning.
She arranged some slices of bacon on the tray, and put them in the microwave to cook.
If the dear old man could go through what he had and never complain to anyone about the unfairness of things, she could certainly bear this. He had nothing except memories, but she’d actually been blessed.
She had Tara.
She picked up her phone and touched her precious daughter’s number.
Tara answered on the first ring. “Hi, Mama.”
Uh-oh. She sounded breathless. Oh, surely not. It was midafternoon over there.
“Hey, sweetpea. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“No, a good time, actually. I could use some cheering up.”
Faith assessed the situation quickly. Tara wasn’t distraught. Just down. Man trouble? Had she seen the folly of her ways? “Why?” She used her sympathetic mom voice. “What’s wrong?”
A long sigh whispered over the line. “I just located another wrong Jacques Martin.”
“Oh, that’s got to be hard. I know you had your hopes up.”
“I’ve been thinking about this whole thing...my snap decision to try to come find him.”
“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “It was a bit hurried.”
“Well, you know how you and Dad always taught us that everything happens for a reason? I’m thinking that the reason I’m here may not be to find Jacques Martin. Maybe I came here to meet Garrett and Dylan.”
Emotion gripped Faith’s heart and squeezed. “Oh my, Tara. That sounds way too serious.”
“I am serious, Mama. I’m falling in love with him. Them.”
“Honey.” Faith switched to her let’s-be-reasonable tone. “It’s too soon to be thinking about that.”
“And yet, here I am thinking about it. That’s what makes me think it’s real.”
Arguing would do no good. Tara had Sawyer’s stubborn streak, blood-relation or no. When either of their minds got set a certain way, they held on to the belief like a snapping turtle holds a stick...and they wouldn’t let go till it thundered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Mama. Just be happy for me.”
“I’m always happy for you, sweetpea. Happy for you in my life.”
Tara’s laugh sounded relieved. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“By the way.” Tara’s tone changed. “Emma said the picnic was cancelled because of weather.” It was a statement, but the question was evident.
“Well, it’s turned out pretty after all, so I’m thinking we might throw one together.” The microwave dinged, reminding Faith of the breakfast she’d started. “Your dad’s already headed to the lake, in fact,” she added for authenticity.
“Good. It sounds like things are back to normal.”
Faith wouldn’t answer that with a lie. “My bacon’s ready, so I need to go, sweetpea. You be careful, now. You hear?”
“I hear. See ya.”
“See ya.”
Faith opened the microwave and set the bacon on the counter. Despite its mouth-watering aroma, her appetite had fled once again.
So Tara believed her reason for being in Paris was to meet Garrett.
“The universe is unfolding as it should.” Ollie’s words from yesterday scampered across Faith’s brain, causing the hair to rise on the back of her neck.
Only one thing would change Tara’s mind back to her original intent...and shake her loose from the stick she was clamped on to.
Faith sent up a prayer for thunder in Paris...in the form of an address for the elusive Jacques Martin.
* * *
GARRETT ENDED THE CALL and gestured Henri to come in.
The Frenchman held a paper fisted in one hand and a mysterious expression on his face. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.
“What’s up? You been watching those old Pink Panther movies again?” Garrett chuckled at the joke that his friend obviously didn’t understand. “I was just talking to Marc Fornier. He’s agreed to add Soulard to the beer flight dinners at le Verrou.”
“C’est formidable!” As was his custom, Henri chose the armless chair at the north end of Garrett’s desk. He perched on the edge, resembling a bird on a wire.
“Yeah, wonderful news for us.”
Henri nodded. Garrett hadn’t seen so much excitement in his eyes since they’d test-driven that Ferrari last year. “And I may have wonderful news for Tara.” Henri pushed the paper he held across the desk.
Garrett scanned the document, a spreadsheet, much like the one Henri made for Dylan’s activities, but this one held a list of names—well, actually the names were
all Jacques Martin. Most had two columns of addresses, work and home, and a slew of other columns, some filled out and others empty.
Three names had been circled in red.
Garrett pulled his copy of Tara’s list from his pocket and compared the two. They were totally different. He dropped the new one on the desk and spread his hands in question. “What is this?”
“Ce sont les Jacques Martins who are not in the telephone book or found easily over the internet.” Henri’s rigid posture hardly matched the nonchalant tone he affected.
His friend’s manner, so different from his normally perfect composure, sent a chill up Garrett’s spine. “Where did you get this information?”
“If I tell you, mon ami, I will have to kill you.” His grin dissolved as quickly as it appeared. “Vraiment, Garrett, no one must know that I have done this.”
“What did you do?” Garrett fought to control the panic in his voice. “Hack into a government website or something?”
“Oui.” Henri shrugged one shoulder. “Or something.”
“Damn it! You could get arrested.”
“Oui, and go to the prison for a very long time. Mais seulement if it becomes known. This is why you must tell no one.” He wagged his finger. “Not Tara. Not anyone.” The wagging finger dropped to point at the circled names. “But I am certain one of these is the correct man. The three are of the correct age to be the father, and all were in the U.S. during the right time.”
Garrett’s hands were sweating. He clenched and unclenched them, not sure if he should kiss Henri or kick his ass for pulling such a stunt. “How did you get your hands on all this?”
“Much information is available, mon ami. One only needs to know where to look.” He gave a sly grin. “And how.”
Garrett became aware of how fast his heart was racing when a drop of sweat ran into his eye. He wiped it off, then reached for his phone. “Tara could be meet—”
Henri snatched the phone from his hand. “Tread carefully, Garrett. These are men of means. They are not found easily pour une raison.”
Garrett jerked his hand back. “You mean they’re crooks? They might be dangerous?”
Moonlight in Paris Page 17
