He cleared his throat, and the way his body stiffened against her side told her he was about to say something that made him uncomfortable.
“I know we’ve talked about it a little, but what will you do, really, if you locate your birth father and he won’t meet you? I mean, he could refuse to even see you.”
Bless his heart. Garrett was so concerned about how this ordeal would affect her. “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ve come too far for that.” She kept her head on his shoulder, but laid her hand against his chest. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about me, and my stubbornness is one of those faults you’re going to run into.”
His heartbeat quickened under her palm. “What if he threatens you? Or—” He stopped abruptly, and the concern in his voice pulled her around to face him. The worry she’d heard was etched in his face.
“If he throws me out?” She shrugged. “I’ll still have accomplished what I came for. I’ll have seen him.”
Garrett took a deep swallow of his Scotch and a grimace followed. “But if I find him, he could threaten me. Or Dylan. Or Soulard.”
Anger flashed through her at the thought. “He wouldn’t dare. I’d get the law involved. I assume there are laws here to protect the innocent? And why would he threaten you or Dylan? Or Soulard...?”
Garrett didn’t answer. Just stared mutely at her flat across the way. His silence jolted a question from her mind.
“What’s with the worry all of a sudden?” She leaned in front of him to capture his attention. “Did something happen today?”
He glanced at her, then away, and shook his head. “No, of course not. I was just imagining scenarios.”
She hadn’t realized how seriously he was taking all this. Coming off the huge media blitz, his head was obviously wrapped around the future of the company. And he was always superprotective of Dylan.
Taking him up on his offer to help her search for her father had been a mistake. He didn’t need another responsibility or anything else to worry about.
“Tell you what.” She interlaced her fingers with his. “Forget about looking for Jacques Martin. If it’s meant for me to find him, I’ll do it on my own. And if I don’t find him, so be it.” The worry lines on his forehead relaxed a bit, but they didn’t disappear completely.
She pressed on. “Come straight home after work from now on. That will give you more time with Dylan.” She shrugged her eyebrows playfully. “And if you play more catch with him, he might tire out faster and go to bed earlier, which will give you more time with me...” She moved to straddle his lap. “To explore my very...naughty...stubborn side.”
His eyes met hers and the worry wrinkles deepened again. His glance shifted to her eyebrow ring and seemed to fixate there. “I wish we had more time.” He touched the piercing with a fingertip. “I need to know...want to know...everything about you.”
She captured his attention by placing his palm against her breast. “You want to know how I’m going to react when I’m placed in, shall we say...different positions?”
She rocked forward and pressed her mouth to his for the most erotic kiss she knew how to give. When she pulled away, she met his dark gaze and lowered her voice. “Take me inside and you can find out.”
Without so much as a grunt, he stood up.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her to his bedroom, and, once there, she took control of the situation, making good on her promise.
But, try as she might to get him to relax, intuition told her at least one of his brains was focused somewhere else.
* * *
FAITH WAS WORRIED TO the point of being almost frantic. Sawyer usually didn’t stay out fishing this late.
It was nearly dark, and most of Taylor’s Grove’s population had vacated the town to watch the fireworks display at Kentucky Dam.
The day with the kids at the cabin had been pleasant although it wasn’t the same with Tara and Sawyer absent. But Thea, Trenton and Emma, who claimed to be “the nearest thing to a daughter without all the pain involved,” had kept her laughing for a good chunk of the time.
Any mention of Tara had usually involved something funny. But Sawyer’s name had come up with a forced infrequency that dampened her spirit as much as the fake rain they’d lied to Tara about.
Just before nine o’clock, after a wait that had seemed a lifetime but was actually only a little over three hours, Faith heard the truck in the driveway and said a word of thanks that her husband hadn’t fallen overboard and hit his head on the boat and drowned.
He probably wouldn’t make the effort to see her, so she went outside.
“Hey.” She spoke quietly as she approached and watched him flinch at the sound of her voice.
“Hey, Faith.” He glanced up as he cranked the boat trailer loose from the hitch. “Trent called. He said y’all went to the cabin. Did you have a good day?”
The gentleness in his tone made her breath quiver in her chest. “It was nice.” She hesitated. “Not like when we’re all together, though.”
He nodded and it felt like agreement whether he meant it as such or not. He picked up the tongue of the trailer and guided it back a few feet to its regular spot under the carport. The muscles in his arms and back bulged under the exertion, and the sight caused a flutter in her belly.
She closed her eyes, not wanting to need him, not needing to want him, so desperately. When she opened them, he was rubbing some grease off his palms onto his jeans, which was a little better, but still reminded her he was all man. She moved even closer to where he stood.
She glanced around nervously for a conversation starter. The boat was already covered, and she didn’t see a cooler anywhere. “Did you catch any?”
“A few. Couple of pretty nice ones, but I let them go. Didn’t really feel like messing with cleaning them.” He pulled a rag from his back pocket, and lovingly rubbed away the dab of grease he’d gotten on the hull. Satisfied, he rammed the rag back where he got it. He leaned his back against the boat and hooked his thumbs in his front pocket. “Could we, uh...talk for a little while?”
“Sure!” She cleared her throat to subdue the eagerness in her tone. “Do...do you want to come in? I have some strawberry lemonade made. And rhubarb pie.”
Rhubarb was his favorite, so passing it up would send her a distinct message. Her breath stopped as she waited for his answer.
Darkness had fallen while he put the boat to bed, but she saw his eyes flash in the moonlight. “Sounds good.” He nodded, and her heart answered by picking up the quick rhythm.
She waited for him to fall into step beside her. “I’ve been going through your mom’s stuff, making piles to keep, throw away and give away.”
When he opened the door for her, his hand touched the small of her back. It was probably a reflexive move, but she pretended it was on purpose and relished the burst of warmth it sent through her.
While she cut the pie and poured the lemonade, they made small talk about the family treasures she’d discovered in the back of closets. They moved to the table on the back porch and the conversation moved with them to the kids. Even the talk about Tara stayed amiable.
“She thinks she’s in love?” Sawyer chewed a bite of pie slowly. “That’s a little impetuous, even for Tara. Don’t you think?”
“I agree. But she’s just like—” you was on her tongue, but she bit it back “—an old mule about things. She’ll have to figure it out on her own.” The first sip of tart lemonade made Faith’s mouth pucker, and the flutter started again when Sawyer grinned. “A little heavy on the lemon,” she warned, and shifted her focus back to Tara. “She’ll be home in a couple of weeks. Once she’s away from him, he’ll lose his appeal.”
Sawyer laid his fork down. “Unless it’s really love. Then being away from each other’s going to make them miserable.
”
The question in his eyes was unmistakable. And, if he’d only asked, she’d have gladly told him how utterly miserable she was without him. But he didn’t ask. And he didn’t say he forgave her. And he didn’t ask her to come back home. She waited, but the words didn’t come.
Instead, he went back to his pie, and she pretended the drift in conversation hadn’t happened. “Trent was surprised you didn’t ask him to go fishing with you today.” Actually, Trenton had been peeved when he found out he’d been left behind. Fishing with Dad had always been part of his Fourth of July.
“I had things I needed to think about. It was best for me to be alone.” Sawyer wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “The pie was delicious. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He began to rub his lip with the tip of his finger and her senses went on alert. “I need to tell you something, Faith. I want you to hear it from me first. Not out in town.”
Her fork rattled against the plate, and she let it slide from her grip. “What is it?”
“Arlo came to see me yesterday.”
The president of the Board of Fellowship’s name made the air rush from her lungs. “Already?” Her voice was a hushed whisper with no force behind it. She and Sawyer had just separated Saturday, and this was only Tuesday. Surely no one would be pushing them yet.
“He said the board’s meeting next week.” Sawyer’s eyes dropped to his hands folded in front of him on the table.
Faith’s breathing came faster, and her head swam from the excess of oxygen.
“He’s got some obvious concerns.” Sawyer’s eyes rose to lock with hers. The support was what she needed, and her breathing slowed as he continued. “And Sue’s raising a big stink about our separation—just like we knew she would. Her argument’s that we’re being so secretive, it has to be something earth-shattering.”
Faith’s mind flipped back and forth as she considered Ollie’s advice yesterday. “I told you I didn’t care who knew, Sawyer, and I don’t, but I’ve been thinking...” Scrunching her fingers to make quotation marks in the air she said “‘The secret’ is more Tara’s than ours to share. I was going to leave it up to her.”
He nodded. “That’s what I want, too. I’m glad we’re in agreement about it.”
Faith voiced her thoughts. “Sue’s going to keep worrying the snot out of everybody until she gets some answers.”
“She may get them. She may not.” Sawyer leaned back to rest his elbows on the arm of the chair and spread his hands. “We’ll just wait and see.”
Faith picked up his plate and stuck it under hers, which still contained half a piece of pie. “Tara won’t be home until after the meeting. So, if the board meets next week, what does Arlo think will happen?”
“Oh, he was pretty adamant about that—” Sawyer swallowed hard. “Sue’s already got the votes lined up. They’re going to call for my resignation.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“AND I THINK HE’LL DO IT, Henri.” Garrett pushed his flammkuchen aside. “Tara’s father may be the most despicable son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”
He’d barely touched his lunch, and, since he’d begun his tale to Henri about yesterday’s ordeal with Jacques Martin, his friend hadn’t touched his, either, seemingly determined to drink his meal instead. A special section of hell was probably designated for those people who wasted a meal from a Paris brasserie. To have wasted two servings seemed especially heinous.
But Garrett had been badly mistaken when he thought he’d be able to eat after filling Henri in on the details. The looks of horror that kept cracking the Frenchman’s perfect facade were shredding Garrett’s insides almost as much as the information he was hiding from Tara.
“Several times I started to level with her, but the damn tattoos and piercings kept reminding me of Angie and her wild ways and I’d remember that she has a bit of a wild side, too. I mean, we haven’t known each other very long. What if...” The waiter brought Henri’s third martini while Garrett declined a second glass of sauvignon blanc. “What if she decides she has to see him no matter the consequences?”
“And Tara does have the wild hair.” Henri pointed a philosophical finger upward as he sipped his drink. “What if you and she break up and she desires to hurt you? The women like the revenge.”
“I don’t believe Tara would ever stoop that low.”
“The blood of the son of a bitch runs in her veins, oui?” Henri growled into his glass. “And you did not believe Angie would ever leave Dylan. C’est vrai?”
Garrett flinched as the comment pierced the protective area of his psyche. Yes, he’d ignored signs that Angie was spiraling out of control. He’d battered himself for years over that one. But for Henri to bring it up right now was out-of-character.
“That’s your last drink, Henri. You’re getting drunk and mean, and I’m cutting you off.”
Henri sneered. “You would cut me off from the last drink I may get in a very long while? They do not serve the cocktails in prison, mon ami.”
“You’re not going to prison.” Garrett massaged the back of his neck where the muscles were in knots. “No matter what happens, I’m not going to let anyone know—” he lowered his voice to a whisper “—where I got his address. Not Tara. Not anyone. I told you your secret is safe with me, and it is. I promise.”
Henri sat the drink on the table, looking more downcast than Garrett could ever imagine. “I am sorry, my dear friend. I say the cruel things in anger. I only wanted to help Tara, and now the sweet soufflé goes poof! into my face.” He drummed his fingertips on the table.
“If we’d been together longer, I’d feel more comfortable telling her the truth. But right now...” Garrett ran his hand through his hair. “I just can’t. And I feel like such a lying sack of shit because I can’t.”
Henri took another drink, and his mouth pulled into a deeper frown. “Is the sack of shit lying as in telling an untruth? You cannot know what it is because the sack disguises what is inside? Or is the sack of shit lying on the ground doing nothing and is therefore worthless?”
“You can take whichever meaning you want, Henri.” A remorseful sigh pushed from Garrett’s lungs. “Either one fits me perfectly.”
What he’d done hit him with the impact of a sledgehammer to his chest.
If things with Martin worked out, Tara surely would forgive the underhanded means he’d used to obtain the end. If they didn’t work out—if Jacques Martin never made contact—Garrett would have to live with his lie, but Tara’s exemption from the heartbreak of the rejection would serve as his consolation.
His gut churned the way it used to during a championship baseball game. In his mind’s eye, he was once again standing in the batter’s box. The pitcher had just given all he had to a well-executed curveball. Garrett had swung and connected, and the ball was hurtling into the stands.
Now he had to wait for his vision to clear to see if he’d hit it foul or if he’d scored the game-winning home run.
* * *
“TARA HAD TUNA ON HER pizza today, Dad.” Dylan made a retching sound and squinched his face into a mask of horror. “Doesn’t that sound icky?”
“It does sound icky, sport. But let’s leave the sound effects off at the dinner table, okay?” Amusement twinkled in Garrett’s eyes when he turned back to Tara. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“No.” She reached over and gave a gentle tweak to Dylan’s nose. “And I shouldn’t have even told you, you little twerp.”
Dylan giggled around his last forkful of mashed potatoes.
“I was craving pizza, and I couldn’t translate the toppings, so I just pointed to one.” She squinched her face to match Dylan’s. “I chose poorly.”
Garrett’s laugh heated the already warm night air. She took a sip of th
e sweet iced tea she’d made to go along with the special Southern dinner she’d prepared of country-fried steak and gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, fried okra and biscuits.
“You were hungry.” She pointed to Garrett’s plate, which looked as if it had been licked clean of his second round of helpings.
He nodded. “I didn’t eat much lunch. Had too much on my mind.” The tight lines around his eyes softened, and his lips relaxed enough for the scar to deepen. “But this meal—whew!” He leaned back and patted his stomach. “Gave me back my appetite.”
“You want to talk about whatever’s on your mind?” Tara prodded. He seemed better than last night, but something was still eating at him.
He winked and gave her a gentle smile. “Later.”
The way he said the word tightened a coil deep inside her. Oh, for heaven sakes! The things this man could do to her with one word.
“Dylan!” A child’s voice called from below, and Dylan ran across the terrace to the opening that accessed the courtyard beneath their terrace.
“Sit.” She ordered Garrett back into his seat when he started to help her clear the table.
Dylan ran back to the table. “Jules has a new puppy! Can I go see it?”
“Sure.” Garrett pointed to the opening. “Yell at me when you get down there and when you start to come back up.”
Dylan nodded.
“Be back in a half hour.”
“I will,” the boy promised.
A little enticement would help him get back on time. “I fixed ambrosia for dessert,” Tara informed him.
He cocked his head, giving her a quizzical look that made him a miniversion of Garrett. “Was it broken?”
“What?” It was her turn to be confused.
“You said you fixed it.”
Sheesh! Nothing got by the little scamp. “I prepared ambrosia for dessert,” she explained. “We’ll have it when you get back.”
“Okay.” He took off at a full gallop and they heard the front door slam behind him.
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