Moonlight in Paris

by Pamela Hearon

  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 sofa, 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 keep 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.

  Wildfire had wiped the area of his heart clean, destroying the leftover debris from times past. It had burned away the rubble of that which was dead.

  It had cleared a space for new growth.

  * * *

  AT 9:07 A.M. MONDAY, FAITH MADE the call to Kay Yancy, whose only recollection of Faith was that she’d slept with Jacques Martin graduation night.

  A reluctance in Kay’s tone had Faith doubting whether securing Jacques’s number was going to be possible—even with the plausible lie about the intended trip to Paris.

  “Jacques’s very different than he was at Murray.” Kay’s voice held a hint of warning. “He’s very private. And very wealthy. A bit of a snob, actually.”

  “Oh, what a shame. He was such a neat person back then.” Faith’s heart quivered at the thought of what she might be putting Tara through, but she pressed on with her made-up story. “I’ll give him a call and feel him out before we make the trip. If he doesn’t seem interested in getting together, I won’t push it.”

  “Well.” There was a long pause on the other end. “Here’s his address and phone number.” Kay quickly relayed the information. “But this is his place of business. We’ve never been invited to his home.”

  “Oh, this will be just fi-fine.” Faith’s throat went dry as the nonchalant attitude dissolved. The numbers and letters she’d written down were scrawled across the page as if the hand that wrote them belonged to someone recovering from a stroke.

  She didn’t press Kay to chat. They had little in common. So she thanked her acquaintance, said her goodbyes and hung up.

  Then she punched in Tara’s number before she lost her nerve.

  * * *

  “SO, IF I GET HOME ON THE second, I can sleep all day on the third, make the meeting the morning of the fourth and spend the rest of that day getting things ready for the kids on the fifth. What do you think, Ethel?” Tara made some quick notes in the back of her journal. When she finished this call, she’d contact the airlines and change her returning flight, so she wanted to make sure she had her dates correct.

  Ethel, the school’s ancient secretary, gave one of her trademark cackles. “You can do that at your age, doll. I’d have to sleep for a week to recover from the jet lag.”

  “I’m actually gaining time coming back,” Tara explained. The phone beeped and she glanced down before she spoke again. “Hey, Ethel, my mom’s calling, so I’m going to let you go now. I’ll see you August fourth.”

  “See you, doll. Have fun.”

  Tara was all smiles as she retrieved the other call. Three more weeks with Garrett and Dylan! “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, sweetpea.”

  Her mom’s voice sounded off, and Tara gripped the phone a little tighter. “You okay? You sound upset.”

  “I have...I have Jacques Martin’s business address and phone number...if you still want it.”

  A violent shudder echoed in Tara’s speech. “You—you have it? H-how?”

  She heard the deep intake of breath on the other end of the line. “One of my sorority sisters from Murray knew someone who’s been in touch with him fairly recently.”

  “That’s unbelievable.” Tara was thankful for the chair beneath her as she felt her legs go weak. But she wished she hadn’t just drunk that double espresso. Her heart was galloping at a scary pace. “Yeah. Yeah, I still want it.”

  “Kay says that he’s really wealthy, and quite a snob.” The warning in her mom’s tone was clear. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  The pounding in Tara’s temples said she wasn’t sure of anything at that moment, but her mouth ran ahead of her brain. “I’m sure.”

  “Do you have something to write on?”

  Tara glanced down, a little surprised to find a pen already in her hand and her journal opened in front of her. Oh yeah, she’d been talking to Ethel and jotting down dates.

  Was that only a minute ago?

  “Gah.” She swallowed, trying to wet her parched throat. “Got it.”

  Her mom spoke slowly, spelling out the name of the street. “Do you know where that is?”

  “No.” Tara pulled out her map. “I can find it, though.”

  “First make sure it’s not in a bad part of town, and don’t go by yourself. Take Garrett with you.” It was unclear if she meant for safety or moral support. “Kay said he’s very private.”

  Tara flinched. “So, you’re saying he might not welcome a long-lost daughter from Podunk, Kentucky.”

  “I’m saying just be careful, precious. Guard your heart.” T
ears were evident in her mom’s voice.

  “I will, Mama.” Her own eyes blurred, and she wasn’t sure if the tears were joy, fear or something else entirely.

  “And call me afterward. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Tara glanced at her watch. It was after four. She couldn’t let this wait until tomorrow. “I need to go now.”

  I need to go now!

  “Okay, baby. I love you, and I’m praying for you.”

  Tara found comfort in those words. “You always are. Thanks, Mama. I love you, too. Bye.”

  Tara ran a shaky hand over her face. She needed grounding. Without a second thought, she called Garrett. It went to voice mail, which meant he was in a meeting. She knew the protocol. If it was an emergency, call the business line and the secretary would get him out of the meeting.

  She hung up.

  This wasn’t an emergency. If the secretary interrupted the meeting, he would panic and think something had happened to Dylan.

  She opened up the map and found the street. It wasn’t too far away from the café where she sat. Too far to walk maybe, but a cab would get her there in ten minutes. Fifteen tops.

  Her breathing became erratic.

  In fifteen minutes, she could be meeting her birth father!

  He might not want to see her.

  If she called, he might turn down a request to meet. But if she went to his place of business, she had a good chance of at least seeing him.

  She looked at her blue sundress. It was classy and went well with her coloring. Her hair was fairly tame today since the humidity was low.

  She dug in her purse and found a tin of strong mints, popping a couple in her mouth.

  Coffee breath taken care of.

  She took a few bills out of her wallet to cover her check and laid them carefully on the table.