“What a great kid,” he said.
She nodded and blew her nose on the tissue he handed her. “Dylan’s the best.”
“I was talking about you.”
His joke brought a wan smile to her lips.
“Are you ready now?” He glanced at his watch as she flipped out the lights.
“Yeah.” She opened the door to let him pass. “But we’ll have to take a taxi to Notre-Dame. There’s not enough time to walk.”
He took the handle of her duffel and rolled it out the door. “I don’t want to go to Notre-Dame. I want to meet Jacques Martin.”
Tara’s startled movement slammed the door behind them, and its echo surrounded them in the dark corridor. She slapped the light switch on to find her dad’s calm expression looming in front of her.
“No, we can’t.” She wasn’t about to face the jerk or his condescending wife again.
Her dad nodded calmly. “Yeah, we can.” He punched the button to call the elevator.
“He was mad yesterday, Dad.” She had to make him understand. “And he threatened Soulard. No telling what he might do if I or anybody connected to me shows up again.”
The doors opened and they stepped inside. “I’ve made up my mind,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can either give me the address, or I can call Faith and get it.”
Tara sighed dramatically and didn’t answer. She seethed in silence the rest of the way down, her brain whirring to come up with a way to talk her dad out of this absurdity. As they stepped off the elevator and made their way through the myriad passages, she tried to fight her growing anxiety by pointing out the items she used as markers to help her find her way through the building.
When they finally made their way to Madame LeClerc’s post, the woman seemed truly sorry to see Tara go and hugged her, muttering things in French Tara didn’t understand, but they sounded kind.
Something niggled at Tara, though, and when they stepped into the open air, she narrowed her eyes to look at her dad. “So...how’d you get past Ironpants LeClerc this morning? The woman is a guard dog.”
Her dad shrugged. “It seems Madame LeClerc might be a pushover for the American Southern accent.”
Tara shook her head. “It didn’t work for me.”
“Let me qualify that.” His grin turned positively boyish. “Madame LeClerc might be a pushover for the American male Southern accent.”
“Daddy!” Tara was aghast. “You flirted?”
“You do what you have to do.” He sped up his steps. “And I have to speak to Jacques Martin.”
* * *
BY THE TIME GARRETT MADE it into the conference room, the seats were all gone and there was standing room only. Not a breath of air stirred.
The only other time the entire staff had been crammed in like that was on opening day. Then, the atmosphere had sizzled with excitement. Today, it was sultry and stifling.
The owners, the president, the upper management—all the people he’d met with last night—regarded him solemnly when he entered. They were joined at the front table by the representative from the CFE and the company attorney, both of whom had no reason to look at him, and didn’t.
He was almost grateful the less crowded area was in the back of the room, where he’d be shielded from the intensity of some of the accusing glares.
As he made his way to the back, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Shit! In his haste, he’d forgotten to turn it off. He pulled it out to do so, but stopped short at the sight of Tara’s name on the ID.
His heart catapulted into a gallop. Had she changed her mind about the break-up?
Damn! He couldn’t take the call. Not now. As difficult as it was to do, he pushed Ignore and sent her to voice mail. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Only a minute later, he felt the vibration again. People were still filing in, filling up the empty spaces and using up what little remained of the air conditioning...and the oxygen.
He pulled his phone out and glanced at it.
A text from Tara. Nothing good ever came to him in a text. He broke out in a cold sweat, suddenly aware of rivulets of perspiration coursing down his back, his shirt clinging to his clammy skin as he leaned against the wall.
I called. No answer. I’m going back home today. Thanks for everything. Sorry things didn’t work out and for any trouble I’ve caused. Please let Dylan call me anytime he wants, but please don’t call yourself. It will only make the pain worse.
Garrett closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. A nudge startled him, and he opened his eyes to find Henri standing beside him, holding out a crisp white handkerchief.
“Is this in case I want to surrender?” he asked, and held the phone so Henri could read it.
His friend’s deep sigh sucked the last good breath from the surrounding air.
Garrett turned the phone off and dropped it in his pocket as one of Soulard’s owners started to speak.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TARA PAUSED OUTSIDE THE door of Jacques Martin’s office. “Dad.” She would make one last attempt to talk him out of this, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears in the taxi. “This really isn’t a good idea, and it could make things horrible for Soulard.”
Her dad placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look her directly in the eyes. “Tara, I believe in a master plan. If my meeting him is part of that plan, it will happen. If it’s not, he won’t be here.” He smiled and gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Besides, I’ve prayed about what to say, and I don’t think what I want to tell him will be harmful to Soulard, Jacques’s wife or anybody else.”
Her dad had never given her any reason to doubt that he only wanted what was best for her. She needed to trust him now. “Okay.” She nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Sawyer opened the door and stepped back to let Tara enter first. Thank heavens, the waiting room was empty again. Just what kind of business never had any customers?
Yvette Martin’s eyes widened at the sight of Tara, and she snarled something in French as she came to her feet. Pointing to the door, she raised her voice. “Get out. Now!”
Sawyer ignored the directive and pushed past Tara, extending his hand to the young woman. “Well now, there’s no reason to get all huffy. Hi there. I’m Sawyer O’Malley. Tara’s dad.”
“I don’t care who you are.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “This is a private office, and I am instructing you to get out now.”
Sawyer shifted his look between the two women and grinned. “Whooee! There’s no use getting all worked up like this. I just want—”
“Jacques!” Yvette turned toward the closed door down the hall and shouted.
While she continued shouting in French, Sawyer gave her an innocent shrug. “See there. You already knew what I wanted without me even having to ask.”
The office door flew open, and a red-faced Jacques Martin marched out, shoulders squared and obviously ready to tangle.
Sawyer rushed to meet him as Tara gawked, rooted to where she stood.
Her dad extended his hand once more, and again it was ignored. “Hello, Mr. Martin,” he said calmly. “I know this is a surprise, but I couldn’t pass up what might be my only opportunity to ever meet Tara’s birth father.”
“She is not my daughter. Now get out.”
Her heartbeat, which was already fast, didn’t accelerate. Her stomach did no additional churning. In fact, his words had no effect on Tara this time. Perhaps the tears had done their job and left her numb...or maybe having her dad there with her made all the difference.
Sawyer turned to Tara and held out his hand to her.
She moved to where he stood, taking the hand he proffered, relaxing in his firm but gentle grip.
He turned back to Mart
in. “You’re right. She’s not your daughter. She’s my daughter, and I thank God every day for her.”
Tara’s face heated, but she noticed Martin’s had lost some of its earlier color.
“And I want to thank you, Mr. Martin. Without you, I’d have no Tara.” Her dad’s voice lowered. “You see, my wife and I produced two other children whom I love very much, but nothing I could ever have done would’ve allowed me to produce Tara. Only you could do that.”
Sawyer looked at Tara, and the smile he gave her held so much love she thought her heart would burst from it. She smiled back through eyes that brimmed with happy tears.
He tightened his grip on her hand before turning back to Martin while Tara stole a quick glance toward Yvette. The young wife was perched on her seat, arms crossed tightly, eyes boring into nothing but the top of the desk.
“And so I came here today,” Sawyer continued, “simply to let you know how much you’ve blessed my life, and I’ve asked God to bless you in whatever way he sees fit. Rest assured, you’ll be in my prayers often.”
Martin said nothing, but just for a moment, Tara thought she could see a resemblance to the kind man she met at Place des Vosges.
Her dad faced her. “Ready?”
A chuckle floated out of her on a bubble of joy. “Yep.”
She kept her arm linked through her dad’s as they left the office, carrying in her heart a certainty that she was bound to this man with a bond even deeper than blood.
* * *
GARRETT HAD ALWAYS heard that 95 percent of the things you worry about never happen.
Just his luck that this incident lay in the remaining 5 percent.
The owners had announced, to the groans of shock and dismay from the audience, the immediate, temporary closing of Soulard until such time as this crisis could be resolved. Because most of the missing forms were those dealing with the labor force, it would be inadvisable to keep the brewery open until the documents were back in place.
Guilt that he had caused this whole, nightmarish fiasco was eating Garrett’s insides like acid. Bile had actually risen into his throat when the official announcement was made.
He’d made up his mind to offer his resignation as soon as the meeting adjourned. It might not help anything, but if there was a chance it would call off the jackal that was Jacques Martin, it would be worth a try.
He and Dylan could make it for a while. He’d never touched the insurance money from Angie’s death, which was tucked away in savings for Dylan’s future, but he could borrow against it if a crisis arose.
Damn, he was going to be sick if he didn’t get out of this room soon. He wiped his face with Henri’s handkerchief. The walls were closing in on him, squeezing the breath out of his lungs.
The CFE representative was droning on and on with his apologies and reiterating the importance of having all required paperwork complete, and how he couldn’t accept the copies on hand because all official documents must be originals.
It was a highly unusual breach of protocol for the receptionist to interrupt a meeting, especially one of such magnitude, and a nervous titter moved through the crowd when she pecked on the door and entered, waving a piece of paper.
She handed it to the man from CFE, who frowned and apologized, but then pulled out his cell phone and stepped from the room to make what was assumed to be an urgent call.
People remained oddly quiet, maybe wondering what else could possibly have happened that would rank high enough to interrupt this meeting. There were a few nervous whispers around him, which Garrett didn’t try to discern. Instead, he studied the grim faces of those who sat in silence. He, at least, had some income to fall back on. Some of these people were the sole providers for their families. They wouldn’t be able to wait around for months to be called back to Soulard.
The man from CFE returned to the front of the room. The room fell silent, and he cleared his throat.
“I have just received a call,” he began in his smooth French, which Garrett had no trouble following, “and I must offer my personal apology to each of you for the turmoil you have been through this day.” He paused and cleared his throat again, and Garrett wondered what else could be so difficult for him to say that he hadn’t already said.
“Just say it,” Garrett muttered under his breath, causing several people around him to look his way.
“It appears a grave error has been made. The documents for Soulard Brewery have been located and are all accounted for. The brewery is in no danger of being closed. You may all return to work immediately.” He stopped and gave the owners a sheepish look. “Or as soon as you are instructed to do so.”
The loud cheer that filled the room soon gave way to a myriad of mixed emotions. Some people cried tears of joy. Others laughed and hugged. Still others spoke in harsh, angry tones that they’d been made to suffer for several hours over what turned out to be nothing.
Garrett slid to the floor in a sweaty heap of happiness, anger and frustration.
Had Jacques Martin gone to this extreme just to flex his muscles and show his strength?
What a bastard!
Tara was fortunate Martin didn’t have a part in her life. Perhaps someday she would realize that.
Garrett pulled his phone out and switched it on, hoping to find another call from her, but there wasn’t one.
Perhaps, if he was fortunate, he might have a part in her life again.
They had been good together.
Perhaps someday she would realize that, too.
* * *
FAITH RUSHED TO MEET SAWYER when he pulled into the driveway, getting there even before he could switch the motor off. To her surprise, Tara was waking up in the passenger seat.
Faith opened the door for her sleepy daughter. “I didn’t expect to see you, sweetheart. I thought Sawyer would drop you off in Paducah.”
Tara shook her head as she lumbered from the truck and grabbed Faith into the tightest hug she’d felt from her eldest child in years.
“I didn’t want to go to my place tonight. I wanted to come home.” Her heavy emphasis on the word brought a warm glow to Faith’s heart. “Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry for everything y’all have been through. Dad filled me in, and I feel just awful.” She started to whimper, and Faith recognized that it was exhaustion coupled with jet lag speaking. Tara had been through a lot the past couple of days.
They all had.
She cooed soothingly while Sawyer came around the truck. She’d never seen him as disheveled as he was right then, but he’d never looked sexier. When their eyes locked, she recognized the flame burning in his gaze, and felt the spark from it deep within her.
He spread his arms and pulled them both to his chest, voicing a quiet prayer of thanks.
It was just after eight, and the sun hadn’t set yet, so they were very much on display to the people that passed. A few passersby waved or tooted their horns in greeting.
“Let’s go inside for a bit.” Faith tilted her head toward the door.
“I’ll wait for you out here.” Tara staggered back to the truck and crawled into the backseat.
“I don’t want to go inside.” Sawyer pulled Faith against him and locked his arms around her. “I want the world to see me kiss my wife.” His lips captured hers in a knee-weakening kiss, and his obvious erection pressed boldly against her. It went on far longer than she would’ve ever imagined, his tongue blissfully exploring the deepest reaches of her mouth, and Faith became vaguely aware of the loud blaring horns, catcalls and applause from the residents of Taylor’s Grove.
“Sawyer, we’re becoming a spectacle,” she gently chided when they finally came up for air.
“I don’t care.” His eyes remained locked on hers with a burning intensity that said he wasn’t aware anyone else was around. His arms loosened from around
her back, moved up her arms and shoulders to cup her face. “Forgive me, Faith. I’ve been such a fool these past few weeks. Come home with me, now. Let me make love to you. Let me show you how blessed I am to have you as my wife and the mother of my children...my three precious, wonderful children.”
“Jacques Martin...?” The name pushed from her lips on a rush of air.
“And you gave me a blessing beyond value. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how grateful I am.” He lowered his lips to hers slowly this time, and hers trembled at the tenderness in his touch.
No longer caring who was watching, she slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his when their lips slid apart. “Take me home,” she whispered. “I’ll get my stuff tomorrow.”
He growled hungrily in response, and she laughed at the pleasant shiver the sound sent through her.
He led her to the truck and gallantly opened the passenger door for her. A soft snore came from the backseat as she buckled her seat belt.
Faith breathed a deep, lung-filling breath. What tomorrow would hold for them was a mystery, but the happiness she felt right then was enough to sustain her for a long while.
As Sawyer backed the truck out of the driveway, she glanced toward her neighbor’s house to the north.
Sue Marsden had come outside, no doubt checking to see what all the commotion was about.
And if her crossed arms and angry glare were any indication, she wasn’t at all happy with what she’d observed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GARRETT WALKED INTO HIS office and slapped a hand to his backside. Yep, his ass was still there. After the chewing it had just received, he was surprised there was anything left.
The president and the upper management had pretty much ignored him yesterday after the horrendous threat had passed. Spirits had been much too high to do anything that would bring them down. But this morning, the president had wasted no time. He couldn’t be sure the incident had been Jacques Martin’s doing, but he needed someone to blame, and Garrett seemed like the logical choice.
Moonlight in Paris Page 26
