French Escape: From Daredevil to Devoted Daddy / One Week with the French Tycoon / It Happened in Paris.... Barbara McMahon
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swept the memories away. Intense concentration was necessary to pit his strength against the walls of rock. And the energy expended ensured he slept most nights without nightmares.
He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in staying at the inn. He hadn’t expected a young and pretty innkeeper— or a child.
As he ate he wondered about the widow behind him. Her husband had died from a climbing fall. Yet she ran a successful inn in the shadows of some spectacular day climbs. He was curious about her. His cousins would be delighted to learn that he could wonder about something and not be locked into the past. His uncle would see it as moving on. His aunt might even hold out stronger hopes.
Not that he foresaw much interaction between Madame Rousseau and him except as it concerned his stay.
Climbing was dangerous. He knew as well as the next man, a cliff, a mountain could turn rogue and the one scaling its face could end up injured or dead. Yet the challenge wouldn’t let go. To climb a sheer cliff, to scale a mountain too steep and rugged for the average trekker was a challenge not to be missed. The exaltation when conquering each one was a high he had once relished. Man against nature. Sometimes nature won. So far in his pursuits, he’d triumphed. Not that he took joy now; it was just something to do to take his mind off his loss.
He didn’t envy the pretty innkeeper. She’d have her hands full raising a son without a father. He knew Marabelle would have had lots of family to rally around if he had been the one to die. His family tried to help out, but he didn’t need them. It was easier dealing with everything on his own. It was his own private hell, and he wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon.
Matt heard the commotion behind him as the bill was paid. A moment later the small boy startled him, coming to stand at his side. “Did you like dinner? Isn’t this a good place to eat?” he asked, smiling up at Matt. The boy’s sunny disposition penetrated his own dark thoughts.
He took in the earnest expression on the child’s face and nodded. “It is a very good place to eat.”
His reward was another sunny smile the child bestowed. “I like it lots,” he said.
“Come along, Alexandre,” his mother summoned him.
When Matt followed a few moments later, he spotted the mother and son on the beach. They had removed their shoes and obviously were going to walk back to the inn along the shore.
He hadn’t walked along any beach in a long time. He watched them until others exited the restaurant, laughing, reminding him he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Giving into impulse, he stepped onto the beach and headed to the packed sand near the water.
The little boy danced at the edge of the sea, running almost to the water, then dancing back when the small wavelets splashed on his feet. His laughter was carefree. How long had it been since he had felt that carefree? Matt wondered. Would he ever again?
THE NEXT MORNING Jeanne-Marie placed the coffee press in front of the older couple from Nantes. They were both engrossed in their daily newspaper and didn’t even glance up. Surveying the small dining area, she was pleased to see her guests enjoying the breakfast she provided. Three couples had requested the box lunch she also supplied to guests. Many liked to enjoy the water sports and didn’t want to have to change to eat lunch at one of the establishments in town.
Breakfast, however, was the only hot meal she provided.
Mentally checking off her list, she realized Matthieu Sommer had not yet come down. Or had he left before everyone else while she was in the kitchen preparing the meal? Glancing at her watch, she noted it was almost nine. Surely he would be up and about before now.
Checking to make sure no one needed anything, she slipped back into the kitchen to begin cleaning up. Alexandre sat at the small table at the nook she reserved for their meals. He was playing with his ever-present cars and totally engrossed in his own world. Jeanne-Marie sometimes wished she could go back to being the little girl who had had no thoughts of the future, but had been happy and content in her own safe family life. Her parents were professors at the university in Berkeley, California. She missed the activities of the college town.
She missed her family more and more, but never let them know that when they called. E-mails were easier; she could get the words just right before sending. Truly she was content in St. Bart for the most part. One day she and Alexandre would go to California for a long vacation, but so far it had seemed easier for her parents to come to France than for her to take a small child so far.
She loved France. As she had loved Phillipe. This inn had come to him when his grandfather died. It was a connection she didn’t want to sever. Sometimes she dreamed of what their life could have been had he not been killed. That was not to be, and those dreams had come less frequently.
Meantime, once her guests finished eating, she had dishes to clean and preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast to start. She baked her own rolls and breads. She liked to prepare a quiche every couple of days, and some of the more English-styled breakfasts for those who wanted them, experimenting with different soufflés and egg dishes.
As she washed the plates and cups sometime later, Jeanne-Marie’s thoughts centered on Matthieu Sommer again! She wondered what he’d done upon his return to the inn last night. He’d gone directly to his room. She did not have televisions or radios. She had a small bookcase of mysteries and romance novels, but couldn’t see Matthieu Sommer sitting still to read a book. There was a restless energy about him that demanded physical outlets, not quiet reading pursuits.
Had he left early for a climb? Or had something happened and he had become sick and was still in bed? Maybe she’d run up to check room six. Just in case.
She knew she was being foolish, but it wouldn’t hurt. If he had already left, he’d never know she had checked.
At ten o’clock, Jeanne-Marie went to the front desk to work on some of the accounts. Alexandre was content to play with his toys on the veranda, clearly visible through the open French doors. The day was beautiful, balmy breezes came from the sea, the sun had not yet reached its zenith, so the temperatures were still pleasant. She spotted the envelope immediately, and recognized the bold handwriting with her name clearly written across it. Had she seen it earlier, it would have stopped her concern. And the trip to peep into room six.
She took out the sheet of paper, suddenly feeling more alive and alert than before. She quickly read the brief missive. “Wanted a full day of climbing. In case I’m not back by dark, I’m starting on Le Casse-cou climb.”
She shook her head and refolded the paper. Just like him to start with the Daredevil climb. No easy warmups for him. At least he was smart enough to let someone know where to start looking for him if he didn’t return. She shivered, thrusting away all images of what could happen to a solo climber on the face of the cliffs. There would be others around. He might find a group of two or three to join with, each climbing at his or her own rate, yet within yelling distance in case anyone got into trouble.
She tried to imagine putting her life at risk for something as nonessential as climbing. Granted, she could understand challenging oneself, but her most daring adventures were diving in the shallows of the Mediterranean. Phillipe had loved scaling all different terrains, however. Never tiring, even on climbs he’d done before. So there had to be something to recommend it. That gene had eluded her.
As her guests came and went through the day, she couldn’t help growing on edge as the afternoon waned and dusk approached. Matthieu Sommer still had not returned. She prepared dinner for herself and her son. Telling Rene to let her know when Monsieur Sommer returned, Jeanne-Marie didn’t fully enjoy her dinner as worry began to rise. The minutes seemed to race by. Shouldn’t he have been back by now? What if he’d fallen? What would she do if the police showed up to inform her of his death and collect his things from his room? She almost groaned in remembered agony of when she’d been so notified.
She had climbers all the time