French Escape: From Daredevil to Devoted Daddy / One Week with the French Tycoon / It Happened in Paris.... Barbara McMahon

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 staying in the inn. She’d not worried about any of them beyond the normal concern. This was getting ridiculous. He was fine! And it was nothing to her if he weren’t.

      “The kid at the front desk said you wanted to see me when I returned,” Matt said from the doorway to the kitchen.

      Jeanne-Marie looked up and caught her breath. He looked hot, tired and a wee bit sunburned. The climbing clothes he wore were dirty and scuffed. He had a small cut on one cheek that had bled and scabbed over. His hair was gray with dust. His dark eyes held her gaze, intense and focused.

      She felt her heart skip a beat, then race. Her worry had been for naught.

      “I, uh, just wanted to make sure I knew when you returned. So I didn’t call Search and Rescue,” she said lamely.

      “Hi,” Alexandre said with his sunny smile. “You need a bath. Then do you want to walk on the beach with me?” His hopeful tone almost broke Jeanne-Marie’s heart. It wasn’t often he asked anything of their guests. She wished she had found a male friend who would provide a strong role model for her son. He saw his grandfather too infrequently.

      “No, honey, Monsieur Sommer’s tired and probably needs to eat supper.”

      “I am hungry,” he confirmed.

      She nodded. “Did you have anything to eat today?” Climbing took a lot out of a body; surely he knew enough to eat for fuel.

      “Got breakfast at the bakery and they made up some sandwiches, which I ate perched on a small ledge with a view that encompassed half the Med. I’m thirsty more than hungry.”

      She jumped up and went to get him a glass of water, relieved he was safe, annoyed she had even noticed.

      She handed him the glass and his fingers brushed against hers, sending a jolt of awareness to her very core. She backed off, wanting him out of her kitchen, out of her inn. He awoke feelings and interests best left dormant. She normally didn’t mingle much with her guests. He had already trespassed by coming into the kitchen. Rene could have let her know.

      “You can eat dinner here. Mama’s a good cook,” the five-year-old said.

      Matt raised an eyebrow in Jeanne-Marie’s direction, a silent question.

      She wanted to tell him her inn provided two meals a day, and no one ate in the privacy of her own quarters. But looking at the angelic expression on her little boy weakened her resolve. He asked for so little, was content with life as they knew it. How could she refuse?

      “Never mind, I’ll get something in town,” Matt said, placing the glass on the counter.

      “If you want to freshen up first, I’ll warm up what we’re having. It’s a stew that’s been simmering all day. I can have a plate for you in twenty minutes.” There was plenty—she had planned on it serving her and Alexandre for two days. A plan easily changed for her son’s sake.

      “Deal. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” He left without another word.

      Jeanne-Marie let out her held breath with a whoosh. Turning, she went to the stove. The heat had been turned off the stew, so she quickly began warming it. She had fresh bread she’d made that morning. A salad and apple crumble would be a nutritious meal for a man who had expended untold energy pushing his body to the limit scaling a sheer cliff.

      And while he ate, she’d let him know it was a onetime meal. She didn’t provide dinner. She didn’t want him in her space. He’d be gone in a few days, nothing permanent about guests who came and went.

      Mostly she felt flustered. Personal customer service was important in running an inn, especially if she wanted repeat customers, but that did not include sharing meals in her private domain. And especially with someone who without effort seemed to turn her upside down.

      She and Alexandre had finished their meal by the time Matt returned. His hair was still damp; the cut on his cheek had been taped with a butterfly bandage. Obviously he was used to minor scrapes and had come prepared. His cheeks were slightly sunburned. But the rest of him looked amazingly robust and healthy. Jeanne-Marie was not one to have fantasies about strangers who came СКАЧАТЬ