Having the Frenchman's Baby

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN Rachel saw a silver Maserati careen around the bend of the narrow road and head straight for her, she yanked the steering wheel to the right, praying to avoid a collision.

To her shock, the dark-haired, Italian-looking driver slowed down and waved, as if to thank her for getting out of his way.

“You lunatic!” she shouted at him, and received a white smile for her effort before he cruised on.

Craning her neck out the window, she cried, “Lunatic!” But he’d sped up again and was out of sight before she could get her rental car started again.

The incident had left her so weak, it took a minute before she felt composed enough to continue on.

Within five minutes she arrived in the little town of Thann, France, and found the hotel where she would be staying for the night.

Before she freshened up and went out again, she had an important call to make. But the fear of her twin sister’s rejection always put a knot in her stomach.

Their estrangement had gone on for too many years. It was a tragic situation Rachel wanted to fix if she could find the courage. Maybe this phone call could be the first step.

Yesterday was the anniversary of their mother’s death. Normally Rachel would have flown to New York to put flowers on the grave, but this year her work prevented it.

To her relief the sexton at the cemetery agreed to accept the florist’s delivery and place the flowers against the headstone.

If Rebecca had been able to visit the cemetery, she could tell Rachel if she’d seen the flowers. After six rings she heard, “Rachel?”

So her sister was in New York…

“Hello, Rebecca.” She swallowed hard. “I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to reach you.”

“I’ve been in Wyoming, and only came here briefly on business. What is it?”

“H-how are you?”

“I’m okay.” Was her twin’s voice shaking too? Or had Rachel just imagined it. “And you?”

“I’m okay too.” She bit her lip. This wasn’t going well. It never went well. “By any chance did you notice some flowers on Mother’s grave yesterday?”

“If you mean the potted rose tree, then yes.”

“Oh, good.”

After a tension-filled silence, “Is that all you wanted to know?”

Rachel clutched the receiver tighter. No…it wasn’t all, but she didn’t know where to begin.

“Look, Rachel, I’m in kind of a hurry and have to go.”

She nodded. “So do I.”

“Where are you?” Rebecca asked at the last second.

“France.”

“Then I guess I should say au revoir.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Goodbye, Rebecca.”

After her harrowing ordeal on the road a half-hour ago, this pain was all she needed.

Wiping her eyes, she got up to wash her face. Once she felt a little calmer, she went down to the front desk.

“Could you please tell me which vineyard is the best in the area?”

Without hesitation the concierge said, “That would be the Domaine Chartier et Fils, mademoiselle.

“If you take the road west from the town center and follow it three miles, you will come upon a fifteenth-century convent which has been owned by the Chartier family for generations. You can’t miss it.”

Rachel thanked him and went out to her car parked on one of the quaint side streets.

Thousands of tourists flocked to Alsace, the north-eastern province of France bordering Germany and Switzerland. Now that it was June, she’d had trouble finding a place to squeeze in.

After putting her black attaché case in the front passenger seat, she slid behind the wheel. But she wasn’t quick enough to prevent a couple of guys from enjoying the view of her long, elegant legs. The skirt of her white business suit had ridden up her thighs.

Ignoring their interested gaze, she leaned over to close the door. The action caused her dark, glossy hair to swish against her shoulders. Quickly she started the car and pulled into the narrow street.

She’d passed through the town center a little while ago, having driven a portion of the village-studded wine route from Colmar, a city forty-five minutes from Thann.

Blessed with a good sense of direction, she soon found herself traveling to the outskirts past Hansel and Gretel houses whose window-boxes overflowed with geraniums and other summer flowers.

Instead of the rain she’d left in the UK just over a week ago, a glorious noonday sun shone down. The rays caused a dappled effect as they penetrated the lush green foliage of the manicured landscape.

If it hadn’t been for that menace who’d run her off the road, the day would have been idyllic.

Still bristling over his cavalier attitude, she eventually reached the edge of the town and rounded a curve where she discovered herself flanked on both sides by rows of tall gr

ape vines. She followed the healthy-looking vineyard up the slope.

In the distance she spied a magnificent structure reigning over the checkerboard plots of vineyards the French called terroirs.

A gasp of wonder escaped her throat, prompting her to slow down so she could absorb her fairy-tale-like surroundings.

She marveled at the slightly pinkish cast to its stone walls. Any second now she expected to see Rapunzel at one of the arched windows, and the handsome prince below, begging her to let down her golden hair so he could climb up to her.

Since Rachel’s early-morning flight from Bordeaux, located on the Atlantic seaboard, such fanciful thoughts seemed part of her experience.

She’d traveled to many beautiful places in Europe on restaurant business with her father and grandfather. But this was the first time she’d felt an instant bonding to a special spot of earth. Her feelings seemed to go far beyond the physical.

In her heart she thought, I could live here for ever.