Having the Frenchman's Baby

The shipment couldn’t have come at a worse emotional time for Rachel, yet her father was oblivious to her pain.

“I’ve called in the stock boys and want you to oversee their work while they take it off the truck. Since you’re the one who ordered it, you’d better make certain Chartier et Fils hasn’t short-changed us.”

Luc would never do that. But her father’s mood was so volatile since her grandfather had died, everyone was giving him wide berth.

“As soon as I get dressed, I’ll be over.”

This close to the funeral she didn’t dare cross him for fear she’d push him over the edge.

Besides, something else much more serious than placating her father was eating her alive.

What if the impossible had happened? What if she was one of those women whose fertile time was different from the average female?

Heaven knew she suffered for Rebecca who’d always had female problems. Rachel was her twin.

What if…?

She covered her mouth, traumatized by the implication.

An ad she’d seen on TV popped into her mind. A new product that could detect pregnancy earlier than ever.

On her way to the restaurant, she would stop at the pharmacy and buy a kit.

She didn’t really believe she could be pregnant, but a negative test result would relieve her so she could make it through the funeral without falling apart.

During the next hour she found out there were increasing degrees of torture. The rack couldn’t have been more agonizing than having to examine each case of Riesling and Tokay.

The memories of Luc suffocated her, adding to her grief, which was all part of one dark pit when she considered she might have conceived his child. She couldn’t leave the wine room fast enough.

When she walked in her father’s office to give him a full account, she discovered him opening a package sitting on his desk.

He flashed her a quick glance. “You didn’t tell me you’d sent me a present from Mulhouse.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

“Then what’s this? The note Max left said it was delivered by courier yesterday afternoon.”

He pulled three miniature classic model cars from the pellets.

Her heart started to thud. Luc— He’d done it.

No-o-o.

“I—I forgot about that,” she dissembled.

“I guess you did.” He studied them with pleasure. “How did you know which ones to pick?”

How had Luc known? Why had Luc done this? It couldn’t possibly change anything.

“I—I’m glad you like them.”

She put the bills of lading on his desk. “Every bottle of wine arrived intact.”

“Excellent,” he murmured while he was still admiring the green model.

“Dad? I have to leave. There’s a lot to do before the funeral.”

He stood up. “I’ll drive us back to the mansion. John thinks he’s in charge of the whole damn funeral, but I’ve got news for him. Let’s go.”