Having the Frenchman's Baby

“Is there anything else you want to know about Paulette before we close the book on her?” he asked, sounding so remote all of a sudden, she didn’t know how to reach him.

Rachel took a shuddering breath. “Can you? Close the book, I mean?”

“It closed when I saw the vacant look in her eyes and realized that her spirit had gone.”

With those words spoken, there was nothing more to be said.

Desolate, Rachel stared out the passenger window. They drove the rest of the way to the house in tension-filled silence. The kind that made her feel worlds apart from him though their bodies were almost touching.

The moment they pulled in front of the garage, Luc jumped out and came around to let her inside the house.

He’d put his hand on the back of her neck to guide her. “You go ahead and get ready for bed. I’ll bring in the baby’s things.”

She had an idea that if she argued with him by insisting she help, he would go all forbidding on her.

Being an expectant father for a second time made him feel a deeper sense of responsibility for her than normal. She couldn’t fault him for it, but she’d never been treated like a piece of prized porcelain before.

So far her pregnancy had gone well. She hadn’t experienced any morning sickness. According to what she’d learned from Luc, Paulette’s pregnancy had seemed routine up to the moment the doctor had told her the baby was no longer alive.

Paulette again.

Rachel needed to stop thinking about her, but how?

After a quick shower, she put on a nightgown and climbed into bed. She could hear Luc down the hall bringing more things in from the car.

He was taking so long, she finally switched off the lamp while she waited for him in the darkness. But after a half-hour, she gave up hope that he had any intention of joining her.

In excruciating pain, Rachel turned over and buried her wet face in the pillow.

At some point she must have gone to sleep. She didn’t realize it until something disturbed her. Once again she woke up to discover she was alone in Luc’s bed. Her watch said nine-thirty in the morning.

The house was quiet. It meant Luc had gone to bed downstairs.

She threw back the covers to put on her robe and sandals. Without hesitation she stole down the hall. The second she saw the assembled crib in the nursery, her heart melted to think he’d spent part of last night putting it together.

Needing to talk to him, she went down the stairs to see if he was up yet. If so, she would fix him breakfast.

The moment she reached the storage room, she noticed the door to the vineyard was ajar, letting in light.

She poked her head outside and saw his well-honed frame hunkered down in the vines on the lower slope.

Whether in a sport jacket or jeans and navy T-shirt as he was wearing this morning, he took her breath away.

She walked outside and made her way carefully between the rows to catch up to him.

“Luc?” she called his name in a quiet voice.

He stood up abruptly and wheeled around. “Rachel—what’s wrong?”

Why did anything have to be wrong?

“Nothing. I just came out to find you and say good morning.”

The blood had actually started to drain from his face. There was a look of fear in his eyes, causing her heart to twist in pain because he was so anxious.

He raked an unsteady hand through his hair. “Ma chérie, you’re all right.” His eyes scrutinized her relentlessly.

Like the day of the storm, he was so upset she was beginning to understand just how much this baby meant to him.