Chapter One
“Can I speak with Jean-Pierre LaClaire?” Wade asked as he sat in his well-worn leather recliner in the great room of the house he’d helped build. This was his favorite room. Everything about it from the hand-picked leather furniture to the braided rug made by his great-grandmother to the framed photos on the mantel comforted him. Today he needed all the comfort he could get. His world had been knocked off kilter only a couple of hours ago at the reading of his father’s will.
He heard the jostling over the line as it took several seconds for the phone to be handed from one person to another. Finally a woman answered, “He is busy. Perhaps I can help you.”
The French-accented voice had sounded stressed, but feminine, almost melodic, even though she’d basically snapped at him. He was intrigued and annoyed at the same time. “I really need to talk to Mr. LaClaire.”
She huffed in clear frustration and yelled to someone evidently not close to her. “Get Papa! The man appears insistent on speaking with him.” A second later she grumbled, “Dammit!” and then promptly repeated what she’d yelled out only in French this time. At least he assumed she’d repeated the same thing.
Then she came back to him. “Are you sure I cannot help you? He really did not want to be disturbed right now.”
“Are you Aimee LaClaire?” Wade was trying to envision the blond-haired, gangly eight-year-old he’d seen a photograph of this afternoon as a grown up woman. She would be around twenty-six now, six years younger than him.
“What if I am?” she countered warily.
“I’m your cousin.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair that could stand a good cut. “Unless you didn’t know about me either.”
“Ah, the American cowboy. Wade Robertson.”
So she did know about him, and probably about his relationship with her family. It seriously pissed him off to be the last to know about this whole messy business. What the hell had his dad been thinking? Keeping something this big, this important a secret all these years?
While he was still somewhat lost in his irritation with the situation, she spouted off a long strand of French words to someone who must have entered whatever room she was in. And she didn’t sound happy.
The phone jostled again as an older man said curtly in a mixed bag of French and English, “You are in need of une fessee, daughter.”
Then Wade heard a sharp slap, which sure sounded like a hand connecting with flesh. He must have heard wrong.
“Papa, no!” The protest was followed by a rapid fire of French protests.
Wade found himself listening to an obvious family spat thousands of miles away. He should probably hang up and call back later, but it had been difficult to get through this time. He decided to wait the situation out.
“La minute,” said the man Wade now assumed to be his “new” uncle. Jean-Pierre went back to what should have been a private conversation. “Sassy ever since you came home. Sleeping late, not helping out. Now rude on the phone. Definitely in need of une fessee.”
“You cannot spank me, Papa. I am too old,” Aimee hissed loud enough that Wade heard. Then he heard the stomping of feet as she apparently walked away.
Wade had to smile at that, thinking she sure sounded in need of a bottom warming. A woman’s age didn’t make a difference, in his opinion.
Evidently it didn’t matter to Jean-Pierre either. “Oh, but I can and I will.”
Interesting new family Wade had just gained. But before he could think anymore about that his uncle came back on the line. “You will come here, oui? We’ve much to discuss.”
“Well, it’s kind of hard for me to get away. I’m a rancher and—“
“I know all this. Still, we must talk. Soon.”
Wade was trying to sort out all of what currently needed his attention at the ranch, what he could pass on to his trusted foreman, Pete. Maybe if … Next month, possibly. June would be better. Yes, next month.
“Next week. We’ll expect you here at Chateau de LaClaire early next week.” More phone jostling as his uncle appeared to be distracted by another person who had approached him. “I must go. Guests are arriving and I must deal with them. My impossible daughter has disappeared, of course.”
The line went dead and Wade sat there blinking in surprise. Next week? Things did need to be talked out, in particular this half interest in the chateau he’d just learned that he’d inherited. And he was mighty curious about these new relatives of his. French. He still found it damn hard to believe he was half French. Hell of a chunk of news to swallow. Yep, his whole damn life had been turned upside down.
Aimee scooped leaves from the heated outdoor pool and grumbled under her breath. She’d been here at the chateau for nearly a week, pitching in because one of the maids had quit, the restaurant hostess had gotten sick, and the groundsperson had gone off on another drinking binge. Her father had called her in Lyon, begging her to come help for a week or two. She would have preferred to refuse, but she was between jobs. Still, it had been difficult to come home again. They hadn’t been getting along lately. One of those “he wanted…she wanted” things. She didn’t like arguing with him, yet that seemed to be all she’d done these last few days.
“You will pick Wade up at the airport, oui?” her father asked from the doorway to the reception area.
They’d had this conversation before. “No. The cowboy said he would rent a car.”
“Yes, yes. That is right.” He frowned and squinted into the mid-day sun. “So much is on my mind. You have prepared his room?”
Bed made, bathroom cleaned, floor swept. Check, check and check. “Done.” She straightened and faced her father. “I’m going back to Lyon tonight, Papa.”
His frown turned into a scowl. “You cannot. You must be here to meet your cousin. You must be here to help with the discussion about the chateau.”
She had promised her father she would help talk business because his English was poor at times. This was important to him and, he’d insisted, should be important to her. It was and it wasn’t. She knew he loved the chateau that had been in his family since the 18th century; she loved it, too. But she didn’t want to eventually inherit the running of the hotel it had become. She wanted a life beyond the Loire Valley, a life as a travel journalist.
“I have an interview tomorrow.”
“Fine. You will return after that.”
She could, and she didn’t really think the interview would lead to a job offer anyway. Resigned, she said, “I will return on Monday.” When her father looked ready to protest, she raised her chin and gave him her most determined look. “There are some matters I must take care of, Papa. Gizelle’s niece has said she could come work for a few days, as maid and help as hostess, too. This is not negotiable. I will be back on Monday.”
He nodded and the sun sparked off his graying hair. She noted the new lines in his face. When had her father gotten so much older? He was still healthy, still active. Yet the man who had adopted her as a baby late in his life was aging all too fast suddenly. She missed the woman who’d acted as mother, too, but she would miss her father most of all. Even though they fought often; even though he took a hand to her bottom on occasion. Like three days ago when Wade Robertson had called. She was still feeling a bit pouty about that.
“I love you, Papa,” she said, surprising them both. She did, even when he chose to punish her.
His expression warmed and then sadness settled in his eyes. “You are my heart, daughter.” He turned away, adding, “I only want what is best for you.”
What’s that about? Things he’d said lately, looks he’d given her. He was up to something. Something that involved her, she was certain.
Weary with jet lag but unable to sleep, Wade padded barefoot and in jeans out onto the balcony. He’d always been an early riser enjoying the freshness of a new day. He seldom had the time to enjoy a sunrise, like the multi-shaded orange one peeking at him through the trees. A rancher’s workday started at dawn or earlier. Fact was he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken more than a second to even notice either a sunrise or a sunset. He’d had to travel a miserable seven hours and over 5,000 miles to finally have a moment like this. How sad was that?
A breeze fluttered over him, cool on his bare chest. He supposed he should go grab a shirt, maybe socks, too. The stones beneath his feet were a tad cold. He was reluctant to go back inside his large, lavish room. He’d been disappointed to be assigned one of the modernized suites in the hotel part of the renovated chateau. But the night manager had been ordered by his boss—the owner, his uncle—to settle him there. At least that’s what Wade thought the nervous man had told him. French wasn’t a language he knew much about beyond bonjour for “hello” and oui for “yes.” And he’d pretty much butchered his pronunciation of bonjour with his Texas drawl. The desk clerk had been nearly as disabled language-wise.
He shivered when another late-May morning breeze swept by. Maybe he should dig through his duffle bag and find that French dictionary he’d picked up on a whim in the airport. Maybe not, it would probably take him longer to look something up than to attempt to play a sort of Charades game of “sounds like, looks like” in order to be understood.
Wade frowned at the weirdness of the situation he found himself in now. Until a month ago he’d thought Mabel Robertson had been his mother. Then, on his death bed, his father had admitted that he’d had an affair with a French woman named Marie LaClaire, who had died giving birth to Wade. He didn’t know all the details about why his father had been unfaithful to Mabel and he didn’t want to know them. It was enough that Mabel had forgiven his father and agreed to raise him as her son. In his heart, Mabel was the only mother he had. He’d felt disloyal to her by even considering getting in touch with his French mother’s family.
He swiped a hand down his face, rubbing his tired eyes. France. He was in France. Still seemed odd. If he hadn’t inherited a fair piece of this property, he sure wouldn’t be here. Not that the parts of the country he’d seen on his drive here from Paris weren’t pretty. He liked the rolling hills he’d seen dotted with vineyards. If he had more time he’d drive around the country, but he didn’t have time. He never had much free time.
Speaking of which, he really needed to catch up with his uncle this morning. Hopefully, Aimee would be here, too. On the flight here he’d thought about the LaClaires. He wondered if he physically favored his uncle’s side of the family at all, although he had his father’s dark hair and his height. But his eyes were brown, unlike either his father’s or Mabel’s. ‘Course they wouldn’t be like Mabel’s. He had to get that idea more firmly set in his mind.
There were a lot of things he needed to get his mind wrapped around. This whole inheritance matter being a big one. What was he supposed to do with a chunk of property in France? Sell it to his uncle? What if it made a decent income? Although his ranch currently ran in the black there were times when a little extra money would come in real handy. Still, he could put whatever he’d make by selling his share of the chateau into the ranch’s savings account and not have to deal with monthly income from here. What would be a fair price for his share? There sure were a hell of a lot of questions and problems to be worked out.
Wade started back toward his room. He needed to get dressed and see if he could locate his uncle and his cousin. He had to admit that he was more curious about seeing Aimee than he was Jean-Pierre. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about the sound of her voice, all sensual and sassy at the same time. If he hadn’t also learned at the will reading that she was adopted, he would be real worried about how much she intrigued him.
The sound of a car speeding over the graveled road not far from his balcony snared his attention. He turned back as a snazzy little red sports car skidded to a stop just inside the gated parking area. He shook his head at the recklessness of the driver. Pitting the paint job on that high-dollar car should be considered a sin.
Wade wasn’t alone in his disapproval. He spotted a middle-aged man with graying hair and a fierce expression hurrying out of the door to the reception area. Wade might not understand French, but he understood a vocal blistering when he heard it. The man, he assumed to be his uncle, was not happy.
Curious, Wade stepped back out onto the balcony to observe the scene across from him. The driver’s door opened and a shapely bare leg appeared. An instant later the rest of the suck-his-breath-away beauty stepped out of the car. With a casual air, she smoothed down the skirt that barely reached mid-thigh and smiled at Jean-Pierre.
The man’s expression softened for a second and he opened his arms in welcome. She moved into them with the ease of obvious love. Wade found himself envying his uncle as her voluptuous breasts barely restrained in the low-neck blouse pressed against him. Of course, his uncle wouldn’t notice such a thing. He’d only be concerned with hugging the daughter he’d raised. But Wade would have noticed, would have enjoyed the experience. He was a breast man.
In the next minute Wade saw his uncle’s expression harden again in displeasure. Instead of releasing his daughter, he lifted his right hand and brought it down with a sharp swat that echoed in the still morning quietness.
She stiffened, leaning back within his grasp to glare at him. “Papa, no!”
Her gaze darted around as her father continued to hold her in place. Wade supposed she wanted to be sure none of the staff were a witness to the action. When she spotted him, her eyes widened more in what appeared to be annoyance than in alarm. Interesting.
Either oblivious to Wade’s presence or uncaring, his uncle sent two more biting swats to her squirming bottom. In mixed English and French he snapped, “Reckless daughter, you need une fessee.”
She wriggled within his hold but pinned Wade with a look promising retribution for his observation of her punishment. “What have I done? Nothing.”
Her father nodded toward the car. “Nothing? You drove in like a mad woman. You sprayed gravel up at your car. Reckless.”
Evidently she didn’t have a rebuttal for that fact. Still, she looked indignant at having been spanked. Wade found himself smiling. Spunky female. Damn pretty, too.
Before Jean-Pierre released her, he gave her bottom one final swat that had her gasping. “You will act more responsibly, daughter.” He stepped back, shifted to nod his head in acknowledgment at Wade, and said sternly, “You may go compose yourself now. I will bring in your bags. We will have le petit déjeuner in la salle à manger in an hour.”
As her father walked to the trunk, Aimee looked up at Wade and snapped, “That’s breakfast in the dining room, which I’m sure you didn’t understand.” Then she spun away and pranced regally into the building opposite his as if a stranger hadn’t just watched her getting her pert little bottom swatted.
Maybe his visit here wasn’t going to be quite as boring as he’d thought.
It wasn’t like her to fidget, to be at all concerned with how someone viewed her. She was who and what she was. Period. But she was fussing with the table settings at the dining table she’d arranged per her father’s request. And she kept glancing at her reflection in the mirrored wall across from it. Should she have tied her hair back? Her father liked it being under control; she liked it flying free down her back. Should she have changed into another dress? Something slightly longer? Something that didn’t make her father frown in disapproval.
“How many times are you going to move those forks and spoons around?” came the deep, velvety voice of the American cowboy from the doorway.
Aimee sucked in a startled breath. “You move quietly for such a big man.”
As their gazes met, she saw a hint of amusement in his rich, chocolate brown eyes. For some reason that annoyed her. Maybe he was recalling the brief spanking he’d observed a short while ago. She raised her chin. “What do you find so amusing, Mr. Robertson?”
The left side of his mouth quirked up. He stepped easily into the large, glass-walled dining room. “Nothing really. My brain cells are a bit fried with jet lag.”
She moved away from the table before she could nervously rearrange the silverware one more time. Why was she nervous? It wasn’t like she hadn’t been around handsome men before. Besides, he was her cousin. Not by blood, her inner voice reminded her. Unfortunately she’d thought about his deep, melting voice ever since the phone call. Something about it…
“You okay?”
Aimee blinked. The tall cowboy was standing right in front of her. She glanced down to see if he was barefoot or something because he moved too quietly for ease of mind. But his big feet were encased in neatly polished boots. Shifting her glance higher, she noted how amazingly well a pair of ordinary jeans fit his body. He definitely had some muscle tone to his thighs and the denim cupped a …
Heart fluttering, she stepped abruptly back. “I’m fine. Just fine” Not at all, really. But she would be. She’d find a way to ignore this ridiculous attraction she had for him.
“Ah, I see you have already met my precious Aimee.” Jean-Pierre strode into the room with a smile, looking from his daughter to Wade.
Wade seemed to be curiously studying her, but he said, “Not formally, no.”
A flash of disapproval swept over her father’s face. “Manners. You should have properly introduced yourself.” Shaking his head, he moved closer. “This is Aimee Marie, my beautiful daughter, though sadly not of my loins.”
Aimee shot him a puzzled look. He’d never introduced her in that way; she’d always just been his daughter with no hint that she was adopted.
Before she could question him, he reached out a hand to greet the American. “Wade Robertson, I am pleased to meet you at long last. My sister, Marie, would have been proud.” There was a sheen to his eyes.
The men shook hands, but Wade appeared as uncomfortable as she felt. “Shall we eat?” she asked in an attempt to get past this awkward moment.
Wade looked relieved and pulled out a chair, waiting for Aimee to sit. The gentlemanly act flustered her. She slipped onto the chair and allowed him to help her scoot it forward. “Merci.”
He tipped his head at her and she noted the nearly two-inch long, faded scar across his left cheekbone and another smaller one on the side of his chin. She wanted to ask how he’d gotten them, but a rare moment of politeness kept her from speaking her mind.
Quietness prevailed as they filled their plates with the scrambled eggs, slices of bacon, and biscuits the chateau’s cook had set out only minutes before Aimee had arrived. Her father focused on Wade and said proudly, “I have been told by American visitors that this is one of your typical breakfasts. Is this correct?”
A forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, Wade answered, “Yes, it is. So this isn’t typical for you? You made this specially for me?”
“Oui. To welcome you to our home.”
“I appreciate the effort, but it wasn’t necessary.” He shoveled the eggs into his mouth, chewed a second, swallowed and smiled. “Great effort, though. Thanks.”
Aimee was a fairly strict vegetarian, so her plate only held biscuits. It annoyed her that her father had thought only of Wade’s possible eating habits and not hers. She scooted her chair back. “I will just go check for some fresh fruit.”
“Excusez-moi!” Her father waved her down and quickly stood, looking embarrassed. “I got so caught up in planning this breakfast that I forgot your own dietary preferences. I apologize. You sit here and visit with Wade. I will go get your fruit.” A couple of steps away he hesitated. “Would you like a bowl of oatmeal as well?”
She shook her head. She’d rather have gone to the kitchen herself. Being alone with this man who made her pulse race with a simple glance was not a good idea. Think about Richard. Call him later. Just think about Richard. But she couldn’t even seem to remember what her off-and-on boyfriend looked like.
“Sorry about ruining your breakfast.” Wade nibbled on a piece of bacon. “Your father really didn’t need to do this.
“He wants to impress you.”
Wade cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t know why. I’m just an old cowboy from the States.”
“My father knows everything about you. Artie wrote him regularly through the years, sent photographs, too.” When Wade looked ready to question her, she cut him off. “I do not know all of the arrangements with your being taken back to America to be raised by your father and your step-mother. I just know that my father has always looked upon you as his nephew.”
“Damn curious situation,” Wade said, watching Jean-Pierre walk back into the room.
“We will talk about the family matter later. As we will discuss your inheritance of part of the chateau.” He set a bowl of fruit in front of Aimee and gently cupped the back of her head. “For now we will just share a meal, get to know each other a little better.”
Wade looked ready to press on the business he’d come here to discuss, but instead he nodded agreement. “So, Aimee, are you going to let me drive that red bombshell of yours? I’m basically a truck man, but I’d love a chance behind the wheel of your car.”
“I trust you are not as reckless a driver as my daughter.” Jean-Pierre pinned her with a look that had her squirming in her seat.
She narrowed her eyes at Wade. Had he brought up her car to poke fun at her? Was he still amused by the swats she’d received?
As if challenging her in some way, he held her gaze and said, “I was raised to be a good, respectful driver. Although I remember getting my butt burned once for…”
With a huff, Aimee tossed her napkin on her plate and shoved her chair back. “It is not polite to talk about unpleasant matters. I will not sit here while you two discuss how I drove in here a little carelessly. How Papa took a hand to my bottom.”
“All I asked was if I could drive your car,” Wade countered.
“Then you…”
“Aimee! Enough.” Her father looked ready to grab her from her chair. “You will go to your room. Think about your poor behavior. You can join us for a business discussion this afternoon, if…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but she knew what he meant: if she could behave herself.
She spun away, her face heating. “Maybe I don’t want to be part of that discussion. Maybe I should just go back to Lyon and let you two settle all of this by yourselves.”
She heard chairs scrapping and sensed that both men had stood. But it was Wade who spoke. “I apologize for upsetting you when I really didn’t intend to do it. And it was crude of me to mention the butt burning thing.”
In spite of her irritation, she faced them. “You understand that the subject is embarrassing to me.”
“Understood.” Wade held out her bowl of fruit and a spoon. “I didn’t mean to ruin your meal. Take it with you.”
Aimee reluctantly took the bowl. Their fingers touched in the exchange. He blinked; she froze. Oh. My. God! She’d never felt such instant awareness.
The second she could breathe again, think again, she scurried away. “I’m sorry, Papa. I need some time alone now. But I will come to your meeting this afternoon.”
Jean-Pierre stood with hands braced on the rock wall along the chateau’s side yard and looked out across the acres of grape vines. It appeared they would have another good season. There would be many new bottles of wine to add to their cellar, and they would, hopefully, sell many cases to their various sources. He had spent his entire life here. Running the hotel and managing the vineyard’s business was all he knew. He’d never had a desire to travel beyond the borders of his beloved France. This was what made him happy. This and his daughter.
He felt the familiar pinch in his heart region. Aimee. Oh, he loved her so much. But she wasn’t content here; she wanted to travel the world over. His eyes misted. Being a father was hard. You had this precious child to nurture and raise, to love and adore, to guide with a firm hand at times. Too soon this child was grown. Too soon this child became an adult and a father had to find the strength within him to let go.
He drew in a deep breath of the warm mid-day air. It was so very difficult to let Aimee go her own way. What worried him most was that she had grown more impulsive and headstrong over the years. Other than her love for taking photographs, nothing held her interest for very long. She was flighty, in his opinion. She needed something to settle her down…someone to help settle her down. Going from boyfriend to boyfriend as a teenager had concerned him, but that had been youthful nonsense. Going from lover to lover as an adult… Well, that worried him. Even if there hadn’t been all that many different men really. She just seemed lost to him, in all parts of her life.
The gravel crunched behind him. He tensed at being disturbed in his time of thought. Then he recognized the sound of boots and relaxed. Although they’d barely spoken yet, he felt comfortable with this tall, proud American cowboy. From all he’d heard about Wade Robertson over the years, Jean-Pierre knew he was a hard working, dependable man. He’d been carrying the heavy burden of running his father’s ranch for the last six years, and the ranch had prospered. He’d taken care of his father as his cancer had slowly eaten him up. He also knew that Wade had reached a point in his life when he could now think wholly of his life, of a family of his own. He would be searching for a wife.
“Awful pretty view you’ve got there,” Wade said as he moved next to Jean-Pierre.
Jean-Pierre studied the big man with his low-dipped, broad-brimmed hat. He’d seen the spark of interest in the man’s eyes as he’d talked with Aimee earlier. He’d also seen the dash of spirit, of mutual interest in his daughter’s eyes. They didn’t have a thing in common. Yet…
“We’ve got a pretty view,” Jean-Pierre countered. He hadn’t really considered sharing—truly sharing—his beloved family’s holding until this very second. He’d assumed that Wade would be more than willing to sell his share and simply return to his ranch in the States. But now… Well, maybe he could use the inheritance as some kind of leverage, some kind of enticement to keep Wade around long enough to see if perhaps...
“That daughter of yours sure is a handful.”
“Oui, but a delight, too.”
Wade faced him, one corner of his mouth crooked up in an amused smile. “Don’t know about ‘delight,’ but she is a pretty little gal.”
Jean-Pierre’s pulse raced in excitement. Oui! There just might be a chance here to play at matchmaker. “She is quite beautiful, yes. But she would take offense at being referred to as ‘little.’ My daughter, she is large in spirit. Fearless.” He grinned at Wade. “Reckless at times, too.”
“I reckon she’s been a trial to raise. Reckon she will be a trial to whoever she marries one day.”
Wade’s cell phone rang and he frowned but dug it out of his pocket. A glance at the screen and he turned to walk away. “Ranch business. I’ll catch up with you and Aimee later.”
Jean-Pierre watched the confident American striding off. He’d seen the glimmer of interest again in the younger man’s eyes as they’d talked about Aimee. It was definitely something he would have to think about.
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