Page 9 of Falling for Provence

Of course it did. There’d been a good reason why so many famous artists had lived and worked in this part of France, and it probably had a lot to do with this light. And the landscape. She took another long moment to soak in the postcard-perfect scene. Not that she’d ever try to capture it on a canvas herself. Ellie’s focus had always been on smaller details – like that lemon she could see nestled amongst the glossy foliage of the nearest tree in the small orchard.

She walked closer. Close enough to touch the skin of the lemon. To bend her head and inhale the sharp, clean scent as she cupped the fruit in her hand. Overripe, the lemon fell from the tree at her touch, so she stooped to pick it up. She spotted another lemon not far away, so she picked that one up as well.

A couple of steps and there were more – still firm enough to be good. With her wine glass still in her other hand, Ellie couldn’t pick up any more fruit, so she started making a small pile. She would bring a bucket out in the morning to collect them, and maybe she really would make some lemonade.

Ellie finally reached the sagging fence. The shadows were long and deep, but it was still easy to spot the two donkeys – in the same place as yesterday, underneath that olive tree – on either side of the boulder.

Wait…

That boulder hadn’t been there yesterday.

It was an effort to pull her brain back from the peaceful, dreamy space it had embraced. Ellie narrowed her eyes and tried to focus. It wasn’t a boulder. She could see something pokingout from the rounded shape because it was pale and almost gleaming as the last rays of the sun touched it. Even so, it took a minute to recognise what she was seeing because it was so unexpected.

A small, human foot.

‘Oh, myGod.’ Adrenaline flooded Ellie’s body and her wine glass slipped, unheeded, from her hand.

It was a child. Right between the large bodies of two potentially dangerous animals. Within inches of hooves that could cause serious injuries. Ellie remembered the horrific bruises her sister Fiona had received on one occasion, when she’d been kicked by a horse. Her own unfortunate incident with a pony, as a young child, had instilled enough fear to make Ellie instinctively keep her distance from anything equine.

But she had to do something now.

It wasn’t hard to climb over the fence, which was simply a few strands of smooth wire suspended between what looked like upright tree branches. With her heart in her mouth, Ellie slowly approached the donkeys. As their heads swung in her direction and those long ears pointed forwards, her heart rate increased noticeably. They could turn in an instant, couldn’t they? Getting ready to kick or bite her. Trampling that small child without even noticing.

‘Shhh…’ she said aloud, even though they weren’t making any noise. ‘It’s okay, donkeys. I… just want to… you know…’

Save that child’s life.

She could see a little face now, as well as the foot. A pale face, with a sweep of dark lashes beneath closed eyes and a tumble of dark, curly hair. A toddler, maybe around three years old?

Ellie kept moving. Slowly, so that she didn’t startle the donkeys into making a sudden movement. She didn’t dare make direct eye contact with them, but she could feel them watchingher. She was close enough to touch one of them now and, as she leaned down, could feel the brush of air as it flicked its ears.

‘Don’t move,’ she whispered through gritted teeth. ‘Please, don’t move.’

She touched the child’s shoulder, but he didn’t wake up. Her mouth dried instantly. Had he already been hurt? Was he evenalive? No. She couldn’t let herself sink into that horror or she wouldn’t be able to move at all. Crouching, she slid one hand behind the small body and scooped him into her other arm, drawing him out from between the shaggy bellies of the donkeys. Then she straightened, carefully, and took a step back. And then another. The nearest donkey took a step towards her, and that did it. Ellie turned and fled back to the fence, clambered over it and then stopped. Her breath was coming in short gasps and she was shaking like a leaf, but the child in her arms was still sound asleep. Or was he unconscious?

And then it hit her with far more effect than any kick those donkeys might have delivered.

She was holding a child.

The first time she had done so since her own child had died.

But this little boy – she was sure he was a boy despite those astonishing eyelashes and perfect Cupid’s bow of a mouth – was alive. She could feel the warmth coming from small, bare limbs and the huff of his breath against her neck. It was impossible not to be aware of the dewy softness of his skin or the smell of his hair. Unable to stop herself, Ellie pressed her cheek against the dark curls and closed her eyes as she drew in a long, shaky breath.

The child stirred in her arms, and Ellie jerked her head back in time to see two large, very dark eyes appear. A flash of fear came and then morphed into surprise, and then, to her astonishment, those perfect little lips curved into a smile.

‘Maman?’

Oh… that single word, so clear it was like a bell in the silent evening, could have been spoken in any language and it would have pierced her heart like a spear. Ellie couldn’t say anything, but her arms tightened a little around the boy as tears sprang to her eyes.

It became even more heart-rending when two small arms came up to wrap themselves around her neck and that curly head rubbed the space beneath her collarbone to find the most comfortable spot to snuggle into before the little body went limp again.

Oh…God…

Thefeelof this child… The smell of him…

That small snuffling sound of breathing through a nose that was squashed against her skin.

Ellie had never wanted to hold a child again because she’d known how unbearable it would be.

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