Page 15 of Falling for Provence

‘Of course not. I was a bit scared of them at first, to be honest, but… they seem kind of nice. You know, kind of friendly.’

‘I guess it must be a bit lonely for you there.’

‘It’s… different. But it feels like a good place to be right now. I don’t know… Peaceful. And it’s so warm.’

‘Lucky you. It’s been pouring here today. Feels more like winter than anything close to summer.’

‘You should come over for a weekend or something.’

Fiona laughed. ‘And what… bring my hoof clippers and a file?’

‘That’s agrandidea. I bet you could find some cheap tickets. You’re good at that sort of thing. I’ll pay for them, if you like. It would probably be cheaper and a whole lot easier than trying to find a farrier here.’

‘I’ll think about it. I’m pretty busy at the moment.’

It felt like a warning not to push things too far. So did the way Fi suddenly needed to end the call. ‘Gotta go… things to do… Bye.’

Ellie stood there for a few moments after the call had ended, looking beyond the donkeys to the fence line at the other end of the olive grove. There were more trees in the distance that interrupted the view of another old, stone house but she could see that the shutters were still open. Was that why her skin prickled, as if she could sense someone watching her?

The same someone who had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she could finally start taking care ofherdonkeys,herself. The echo of his tone was enough to make Ellie raise her chin a little. To reach out and pat the donkeys again.

‘I’ve got this,’ she told them. ‘You’ll see. Tomorrow I’m going to clean out your water trough. And I might even go into town and buy you some carrots.’

He should have stepped away from the window the moment he’d spotted her, but it felt like his feet were caught in quicksand.

Even his breath had caught, long enough to make his chest feel uncomfortably tight.

Mon Dieu… She could have stepped straight out of the frame of some Pre-Raphaelite painting by someone like Rossetti.

That flowing dress, which an evening breeze was catching just enough to make it caress her legs. The same puffs of air were playing with the long, loose spirals of her hair, and the last true glimmers of sunshine were setting it on fire. This new neighbour of his was undeniably an extraordinarily beautiful young woman, and, for the first time in what felt like for ever, Julien Rousseau’s body was stirring with the ripple of a sensation he recognised only too well.

Attraction? No, it was stronger than mere sexual interest. This was more like desire…

She couldn’t see him, of course. Not that she was looking, because she seemed to be talking on her phone, but even if she did look this way, this upstairs window was partly screened by trees, was too far away and the room he was in was dark, apart from the soft light beside the bed in which his small son was now soundly asleep.

Julien had only come in to check on Theo, as he always did, but something had drawn him towards the window – possibly a remnant of remorse that he’d been so uncharacteristically rude to his new neighbour last night? He had, in fact, been contemplating going over there this evening, after Theo was asleep. He could have taken a bottle of wine, perhaps, and made an apology. He had no doubt that she would understand howupset he had been to find that his son had vanished from the house while he’d been caught by an emergency on the other end of his phone.

That embryonic intention had just evaporated. He didn’t want to go anywhere near this woman after the signals his body was giving him.

She wasEnglish, for God’s sake. Like his wife, Sarah, had been. Well, Scottish, but that was close enough. Too close for comfort, anyway, and more than enough to make this stranger completely off limits.

Bon Dieu…Sarah had cured him of ever wanting a committed relationship again, even with someone who didn’t have an English accent.

With an effort, Julien turned away from the window, his gaze automatically seeking that small face on the pillow with the sweep of dark lashes against perfect skin and a mouth that naturally curled up at the corners to make it look like Theo was smiling, even in his sleep.

His chest was tight again, now, but it had nothing to do with any woman. This child wassoprecious. He could feel an echo of the fear that had propelled him from the house last night when he realised that the toddler wasn’t where he’d last seen him, falling asleep in front of a favourite cartoon on television. The emergency call regarding a deterioration in the condition of one of his young patients had required his full attention, and he hadn’t noticed the minutes ticking past. He’d pretty much forgotten that his mother had gone out this evening and wasn’t providing the automatic back up in childcare for situations like this.

The horror of finding Theo’s blanket an empty puddle of fabric on the floor and the back door open had only been outdone in intensity by the jolt of relief when he’d spotted him across the olive grove in that woman’s arms.

But then that faint sound had carried in the stillness of the evening. His son’s voice uttering just a single word.

Maman.

It had broken his heart and made him snap. Had he tapped into his fear and let it morph into anger because he had an easy target? Was he already feeling the guilt of failing to look after his son well enough? Or had he subconsciously recognised a threat to the stability of the new life he had created here, and he knew he had far more to protect than simply himself?

Whatever. He wasn’t going to spend any time trying to analyse something that was already over and done with. What was more of a concern was Theo’s wellbeing.

Had he really thought his mother had miraculously returned from the dead?

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