Page 1 of Cowgirls Love French Kisses
CHAPTER1
Annie
Well,paint me yellow and call me a croissant.
As if ever there were any question, Paris is nothing like Sage, Texas. The sky was as clear as a bluebonnet in bloom when I first laid eyes on the Eiffel Tower from the sky above in this tin can that’s brought me thousands of miles from home. What a beauty, a lattice work like my granny’s doily, but woven for a giant.
And an airport that puts even Dallas-Fort Worth to shame.
Now, with my two feet squarely back on solid ground, I’m hugging a suitcase that's one rough landing away from retirement, a backpack strapped tight enough to choke a bull, and a handbag that's begging for a break.
Three months in Paris summertime and this is the stuff of dreams. People in the airport bustle past, shooting me glances that are a cocktail of curiosity and disdain. Exactly what I expected.
I’m leaving everything else behind. All those years of feeling as out of place as a donkey at the rodeo, the looks of neighbors, of teachers,sheesh, even of my own family when I said I needed to get out of Dodge and find my feet in France.
Sage may be home, but we never spoke the same language.
Not that I speak much more French than oh-la-la, but hey—a girl has to start somewhere. Paris is where I’m starting, finally standing on my own two feet. If only I could find the taxi stand…
“May I help you?” a man with dreamier eyes than the star-studded sky asks, tilting his head with a look so genuinely concerned it almost breaks through my resolve to stay self-sufficient.
Never mind that accent—though it makes me want to melt on the spot—those muscular arms tell me all I need to know. A half-grin dances on my face becausethisis what I’ve been waiting for.
“I’m looking for the taxi stand.”
Did I put on lipstick? Please say I put on lipstick during that quick run to the ladies’ room.
“Let me help. You are a long way from home,” he says as he takes my backpack. “And it seems you brought the kitchen sink with you.”
“I’m hoping to stay a while.”Did I just bat my eyes at him? Yes, yes, I did. And I’m not even a little ashamed.
“The taxi stand is just over here.”
He rolls my suitcase, leading me like a little lost lamb among the hustle and bustle of Charles de Gaulle Airport. To think I was worried about how I might find my way around! Not a thing to fear, not with hunky French Adonis here.
“Bonjour,” I smile at the taxi driver, and extra proud that I did those French lessons. “Je veux Paris, s’il vous plaît.”
I must have gotten something wrong there, because the driver rolls his eyes at me. “Où a Paris?”
“Why, the Eiffel Tower, of course!”
More eye rolling.
“There you go,” French Adonis says with a wink and I see my bags cozied into the trunk before he slams it shut. He walks around to the side of the taxi and opens the door for me.
Chivalry is not dead, certainly not in Paris. I lower myself into the car, taking in one last drink of the man who has already made Paris a dream come true.
“Before you go…” his deep, dark eyes implore me and I wait for the question.
My phone number? Where I’m staying? Whether I’d like to spend the rest of my life with him?
He leans forward and plants a soft kiss right on my lips.
“Enjoy Paris, Annie.”
He slams the door shut and with a squeal of the tires, I am off toward the Eiffel Tower.
Heaven help a Texan girl.
