Книга - Among The Tulips

Among The Tulips
Cheryl Wolverton


Turning forty is a major milestone for Annie Hooper, who has been married, with stepchildren, since she was seventeen. The birthday gift of a trip to Holland offers some unexpected and exciting changes to her routine.And when a car accident in Amsterdam leads to her rescue by a handsome celebrity, she begins to wonder whether God has a new direction for her.Victor Richardson offers his châ teau to Annie so she can recover and resume her vacation– with him as guide. And while Annie' s leg mends, she discovers that her Prince Charming requires God' s grace, and her help as well, to make a fresh start of his own.









She hoped tonight she might have some time with Victor alone. Tonight she would tell him how she felt, if he didn’t tell her.


A knock sounded at the door.

She carefully made her way across to the door and pulled it open.

Her mouth dropped in stunned shock.

Victor stood there, dressed in what had to be a very expensive tux, waiting to be allowed in.

“I take it you like it?” he asked, mildly amused.

“I—wow!” She blushed. He was every bit the movie star now.

He walked in and turned to her, taking her hands. “You are a fresh breath of beauty in a world too old and cynical, my dear.”

“I feel like Cinderella at the ball,” she said lightly.




CHERYL WOLVERTON


RITA


Award finalist Cheryl Wolverton has well over a dozen books to her name. Her very popular Hill Creek, Texas, series has been a finalist in many contests. Having grown up in Oklahoma, lived in Kentucky, Texas, Louisiana and now home once more in Oklahoma, Cheryl and her husband of more than twenty years and their two children, Jeremiah and Christina, always considered themselves Oklahomans transplanted to grow and flourish in the South. Readers are always welcome to contact her at P.O. Box 106, Faxon, OK 73540, or e-mail at Cheryl@cherylwolverton.com. You can also visit her Web site at www.cherylwolverton.com.




Among the Tulips

Cheryl Wolverton





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




You say, “I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.” But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich.

—Revelations 3:17-18.


My family, for helping clean and do laundry while this story poured out of me!

Thanks Steve, Christina and Jeremiah.

And my online friends, who are always so supportive and helpful.




Dear Reader,

Sometimes ideas just come to you—in the middle of the night. And as any writer will tell you, when that happens you must get up right then and start writing, or else.

This was one of these books.

This has been one of the hardest years of my life, yet God has blessed me richly in my career and my spiritual walk. As I thought of the many areas in which God has blessed me, I thought of the verse in Revelations that tells us we often think we are rich when in reality we’re naked.

That’s the case for our hero, who has everything money can buy, yet is empty inside because he’s missing the greatest gift of all—Jesus Christ.

Enjoy the read, and any mistakes in Dutch are my fault.









Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen




Prologue


You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich…

Revelation 3: 17, 18

“It’s going to be your fortieth birthday. That calls for something really special. I say go for it!”

Thirty-nine-year-old Annie Hooper glanced at blond Cynthia, one of the friends she was having her early birthday dinner with. She shook her mousy brown-haired head at her fairer friend and thought again how different the two looked. Cynthia looked fresh from a salon while Annie felt she looked like…a mother. “I don’t even know where I’d go. Besides, the kids need me.” Annie laid down her fork and lifted her napkin to pat her lips.

“Susan and Mark?” Amy piped up, her auburn eyebrows shooting up with a bit of disbelief. “Oh, come on, Annie. Mark is thirty-three and has a great job and Susan is thirty-two and is working as a nurse. Face it. Your stepkids are grown and need to stop depending on you for everything. They certainly don’t need you here providing food and shelter for them. You have to start living again. You’re still young.”

Although Susan and Mark weren’t officially her children, she thought of them as such, though they rarely called her Mom. No, they had their real mother, with whom they still stayed in contact. After running a hand through her hair she sighed. Unfortunately, the kids always had a way of guilting her into staying at home when she tried to plan something, like last year when she’d said she had been going to get a passport and had actually brought home some travel brochures. But her friends were right. She was young; the kids were older, so shouldn’t she start living again?

Annie dropped her napkin on the table.

Her two friends sighed in unison.

They knew that wasn’t all that was bothering her. “The kids still miss their dad,” Annie said simply. She leaned back in the cushioned chair covered in lovely mauve brocade.

“It’s been four years,” Cynthia replied. “They need to move on with their life. You need to move on with your life.” She too had finished her lunch. She nodded as the waitress took her empty plate.

It had been four years since Annie had lost her husband. They had been hard years in some ways, lonely years as well. Sometimes his death seemed as if it happened only yesterday, especially when problems were building up or the kids were pulling a number on her. At night, however, when she was alone in bed or watching something on TV, it seemed as if he’d been gone forever.

“You always said when Harry retired, you were going to go somewhere different for a real vacation,” Amy added. “I know you got your passport last year with just such an intention.” Amy took the last bite of her dessert and then handed her plate to the waitress.

Yes, Annie had gotten her passport. In a fit of frustration and desperation she’d decided she was going on a trip. Her kids, however, had been aghast that she’d forgotten their daddy so easily and was going to traipse off into the unknown.

“Your kids like knowing you’re there so they can bum more of Daddy’s money off you—” Cynthia started.

“And get you to do their laundry—” Amy added.

“This isn’t about their dad being gone,” Cynthia finished.

Annie lifted her water glass and took a sip, allowing the ice-cold water to wash down her throat and take away the building tension.

“I just don’t know if I can travel there by myself or even if I should.” Frustration slipped in, and she silently prayed for guidance. “It’s crazy. I’ve always had someone there making the decisions for me and now…”

“And now you’re allowing your children to do that for you,” Cynthia said gently.

“Honey, you deserve to get away.” Amy picked up her iced tea and took a leisurely sip of the light golden brew. “You should go for it.”

“I don’t think I could simply up and leave the family. What would the kids do?”

How would the children react if she decided to go on this trip? Though Annie knew they used her and it was wearying, she still felt a responsibility for them.

That’s what it boiled down to. When she’d married Harry, she’d inherited a young boy and his younger sister as immediate family. She’d been thrown into instant adulthood trying to raise two children.

Looking back, she realized she hadn’t been ready for it. She’d been a child herself really at 17. She’d done her best, but had her best been good enough? The children’s mother had never forgiven Harry for marrying Annie. And on every weekend and holiday that Michaela had had the children, she’d done her best to poison them against her.

Annie also had church responsibilities as well as friends there. Although most of her friends were gone, uncomfortable being around a widow or simply no longer having anything in common, she had one or two who she saw occasionally, including Amy and Cynthia. However, she was going to be starting a new job this fall as an art teacher at a local community center, and so this would make the perfect time to go—if she so chose.

“The kids depend too much on you,” Cynthia informed her. “They use you and you allow it.”

That hurt. Cynthia was always the blunter of her two friends. And she never spared what she thought.

“You deserve this time,” Amy added more diplomatically. “You’ll never get to splurge again like this. You know that. Once you settle down into this new job, you’ll be too caught up in life to consider doing something so wild.”

Doing something wild. Was that what she was doing?

Annie shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m the wild sort—”

“Well maybe you should be,” Cynthia cut in. “It’s time you had a chance to live a little. You married Harry while you were still in high school, for Pete’s sake. It’s time for you to go out and have fun.”

Annie thought about what her friend said. She was going to be forty next week.

Forty.

And she’d never left Louisiana.

“Where would you like to go?” Amy prodded.

Annie smiled slightly. “Holland.”

She could talk about her dreams at least. What would that hurt?

“Holland? What is in Holland?” Cynthia demanded.

Annie shrugged. “Tulips.”

All three women burst into laughter. Annie honestly didn’t know what Holland had to offer. She simply thought it would be fun to visit somewhere she’d never been, somewhere off the beaten path.

“Think of the tours you could take,” Amy added, when the laughter died down.

“We’d even help you pack,” Cynthia chimed in.

“Whoa, wait a minute. I’m only dreaming here. Let’s not get carried away.” Annie shook her head, trying to slow the two women down.

“Why not get carried away?” Cynthia asked.

Annie tried to think of a reason but couldn’t come up with a legitimate one.

Cynthia leaned forward and took her hand. “This is your chance. Get away for the summer. Spend time doing some soul searching. We’ll take care of the house and your cat. We’ll make sure everything runs smoothly while you’re gone. Just take this time for yourself, Annie. You need it.”

Annie couldn’t believe she was wavering in this. Wasn’t this the time of her life when things were supposed to slow down? She should be spending her time at home, enjoying the quiet solitude.

Of course, she’d been doing that for four years now. Four years. Where had that time gone? What had become of her during that time? Herself as a person? Had she ever been her own person? An individual with her own feelings and thoughts?

Had she ever had a life? she wondered now. One of her own? Or was she always going to be defined by her marriage and family?

If she were honest, Harry had rarely been there. She had wondered at one time if he was having an affair, but had then decided it was simply that he was a workaholic.

Annie had no idea who she was anymore. She’d come to that realization as she’d sat at home one day, wondering when her stepdaughter was going to drop by.

Maybe a vacation was exactly what she needed. Time away from all the memories and time to find herself. Time to spend with God.

“The kids will have a fit.”

Amy shrugged. “They’ll handle it.”

“They’ll have to,” Cynthia added and then, seeing the hesitation on Annie’s face, added, “If they need you, you can always give them your number. Besides, their mom lives in town.”

Annie knew the kids would be worried without her there. She met with her daughter at least once a week and her son usually stopped by on weekends with his laundry and had lunch with her. He still didn’t do his own laundry.

A month or so without laundry. Now that would be odd.

“I can tell you’re considering it,” Amy said with glee in her voice. “Come on. Cynthia, can you take an extra hour or so before going home? I say we go look at brochures at the travel agency. We’ll have her on that plane by next week.”

“That soon!” Annie said, worry in her voice.

Amy laughed with enthusiasm. “Sure. Why not? The sooner the better.”

“I agree. I know you, Annie. If we don’t rush you out the door and onto the plane, then you’ll end up staying put.”

Annie sighed. “You’re right about that.”

“We have a surprise for you.” Cynthia reached into her purse, which was set next to her feet on the elegant carpeted floor.

Annie lifted her napkin and folded it neatly before releasing it. “You’ve already bought me lunch. What else are you planning?”

These two women really were her dear friends, but they knew how to keep her off balance.

Amy grinned. “It’s our gift. We had to make sure first that you’d use it.”

Annie glanced from one to the other, her cheeks warming. “I’m too old to get gifts. Just going out to lunch was enough.”

“Oh, no, honey,” Cynthia said and then presented her with a small gold oblong box. “We wanted to make sure about our plans before we gave this to you. Open it.”

Annie smiled and obediently opened the checkbook-size box. When she pulled out the piece of paper her jaw dropped open. “This is a gift certificate from a travel agency.”

Amy chuckled. “It’s enough for a ticket just about anywhere in the world, and if you choose Holland, then it will even cover most of the hotel cost.”

“Oh, dear.” Annie stared in shock at what she held.

Cynthia smiled. “You can choose anywhere.” She hesitated and then added, “If you don’t use it, you can roll it over until next summer.”

“Yeah,” Amy added and accepted the receipt from the waiter. She quickly scanned the price and pulled out some money, tossing it on the table with the check. She then stood. “Come on. Let’s go to the travel agency and we’ll see what we can find.”

“I’m not certain I’m going yet.” Annie gripped the unbelievable gift in her hands, staring at it, still in shock.

Talking about it was one thing—but actually leaving Louisiana and the kids?

Cynthia grinned. “That’s okay. We’ll just look.”

Annie knew that against the two of them she had no defenses. She didn’t with her kids either. That was one of her big problems; she enjoyed going along with life and, unfortunately, that could have bad as well as good results.

In this case she wasn’t sure which it would be.

But the idea of a month away…

How bad could it be?

Especially since they were only looking.




Chapter One


Haut, Holland: One week later

Tires screeched. Metal boomed against metal. All forward motion in the car stopped, except for Annie who suddenly flew forward, still propelled by Newton’s Law. Her hands lost their grip on the steering wheel. Pain erupted in her legs, her chest, her head as she met the resistance of the abrupt cessation of the vehicle.

Stars danced in brilliant colors before her eyes.

A wreck.

She’d been in a wreck.

Vaguely she heard noises around her, but as for focusing, that wasn’t possible.

Drums pounded in her ears as she sat trying not to pass out.

Her first day in Holland.

Her entire body throbbed in pain. Forcing her eyes open, she groaned as the bright light from the sunny day increased the throbbing agony in her head. Absently she reached for her head but stopped as she saw people coming toward the car—including an angry looking man who was stalking his way to her, looking for all the world as though he was going to tear her apart as soon as he got close enough.

Short, round and wearing an apron, he shook his meaty fist before pounding on her window. With each slap to her window, her head pounded out a cadence of objection to the noise.

He shouted, loudly, in Dutch.

Her head nearly exploded.

She had to calm him down, had to apologize, make him understand that she hadn’t meant to hit his car. What was she doing? Why had she come here? Did they arrest foreigners for auto accidents?

Lifting her hand to her aching head, she felt something wet and sticky. Glancing at her fingers, she saw her hand come away with blood. Oh dear. She felt dizzy and turned her head away from the sight.

She couldn’t help her eyes from slipping closed. Her hands went to her eyes and pressed gently as if to relieve the headache. “Do you speak English?” she asked.

Alarmed at how weak her voice sounded she tried to speak up. “Does anyone speak English?” When no one answered, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.

Her window was still up. No one could hear her—and the man still screamed.

Fumbling, she reached for the knob to the window and proceeded to roll it down. “Does anyone speak English?” she repeated, her voice still sounding weak. She hurt from head to toe and didn’t think she could move.

The man ignored her question and jerked the car door open.

She gasped as she realized she could move—but it caused her a lot of pain. The throbbing noise in her head increased, drowning out some of her attacker’s unintelligible words. He pointed at his car and then back at her.

Had she been in the wrong lane? She tried to remember, but everything was fuzzy. All she could remember was she had been driving down the street on the way to the hotel just outside of town…

She turned to get out of the car. A crowd was gathering. Panic edged up her spine. She had to do something, say something, find someone who could help her. Her chest tightened and her palms grew slick with sweat.

Why hadn’t she listened to her son and daughter? They’d both nearly disowned her when she’d told them of her plans last week. She’d seriously considered not coming, but Cynthia and Amy had convinced her she would have a great time.

She reached up and grasped her head. It pounded viciously from her movements. The front window of the car was smashed. She must have contacted it with her head. That would explain the lump that was forming on her forehead as well as the blood.

Pushing herself around, she gasped in pain as she moved her right leg. Looking down she saw both knees were bloody too.

Hearing the murmurs, she glanced carefully back up.

“Does anyone speak English?” A large crowd swarmed around, talking and pointing. A mob? Did they have mobs here? What would they do to her? Her vision narrowed as she felt herself breathing faster.

Oh no. She had never been in a situation like this. Never. She tried to slow her breathing.

A policeman appeared and started asking questions. She wanted to cry.

She couldn’t understand a word he said.

Again she asked herself why she had come to Holland.

“English. Eng-lish!” she cried out.

“Do you need some help?” The deep baritone voice came from in the crowd. Desperately she looked around, trying to find who had spoken.

The crowd obviously knew. People turned, pointed and started babbling.

The noise level doubled, which in turn, doubled her headache. “Please, yes. Who said that?”

She reached for the car door, intending to stand.

“I did.”

A tall man, at least six foot, stepped forward as the crowd parted. Dressed in a pair of casual jeans and paint-splattered top, he looked vaguely familiar—American, she thought. Long hair to his shoulders, slightly wavy and pulled back in a ponytail, and deep blue-gray eyes; he had a casualness that bespoke comfort in his surroundings.

Funny she should notice all of that about a stranger. “I can’t understand the policeman. I’m a tourist.”

The man turned and spoke to the officer, who in turn motioned for the people to move back. Another officer showed up and began directing people out of the way.

The man who had been yelling at her now turned to the officer and began telling him something in rapid-fire Holland-ese. What language did they speak? She didn’t remember.

Finally her link to the local language turned back to her. “Are you hurt?”

Insurance papers. Driver’s license. What all was she supposed to show the officer? “Yes.”

Annie gripped the side of the car and the door and started to lift herself out.

“Wait—” the American said.

The first bit of weight on Annie’s right leg told her more than anything else that she really wasn’t okay.

She cried out in pain and pitched forward—right into the arms of the American.

She saw stars, and then, the next thing she knew, she was lying in the man’s lap on the sidewalk, staring up at a blue sky.

“Why did I do this?” she moaned.

“I tried to warn you that sometimes shock will prevent a person from noticing injuries. Now lie still until we can get you to a hospital.”

Annie blinked. Warm strong arms surrounded her, holding her gently.

“Who are you?” she asked, more than willing to take his advice because moving, she decided, wasn’t a priority.

“Call me Victor,” he said simply.

She nodded, or tried to. She realized Victor was holding a hankie to the lump on her head. “Ow.” The pressure hurt.

He gentled his ministrations. “You have a small cut there.”

“I want to go home,” Annie whispered.

She could hear all of the voices around her, and she had never been so frightened in her life. She trembled from the pit of her stomach to the limbs of her body. She lifted her hand and saw her fingers shake with a palsy of shock and pain.

“I just turned forty, you see. My friends thought this vacation would be a wonderful idea. I didn’t think about the language problem or driving or…anything. We just made reservations for today, my birthday and then I got on the pl-pl-plane. Well, yesterday in America, you see. I was on my way to the hotel when th-th-this accident happened. I only want to go ho-ho-home now.”

She realized she was rambling, and worse, she realized tears had filled her eyes and had spilled over. Oh heavens. Dear God, please help me get control, she silently prayed.

Victor reached up and brushed away the tears before pulling her closer. “It’s shock and an adrenaline rush. Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right. Let’s take one thing at a time. First, let’s get you taken care of, okay?”

In the distance, a siren’s blare grew louder—a very odd foreign-sounding siren that made her feel so much more alone and different. Annie bit her lip. “But the hospitals overseas…I’ve heard stories…and I don’t speak the language…”

“Let me handle this,” the man said gently.

She nodded. “I’m so-so-sorry.”

“For what?” he asked.

The siren died down as an ambulance pulled up.

“For getting you involved, for taking this trip— I don’t know—for many things.”

Two men got out and approached her.

As they knelt next to her, Victor asked, “Is your husband here with you? Someone I need to notify?”

Annie shook her head slightly, immediately regretting it. “No. I’m a widow.”

Victor released her, gently laying her down on the sidewalk and then stepped back to allow the men to get to her. She didn’t move. She hurt too much to move.

“I don’t suppose I can have your name,” he said.

Annie realized she hadn’t told him. “Annie. Annie Hooper.”

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” the polite stranger said.

“You have no idea how nice it is to meet you,” Annie said, meaning it with every heartbeat.

She was terrified and alone. She was exhausted after the long trip and all she had been thinking about was getting to the hotel to rest.

She had no idea what had happened. She had been driving and now she was being loaded onto a gurney. How had the wreck occurred? A big blank was there where information should be. And where was the man she’d hit?

As the two men lifted her, she couldn’t help a surge of panic. “Don’t leave me,” she called and realized the man who had been at her side was once again talking to the police. He immediately turned and stepped over to her. Wrapping both of his hands around hers in an intimate act of great comfort, he focused his complete attention on her, his eyes connecting and holding hers in a steadying gaze. “I’m right here.”

She bit her lip, embarrassed, but unwilling to let go. “Thank you.”

Some trip this was turning out to be. Yet, holding on to this man calmed her somewhat. A needle pricked her arm as the paramedics started on IV and then injected a clear fluid into the IV line. “What are they giving me?”

Her rescuer turned and rattled off a question in that language they spoke.

The one attendant answered.

Tall dark and handsome turned back to her. “Something to help calm you.”

Oh heavens…she could already feel it taking affect. “You look funny,” she said, but it didn’t sound right. The words had come out mixed up.

The man smiled, two dimples appearing in his slightly bearded cheeks. “I have a funny look?”

“No. You…your face…it’s…turning…” She lifted one hand to show him how he seemed suddenly tilted, but found the effort too much and dropped her hand back to her side. “I’m not making sense.”

The attendants lifted the gurney. It felt very odd—as if she were suddenly floating up into the air. Victor was still next to her, however.

“You have a dimple in your chin,” she said, staring at him.

He gave her a half grin as he turned to say something to someone near them.

“I would have seen it better if you had shaved. You have stubble all over your face.”

He glanced back, his eyes widening in surprise.

She felt the silliest urge to giggle—which she did. And then she closed her eyes.

Until she was jarred.

“Wait a minute. We’re moving.” She glanced around and noted they were in the back of a vehicle and it was speeding down the street.

Victor was still there, sitting right next to her, along with a stranger who was talking on a radio. Victor held her hand with both of his. He must have sensed her confusion, however, because he released her hand with his right hand and cupped her cheek. “The medicine is affecting you. We’re on the way to the hospital. Obviously time isn’t the same for you. We’ve already been in here several minutes. They must have given you something pretty strong.”

Annie felt disconnected, though his hand felt great. With a sigh she rubbed her cheek against his hand. “You feel so good,” she murmured sleepily. “I had no idea how much I missed a gentle touch.” She hadn’t said that out loud—had she? Ah well, what did it matter? He was here now, with her. Her eyelids felt heavy. “My protector.”

She didn’t want to let her eyes close though and forced them open. The gorgeous guy in front of her was her only lifeline to this world she was in. She didn’t want to lose him.

He had an odd look on his face.

She studied him, wondering just who this man was, this gentle soul who had been willing to help her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Please don’t leave me alone.” That sounded so wimpish and frightened. She wasn’t wimpish and easily frightened. At least, she didn’t think so. “Yes, I am. Very wimpish.”

The man laughed.

She felt his hand against her cheek again and smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered. Turning her cheek into his hand she snuggled down into it, thinking it felt so much like her mom’s hand had so many years ago—soft, gentle and caring. She closed her eyes.

“Thank you again? For what?” Victor asked. When she didn’t answer, he realized Annie was asleep. Turning to the attendant he spoke in Dutch, “I want to make sure we get her into a room immediately.”

The young tech nodded, a bit starry-eyed. “Of course, Mr. Rivers. Whatever you want.”

Victor simply nodded. He was used to the deference he received, though it did get old. In this case, however, it would be beneficial; it would ensure that ‘Annie’ got good medical care.

What was he going to do with the woman?

A stranger in a strange land and she didn’t speak the language.

He would love to have a talk with her friends. Didn’t people realize just how dangerous it was to be in a foreign country where she couldn’t speak the language? If she’d been in one of the bigger cities, she wouldn’t have had a problem, but in the tiny city of Haut, with a population of only ten thousand, located out in the middle of nowhere—very few spoke English.

Wearily, he shook his head. He couldn’t help but worry about Annie Hooper.

And things did happen to innocent people—look at her and the wreck.

Victor always tried to be prepared and ready for whatever might come. It was a good thing in his life—to make sure he was prepared. Not being prepared could lead to national embarrassments.

He hadn’t been prepared for Annie, however.

He was surprised that she didn’t speak a single word of Dutch or German.

She had rattled him, that was for sure. He’d actually been surprised by her sweet innocent smile. He’d smiled when she’d rubbed up against his hand. Her skin was soft and smooth and smelled of something sweet. He’d never smelled that scent before but it drifted up from her as she’d moved her head. Perhaps a shampoo or perfume. And then she’d commented on his chin. Some women were put off by the dimple, but she seemed to like it, though he wasn’t sure about her feelings regarding the light bit of beard he’d worn for his last movie. His long hair and beard were leftovers, and he hadn’t cut them yet.

Of course, the drugs were affecting Annie. She’d been slurring every word she spoke.

If he had his way, he would prefer her to be in a different hospital. But since he was there, he would make sure she was treated right.

He frowned. “She is going to be okay?” he asked the attendant.

The attendant shrugged. “She probably has a fractured tibia or fibula and possibly a concussion. Normally we wouldn’t give meds so strong, but she’s a tourist and pretty unsettled. Americans,” the technician said disrespectfully and then winced. “Except for you, Mr. Rivers. Your mother was from Holland so you’re not really American, exactly.”

Victor thought that attitude was typical and sighed. “It’s not important.”

As if to make up for his lapse, the attendant sat up straighter and examined the patient more closely. “She could have internal injuries. The doctor will let you know.”

They pulled into the entrance to the hospital.

The technician leaned forward and wiped away the blood that was running along Annie’s hairline.

Victor didn’t care too much for real blood.

Then he realized his own hands had her blood on them, in quite another sense.

He hoped she wasn’t seriously injured.

She was actually very pretty in a simple sort of way—innocent, perhaps. She didn’t have that world-weary look that so many of his friends did.

In the circles he traveled, it was rare to see someone that looked so fresh at…forty, she’d said?

Forty.

He would have guessed her much younger.

She was only two years younger than he. He had turned forty-two two months ago.

Annie shifted her head. Victor blanched.

A cross.

She wore a tiny cross around her neck.

All good feelings toward this woman were shoved aside as memories of his parents flooded his mind.

She was a Christian—like them.

How could she be? he wondered. But then she hadn’t been herself either.

The bitterness and anger—hidden but always near to his heart—threatened to surface. It would have too if he’d had more time to dwell on it, but just then, the ambulance pulled to a stop at the emergency room entrance. Victor realized he still held Annie’s hand.

Releasing it, he stepped back and allowed the technicians to do their job.

He followed the stretcher into the hospital and into the ward. Maybe she just wore the necklace because she liked the look. Besides, not all people who wore crosses were like his parents. His parents hadn’t believed in wearing any jewelry, so maybe she wasn’t like them at all. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She was here alone and needed help. And he would help this woman, regardless of her religious beliefs. He forced those bitter memories away by becoming the persona he had created so many years ago through so many parts.

When the nurse came in, he gave all of the information he could and then stepped away to make a call to his home. He needed some fresh clothes. He also needed to talk to this woman when she woke up.

Of course once she was in her right mind and had calmed down, she would recognize him and that might pose a problem. But then, he was used to that.

He would simply be prepared for whatever her reaction would be.

He supposed that the sweet innocence he’d perceived would disappear and he would find out just what type of person Annie really was. Money had that effect on people—money and fame. And he had both. Wearily he sighed and accepted that that was how it would be.

Thinking about that, he decided it might not hurt to put in a call to his lawyer as well.

It was going to be a long day.




Chapter Two


Annie groaned.

She heard someone speaking to her, though she couldn’t understand him, and then she felt herself being prodded to sit up.

Painfully she opened one eye. And immediately realized she had been unconscious—again.

“A cast?” She looked down at her right leg in dismay. “I’m in a cast.”

“You’re awake.”

Her gaze went past the other beds in the room she was in, and, to her relief, she saw her rescuer coming down the main aisle, the very man who had just spoken. Wow. She hadn’t imagined it. He was hot.

His footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. She could hear other noises from other beds around her, though the curtains blocked her view of the people in the cubicles. Light shone through the windows near where Victor had entered, and she was relieved to realize that not much time must have passed if it was still light out.

“What happened?”

The man who had been prodding her to sit up now pointed at a wheelchair before pointing at the bed.

She didn’t understand him.

Victor said something to him, and the man replied. Victor commented again in a sharper tone and the man strode off, not looking back.

“I’m sorry he woke you. I stepped out to freshen up. I thought you’d be okay for a few minutes. I guess I was wrong.”

She pointed at the obvious. “I have a broken leg.”

Victor nodded. He stopped next to her bed and lifted his hand to touch her just above her eye. “How do you feel?”

She winced in pain, yet at the same time felt her heart flutter at how close this man was. He was really good-looking and somehow, strangely familiar. His magnetism was unbelievable as well. She really liked the change he’d made while she was unconscious. Instead of the paint-spattered shirt and jeans, he wore a casual pair of dress slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt along with a light tan leather jacket.

She forced a breath in and then said, “I really can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

He shook his head. “We need to talk.”

He waited and stared at her.

She wasn’t sure what he wanted.

Disconcerted, he tilted his head. “Do you have any questions for me?” he finally asked as if he knew something she didn’t.

She thought a moment and then slowly nodded. Dropping her eyes, she asked, “Do they arrest foreigners for what happened today? I mean I hit some man with my car—where is he, by the way?”

“That’s your question?” He sounded surprised.

She lifted her gaze to meet his and found something akin to amazement, or maybe it was perturbed shock, on his face. “I want to go home,” she added, thinking perhaps that was what he was wanting to hear.

He let out a breath and simply glanced past her for a moment as if centering his thoughts.

“You’re too banged up to travel. The doctor is willing to release you only if someone watches you for the next forty-eight hours.”

“But I didn’t come here with anyone.”

“I know that. I’ve been on the phone making arrangements. I have a large house. You can stay with me—”

“I don’t even know you.” Annie leaned back, slightly stunned that he would suggest such a thing.

Okay, now why had that shocked him so much? His mouth fell open. He started to say something and then paused, getting that same strange look on his face that he had had a few minutes ago. Finally he gazed back at her. “I’m the one you were in the wreck with.”

“But the man—the one who was yelling? You’re the one who helped me.”

Confused, she shook her head. Something wasn’t adding up.

“He was angry that a tourist was blocking his business. He was easily paid off with a large order for meat.” Victor grinned slightly before the serious look returned. “No, Annie. I was coming into town to buy some paints, and a dog ran out in front of me. I cut right in front of you and caused the head-on.”

She gaped as her mind tried to process what had really happened. She still couldn’t remember a thing other than driving down the street and then opening her eyes and finding herself injured. “Are you okay?” she asked weakly. She had leaned so heavily on this gentleman throughout her ordeal that she hadn’t even noticed whether he’d been hurt.

“I have a much better car than yours. My air bag deployed. I’m a little stiff. But to answer your question, I’m fine. It’s you who was injured.”

“I am so sorry,” Annie said, horrified. “You’ve been so nice. I’ve relied on you and now—”

“Now I’m inviting you to my house,” he said, interrupting her. “Since it was my fault, not yours, there’s no reason to keep apologizing and every reason for me to make it up to you by giving you a place to stay while you’re here recovering.”

He reached out and took her hand, lifting it and wrapping both of his hands around it again. Then he allowed his eyes to drift upward, over the planes of her face until they finally locked with her own brown eyes, and he said simply, “You’ll need someone who can interpret for you over the next few days while we get all of this sorted out.”

Annie nodded. “But I don’t know you.”

He shook his head slightly, started to say something and then let it go.

“The doctor does. Everyone in this small town does,” he said. “If you need references, ask the doctor if I’m safe.”

At that moment an older man came walking up with a chart in his hands.

Victor dropped Annie’s hand and turned toward the doctor. They proceeded to have a rapid-fire conversation in Dutch.

“Like the doctor would understand me if I asked him,” Annie muttered.

Evidently she’d muttered it too loudly because both men turned toward her. “Ask me what?” the older man said in heavily accented English.

“You speak—”

“—English? Yes. There are few of us in town who do.” He smiled. “I’m Dr. Gaulkner.”

“She wants to know if it’s safe to stay with me until she recovers,” Victor interjected into the conversation before Annie could say anything.

The doctor lifted his eyebrows and turned toward Victor. He laughed outright. “Safe? Now what a question. Many people, they would appreciate to answer that.”

Turning back to Annie he said, “He is more safe than staying in an hotel alone. And if that no reassures you, I’ll give you mine home phone number where that you can contact me. You should be grateful that Victor, he is taking such time out of his schedule to tend for you.”

He smiled at Victor. “If you have the questions about mine instructions I’ve given you for her, you ring me.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Annie.

It was a set of numbers.

“Mine number. Ring me up.”

He turned and walked away.

“Wait. How much do I owe? Where do I pay? Do you take travelers’ checks?” She gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “Oh, no, they’re in the car!” Panic built again.

“It’s already taken care of,” Victor said. Catching her hand, he pulled her attention back to him. “I had my driver, who wasn’t driving me at the time, by the way, go by and collect your things. Leaving them in an unattended vehicle wouldn’t be wise.”

He continued to hold her hand, stroking it gently.

She noticed that.

And he had a way of using his eyes that captured and held her attention.

He was a very physical person.

Nervously, she licked her lips.

He smiled slightly, noticing the gesture.

“I’m indebted to you,” she said simply.

“Consider it payback for the wreck I caused,” he corrected with an odd look on his face.

Finally, she nodded.

“You know, you’re not what I expected,” he murmured softly.

“Oh?” she asked.

He glanced down at her neck.

She fingered the small cross, not understanding.

He obviously wasn’t going to explain. He changed the subject. “Can you stand and move into the wheelchair?”

“Where are my clothes?” she asked, a bit of a blush working its way to her cheeks at having to ask a stranger such a question.

He pointed and she nearly groaned when she realized they were next to her on the end of the bed.

“Let me change,” she said, embarrassed that a stranger was standing here, helping her and she was dressed in next to nothing.

He nodded and stepped past the partition, pulling it closed to give her some privacy.

She took stock of her body. She already had some darkening areas on her chest. And her neck and shoulders hurt too. As a matter of fact, her lower back hurt, she realized as she dropped her skirt over her head and buttoned it around her waist. But the pain was pretty blunted. The medication, which muted the pain, made her woozy as well.

“Ready?” Victor called finally.

“Ready,” she replied, and thought she was more than ready to sit down as she dropped onto the edge of the bed.

He returned and ran his gaze over her.

“Amazingly enough, it only hurts when I move,” she quipped.

“You’re still doped up from all the medication they gave you.”

She glanced down at her hand and found a small bandage where an IV had once been. “Oh, yuck. I’m a mess.” Her clothes were bloody and on her legs, now bare of hose, she could still see some remnants of blood.

“You can have a hot bath when we get home. Come on, let me help you.”

He reached up and slipped his hands under her arms.

She gasped at the strength in those hands.

How long had it been since a man had touched her so intimately? The closest she’d been to a man in four years was an occasional hug at church.

It was very disconcerting.

“What is it?”

She glanced up and realized her face was only inches from his. She couldn’t help but think how handsome he was and how very masculine.

“Are you hurting?” he prompted when she didn’t answer.

Jarred by the second sentence, she nodded. “Everywhere.”

He turned with her and helped her into the wheelchair. “I have a housekeeper who’ll help you bathe if you need to. In the meantime, let’s just concentrate on getting you home and rested. I have a feeling you’re going to be hurting a lot more before this is over.”

“I have a feeling you’re right.” She smiled gently.

The man who had originally woken her up returned with a pair of crutches. He took control of the wheelchair and passed the crutches to Victor. With a smooth motion he turned and wheeled her out of the room. The hall was long, a dingy gray-blue and very old looking. Light bulbs dotted the ceiling along the corridor.

At the end of the hall they came to electronic doors that opened to a driveway where a car was waiting.

People with cameras were there, and they immediately started snapping pictures. “Oh, no.” Annie reached up self-consciously and pushed at her hair. “This is awful.”

She glanced down in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry for this,” Victor said and stepped up to the large dark vehicle that sat at the curb. A man was waiting and pulled the door open.

Victor slid in and allowed the other person to lift Annie into the car. “Is this the car I hit?” she asked, confused.

“No.”

“Is this your car?” was her next question. It was a luxurious car with thick plush seats and a window separating the front from the back.

“Yes.”

Annie suddenly had an inkling that this man must have money. No one she knew drove around in a car like this. No one that she knew could afford to. She leaned her head back into the soft seat and sighed as it cupped her sore body. “I guess this was what Cinderella felt like when she got into the coach.”

The driver got in and started the vehicle. They drove slowly until they were past the people who were snapping pictures.

He didn’t blink at anything that went on, simply sat next to her as they exited the parking lot.

Perhaps the locals always reacted this way? Maybe the ones with cameras had simply been the press wanting pictures of the people in the wreck? A few of the photographers looked awfully young to hold jobs though. But then, she’d heard that people overseas started work younger.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate about the car or comment on the cameras.

“I live about fifteen minutes outside of town. We’ll be there shortly.

“See that valley with the sheep over there?”

Annie followed his finger to where he pointed. “It’s beautiful.”

“I live about ten kilometers on the other side of it to the east. I have a nice home that’s isolated. I raise horses there.”

He had to be rich.

Perhaps he was someone important to Holland. “Do you raise tulips?”

The man slowly turned his head and stared at her. His gaze met hers and then touched on her features, causing her cheeks to warm.

Those eyes could hold a person indefinitely. Finally he asked, “Why did you choose Holland to visit?”

It was said kindly, not condemning or rudely. And she felt he was really interested.

“I’ve heard that it was a beautiful place. I love tulips. And I’ve always wanted to see a windmill.”

“Why did you pick this town?”

“I asked the travel agent for an out-of-the-way place that would be nice to visit. She said there were some famous people who lived here and they had several tourist attractions. Though it was off the beaten path, Europeans liked to frequent it when they visit, she said.”

“They do have a nice retreat here,” Victor agreed. “About thirty more kilometers north. And they do have a world-famous poet who lives just down the road from me. He’s won several honors.”

They hit a bump, and Annie winced.

Victor tapped on the window. “Careful, Haufman. Our guest is in pain.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied in broken English.

“He speaks English too.”

“Yes. Since we’re off the main path of tourism you won’t meet as many people who speak the language, but there are some. My staff, some do, though others don’t. Europeans usually speak several languages.”

“Do you speak more than Dutch?”

She shouldn’t have asked, but then it seemed so natural.

He nodded his head slightly. “German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese and a little bit of French, though I understand it much better than I speak it.”

“You’re kidding.” She gasped.

“I have a knack for languages.”

She couldn’t believe it. “Wow.”

“You’ll find other people who speak English at the resort and many of the tourist stores. But they’re in the northern end of town. As I said, you weren’t in a very tourist area. You’re lucky anyone right there could understand you.”

They turned onto a main road, most likely the main road she’d been heading for. It wasn’t as nice as some she’d driven on in Louisiana but then, there were a few roads in Louisiana that were worse than this as well. This was definitely more populated than the other road. An open market sat on the corner, large and with people hawking their goods. “Oh, look! We have one of those in New Orleans but it’s nothing like this.”

Victor smiled. “The French Quarter is for show. This one is a working market.”

“You’ve been to New Orleans?”

“On several occasions.”

Victor was an enigma. Annie’s curiosity was running wild.

“I was going to stay at the resort,” she murmured, seeing the buildings they passed. This was definitely not New Orleans.

“I can’t see you staying there,” Victor murmured.

Suddenly her attention was back on him. How did he manage that? Maybe it was because whenever he spoke it was as if she was hearing a friend. He had a voice that beckoned her to listen.

His voice and certain moves he made seemed familiar. She felt as if she should know him.

Embarrassed that she seemed to be imposing her needs here in Holland on a man she didn’t even know, she glanced away. “Why is it that you can’t see me staying there?”

“I don’t know. You seem more of a woman who would be happier at home surrounded by friends. Maybe one on one.”

Well he’d certainly pegged her there. “You’re very astute,” she replied quietly.

This road wasn’t as bumpy, and Annie found herself again relaxing into the thick luxurious seat, though increasingly aware of his presence.

She didn’t dare turn and look at Victor. Good heavens. Was she making a mistake staying with him? What had happened to her simple sense of propriety? She wasn’t supposed to be attracted to a man. She was a widow!

“You said something about your friends sending you here?”

“No. Yes. Well, no. I mean, I wanted to come. I’m just…well…” She sighed. Still not herself, she probably admitted to more than she should when she elaborated. “I lost my husband four years ago. We’d been married eighteen years when he died. And they thought, for my birthday, they’d give me a trip as a gift. They thought it’d be great for me to get out and see the world before going back to work.” She still felt really fuzzy from all the medication. Sleep really sounded nice right now.

“Ah.” Victor’s voice sounded like an invitation to continue. He leaned back and resumed his regular seat.

Dreamily she said, “It was easier to give in and besides, I think I was actually excited. I already had a passport. And so, a week later I was on the plane.”

“On your birthday,” he said.

“I told you that?” Annie asked, surprised. Turning her head slowly, she met the caring stare of the man next to her.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured and then offered her a slight smile. “You told me quite a bit.”

Her cheeks flared with color as she realized she wasn’t sure exactly what she’d said. “Oh, dear.”

He grinned a large wide grin that lit his eyes, causing them to sparkle with humor. “I’ll leave you guessing as to what you told me.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t do that,” Annie said nervously though her eyes drifted half closed. This car was wonderfully comfortable, she thought.

His grin actually widened a bit more. “Now who said I was a gentleman?” And then he laughed. It was a baritone, a deep-throated chuckle.

Not the least bit sexy, but it had the devastating affect of pulling her into the joke and making her want to hear it again.

They passed out of the city and turned east. She rolled her head toward the window to look out. “The countryside is beautiful. These homes remind me of Heidi.”

“Except we don’t have mountains. We’re below sea level here.”

“I remember the story of the boy with his finger in the dike,” she said, a languid amusement slipping into her voice.

Small houses sat on parcels of land, and sheep wandered the lush green landscape. “This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it. So, do you still want to go home?”

She hesitated. Pulling her gaze from the window, she allowed her vision to travel over to him. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, but the thought of leaving right now…”

He reached out and took her hand in a gentle squeeze. His larger hand engulfed her smaller one. “You’re tired and sore. I imagine in the next hour or two the pain medication will be wearing off. This hasn’t been the best welcome to our land, but I hope you’ll take a day or two and rest before you decide. Then, if you’d like to leave, I’ll see you get to the airport.”

They turned onto a long drive and Victor glanced out the window. “Here we are,” he said.

Annie followed his gaze. She noted the gate that protected his property. Large with solid round black bars, it kept intruders out. It was more like a fortress, she thought.

The gate opened and they started up the driveway. And then she saw it.

In the distance sat a beautiful two-story chateau surrounded by lush green gardens and green, green grass. Nearby were stables and several horses running free.

It looked like a very old house. The gardens and lawns were well-tended and hadn’t been put in recently.

“How old is the house?”

“I only bought it about five years ago. It’s an escape for me. However, I was told by the Realtor that it’s over a hundred and forty years old.”

“Relatively new for something in the Old World, isn’t it?”

“I’m impressed. Yes, actually it is. I liked the way the land was laid out, the reclusive situation and my mother was from Holland. So I bought it.”

He wasn’t from here then. No. He was American, wasn’t he? She didn’t remember if he’d told her that or if she’d just decided it. Yet he spoke the local language well. His mom had probably taught him.

They pulled to a stop in front of the house and the driver got out. He walked around and opened the door.

“So what are we going to do about getting you inside?” Victor asked as he climbed past her and stepped out of the car.

She glanced down at herself and winced, realizing just how dirty she was. “Maybe you should consider housing me with your horses,” she quipped, though half seriously.

“Won’t do. It’s been a while since I’ve had company, and I think I’m going to like you, Annie—”

“Hooper.”

“Yes. You told me. Annie Hooper. Therefore, housing you in the stables is out of the question. And you certainly can’t walk up those stairs. The doctor said to keep off your leg for at least a day.” He paused and scratched the bottom of his chin as he studied her.

Slightly embarrassed, she managed to turn and get her legs out of the car. She would simply force herself to walk, she decided. Surely she could, though it was likely her leg was awfully sore.

The driver offered Victor the pair of crutches, but Victor waved them off. “It looks like I’ll just have to carry you,” he pronounced.

“But—but I’m a size twelve!” Okay, she wore fourteens too, but she wasn’t telling him that. “You can’t possibly do that.”

“You can’t walk up those stairs. The medication—”

“Well, you can’t carry me,” she insisted.

He shrugged. “You don’t think I can do it?”

She gasped as he leaned toward her, and with a strong sure grip, hauled her up into his arms.

Grabbing his neck, she held on.

“Not so tight,” he said. “Move them to my shoulders, please.”

“I’ve never been carried before!” She decided to hug him. Leaning forward she moved her arms around his shoulders and buried her head in his neck.

“You were married before,” he commented.

“Harry never did this,” she said shaking her head.

“Well, then, haven’t you ever watched a romantic movie?” he complained.

She groaned.

He chuckled and started toward the stairs. “It looks like I have my work cut out for me.”

With that cryptic remark he started up the stairs and into the house where she would be staying for the next few days.




Chapter Three


Picking up a towel, Victor wiped the sweat from his face. He dropped it back over the side of the treadmill and continued walking. “The rest of this week isn’t good for me, Sean. How about we put it off until next week—or later?”

Victor reached up and adjusted the earpiece on his ear and then began to swing his arms in tandem with his steps.

“Sure, Jake,” Sean said, calling Victor by the name he was better known by: Jake Rivers. “But what is it that has you fobbing me off for later?”

Sean was British and a good friend. They’d both recently worked on their fourth project together. About four months ago actually. They’d been so busy they hadn’t seen each other since then. They were going to a movie premiere in two weeks, and they had decided Sean would come up early and spend some time relaxing before they were off to the premiere.

“I have company.”

“Oh?”

Victor sighed. “Yes.”

He knew a one-word answer wouldn’t cut it for his friend.

“Female company?” Sean asked, his accent very pronounced.

Victor changed his accent to match his friend’s. “It’s not what you think, dear boy,” he said dryly.

Sean laughed. “Then what is it? You have a female at your house and you don’t want company. Sounds like something is going on to me.”

Victor sobered. “I hit her in a head-on collision yesterday.”

“Were you injured?”

He heard the concern and knew his friend was worried. So was he, but about his guest not himself. “I’m fine. It wasn’t bad on my end, but the lady in question was a tourist and the wreck was my fault. I was avoiding a dog that ran out in front of me. She has a hairline fracture of her leg, according to the doctor, and a concussion.”

“So why is she residing in your house?” Sean asked, obviously wondering why Victor would take in someone he didn’t know.

“She doesn’t speak the language and is helpless.”

“Doesn’t speak the language?”

“She’s American.”

“Nasty Americans,” Sean muttered. “Uncultured and abhorrently uneducated when it comes to other languages and cultures.”

Victor was used to Sean’s attitude and simply ignored his friend. He switched tones and said mildly, “She needed help.”

“I say. Let me guess. The defensive tone suggests she’s another one of those stunning size threes with long dark hair and beautiful round eyes that usually end up on your arm. You just haven’t ‘put the moves on her yet,’ as you Americans would say.”

“You’d be wrong,” was all Victor was willing to reply to that blatant attempt to find out information on his guest. “And as I said, though I do find her interesting, I’m not attracted to her.” The cross around her neck still bothered him. He had expected the fire-and-brimstone lecture, the condemnation of his job and so on, but she hadn’t reacted that way. It had piqued his curiosity. So of course, that was his only interest—not her eyes or hair or anything else…

Sean gave up. “Okay, old chap. Have it your way. I’ll try to stay away the rest of the week, but expect me to show up on your doorstep ready for a game of squash and a nice swim in that indoor pool by Monday.”

Victor chuckled. “Thanks and see you then.” He reached up and disconnected the link.

He then pulled the earpiece off and placed it in a cubbyhole on the treadmill. Glancing down he saw he had less than five minutes to reach his goal and decided he’d done enough for today.

Turning off the machine, he stepped off.

Grabbing his towel and earpiece he headed toward the shower. He dropped both near the sink and stripped off his sweats and T-shirt.

Reaching into the stall, he turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat. Looking down at his abdomen he noted the injury he had received on the job he’d just finished seemed almost completely healed. A large ugly greenish yellow bruise was all that remained from where the wood had caught him unaware as it’d fallen.

Stepping into the shower he allowed the hot water to wash over him. He’d been stiff and sore this morning when he’d gotten up. Working out and then showering was making all the difference in the world.

He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered himself.

He wondered how his guest was faring.

Sean’s words about thinking he was attracted to the woman were ridiculous, of course, except that he had found her fascinating.

She’d been hurt and yet still, somehow, she’d come off sounding so innocent and sweet, so very young.

She reminded him of a young girl he’d known in school when he was still a gangly twelve-year-old. He’d been all legs and arms and the opposite sex had never been interested in him. His face had looked like a map of acne and he’d even worn glasses.

How things changed, he thought bemusedly.

Still, one young girl had become his friend back then. They’d been in Australia at the time, one of his many homes. His parents had been missionaries and had moved every few years. They never stayed in one place long.

The young girl had been sweet and had insisted that it didn’t matter what others thought. He had to listen to his heart. He had never forgotten her words.

That’s how he’d ended up in his present job.

Of course, the young lady probably hadn’t meant he should drop out of church in the process, or drift away from his parents. But when he’d chosen his career, his parents had disowned him.

And he’d gone wild in his life to prove a point to them—that he could do what he wanted and if they thought he was going to be wild and go to ruin, then he would.

Except that now he simply lived his life as he did, not in rebellion. He had no idea when the sense of rebellion had left. Or when that life started to seem normal.

Annie Hooper reminded him of another life, another time that had been quieter, a time when he could confide in friends and not worry about it appearing on the gossip shows across the globe.

Perhaps that was why he’d taken Annie in—because of a time she reminded him of. Still, there was the necklace.

When he finished washing, he stepped out of the shower and dried off. He pulled on the pair of jeans and the soft cotton top that were waiting and then combed his long hair.

Slipping in some conditioner and gel, he quickly scrunched it so it would hold the style before grabbing his electric razor and trimming his beard to keep that two-day-old look. He then brushed his teeth.

Slipping on a pair of leather loafers, he headed upstairs to start his day.

Passing the housekeeper he paused. Turning back around, he asked in Dutch, “Is Miss Hooper up yet?”

“Yes, sir. She was looking through her clothes when I left.”

“You didn’t stay with her?” he asked.

The housekeeper dropped her gaze. She was in her thirties and lived in a house about five minutes away with her husband who was the gardener here at the chateau. “She doesn’t speak the language, and she didn’t seem to want my help.”

Victor sighed. “She might not act like it, but she is pretty helpless even if she can’t understand you.”

He paused then added, “Go to the cook, ask her to write a note in English telling Miss Hooper that breakfast is ready, and I’d enjoy the company if she feels up to it. If she does, I’ll be glad to help her downstairs.” If she doesn’t want to use the service elevator, he silently added, thinking most of his guests would never be caught in the service elevator in a chateau.





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