The Frenchman's Bride. Rebecca Winters

took care of her last customer, rang up the receipts and left Tati’s.

      Two days had passed since she’d hurried out of Monsieur Rolland’s apartment in pain. The terrible situation she’d unwittingly created by becoming friends with his children had been haunting her until she had to do something about the awful limbo she was in.

      Last night she’d started a fast after her prayers. Tonight she had an appointment to talk with Mother Marie-Claire about the twins. By now they were home with their father in St. Genes. Hallie feared that any attempt on her part to talk to him or his children by phone would prove unsuccessful.

      The only thing she could think to do was send him a letter conveying her sorrow, and hope he wouldn’t tear it up without reading what was in her heart first. But before she put her thoughts to paper, Hallie wanted to know her Superior’s opinion on the problem.

      In the beginning Hallie had perceived she could fill a need for the twins while they were away from home. Tragically it had backfired with shattering consequences.

      The painful encounter with their father had caused Hallie to lose confidence in her judgment as a human being, let alone as a nun. Where had the inspiration been to prevent this disaster?

      Was she such a prideful person it had gotten in the way because she’d believed it was her mission to comfort the motherless twins? Had it blinded her to signs of trouble?

      Or was it some latent maternal instinct that had suddenly sprung to life, thus preventing her common sense from surfacing?

      In either case, what kind of a nun was she going to make in the future working with young people?

      This was one of the questions she needed answers to. If she didn’t find some peace on the matter soon, Hallie feared she wouldn’t be good for the order. Sick at heart, she started walking faster.

      “Ms. Linn?”

      Hallie knew that deep, masculine voice. She spun around in surprise that the twins’ father was still here in Paris. Her heart skipped several beats.

      She’d wanted another chance to talk to him and try to make things right. His presence meant that one of her wishes had been granted at least.

      He’d pulled his car up to the curb not far from Tati’s. It was like déjà vu if she remembered Monique waiting for her in the same spot two nights ago. Except that he got out of his vehicle to approach her.

      This evening he was dressed in a lightweight gray suit. It provided the perfect foil for his dark, handsome looks. But as he drew closer, she felt he’d aged since their confrontation.

      Lines bracketed his mouth. His olive complexion seemed paler. She glimpsed pain in those deep set brown eyes made more remarkable by lashes black as jet.

      Though he didn’t stare at her with the same contemptuous disdain as before, she had no sense that his feelings were any friendlier toward her. More, it was a case of enough time having passed for the first white heat of anger to dissipate.

      “Paul’s in the hospital,” he began without preamble.

      Those were the last words she expected to hear. “What’s wrong with him?” she cried in dismay.

      “My son’s not dying if that’s what you’re worried about. At least not from anything physical,” came the muttered aside.

      “Then what is it?”

      She heard his sharp intake of breath. “He ran in front of a truck after he left the apartment the other evening.”

      “Oh no—” A shudder rocked her body.

      “As I told you, he’s going to be fine. All he sustained was a concussion and some bruises.”

      Her eyes closed tightly. “Thank heaven he’s alive. He was so upset it doesn’t surprise me he didn’t watch where he was going.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong,” he fired back. “When the paramedics brought him to the hospital, he was unconscious. He woke up in the emergency room thinking he’d died and had awakened on the other side.

      “When the doctor told him he hadn’t been killed and was very much alive, Paul didn’t want to believe it. That’s when he admitted he’d run in front of the truck on purpose.”

      “What?” Hallie couldn’t bear it. “Paul really wanted to die?”

      His tortured gaze reflected her horror. She felt his hand close over her elbow. “We need to talk, but we can’t do it here. I presume you’re off work?”

      “Yes,” she answered, feeling light-headed. “I was on my way…home.” She would reschedule her visit with Mother Marie-Claire later. This was more important.