Among the Tulips (4 page)

“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.

P
icking 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.

“Yes, Mr. Rivers.” The housekeeper left to do his bidding.

He shook his head and continued down the hall and into the breakfast room.

He usually had coffee and read the paper while he waited for breakfast. After breakfast he painted and then might ride or take some other exercise
before lunch. While he was in Holland he was on his own as far as working out. His personal trainer didn't come with him, instead staying in England. He had a separate trainer he contacted when he was at his flat in New York. But here, here was where he could be alone, away from that world and that life—or almost, he thought, as he seated himself and picked up the morning paper.

He'd made the gossip section.

The cook, who bought the paper when she was out shopping each morning, had folded it to that section, just in case he missed it.

The first page of that section had him walking beside a bloody Annie Hooper who sat in a wheelchair as they left the hospital. At least no one could see Annie's face, as she was looking down.

The headline read: Local Accident Wounds Tourist.

Below it was a short article:

“Good grief,” Victor muttered. “How did they get wedding bells from a head-on accident?”

He wondered how long before the international gossip rags picked up the story. He would have to alert security to keep a closer watch on the house. Usually the media left him alone here in Haut but then, usually he didn't have stories like this appearing in the local paper.

Tossing the paper aside, he lifted the silver pot that was warm to touch from the hot brew the cook had recently put into it, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

The sound of scuffling made him pause, and he lifted his gaze toward the door.

Annie Hooper came into sight on her crutches. Looking a bit out of breath she flashed him a sweet smile. “Good morning.”

She looked gorgeous today. Actually, he was quite stunned by how pretty she was. He hadn't really noticed yesterday.

She wore a cotton dress that dropped to midcalf and buttoned down the front. It was light green with a belt to match. It was simple, yet suited her.

Her hair was pulled up and pinned at the back of her head. The hairstyle did not do her justice.

It looked as if she'd applied makeup, because, as he studied the bruise on her forehead, he noted it wasn't as dark as it should be. He could see the stitches from here with the way she wore her hair.

She was barefoot and not wearing stockings.

Quickly setting down the coffeepot, he stood. “I would have come up and assisted you,” he said as he started toward her. “Didn't Helena tell you that?”

“Who?” Annie asked, breathing heavily as she rested on the crutches.

“Helena, the housekeeper who has been assisting you. She was bringing you a note to that effect since she doesn't speak English.”

“I haven't seen her. Perhaps I left before she got up there?” She asked it gently as if she thought she might have done something wrong.

“It's okay,” he assured her.

Victor walked with her to the table and then pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you,” she said. “These take a while to get the hang of, you know. I've never broken a bone before.”

“How do you feel today?”

The look she sent him was one he completely understood. “That bad, huh?”

She chuckled and then winced. “The air bag didn't deploy in my car. I don't even think it had
one. My chest is bruised as are the front of my hips from the steering wheel and seat belt, I suppose. And I saw myself in the mirror this morning. My forehead is blue—and I'm sure that blue runs up to the top of my head where it's very tender. My shoulders and my lower back—are also very sore.”

He took the crutches and rested them against the table next to her chair, before turning it so she could easily slide into it. “I can help you a bit there,” he said and slipped his hand to her back to help ease her down. His hand moved up to her shoulder and rested there a minute in sympathy for her injuries. With a gentle squeeze, he released her.

Going around to his chair, he seated himself. “I asked the cook to make a regular American breakfast. I hope that's okay. It should be here shortly. Would you like some coffee?”

She was seated directly to his left. A plate was laid out for her, just in case she had decided to eat. If not, it would be taken up after breakfast. His staff was used to him having guests and had a routine for such occasions. Though he rarely had more than two or three people here at a time, he did make sure he had a staff that knew how to set up for parties.

“Yes, coffee sounds fine.”

He poured her a cup.

She smiled shyly and nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better after working out and taking a nice hot shower.”

“You went to a gym already this morning?” she asked, her eyes showing amazement.

He shook his head. “Not at all. There's a kitchen and gym in the basement. If you didn't notice when we drove in, stairs lead up to the first floor, which is actually the second floor. We call the basement our first floor. The second floor, which in reality is the third floor, houses the bedrooms and then this floor, the second, which we call the first, is for entertaining and such.”

“Nice,” she said and then shook her head and started laughing. “Remind me never to ask you for directions.”

He chuckled, realizing he'd confused her and silently admitting he just might have done it on purpose to pull a smile from her.

“We don't have a real basement because of the low land. At any rate, you're welcome to use the workout equipment if you'd like. Attached to the northeast corner of the house is my studio. You'll note the floor has a decline you walk down to get to it. If you feel up to a tour later, I'll show it to you. At the bottom of the decline there's another section that was built on later. It was probably sup
posed to be a separate bedroom, but I turned it into a painting studio. There's an inside hothouse for fresh vegetables located there, and then off that is a pool area. It's enclosed with glass so you can look out at the landscape as you swim, but heated, since I'm used to warmer weather.”