Invitation to Provence (6 page)

He also wondered if he should warn her about Marcus, but remembered he wasn’t supposed to know anything about her private life. He guessed she would just have to find out the hard way. Anyhow, who did he think he was, the patron saint of innocents who didn’t have the gumption to know they were getting involved with married men? Dr. Marten had made her bed and, as the saying went, she would have to lie on it, until, as they also said, the proverbial penny dropped. She was just another woman caught up in a bad affair.

J
OE’S CAFÉ
on Abbot Kinney in Venice was a small storefront place with a tree-lined patio in back and a young urban clientele who enjoyed the good food, the high-decibel chatter, and the sense of being somewhere special.

“Mr. Bronson is already here,” the host told Franny, leading the way to a corner table out on the patio. Franny glanced anxiously at her watch. She was twenty minutes late. Jake got to his feet when he saw her coming, a blond
gypsy in a flowing skirt, dangling earrings, and an armload of bracelets. He grinned—she looked as though she might tell his fortune any minute. Still, her hair swung loose in a silken curtain over eyes that struck blue sparks from his as she smiled at him.

“Sorry I’m so late,” she said, offering him her hand.

He held onto it, smiling back at her, more pleased to see her than he had any right to be. “As a working woman, you’re excused.”

She pushed the slipping curtain of hair aside and stared gravely at him, no doubt comparing him to the loser boyfriend, Jake thought. He was an expert at reading people, and he discerned an unexpectedly strong woman underneath that soft blond exterior, like a soft peach with that hard kernel inside. Knowing her past, he understood that the inner strength was what had kept her going.

Franny felt as though he could see into her life, her soul. She was suddenly glad she was having dinner with Jake Bronson tonight instead of wrapping herself in her old patchwork quilt and huddling into her pillows, hiding from the truth about her relationship with Marcus.

He asked what she’d like to drink. “Something pink and girly,” she said, surprising him. “And alcoholic.” She grinned. “It’s been a long day.”

He called the waiter and Franny studied the menu, hoping he couldn’t hear the hungry rumblings of her stomach; she’d missed lunch again. “I’m going to have the scallops with ginger to start, and then the lamb chops,” she said, then glanced guiltily up at him. “I’m starving, but anyhow we’re going dutch on this.”

“It’s good to see a woman with an appetite, and dinner’s
on me.” He held up a hand when she protested. “I asked
you
out,” he said, “and besides I still need to prove to you that I’m a gentleman.”

She took a sip of her drink. “And are you?”

“I’ve been called other things in my time, but I’m still hoping.”

“Funny thing, I’ve never thought of myself as ‘a lady’ ” Franny laughed, “I suppose there was never enough time to practice being one. I’ve always just been the ‘career woman,’ ” she said, mocking herself. “You know, making her own way in the world, that sort of thing.”

“It seems to have worked,” he said as the food came and the waiter poured the wine.

“So,” she said, realizing she knew nothing about him except that he had a dog, “what do you do anyway?”

“I’m in the risk management business. Security,” he added helpfully when she looked puzzled.

“You mean like
… a bodyguard!”

“My company trains bodyguards for international celebrities and billionaires. We ensure their safety. And I investigate the backgrounds of their employees at the big companies, find out their problems.”

“You’re a P.I.?”

“Sort of …”

She sat back, flabbergasted. “I thought that was all Hollywood baloney. I never knew people like you really existed.”

“Well, here I am.”

“In the flesh and all,” she said, awed. “I bet you get to travel a lot.”

“I do.”

“I’d like to travel,” she said wistfully and Jake smiled,
thinking of the invitation. “Still, all those plane flights, all the delays, the long lines for security checks, you must find it tiring.”

“I have my own plane.”

Franny sat up straight. She pushed back her slippery hair and narrowed her long eyes at him. “You have
your own plane?”

“It’s not huge, you know. It’s for my company and it’s a few years old now.”

“Oh my god. I never met anyone who owned their own plane. You must be very rich.”

He laughed. “It’s just necessary for my job. I can’t always rely on commercial airlines.”

“So,” she said, forthright as always, “why haven’t you been snapped up by some lucky woman already? Unless you are married of course?” She hadn’t thought of that until now, hadn’t remembered that married men had been known to ask women out on dates, too.

“There’s been no one recently I’ve wanted to marry,” he said, cool now.

Franny bit her lip, knowing she’d gone too far. She said, “I’m sorry.”

He changed the subject. “What’s it like being a vet? Do you get many customers like Ron and Marmalade, or do you normally just treat the animal?” And so Franny entertained him through the meal with stories of her patients. Then she told him about the poor German shepherd. “Oh, that reminds me,” she said, looking at her watch, “I have to go back to the clinic after dinner to check on him.”

“You’re a dedicated doctor, then,” he said, and she nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t be any other way,” she said simply, and she could tell from his eyes that he understood.

“So, tell me about
you
now, not your animals,” he said, pouring more wine. He looked up at her and their eyes linked. “I want to know more about the
real
you.”

“Well, I’m an Oregon girl. My father owned a little vineyard where he grew pinot noir grapes. He lost what money he had when phylloxera hit. Mom left when I was just a kid. I never knew her, so I didn’t miss her when she died, though I’m still overwhelmed by guilt about not feeling anything.” She glanced anxiously at him. Was she revealing too much? She didn’t think so. Somehow she knew he understood. “Do you think that’s terrible?”

He shrugged. “I never knew my mother, either. Like with you, she left when I was a child.”

“Tell me about it,” she said eagerly, leaning an elbow on the table and cupping her chin in her hand.

So Jake told her about his early life in Argentina and his relationship with his father. He described the sweeping acres of grassy pampas and the
gauchos
who were his only friends. He told her how much he loved the speedy little horses who would later become polo ponies and be sold to eager connoisseurs all over the world.

“Were you as lonely a kid as I was?” she asked suddenly.

He wasn’t surprised by her question. He felt they came from the same lonely place.

He nodded, serious. “It’s the kind of loneliness only those who have been there can know,” he said quietly.

Instinctively she reached across the table for his hand, holding it unself-consciously in both hers. “But it worked out for you. You dealt with it, you became who you are.”

He smiled. “And exactly who am I, Franny Marten? Who
do you see sitting here with you, drinking wine in a charming restaurant?”

“I see a nice man,” she said simply. “You want to know how I can tell? It’s the same gut feeling I use with animals. Somehow you just know when they are going to be okay, or you know they’re potentially vicious and going to bite. I don’t think you are going to bite me, Jake Bronson.”

He smiled. “So,” she said, “what took you away from Argentina?”

“Two women.” Jake toyed with the stem of his wineglass. “And I fell in love with both of them. The first was very beautiful, a Frenchwoman full of
joie de vivre.
I was just sixteen and she was in her forties. She was my first love, and I love her to this day.”

“How romantic,” Franny said softly, “that you still love your first love. But then, who was the second?”

“Her name was Amanda. We were young. We got married. She died.” Jake avoided her eyes, suddenly wary. He never talked about his past to women, and rarely even about his present.

But Franny closed her eyes, as though feeling his pain. “I’m so sorry,” she said finally.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“And now?”

“Now? Oh, I built a little cabin up in the mountains. I keep my horse there, an old gelding nobody else wanted. Then there’s Criminal and a couple of feral cats who come to visit whenever there’s food around. There’s true solitude, silence, peace.” He shrugged again. “It’s what makes me happy.”

She nodded. There was a different man under his urbane, edgy exterior.

“What about you?” he asked.

“For a long time I never realized I was lonely. There was never time until my dad died. Then I knew I was Alone with a capital A. There was no family, nobody to look after me, nobody to care if I succeeded, or just”—she lifted a resigned shoulder—“ended up waitressing. So I pulled myself together and got on with life. I worked four jobs to put myself through college. I ended up a vet.” She shrugged again. “And you know what? I’m
still
lonely.”

He was looking at her as though he knew exactly what she meant. She met his gaze. Maybe she’d said too much after all.

“I have to go see my patients,” she said, collecting her bag and her wits as he paid the bill.

They were standing outside the café, waiting for the valet to bring their cars, when Jake asked if he could go with her, and Franny said, “Why not?”

Back at the clinic they inspected the German shepherd, lying very still with a big ruff collar around his neck to stop him from licking his wounds. Jake watched as Franny knelt next to him. She stroked his fur and he rolled pleading brown eyes at her. “Don’t worry, darling boy,” he heard her whisper, “you’re doing fine, you’re going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.” The injured dog thumped his tail just once in acknowledgment.

Back outside, Franny called the dog’s owner on her cell phone and told her he was doing great, and she thought he’d be fine. “Now what?” Jake said.

“I’m going home. I’m going to kick off my shoes and make
a cup of chamomile tea and think what a lovely time I had tonight.” She ran her hand lightly down his arm, not in a sexy way, just friendly, nice-girl style.

“I could go for a cup of chamomile tea,” he said with a touch of longing in his voice that hit home.

“Okay, so I’ll make you some tea and then I’ll send you home to bed because I’m really tired.”

No nonsense there, Jake noted with a grin. She’d laid the ground rules, let him know where he stood all right.

T
HEY PARKED OUTSIDE
the little green house, then got out and stood looking at each other. She was suddenly hesitant, and he knew what she was thinking. After all, he was a stranger and she was about to ask him into her home.

“If you’d rather not, it’s okay,” he said, “I’ll just head back to that Starbucks we passed and grab a take-out coffee.”

She shook her head and her long hair rustled like silk. “Too much caffeine, you’ll never sleep. No, I promised you chamomile tea and that’s what you’ll get. Come on in.”

As usual, she’d forgotten to leave a light on, but she skipped unerringly up the steps. Jake followed her onto the unlit porch, hit the loose plank and felt his ankle twist agonizingly. “Jesus!”

She turned to look at him. He was balanced on one leg
like a stork. She wanted to giggle, but she could see he was in pain. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “It’s that loose plank, I should have warned you.”

“I wish you had,” he said through gritted teeth.

She opened the door and helped him to the sofa, sat him down, knelt in front of him, slipped off his shoe, and ran her hand over his rapidly swelling ankle.

Jake looked down at her pale blond head bent over his foot. Her fingers were cool and firm, very doctor-like. He thought it was almost worth the pain.

She got to her feet. “It’s definitely not broken but it’s a bad sprain. If you like I can drive you to the emergency room, or I can strap it up for you. I’m pretty good at this sort of thing.”

“I’d rather you did it,” he said. “I feel like the German shepherd,” he added, grinning, but she was all crisp medical efficiency.

“You’d better get that foot up on the sofa. Here, I’ll put a cushion under it, and I’ll get an ice pack and an Ace bandage.”

While she was gone, he took a look at her home, at the sagging chenille sofas and the green-check throws that looked remarkably like horse blankets, at the tufted red-velvet ottoman and the fifties flea-market coffee table. Only the armoire in the corner was good, a fine French antique if he wasn’t mistaken, and he wondered if Paul Marten had brought it with him to America all those years ago. Pottery jars spilled wilting flowers and scented candles were everywhere. Still, despite the general disarray, he thought it had a well-worn lived-in kind of comfort that wasn’t too far removed from that of his cabin. He definitely liked it and thought it suited her.

She was back in minutes carrying a washbowl filled with
ice and water. She stuck his foot in it, grinning as he flinched. “I thought you were the tough-guy bodyguard trainer,” she said mockingly, then she went off to the kitchen, where he heard her filling the kettle and rattling dishes.

When she came back she had her hair up tied in a black ribbon and a tray with two steaming mugs of tea, along with some pills and the Ace bandage.

“Drink the tea,” she ordered. “It’s very soothing, makes you nice and relaxed. And take these pills, they’ll help kill the pain.” She knelt in front of him again, took his swollen foot out of the ice water, patted it dry, and began to bandage his ankle tight enough to make him wince.

“All done,” she said finally, sounding like the efficient vet she was. “Now I’ll get you a proper ice pack and you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” he said, meaning it, but also wondering how he would drive back to the hotel. And besides, he had to be in New York tomorrow.

Franny returned with a bag of frozen peas, which she arranged over his foot. Then she closed the shutters, lit the candles, and put a match to the kindling in the grate. As the flames began to flicker round the apple logs, the smoky scent swept her right back to her Oregon childhood. She kicked off her sandals with a satisfied sigh. “There,” she said, beaming at him again with that easy smile.
“Now
we can relax.”