One Kiss in... Paris. Robyn Grady

Even more obvious, she was in no position to think about children in that context and hadn’t before this moment. But the brave way Clairdy held her head as they strolled up the main path brought a stinging mist to Bailey’s eyes. She might have lost her mother but she’d known and loved her for fourteen beautiful years, and, as difficult to understand as he was, her father had never considered putting her up for adoption. Damon Ross cared about his daughter. These past years, he simply hadn’t been able to show it.

      They were all three entering the nurse’s office as Remy showed up, a scuffed football clamped under his arm. When they came out a few minutes later, Remy was still there, waiting to see how Clairdy was. Something older than his years shadowed that little boy’s eyes; he knew she needed a friend more than medicine. Remy said a few words to Mateo—something in French, of course. Mateo nodded and Remy took Clairdy’s hand and led her upstairs to the girls’ dorm to rest.

      They both watched until the pair disappeared around the top balustrade. Bailey let out a pent-up breath. She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mother would’ve done in this situation.

      “We could stay and read her a story,” she suggested and stepped toward the stairs, but Mateo’s hand on her arm held her gently back.

      “She might like to be alone with Remy now.”

      Bailey wanted to argue, but it was as much herself as Clairdy she wanted to console. This was a small taste of what Mateo must see each time he visited. There was the fabulous welcome and smiling familiar faces, time set aside to make plans for improvements he knew would be appreciated. But those same faces who were overjoyed to see him couldn’t help but be sad when he drove away. He must want to take each and every one of these children home with him, and realizing he couldn’t …

      Bailey hung her head.

      A lesser man might simply send a check.

      As they moved away from the building toward that big sprawling tree out front, Mateo circled his arm around her waist. “Let’s take a drive.”

      She hesitated but then nodded. If they went out, talked, her mind, and his, would be taken off a situation over which they had no power. And she had to be happy for Eleanor and pray that Mateo was right. A perfect family was around the corner for Clairdy. Remy too.

      Mateo drove over that ancient stone-bridge and into the village with a towering gothic church, two restaurants, one bakery … and right on through.

      Bailey shot over a glance. “Where are we going?”

      “Thought you might like to see something a little different. A fortress. A ruin now. Word is it’s haunted.”

      Determined not to be sullen, she set her mittened hands in her lap. “I’m in.”

      After a few more minutes traveling along the country road, they reached the foot of a rocky cliff that jutted over the river. Ascending a series of rock slabs that served as steps, Bailey, with Mateo, reached near the summit a little out of breath. But given their incredible surroundings, she soon forgot her tired legs.

      “Nine-hundred-years ago this began as a motte—a large mound—and wooden keep,” Mateo told her. “An earlier word for keep is donjon.”

      It clicked. “As in dungeon?”

      He winked, took her hand and led her toward the ruins. “By the fifteenth century, the fortress consisted of three enclosures surrounding an updated keep. Only the château of the second enclosure still stands.”

      Bailey soaked up the sense of history effused in the assorted moss-covered arches, sagging stone steps, the remnants of sculptures hanging to cold gray walls. Above what once must have been an imposing door rested a worn coat of arms. Shading her eyes, she peered up. A giant might have taken a ragged chomp out of the second story wall.

      “Who are the ghosts?” she asked. “Why do they haunt?”

      “It’s said that a lord once kept his daughter locked in this tower. Apparently no man was good enough, but everyone knew the true reason. The lord didn’t want to lose his only child.” Holding her elbow, he helped her over rubble through to a cool interior that smelled of mold and earth. “Then, one day, a knight rode through and was invited to stay for the evening meal. The knight heard the maiden singing and crying. He asked if he could speak with her. But the lord wouldn’t allow it.”

      Bailey had been picking her way up the stairs. Now she swung around to face him. “Don’t tell me they both died while the knight was trying to rescue her?”

      “The knight succeeded in freeing his lady and they rode away that night to be wed. The father was furious and set out on horseback to bring his only child back. Taking a jump, his horse faltered and the lord broke his leg. Infection set in. He took six weeks to die, but he moaned and howled for his daughter’s return until his last breath. He wanted her forgiveness,” he added.

      Bailey studied the lonely crumpling walls and coughed out a humorless laugh. “Funny thing is that lord never enjoyed his daughter’s company while he had it.”

      Reading between the lines, Mateo crossed the dirt floor and joined her midway up the steps.

      “If you’d like to see your father when we get back,” he said, “I’d be happy to go with you.”

      She cupped his bristled cheek. “Thanks, but I can’t see any happy ending there either.”

      “I’m sure if you gave him a chance—”

      “Maybe he should give me one for a change.” Gathering herself, she blew out a breath. She didn’t want to discuss it. There was no point. “I wish it were different, but it’s not.”

      A muscle in his cheek pulsed as he considered her response.

      “I suppose it’s not easy.”

      Bailey frowned. Did he mean for her or her father? How would he handle the situation if he ever became estranged from his child? How would he handle any situation as a father? She wanted to ask. And now seemed the time.

      “Natalie mentioned at dinner that night she wouldn’t be surprised if one year you came home with a child from France.”

      His face hardened. “Natalie’s sweet but she doesn’t have all the facts.”

      “What are the facts?”

      “For a start, nowadays the adoption process in France is a longwinded one.”

      “So you’ve looked into it?”

      “Madame and I have conversed for many years.”

      Be that as it may, he hadn’t answered the question. “Then you’ve never considered adopting?”

      His voice and brow lowered. “Remy will find a perfect home.”

      “Maybe it could be with you.”

      The muscle pulsed again before he headed back down the steps. “It’s hard, Bailey, I know, to think about leaving those kids behind. But they’re well looked after. I do what I can.”

      Bailey let out a breath. Of course he did, and far more than most people would. Resigned, she admitted, “It’s probably best we’re leaving tomorrow or I might never want to go. Those kids have a way of wrapping themselves around your heart.”

      From the foot of the stairs, he found her gaze. “That’s the way it is. When you have to stay, you don’t want to. When you’re free to leave.” His gaze dropped away.

      That’s the way it was for her with Mateo, Bailey realized walking with him back out into the open. When she’d had nowhere to go and Mateo had convinced her to stay to rest up, she’d been intent on leaving. She’d ended up sharing his bed for two weeks then flying with him here. And in these few days she’d become frighteningly used to the sight of him sitting before a flickering fire in their cottage. Used to his earnest evaluating walks around the orphanage, as well as his warm smile when any one of the children brought him