Cinderella on His Doorstep / Accidentally Expecting!: Cinderella on His Doorstep. Rebecca Winters
She got out of the car in time to see David hurrying toward her from the woods. He was her father’s age, a wonderful family man with a great gift for writing.
When he caught up to her, he hugged her hard. “Bless you, Dana. Bless you, bless you for this. Words can’t describe.”
“I know.” She’d felt the same way after seeing the château for the first time. It was how she felt now, only more so. He finally let her go, still beaming.
David’s reaction settled it. This film was of vital importance to him, too; therefore she had no choice but to pack up her things and drive to the Hermitage. She checked her watch. It was ten to six. Pretty soon everyone would leave for the night. That’s when she’d go inside to get her things so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself.
Until then she would walk around the back of the château to find Alex. After what he’d done for her, she owed him an explanation of why she wouldn’t be staying here after all. He would never know that because of him, she’d experienced the most exciting day and night of her entire life. A man like him was too good for her, but at least this was a memory she’d hug to herself forever.
After telling David she’d see him later, she followed the path next to the hedge at the side of the château. It led around to the back where she hadn’t been before. To her surprise the ground, covered by a mass of tangled vegetation divided by a path, sloped gently toward the river.
She wandered down it a few feet, marveling at the sight. Alex had meticulously cleaned out one half of it to reveal individual fruit trees. Who would have guessed what had been hidden there? In its day, the grounds would have been a showplace.
The other part still needed to be tackled, but he was making inroads. She saw his truck piled with cleared-out vegetation. Nearby were various tools including a power saw.
“Bonsoir, ma belle.”
Her heart raced. “Alex?” She’d heard his deep, seductive voice, but couldn’t see him anywhere.
“I’m in a tree!” He tossed something small and green at her feet.
She reached for it, then looked up. A long, tall ladder had been propped against the trunk. Hidden by masses of leaves, she only saw parts of his hard-muscled physique. He brushed a few aside, allowing her a glimpse of his disarming white smile. Dana could hardly breathe.
“Are these all apple trees?”
“Blanc d’Hiver apples,” he asserted. “The kind that make the best tartes aux pommes. By late October I might be able to harvest a few. The trees behind you yield Anjou pears.”
Dana shook her head. “No wonder this place is called Belles Fleurs. When their blossoms come out, the sight from the château windows will be glorious.
“That all depends if I live long enough to make it out of this primeval forest to prune another day.”
She chuckled. “How old are you?” She’d been dying to know.
“Thirty-three.”
“You’ve got years yet!”
“Years of what?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Dana didn’t want to think about his life when he moved on to other places. Other women…It would take a very special woman to capture his heart. “Tell me something—”
“That covers a lot of territory.”
Laughter escaped her lips. “Can you see the vineyard from that altitude?”
“So you noticed the building housing the winepress.”
“Yes, but I also heard that the vineyard once produced the famed Domaine Belles Fleurs label.”
She heard the leaves rustle. In seconds he’d negotiated the ladder with swift male agility before jumping to the ground, carrying his hand saw. “Someone’s been gossiping.” He gathered the branches he’d just cut and threw them in the truck bed. “Wait, let me guess—Madame Fournier at the Hermitage.”
Nothing got past him. “Who else?” She smiled, but he didn’t reciprocate.
“Since my arrival, word has leaked out that a long-lost Fleury is back in Les Coteaux du Layon. It sounds like she was talking out of school again.”
Dana had irritated him again; the last thing she’d wanted to do. “Only because I wanted to buy a bottle of the dessert wine we drank the other evening. She told me it came from the Domaine Percher, but she added that the very best Anjou wine used to come from the Domaine Belles Fleurs.”
Alex rubbed his thumb along his lower lip. “There hasn’t been a bottle produced since 1930.”
“That’s what she said. Naturally I was curious.”
“Naturally,” he came back, but to her relief he sounded more playful than upset.
“When I flew back to California, I did a little research on the Internet.”
His eyes narrowed on her features. “What did you find out?”
“For one thing, Dutch merchants used to favor the Belles Fleurs brand.”
He expelled a breath. “I might as well hear the rest. Knowing Dana Lofgren, you didn’t stop there.”
Embarrassed to be rattling on, a wave of heat washed over her. “There isn’t any more, though I will say this—I’m no connoisseur, but if the Belles Fleurs wine was as good as the kind we had at the Hermitage, then it’s the world’s loss.”
She noticed him shift his weight. “My parents never breathed a word to me about a vineyard.”
“You’re kidding!”
“My father was so intent on protecting my mother from any more pain, we simply didn’t talk about her past. When the letter from the attorney for my grandfather’s estate showed up, there was no mention of a vineyard. In fact, he led me to believe the place was virtually unsalvageable.”
“Sounds like he was hoping you would forfeit so he could buy it for a song.”
He nodded. “I got the distinct impression he was hiding something, but didn’t understand until I saw the winepress building and eventually discovered the vineyard. No doubt he’d been bombarded by vintners throughout the Anjou region who wanted to buy it and work it, even if they couldn’t afford to purchase the château.”
“So he thought he’d buy it first,” she theorized, “recognizing the money it could bring in.”
“Exactly.”
“Is it supposed to be a secret then?”
He put his hands on his hips, unconsciously emanating a potent virility that made her tremble. “Not at all.”
“But you wish I’d mind my own business.”
“You misunderstand me, Dana. There’s something you don’t know. Come with me while I make this last haul and I’ll explain.”
His invitation made it possible for her to be with him a little longer. She couldn’t ask for more than that, but he paused before his next comment ruined the moment. “Unless of course your assistance is required elsewhere.” His brow had furrowed. “Naturally your father has first call on your time.”
Between Alex and her dad, she felt like a football being tossed back and forth. Both of them treated her like she was a child who couldn’t act for herself. She’d thought she and Alex had been communicating like two adults just now, but she’d thought wrong!
Bristling with the heat of anger she muttered, “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have come out here, would I?”
Turning on her heel, she started to retrace her steps, but Alex moved faster. In the