Wrong Train to Paris (Romance on the Orient Express, #2) by Jennifer Moore

Author:Jennifer Moore [Moore, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2020-11-30T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The remainder of the morning passed in a silence that was a different type of uncomfortable. Julia found herself acutely aware of every movement Luc made. Each time he cleared his throat, shifted, even breathed, she was conscious of it. And at times, she hoped his movements would result in a brush against her arm or that his knee might bump hers. The entire side of her body tingled with anticipation of an accidental touch, to the point that when the wagon finally drew to a stop, Julia ached from the longing.

“You can remain here if you’d like,” Luc said. “I’ll inquire at the farmhouse.”

Julia’s face flushed at the sound of his voice, and the embarrassment of her reaction made her flush even more. She nodded.

Luc climbed down and knocked on the door.

A cloud moved in front of the sun, casting a shadow. A cool breeze blew, and Julia looked up, surprised to see clouds and grateful for a distraction. She needed to pull herself together and stop with these silly thoughts. How had her mind become so addled?

She closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the cool breeze wash over her. The air smelled fresh, even with the scent of animals.

A raindrop hit her cheek. Then another.

Julia turned around on the seat. She leaned precariously over the back of the bench and pulled out the umbrella from beneath. And her coat.

By the time Luc returned a moment later, the rain was falling steadily.

“No goats for sale,” he said, climbing up to the bench. “But madame told me where we might find some.”

Julia moved the umbrella so it covered Luc as well. She held it between them, angling her shoulder so she wasn’t leaning against him, although the small diameter of the umbrella made it nearly impossible for the two not to squeeze together. She had a fleeting thought that this was perhaps Gabi’s intention but pushed it away. Surely not.

The dairy the woman from the farmhouse directed them to was nearly an hour farther along the road, and when the pair climbed out of the wagon and walked to the farmhouse door, they had to dodge muddy puddles the entire way.

Luc knocked, and a moment later, a round man with a red nose opened the door. He squinted, making the pronounced wrinkles around his eyes even more pronounced, and eyed them suspiciously. “Bonser?”

Julia wondered if the elderly man had a speech impediment. She adjusted the handbag on her arm, not wanting to stare and appear rude.

“Cossí va?” Luc said.

“Ben.”

Luc spoke for a long moment, and the man answered. Julia realized they must be speaking a regional Provençal dialect. She listened carefully, picking out a few words, but could not follow the conversation.

The old man visibly relaxed as they spoke. He glanced at Julia and asked Luc a question Julia didn’t understand.

Luc’s answer made the man smirk.

They spoke for a moment longer, until finally the old man nodded. “Monsen, madòna.” He pointed with his hand, palm up, and jerked his head to the side, indicating for the pair to follow him.

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