Their New-Found Family Read online

  Dear Reader,

  Their New-Found Family is a book very dear to my heart. When I was seventeen, I traveled to Europe on the Queen Elizabeth and experienced Hurricane Carrie, which made us two days late getting into port. I was on my way to boarding school in Lausanne, Switzerland, where I spent a glorious year learning French, meeting girls from all over the world and traveling through Europe on holidays. It’s inevitable that some of my experiences would make their way into my books. In the case of Their New-Found Family, it was a trip down memory lane, one I hope you’ll enjoy—especially because of the unique, special love between Rachel and Tris.

  Rebecca Winters, whose family of four children has now swelled to include three beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high Alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. In addition to her favorite vacation spots in Europe, they often end up as backgrounds for her Harlequin Romance® novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

  Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her Web site at www.rebeccawinters-author.com

  Books by Rebecca Winters

  HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

  3844—HERE COMES THE BRIDE (2-in-1 with Jessica Hart)

  3852—HUSBAND BY REQUEST

  THEIR NEW-FOUND FAMILY

  Rebecca Winters

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  “UNCLE TRIS? Grand-pere just called. He’ll be out front in a minute to drive you to the train station.”

  “I’m almost ready. How about you? Is your bag packed?”

  Alain nodded. “It’s in the foyer. Wish I were going with you,” he muttered.

  Tris didn’t like the situation, either. When his blond, twelve-year-old nephew was upset, his blue eyes grew soulful and he looked so much like Tris’s deceased elder brother, Bernard, it twisted something painful inside Tris.

  “I’ll only be gone two weeks. You’re going to have a great holiday with the grandparents at Lake Como,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.

  Alain didn’t respond to the remark. His nephew had grown so morose this past week, it worried him.

  “By the time I’m back, we’ll still have half the summer left to go camping and fishing. Enjoy this vacation. There’ll be a lot of guys your age to hang around with. I’ve arranged for Luc’s parents to let him join you for part of the time.”

  “I know.”

  Nothing Tris said made a difference. The two of them had been inseparable for the last year. Tris had hoped his nephew’s initial depression was a thing of the past. But knowing his uncle would be away for two weeks had changed the climate. Tris feared this separation was going to undo a lot of the progress Alain had made.

  Since Tris had taken over the guardianship of his nephew who’d lost his parents in a car accident a year ago, the love he’d always felt for Alain had caused him to slip into the fatherly role without realizing it.

  After the funeral, Alain had gone home to live with Tris at his house in Caux, a small mountain village high above Lake Geneva. The grandparents lived below them in the town of Montreux, Switzerland, where the headquarters of their company, the Monbrisson Hotel Corporation was located.

  This was the first time since the funeral they would be apart for more than one night. Alain wasn’t the only one feeling the wrench.

  “I’m going to miss you, too, mon gars.”

  His nephew’s face closed up. “Do you have to go?”

  Tris hated to see him this fragile again.

  “It’s that, or jail.”

  “They wouldn’t really arrest you, would they?”

  “I’m afraid so. Not even a Monbrisson can escape. When you turn twenty, it’s every Swiss man’s duty. Remember, we don’t have an army, we are an army.”

  “Do you hate it?”

  “No. I’m looking forward to seeing a couple of my old friends from school.”

  “I think it’s stupid. We’re never in a war. What do you do while you’re there?”

  “We get to blow things up for fun.”

  He’d hoped his comment would produce a smile, but Alain was too sad to see the joy in anything. The boy looked up at him through cloudy eyes. “Do you want me to find your suitcase?”

  “Actually I’m taking my backpack.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks. You’ll find it in the big storage cupboard in the hall.”

  “Okay.” Alain left the bedroom. When he came back, he was holding two packs.

  Tris glanced at the old, dark green one in surprise. “I haven’t seen that thing in years.”

  Alain tested the weight. “It’s heavy.”

  While Tris started putting clothes in his military pack, he watched Alain out of the corner of his eye. His nephew began opening the pockets of the other pack.

  “Hey—your hockey skates, and a puck! It’s signed by Wayne Gretzky! I didn’t know you’d met him.”

  “Neither did I,” Tris murmured in surprise.

  “There’s a lot of junk in here.” It was the first sound of excitement he’d heard in Alain’s voice all week.

  “You know what they say about one man’s junk being another man’s treasure.”

  “Can I keep it?”

  The request didn’t surprise Tris. His nephew was crazy about hockey though his parents had never allowed him to play it. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks. Did you know you have a whole slug of tags collected from the various cantons?”

  “That’s not surprising. I hauled everything around in that bag during my hockey years. For some reason I thought it had been tossed out a long time ago.”

  Alain dumped the rest of the contents in the middle of the bed. “You’ve got a bunch of American and Canadian money in here. How come?”

  “According to your grandparents, before my hockey accident in Interlaken, I played an exhibition match with my team in Montreal, Canada.

  “After it was over, the team members flew home. But for some reason I wanted the experience of traveling on a ship, so I went on the QE2. Since it sailed from New York, I must have spent a couple of days there.

  “The ship landed in Southampton. From there I traveled to London and caught a flight back to Switzerland where I joined the team for training in Interlaken. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

  His nephew pored over the pile of stuff. “Here’s an envelope with a picture of the QE2 on it. You don’t remember anything about going on that ocean liner?”

  “No. The concussion robbed me of those memories. All of them.”

  “I don’t see how you could forget your trip.”

  “Neither do I, but it happened. The doctor told me the brain is like a giant blackboard. The blow to my head from the hockey stick erased some of the writing. The two weeks leading up to the accident, and the month after, are gone forever.”

  “That’s so weird. Hey—did you know some girl left you a message in English on the inside of this envelope?”

  He paused in the task of packing his T-shirts. “What does it say?”

  In his best English Alain read, “My love—I will never forget last night as long as I live.” He lifted his head. “Oh la la—Uncle Tris!”

  Tris smiled, but deep inside he didn’t like the sound of it. “Dare I ask if that’s all she wrote?”

  “Phone me
ASAP,” Alain continued to read. “I’ll meet you wherever you say, Tris darling.”

  Tris?

  His nephew flashed him a surprised glance. “I thought no one but our family had ever called you that.”

  Tris had to admit he was surprised, too. He’d been christened Yves-Gerard Tristan de Monbrisson. Except for family and one or two close friends, he was called Gerard. In professional circles no one would know him as Tris.

  Tristan had been his mother’s romantic contribution to his full name. It had been an embarrassment to him in his youth, so he’d always kept it a secret. Yet he’d revealed it to the stranger who’d penned the note.

  His curiosity fully roused, he said, “I’m almost afraid to ask if there’s more.”

  “There is!” Alain declared. “You didn’t have to make me promise to wear your ring around my neck. Don’t you know there’ll never be anyone else for me but you?”

  His ring? He’d never worn rings…except for one—a ring that had been presented to him by his hockey team.

  That’s where it had disappeared to?

  “Our love is forever. Like you, I’ll be counting the months until we’re married. All my love, Rachel.”

  Tris stood there speechless.

  He’d been involved with several women in the past whom he’d considered marrying. But in each case something elusive had always held him back from making a full commitment.

  It was ludicrous to think that at nineteen, with only a year of university behind him, and a career in professional ice hockey in his future, he’d actually proposed to a girl. It didn’t sound like him to be that impulsive or reckless. Not at all.

  Yet the stranger’s endearments, the mention of a ring and marriage—everything she’d said led him to believe theirs had been an intimate association, no matter how brief.

  “What does ASAP mean?” Alain wanted to know.

  “As soon as possible.”

  He squinted up at him. “You don’t remember her even a little bit?”

  A chill ran through him every time he was reminded of the period of his life which would always remain a total void. “Afraid not.”

  “She put her address at the bottom. Le Pensionnat Grand-Chene, Geneve.” Tris felt his nephew’s gaze on him, eyeing him speculatively. “She must have felt awful when you never even called her.”

  That kind of observation coming from a twelve-year-old revealed how much more insightful Alain had become since losing his parents. But in this case Tris needed to apprise him of a few facts.

  “I’m sure she forgot me as soon as she got off the ship. At that age, you think you’re in love with every person you’re attracted to.”

  Except that the mention of a ring he’d given her made a lie of what he was telling Alain. He wouldn’t have parted with it unless—

  “You mean you were just pretending that you wanted to marry her?”

  He let out a frustrated groan. “Alain—I have no idea what actually transpired, or what we said to each other.

  “Sometimes in the heat of the moment people read things into situations because they want them to be true. That was years ago. The fact is, at nineteen I lived for hockey, not girls.”

  “Maman and Papa fell in love when they were nineteen,” his nephew persisted.

  “They were the exception because their attraction turned into a lasting love. There’s a big difference between that and hormones. You do know what they are?”

  “Yes. Hormones get you in trouble, like having a baby before you’re old enough to be a good father or mother.”

  “Exactly. Your parents taught you well. Don’t ever forget it.”

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you love Suzanne?”

  “Did your grandmother ask you to ask me?”

  “Yes.”

  Alain’s honesty was one of the qualities Tris admired most in his nephew.

  “I thought so.”

  “She says Suzanne’s been your receptionist for a long time, and that one day you’ll discover she’s the one you’ve loved all along.”

  “Maybe your grandmother’s right, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “I’m glad,” Alain said, looking relieved.

  Tris was aware his nephew had a hard time sharing him with anyone else.

  “Just so you know, I’ve always made it a policy not to date employees, Alain. Some day if you decide you want to come into the hotel business with me and your grandfather, you’ll understand why it’s necessary to separate our work from pleasure.

  “When the right woman comes along, I’ll know it and do something about it.”

  “Maybe this Rachel was the right one, and that’s why you’ve never been able to love anyone else, even though you don’t remember her.”

  “That’s something I’ll never know. By now I’m sure she’s married and has several children,” Tris muttered, wanting to change the subject.

  Alain’s comment shouldn’t have bothered him, but the fact remained that even though it had been twelve years, those six blank weeks of his life still haunted him.

  He heard the horn honking, bringing him back to the present with a jolt. His housekeeper poked her head in the door.

  “Do you wish me to tell your father to come in the house to wait?”

  “Non merci, Simone. We’ll be right down.”

  “Tres bien.”

  One last pair of heavy tube socks stuffed into the top pocket of his military pack and he was ready.

  “Sounds like your grandfather’s getting impatient. Let’s go.”

  “Okay.” Alain put everything back in the pack he’d adopted. The two of them left the bedroom and went down the stairs to the front hall. Alain grabbed his suitcase and went out the front door to put his things in the trunk. Tris followed.

  “Enfin!” his father said when he joined them with his pack.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Papa, but Alain and I had some man-to-man business to discuss.”

  His father’s blue eyes twinkled as he looked at his grandson. “In that case, I understand.” He shut the lid of the trunk and they all got in the car.

  The senior Monbrisson revved the engine before negotiating the steep, winding road that led down to Montreux. In the distance, the shimmering waters of Lac Leman reflected a pale blue. It was a sight Tris loved and never grew tired of.

  Too soon they arrived in front of the gare. Tris levered himself from the back seat, then retrieved his pack from the trunk. He leaned inside the passenger window to kiss his nephew. “I’ll phone you every night to see how you’re doing.”

  With tear-filled eyes, Alain caught him around the neck. The boy was suffering. Tris could relate.

  One minute his brother and sister-in-law had been alive. In the next, they were gone. He still had a hard time believing it, so he could just imagine Alain’s pain knowing he’d never see his parents again.

  But Tris recognized that right now his nephew’s greatest problem was the fear his uncle wouldn’t come back again, either.

  “When I return, we’ll go camping. How’s that?”

  Alain simply nodded.

  While they hugged, Tris’s father sent him a silent message that said he would do everything possible to lift Alain’s spirits.

  Raising him had become a family affair, yet everyone was aware the boy clung to Tris.

  He walked around the other side of the car and kissed his father on the cheek. “Call me if things get bad,” he whispered.

  After turning away, he strode swiftly toward the entrance to the train station. Besides his heart being torn having to leave his nephew, old demons had been resurrected by the note Alain had found in the backpack.

  Over the years Tris had pretty well learned to control the panicky sensation of not being able to remember that period of his life.

  But for no accountable reason, this new evidence of past events with a girl—apparently intimate events which had transpired without
his having any knowledge of them—made him uneasy. He could feel one of those damn headaches coming on.

  “Alain?”

  “Oui, Grand-mere?”

  “I’m going out in the garden to finish some weeding. I’d like to get it done before we leave for Lake Como in the morning. Do you want to help me?”

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” he called to her from the top of the stairs.

  “Tres bien.”

  The moment his grandmother’s footsteps faded, he rushed into the bedroom which had been his father’s growing up. He always stayed in there on overnight visits.

  There was a phone on the bedside table. Alain hurried over to it and picked up the receiver to call Guy, his uncle’s assistant, on his cell phone.

  “Bon apres-midi, Alain. What can I do for you?”

  “I need your help, but you can’t tell Uncle Tris about it.”

  “It will be our secret as long as it’s not illegal, immoral or dangerous.”

  “Guy—”

  “I’m teasing you. Go on.”

  “Okay. I’m trying to help my uncle remember the memories he lost because of his accident. He worries about it sometimes.”

  “I know,” Guy murmured. “I can’t say I blame him. It must have been very frightening to wake up in a strange hospital, not recalling anything that happened, and be forced to accept it. I admire him very much for his courage.”

  “So do I. That’s why I’ve called you. I found out the name of a person who’d been with him right before he got hit with that hockey stick.”

  “Tu blagues?”

  “No, I’m not kidding.” He filled Guy in on what he’d discovered in the backpack. “I’d like to talk to her, but I need you to get some information for me first.”

  “A shipboard romance, eh? This sounds intriguing. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Good. Her name is Rachel Marsden.” He spelled it for him. “I think she’s Canadian or American. Anyway, she must have been a student. The address here says Le Pensionnat du Grand-Chene, Geneve. Do you think you could call the school and find out where she came from?”