Page 14 of The Magic of Provence (A Year in France #3)

Was that why she was afraid? Hiding?

He could feel the donkey leaning harder against him now. As if it was letting out a sigh of relief because it knew that it didn’t need to be scared.

Christophe caught Fi’s gaze again. ‘Can you help him?’ he asked softly.

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘If he’ll let me.’

She came closer. Slowly. They took their time reassuring the donkey, who calmed down enough to stay still as Christophe put the halter on.

He didn’t tie him to a tree. He would hold the lead rope himself, he decided.

That way, perhaps the donkey would be able to feel the reassurance that they were both here to help him.

For more than an hour he watched a masterclass in hoof shaping. With the donkey standing on the ground, the first tool Fi used was a pair of large nippers to cut off the bulk of the curled, excess hoof.

‘How long do you think it’s been since someone looked after him?’ Christophe asked.

‘Too long.’ Fi’s tone was grim. She was out of breath and stood up only to stretch her back and wipe perspiration from her face. ‘I would guess more than two years. How old do you think he is?’

‘I’ll look at his teeth later but he seems quite old. And he knows you’re helping him, so he must have been cared for at some point in his life. He would never be this calm, otherwise.’

Fi picked up each leg and used a knife to peel and shape the underside of the hoof and then she studied the way it sat on the ground.

‘It will take a long time to look normal,’ she told Christophe. ‘Months and months. They might never be perfect but I want to get the pressure of the weight in the right place so it will start to grow properly – down and not straight out.’

She used the nippers again to adjust the shape and then finished with a rasp.

By the time all four hooves were done, he could see that Fi was hot and tired. He suspected her back was aching badly as well.

‘We are going to take a break now,’ he announced. ‘It’s time for lunch.’

He led Fi away from the donkey enclosure because he knew that nearby there was a clearing with a rustic wooden picnic table with benches attached.

‘It’s a place for the hunters,’ he told her. ‘They come together to share food and wine.’ He shook his head. ‘And then they go hunting again.’

‘With guns ? In this forest?’

‘ Oui . Not now – the hunting season is finished until September, but they hunt the sangliers . Look… you can see the damage the pigs can do. They’ve been here, looking for acorns and tree roots to eat.

’ He pointed out a large section of the forest floor, just off the wide track, that was ploughed up into a mess of soil, rocks and broken branches.

‘It looks like someone’s been digging with a pickaxe.’

‘They use their sharp horns. And they’re big.’

Oh… the way Fi’s eyes widened made something tighten deep in his chest. ‘Don’t worry,’ he added swiftly. ‘They stay away from people if they can, and Heidi is here. She’ll let me know if a sanglier is close. We will keep you safe.’

He opened the zip on the insulated bag as soon as they reached the table.

‘Are you hungry?’

Fi nodded. ‘And thirsty. Have you got some water in there?’

‘I do. And something else.’ Christophe lifted out some small pear-shaped bottles of dark orangey-red soft drink and flipped off the lids. ‘ Aranciata rossa . My guilty pleasure.’ He gave her the ghost of a wink.

‘It looks like Irn Bru,’ Fi said. ‘That’s our national drink in Scotland.’ She took a sip. ‘It tastes a bit like it, too. Yum yum.’ She was smiling at him. ‘How do you say “yum yum” in French?’

‘ Miam miam .’

She laughed. ‘Of course. It’s the same sound. And in Italian?’

‘ Gnam gnam .’

She only caught his gaze for a moment but he could see the way her smile had made her eyes light up.

Or maybe it was a sliver of sunshine through the treetops that had reached far enough to reveal the sparkle that softened the brown of her eyes and sprinkled bright flecks of gold and red in her hair.

She was… bellissima . So beautiful. He knew he couldn’t let the thought show in his face, however, so he focussed on the contents of the bag again.

‘I hope you like this.’ He handed her a wrapped parcel of food.

Fi opened it and took a bite. And then she closed her eyes as she chewed, an expression of sheer pleasure on her face.

It was just as well she couldn’t see him, Christophe thought, because there was no way he couldn’t watch her eating the food he had prepared.

He could feel her enjoyment so clearly, he could taste the sandwich himself before he even took a bite.

‘ Ooh …’ Fi opened her eyes and stared at what she was holding, the tip of her tongue appearing to catch a reminder of the taste. ‘What is this?’

‘A stromboli. It’s pizza dough baked with things inside it. Like a sandwich. There’s ham and salami and olives and cheese – mozzarella and provolone – and some sun-dried tomatoes and?—’

‘And it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,’ Fi interrupted. She took another bite.

‘ Grazie mille ,’ he responded.

She swallowed hurriedly. ‘ You made this?’

‘I did.’ He shrugged. ‘I love to cook. My nonna taught me, the way she taught my mamma. We all love to cook. And to eat. And we all know that the best thing is to make other people happy with our food.’

‘I’m happy.’ Fi was looking at her food rather than him and she sounded enchantingly shy. ‘ Miam miam …’

She peeped up at him for just a fraction of a second from beneath a thick tangle of eyelashes that were the same, rich red-brown colour as her hair.

Ohh …

He could fall in love with this woman in a heartbeat if he let himself.

Maybe he couldn’t stop that happening.

What he could do, however, was to ensure that he kept it hidden well enough that nobody would be able to guess. Especially Fiona.

It wasn’t simply that she deserved more than he could ever offer her. Or that, no matter how much pain someone had been through in the past, it was still possible to be hurt again.

No… this had a selfish motive as well. There was something so enchanting about this third Gilchrist sister that meant he didn’t want to lose sight of her and, if she got even a glimpse of what he was thinking, or feeling, he knew she would run – so far and so fast that it was more than likely he would never see her again.