Among The Tulips

She hoped tonight she might have some time with Victor alone. Tonight she would tell him how she felt, if he didn’t tell her.

A knock sounded at the door.

She carefully made her way across to the door and pulled it open.

Her mouth dropped in stunned shock.

Victor stood there, dressed in what had to be a very expensive tux, waiting to be allowed in.

“I take it you like it?” he asked, mildly amused.

“I—wow!” She blushed. He was every bit the movie star now.

He walked in and turned to her, taking her hands. “You are a fresh breath of beauty in a world too old and cynical, my dear.”

“I feel like Cinderella at the ball,” she said lightly.

CHERYL WOLVERTON

RITA^® Award finalist Cheryl Wolverton has well over a dozen books to her name. Her very popular Hill Creek, Texas, series has been a finalist in many contests. Having grown up in Oklahoma, lived in Kentucky, Texas, Louisiana and now home once more in Oklahoma, Cheryl and her husband of more than twenty years and their two children, Jeremiah and Christina, always considered themselves Oklahomans transplanted to grow and flourish in the South. Readers are always welcome to contact her at P.O. Box 106, Faxon, OK 73540, or e-mail at Cheryl@cherylwolverton.com. You can also visit her Web site at www.cherylwolverton.com.

Among the Tulips
Cheryl Wolverton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

You say, “I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.” But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich.

—Revelations 3:17-18.

My family, for helping clean and do laundry while this story poured out of me!

Thanks Steve, Christina and Jeremiah.

And my online friends, who are always so supportive and helpful.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes ideas just come to you—in the middle of the night. And as any writer will tell you, when that happens you must get up right then and start writing, or else.

This was one of these books.

This has been one of the hardest years of my life, yet God has blessed me richly in my career and my spiritual walk. As I thought of the many areas in which God has blessed me, I thought of the verse in Revelations that tells us we often think we are rich when in reality we’re naked.

That’s the case for our hero, who has everything money can buy, yet is empty inside because he’s missing the greatest gift of all—Jesus Christ.

Enjoy the read, and any mistakes in Dutch are my fault.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Prologue

You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich…

Revelation 3: 17, 18

“It’s going to be your fortieth birthday. That calls for something really special. I say go for it!”

Thirty-nine-year-old Annie Hooper glanced at blond Cynthia, one of the friends she was having her early birthday dinner with. She shook her mousy brown-haired head at her fairer friend and thought again how different the two looked. Cynthia looked fresh from a salon while Annie felt she looked like…a mother. “I don’t even know where I’d go. Besides, the kids need me.” Annie laid down her fork and lifted her napkin to pat her lips.

“Susan and Mark?” Amy piped up, her auburn eyebrows shooting up with a bit of disbelief. “Oh, come on, Annie. Mark is thirty-three and has a great job and Susan is thirty-two and is working as a nurse. Face it. Your stepkids are grown and need to stop depending on you for everything. They certainly don’t need you here providing food and shelter for them. You have to start living again. You’re still young.”

Although Susan and Mark weren’t officially her children, she thought of them as such, though they rarely called her Mom. No, they had their real mother, with whom they still stayed in contact. After running a hand through her hair she sighed. Unfortunately, the kids always had a way of guilting her into staying at home when she tried to plan something, like last year when she’d said she had been going to get a passport and had actually brought home some travel brochures. But her friends were right. She was young; the kids were older, so shouldn’t she start living again?

Annie dropped her napkin on the table.

Her two friends sighed in unison.

They knew that wasn’t all that was bothering her. “The kids still miss their dad,” Annie said simply. She leaned back in the cushioned chair covered in lovely mauve brocade.

“It’s been four years,” Cynthia replied. “They need to move on with their life. You need to move on with your life.” She too had finished her lunch. She nodded as the waitress took her empty plate.

It had been four years since Annie had lost her husband. They had been hard years in some ways, lonely years as well. Sometimes his death seemed as if it happened only yesterday, especially when problems were building up or the kids were pulling a number on her. At night, however, when she was alone in bed or watching something on TV, it seemed as if he’d been gone forever.

“You always said when Harry retired, you were going to go somewhere different for a real vacation,” Amy added. “I know you got your passport last year with just such an intention.” Amy took the last bite of her dessert and then handed her plate to the waitress.

Yes, Annie had gotten her passport. In a fit of frustration and desperation she’d decided she was going on a trip. Her kids, however, had been aghast that she’d forgotten their daddy so easily and was going to traipse off into the unknown.

“Your kids like knowing you’re there so they can bum more of Daddy’s money off you—” Cynthia started.

“And get you to do their laundry—” Amy added.

“This isn’t about their dad being gone,” Cynthia finished.

Annie lifted her water glass and took a sip, allowing the ice-cold water to wash down her throat and take away the building tension.

“I just don’t know if I can travel there by myself or even if I should.” Frustration slipped in, and she silently prayed for guidance. “It’s crazy. I’ve always had someone there making the decisions for me and now…”

“And now you’re allowing your children to do that for you,” Cynthia said gently.

“Honey, you deserve to get away.” Amy picked up her iced tea and took a leisurely sip of the light golden brew. “You should go for it.”

“I don’t think I could simply up and leave the family. What would the kids do?”

How would the children react if she decided to go on this trip? Though Annie knew they used her and it was wearying, she still felt a responsibility for them.

That’s what it boiled down to. When she’d married Harry, she’d inherited a young boy and his younger sister as immediate family. She’d been thrown into instant adulthood trying to raise two children.

Looking back, she realized she hadn’t been ready for it. She’d been a child herself really at 17. She’d done her best, but had her best been good enough? The children’s mother had never forgiven Harry for marrying Annie. And on every weekend and holiday that Michaela had had the children, she’d done her best to poison them against her.

Annie also had church responsibilities as well as friends there. Although most of her friends were gone, uncomfortable being around a widow or simply no longer having anything in common, she had one or two who she saw occasionally, including Amy and Cynthia. However, she was going to be starting a new job this fall as an art teacher at a local community center, and so this would make the perfect time to go—if she so chose.

“The kids depend too much on you,” Cynthia informed her. “They use you and you allow it.”

That hurt. Cynthia was always the blunter of her two friends. And she never spared what she thought.

“You deserve this time,” Amy added more diplomatically. “You’ll never get to splurge again like this. You know that. Once you settle down into this new job, you’ll be too caught up in life to consider doing something so wild.”

Doing something wild. Was that what she was doing?

Annie shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m the wild sort—”

“Well maybe you should be,” Cynthia cut in. “It’s time you had a chance to live a little. You married Harry while you were still in high school, for Pete’s sake. It’s time for you to go out and have fun.”

Annie thought about what her friend said. She was going to be forty next week.

Forty.

And she’d never left Louisiana.

“Where would you like to go?” Amy prodded.

Annie smiled slightly. “Holland.”

She could talk about her dreams at least. What would that hurt?

“Holland? What is in Holland?” Cynthia demanded.

Annie shrugged. “Tulips.”

All three women burst into laughter. Annie honestly didn’t know what Holland had to offer. She simply thought it would be fun to visit somewhere she’d never been, somewhere off the beaten path.

“Think of the tours you could take,” Amy added, when the laughter died down.

“We’d even help you pack,” Cynthia chimed in.

“Whoa, wait a minute. I’m only dreaming here. Let’s not get carried away.” Annie shook her head, trying to slow the two women down.

“Why not get carried away?” Cynthia asked.

Annie tried to think of a reason but couldn’t come up with a legitimate one.

Cynthia leaned forward and took her hand. “This is your chance. Get away for the summer. Spend time doing some soul searching. We’ll take care of the house and your cat. We’ll make sure everything runs smoothly while you’re gone. Just take this time for yourself, Annie. You need it.”

Annie couldn’t believe she was wavering in this. Wasn’t this the time of her life when things were supposed to slow down? She should be spending her time at home, enjoying the quiet solitude.

Of course, she’d been doing that for four years now. Four years. Where had that time gone? What had become of her during that time? Herself as a person? Had she ever been her own person? An individual with her own feelings and thoughts?

Had she ever had a life? she wondered now. One of her own? Or was she always going to be defined by her marriage and family?

If she were honest, Harry had rarely been there. She had wondered at one time if he was having an affair, but had then decided it was simply that he was a workaholic.

Annie had no idea who she was anymore. She’d come to that realization as she’d sat at home one day, wondering when her stepdaughter was going to drop by.

Maybe a vacation was exactly what she needed. Time away from all the memories and time to find herself. Time to spend with God.

“The kids will have a fit.”

Amy shrugged. “They’ll handle it.”

“They’ll have to,” Cynthia added and then, seeing the hesitation on Annie’s face, added, “If they need you, you can always give them your number. Besides, their mom lives in town.”

Annie knew the kids would be worried without her there. She met with her daughter at least once a week and her son usually stopped by on weekends with his laundry and had lunch with her. He still didn’t do his own laundry.

A month or so without laundry. Now that would be odd.

“I can tell you’re considering it,” Amy said with glee in her voice. “Come on. Cynthia, can you take an extra hour or so before going home? I say we go look at brochures at the travel agency. We’ll have her on that plane by next week.”

“That soon!” Annie said, worry in her voice.

Amy laughed with enthusiasm. “Sure. Why not? The sooner the better.”

“I agree. I know you, Annie. If we don’t rush you out the door and onto the plane, then you’ll end up staying put.”

Annie sighed. “You’re right about that.”

“We have a surprise for you.” Cynthia reached into her purse, which was set next to her feet on the elegant carpeted floor.

Annie lifted her napkin and folded it neatly before releasing it. “You’ve already bought me lunch. What else are you planning?”

These two women really were her dear friends, but they knew how to keep her off balance.

Amy grinned. “It’s our gift. We had to make sure first that you’d use it.”

Annie glanced from one to the other, her cheeks warming. “I’m too old to get gifts. Just going out to lunch was enough.”

“Oh, no, honey,” Cynthia said and then presented her with a small gold oblong box. “We wanted to make sure about our plans before we gave this to you. Open it.”

Annie smiled and obediently opened the checkbook-size box. When she pulled out the piece of paper her jaw dropped open. “This is a gift certificate from a travel agency.”

Amy chuckled. “It’s enough for a ticket just about anywhere in the world, and if you choose Holland, then it will even cover most of the hotel cost.”

“Oh, dear.” Annie stared in shock at what she held.

Cynthia smiled. “You can choose anywhere.” She hesitated and then added, “If you don’t use it, you can roll it over until next summer.”

“Yeah,” Amy added and accepted the receipt from the waiter. She quickly scanned the price and pulled out some money, tossing it on the table with the check. She then stood. “Come on. Let’s go to the travel agency and we’ll see what we can find.”

“I’m not certain I’m going yet.” Annie gripped the unbelievable gift in her hands, staring at it, still in shock.

Talking about it was one thing—but actually leaving Louisiana and the kids?

Cynthia grinned. “That’s okay. We’ll just look.”

Annie knew that against the two of them she had no defenses. She didn’t with her kids either. That was one of her big problems; she enjoyed going along with life and, unfortunately, that could have bad as well as good results.

In this case she wasn’t sure which it would be.

But the idea of a month away…

How bad could it be?

Especially since they were only looking.

Chapter One

Haut, Holland: One week later

Tires screeched. Metal boomed against metal. All forward motion in the car stopped, except for Annie who suddenly flew forward, still propelled by Newton’s Law. Her hands lost their grip on the steering wheel. Pain erupted in her legs, her chest, her head as she met the resistance of the abrupt cessation of the vehicle.

Stars danced in brilliant colors before her eyes.

A wreck.

She’d been in a wreck.

Vaguely she heard noises around her, but as for focusing, that wasn’t possible.

Drums pounded in her ears as she sat trying not to pass out.

Her first day in Holland.

Her entire body throbbed in pain. Forcing her eyes open, she groaned as the bright light from the sunny day increased the throbbing agony in her head. Absently she reached for her head but stopped as she saw people coming toward the car—including an angry looking man who was stalking his way to her, looking for all the world as though he was going to tear her apart as soon as he got close enough.

Short, round and wearing an apron, he shook his meaty fist before pounding on her window. With each slap to her window, her head pounded out a cadence of objection to the noise.

He shouted, loudly, in Dutch.

Her head nearly exploded.

She had to calm him down, had to apologize, make him understand that she hadn’t meant to hit his car. What was she doing? Why had she come here? Did they arrest foreigners for auto accidents?

Lifting her hand to her aching head, she felt something wet and sticky. Glancing at her fingers, she saw her hand come away with blood. Oh dear. She felt dizzy and turned her head away from the sight.

She couldn’t help her eyes from slipping closed. Her hands went to her eyes and pressed gently as if to relieve the headache. “Do you speak English?” she asked.

Alarmed at how weak her voice sounded she tried to speak up. “Does anyone speak English?” When no one answered, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.

Her window was still up. No one could hear her—and the man still screamed.

Fumbling, she reached for the knob to the window and proceeded to roll it down. “Does anyone speak English?” she repeated, her voice still sounding weak. She hurt from head to toe and didn’t think she could move.

The man ignored her question and jerked the car door open.

She gasped as she realized she could move—but it caused her a lot of pain. The throbbing noise in her head increased, drowning out some of her attacker’s unintelligible words. He pointed at his car and then back at her.

Had she been in the wrong lane? She tried to remember, but everything was fuzzy. All she could remember was she had been driving down the street on the way to the hotel just outside of town…

She turned to get out of the car. A crowd was gathering. Panic edged up her spine. She had to do something, say something, find someone who could help her. Her chest tightened and her palms grew slick with sweat.

Why hadn’t she listened to her son and daughter? They’d both nearly disowned her when she’d told them of her plans last week. She’d seriously considered not coming, but Cynthia and Amy had convinced her she would have a great time.

She reached up and grasped her head. It pounded viciously from her movements. The front window of the car was smashed. She must have contacted it with her head. That would explain the lump that was forming on her forehead as well as the blood.

Pushing herself around, she gasped in pain as she moved her right leg. Looking down she saw both knees were bloody too.

Hearing the murmurs, she glanced carefully back up.

“Does anyone speak English?” A large crowd swarmed around, talking and pointing. A mob? Did they have mobs here? What would they do to her? Her vision narrowed as she felt herself breathing faster.

Oh no. She had never been in a situation like this. Never. She tried to slow her breathing.

A policeman appeared and started asking questions. She wanted to cry.

She couldn’t understand a word he said.

Again she asked herself why she had come to Holland.

“English. Eng-lish!” she cried out.

“Do you need some help?” The deep baritone voice came from in the crowd. Desperately she looked around, trying to find who had spoken.

The crowd obviously knew. People turned, pointed and started babbling.

The noise level doubled, which in turn, doubled her headache. “Please, yes. Who said that?”

She reached for the car door, intending to stand.

“I did.”

A tall man, at least six foot, stepped forward as the crowd parted. Dressed in a pair of casual jeans and paint-splattered top, he looked vaguely familiar—American, she thought. Long hair to his shoulders, slightly wavy and pulled back in a ponytail, and deep blue-gray eyes; he had a casualness that bespoke comfort in his surroundings.

Funny she should notice all of that about a stranger. “I can’t understand the policeman. I’m a tourist.”

The man turned and spoke to the officer, who in turn motioned for the people to move back. Another officer showed up and began directing people out of the way.

The man who had been yelling at her now turned to the officer and began telling him something in rapid-fire Holland-ese. What language did they speak? She didn’t remember.

Finally her link to the local language turned back to her. “Are you hurt?”

Insurance papers. Driver’s license. What all was she supposed to show the officer? “Yes.”

Annie gripped the side of the car and the door and started to lift herself out.

“Wait—” the American said.

The first bit of weight on Annie’s right leg told her more than anything else that she really wasn’t okay.

She cried out in pain and pitched forward—right into the arms of the American.

She saw stars, and then, the next thing she knew, she was lying in the man’s lap on the sidewalk, staring up at a blue sky.

“Why did I do this?” she moaned.

“I tried to warn you that sometimes shock will prevent a person from noticing injuries. Now lie still until we can get you to a hospital.”

Annie blinked. Warm strong arms surrounded her, holding her gently.

“Who are you?” she asked, more than willing to take his advice because moving, she decided, wasn’t a priority.

“Call me Victor,” he said simply.

She nodded, or tried to. She realized Victor was holding a hankie to the lump on her head. “Ow.” The pressure hurt.

He gentled his ministrations. “You have a small cut there.”

“I want to go home,” Annie whispered.

She could hear all of the voices around her, and she had never been so frightened in her life. She trembled from the pit of her stomach to the limbs of her body. She lifted her hand and saw her fingers shake with a palsy of shock and pain.

“I just turned forty, you see. My friends thought this vacation would be a wonderful idea. I didn’t think about the language problem or driving or…anything. We just made reservations for today, my birthday and then I got on the pl-pl-plane. Well, yesterday in America, you see. I was on my way to the hotel when th-th-this accident happened. I only want to go ho-ho-home now.”

She realized she was rambling, and worse, she realized tears had filled her eyes and had spilled over. Oh heavens. Dear God, please help me get control, she silently prayed.

Victor reached up and brushed away the tears before pulling her closer. “It’s shock and an adrenaline rush. Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right. Let’s take one thing at a time. First, let’s get you taken care of, okay?”

In the distance, a siren’s blare grew louder—a very odd foreign-sounding siren that made her feel so much more alone and different. Annie bit her lip. “But the hospitals overseas…I’ve heard stories…and I don’t speak the language…”

“Let me handle this,” the man said gently.

She nodded. “I’m so-so-sorry.”

“For what?” he asked.

The siren died down as an ambulance pulled up.

“For getting you involved, for taking this trip— I don’t know—for many things.”

Two men got out and approached her.

As they knelt next to her, Victor asked, “Is your husband here with you? Someone I need to notify?”

Annie shook her head slightly, immediately regretting it. “No. I’m a widow.”

Victor released her, gently laying her down on the sidewalk and then stepped back to allow the men to get to her. She didn’t move. She hurt too much to move.

“I don’t suppose I can have your name,” he said.

Annie realized she hadn’t told him. “Annie. Annie Hooper.”

“Nice to meet you, Annie,” the polite stranger said.

“You have no idea how nice it is to meet you,” Annie said, meaning it with every heartbeat.

She was terrified and alone. She was exhausted after the long trip and all she had been thinking about was getting to the hotel to rest.

She had no idea what had happened. She had been driving and now she was being loaded onto a gurney. How had the wreck occurred? A big blank was there where information should be. And where was the man she’d hit?

As the two men lifted her, she couldn’t help a surge of panic. “Don’t leave me,” she called and realized the man who had been at her side was once again talking to the police. He immediately turned and stepped over to her. Wrapping both of his hands around hers in an intimate act of great comfort, he focused his complete attention on her, his eyes connecting and holding hers in a steadying gaze. “I’m right here.”

She bit her lip, embarrassed, but unwilling to let go. “Thank you.”

Some trip this was turning out to be. Yet, holding on to this man calmed her somewhat. A needle pricked her arm as the paramedics started on IV and then injected a clear fluid into the IV line. “What are they giving me?”

Her rescuer turned and rattled off a question in that language they spoke.

The one attendant answered.

Tall dark and handsome turned back to her. “Something to help calm you.”

Oh heavens…she could already feel it taking affect. “You look funny,” she said, but it didn’t sound right. The words had come out mixed up.

The man smiled, two dimples appearing in his slightly bearded cheeks. “I have a funny look?”

“No. You…your face…it’s…turning…” She lifted one hand to show him how he seemed suddenly tilted, but found the effort too much and dropped her hand back to her side. “I’m not making sense.”

The attendants lifted the gurney. It felt very odd—as if she were suddenly floating up into the air. Victor was still next to her, however.

“You have a dimple in your chin,” she said, staring at him.

He gave her a half grin as he turned to say something to someone near them.

“I would have seen it better if you had shaved. You have stubble all over your face.”

He glanced back, his eyes widening in surprise.

She felt the silliest urge to giggle—which she did. And then she closed her eyes.

Until she was jarred.

“Wait a minute. We’re moving.” She glanced around and noted they were in the back of a vehicle and it was speeding down the street.

Victor was still there, sitting right next to her, along with a stranger who was talking on a radio. Victor held her hand with both of his. He must have sensed her confusion, however, because he released her hand with his right hand and cupped her cheek. “The medicine is affecting you. We’re on the way to the hospital. Obviously time isn’t the same for you. We’ve already been in here several minutes. They must have given you something pretty strong.”

Annie felt disconnected, though his hand felt great. With a sigh she rubbed her cheek against his hand. “You feel so good,” she murmured sleepily. “I had no idea how much I missed a gentle touch.” She hadn’t said that out loud—had she? Ah well, what did it matter? He was here now, with her. Her eyelids felt heavy. “My protector.”

She didn’t want to let her eyes close though and forced them open. The gorgeous guy in front of her was her only lifeline to this world she was in. She didn’t want to lose him.

He had an odd look on his face.

She studied him, wondering just who this man was, this gentle soul who had been willing to help her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Please don’t leave me alone.” That sounded so wimpish and frightened. She wasn’t wimpish and easily frightened. At least, she didn’t think so. “Yes, I am. Very wimpish.”

The man laughed.

She felt his hand against her cheek again and smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered. Turning her cheek into his hand she snuggled down into it, thinking it felt so much like her mom’s hand had so many years ago—soft, gentle and caring. She closed her eyes.

“Thank you again? For what?” Victor asked. When she didn’t answer, he realized Annie was asleep. Turning to the attendant he spoke in Dutch, “I want to make sure we get her into a room immediately.”

The young tech nodded, a bit starry-eyed. “Of course, Mr. Rivers. Whatever you want.”

Victor simply nodded. He was used to the deference he received, though it did get old. In this case, however, it would be beneficial; it would ensure that ‘Annie’ got good medical care.

What was he going to do with the woman?

A stranger in a strange land and she didn’t speak the language.

He would love to have a talk with her friends. Didn’t people realize just how dangerous it was to be in a foreign country where she couldn’t speak the language? If she’d been in one of the bigger cities, she wouldn’t have had a problem, but in the tiny city of Haut, with a population of only ten thousand, located out in the middle of nowhere—very few spoke English.

Wearily, he shook his head. He couldn’t help but worry about Annie Hooper.

And things did happen to innocent people—look at her and the wreck.

Victor always tried to be prepared and ready for whatever might come. It was a good thing in his life—to make sure he was prepared. Not being prepared could lead to national embarrassments.

He hadn’t been prepared for Annie, however.

He was surprised that she didn’t speak a single word of Dutch or German.

She had rattled him, that was for sure. He’d actually been surprised by her sweet innocent smile. He’d smiled when she’d rubbed up against his hand. Her skin was soft and smooth and smelled of something sweet. He’d never smelled that scent before but it drifted up from her as she’d moved her head. Perhaps a shampoo or perfume. And then she’d commented on his chin. Some women were put off by the dimple, but she seemed to like it, though he wasn’t sure about her feelings regarding the light bit of beard he’d worn for his last movie. His long hair and beard were leftovers, and he hadn’t cut them yet.

Of course, the drugs were affecting Annie. She’d been slurring every word she spoke.

If he had his way, he would prefer her to be in a different hospital. But since he was there, he would make sure she was treated right.

He frowned. “She is going to be okay?” he asked the attendant.

The attendant shrugged. “She probably has a fractured tibia or fibula and possibly a concussion. Normally we wouldn’t give meds so strong, but she’s a tourist and pretty unsettled. Americans,” the technician said disrespectfully and then winced. “Except for you, Mr. Rivers. Your mother was from Holland so you’re not really American, exactly.”

Victor thought that attitude was typical and sighed. “It’s not important.”

As if to make up for his lapse, the attendant sat up straighter and examined the patient more closely. “She could have internal injuries. The doctor will let you know.”