Grace reached for it and grabbed on to the edge. Carter felt the pressure of her hand through the plate, and the shy lump wedged itself in his throat.
Grace tugged, brows coming together when Carter wouldn’t release the plate. She tugged again, a little harder.
Carter abruptly let go, and Grace took a staggering step back. Carter reached out to steady her, but Grace had already turned nimbly away.
Faith giggled. “That was funny.”
“Plate dancing,” Grace said, her back to them as she scrubbed.
Carter moved to the table and sat down, out of breath for some reason. Faith was writing numbers on a piece of paper.
“Math homework?” he asked, for something to say.
“Trying to figure out how much we should sell the cookies and cupcakes for to make enough money for the youth group.” Faith bent her head over the numbers again, the kitchen light glistening on the dark ponytail that hung between her slender shoulder blades. Her small fingers worked the pencil over the paper. “Not so high people won’t buy them but not so little we don’t have any profit. We should also offer two for a little bit of a bargain, an incentive to buy more.” She looked up at Carter, her hazel eyes clear.
Carter blinked. She was his little girl all right. “Sounds good,” he said.
Faith pushed a plate of mostly crumbs over to him. On its center was one roundish chocolate chip cookie. “Three different kinds of chocolate in it,” Faith said. “I wouldn’t let Grace put the nuts in this batch. I don’t like them with nuts, and I know you don’t either.”
When Carter only looked at the cookie, Faith pushed the plate closer. “So try it.”
Carter lifted the cookie and took a bite. An amazing flavor sensation hit his mouth—buttery, chocolaty, sweet but not too sweet, with a hint of caramelized brown sugar.
“’S good,” he said.
“Told you.” Faith gave him a triumphant look. “I could only save you one, because the rest are for the bake sale. But Grace said she’d make more another time.” Faith tapped the notepad with her pencil. “I think she should open a bakery.”
Grace said from the sink, “Have to have money to do that. I’m fresh out, right now. But maybe someday.” Carter heard the sad resignation in her voice.
She wiped up all the counters, dried her hands, and joined them. “I’m heading home. Pick you up tomorrow, Faith, around nine?” Grace glanced at Carter when she said the time, making sure this was all right with Faith’s dad.
Carter was already rising to his feet. That’s what a gentleman did when a woman was leaving, Olivia had drilled into him.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Carter said. He almost said, Wait, tomorrow’s school, before he remembered the next day was Saturday. His brain always moved slower around Grace.
“Okay, then.” Grace tilted her head, studying Carter. “You have chocolate, just there.” She pointed to the corner of her lower lip.
Carter snatched up a paper napkin from the table and scrubbed his mouth.
“Good night,” Grace said. “Again.”
Carter nodded, still wiping. “G’night.”
Grace leaned down to kiss Faith on the top of her head, lifted a tote bag from a chair, and walked out the kitchen door into the dark.
Carter dumped the paper napkin and went out after her. Things were pretty safe around here, but he waited, in the shadows beyond the circle of the porch light, to make sure she made it to her car all right. He knew to stand in the dark, so predators wouldn’t see him, until it was too late for them.
Grace, oblivious, got into her car, started it, and drove smoothly away. Carter watched until he couldn’t see her anymore, then he returned to the house.
Faith was doodling on her notepad, her dark head down. “You liiiike herrr,” she said softly.
Carter didn’t respond. He’d only make a fool of himself if he did. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”
Faith never fussed about going to bed. She said she liked to lie in the dark and make up stories in her head. She was a fearless kid, which Carter always marveled at. He’d spent his young years in terror.
Faith caught up her notepad and pen and took Carter’s hand to lead him down the hall. Carter reached back, grabbed the second half of the cookie, and stuffed it into his mouth as he went.
These really were damn good.
***
The bar was crowded on Saturday night, like it was supposed to be. Christina pulled taps, poured wine, and occasionally mixed drinks, though this was more a beer scene.
Grant walked in with Karen Marvin. As had happened at the restaurant, everyone looked, went stone-faced, and then returned to conversations, voices subdued.
Tyler and Ross were the only ones who greeted him, and he nodded at them in return. Karen was clinging to Grant like a limpet to a boat she particularly liked. Grant, as though he didn’t notice, walked her up to the bar, taking off his hat.
Grant looked good. His button-down shirt was smooth across his shoulders and abs, jeans hugged his thighs, and his rolled-up sleeves showed off well-muscled forearms.
The other bartender, Rosie, tried to move past Christina to take the order, knowing the awkwardness between Christina and Grant. Christina stepped in front of her, giving her a look that said it was all right.
“Hey, Grant,” Christina said in a pleasant voice. “What can I get you?”
Grant’s eyes flickered, and Christina kept her neutral expression in place. She’d be nice. At least for now.
“What will you have, Karen?” Grant asked, polite and attentive.
Karen rested her hands on the bar. “Do you have a Burgundy? Nothing too aromatic. A light grape.”
“We do,” Christina said. “But it’s crap, trust me. I make a mean cosmo, though.”
Karen pursed her lips. She wore pale pink lipstick that went with her subdued eye shadow and carefully mascaraed lashes. She wore a black business suit with a brief skirt, which showed off shapely legs, her blond hair in a neat bun.
Christina contrasted her with the buckle bunnies Grant had brought in here the night before Bailey’s wedding. Karen had far better taste clothes and makeup, but she hung on to Grant just as hard.
“I don’t like anything too sweet,” Karen said after considering. “How about a dry martini?”
“Can do. Grant? Can I get you a martini as well?”
Grant thought mixed drinks were a sign of the apocalypse. He shook his head so fast Christina couldn’t stop her grin. “Just a beer,” he said. “You know what I like.”
“Coming up.”
Christina put down two square napkins and bent to mixing the martini. She was good at it, putting in just enough gin, not too much vermouth. Christina popped in an olive on a stick, set the drink carefully on Karen’s napkin, and got out a mug.
She opened a bottle of the brand of beer Grant hated most and poured it into the glass, making a picture-perfect head.
“There y’all are. Enjoy.”
Grant gave her a dark look, which Christina returned blandly. “How’s the commercial going?” she asked.
Karen answered after taking a demure sip of her martini. “We haven’t started yet. But the train looks good, doesn’t it, Grant? They’ll be able to do their stunts on it, so they say.”
“Sure,” Grant said. “Tyler’s got a lot of good ideas.”
“I look forward to seeing them,” Karen said. “These gentlemen can ride, can’t they?” she asked Christina.
“We’ve been watching them do it since they were kids,” Christina answered, as amiable as Karen.
Blah, blah, blah.
What Karen was really saying was, Sorry, sweetie, you had your chance.
To which Christina would reply, Eat it, woman. This is not what it looks like.
Grant had called Christina and told her what Carter had relayed to him last night. After Christina got over the double shock of Grant being able to find his phone and then Grant calling her, she’d settled
down to listen.
I’m drawing the line at helping her get into bed with you, Christina had said. My loyalty to Riverbend only goes so far.
Darlin’, I’d rather get into bed with a coral snake. Be a faster way to go.
I don’t know, Christina had said. I can be kind of a viper.
Grant had chuckled, that low, warm sound. No, honey, you’re a sugar bear.
And he’d hung up.
The words had warmed her all afternoon, even when she’d watched Karen walk in, fixed to his side.
“How about we go join your brothers?” Karen asked Grant, done conversing with Christina.
“All right.” Grant took up his beer, looked at it, set it down again. As Karen turned away, Grant said to Christina. “Give that to someone thirsty. Twenty minutes, all right? Then you come rescue me.”
“Is that all it takes you these days?” Christina said. She didn’t touch the beer.
Grant pointed a finger at her. “You are so asking for it.”
Christina only gave him a little smile and let him walk away.
Chapter Eleven
“This is our baby brother, Ross,” Grant told Karen.
Karen gave Ross, who wore civilian clothes of black shirt and jeans, a once-over. “The deputy,” she said archly. “Very pleased to meet you.”
She held out her hand and squeezed Ross’s when he shook it. Ross’s brows went up the tiniest bit.
Knew it, Grant thought. She’s into the cowboy cop thing.
Ross curled his hand back and put it on his lap. “You not drinking anything, Grant?”
Karen looked around. “Oh, you left your beer on the bar. I’ll have your little barmaid bring it over.”
Grant caught her hand before she could raise it. “It’s fine. Did you enjoy the bake sale?”
Karen’s straight-toothed smile flashed. “Yes, it was the cutest thing.” To his brothers’ surprised looks, she said, “Grant took me to an actual bake sale at your church. Where people baked things and sold them to raise money. This town is just adorable.”
Tyler looked mystified. “Yeah, we like it.”
“Then, honey, we have to keep my ex from ruining it,” Karen said.
The three of them stopped. “Your ex?” Tyler asked carefully. Carter had filled him in about Karen’s ex but the brothers waited to hear what she had to say.
“Preston Waters, the Third.” Karen took a sip of her martini. “He owns a development company with me. He wants to do a master-planned community out here. Part of why I’m here is I promised to check it out. Personally, I think he’s an idiot.”
The people at the next table, hearing this last statement, turned in their direction. They said nothing, but swung away to talk to each other. And to the next table. The gossip machine cranked to life.
“I hear he wants to buy up a lot of land,” Grant said casually. “Including the middle of town.”
“Preston wants to buy the world and make it his own,” Karen said. She wrinkled her face, her makeup creasing before smoothing out again. “That’s all he cares about. Why do you think I dumped him? The I’m a hot, rich, successful businessman thing got old real fast. I’ve turned into a more down-home kind of gal.”
She caressed Grant’s wrist, while Tyler and Ross concentrated on their drinks, faces contorting as they tried not to bust up laughing.
“He’s sure that people will rush out here and buy a suburban home seventy miles from anywhere.” Karen shrugged slender shoulders. “He might be right, but I think he’ll be disappointed. I predict he’d have about one-third sell-through and then be stuck with all those properties and all those new houses no one wants. Seen it happen before. Would be a shame.”
A real shame, Grant thought. Land got overbought and overbuilt, and the people the developers counted on buying the individual places didn’t come. Communities disappeared and people were scattered, for nothing.
“Preston’s already got irons in the fire.” Karen stirred her drink. “So it’s moving forward. I’d love to see him fall on his ass, even though a lot of my money’s tied up in it too. I’d like to thwart him by buying up the real estate out from under him, but I don’t have the money.”
“Maybe we can have another bake sale,” Tyler suggested, his face straight.
Karen gave him a wry look. “Aw, ain’t you sweet. But I could do something like that, you know. Maybe have you boys put on a show, to raise money to buy up the town yourselves.”
Grant drummed his fingers on the table. “We already own the town. I mean, the properties already have owners who live here.”
“True, but the mortgage company has bought up a lot of loans, and on some places, the ownership is under question. I’m very good at chaining a piece of property. Ownership can be convoluted. This bar, for instance.” She looked around.
“Christina’s uncle owns it,” Grant said. “Sam Farrell.”
“You sure about that?” Karen asked. “Because I have a report that says he doesn’t.”
Grant stared at her. “Can’t be right. He’s run it forever.”
Karen gave him a patient look. “Sam Farrell hasn’t owned this place in three years. He took out a second mortgage, and then got way behind on the payments. The bank in town took the bar, but the head of the bank—Mr. Carew is it?—lets Sam lease it and keep running it. There was a letter stating that Sam planned to buy the place back sooner or later, but he’s not done it so far.”
Tyler raised his brows. “Does Christina know this?” he asked Grant.
Grant shrugged, worried. “If she does, she’s never mentioned it.”
Karen glanced at Christina, who was smiling at Kyle Malory while she poured him a beer, probably not one he hated.
“Maybe she’s embarrassed,” Karen said. “It’s another old-school value I don’t have—thinking it’s vulgar to talk about money.”
Grant watched Christina leaning on her arms to talk to Kyle in a friendly way. His heart burned. She was so beautiful, and it drove him crazy when she turned that beauty on other guys, especially when they were Malorys.
“Christina doesn’t embarrass easy,” Grant said absently as he watched her. “If she knew, she would have said something to someone.”
“Oh, well.” Karen took another delicate sip of her martini. She wasn’t the kind to down alcohol until she was roaring drunk, it seemed. No getting her sloshed and making her sign papers stating she wouldn’t destroy the town. “The bank is willing to sell the bar if Sam can’t buy it back. Preston, the total bastard, has put a bid on it, but I made a personal one. Now all we have to do is see who wins.”
***
Christina waited exactly twenty minutes, then waited another five, because she wanted Grant to sweat a little. Then she walked out from behind the bar, making her way to the Campbells’ table.
When she was within two yards of them, Grant rose, excused himself, leaving his hat, and caught Christina by the arm.
“Take a break.”
“What?” Christina refused to jerk away, because that story would be all over town. Well, it would be all over town anyway, but she’d rather not have people saying that she and Grant were fighting in the middle of the bar.
“Take a break,” he repeated. “I need to talk to you.”
Grant’s brows were drawn, his look serious. Christina stopped the argument before it reached her lips and let him escort her out the back door.
Once outside, Grant kept walking, away from the Dumpsters and the sour smell of trash, out to where the lot ended in a hedge dividing it from the road. In the relatively cool, green-scented night, Grant stopped.
“What?” Christina said, worried. “Everything all right? Something wrong with Bailey …?”
Grant put his fingers to her lips. “No, baby. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then what’s up?”
She didn’t want to be out here in the dark with him, not when he looked so good, smelled so good. The dim lights made his eyes a deep blue.
She didn’t trust herself with him at all.
“I’m just going to ask this,” Grant was saying. “Did you know your uncle sold this place? About three years ago?”
Christina stared, the words making no sense. “What are you talking about? Who told you that? Wait, I bet it was Miz Ice Queen.”
“Yeah, she did. But she had no reason to lie about it. It’s easy enough to prove.”
Christina took a few steps away from him. Sam had sold the bar? Without telling her? He’d never do that. Karen had to be feeding Grant bullshit.
Sam had always said that, because he and Christina’s aunt Caroline had never had any kids, Christina would inherit the bar and the land it was on when Sam was gone. A little nest egg for her. While she hadn’t pinned her financial hopes on inheriting the place, Christina didn’t believe Sam would turn around and sell it without ever saying a word.
“That can’t be true,” Christina said with conviction. “Karen’s lying. Or, I’ll be generous and say she’s mistaken.”
Grant’s slow shake of his head shot worry through her. “Sam didn’t have a choice, it sounds like. He owed big time on a loan, and the bank took it as collateral.” He let out his breath. “I suspected you didn’t know. I guess he didn’t tell anyone, and Carew at the bank is his friend. He’d keep it quiet too.”
Christina stared as Grant’s words penetrated. Dear God, it really was true. Sam had let the bank foreclose on the bar … “And he didn’t tell me?” she finished out loud. “What the hell? I could have helped him, damn it. Why didn’t he say anything?”
She knew Grant didn’t know—her anger and worry was simply spilling out.
“He probably had had his reasons,” Grant said. “I’m guessing pride being one of them.”
Christina huffed a breath. “Pride? What the hell …?”
But then, that was her uncle all over. Her father was like that too. They’d been raised to believe that, when they were in trouble, they turned aside and solved the problem themselves, instead of upsetting people close to them. Aunt Caroline had been like that too, never talking about her heart disease with anyone but Sam until she was in the hospital, dying from it. Christina hadn’t even known she’d been sick. She remembered her grief, and her fury, when she’d found out. This was more of the same. Damn him.
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