Grant

by Jennifer Ashley

  The fever didn’t hit until the end, when they were grappling, crying out, sliding against each other. Grant groaned, “Damn,” at the same time Christina was lifted by intense joy, the two of them coming against each other.

  Then breathlessness, quiet kissing, winding down.

  Grant slept, his head pillowed on Christina’s shoulder. She contemplated his closed eyes, lashes black against his skin, his bed-mussed hair, the curve of shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest. Relaxed, worn out, but with a little pucker between his brows that wouldn’t smooth away.

  Christina’s tears dropped to Grant’s cheek and rolled down to be lost in shadows.

  ***

  Grant woke as twilight was settling in and got up to take a shower, pulling the sheet over Christina’s naked body. She kept sleeping—worn out, the little sweetheart.

  In Christina’s very clean bathroom, Grant washed away the day and their lovemaking and re-dressed in his jeans and shirt.

  Grants emotions had been shot high and slammed back down. Worry for Christina, heartache when she explained about the false hope of a baby after they tried so hard, anger when she said Ray might be the father, and then grief over the whole situation. Then, at the end of it all, making love to the woman he wanted to be with.

  If Grant and Christina had been able to conceive during their relationship, would they have married and even now be settled down and happy? Maybe living in a little house like this, taking the kids to school and church, teaching them to ride?

  Or would they have fought as much and broken up anyway? Who knew?

  Grant put that speculation aside. He couldn’t live by what might have been; he had to deal with what was.

  He loved Christina, and he wanted to be with her. That was a certainty.

  When they’d made love in the trailer, they’d talked about taking their relationship all the way back to the beginning—Grant asking Christina out on a date. He’d figure out how to do that, and make her see they had to try.

  Christina was one stubborn female, who could piss Grant off quicker than anybody. But then, if she were busy pissing him off, that meant she was with him. And once they both got over being mad, Grant and Christina could make up.

  Wasn’t the making up worth the fight in the first place?

  Christina was still asleep when Grant left. He didn’t wake her—she needed the rest. He’d start wooing her when she felt better. He went out into the fine Texas evening, the temperature just right, the crickets starting to sing.

  Mrs. Kaye popped out from the shadows of her rosebushes as Grant stepped off the porch. He suppressed his yell of surprise and landed back on earth.

  “Mrs. Kaye,” he said, breathless.

  “Did you ask her to marry you?” Mrs. Kaye asked, glancing at the closed door.

  “Not yet.” Grant sent her a grin. “But I’m working on it.”

  “You keep trying. You two belong together.”

  Grant settled his hat on his head. “I agree with you, ma’am. Have a good night.”

  He nodded at her and turned back to Tyler’s truck. Tyler had probably shit a brick when he realized Grant had taken it. All in a good cause, bro.

  At the Circle C Ranch Grant walked into the kitchen, hungry as hell. A woman stood at the stove with his back to him.

  “I kept you something warm,” she said. “Faith’s already had her dinner. You work too hard, your mom says. Maybe … I don’t know … we could go out and have a beer?”

  “I just came in,” Grant said.

  Grace Malory spun around, eyes wide, and her face went an interesting shade of bright red. “Oh, crap. It’s you.”

  “Yep.” Grant dumped his long coat on a chair, his prop pistols on the table, then yanked open the refrigerator and came out with a cold bottle of beer. “Who’d you think it was?” He snapped his fingers as though he’d just figured it out. “Carter, right?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Grant Campbell, don’t you ever, ever tell a soul I just did that.” Grace’s voice was fierce, her hands clenching a dishtowel.

  Grant’s mood lifted the slightest bit. “You mean don’t tell anyone that you asked Carter on a date when he wasn’t even in the room? Or were you just shooting for a Campbell brother, any brother?”

  “Quit making fun of me. This is embarrassing.”

  Grant took a sip of beer, enjoying the cold on his dry throat. “Good thing it was me that came in. I bet Carter would have just grunted and made an excuse.”

  Her face fell. “You think so? I was hoping he might like me a little—as a friend if nothing else.”

  “He does like you. But I gotta warn you that Carter’s hard on his friends. He doesn’t have any female ones at all. His look on women is slightly … skewed.”

  Grace relaxed her hold on the towel. “Because of Faith’s mom?”

  “Partly. Carter went through a lot of hardship before he came here, most of which he won’t talk about.” Grant gentled his tone. “Be careful you don’t hurt yourself on him.”

  Grace sighed. “It’s stupid, I know. But he’s just … just so …”

  “If you say dreamy, I’m going to pour this beer all over you.”

  “Shut up.” Grace softened the words. “Guess I’m glad you saved me from making a big fool of myself.”

  Grant glanced around the kitchen. There were pots in the sink and plates of food covered with foil on the counter. Everything smelled good, and his stomach growled.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “Another bake sale?”

  Grace moved to the stove and stirred something in a pot. “I came by to bring your mom a recipe, and I found her going crazy trying to run things down at the stables and cook for you all. She was yelling about not having enough time to make dinner for the menfolk—her word—and high-tailed it back to the stables again. So I thought I’d save her some trouble and put together some supper for whoever came in.”

  Grant was impressed. “That was nice of you.”

  “Not really. I’m bored out of my mind, so helping her out is helping me out.”

  Grant took a peek at what was being kept warm on the plates—roast beef, some baked potatoes, rolls, veg … “This all looks pretty good.”

  “Just a little something.”

  Right. A four-course meal plus what smelled like pie in the oven was a little something.

  “Tell you what.” Grant reverently lowered the foil on a plate. “My mom could use help around here, and you’re one hell of a cook. Why don’t you work for her? You’d get paid and have something to do, Mom could relax, and Faith would have square meals, not to mention the rest of us.”

  “Work here?” Grace stared at him, her flush returning. “Like, every day?”

  “I bet Mom would give you a day off every once in a while. How about it? You’d have more chances of catching Carter’s eye if you were right under his nose.”

  Grace’s flush deepened. “Is it that obvious?” Then she sighed. “Oh, what the hell? But ask Olivia first before you sign me up. She might not like the idea.”

  “She will,” Grant said. He slid back the foil on another plate and plucked up a few tidbits of meat. “She likes to eat as much as any of us. Let me talk to her, and I’ll fix it up.”

  Grace beamed. “Thanks, Grant. You’re a good person.” She grasped his sleeve and rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  Carter chose that moment to walk in. Grant didn’t miss the flash of anger in his brother’s eyes as Grant took a nonchalant sip of beer. Grace wiped her hands, waved Carter at the food, then grabbed her purse and scurried out the back door.

  Carter’s fury with Grant might have been because Grant had left an important shoot earlier today, but he didn’t think so. Grant would bet good money that it was all about the kiss.

  ***

  Christina decided to swallow her pride and tell her uncle she’d go back to work for him. She’d made the decision to stay in Riverbend, but she hadn’t been kidding when she
said she didn’t want to be Grant’s kept woman. She’d have her own job, stand on her own two feet, as she always had, whether she and Grant could make it together again or not. Her uncle was delighted she’d decided to stay, and told her she could start any time; all she had to do was talk to the manager and work out a schedule.

  Christina put off starting again until she finished moving out of her old apartment and set up Bailey’s house. She then took her time settling in, telling herself she didn’t need the income yet.

  She knew she was taking the time to get over the disappointment of not being pregnant, the wound of that still raw. Grant did talk to her, calling her to make sure she was all right, but Christina put off seeing him as well. She needed to heal before tackling life again.

  She was happy she hadn’t run around telling everyone her exciting news, because she’d have had to swallow that now and take their sympathy, which she wouldn’t have been able to stand. Grant also said nothing to anyone, and neither did Karen, though Karen checked up on Christina from time to time. Their expedition and conversations had formed into a friendship, even if it was the oddest friendship Christina had ever had.

  Finally, one evening a few weeks later, Christina made herself go to the bar and talk to the manager. She didn’t really want to go out, but then again, she didn’t want to mope in her house either. Christina needed to keep moving, even if right now she was shattered.

  Christina walked the short distance to the tavern in the cool dark air, waving to her friends as she entered. She started for the back office, but Karen intercepted her and pulled her aside.

  “Are you doing all right?” Karen asked her, bending close so no one else would hear. They stood in a corner near the end of the counter, Karen’s business suit today a cream linen skirt, blue silk blouse, and black jacket. Christina always felt underdressed next to her, though tonight she’d worn the cutest spaghetti strap top she owned and denim shorts. Most women our age can’t pull that off anymore, my ass.

  Christina nodded in answer to Karen’s question. She was doing fine physically, but she knew what Karen meant. “I’ll be okay.”

  Karen gave her a look that said she didn’t really believe Christina, but she wouldn’t pry. For some reason that was easier to take than an outburst of sympathy and hugs.

  “I hear you want to work here again,” Karen said. “Your uncle told me. I told him that I don’t want you tending bar here anymore.”

  Christina looked at her in astonishment. “What? Why not? Do you already own the place? When did this happen?”

  “It wasn’t official until late this afternoon. A few formalities and the deal is closed.” Karen studied Christina with a serious look. “I don’t want you bartending, because I want you in the back office, running the place for me.”

  Christina started. “Running it? My uncle runs it …”

  “Your uncle wants to retire. He deserves time to relax.” Karen rested her elbow on the back of a tall chair. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to run an elderly man out of town on a rail. Sam told me when I talked to him this evening that he wants to call it quits. He also suggested that you would be the best person for the job. You know everyone in town, you can work with the suppliers, and he says you’re more trustworthy than anyone else. I think he’s right.”

  Run the place, work in the office, be the boss. Be responsible for everything. Scary, and at the same time, intriguing. Christina perked up for the first time since her trip to the clinic.

  “I’m interested,” Christina said. “Salary?”

  Karen gave her a smile. “I think I can make you an offer you’ll like.”

  “In that case, sure, let’s talk.”

  “It’s not the most glamorous job in the world,” Karen said warningly. “But it will give you good experience, help you grow—who knows, maybe open your own establishment someday. You’ve stayed doing one thing for so long, trying to be the perfect girlfriend for Grant, that you’ve neglected to be the perfect person for yourself.” The problem with Karen was that her observations tended to be exactly on target.

  “Don’t start tonight,” Karen said. “Sit down, relax, and enjoy yourself. Observe the bar from this side of things. You deserve a break.”

  Well, Christina could stand to try to take her mind off things. She was still upset, and she knew she would be for a very long time, but she did have friends here, people she loved and who loved her. She needed a few minutes of comfort.

  She asked Rosie to make her a virgin strawberry daiquiri, and even that innocuous request brought her pain. When the home pregnancy test had been positive, Christina had been relieved that she wasn’t a drinker. Not only had working in a bar made her not want to drink often, but when she and Grant had started trying for a baby, she’d given it up altogether. Just in case.

  Christina stuck with abstaining, even through the disappointments, and she stuck to it now. And even that was a reminder of pain.

  Then again, she needed to stop being maudlin and get on with things. She needed to learn to deal with it.

  She took the daiquiri to an empty table and sat down to try to enjoy the slushy, fruity drink.

  It was dance night at the bar. A local band played the latest tunes mixed with classics plus some originals they were working on. The cleared floor filled with couples two-stepping or just moving to the music.

  “Drinking alone, little lady?” A tall body filled her vision, and Grant sank into the empty place at her table. “Mind if a cowboy pulls up a chair?”

  Christina met his blue gaze, which was quiet, shuttered. She hadn’t seen Grant since he’d left her house the night she’d returned from Dallas, and she’d been grateful to him for not pushing her. She needed time. Grant had called her every day, and they’d talked, but they’d kept their conversations easy, free of drama. Christina appreciated that.

  “If you want,” she said, waving her hand at him. “It’s a free country.”

  Grant gave her a nod. “I saw a pretty lady sitting here, and I thought—I need to get to know her. Hi, I’m Grant.” He stuck out his hand.

  Christina’s heart beat faster as she put her hand into his warm, strong grip. “I’m Christina.”

  “Pretty name for a pretty lady. Want to dance?”

  “I don’t know. I’m happy sipping my drink.”

  “Well, okay, sipping’s good too.”

  Grant, who’d kept the handshake lingering, finally released her—slowly—then signaled to the waitress. The woman, who’d worked there for years, said, “Hey, Grant. Let me guess—draft beer?” and headed back to the bar.

  “Do you come here a lot?” Christina asked, poking at her pink drink with the skinny straws.

  “Grew up in Riverbend.” Grant folded his arms on the table, his T-shirt with Circle C Ranch on it stretching over his chest. “Have a ranch not too far down the road. My family does, that is. We own it together.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  The beer landed on the table. The waitress winked at Christina then turned away.

  Grant picked up the foaming mug and took a preliminary sip. “What do you do?”

  “Well, starting now, I run this bar. The whole thing.” Christina made a sweeping gesture that took in the room.

  Grant blinked and dropped the pretense. “You do?”

  “Yep. Karen made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Grant’s brows went up. “Karen, the woman you vowed you’d never, ever work for? At the top of your lungs?”

  Christina flushed. “Yes, okay. Turns out, she’s not so bad.”

  Grant chuckled, and the sound did things to Christina’s heart. “It took me a while to warm up to her too.” He glanced at the crowd. “Come and dance with me. I want my arms around you.”

  Now that was a good pick-up line. Christina rose to her feet. “Sure.”

  Grant flashed his warm smile and led her out to the dance floor.

  Christina never got tired of being held by his strong body. Grant spun her
around with the athleticism that showed when he rode, his steps sure. He never let her get out of sync with the music.

  Christina floated on a cushion of sound, steadied by Grant’s arms. She loved that cowboys could work hard all day and then put on clean clothes and dance the night away.

  Everyone in town seemed to be here tonight, dancing, forgetting cares, enjoying themselves.

  Grant pulled Christina a step closer, leaned down, and kissed her.

  A slow, warm, loving kiss. Christina felt her heart lighten, her devastation about her visit to Dallas easing for a brief moment. Grant was here, and they might have another chance.

  She let him walk her home. Christina debated whether she should end the “date” with a simple good night or invite him in for a wonderful evening’s natural conclusion.

  When Grant kissed her under the porch light, Christina wrapped her hands around the lapels of his shirt and pulled him inside.

  ***

  Grant’s hopes were high as he lay with Christina that night, their bodies together in the darkness. This was the way it used to be, the two of them making love, then talking together, then kissing in quietude, then making love again.

  Grant was still in her bed when the sun came up, touching them both with warmth. They rolled out of bed at the same time, covered their nakedness with what they could grab, and went out to make breakfast in the kitchen.

  Like old times. How easily they fell back into the routine.

  “Come to the shoot with me,” Grant said as he poured himself another cup of coffee. Christina was sexy as hell in a short robe over nothing at all, backless slippers on her feet. “We’re doing the interior shots today. And maybe jumping from the moving cars, if we have time. You can watch me try not to break my neck.”

  Christina hesitated. Grant took another sip of coffee, waiting for her to say no.

  She’d explain that they were taking things too fast, she wasn’t ready, all the many things women liked to say when they wanted a man to go away. Don’t let the screen door hit you.

  Then Christina nodded. “Sounds fun. I’m not meeting with Karen about the job until this evening. I have the day free.”