His gut squeezed into a knot.
"And that is your mother," she said calmly. "So Katie is your sister. Or was. On both counts, I'm sorry to say."
"No. I couldn't have a" He was speechless.
He couldn't have a sister? Of course he could. An odd numbness began to make his arms and legs ache. He recognized the sensation. He'd first felt it when he was nine years old, the day he watched his mom climb in a station wagon and drive away, leaving a husband and three sons forever.
But he'd gotten so very, very good at making that ache go away. Sheer mind-over-body control was all it took, and if Cam was good at anything, it was control.
Her words replayed. Katie is your sister. Or was. On both counts "Where is myChristine McGrath?"
"I'm afraid she and Katie were both casualties in the earthquake."
He waited for a rush of emotion, but nothing came. No surprise there. He'd killed any feelings for his mother years ago. He felt Jo's gaze locked on him, waiting for a response. "Sorry to hear that, but I have no relationship with my mother. If this is the same woman whoI really have no connection with her whatsoever ." He wanted his point to be crystal clear.
"Then it shouldn't be any problem whatsoever to sign this paper," she said, pulling an envelope from her oversize handbag.
"Whoa. Wait a second, there." He held his hand up. "I'm a lawyer. We don't sign anything."
"If you need proof that she was your mother, I have it. I expected you'd want to see that."
He stared at her, trying to fit the jigsaw puzzle together. Slowly, he reached for the envelope.
"Christine McGrath left our home twenty-six years ago and moved to Wyoming," he said, slowly opening the paper.
"No. She didn't." At his sharp look, she clarified, "Move to Wyoming, that is."
According to his father, she had, and none of the McGrath boys had had reason to question him. Not that discussion of his mother's whereabouts was dinner conversation at their house.
She squared her shoulders and regarded him with the bracing gaze of a judge about to hand down a harsh sentence. "She went to Sierra Springs twenty-six years ago, had a child named Katie and, eleven months ago, Katie had a baby. Callie McGrath."
His throat closed up, and his fingers froze on the unopened paper. Was this possible?
"I'm going to adopt Callie, Mr. McGrath. But I can't do that until her closest living relative signs this document and relinquishes any rights to her. I can't spend the rest of my life worrying if you'll show up and want custody of her."
Want custody? Of a baby ? "Sweetheart, I don't want custody of a goldfish ."
"Great." She stood quickly, tapped her hat back in place and nodded toward the paper in his hand. "All you have to do is sign it and you'll never see me again. I can assure you of that."
Part of him wanted to do just that. The part that always crushed any memories of his mother, the part that taught him years ago to have complete control over his environment, his life, his emotions.
But another part heard a nagging little voice that he really would have liked to ignore. But he couldn't.
You're going to heal the hurt in this family, Cam McGrath . His grandmother's Irish lilt was as clear in his head as the first time she made her pronouncement. You're the oldest. It's your job. You'll heal the hurt .
He'd forgotten that prediction. Just as he and Colin and Quinn had forgotten the hurt . Or learned to fake that they had.
But here stood a woman with the answers all of them had secretly craved for twenty-six years. The answers that might make three McGrath men finally, once and for all, close the holes that had busted wide open in their hearts so many years ago. The answers that might rid them of the memory of the day they'd crouched at a second-story window and watched their mother blow out of Pittsburgh. For Wyoming. Or California. Or somewhere .
Evidently, he had to make another choice tonight. And the recriminations could be far worse than missing the first few innings of a baseball game.
He could sign the paper and forget Jo Ellen Tremaine ever graced his office. Or he could get some answers from the cowgirl mechanic.
This could be his only chance to heal the hurt for Gram McGrath, and for his brothers.
He would just never, ever let this woman know that's what he was doing.
He stood and gave her a slow, lazy grin. "So, Jo. Do you like baseball, by any chance?"
Jo resisted the urge to let her jaw drop. Cameron McGrath stood a full six foot something and gazed down at her with what could only be called a glint in deep-blue eyes.
Baseball ? Was he serious?
"I think it's dull as dirt," she replied.
The glint disappeared and the eyes narrowed to disbelieving slits, feathered with eyelashes that, she couldn't help noticing, were just as long and thick as Katie's had been. "Dull as dirt ?"
Did he really want to discuss the merits of baseball four minutes after she told him his long-lost sister and mother had recently died and that he had a baby niece whom she planned to adopt? Could he be that cold?
Of course he could. Jo had read the letters from Ka-tie's mother to this man's father. The letters he'd sent back with a scratchy '"Return to Sender" note on the front. Jim McGrath had vinegar in his veins and evidently, that blood type was dominant on the McGrath side. Katie had missed the bad blood, but obviously got the traffic-stopping good looks.
This McGrath, however, had slightly different coloring from his sister. His hair was dark blond, his eyes the color of the September sky on a clear California day. He was ragged, with a shadow of beard and thick eyebrows. Still, he had the wide-set eyes, the chiseled jaw, the perfect cheekbonesfeatures universal in beautiful people and in McGraths.
From what she could surmise under his gazillion-dol-lar, custom-made, three-button designer suit, he had a flawless body, too.
She forced her attention to the reason she came to New York: the envelope in his hand. "How much time do you need to read that and sign it?"
He shrugged, his gaze on her now and not the envelope. Assessing, scrutinizing. "I'm not sure. How much time do you think it'll take to change your mind about the nation's pastime?"
She almost laughed at how shallow he sounded. "You don't have that much time, Mr. McGrath. I'm leaving on a red-eye at eleven-thirty." With that piece of paper, signed, in my hand .
He made a show of looking at a sleek timepiece on his wrist. "If we're lucky, we'll make the bottom of the first. And" he looked back at her and winked "with no extra innings, you might get to see the whole game."
Shallow and cocky. One of her least favorite combinations, no matter how well packaged. "I'm not going to any baseball games tonight. But the sooner you sign that paper, the sooner you can get to the park."
"Not the park. The Stadium," he corrected. "With a capital S ."
She managed a rueful smile. What would she have to do to get that petition signed?
"I'm guessing this is pretty important to you," he finally said, leaning just close enough for her to catch a whiff of a musky, male scent.
His baritone assumption held enough of a challenge to send pings of apprehension dancing down her spine. Or maybe those were pings ofsomething else. She'd have to be blind, deaf and neutered not to recognize the raw attractiveness of this man. But she'd have to be stupid to let that influence her.
She wasn't neutered or stupid, only determined. Callie McGrath would not become a ward of the state, or some kind of novelty for curious, distant, icy family members. Jo Ellen might not be the model of maternal instinct, but she couldn't resist repairing a wreck. And Katie had left one hell of a mess when she died with no will and no plan for her tiny baby.
She phrased her response carefully. "Yes, it's important. Important that it's done right. I don't want any loose ends threatening to strangle me."
A half smile tipped the corners of Ms lips. "I don't want to strangle you, sweetheart. Just share a little dull-as-dirt baseball with you. And during the game" he put a warm han
d on her shoulder "we can get to know each other a little bit."
She heard the subtle message in the request. He was a lawyer, as he'd made sure to remind her. And he wasn't about to hand his signature and consent to a complete stranger.
"Fair enough," she agreed, dipping out of his touch. "But is it absolutely necessary to go to a baseball game?"
"Absolutely." He laughed a little and inched her toward the door. "Plus you can have that beer."
She had a feeling she'd need it.
* * *
Chapter Two
Cameron watched her climb into the back seat of a cab, admiring both her spontaneityhowever reluctantand the delicate curve of her rear end. He'd decided moments after she dropped her little bombshell exactly how he'd play this game. The only way he played anything. Cool.
First of all, she could have the wrong Christine McGrath. Or she could be some sort of con artist. Or she could be a total fruitcake.
But on the off chance she was telling the truth, he'd give her a shot. Spending the evening with her wouldn't be a hardship. Playing it cool was easy enough, since the news of his mother's death didn't have the usual effect it would on most menbut then, Christine McGrath hadn't acted like most men's mother. And the fact that he had a surprise sister who had also perished in an act of nature was a miserable shame, but he had no control over that.
If he had known Katie even existed An unfamiliar pressure constricted his chest. He hadn't known. Period. He couldn't control that, either.
And Cameron avoided anything he couldn't control. So he'd avoid any regret that accompanied the thought that a girl, a girl who had shared at least half his gene pool, had lived and breathed and, sadly, died. As far as the babywell, that was a no-brainer. He certainly didn't want a child.
Of course, he had two brothers. But Quinn had just gotten married, and he and Nicole were up to their eyeballs restoring their resort in Florida. Colin was planning his wedding to Grace, and they were also consumed with their new architectural firm and huge assignment that had them living in Newport, Rhode Island. He couldn't say for sure, but he doubted either of his brothers were thinking about childrentheir own or their sister's .
And Dad? Well, James McGrath had become a loner in the last few years, retired from his construction business, the job of raising his sons complete. Should he be told of his former wife's passing? Of her daughter's death?
Did any of them need to know this? Was this outrageous tale even remotely possible? And why would Jo show up at his office and not a different McGrath's?
You'll heal the hurt, Cam McGrath.
He shifted in his seat, which brought him a little closer to the mysterious woman dressed like she owned a ranch instead of a body shop. She sat stone still, staring out the window at the streets of New York City.
She placed her hands flat on her thighs, a position he'd noticed in his office. At the same time, she took a quiet, deep breath and exhaled. She was the picture of serenity.
"So, where'd you learn to be a mechanic?"
She flashed him a vile look. "I'm not a mechanic."
"That's good," he replied, placing a friendly hand on top of hers and adding an assuring pat. "I don't trust mechanics."
She picked up his hand and removed it from hers. "I don't trust lawyers."
He laughed. "But you didn't answer my question. How does one train to be acollision repair expert?"
"Trade school. I apprenticed in Sacramento for a while, then worked in Reno. We opened the shop about a year ago."
We ? His gaze instinctively dropped back to that unadorned left hand. "Is your husband in the same business?"
"I don't have a husband."
Another earthquake casualty? "Ah. I just assumed when you said 'we' that you meant you and your husband."
"You assumed wrong." This time a smile teased the corner of her lips. "The we was Katie and me. She was my business partner."
"My sister worked in a body shop?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
She plucked an imaginary thread from her jeans, her smile threatening to get wider. "I can't let you go one minute believing that." She looked up, a hint of mirth sparkling like gold dust in her eyes. "She couldn't bear to set a pedicured foot in the work bay, and the sound of a sander sent her running with her hands clamped over her ears."
He wasn't sure he liked that, either. It was unimaginable for a McGrathmale or femaleto act like a sissy. "But she was your partner."
"She was my business partner. But we had two sep-arate businesses in the same building, under the same corporate name. Buff 'n' Fluff."
A hearty laugh escaped before he could stop it. "Buff 'n' Fluff? What kind of business is that?"
She shrugged, as though she'd heard the question a million times before. "Auto body repair is Buffa common term for a metal rough out. And Fluff is a beauty salon." She feathered her own hair with two fingers, some auburn locks fluttering over her shoulder. "Fluff, like blow dry. It's a cosmetology term. That was Katie's end of the business."
"She was a hairstylist," he noted, an image of a woman slowly taking shape in his brain. An image he didn't want to have.
"She was a cosmetologist," Jo corrected. "Hair, face, nails. Anything related to beautythat was her specialty."
Cam tried to erase the vague sense of a female version of his dark-haired younger brothers, but he couldn't. The vision had taken hold. Damn. He'd really rather not dwell on a person he'd never meet.
"So I take it you've never been to a professional baseball game before."
She turned her head toward him at the sudden topic shift. "Our business sponsored the Sierra Springs Little League last year. Does that count?"
He laughed again. "No wonder you thought it was dull as dirt." The comment still smarted. How could anyone not see the poetry in baseball? He supposed someone who banged fenders for a living might overlook the elegance of a well-turned double play. "This is a little different. This is Yankee Stadium. It's the Mecca of all baseball."
"If you say so," she agreed slowly, her little bit of a Western twang delighting his ear. "Seems like a lot doesn't happen for nine innings, then all of a sudden hell breaks loose and ten runs come in and it's over. Then someone's crying."
He chuckled again, her description of a Little League game bringing back a whole bunch of memories. "Haven't you ever heard? There's no crying in baseball."
"Whoever said that never saw an eight-year-old get his front end walloped with a hard ball," she said, looking out the window again. After a second, she turned back to him, a questioning expression on her face. "Would you like to know about your mother?" she asked quietly.
He regarded her for a long time, vaguely aware that there just wasn't enough air in the closed-in cab. Her gaze was demanding, her lips slightly parted as she waited for his response.
He leaned in enough to almost feel her warm breath near his mouth. She didn't move.
"No." With one finger, he tapped the shadow of a cleft in her chin. "Would you like to know where our seats are?"
She raised that gorgeously arched eyebrow again but didn't move. "No. I'll just be surprised."
"Pleasantly," he promised, backing away to give her a little breathing space. He'd made his point.
"Did you bring that envelope?" she asked.
He patted the pocket of his suit jacket. "Yep."
"Good. I need to get to the airport in time to make my flight. And I expect to have it with me."
And she'd made her point, as well.
This could be a very close game tonight.
When the cabbie dropped them off at a busy street corner, they stood in the shadow of a massive structure.
The streets around them teemed with people and hummed with energy.
How the blazes did this happen, Jo thought with a flash of panic? Yankee Stadium wasn't in her plan.
Ever since Mother Earth had caused a seismic shift in Jo's priorities, her plan was to adopt the child she already loved. She'd assumed
it would be simple. Callie's father had long before relinquished parental rights, wanting to hide from the fact that he was a married weasel who made promises to Katie he'd never keep.
And for a while, everything progressed smoothly. She'd waded through a sea of endless paperwork, passed the prodding interviews, charmed the Child Services bureaucrats, restructured her shop, her home, her very life. Until Jo's mother sat her down and broke the story of Aunt Chris's secret rife before she'd come to Sierra Springs.
Stunned and saddened, but undeterred, Jo had spent hours quite literally digging through the debris that was Christine McGrath's life. And more hours slogging through the Internet for information on her sons, then wrestling with what was the appropriate, safest, right course of action.
In the end she was sure she knew what that was. Katie was gone, and so was the woman Jo grew up calling "Aunt" Chris. But somehow, for some reason, an infant had survived nature's rumbling fury, and Jo was willing to do absolutely anything to be sure Callie was safe and protected and loved.
Even make a side trip to Yankee Stadium.
She stole a look at the man who'd brought her to said stadium. His preoccupation with baseball in the midst of a family crisis confirmed that Cameron McGrath was as unfeeling and uncaring as his father, who had forced his pregnant wife out of the house. A man who would be repelled by the idea of being saddled with someone else's mistake . That's why she picked this brother to approach with the papers. Amid news reports of his business success, she'd seen a pattern of brief romances with socialites, increasing her expectations that Cameron would be most like the man who'd cast out Christine. True, the fact that he was a lawyer unnerved her. But more important, he was the unattached McGrath brother, so he'd be the least likely to want a baby. And as the oldest, she hoped his signature would carry the most legal weight.
So far he'd done a fine imitation of unfeeling. Refusing to discuss his mother. Changing the subject. Not even asking how Callie had survived the earthquake. Dragging Jo through New York. Even flirting with her. But she sensed something under his smooth, polished surface. Something so powerful that it qualified as the polar opposite of unfeeling.
When the Earth Moves Page 2
