Dad for Charlie & the Sergeant's Temptation & the Alaskan Catch & New Year's Wedding (9781488015687)

by Stewart, Anna J. ; Sasson, Sophia; Carpenter, Beth; Jensen, Muriel

  “I do,” Grady said with confidence. It had everything they needed, and it was affordable. “It’s a great location, I’ll pay first and last, and we can work out the split later. You just focus on the wedding. I can’t believe you couldn’t get off the rest of this week. I mean, I understand why I couldn’t; it’s not my wedding. But you?”

  “Captain’s shorthanded for the holidays. Corie and the family are doing everything, anyway. All I do is stand around and agree with whatever she wants.”

  Grady nodded. “Probably a good idea.”

  “How’s it going with a woman in your house? And such a gorgeous one, at that?”

  “Fine. She’s easy enough to live with. And, you know, after Celeste, I feel sort of off balance. I’m stepping back for a while. How’re you doing with the kids?”

  “I think we’re doing all right. Probably have to brace myself for trying times when they get a little older. Corie’s good with them, though. Has lots of experience with kids from helping out at the foster home for so long. It’s just life, you know. Can’t protect yourself from everything. Nothing’s ever as organized or predictable as we’d like it to be.”

  Grady knew that for a fact. After choosing a life path grounded in reality, he’d followed a supermodel who’d asked him for help and was now happily ensconced in his house, turning it into some sort of bridal dreamscape.

  “True.” Grady stuffed his still soaking uniform into a plastic bag to carry to the dry cleaner’s. He had several uniform shirts at home and, fortunately, a second set of slacks. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Right.”

  He stopped at the edge of the lockers and turned back to Ben. “You probably can guarantee predictability if you just don’t get involved with women.”

  Ben pulled a backpack out of his locker then pushed the door closed with a clang. “I guess, but who wants to pay that price?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THERE’S A BOX by Grady’s door,” Sarah said, the index finger of her right hand on the steering wheel pointing to the coffin-size box on the mat. “Is that the fabric?”

  “Must be.” Cassie, her seat belt already unbuckled, turned to send a smile to Helen, Corie and Rosie in the back seat. “Thanks for such a fun shopping trip, guys. I won’t bother you for the next few days ’cause I know you’ll all be busy, but call me if there’s anything I can do.” She smiled at Sarah. “Thanks for the chauffeur service, Sarah.”

  “Anytime. I have a meeting most of the day tomorrow, but call and leave a message, or call Jack if you need me.”

  Cassie leaped out and started up the walk as Sarah turned around in the driveway. She opened the door, then stepped inside and turned around to drag the box in after her. Though the box was huge, the contents were lighter than the size suggested. Tulle was like gossamer.

  Still enjoying the internal glow of having had a morning with her family, and hopefully having made a friend of Grady’s mother, she dropped her purse and jacket on the sofa, along with a white sack containing a cherry fritter she’d bought for Grady at the bakery. She hurried into the kitchen for a box knife she’d seen in a pencil cup on the counter, then hurried back to the great room and carefully opened the box. The scent of Josie Bergerac’s studio permeated the yards of tulle Louise had carefully packed for her. It took her right back to a Paris garden.

  Cassie caught the edge of the fabric and stood, letting it unravel off the bolt. It was relatively unwrinkled, unlike the many yards of ribbon wrapped around a card. It would have to be ironed. While carefully winding the fabric back onto the bolt, she wondered if Grady owned an ironing board and an iron.

  She remembered catching a glimpse of a mop and a broom in a utility closet off the kitchen. It was likely that if he had an ironing board, it would be there. She went to investigate.

  The closet was small and dark, so she reached a hand in to find the light switch. She flipped it and nothing happened. With the light from the kitchen behind her, she spotted a flashlight on a shelf inside the room and took a step in, reaching for it.

  Without warning, the door closed behind her. She yanked on it but it wouldn’t give. Struggling to keep her breathing even, she groped for the flashlight but couldn’t seem to put her hand on it. Panic tried to take hold.

  Then a very logical thought occurred to her. Someone had closed the door. Someone was out there. “Grady!” she shouted with all the air in her lungs. Forcing herself to breathe in and out, and in and out again, she shouted a second time. “Grady!”

  The door opened suddenly and Grady stood there, clearly surprised to find her in the closet. And to make the incident that much more awkward, he wore nothing but a towel wrapped strategically around his hips. She couldn’t help that her eyes went to it to make sure it was in place. The sight of a powerful chest, wide shoulders and long, strong legs made her more breathless than the closed door had.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, obviously as confused as she was. “You’re supposed to be shopping with your family and my mother.”

  “Grady!” she said, her pulse dribbling back to normal but her breath still a little hard to draw in. “Why did you lock the closet?”

  “I didn’t. It sticks.”

  “I’m back because we all found something to wear.” Her eyes dipped again. “Except for you, apparently. What are you doing?”

  He caught her wrist and drew her out of the closet and into the hallway. “Ben and I ended up on the road, covering someone else’s shift. A drunk woman got sick all over us.” He seemed annoyed that he had to explain. “I took a shower. What are you looking for?”

  She became annoyed that Grady was annoyed with her. She folded her arms and said dryly, “Your silver, stocks and bonds, art objects, jewelry…”

  “Stop it,” he said in a gentle tone out of sync with the words. “What’s the matter with you?”

  She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sweet morning she’d had with her family, a connection she’d dreamed of having her entire life. With strong feelings on the surface, her sudden plunge into the darkness of the tiny room had upset everything inside her. She hadn’t screamed, though. She was proud of that. But then, here he was, half naked and quite spectacular. Tangled emotions seemed to have made her cranky.

  * * *

  DESPITE THE FACT that Cassie was almost as tall as Grady, she was so slender that whatever emotional upheaval was going on inside her made her seem fragile and on the brink of a scene like the one they’d played out in the elevator.

  Then he realized what had happened and he drew a deep breath, trying to rid himself of a suddenly dark mood brought on, he guessed, by guilt. “I came out of my room and thought I’d left the utility closet door open when I threw my muddy boots in there. So I just closed it, not realizing you were in there. I’m sorry.”

  She waved away his apology. “It’s okay.” Her voice was still a little high. “But you need a new bulb in there.”

  “I know. I’ve been meaning to change it. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “Again, it’s okay.” She expelled air between her lips, sweeping her hands toward the ground as though trying to push down on her fear level. She gave him a small smile. “I was looking for an ironing board and an iron. Do you have such things?”

  He smiled more broadly. “Of course I do. Unkempt policemen are frowned upon. But it’s in the closet in the kitchen, and the iron is on the shelf in there. What are you going to iron?”

  “My fabric and ribbon arrived. The tulle’s fine, but the ribbon is wrinkled.”

  She shifted her weight uncomfortably, her eyes darting everywhere but below his shoulders. It surprised and maybe even flattered him a little that she was traumatized by the towel.

  “I thought,” he said, unable to resist teasing her, “that you were used to being half naked when you’re being fitted for clothes.�
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  “I am used to being half naked.” She studied his collarbone. “I’m just not used to seeing men half naked.”

  “Really? But Sarah and Corie were saying when we learned you were coming to Texas that the press was full of stories about how you’ve dated a long line of jocks, celebrities and corporate geniuses.”

  “Contrary to what you might think,” she said with an angle to her chin, her eyes meeting his, “for me, dating doesn’t necessarily mean ‘seeing each other naked.’ And while you have great shoulders, nice knees and kind of big feet, I’m not especially anxious to see anything more, so would you put some clothes on, please, while I get the ironing board?”

  She walked away. He smiled as he watched her go, thinking that the look in her eyes betrayed a lively curiosity, despite her claim otherwise. He wondered if it was healthy to be as pleased about that as he was, or if it betrayed an inordinate amount of ego.

  He put on jeans and a dark blue Seattle Mariners sweatshirt, and went out to the great room to see what she was up to. She’d found the ironing board and the iron and was busy pressing yards and yards of ribbon in a sort of tropical blue. He peered into the open box and saw a lot of white fabric.

  He had the strangest feeling his life would never be the same once she was no longer in it. It would be hard to find the balance of caution and commitment to security that had defined his life, until he’d met Celeste, fallen in love and then learned in no uncertain terms to avoid the pain and humiliation of trusting where trust wasn’t warranted. His life had to be about keeping his head.

  But then, he’d helped Cassie escape the paparazzi who’d found her in Texas. Just because she’d asked him to. Maybe he just couldn’t trust himself. From that day to this, his control over anything had been iffy at best.

  He hadn’t died from that, he thought philosophically. Was he comfortable with it? Definitely not. She was beautiful, usually fun to be around, but possessed of a certain volatility in several areas that made it impossible for him to relax completely and feel free of all the dangerous possibilities. And that was unheard of for him. It seemed unreal.

  So why did he hate the thought that she’d be gone in a few days? It didn’t make sense. And he always tried to make sense.

  “Do you need something to eat?” he asked.

  “Uh, oh.” With a groan, she set the iron down on its heel. “I forgot to get groceries. I did bring you back a cherry fritter, though. Your mom told me they’re your favorite.”

  He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “She did? Thank you. Did you help her find a dress?”

  “It’s a suit, and she looks beautiful in it.” He was happy that she seemed pleased. “I tried to convince her that her curves are beautiful. I said that your father must have loved them, and she sort of closed down on me. She has a bad self-image. I apologize for asking, but is he responsible for that?”

  He shook his head, remembering how difficult the last few years of his father’s life had been for his mother. “I don’t think he did it deliberately, but he hardly noticed what she did for him during his illness. Just getting from day to day was so hard for him that all he saw was his own struggle—except when she had him take medications he hated and then she became the enemy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cassie said. “Well, we all love her. And I think she likes me a little better now that she understands I’ll be going home. I am sorry about the groceries.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll order pizza.” His cheerful expression dimmed. “Anything you don’t like on your pizza?”

  “Anchovies.” She crossed her eyes and made an ugly face that made him smile. “Anything else I don’t like, I can pick off.”

  “Got it. I’ll place the order when you’re finished.”

  “Do you have a ladder tall enough to reach the loft?”

  He had started away and walked back to her as she returned to ironing ribbon. “I do. To hang the bunting?”

  “Yes.” Her looked seemed designed to reassure him. “You don’t have to do anything, if you can just get me the ladder.”

  He looked up at the loft railing then back at her. “It’s fifteen feet to the bottom of the railing.” Grinning wryly, he asked, “Are your legs insured by Lloyds of London?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to my legs. While I might not be as cautious with whom I let in and out of my life as you are, I am physically careful. I learned to be that way in photo shoots where the photographer sometimes forgets that models are not all black-diamond skiers or parasailers, or even runners. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll get the ladder on the condition you let me help you.”

  “But it’s fussy. You’ll hate that.”

  “Did you not hear a thing I just said about being open to whatever you want to do for the wedding? I can deal with it.”

  She made an apologetic face. It was no wonder, he thought, that she was in such demand as a model. It wasn’t just her beauty; she had mobile features, able to project what she felt from moment to moment. And she could go from sadness, to joy, to concern in a heartbeat. “I really didn’t know I was going to get you so deeply involved in my life when I asked you to help me escape Texas. I apologize for that.”

  “You didn’t hold me at gunpoint. I left with you because I wanted to. And at this point, your family is composed of most of my friends. We’re like one big urban family, so it’s hard for one life to not be affected by what happens to another.”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t want to alarm you, but that’s not a very cautious attitude. You might be setting yourself up for a lot of fuss and drama in your life.”

  “You’ve already done that for me. I’ll get the ladder.”

  * * *

  IN THE INTEREST of simplicity—and of not making Grady spend more time two-thirds of the way up a twenty-foot ladder—Cassie didn’t swag the fabric, but bunched it loosely and tied it to every third baluster so that the impression was achieved without all the measuring and draping. She worked on her stomach on the floor of the loft, reaching her arms through the balusters to help Grady place the fabric, then tying it with the blue ribbon.

  When that was finished, she stood side by side with Grady in the great room, looking up to assess their work.

  “It looks amazing,” he said. “What’s sparkling?”

  “The fabric is called Sparkle Tulle. Isn’t it beautiful? I thought it would pick up the light and sprinkle it around.”

  He looked up at the railing and nodded, smiling. “Imagine what it’ll look like when the chandeliers are up. It’s going to turn this place into a sort of hunting-lodge palace.”

  “Diametrically opposed terms.”

  “Life’s like that.”

  He didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t want to say any more about it for fear he’d notice that glamour was taking over his life. At least for now.

  “If you can help me with the stair railing at the top few steps coming down,” she said, “I can handle the rest, and you can go order our pizza.”

  “Works for me.”

  It occurred to her that he was really getting into this, probably without realizing that he’d crossed over into the fussy side. She said nothing, afraid of alarming him with his own enthusiasm. Although, he had admitted to being pumped.

  They worked in harmony, relaxed with pizza when their work was finished and watched an old movie on television. She fell asleep halfway through.

  * * *

  GRADY COVERED HER with the throw on the back of the sofa, put a pillow under her head and pulled off the boots she wore with everything because the shoes she’d ordered still hadn’t arrived. He wondered if they’d come in time for the wedding. What would she do if they didn’t?

  He watched her beautiful face in peaceful repose and knew she’d come up with some solution that was bound to be glamorous and cle
ver. She really was remarkable. It had to be difficult to live her life with such an unpredictable issue always hanging over her head. She couldn’t know when someone would sweep her onto an elevator in L.A. or Paris—or inadvertently close a door on her in a room without a light.

  Yet she dealt with all of it with good grace, if secretly. She was warm and kind and just about everything a man would want in a woman. Except that she was on the cover of international magazines, in the national news, and her bank account was probably astronomical.

  Nobody knew his name, except derelicts and perps, and his bank account kept him comfortable but he would never be rich.

  He closed his eyes and scrunched down on the sofa so he could lean his head against the back. He tried to make mental notes about supplies for the new office, where to find furniture at a reasonable price, but coherent thought fragmented and drifted away before it could form.

  He awoke to being kissed. A small table lamp was lit and there was a glow from the television and the low murmur of dialogue. For an instant he felt confused, disoriented. What was he doing in the living room and why…?

  Then he realized that a woman’s lips were working gently against his, seemingly trying to get his attention, elicit a response. The woman smelled like a bouquet. Cassie.

  It all came back to him, the admission that they held completely different views about life and love, the courtesy they extended one another, anyway, the looks they aimed at each other’s backs that said they wished the situation was different.

  Every impulse to be careful, to use his head instead of his heart, to remember to think about the future, came to the fore and he caught her arms and held her away. “Cassie,” he said softly, the sound loud against the quiet background of the television. “What are you doing?”

  She was still under his hands, half sitting in his lap, her hair disheveled, her eyes soft with surprise. “I figured it out,” she whispered, her face lighting up with whatever it was. She was like a candle flame in the dimly lit room.

  “What?” he asked.