by Laura Wright
Anna smiled. She had always made a point to stop whatever she was doing when Jack asked her to read. She sat down next to him and patted her knee. He grinned widely and curled up into her lap. The Big Red Barn turned into The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and when she was closing in on Brown Bear, Brown Bear little Jack’s eyes started to droop.
After putting him down for a nap, she went back to work on her pie. She was just crimping the edges of her butter crust when there was a soft rap on the door.
She wiped her hands on her apron and headed for the living room.
“Hey, you’re back early,” she said to a somber-looking Grant.
He shrugged. “Traffic was a breeze. How are you feeling?”
“Perfect.”
He smiled, leaned toward her and brushed his lips over hers. “Yeah, you are.”
She laughed softly.
“How’s Jack?”
“He’s good. Taking one of his power naps.”
Grant pressed her back against the door frame. “So, we’re sort of alone.”
“Sort of.”
The weight of him, his knee between her legs, felt too good and she inhaled deeply. He leaned toward her, and she thought he was about to kiss her again, but instead he let his head fall to her chest.
“It’s good to be back here,” he said.
“Little chaotic in the city?”
“Always.”
“The trouble is, you’re a country boy who needs his wide-open spaces.”
He nuzzled her neck. “That’s right, ma’am.”
She shivered, and her breasts tingled. “Well, you’ll be back on the farm in no time, I’m sure of it.”
Anna mentally begged him to deny that, but he didn’t have the chance. Jack’s little cries of, “Mama. Mama. Mama,” had them both stepping away from each other.
“Not so much power in that power nap,” Grant said with a grin.
“The unpredictability of children.”
“I remember. It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”
She loved that he saw things the way she did. “Yes, it is.”
Grant grinned. “I’ll go and get him.”
When Grant returned from Jack’s bedroom, he held the small, sleepy boy tightly in his arms. They all went into the kitchen, and while Anna finished crimping the edges of the pie, the boys watched.
“This kitchen is wonderful,” she said breezily.
Grant looked around, his gaze skeptical. “A little small if you ask me.”
“Small? Are you kidding?”
“In my house the kitchen is twice this size with a fireplace and two ovens.”
“A fireplace?” she asked, awe threading her tone.
“Sure. Winters get pretty cold. Got to have a place where you can sit, have a cup of hot coffee and watch the snow come down.”
“Of course you do,” she said on a laugh.
Jack fussed to get down and Grant put him on the floor with a bunch of plastic containers and blocks. “Then there’s the pot rack, wine storage and a long window box greenhouse for plants and herbs and such.”
“You’re just torturing me now,” she said, giving him a glare of mock severity. “Oh, and I bet after you have that wonderful meal prepared in one of those wonderful ovens and you sit by that killer fireplace, there’s a beautiful, magical snowstorm raging outside—and of course this is all on Christmas Eve.”
“Of course.” He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. “Got to have a white Christmas.”
“Oh, I’m so jealous I could spit.”
He laughed. “Not on the pie if you please.”
She laughed with him.
He came up behind her and placed his hands on her waist. “I always thought California girls were too thin-skinned to handle a Nebraska snowstorm.”
“Not this California girl, honey. Just take me home and I’ll show you what a thin-skinned girl is really made of.”
She stopped breathing, and slowly glanced over her shoulder at him. All that big talk was just that—big talk, a tease, but there was seriousness in his gaze. And she longed to ask him what he was thinking. Yet, she also dreaded the answer. So she turned back to the counter and said, “The chef must finish here or no one’s getting dessert.”
His hands came off her waist in a shot. “We can’t have that. Jack, you want pie, right?”
“Yum,” Jack called.
A few minutes later, Anna looked down and saw Jack and Grant playing on the kitchen floor with the Tupperware containers, blocks, wooden spoons and measuring cups. They were making forts, doing boy stuff and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. She was in domestic heaven, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if she really had been pregnant. Would Grant have wanted them? Wanted a family? Would he have gone so far as to ask her to marry him?
She turned back to the counter and swallowed the tightness in her throat. Just like Grant’s love, pregnancy was an impossibility for her. It killed her to recall what the doctor had told her last year—that her chance of having children was virtually nonexistent.
She slid her pie into the oven, and soberly announced, “Not to worry, boys. The pie’s in the oven. Now, it’s on to the chicken.”
“Bak bak,” Jack shouted, hitting his Tupperware with a spoon.
“I bet Grant has chicken on his farm, Jack.”
Grant nodded. “Maybe a few.”
She smiled down at him and just wanted more of today, more of this temporary heaven. “Tell us more about Nebraska.”
Four
About a half hour later, as Anna worked on her chicken and pesto dinner, Grant enjoyed that lazy end of the day feeling with his little brother. He rolled the ball down an easy slope, then watched Jack chase after it with pure glee. He watched with a tenderness he hadn’t felt in a long time as the little boy stopped, picked up the orange ball and held it up for Grant to see. Grinning, Grant hooted and hollered and clapped his hands.
It reminded him of the early days with Ford and Abigail. He chuckled in spite of himself. He’d been as green as a bullfrog back then, hadn’t known a thing about kids except that he’d been one. But he’d learned pretty quick. Just one year in and he could make a great peanut butter sandwich for one child, while telling a funny bedtime story to the other. He learned to never complain, even on those days when he’d wanted to pull his hair out. He learned that he could stay up all night with two sick kids and make them feel loved and safe and cared for. It had been the hardest job in the world—and the best job in the world.
“Hey there.”
Grant looked up, saw Eli coming toward him and gave his half brother an easy wave. Eli was a good guy, a friend when Grant had needed one. He was also pretty big, and Grant couldn’t help but think that he could just as easily fit in with the men who worked Grant’s farm back home as he did working at Louret as head winemaker.
“How’s it going?” Grant asked as Eli approached.
But his brother never answered as, all of a sudden, Jack came barreling into Grant and gave him a huge hug around the legs.
Eli laughed. “You could be a football player with that tackle, Jack.”
“Ball, ball, ball,” Jack repeated, throwing his orange ball at Grant. “More, more.”
The men laughed, and Grant tossed the ball down the little hill for Jack again. He squealed and took off toward it.
“You need some serious energy to keep up with him,” Eli said.
“Yeah. Good thing Anna’s got serious energy.”
“How is Anna, by the way? I heard she was sick.”
With a shrug, Grant said, “Over the worst of it, she says.”
Eli’s green eyes narrowed. “She says?”
Grant shook his head. “No. I believe her. She seems fine, and she looks great—beautiful actually.” He paused, eyed Eli’s growing smirk and knifed a hand through his hair. “What I mean is she’s not so pale.”
“Right.” Eli placed the bottle of wine he’d had tucked under his arm onto the small picnic ta
ble beside Grant. “And how about you? Holding up all right?”
“Sure.”
“This whole mess will get resolved soon. The will, Spencer’s death and all the family squabbles—all of it. And then things will return to normal.”
Grant snorted. “Normal? What the hell is that?”
“I have no idea.”
Grant chuckled as Jack brought the ball back. He turned to Eli, raised a brow. “So, you up for a little soccer?”
“With my brothers?” He nodded. “You bet.”
Eli’s words made Grant’s chest tighten. For what seemed like forever he’d been alone, an only child. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that Grace had been no sister to him. But now things were different. He had family—and they seemed to really care about him, what happened to him and how he was doing. He was reluctant to embrace them—just now, at any rate—because he was still a suspect in Spencer’s murder. He still felt watched and judged, even though he wasn’t. The situation confused him. He didn’t know who he was anymore or where he belonged—or to whom he belonged.
Grant watched Eli kick the ball to Jack, who squealed loudly and kicked it back a few inches.
“Kids got a winning foot,” Eli said, making for the ball.
“Wonder where that comes from,” Grant said. “Any idea?”
“Mercedes had a pretty mean kick when she was Jack’s age. I remember the bruises.”
As they passed the ball back and forth, they talked and joked about nothing in particular. It was a relaxing, memorable moment of pure guy time that Grant really enjoyed, and he sort of forgot about the time—until he heard Anna’s voice calling them in to dinner.
Grant picked up Jack, then turned to Eli. “Do you want to stay for dinner? You could run back and pick up Lara? Share that bottle of wine with us?”
“Maybe another time. Looks like Anna wants her men to herself tonight.”
Grant chuckled lightly. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Eli flashed him a rare grin. “Sure it’s not. See you guys later.”
“Yeah, later,” Grant said with mock vexation.
Eli tossed them both a wave and took off back to the main house, and Grant and Jack went in to dinner.
Three lullabies, a little rocking, a soft kiss on the forehead and Jack was off to dreamland.
Anna crept out of his room and headed into the living room. Grant had lit a fire in the fireplace, and had placed two pieces of her apple pie on the coffee table. He sat on the couch, his shirt open at the collar, his jeans molded against his muscular thighs. When he caught site of her he smiled and motioned for her to come over and sit beside him.
The scene was beyond inviting. A happy, sleepy baby in bed, she and Grant relaxing together after a long day. A little pie, a little conversation, a little romance.
She could almost forget that none of it would last.
Almost.
With a soft smile affixed to her lips, she sat down beside him on the couch and curled her legs up under her.
Grant handed her a small china plate that contained a rather large slice of pie. “You did a lot of work today. You sure you feel okay?”
“I’m sure.”
“We don’t want any relapses.” He picked up his fork, grinned at her. “Or maybe we do.”
“That’s a very selfish attitude,” she chided.
“I warned you. When it comes to you, Anna Sheridan, I’m a thoroughly selfish man.”
“What are we going to do about that?”
He shrugged, took a bite of pie. “Wow! You’re one helluva cook.”
“Thank you,” she said, her manner remaining light. “I can clean, sew, cook. I like most sports and can pretend I like the others.”
“Wow…”
“Yeah. Think I’ll make some man a good wife?” She was joking of course, and up until now Grant had followed along, but he didn’t look amused anymore.
He looked solemn.
He put his uneaten pie on the table and sighed. “You’re an amazing woman. Any man would be lucky to be with you.”
Rather than trying to return to the playful intentions she’d originally had, she spoke truthfully, though casually. “Well, the most important thing to me is making sure that Jack’s taken care of. I think he deserves a family and a father—and I’ll probably have to consider that at some point.”
“Of course you will. Every kid deserves a family, and two parents if they’re lucky.” Exhaling heavily, he leaned back against the fluffy couch cushions. “When my sister walked out on her kids, they were pretty young but they understood they’d lost their mother and their sense of family.”
Anna couldn’t imagine such a thing. “That’s horrible.”
“It was hard. No kid should have to give up family.” Beside her, his jaw was tight as he spoke, his body, too. “They asked for her every day for two years.”
“Oh, Grant.” She took his hand, laced her fingers with his.
“I was a kid myself really. I had no idea what to do. I just tried to love them a lot, give them the family they deserved—and try to be the best father I could.”
“And you were, still are.” He’d never opened up to her this way, this much. She wanted this intimacy to continue, for them to comfort each other. They had such similar pasts, similar siblings that cared for little but themselves, then left others to pick up the slack. Yet, they both had deep guilt running through their veins. “A great father and a great brother. I wish I could’ve been as strong.”
His brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”
“Alyssa. If I could’ve protected her better—”
“Anna—”
“She was an unthinking, unreliable person, but she had a good heart underneath it all. I truly believe that, and I keep thinking that if I could’ve kept her from Spencer, things wouldn’t have—”
Before she could finish her thought, Grant grabbed her hand. He pulled her off the couch and ushered her out of the room. Outside the door to Jack’s bedroom, Grant put a finger to his lips, then silently led her in. The bright moon squeezed through the thin cracks in the blinds, dimly lighting a jagged pathway to the crib.
When they were standing beside the baby’s bed, Grant pointed to the beautiful, sleeping boy, curled up with his beloved brown cat and whispered, “If you had kept her from Spencer, you wouldn’t have him.”
Anna’s eyes went hot, her throat tight as she stared down at her little Jack. There was nothing whatever to say in return. She swiped tears from her eyes. Grant was right, so right, and she vowed then and there to never allow such thoughts to enter her mind. What had happened had happened for a reason, and the choices that Alyssa had made were her own.
Quietly they stepped out of the room. But they didn’t return to the living room. They stood there in the dimly lit hall and looked at each other.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“For what?” he whispered back, his face deliciously close to her own.
“Reminding me about what’s really important. The future and the now—not the past.”
“Yeah, well, it’s something we both need reminding,” he said, staring at her mouth intently.
“I’m doing my damnedest to remind you, Grant.” The warmth off his body soothed her, made her feel tired and turned on and ready for bed.
“I know.”
“But you’ve got to let me.”
“Oh, Anna.” He let his head fall back for a moment. “I can’t forget a past that is still haunting me.”
Silence filled the air between them. Standing with her back to the wall, with Grant’s hard, long body just inches from her, Anna’s heart pounded in her chest.
“I’d better head out,” Grant said, his gaze returning to her.
She nodded, doing her best to look impassive. “Okay.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for Jack—”
“Of course.”
She waited for him to move, to back off and walk out
.
But he didn’t.
“You didn’t finish your pie,” she said stupidly.
“Save it for me?” he asked, his gaze thick with anxiety and heat.
“All right.” When he shifted weight and took a step back, she added, “But for how long, Grant?”
“What?” He wore an expression of deep confusion.
“How long do you want me to save it?” she asked again, clearly not talking about the half-eaten apple pie on the coffee table any longer.
And by the tension around his mouth, Grant understood. “I wish I could answer that.”
“I wish you could, too.” She pushed away from the wall and headed into the living room, and to the front door.
He followed her. “See you tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?
She opened the door. “Tomorrow’s Caroline’s picnic—”
“Right. And you and Jack are going?”
“Yes.”
“Well, so am I.”
Anna stared at him, confused and frustrated as all hell. He was being incredibly insouciant with her feelings and with her heart. He wanted her now, but he had no clue what the future would bring. She didn’t know how long she could do this—have him walk in and out of her life. Have him torture her with his looks, his touch, his moments of domesticity—that she would swear he loved as much as she did.
Oh, things had been so much easier in the beginning, a quick, casual affair with no strings and no falling in love. But lust and great conversation and friendship and care and protectiveness had turned them into something heavier and deeper, and far more fulfilling.
“Well,” she said coolly. “I’d better get to packing a killer lunch basket for tomorrow’s charity lunch. Lots of competition, and I want to raise as much as I can for Caroline’s charity.”
That was it. Her attempt at a goodbye. But Grant made no move to leave. His tortured gaze remained on her, as his body remained close. “You gonna make more apple pie?”
She shrugged, tried not to breathe in that clean, woodsy scent of him. “Could be.”
He leaned in. His mouth hovered just above hers. He looked beyond frustrated as he glanced up at the door, then back down at her. “I feel like a teenager when I’m with you, Anna.”
