“Promise,” MJ agreed.
But she was careful not to say how much consideration she’d give to loving Grant. She never, ever, wanted to find herself in as much pain as her mother was suffering now.
FOLLOWING THROUGH ON HIS intention to give Merrilee all the space she needed, Grant had been patient. Although the effort had exhausted every ounce of his self-control, he’d left her on her own for a week before contacting her again, hoping she’d get in touch with him instead. When she hadn’t, he grabbed the first excuse to seek out her company and telephoned her.
“Come for a ride with me,” he begged when she answered.
“Where?” Her voice was unmistakably skeptical. He didn’t want to give away his surprise. “Georgia.” Her laughter floated through the line. “Could you be more specific?”
“Northeast Georgia.”
She laughed again, and the familiar bubbly sound warmed him to his toes. “Well, that narrows it down. And why are we going?”
“An errand of mercy.”
“A sick animal?”
“Nope.”
She paused before saying, “I really should stay here and—”
“Merrilee, it’s a surprise. Don’t make me spoil it. Just say you’ll come.”
She’d finally consented to accompany him, but so grudgingly he was beginning to wonder if his certainty that she loved him was merely wishful thinking.
After picking her up at her parents’ house, he drove south to the interstate.
“Sorry if I sounded weird when you first called,” Merrilee said.
“Not weird, just hesitant.” And he thought he understood her reluctance, until her explanation surprised him.
“I’ve been getting some strange calls lately,” she explained.
“Strange?”
“Lots of hang-ups and a couple that were threatening.”
Grant felt a chill. “What kind of threats?”
“‘Go back to New York where you belong.’ That kind of thing.”
“All from the same person?”
Merrilee nodded. “A raspy, genderless voice I can’t recognize, as if it’s being altered electronically for disguise.”
“Have you told the police?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
He was alarmed for her safety. Even in a sleepy town like Pleasant Valley, bad things happened, and he sure as hell didn’t want them happening to Merrilee.
She sighed with what sounded like exasperation. “Because I have a sneaking suspicion the calls might be from Ginger, and I’d rather keep the sordid details of my parents’ breakup off the police records.”
“Caller ID said it was Ginger?”
“The number’s blocked,” she said, “but who else would care whether I’m in town or not?”
Merrilee had a point, but Grant couldn’t help worrying. “Promise me you’ll report it if you get another call.”
“What good would reporting it do?”
“The phone company could put a trace on your line and identify the culprit.” He shot her a glance, but saw only the back of her head as she stared out the passenger window. “You said the calls were threats, not warnings. What kind of threats?”
“The voice just said I’d be sorry if I didn’t leave,” Merrilee explained. “If it’s not Ginger, it’s probably kids playing jokes.”
She didn’t sound concerned, but Grant’s heart was pounding. Ginger could be making the calls out of spite or kids could be jerking Merrilee around, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“If you won’t promise to report further threats, I’m calling Brynn myself,” he insisted.
He caught her smile then, bittersweet and incredibly lovely. He could tell she thought he was overreacting, and maybe he was, but he’d rather make a fool of himself than risk any harm to her.
“I promise,” she said. “Now, how much farther do we have to go?”
“We’re close.”
He exited I-85 a few miles across the Georgia state line and pulled into a parking space at the first rest area.
One of the prettier spots along the highway, the rest stop looked like a park with its wide green lawns dotted with mature trees. Borders of tulips and daffodils lined the walkways, the first blush of new growth tinged the tree canopy a soft green and a scattering of pink dogwoods added a splash of color. A monument of native stone near the buildings that housed rest rooms sported a bronze plaque memorializing men from the state who’d lost their lives in war.
In the early afternoon of a spring day in the middle of the work week, only a few cars had stopped and less than half a dozen tractor-trailer rigs spotted the truck lot on the opposite side of the parklike lawn from the car parking area.
“We’re here,” Grant announced and turned off the ignition.
“This is it?” Merrilee gazed around her. “Now are you going to tell me why?”
Grant shook his head. “Only that we’re waiting for someone.”
She cocked her head at an adorable angle and considered him. “You’re running drugs and you’re waiting for your supplier?”
The humor in her voice pleased him. As long as she could make jokes, she wasn’t allowing her parents’ breakup to completely dishearten her.
“There’s more money in drugs,” he admitted, “than what we’re here for. In fact, there’s no money in what we’re here for.”
“How did I let you talk me into this?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“As I recall, you seemed more than ready to get out of the house.”
“You’re right. I had cabin fever. I’ve worked until I’m cross-eyed on query letters with sample photos and chapters for my book. Now that they’re mailed to prospective agents, I would have jumped at any excuse for some fresh air.”
“Any excuse? Good thing I’m immune to flattery.”
Her blush of embarrassment delighted him. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“No offense taken. I didn’t know you were working on your book. I thought you were making rounds with your father.”
“Only once, day before yesterday. I went with him to treat Mr. Mauney’s sow who’s off her feed.”
“Get any pictures?” Grant opened his door, jumped out and motioned Gloria outside.
Merrilee joined them and fell into step with Grant as he sauntered toward the dog walk. Gloria bounded ahead, chasing a flying insect, her long legs flashing, her gray fur blowing in the breeze.
“I took some great shots of the farm and Mr. Mauney with his pigs,” Merrilee said, “but I can’t use the ones of Dad.”
“You’re good, but you can’t expect every photograph to be perfect.”
“The problem wasn’t technique.” Sadness filled her voice. “It’s the way Dad looked, tired and drawn, as if he’s wound tight as a spring and ready to break. I don’t want to immortalize that appearance in a book.”
“You making any headway in getting him away from Ginger?”
Her feathery brows drew into a frown. “He did mention Mom for the first time after we left the farm that day.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Merrilee shrugged and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket as they followed Gloria across the lush grass of the dog walk.
“When we returned home from Mauney’s, Dad went into the kitchen to make coffee. Mom had left one of her sweaters folded across the back of a chair in the family room. He picked it up and held it to his face. He must have caught a whiff of her perfume, because his eyes widened and his expression changed, like a man coming out of a deep trance.”
Grant took her elbow and steered her toward a bench nearer the parking area. “Too cold? We can wait in the truck.”
Her cheeks were deep rose where the chilly breeze had nipped them, but she shook her head. “It’s wonderful being outdoors.”
She settled onto the bench. Grant sat beside her and Gloria loped toward them and lay at their feet with her head on her
paws, listening as if she understood every word, every nuance.
“For that moment, holding Mom’s sweater,” Merrilee continued, “Dad seemed his old self. He asked, ‘How’s your mother?’”
Seemingly lost in thought, Merrilee grew quiet. A frown puckered her brow.
“What did you tell him?” Grant prodded.
A sigh of exasperation exploded from her. “I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what Mom would want me to say. And I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing, I just looked at him.”
“That must have been tough.”
She nodded. “He left the room, but he took Mom’s sweater with him. Whether there’s any significance to his action, I haven’t a clue.”
She looked so forlorn, Grant wanted to slip his arm around her and draw her against him, but he was saved from that impulse by the arrival of the dark green Ford Explorer he’d been expecting.
“He’s here.” Excitement tinged his words and glittered in his eyes. He pushed hurriedly to his feet and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
“Who’s here?”
Unable to restrain himself, with a self-satisfied grin, Grant lifted her off her feet and twirled her around before setting her down again.
“It’s Jim Dandy to the rescue,” he said. “Come meet him.”
Chapter Nine
“Jim Dandy?” MJ said breathlessly, trying to keep up with Grant’s long-legged stride as he hurried toward the SUV. “That’s the name of an old song my parents used to dance to.”
Grant glanced at her. With excitement lighting his eyes and coloring the strong angles of his tanned cheeks, his gleeful anticipation reminded her of the boy he’d once been.
“Jim Dandy’s also the name of something else.” His delightful grin widened. “You’ll see.”
Her heart gave a hitch at the sight of him, handsome and elated, and she wondered if she should have stayed home, bored but safe from the pull of his contagious enthusiasm.
Instinctively she held back, but he tugged her toward a dark green SUV with West Virginia plates that had pulled into the parking space next to Grant’s truck. A short, plump woman with pleasant features and a smile to match Grant’s jumped from the driver’s side and walked toward them.
“I thought Jim Dandy was a he,” Merrilee murmured in a low voice so the woman couldn’t hear.
“He is,” Grant said.
“Then where is he?”
“Waiting to make an entrance.”
“Dr. Nathan?” the woman called.
“That’s me.” Grant reached the newcomer and shook her hand. “You must be Jean Tabor. And this is Merrilee Stratton.”
“Hi,” Merrilee said.
She couldn’t help smiling at the middle-aged woman. Jean’s bright red curls escaped from beneath a pink watch cap in a clash of colors, freckles peppered her flushed complexion and her bright hazel eyes danced with merriment.
“How was your trip?” Grant asked.
“Good weather and clear roads all the way,” Jean answered.
“And Jim Dandy?” Grant said.
MJ strained to catch sight of whoever was waiting in the SUV, but tinted windows blocked her view.
“He loves to travel,” Jean said. “Ready to meet him?”
“Absolutely.” Grant threw MJ a wait-till-you-see-this look and followed Jean to the rear of her car.
Jean lifted the hatch and removed an animal crate not much larger than a shoe box.
“Jim Dandy’s in there?” MJ hoped it wasn’t a cat. She’d always found felines reserved, standoffish. Give her a big, slobbery dog any day.
Speaking of which, Gloria had followed them and was sniffing the crate. Jean, apparently unintimidated by the dog’s huge size, petted Gloria and grinned at Grant. “Looks like you’re going from one extreme to the other.”
He shot Merrilee a glance. “You’ll have to get a picture of Jim Dandy and Gloria together. That’ll be quite a shot, a study in contrasts.”
“Is he a cat?” MJ asked.
Jean snorted with a look that said she wouldn’t be caught dead with such an animal and passed the crate to Grant. “See for yourself. He’s probably ready for a good piddle, so you should let him out.”
Grant set the crate on the grass by the car, swung open the door and waited.
MJ watched in delight as a tiny chihuahua the color of maple syrup and dressed in a red sweater stepped daintily from the crate, blinked oversize bulging eyes in the brilliant sunshine and stretched.
“Jean’s with Chihuahua Rescue,” Grant explained, “and makes special deliveries. And that’s Jim Dandy.”
MJ waited until Jim Dandy relieved himself beneath a nearby boxwood, then scooped the dog into her arms. He snuggled against her contentedly.
“You brought him all the way from West Virginia?” MJ asked.
“Sure did,” Jean said with her engaging grin. “The last leg of his trip.”
“Where did he start?” MJ said.
“North Dakota,” Jean explained.
“Wow,” MJ murmured to the little fellow, “you’ve had quite a journey.”
“Someone lost or abandoned him in a bus station in Minot,” Jean said. “When no owner came forward, Chihuahua Rescue claimed him. I’m the fourth and final driver in the relay to bring him here.”
MJ scratched the tiny animal beneath its chin. Jim Dandy gazed at her with perfect trust in his big brown eyes. “Who could abandon such a sweetheart?”
Jean made a face. “Not everyone loves animals. Or knows how to treat them. That’s why we were so glad when Dr. Nathan contacted us via our Web site, asking if we had a dog ready for adoption.”
In awe of his thoughtfulness, MJ looked at Grant. “He’s for Mrs. Weatherstone, isn’t he?”
Grant nodded, seeming pleased with himself. He reached over and petted Jim Dandy. The dog licked his hand and MJ regretted leaving her camera in the truck.
She had to hold back from throwing her arms around Grant’s neck. The more she tried to convince herself that their relationship would never work, the more he proved how lovable he was.
Hold on, she warned herself.
Just because he was considerate of an elderly widow didn’t guarantee marital happiness.
“Gotta go.” Jean checked her watch. “If I leave now, I’ll be home by dark. If I hurry I can miss the storm that’s in the forecast.”
She reached into her truck again, slid out a box and handed it to Grant. “His food, leash, bedding and medical records.”
Grant tucked the box under his arm. “Thanks for your help.”
Jean slammed the hatch. “No problem.” She reached over and caressed Jim Dandy’s head. Her hazel eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye, little guy.” She looked at MJ. “I swore I wouldn’t get attached to him, but I couldn’t help it.”
“Mrs. Weatherstone will give him all the care and love he deserves,” MJ assured her.
“You need any more chihuahuas adopted, Dr. Nathan, you just give us a call.” With a final sniff, Jean climbed into her SUV and drove away.
“Want to go with me to Mrs. Weatherstone’s?” Grant asked.
MJ cuddled Jim Dandy. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
HOURS LATER MJ sat in the waiting room of the clinic, waiting for Grant to examine an ailing cat before he drove her home. She’d been hoping to track down her father, but, according to Fran, Jim was making a house call. Either her dad was the busiest vet on the planet, or he was purposely avoiding her.
So much for Nana’s grand scheme, MJ thought with a sigh.
But if she wasn’t having much influence on her father, at least she was expanding her portfolio. She was glad she’d remembered her camera this afternoon, because the pictures she’d snapped earlier of Grant presenting Jim Dandy to Mrs. Weatherstone were classics. Anyone viewing them would have to be made of stone if they didn’t feel a pull on their heartstrings at the joy on the elderly widow’s face, the happiness of the little chihuahua and the kindness that
had shone in Grant’s smile.
With a mental shake, MJ reminded herself that she absolutely, positively, had to avoid Grant in the future. The more time she spent with him, the harder returning to New York would be.
When they’d left the rest stop, she’d wished Grant had allowed her to hold Jim Dandy on her lap. She’d needed the distraction from Grant, but he’d insisted, and rightly so, that the dog should remain in his crate in the rear seat next to Gloria.
“If we have an accident and the airbag deploys,” Grant explained, “the impact could kill the little guy. That’s why Gloria always rides in the back.”
He’d reached into the back seat and caressed Gloria’s long muzzle. Gloria licked his hand and her wagging tail thudded happily against the tiny dog carrier, waking the chihuahua, who barked in high-pitched protest. Grant was obviously the wolfhound’s hero and everything in Grant’s manner, from the calming touch of his hand to the unspoken love in his eyes, spoke volumes about how much he adored his dog.
MJ turned away, remembering too clearly a time when Grant had looked adoringly at her, making her feel on top of the world with just a glance.
Adoring glances aren’t enough to hold a relationship together, she reminded herself.
And she refused to admit how much she missed them.
Once on the interstate, Grant tuned to a soft rock station and the sentimental love ballad filling the cab accentuated MJ’s awareness of the man beside her. Her nerve endings hummed at his nearness and the power of his personality pressed on her like the force of gravity. Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe, but she assured herself the difficulty was caused by warm air pumping from the truck’s heater, not Grant’s intoxicating proximity. But as much as she tried to keep her eyes on the road ahead, her gaze kept returning to him.
She couldn’t deny he was handsome, though not in a hunky movie star way. His hair was too shaggy, a few weeks past needing a trim, and a web of fine lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, the result of too much squinting in the sun. Or too many smiles. His broad shoulders filled out his denim jacket in a way that sent her pulse pounding, and he was incredibly, sexily tall, his head almost brushing the roof of the cab. And, she noted with a repressed grin, he must have dressed hurriedly this morning, because she’d glimpsed two different colored socks when he’d climbed into the truck.
Almost Heaven Page 12
