"Thanks," she yelled back. "Tell him to go to bed."
He returned to the bedroom, walking over to the window. "Grace said you're supposed to be in bed, Ty."
"I woke up and I thought I should look for Santa one more time," Tyler told him, an earnest look in his eyes.
He sat down on the window seat next to him, the moonlight showing the worry in Tyler's eyes. He wished he could find a way to erase it.
"Christmas is weeks away, buddy," he said.
"I know, but the book said if you see Santa before Christmas, you'll get your wish."
"You know that's just a story."
"But it could come true. Have you ever seen Santa?"
"No, I never have." At least he could answer that question honestly.
"Well, I will," Tyler said, a little defiance in his voice. "I have to. I have to get my wish."
"I think…" He chose his words carefully since he was stepping into territory that was foreign to him, but he felt compelled to go there to save Tyler from more worry, more fear, more pain. "I think wishes are heard no matter where you are and what you see. They come from the heart. They go out to whoever needs to hear them."
Tyler stared back at him, considering his words. "So if I don't see Santa, I'll still get my wish?"
"I think Santa knows what your wish is," he said, trying not to lie but also not to lead Tyler too far down another path.
"I want my dad to come home, Ian."
"I know."
"He told me that when he looks at the stars at night—wherever he is—he can picture me sitting in this window looking at the same stars. It's like we're together."
His heart tore at Tyler's words. "Then you're together right now."
"But I wish he was here. It's been forever."
"Your dad wishes that, too," he said quietly. "He'd probably also wish for you to be in bed, getting your sleep, because you have school tomorrow. And we have to finish our volcano after that, so you've got a busy day ahead of you."
"Okay. Where's Grace?" Tyler asked, as he got up from the window seat and walked over to his bed.
"She's on the phone. She's right downstairs."
"Are you going to tell her I got out of bed?"
"I'll tell her you're back in bed, and you're going to stay there. How about that?"
Tyler gave a happy nod and then slid under the covers. As Ian said good night and turned out the lights, he was assailed with the oddest feeling. It felt almost wistful.
He'd never thought much about having a wife or children. He wasn't against it, but it wasn't in the immediate cards. Work was always at the top of the list. But being with Tyler was making him wonder what kind of father he would be. As he walked down the stairs, he could almost see himself in that role, which then made him think about being a husband—but who was his wife?
A beautiful redhead flitted through his mind.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs, hearing Grace's voice on the phone. And for more than one reason, he decided to give her a little space. Turning down the hall, he headed into the kitchen for a cold drink.
* * *
"Mom, we have to talk about something important," Grace said forcefully. The first five minutes of the call had been all about her mother's annoyance that she was calling so late and then she had segued into her additional annoyance about some lost necklace that she was sure someone from the airlines had stolen during their recent trip to Hawaii. Her mother had always had a lot to say about everything, and Grace usually had more patience for her problems, but not tonight. "Mom, stop," she said, cutting off her mother in mid-sentence. "You have to tell me what's going on with Dad."
Silence followed her words. Well, she'd finally found a way to shut her mother up.
"What are you talking about?" Tricia asked warily.
"You know what I'm talking about. Dad was assaulted. He's in the hospital. They told me they filled you in on his condition days ago."
"How did you hear about it?"
"I heard the news from someone who knows Dad. I should have heard it from you. Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to upset you until I knew what was going to happen."
"What was going to happen?" she echoed. "It already happened, Mom. Dad is hurt and apparently badly. He might not wake up." Her stomach clenched at the thought.
"I was trying to protect you, Grace. Your father hurts you, and I bandage you up. That's what I've always done."
That was a pretty big generalization, but at the moment she was more concerned about her father's condition. "What exactly did the doctor tell you? Is Dad going to survive? Will he be all right? Will he have any—any brain damage?"
Her mother drew in a swift breath. "I don't know. There's swelling on his brain. They won't know the extent of his injury until it goes down."
That didn't sound good. "What about the assault? What happened? Did you talk to the police about it?"
"Yes, a detective called me a few days ago. He said that the university cleaning service probably saved your father's life, because whoever attacked him went running when they came down the hall."
"Did they see who it was?"
"Just a man in dark clothes and a cap or a hood, no other identification. There was nothing caught on the security cameras in the building; in fact, two of them were disabled."
"Disabled? That doesn't sound like the work of a disgruntled student."
"I honestly don't know what your father was involved in. I told the police I hadn't spoken to him in more than ten years."
"But he was just a teacher—a professor. What would he be involved in?"
"He's a teacher now, but over the years…who knows?"
She frowned at her mother's words. "It sounds like you actually know more than you are saying."
"I really don't, Grace. Obviously, I never knew your father well. If I had, I might have realized he was cheating on me and that he had another family tucked away. I told the detective that he should speak to Seamus's mistress, not me, but apparently, she's no longer in Waterford."
"So they're not together?" She'd wondered over the years if her father had ended up with his lover and their child. She'd even been a little curious about that child, the brother she'd never known.
"I have no idea," her mother said. "The detective said he spoke to her over the phone, but according to her, she hadn't had any contact with Seamus in several years."
"I always thought he was with her—all these years," she murmured. "I thought he was with them."
"Yes, well, I'm not surprised he ended up alone. The only person Seamus really cared about was himself. I'm sure she figured that out at some point."
"I don't want this to be the end, Mom," she said, suddenly terrified by that thought. "I know he did some terrible things, and he hurt us all, especially you, but I don't want him to die."
"There's nothing any of us can do, Grace."
"Do you think I should go see him?"
"No," her mother said with vehemence in her tone. "I don't want you near whatever got him hurt. Someone attacked him. Who knows what kind of trouble your father is in? And there's no point anyway. He's unconscious; he wouldn't know you were there. Promise me, you will not get on a plane to Ireland."
She hesitated and then said, "I won't do it unless I feel I need to."
"No, Grace, you can't go."
"I don't know what I'm going to do, but there's one thing that has to happen: you need to tell Jillian, or I will. She has a right to know." She didn't think Jillian would want to rush to her father's side, but her sister should have the opportunity to make that decision for herself.
"I'll tell her tomorrow," her mother said with weary resignation.
"And you'll let me know immediately if you hear something else? No more hiding information to protect me. I'm a grown woman now."
"I know, but you'll always be my baby. How is everything else going, Grace? Are you going to be able to come home for Christmas?"
She didn't
want to tell her that the new house her mother shared with her second husband didn't feel at all like home. "I should be able to come down to San Francisco for Christmas," she said. "Jillian and I were talking about getting a hotel room in Union Square for Christmas Eve."
"Don’t be ridiculous. You can both stay with me."
"We'll see. We'll talk before then."
"Please don't be mad at me, Grace," her mom said. "I did what I did out of love. I hope you know that."
"I do know that," she said, although inwardly she couldn't help thinking that love wasn't really a reasonable defense for every action, but she was too worked up about her father to start something with her mother. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." As she set down her phone, she saw Ian hovering in the hallway, and she motioned him into the living room.
He sat down next to her and handed her a cold bottle of water.
"Thanks," she said, opening the bottle and taking a much-needed sip.
"What did your mom say?"
"She didn't have much additional information to give me. She did tell me that apparently my father doesn't see his mistress or his son anymore. I guess he really is alone now." She knew she shouldn't feel one iota of sympathy for him, but somehow she did.
"What about the attack? Did the police tell your mother what happened?"
"Not really. They said his life was probably saved by the cleaning service, who apparently interrupted the assault. There was a man spotted running away, but the security cameras were broken, and he got away."
"That's not good."
"No," she said, as fear crept up her spine. She couldn't imagine why someone would want to hurt her father. "I don't understand why this happened. It doesn't feel random."
"Oh, I don't think it's random, Grace."
She frowned, wishing there was more doubt in Ian's voice. "But who would want to hurt him?"
"Maybe that wasn't the goal—just the consequence."
"You're saying that they went into his office for another reason?"
"It was after hours, late in the evening. It's possible they thought he would be gone by then."
"Which would imply they were looking for something in his office." She paused. "When I said to my mother that Dad was just a teacher, she made some comment about now he was a teacher, but before that who knows what he was involved in. Do you know what my dad used to be involved in, Ian?"
"I know some of his work, but he's been out of the public eye for almost as long as you've been estranged from him. It's difficult to imagine what he would suddenly have now that he didn't have years ago."
"That's true." She thought for a moment, surprising herself with where her mind was going. "What if we looked into it?" she said slowly, meeting his gaze. "What if we talked to some of Dad's friends? Some of them are here in Tahoe. I could ask Harry. He probably knew my dad better than anyone. He and Westley said my dad betrayed them. I should find out exactly what he did to them."
"That could be a place to start."
Her brows drew together as she thought about the Fergusons. "Did Harry tell you about my dad's attack?"
"No, that was an old friend of mine—David Pennington. Westley was also there and seemed just as surprised as I was. I think the news is just now getting out in the science community."
"Why did it take so long? I thought you said my dad was a superstar."
"I also said he's been off the public radar for a while."
She sat back against the couch and blew out a breath. "I feel like I just ran a marathon, but it was all in my head."
Ian smiled at her, that warm, sexy smile that made her breath catch in her chest. She'd told herself earlier that she needed to keep her distance, but here he was again, and the last thing she wanted to do was send him away.
He looked good, too, in his cocktail attire, his face cleanly shaven, his skin hinting of a musky cologne. The other women scientists were probably fighting over him. And that's the kind of woman he should end up with—someone from his world, someone he could really talk to, someone who might even work with him. He certainly wasn't going to settle down in Lake Tahoe with a second-grade teacher who didn't respect his profession.
But she did respect him. How could she not? He wasn't just smart; he was also generous, compassionate, and kind. He'd left his own party to tell her something she needed to know, and she appreciated that so much. She was tired of other people deciding what she should and shouldn't know—like her mother had always done, and even Jillian, to some extent. But Ian had given her the truth.
She licked her dry lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth.
Not the best idea.
She cleared her throat, feeling a different sort of tension now. "You should go back to your party, Ian."
"It's probably over by now."
"What do you have going on tomorrow?"
"The keynote speech is at nine. Then there are some group meetings, demonstrations, talks—usual conference stuff."
"Sounds boring."
His eyes sparked with amusement. "Actually, it's quite interesting—if you like that kind of thing, which I do."
"I know." She let out a sigh. "Maybe after I get Tyler situated with his grandparents, I can talk to Westley about what he's heard and what he might know."
Ian frowned. "You should be careful."
"Around Westley? Why? I've known him since I was a kid."
"Actually, you haven't known him since you were a kid. I don't like him or trust him."
She frowned. "He's the best contact I have. I'm likely to get more information out of him than his father. Why don't you like him?"
"Gut feeling."
"I thought you scientists went by facts, not by gut feelings."
"Instinct can also be important. And my instinct where Westley Ferguson is concerned is ringing alarm bells."
"Well, I don't think he's so bad."
"You still have a crush on him?" he asked, not looking too happy about that possibility.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said.
"Why not? He's single. You're single. And you had a thing for him."
"When I was twelve. I'm not interested in dating him, just getting some information on my father."
"I'll see what information I can find at the conference tomorrow. We can touch base after school when we meet up to finish the volcano."
"You're still going to do that?"
"I made Tyler a promise. I don't break my promises."
"I appreciate that. He really likes you. And you're keeping him distracted while his mom is gone."
"I like Tyler. And I like you, too, Grace."
She drew in a quick breath. "You always surprise me with how honest you are, Ian."
"I know. I can't seem to stop crushing kids' dreams or telling the truth," he said with a wry smile. "It's a bad habit."
"Actually, it's refreshing. It's probably why I like you, too."
"So what do you want to do about it?" He put a hand on her shoulder, the heat from his fingers burning through her top.
"So many things," she said a little breathlessly. "Some good. Some bad. Some crazy."
"Sounds intriguing. Tell me more."
She shook her head. "I shouldn't."
"If you don't want to tell me, show me." He covered her mouth with his as her lips parted in protest.
She meant to push him away, but she just couldn't. After a quick breath of surprise, she went all in on the kiss. Had it only been a few hours since they last kissed? It felt longer than that.
Need burned through her, overwhelming all the confused emotions of the last hour. It was just her and Ian. His mouth. His hands. His body so close to hers. She didn't want to think about anything else.
She cupped his face with her hands as she kissed him, then ran her hands down to his shoulders as she pulled him closer.
"God, Grace," he whispered. "You're on fire."
"I think that's you."
"Or it's us," he murmured, coming back for another passionate kiss.<
br />
His hands slipped under her top, his fingers roaming across her bare back, and she wanted that same touch on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, the most tender part of her body. But as their kisses grew more passionate, the narrow couch became too small, and suddenly she was falling off the couch with Ian landing next to her.
She stared at him in shock.
He had the same bemused expression on his face.
She smiled and then started to laugh.
He grinned back at her. "The floor works for me, too."
"Not for me," she said, pushing against his chest as he came in for another kiss. She scrambled away from him and got to her feet. "Tyler is upstairs. This isn't my house. I don't know what I was thinking."
He rose more slowly. "You're killing me, Grace."
She drew in a breath and let it out. "I know, but this isn't the time."
"You're right," he said. "But you didn't have to shove me off the couch to get my attention."
"I didn't push you off the couch. That was just a little too much—enthusiasm."
A smile played across his lips. "I liked your enthusiasm." He gave her a kiss so quick she couldn't complain. "I'm going to go now."
"I think that's best," she said, her body still telling her brain to shut up and have some fun.
But Ian was already moving away, and she had to let him go. He paused at the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Grace. If you need me before then, call me."
As he walked out of the house, she was tempted to grab her phone and punch in his number right this second, because every nerve ending in her body said she needed him.
She had to fight hard to get past that urge. She told herself it was better this way. A little frustration now was better than pain later. She needed to remember that he was always going to leave, no matter how long he stayed. It was never going to be forever.
Eleven
Grace went to bed with Ian's image in her head, but somewhere along the way, her dreams moved into the past.
It was a Saturday night. Her parents were young and having a dinner party with their friends. The Fergusons were there, Harry and his wife Pauline. The Conovers from next door—Bryce and Lila—were also present. She and her sister Jillian had snuck downstairs to spy on them. The adults were drinking wine and laughing. Her father gave her mother a playful kiss on the cheek.
Closer To You (Callaways Book 11) Page 13
