by Laura Moore
“It was nothing. As I told Gen, I had an appointment with the director of the hospital, in any case. I’m the one who’s grateful. Your daughter is a remarkable artist.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Gen discovered her passion early on. Her godmother, Phoebe Hayes, gave her a paint set for her fifth birthday. More than any of our children, she throws herself entirely into what she loves.”
The memory of Gen laughing while her beloved dog sprinted madly over the sand flashed in Alex’s mind. The corners of his mouth lifted. “Yes, I’ve noticed that trait also.”
“Which is why I was so relieved when I approached your Harvard Business School professors. They speak very highly of you. I was especially struck by how often the word principle came up.”
Alex’s steps slowed. “You had me checked out.”
Robert Monaghan shrugged. “So to speak.”
Alex’s gaze immediately sought out Gen, who was walking between her mother and a young woman whose name Alex hadn’t caught. Gen was gesturing animatedly as she talked. “You might be interested to learn that your daughter was quite affronted when I ran a background check on your family, Professor Monaghan,” he said mildly. “As a matter of fact, she’s still enjoying her petty revenge.”
A slow smile spread over Robert Monaghan’s craggy features as he digested that piece of news. “I can well imagine her reaction. But as her father, I’m able to sleep much better knowing the kind of man you are.” His gaze pierced Alex. “It’s a tricky business, loving a child yet knowing that she needs her freedom—of all our children, Gen seems to need that the most. There’ve been many a night these past few years when I’ve paced the floor.”
“I understand your concern, sir. New York can be a tough city.”
“New York?” Professor Monaghan repeated, his blue eyes twinkling. He gave a soft laugh. “New York was the least of my worries,” he replied enigmatically. “Well, that’s all in the past. Now, would you consider doing an old man a favor, and keep this investigation business a secret between ourselves? Gen might very well decide to chew me out, too.”
Alex grinned. “Of course.”
“I’m indebted to you, my boy. Now, come and have some food before we test your mettle as ball-player.”
A short time later, Phoebe Hayes arrived. After kissing Tansy hello and offering Bridget her best wishes, she made her way over to Gen. “Is it true you’ve brought Grace’s nephew?”
“Yeah, he’s over there, talking to Nolan and Alana.” Twenty yards of grass dotted with clumps of chatting family members separated them, but amazingly Alex seemed to hear her. He looked over, his gaze connecting with hers, and then turned, saying something to her brother and sister.
Gen realized he was excusing himself. She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt when she said, “Here he comes. I’ll introduce you, Phoebe.”
Phoebe was a smart woman. She dispensed with a handshake, opting to kiss Alex on both cheeks. “I’m thrilled to meet you after all these years. I knew your uncle Alexander very well. He was a wonderful man. You’re every bit as handsome.”
Alex smiled. “Aunt Grace says you have a stunning collection of contemporary art. I’ve become quite interested in the field myself. . . .” His gaze slid back to Gen. For a second the rest of Gen’s family seemed to disappear, leaving only Alex and her. Her pulse fluttered. Lord, how could he affect her with just a look?
Then Phoebe spoke, bringing Gen abruptly back to reality. “Darling,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. “I’m going to steal this young man from you. I’ll give him back when it’s time to play softball.”
Grateful that Phoebe had broken Alex’s spell, Gen smiled. “By the way, do you play?” she asked him.
“These days? Only with my niece and nephew.”
Heaving a dramatic sigh she said, “That’s okay. We’ll put you in left field,” and had to bite the inside of her cheek when he scowled. Turning back to her godmother, she kissed her cheek. “I’m going to go chat with Mom. He’s all yours, Phoebe.”
“If only I were thirty years younger!” Phoebe declared in a stage whisper.
ELEVEN
Gen and her mother found a quiet spot beneath a maple tree. They sat cross-legged, laden paper plates balanced on their folded legs. Gen munched on her hot dog, her gaze flitting over the groups of people. Despite the number of loved ones assembled, her eyes always seemed to return to Alex, as if drawn by an irresistible force.
Next to her, Gen’s mother forked a last bite of the potato salad Bridget had brought and patted her lips with a paper napkin. “Everyone looks like they’re having a good time. Phoebe’s positively glowing, dazzled by Alex Miller.”
Gen grinned around a mouthful of hot dog. The two of them were still talking. Even from this distance she could hear Phoebe’s peals of laughter. She wasn’t convinced her godmother would be all that willing to part with Alex when the time came to play ball—which was probably how most women felt when it came to Alex Miller.
“Alex seems like a charming man,” her mother said in a tone that made Gen wonder if she’d noticed that her daughter couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
“Yes.” She gave a firm nod. That was absolutely undeniable. “He’s interesting, too. I haven’t figured him out—” Gen didn’t get a chance to finish, for just then Bridget plopped down next to them.
“Thanks for the great party, Mom,” she said. “So, spill the beans. What are you two whispering about? Or need I guess?” she added in an arch tone.
“Nothing terribly secret, Bridget. Gen and I were talking about how nice Alex Miller is.”
“Nice?” Bridget’s hoot of laughter was loud enough to turn several heads in their direction. “Nice doesn’t begin to describe someone like Alex Miller, Mom. The man is gorgeous, divine . . . utterly scrumptious.”
Gen bit back a laugh. Her sister, who’d taken over the family kitchen when she was twelve, reserved her highest praise for anything she considered tasty—but she had to agree with Bridget. Alex was definitely yummy.
Bridget caught her eye, grinning too. “He’s a lovely birthday present, Gen. Thank you,” and blew her a kiss.
She shook her head. “Sorry, Bridge. You’re not getting anything nearly so fancy. Besides, he’s already taken.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh,” Gen replied, nodding. “He and a woman named Sydney Raines. They make a pretty dynamic duo. High society and all that.”
“Really? How funny. He hasn’t been looking at you like someone who’s taken. I have a hunch he finds you pretty darn delectable, kiddo.”
Blushing furiously, Gen shoved the remainder of her hot dog in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to reply, then nearly choked when her sister calmly added, “I think you should go for it, Gen. Lap him up with a little whipped cream and a dash of Grand Marnier.”
“Stop teasing her, Bridget,” her mother said calmly as she whacked Gen between her shoulder blades until her coughing fit subsided.
“I’m not teasing at all. This is some serious wisdom I’m dispensing, Mom. You’ve got to seize your chances while you can, sweetie pie. Men like Alex Miller don’t come a dime a dozen.”
“You were obviously given a few too many of those trite birthday cards this year.”
“Nary a one. This advice is solid gold.”
Attempting a swallow, Gen grimaced. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to remember that next time I’m around some whipped cream.”
“Good.” Bridget gave an approving nod. “I think I’ll let you and Mom go back to your whispering. I’m going to drag Tessie over to Alex and Phoebe. This’ll be a dream come true for her. At last she’ll be able to talk to someone who understands what she’s saying. All those numbers and weird terms,” she said with a mock shudder of horror. Rising to her feet, she brushed off her jeans and made a beeline for Tess.
“She must be eating leftover Valentine’s Day cookies or something,” Gen said, shaking her head as she watched her older sister. �
�She’s chock-full of romance.”
Her mother smiled. “You know, Bridget’s advice isn’t all cockamamie.”
“Yeah, except that Bridge has got it all wrong. Sydney and Alex are definitely an item, Mom. Monogrammed towels and everything,” she joked. “And besides, they’re really well suited for each other.”
“Sweetheart, your father’s an academic. I don’t have a scholarly bone in my body. Yet we’ve been happily married for forty-one years.”
Gen gazed into her mother’s face, still youthful despite the gray cap of hair framing it. “That’s because what you and Dad have is something special and rare. I don’t think there are too many loves like yours. And while I admit Alex Miller is handsome and smart and funny enough to turn any woman’s head, do you know what I think he really needs? A friend. There’s something about him that makes me think he’s so alone. I could be a good friend to him, Mom.”
Her mother’s smile had her plump cheeks meeting her hazel eyes. She took Gen’s hand and squeezed it tenderly. “If that’s what you want, dear.”
Gen nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’s what I want.” Then as if her mother needed convincing, she added, “Besides, I don’t really have room in my life for anything but my art right now—except for softball, that is.” She sprang to her feet as if her tail were on fire. “Come on, Mom, let’s get these characters to play ball.”
Nolan was too damned lucky, Gen thought sourly as she sat on the edge of the baseball diamond and glared at her brother, who was now infielding at second base. Last inning, he’d hit a double off her slider, driving in two runs and bringing the score to 4–3 in the top of the ninth.
Her team was up now. Bottom of the ninth, it was a do-or-die situation.
Gen got on base with a sneaky, perfectly executed bunt. But she was forced to cool her heels on first when both her mother and Delia struck out. Now Alex was up. In his other at-bats he’d had a walk and a pop-up that was caught by her father. He walked up to the plate, his dark trousers and white dress shirt totally at odds with the jeans and sweatshirts of the other players.
Gen uttered a quick prayer that Kyle, who was pitching, wouldn’t send him diving into the dirt. Kyle played on a traveling team with his fellow police officers and wasn’t the type to show anybody mercy.
As she’d feared, the first ball went straight at Alex’s head. When he stood up, a smear of reddish dirt covered his front. Gen bit her lip while Alex calmly brushed himself off and took his stance over the plate. Kyle’s second pitch had a spin like a gyroscope, twisting abruptly away from the plate as the bat went to meet it. The ball popped up for a foul. Thank God nobody caught it, she thought. Then before she could remind herself that this was only a stupid ball game, she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “Come on, Miller! Take him down.”
Alex lowered his bat, stepped away from the plate, and sent Gen a searing look that burned from thirty feet. With a roll of his shoulders he assumed his batting stance. Then Kyle was cocking his arm and hurling a wicked fastball straight at him.
Which Alex promptly hammered into the far parking lot. Gen was so astonished she nearly forgot to run. As Alex tagged home plate, their teammates went wild, swarming them both. But what made Gen grin from ear to ear was the sight of her team slapping Alex on the back. Even the losers were atypically good-natured, contenting themselves with jibes about banning Gen from importing all-star players. But Bridget, after giving Alex a very enthusiastic smooch on the cheek, declared that from now on he had a permanent place on her birthday guest list.
There wasn’t much time to linger after the game. Gen’s nephews and nieces, cranky and teary from the excitement of the day, were ready for baths, dinner, and bed. She had only just managed to say good-bye to everyone when the limo pulled up so they could return to the hospital and collect Sydney before going on to the airport.
“I love my spice jars, Gen,” Bridget said as they stood next to the idling limo. “They’ll be the center-piece of the restaurant. I’m so glad you came today and brought Alex.” As she hugged Gen, her voice dropped to a whisper, “And don’t forget what I said about seizing the moment.”
“Sure, Bridge, I’ll remember.” She squeezed her sister back. “Happy birthday, again. I hope I look as good as you when I’m your age,” and laughed when Bridget stuck out her tongue.
A lump formed in Gen’s throat as she embraced her parents. “ ’Bye, Dad, ’bye, Mom. I wish you could come see the studio—”
“Oh, goodness!” her mother exclaimed in a stricken tone. “That reminds me, I almost forgot to tell you. Jiri called. He tried you in New York, and became concerned when the operator said the number was disconnected. I gave him the number in Long Island.”
Gen felt terrible. “I should have called him myself to tell him about the show and my new studio. I’ll call him right away. He won’t believe his ears when he hears I’ve been given a public commission.”
“He sounded really eager to speak with you,” her mother said.
“Oh, you know Jiri. He probably wants to talk shop and fill me in on how the directorship is working out.”
“I think it’s more likely he’s realizing how much he misses you, Gen,” Bridget contradicted her, her green eyes twinkling with her special brand of mischief. Aware that Alex was listening to the conversation, Gen tried for a casual shrug.
“Poor Jiri,” Bridget continued, her tone sympathetic. “He’s probably only now figuring out what he’s lost in you—his right arm as well as his muse.”
TWELVE
After Sydney’s chilly greeting at finding Gen and Alex disheveled and dirt-stained, Gen volunteered to ride in the front of the limo. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Sydney wasn’t very happy to learn that Alex had accompanied Gen to Bridget’s party. The ride to the airport was made in tense silence. Gen breathed a sigh of relief when the limo pulled into the airport’s entrance.
Gen let sleep claim her the moment the plane lifted off the ground. Indeed, the sunshine, her family’s calorie-packed birthday meal, and the excitement of the softball game induced a sleep of the dead. She roused to groggy wakefulness only when the plane’s wheels bumped, touching down on the tarmac.
Bleary-eyed, she stumbled after Alex and Sydney to where the Aston Martin was parked. Climbing into the backseat, she shut her eyes the moment the car’s engine roared to life. Perhaps it was the downshift of gears, or Alex braking as he turned onto the graveled drive, but Gen awakened to the sound of Sydney’s voice.
“Alex, please, Miriam Howard throws such wonderful parties.” There was a desperate note in Sydney’s voice.
Disoriented though she was, Gen nevertheless immediately sensed the tension crackling between Alex and Sydney, noted too the steely inflexibility in Alex’s voice when he replied, “No,” quietly yet distinctly. “I’m not going with you to the party, and I’ve already told you why.”
“I guess some parties are more important than others,” Sydney said. “I guess some people are more important than others. Very well, I’ll go to the party on my own. I’m sure I’ll think of something to say as an excuse for why you’re not with me.”
“How about the truth?” came Alex’s drawled response.
Sydney stiffened as if she’d been slapped. Then as Alex pulled the car up beside Gen’s battered Yugo, she swiveled in the seat to face him. “You coldhearted bastard,” she hissed before scrambling out and slamming the door behind her.
“Damn,” Gen heard Alex utter with a weariness so complete it made Gen’s heart wrench.
She quickly shut her eyes, feigning sleep. It would only make things worse, more complicated, if she were to let on that she’d overheard their fight. While Sydney definitely wasn’t Gen’s favorite person, she had no wish to cause her hurt, and hated that she’d played an unwitting role in their disagreement.
A second later she heard the driver’s door open then shut with a soft click. Before she could pretend to awaken, however, Alex had her own doo
r open and was scooping her out of the backseat as if she were no bigger than a child.
She squirmed, making an inarticulate cry of protest— coherency next to impossible with Alex carrying her in his strong arms—but he ignored her protests, striding easily across the grass in the soft half-light of evening. “Relax, Monaghan, you struck out nine of your brothers and sisters today. You’re dead on your feet.”
“I’d have struck out Nolan, too, if he hadn’t gone for that slider,” she grumbled.
“You’ll get him next time, Ace,” he replied, laughter threading his voice.
She gave a halfhearted wiggle. “I can walk. Really. I’m awake now.” In her heart she hoped he’d ignore her again. It felt so wonderful to be cradled in his arms, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, his scent, citrusy and slightly salty, making her senses swim. Surely she could indulge in a stolen moment of pleasure, just this once?
“You’ve got to be kidding. You were weaving your way across the airport parking lot like a drunken sailor. If I let you walk, you might fall and sprain your ankle. We’re almost there, anyway. Just lie back and think of Murphy.”
Gen gave a muffled snort. “You’re a fool.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed. “Definitely where you’re concerned,” he added under his breath.
Gen’s heart squeezed at the softly spoken words. But before she could ponder the meaning of his cryptic remark, his arms shifted, loosening their hold. Gently he lowered her to her feet.
