"Then I'll be paying his hospital bills. For that, I want to make sure he has the best care."
"I'll be seein' that his care is fine," she said defensively.
"And do you know a lot about modern medicine? What will you do if the doctors ask you to make a decision between two procedures? How will you know what to say?"
"Well, I'll . . . I'll ask them to explain. Really, Colin is not your responsibility."
"Yes, he is."
"I'll not be arguin' with you over my son, Mr. Kirby."
"Call me Grant."
"I'll do no such thing. Now I'll be sayin' goodbye and thank you."
She managed to get the car door open, then slammed it shut. With a firm step, she walked away from the Jeep. Grant calmly unfastened his seat belt and opened his door. She'd stopped in the middle of the drive, looking around the dimly lit garage.
"Lost?" he said, walking up beside her.
"This is a very confusin' place," she complained. "All these letters and numbers, and those signs just say 'exit.' I want to know where the entrance is to the hospital." Her dark blue eyes looked suspiciously bright and luminous.
"Follow me."
"You're not goin' inside with me, Mr. Kirby."
"Grant."
"Colin is my son." She followed him to the stairwell.
"Funny, but by now, I'm sure most of the staff believes he's my son too." Grant opened the metal door and she walked through.
"And why would they be thinkin' such a foolish thing? I've not told them he's yours."
"Maybe the name?" Grant suggested with just a hint of sarcasm as they walked down the short flights.
"Oh. The name. Well, there's no help for it. That's his name, by rights. I'll not change it so you'll look better."
"I'm not worried about it." No now, anyway. When word reached his mother, his lawyer, and the press, then he'd worry. And backpedal, and run damage control. "For now, all that matters is that Colin get well."
"That's very understandin' of you," she said cautiously. "I wish his real da were as nice." Erina paused as he opened the door to the ground level.
Grant didn't say anything. He hadn't known his great grandfather, and had no idea what type of man he'd been. Perhaps he had been more concerned for social position than for his responsibilities. And that left Erina--
"Dammit," he swore, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the hospital entrance.
"What's the matter now?
"I'm doing it again. I'm believing your story."
She paused as he opened the glass doors, looking up at him with those big, honest, dark eyes. "Well, you were bound to sooner or later. After all, it's the truth."
#
About nine o'clock that night, Grant called Brian Abbott, attorney and operating manager of Kirby Investments, at home. He waited as the phone rang once, then twice, rubbing his forehead where a slight headache pounded away like the surf below.
Brian picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"Hey, Brian. It's Grant."
"What's up, son?"
"Not much. Well, that's not true. Something has come up this weekend, only I don't know how to explain it."
"Just spit it out. You're not in some kind of trouble, are you?"
"No, not me. I met a girl this weekend."
"Dammit, son. I told you to be careful around those beach bums. You weren't smoking any funny stuff on the beach, were you?"
Grant laughed. Brian was hopelessly fixated on the evils of the sixties, from the perspective of someone who worshipped the fifties. "No, nothing like that. This girl showed up inside my condo, in the middle of the night. I have no idea how she got there."
"Sounds kind of kinky."
"Not really. She had a baby with her."
"A baby? You're pulling my leg."
"No, unfortunately, I'm telling you the exact truth. The baby has a heart problem. I ended up taking him to UTMB and I've been kind of . . . involved with his care ever since."
"Grant, are you trying to tell me something? Look, if this girl is claiming that's your kid, we'll put the stops to her--"
"She's not," Grant said quickly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you who she says is the father. Anyway, I just kind of feel responsible. I mean this kid is so little . . . and he's a cute fellow. He needs an operation."
"And I suppose this woman has no money," Brian said with a heavy dose of cynicism.
"Yeah, she doesn't. And no insurance either. I told them at UTMB that I'd be responsible."
"Hell, son, do you know how much heart surgery can cost?" Brian roared.
"I don't think I'll be too surprised. But dammit, Brian, I didn't have any choice. The kid needs the surgery."
"That's what charities and welfare are for. You contribute enough to both to pay for a dozen operations."
"But those are kids I haven't seen. I held this little guy in my arms, and he just seemed so . . . helpless."
"You're a soft touch. I suppose this woman is encouraging you. Is she offering to compensate you for your generosity?"
"She's not like that," Grant said firmly. "As a matter of fact, she's fighting me every step of the way. And she's not really a woman. More of a girl. She says she's twenty."
"Hell, Grant, you sound like you don't even believe how old she is! Why don't you just write her a check and get your butt on back to Houston? I always said your running off to Galveston every weekend was a bad idea. Too much free time. She could even be jail bait. Think about how that would look in the paper, not to mention what it would do to your mother."
"I can't just write a check this time. The kid's having surgery soon. I'm going to stay down here for a few days." He didn't dare tell Brian what the hospital staff already thought--that Colin was his son. Of course, Grant had to admit that he'd done little to dissuade them from the assumption.
"Dammit, Grant, don't start getting involved with this charity case. If you want to make sure the kid's okay, I can have someone take care of it."
"I don't want someone else doing this. Colin is my responsibility."
The phone was silent for just a few seconds. "Not unless you're his daddy," Brian finally said. "Is that what you're saying?"
"I am not the father of this baby," Grant said firmly. "I never saw the mother until yesterday. Well, actually, early this morning." God, had it only been that long? "But I'm still going to be here until he's out of danger."
Grant imagined that Brian was pacing his study, running his hand over his receding hairline and frowning.
"Okay. Whatever you say. I can put off that meeting with the Phoenix property management firm, and I'll get the numbers together for the loan payments due on those two shopping centers. I'll fax them to you tomorrow."
"That would be fine. I'll be in and out. I'll take the cell phone in case you need to reach me."
"Grant, are you sure about this?"
"I'm sure, Brian. Hell, I can't explain it, but I've got to be there. Colin needs me. And Erina needs me."
"Erina, huh? Are you sure it's the kid you're concerned about?"
"Goodnight, Brian. I'll call you tomorrow."
"You do that, son. And keep your perspective on this one. I don't like women who show up out of the blue. They're up to no good."
"Brian, I have yet to figure this one out. But when I do, I'll let you know."
"You do that. And don't forget that your place is back here, not frolicking in the sand in Galveston. Damn place is too much like a vacation."
Maybe that's why I like it, Grant thought to himself. "Look, Brian, Mother is going to call you on Monday to discuss that brick warehouse by the Catholic church. You know the one?"
"Yeah, I know it."
"Well, talk it over with Dottie. Unless we're going to lose a ton on it, go ahead and see how much it will cost to turn it over to the diocese."
"Damn, Son, you're getting to be a real softy. You'd better get back here fast."
"I'll be back as soon as possible. If ther
e are any complications, I'll call you."
Grant hung up the phone, his thoughts focused on Erina and her motives. How had she gotten into the condo? He'd checked the security system; it was working fine. If she wanted his money, why was she putting up such a fight? And if she wanted more than that, why wasn't she using his obvious attraction to her as an advantage?
Erina O'Shea made no sense whatsoever. But that wouldn't keep him from trying to poke holes in her story about being from the past . . . and making sure her son had a future.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grant paused outside the doorway to Colin's room on Monday morning, two paper cups and a bag in one hand, the Houston Chronicle under his arm, and a balloon bouquet bobbing over his head. The drapes were still drawn. Erina lay curled on a cot beside Colin's crib, a blanket covering her legs and bottom.
She was still wearing the damned gray dress.
He walked into the room and sat in the chair next to the cot. "Erina," he whispered.
She barely stirred, rolling partially to her back.
Grant swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. She looked so young and vulnerable lying there. Long, curly black hair spread out over the pillow and sheet. From this angle, looking down her body from the head of the cot, he could see her black lashes resting against her pale skin, just above the faint pink blush that was entirely natural. He had two strong, equal urges: protect her and make love to her.
"Erina," he said again. He took the lid off the tea he'd gotten at the donut shop and waved it beside her nose.
She jerked awake. "Colin?" she whispered.
Grant retreated, smiling at her sudden transformation from sleeping beauty to concerned mother. "No, he's still asleep. Besides, he's too young to fix tea for you."
"Good mornin'." She rubbed her eyes. "I was dreamin' again."
"About the dress shop?"
"Aye. I was halfway asleep in my own bed above the shop, with Colin beside me, and my heart was just so sad . . ." She frowned as though she couldn't quite grasp the essence of the dream.
"It was just a dream."
She sat up, pushing her hair back with both hands. The thick curls spread out over her shoulders, arms, and chest. "What are you doin' here so early?" she said in a throaty, sleepy voice.
"It's not that early. I wasn't sure how late you'd sleep. Or did you get much sleep last night?" He kept his voice low so he wouldn't wake the baby, and also because it enforced the sense of intimacy he felt, sitting in this hospital room.
"I slept very well, thank you. Colin had a good night."
"He looks so much better."
"The doctor came by last night and said he was doin' very well. He doesn't have pneumonia. His lungs were just a bit congested."
"That's great. Did he say when the surgery was scheduled?"
Erina swung her legs over the side of the cot and accepted the cup of tea. "Tomorrow," she said faintly. "That's so soon."
"I know, but it's best to get it over with."
"My mind knows that, but I'm afraid. He's such a wee babe. I can't believe they're goin' to operate on his heart."
"They do it all the time. Colin will be fine."
"How can you have such faith in the doctors?"
"It's not a question of faith. It's a matter of statistics. The survival rate is very high for this type of surgery. And the doctors here are among the best in the country."
"But to put him in the hands of man . . ."
"As opposed to the hands of God?"
"Yes."
Grant sighed. They really did have a major difference of opinion when it came to beliefs. She trusted in what she couldn't see more than she did in the tangible abilities of trained professionals. He, on the other hand, wasn't even sure that a greater power guided the universe.
He sipped his coffee, glad that it was strong. He hadn't slept well last night, not after leaving Erina alone at the hospital yesterday afternoon. But she'd refused to leave Colin's side after they took him off the ventilator and moved him out of ICU. Grant had been useless after a while, roaming the halls until Erina had insisted he go home to rest. He had--reluctantly--after warning her not to talk of her circumstances to anyone, especially the social worker.
He'd left her alone at the hospital because he didn't know what else to do, besides making a complete fool of himself.
Since mothers often stayed near their infants, they'd set up a cot for her in Colin's room. At least the room was a private one. Grant had seen to that. He was paying the bill, so there was no question of insurance restrictions. And since there was a Kirby wing at the hospital, Erina and Colin had received the best of everything.
Grant was sure everyone assumed Colin was his son. They probably thought they were caring for the Kirby heir, perhaps a future philanthropist who would donate mega bucks because his life had been saved at the hospital when he was only an infant.
Okay, let them think it. Grant knew that denying his relationship to Colin would only amuse the staff. They'd still give him knowing looks. The false premise no longer angered him, especially since his mother hadn't found out yet.
"Here, have a donut," he said, handing Erina the waxed bag.
"And what's a donut?"
"Come on, Erina. Everyone has eaten a donut."
"Not me."
"Okay, I'll play along," he said, unwilling to let her continued play-acting ruin his mood. "They're good. They're like round pastry, I guess, only fried. Real junk food. I got several different kinds because I wasn't sure what you'd like."
"I'm not sure either," she said, peering into the bag.
"Try the chocolate covered glazed. They're my favorite."
Erina removed one slightly messy donut from the bag and held it with two fingers of one hand. "Are there no plates or forks?"
"No, you have to eat donuts with your fingers. It's a tradition."
"If you're sure," she said slowly. She opened her mouth wide, obviously trying to keep the gooey chocolate off her lips. Her small, white teeth bit into the confection. And the expression on her face changed from wariness to pure pleasure.
"Oh, this is very good," she said after chewing the bite. "Very good."
Grant smiled. A sense of tenderness welled up inside him, an emotion he hadn't felt in . . . hell, he didn't know when he'd felt that way. "I'm glad you like it."
Just then Colin let out a little cry. Grant pivoted to watch the infant flail his arms and legs. He looked like he was ready to let loose a real bone-chilling wail.
"I need to pick him up. Do you have a napkin?" Erina asked beside him. She held a sticky, half-eaten donut in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.
"I'll get him," Grant volunteered, not at all certain why he'd opened his mouth. What did he know about infants? Other than holding his receptionist's daughter a few times and watching a diaper being changed at a company picnic, he'd never been around babies.
Grant set his coffee down, far away from Colin so he wouldn't knock it over and get burned. He tied the balloon bouquet--an impulsive purchase at the gift shop downstairs--onto the crib rail. Then he reached down and scooped the fussing baby into his arms.
Colin immediately quieted. "Spoiled already, aren't you, buster?" Grant said to the infant.
Colin looked up at him and gurgled. Tiny spit bubbles appeared at the corners of his mouth. "Very attractive trick. What else has your mother taught you?"
"She's been teachin' him to sleep a bit longer at night," Erina answered, standing behind Grant.
He felt her breast brush against the back of his arm. The contact lasted less than a second, but he couldn't help his body's involuntary reaction to her nearness. Every nerve seemed to tingle, as though he'd been exposed to a large dose of static electricity. He wanted to put the baby back in his crib, turn to the mother, and kiss her senseless. He imagined that she'd taste better than any donut he'd ever eaten.
"You'd better take him," Grant said huskily. "I'm not sure how long I can keep him entertained."
<
br /> "You're very good with him," Erina said. "I believe you have the touch."
I'd like to show you what kind of touch, Grant said to himself. He wondered if passion had an Irish accent. Instead of alarming Erina with his totally inappropriate case of lust, he eased the infant into her arms, savoring the feel of her firm, round breasts against his forearm.
Perspiration dotted his forehead when he moved away from the crib.
"What's the matter, Mr. Kirby? You're not feelin' ill, are you?"
"No, not at all. It's just a little warm in here. I think I'll . . . I'll just get a breath of fresh air."
He grabbed his coffee and the newspaper, then hurried out of the room before he made a fool of himself over a too-young Irish girl and her cuddly infant son.
#
"Ms. O'Shea, we're going to take Colin around for his tests. If you'd like to get away for awhile . . ."
The blond-haired nurse looked over Erina, who knew her rumpled gray dress, tangled hair, and scuffed half-boots were far beyond acceptable. She hadn't washed or brushed in over 48 hours, and her teeth felt like an old, nappy blanket.
She would appear completely unappealing to anyone. So why had Mr. Kirby looked so closely at her, as though she were not a slovenly mess? When he'd left yesterday, she'd thought perhaps she wouldn't see him again. He had no reason to return, having delivered Colin safely to the hospital and the doctors. Perhaps he felt some responsibility for her son, but then the memory of their near kiss in his Cherokee sprang into her mind, and she felt heat creep into her cheeks.
At that moment when he'd leaned toward her, his intentions had been clear--to press his lips to hers. And just for a second, she'd wanted to believe that he hadn't meant to seduce her. That a kiss was all he wanted. That his interest was honorable. But she knew now how wrong she could be about men, and she wasn't going to allow another man to deceive her with enticing looks and sophisticated manners.
So why had he brought her those sinfully delicious pastries called donuts and the large group of "Get Well Soon" balloons for Colin? She hadn't even known what to call the shiny, silver objects until the nurse mentioned them.
Erina pushed her unruly hair back with one hand and looked again at her son. He lay in the crib, his attention focused on a colorful, bobbing display of animals. The nurse had called the device a mobile, and shown Erina how to wind it up so it played music. She'd never seen such a music box before, but Colin seemed fascinated by the red pig, the blue cow, and the green horse.
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