"Erina, you did not know Jerrold Kirby, in the biblical sense or any other way," Grant said patiently, as though he were speaking to a small child.
"I certainly did, but it's clear you don't believe me, so I won't burden you with the story again."
"Thanks. Now can we go to the hospital, then back to the condo? I promise I'll be on my best behavior."
"I'm ready," she said, pushing her chair back.
He came around and acted the gentleman. "I do trust you," she said as they stood beside the table, "I just don't know how to make you believe. I don't know you very well."
"Brian Abbott, my corporate attorney, is beginning to think the same thing," Grant said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
#
Colin was still sleeping when they arrived at the ICU. Grant leaned against the wall while Erina sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing her baby's hand, smoothing back his hair. She spoke softly, with that lyrical Irish accent, and he swore she sang in Gaelic for just a moment.
Erina excused herself for about ten minutes, using the breast pump, no doubt, and blushing as she did so well. He supposed she didn't want him to think of her nursing the baby, but he did. He thought about it a great deal lately, far more than he should.
The nurse ushered them out at nine thirty, telling Erina that Colin was doing fine, that she should get some sleep. He could tell she wanted to argue, but yawned instead. Grant smiled as they walked into the corridor.
"I know you hate to leave Colin for the night, but he's going to be fine. I'll have you back as early as you want in the morning."
"You have no work to do tomorrow?"
"No, except to read some papers. I'll probably do that tonight. On Thursday I have to go back to Houston for a meeting."
"Oh."
She didn't say anything else. As they walked together down the empty hallway, he had a strong urge to take her hand. He didn't--he knew he shouldn't. He'd made a point of telling her how much he could be trusted, how he just wanted her to get a good night's sleep. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He did want her to stay with him, make love with him, sleep with him. And when they woke up together in the morning, they would make love once again, take a shower together, then go to the hospital to see Colin.
None of that was going to happen, except the part about seeing Colin in the morning. He was going to keep his word. He wasn't going to give in to his entirely inappropriate urges.
But he still didn't understand why he was so obsessed with her. Even if she was suffering some trauma that made her believe she was from the past, she must know how she got into his condo. Grant could not understand why he tolerated such behavior. With anyone else, he would have cut them off immediately. With Erina, he couldn't wait to see what she'd say or do next.
The air was warm and humid as they walked through the corridor to the parking garage. She seemed deep in thought. He wondered what she was thinking about, but didn't want to ask. For one thing, she probably wouldn't tell him the truth. She'd make up some story about Galveston in 1896, or her childhood in Ireland, or something that he couldn't believe.
He decided to stay on a fairly safe topic. "Colin looks much better. His color is pink, just like a healthy baby."
"He's never had that good a color. When I took him to the doctor after he was born, the man said that nothing could be done. I never believed that, though. I kept hoping that God wouldn't make such a wee baby suffer forever."
Grant opened the door from the second floor stairwell into the parking garage. "Well, whatever happened, I'm glad he came through the surgery okay. I've grown attached to him. I've been thinking that maybe I should put aside some money for his education. I can take out an investment policy for him now, and by the time he's eighteen, he'll be able to go to the school of his choice."
"If he's still here," Erina said softly.
Their footsteps echoed in the concrete structure, virtually deserted this time of night. Lonely was the word that came to mind. "What do you mean? Are you planning on moving?"
"No, I have no plans myself. But the Blessed Virgin might have different ideas. Perhaps I won't stay in your time forever. I might go back when Colin is well. After all, I don't belong here."
"Don't be ridiculous. You have free will over where you live. And no more talk about miracles. If you want to stay, you can."
"Ah, you don't understand, do you? Sometimes the world isn't so neat and orderly as you'd like to believe."
"Right. Natural disasters happen. People get sick and die. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about where you choose to live, where your son is growing up."
They arrived at the Jeep. Grant unlocked the door and walked Erina to the passenger side.
"And if I had a choice, I'd stay right here. I'd miss Mrs. Abernathy, but she might already think I'm gone. Maybe somehow I can find out what happened to her."
"Erina, Mrs. Abernathy is a figment of your imagination," Grant said, resting his arm on the door. "Or she's a name you remember from researching the past. She's not real."
"Aye, she's real. She's a fine, compassionate woman. I'll never forget what she did for me and Colin."
Grant shook his head. She was so far gone in her fantasy that she couldn't consider reality. He wished he'd taken more than one semester of psychology so many years ago. "Don't forget to fasten your seatbelt."
They drove home in silence. Once they entered the condo, Erina seemed especially tense.
"Don't worry. I'm keeping my word. I won't make a pass."
"I'm not worried," she said with an upward thrust of her chin.
Grant couldn't resist a smile. "Do you remember where everything is in the bathroom?"
"I believe so. I'll not be bothering you any more tonight."
He placed his keys on the bar between the kitchen and living areas. "It's no bother. If you need anything at all, just call me. I'm a light sleeper."
"So am I, especially since Colin was born. Sometimes it seems as though I hear his every breath, and I always had to listen for . . ."
He saw her eyes fill with tears, saw the strength that seemed to desert her with that admission. In an instant, Grant crossed the room and took her in his arms. "Erina, it's okay. Colin is going to be well."
"I know, but I miss him so. I want to go to sleep with him beside me, and wake up knowing he's there. He's all I have."
She felt so good, so right, tucked beneath his chin, next to his heart. "No, don't say that. You love him very much and he loves you. But you're not alone. I'll be here when you need me."
"But you might be gone from my life soon," she said with a watery sob, "and I'd feel so sad if I grew to care for you and never could see you again."
"Is that what's happening? Are you growing to care for me? Because I'll tell you right now, I'm very attracted to you."
She pushed away from his embrace, fighting tears and comfort. "I'd best be gettin' ready for my bed. I'm sorry to be a bother."
"You're no bother," he said again, reaching out.
But she stepped back, away from his hand, rebuffing his sentiments are certainly as she denied her own. "Good night, Grant. Thank you for dinner and . . . everything."
She slipped into the guest bedroom, as silent as a wraith.
Grant threw himself heavily on the couch. He'd certainly picked a difficult woman to be attracted to. One with secrets and fantasies that he couldn't even imagine. And yet she seemed so much more real that any other woman he'd known.
With a sigh, he flicked on the remote control to a financial news channel, then picked up the faxes from Brian. He'd lose himself in his work, at least for a few minutes, and forget that Erina O'Shea was naked behind the door to the guest bathroom.
#
Erina woke early, just as the sun crept over the east end of the island and gilded the waves with gold and pink. The sky itself was purple and gold, turning to rose as lighter fingers of pink radiated upward. She watched the sunrise from the large windows of what Gran
t called the living room. She tried to be quiet so she wouldn't waken him too early, but her impatience to see Colin was a tangible thing, pulling her toward the door that led to his bedroom. She actually took a few steps in that direction before stopping herself.
No, she wouldn't venture inside. He'd told her that he'd take her to the hospital whenever she wanted. She was ready now, but couldn't bring herself to knock on his door. That was too intimate. She could imagine him in that large bed, looking much like one of the men in the magazines; chest bare and sculpted with muscles, loose pants resting below his waist, a smile on his face. He'd be more temptation than advertisements of those other men.
She hugged her arms around herself and walked into the kitchen. She wished she knew how to operate this new stove. She'd make herself a cup of tea--if Grant had any of those tea bags like the restaurant used. Of course, the water coming from the pipes was very hot, maybe hot enough to brew her favorite beverage. She began opening cabinets, looking for something familiar.
One of the doors slipped from her fingers and slammed shut. The sudden noise in the still condo surprised her; in an instant, she realized it had awakened Grant also. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, looking just like she'd imagined--tall, lean but muscled, and wearing very little. Nothing above the waist, baggy, soft drawstring pants below.
She swallowed, suddenly needing the tea to soothe her parched throat. "I'm sorry to wake you."
"No problem. I was ready to get up."
"I was lookin' for tea bags."
"I think there are some in the canister," he said, walking toward her, running a hand through sleep-tousled hair.
She scooted back from the counter, giving him plenty of room. In truth, she didn't know what she'd do if she were too close to him. He was too nearly naked, too potently male.
He gave her a sleepy frown. "I'm just going to get you some tea," he said with a little irritation. "I wish you wouldn't act like I'm some kind of sex fiend."
"I'm not," she said defensively. She was beginning to think she was the one who had a problem. "I'm just gettin' out of your way."
"Uh-huh," he said absently, turning his back to her and opening one of the ceramic containers that sat next to the refrigerator. That appliance she knew, because she'd used the breast pump and stored the milk in there for Colin. "I hope these aren't too old. I rarely make tea, but my mother insisted I have a well-stocked kitchen."
She couldn't tear her eyes away from his back. Muscled rippled over and around his spine, his shoulders, his arms. His skin was a golden color that reminded her of the sunrise. She'd never realized a man's could be so beautiful. "Sounds like she's concerned about you," she said weakly.
"She is," he said, turning and handing her a large cup with a bag inside. "Actually, she had her chef see that I had a well-stocked kitchen. My mother doesn't know how to cook anything more elaborate than watercress sandwiches."
"She comes from a moneyed family then," Erina said, trying to tear her eyes away from Grant's naked chest to focus on the much less interesting cup.
"That's right. Her family came to Houston when oil was first discovered in East Texas. They made a fortune in refineries."
"What?"
"Large plants that process crude oil."
"Oh." She still had no idea what he was talking about.
He stepped closer. "So, do you want me to heat some water for you?"
"Ah . . . yes, that would be nice."
"Pay attention," he said with a smile. "You can do it yourself the next time."
Erina nodded, wondering if she'd need any appliance to heat water for tea. She could probably just hold it close to her blazing cheeks. She watched him fill the mug with water, then place it in a box-like device.
"This is a microwave oven. It doesn't get hot, but it heats food or water from within with vibrations. It takes about two minutes to boil a cup of water, less if you just want it hot."
His smooth-skinned, muscled arms lifted the mug and placed it inside the black box. He hit some panels with his fingers, but she was so busy watching him that she barely noticed what he was doing.
"I've got to take a shower and get dressed. We can grab a bite to eat on the way to the hospital, or go down to the cafeteria later."
"I'd like to see Colin as soon as possible."
"Of course." He reached around her, close enough that she could smell his very masculine scent and feel the golden glow of his sleep-warm body. "Here's the sugar." He pressed a bowl into her hands. "Spoons are in the drawer beside the sink."
He smiled at her again, looking less sleepy and more sexy each moment. "Good morning, Erina," he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips.
Startled, she stood there as he walked out of the kitchen. When a bell rang on the microwave, she jumped and nearly dropped the sugar bowl. Taking a deep breath, she prepared her tea, but couldn't banish the image of Grant from her mind, or forget the enticing smell and taste of him. Did he know what he did to her?
CHAPTER NINE
They arrived at the hospital less than an hour later. Grant had showered and shaved, all the while warning his body that Erina was off limits.
She wanted him, but he had a feeling she wasn't aware of her passion. Hadn't she lusted after another man? Maybe not Colin's father, if indeed she'd been raped. But someone? As young as she was, he didn't expect her to be too experienced. However, she had produced a child. Didn't that mean something?
When they walked into the PD-ICU, Dr. Cook was standing beside Colin's bed with a woman Grant didn't recognize. From her solemn expression and no-nonsense business suit, he imagined she had some sort of bureaucratic position.
"Dr. Cook," Grant said when they entered the room, "what's going on here?"
"This is Mrs. Henshaw, one of our social workers. She has some questions--"
"About Colin? Is there something wrong with my baby?" Erina burst into the room, skirting the two adults and going directly to her son.
"Just the fact that he was denied medical care. He has received no childhood immunizations and has no pediatrician," Mrs. Henshaw said.
Grant stiffened, knowing that the worst thing that could happen would be for someone to threaten Colin's welfare.
"We're concerned for his health, Ms. O'Shea. There are rules that must be followed."
Erina looked up from stroking Colin's hair. "But I did what the doctor's told me! I already explained that to Dr. Cook. They said nothin' could be done for his heart."
"Ms. O'Shea, your son has not received even the minimal care. It's my job to determine if this lack of care constitutes abuse that should be reported. Or if you could benefit from some counseling."
"No! How can you say that my son is bein' abused? I love him with all my heart."
Mrs. Henshaw said nothing, just looked at the doctor.
"Look, this is ridiculous," Grant said. He was tired of the insinuations, tired of people implying that Erina wasn't a good mother. She might not be telling the truth about a lot of things, but she was an excellent mother. "Erina, please let me handle this," he said to her as she cast a worried gaze between the woman and him. He turned his attention back to the bureaucrat. "There's a simple explanation for what you consider to be child neglect or abuse."
"And what would that be?" Mrs. Henshaw asked.
"Do we have to discuss this here, now?" Grant asked, hedging for time. "I advised Erina not to talk to anyone until she's seen an attorney." And then he'd promptly forgotten that there could be a threat after telling her not to recount her story to the doctors or the social workers. Had she said something that they considered suspicious? Or was this just the result of Colin's admission into the hospital?
"I told Mrs. Henshaw that Colin is receiving the best care possible now," Dr. Cook added. "We expect a full recovery."
"When should Colin be able to leave the hospital?" Grant asked.
"In about four days. He'll be released from ICU today."
"Then why don't we set up a meeting
for Friday, Mrs. Henshaw?" Grant suggested. "Erina and I will be there, along with my attorney."
"That's not the way we work, Mr. Kirby."
"Maybe you should. That's the way I work." He crossed the small room to stand next to Erina. "We're not going to have this discussion here. Colin's not going anywhere and neither are we."
"I need Ms. O'Shea to answer some questions."
"With an attorney, in your offices or mine. Not in her child's hospital room."
"I did this as a courtesy, Mr. Kirby. I thought it would be less intrusive than an actual investigation."
"Sounds to me like this is an investigation, Mrs. Henshaw. And Erina has been through enough for the moment."
"Very well. I can't make you talk to me. I just want you to know that we consider each child as an individual. His or her parents' financial situation makes no difference to me." She took a deep breath, raising her eyebrows as if to punctuate her convictions. "If you have a card, we'll set up an appointment."
Grant reached inside his wallet and pulled out a business card. "Call my office any time, Mrs. Henshaw. We'll get this misunderstanding cleared up."
"I hope it is a misunderstanding, Mr. Kirby. Some people suffer the misconception that social workers want to take children away from their parents. That is not true."
Parents, she said, not mother. So even the stern bureaucrat believed that he was Colin's father.
"I'm glad to hear that, Mrs. Henshaw. Now if you'll excuse us, we'd like to spend some time alone with the baby."
"Of course," she said, picking up a portfolio and walking out the door. Call me this week, Mr. Kirby, and we'll get these issues settled."
Grant looked down at her business card as he listened to her sturdy heels click across the floor. Now what, he thought to himself. You've gotten yourself into the middle of a social worker's righteous cause. She didn't care who he was or what he said. Just the facts. She was a female Joe Friday.
If Mrs. Henshaw reported Colin's case, no telling what Child Welfare would do. They'd probably expect some sort of medical documentation on him. Who knew what bureaucrats needed? He'd heard on the news that most agencies could not require a parent to prove that they were in the country legally due to public care provided to immigrants--legal or illegal--but if they asked Erina, what would she say? Would she make up some story about arriving here from Ireland or another century? They could still question her mental competence.
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