Falling for Grace

by Maddie James

  Falling for Grace

  Falling for Grace

  by

  Maddie James

  Copyright © 2010, Maddie James

  Cover Art Photo by Jimmy Thomas

  http://www.romancenovelcovers.com/

  Cover Art Design by Kim Jacobs

  Print Release 4/2010

  Previously published in print by Kensington Books (2000) and Thorndike Press (2002)

  Published byTurquoise Morning Press for Smashwords

  Turquoise Morning, LLC

  www.turquoisemorningpress.com

  Turquoise Morning, LLC

  P.O. Box 43958

  Louisville, KY 40253-0958

  Smashwords Edition, License

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Gracie listened closely. She arched a brow and glanced toward the antique anniversary clock perched on top the oak mantel she used as a display prop. Nope. It wasn’t the clock, was it? She shook her head. It had to be. That damned, incessant ticking was coming from the clock. Right?

  Wrong.

  The clock didn’t work. Hadn’t since she’d placed it there six years ago. She knew that as well as she knew her name was Grace Elizabeth Hart.

  Damn but that blasted ticking wasn’t in her own mind.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Shaking her head she turned back to her work, only to end up staring at her computer screen, trying hard to dismiss the troublesome click. She tried to recall...when had it started? Last year? The year before that? She wasn’t sure. But out of the blue one day that ticking just sort of erupted in the middle of her thoughts, and she knew right then and there what it was. No one had to tell her.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Gracie slammed a hand down on the top of the old library table she used as a desk. “Oh, all right! What in the world do you expect me to do about it?” she said loudly. “I mean, it’s not likely I can do much about the situation all by myself, can I?”

  She stood and paced the room. No one answered her query. Not even Claire, her Calico shop cat, curled up into a lethargic lump of cat flesh in the storefront window, lifted an ear to her question.

  No one had to tell her that the hands on her baby-making clock were swiftly sweeping the numbers.

  Glancing about, she took in the shop around her. This was her second home. In fact, if she would go so far as to count up the hours, she probably spent more time here than she did in the apartment upstairs she called home. But that was to be expected.

  After all, she was a businesswoman. And to run a successful business, one had to spend an enormous amount of time and effort in seeing that that business flew. Everyone knew that.

  Especially during the first few years.

  Well...ten years should more than do it, she guessed.

  And with the time she put into her shop, why in the world did she think she would have time for a baby?

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  There would be no denying from anyone, she was certain, that Romantically Yours was a success. Everyone said so. Her accountant. Her best friend, Amie. The members of the Chamber of Commerce. The Book Club. Why, even old Mrs. Talbot down the street complimented her every time she came into the shop to buy bath salts.

  Yes, little Gracie Hart, homegrown and homespun, finally recovered from that awful experience in New York, was a success. Everyone in the small, central Kentucky town of Franklinville said so.

  Then why didn’t she feel like a success? And why was that incessant ticking still tapping away at her brain?

  Time. It’s running out, Gracie.

  “Stop that. I know it. You don’t have to remind me.”

  She turned her back on her computer and the anniversary clock then, and stepped to the rear of the shop. Gracie poured herself a decadent rich café latte and sank into a forties style, overstuffed chair in the corner. She crossed her legs and perused her surroundings. Vintage clothing from the 1920’s graced one wall. Reproduction Victorian jewelry dangled from a display rack on the counter. Aromatherapy products, from candles to bath salts to herbal sachets, were scattered about the shop.

  On the back wall her collection of classic romance novels and other vintage books waited for adoring customers to lift them off the shelf and take them home. At the right back corner of the shop, one could order custom-designed romantic gift baskets. Everything from chocolate to wine to lingerie could be included in the basket according to the tastes of the receiver or the whim of the giver. Anything from her shop might do. Cards. Romantic knick-knacks. Massage oil. Or any little trinket or one-of-a-kind antique accessory she had hand-picked to be placed in her shop for the romantically-inclined.

  Reaching out, Gracie fingered an ivory, crocheted doily sitting beneath a reproduction Tiffany lamp on a dark cherry table. She lifted her hand to carefully turn down the light. It was late, her shop had closed hours ago, and it was time to dull the day’s events with some low lighting.

  This was her favorite time of the day and her favorite corner for lounging and mulling. She had arranged an eclectic collection of overstuffed chairs and side tables where one could sit and peruse a novel, partake in tea and scones, or linger through her collection of catalogs from which Gracie would special order. It was where the Book Club met on Friday evenings, the same five women, week in and week out. It was where her regular customers lounged and quietly gossiped about the town’s affairs.

  Or if one preferred, which Gracie did quite often in the evenings, one could simply curl up in a chair and silently reflect while a nice selection of classical music emanated from the CD player, incense wafted a light, floral aroma, and candles flickered a soft glow about the room. A glass of wine added to that scenario was simply the crème-de-la-crème. Only thing that came close to topping that was an hour long soak in her clawfoot tub upstairs.

  Romance surrounded her all day long. Her shop was her life. And it damned well had better be. It was the only romance she was getting. Hard pill to swallow for someone who was known as the local Diva of Romance.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Oh, shut up, won’t you!”

  “And to whom might you be talking?”

  Jumping to her feet and grabbing her heart, Gracie whirled toward the voice. “Amie! You scared the heck out of me!”

  Stepping into the shop, Amie Clarke gave a quick twist of the key on the fake Tiffany lamp, turning up the light and breaking the ambiance. She glanced about. “It’s like a tomb in here, Gracie. Don’t you want some light? And who were you talking to? Yourself again? And shouldn’t you be getting upstairs? It’s way past ten. Oh, and you have to lock that back door, one of these days the boogie man is going to get you.”

  Sighing, Gracie stood, still trying to quell her rapidly beating heart. She stepped toward her computer and muttered, “Perhaps I should let the boogie man in. He would be the first man to grace my back doorstep in quite some time.”

  “What? You were expecting a man to grace your doorstep?”

  Gracie put the computer to sleep then eyed her friend and snorted. “Oh yeah, Amie. I was waiting for a clandestine liaison with the boogie man. He’s hiding in the back room waiting for you to leave.” She gestured toward the rear of the shop. “And do you ever not talk in circles?

  Amie smiled. “Never.”

  Gracie shook her head. “I
know that already. You’re like a bull in a china shop and a whirlwind all in one. You never shut up. You never make any sense.” Gracie looked up at her friend then and smiled. “And you’re about the best friend a girl could have.”

  Amie stepped up to the counter and fingered through some chocolate samples sitting in a crystal candy dish. “Mind if I eat these? I’m starving.”

  Gracie shrugged. Again the subject was changed. “Help yourself. I’ll put out fresh candy in the morning.”

  Amie smiled and munched for a few minutes and Gracie set about to closing up for the night. Going through the same motions she did every evening, she glanced about to make sure nothing was out of place and then stepped to the front door to recheck the lock.

  Main Street Franklinville was relatively quiet this Thursday evening, which was not uncommon. Soft, flickering street lights lent a warm glow to the late spring evening. A few vehicles passed by on occasion but for the most part, the town was shut up tighter than a drum.

  She glanced at the closed library across the street and up and down toward the other Victorian shop-fronts lining the up-scale, traditional little town sitting smack in the middle of Kentucky horse country. The cafés. The antique and craft stores. The fudge shop next door...

  “So when do you think you’ll find a renter for the other side?” Amie called out, breaking the silence.

  After a moment, Gracie turned and faced her friend, trying not to frown. She swallowed down the momentary upsurge of panic she always got when she thought about just that question. She didn’t want Amie or anyone else to know just how crucial it was that she rent out the other half of her building. Financially, she relied on that rental income, and six months was too long for it to go empty without her pocketbook feeling the effects. “Hopefully tomorrow. Someone is coming to see the shop and the apartment in the morning.”

  Amie munched another caramel-nut candy and nodded. “Cool.”

  * * * *

  “Isabella, do you remember everything I’ve told you?”

  “My name is Izzie.”

  Carson Price frowned. “Today it’s Isabella. Now, do you remember?”

  “Yes, Daddy. Of course I remember. You’ve told me a hundred times already. But do I have to wear this dress?”

  “Yes, darling, you have to. Now buck up and be a good girl. Daddy is counting on this meeting today. Hear me?”

  “But, Dad-dy...”

  “Isabella!”

  “Oh...all right,” the child muttered.

  Carson tried to ignore the rumbling under his daughter’s breath as he eased off the exit from Interstate 64 onto U.S. Route 60 toward Franklinville. The trip from Louisville was only a little more than an hour but more than enough time for Izzie to get fidgety and start resenting the fact that she was made to wear a dress today. And, he probably had to admit that he’d drilled the scenario for the morning’s appointment in her head for way too long.

  He wasn’t quite sure where his head was earlier in the week when he’d made the appointment with Grace Hart. He’d forgotten that school was out today. He had definitely not planned to drag Izzie along on this business venture, not today at any rate, but it seemed that she was destined to be here anyway.

  Kate, his babysitter, was out of town and Carson was at a loss to find anyone else. It was his own fault, he knew. He’d totally forgotten to look at the school calendar and didn’t realize the private school Izzie attended had scheduled a professional development day for the teachers.

  Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Izzie was here and he just had to hope for the best.

  Mentally he crossed his fingers and sent up a silent prayer. Izzie was known not to fare too well in social situations.

  “Are we gonna move to this town?” she said.

  Carson glanced to his right and took in his daughter’s questioning face. “It’s possible, Iz. I don’t know yet.” They had talked about the prospect of moving, but not in detail.

  “I don’t wanna. I like my school.”

  Obviously. She ruled the roost there. Carson had to chuckle to himself. Izzie did have quite a following for a six-year-old tomboy.

  “I’m sure you’ll adjust, Iz.”

  “Maybe I could just stay with Kate.”

  Carson frowned. “Kate is your babysitter, honey, not your parent. You’ll go where I go.”

  “But it’s not fair!” The whining started.

  “Of course it is. I feed you and cloth you and you and I are a team, remember sport?” He reached over to chuck her arm and made a funny face, trying to get her to laugh. Izzie sat silent for a moment and stared straight ahead. She didn’t return the funny face or laugh with him. Carson just let the subject drop and kept heading toward Franklinville.

  “Can I at least wear my ball cap?” she said after a few minutes. “It keeps the hair out of my face.”

  “No!”

  Carson glanced at this daughter and immediately wished he could retract that stern no. He reached out and touched the child’s freckled face, then threaded his fingers through a thin tendril of curls. “Izzie, your hair is so beautiful, I want you to keep it down. Okay?”

  She thought about that for a minute. “Is my hair like my Mom’s?”

  Funny, Carson didn’t prickle at those questions much anymore. “Honey, your hair is lighter, remember? But long like your Mom’s.”

  “Did you like her hair?”

  “I loved her hair.”

  “Did you love my Mom?”

  Carson looked ahead and sighed. “Yes, Izzie, I loved your Mom very much.”

  “Then why did she leave us?”

  Why, of all days, this conversation? Carson thought a moment, glanced at his watch, and then pulled over to the side of the road. He looked Izzie straight in the eyes and touched her cheek again and spoke softly. “Isabella, your mother didn’t leave because I didn’t love her enough or because you didn’t love her enough. And she didn’t leave because she didn’t love you. In fact, she loved you so much that she had to leave, she felt, in order for you and I to be happy. She wasn’t happy and she needed to go...”

  “I know, I know,” Izzie sing-songed. “I’ve heard it before. My Mom had to go off and find herself and become an actress and be happy. Well, is she happy, Daddy? How do we know? She never talks to us anymore.”

  Carson bit his lip and tried not to damn his ex-wife to hell and back. “I know that, honey. But you got a present from her at Christmas, right?”

  Izzie huffed. “A stupid doll. Doesn’t she know I don’t like dolls? I wanted a football. And a card and present is not talking.”

  Carson closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the headrest. No, Marci wouldn’t know that Izzie didn’t like dolls because Marci didn’t know her daughter. And Marci wouldn’t understand that Izzie needed to talk to her mother because Marci was too obsessed with herself. But how could he tell his beautiful daughter that?

  He couldn’t.

  Glancing at his watch again, he told her, “Honey, we need to get to Franklinville, can we talk about this later?” He was avoiding the obvious and knew it. Thing was, he just didn’t know how to respond.

  Izzie turned toward the window and curled up into the corner. She was shutting him off. Oh God, he hated when she did that. There would be hell to pay later on. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

  Dammit, Marci! How could you do this to her?

  Enough, Carson told himself. Damning Marci and her acting career was not a priority at the moment. His daughter and her future—their future—was. Izzie was the reason he wanted to move to the small town of Franklinville and Izzie was the reason he was quitting his law practice—well, partially the reason, anyway. He was burned out beyond any hope of getting back the thrill of practicing law again. He was gone way too much of the time and Izzie was, to put it mildly, quite a handful. He’d been thinking for months about changing careers, changing lifestyles, and then his brother Joe had suggested an out that he damned nea
r couldn’t refuse.

  His younger brother regularly traveled through Franklinville on his daily commute to work, and had kept telling Carson about the shop for rent downtown. Joe had even stopped and looked in the windows one evening. He’d known that since they were kids, Carson had wanted to own his own business, and kept telling him to think about it.

  Carson knew he had enough of a nest egg put away to get started, money wasn’t a problem. For years he’d thought he had to continue in the profession he’d worked so hard to attain. It was damned hard to let the legal profession go.

  Then he realized he had to do it for Izzie. She needed him. And way too often, he wasn’t there for her. Kate was more of a parent to her than he was.

  Joe’s suggestion kept nagging at him, day after day.

  At the very least, he couldn’t refuse looking into it.

  Hence, the meeting today with Grace Hart. And it was imperative that Izzie cooperate, because he’s already made up his mind.

  They were getting a new life in Franklinville. Come hell or high water.

  “Things are going to be all right, Izzie. I promise you,” he said softly.

  “Yeah, right,” he heard her mutter back.

  * * * *

  It was ten minutes after nine and Carson Price was late.

  Gracie scowled as she glanced from her watch to the front door then back to her watch again. Punctuality. It was important to her. And she thought she’d made it perfectly clear to Mr. Price that they needed to meet at nine o’clock, or even before, so they could take care of business before her shop opened at ten.

  And he had agreed. She was certain of it.

  But it seemed he didn’t think it was important.

  One strike against Mr. Carson Price.

  Turning, she stepped to the counter and counted the money in her cash register drawer, her foot tapping at the polished hardwood floor. “It doesn’t matter, Gracie,” she told herself. “What’s a few minutes? Relax.”

  Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. Long.