When they were in the ladies’ room, Kate protested, “You can’t let Patrick get into a fight over my mistake.”
Grace ran cool water over a towel to bathe Kate’s face. “Patrick is a big boy. He’ll make his own decisions. Just tell me what happened,” Grace urged. “It’ll make things easier when you talk to the sheriff.”
“Things were going OK at first, and we were actually having a good time, but then one of the guys from high school came over and started to talk to me. You know me. I can’t not talk to people—it’s in my blood.”
“That’s why the diner does such a great business and you always know all the gossip.”
“Well, I guess my date didn’t like me talking to another man while he was footing the bill for dinner.”
Kate filled her in on the rest, and when Grace asked if Kate wanted her to stay with her when she talked to the sheriff. Kate shook her head.
“Let’s go find that big handsome firefighter of mine. We’ll walk with you to see Mitch.”
“So,” Kate drawled as they headed out to back door, “he’s your firefighter?”
Chapter 10
They left Kate in good hands, not surprised that she didn’t want them hanging around, and drove to the next town over to the supermarket there. When they got back to the Mulcahys’ house, the driveway had only two cars in it. Recognizing Mary’s car, Grace wondered if they should have called to let her dad know they were on their way back. They’d been gone a lot longer than expected.
When Pat parked, she said, “Give me a minute to call my dad.”
“But we’re right…” Patrick’s voice trailed off as he followed the direction of Grace’s gaze and noticed as she had that the house was dark.
“Maybe we should drive on over to Goose Pond and call from there,” Grace suggested.
They got back in the truck, backed out, and drove to the pond.
***
“Joe, is that a car door?” Mary eased out of his arms and cocked her head to one side to better hear.
“Probably Gracie.”
“Wasn’t she due home a while ago?”
“Yes, but she’s with Pat Garahan. Nice man. Firefighter from Newark.”
Mary was out of his bed like a shot. “Where are my clothes?”
Joe’s laugh startled her into standing still. “I think your shoes are in the kitchen…your dress on the banister…and your—”
Mary put her hand on his mouth and started to laugh with him. “You are a wicked, wicked man.”
He pulled her back into bed. “And you love every minute of it.”
When the phone rang a few minutes later, he let the answering machine get it. And to his dismay, Mary squirmed out of his arms a second time in ten minutes and started pulling on his arm to get him out of bed. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. We’ve got to get my clothes.”
“I’ll be right behind you, sweetheart.” She looked over her shoulder in time to see his wink as he added, “Just enjoying the view.”
Mary laughed and headed for the stairs.
***
“The lights are on downstairs,” Grace pointed out as they drove back into the driveway.
“OK,” Patrick said, pulling up behind Mary’s car. “Tell me again why we couldn’t just shoot them a text from the driveway?”
Grace’s sigh was definitely exaggerated. “Because then they’d know that we’d know what they’d been doing.”
“What if they heard us pull in before?”
Grace put her fingers in her ears. “Don’t want to think about OPS anymore, OK?”
Patrick chuckled as he hefted the two bags of groceries from the space behind the driver’s seat. “I really don’t want to ask, but damned if I know what OPS is.”
Grace grit her teeth, closed her door, and walked over to the back porch. “Old. People. Sex.”
Pat nearly bust a gut laughing. “Did you make that up?”
“No. It’s like TMI and OPKs.”
“Got it.”
As they walked up the steps, Pat caught himself before he started down the dangerous path of wondering what having kids with Grace would be like. Resolving not to think so far ahead, he focused on the now.
Life could be tricky sometimes.
“Are you coming?” Grace was holding the screen door open for him.
He nodded, bracing his shoulder against the door. “Ladies first.”
“I’m not the one with my arms full.”
Pat leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Go with the flow, Mulcahy.”
She mumbled something he could not quite hear and knew he wasn’t intended to as he followed her inside. The overhead light was on, an old brass hanging lamp that had—oh boy! He looked at Grace, but she was already rooting through the grocery bags and didn’t see what he had.
When she had her head in the fridge, he reached up and snagged the black lace then wondered where the hell he’d put it. Grace kept a running monologue going as she put stuff in the fridge and then the cabinets, obviously not expecting him to reply—good thing, since he was trying to find a place to stash the lacy black bra without Grace seeing him do it.
Patrick had always liked Joe Mulcahy, but now the man was elevated to hero status. His gaze shifted to the hallway and found the perfect spot—the dry sink drawer. “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder.
Grace didn’t turn around; she just waved a hand over her head at him. Even better, he thought, sliding the drawer open.
“Patrick,” Joe called as Pat was stuffing the bra inside.
“Joe.” The men locked gazes and understanding and relief flashed through Joe’s eyes.
“It’s in the dry sink,” he whispered to Joe. “Long ride, gotta use the bathroom,” Pat said loud enough for Grace to hear.
Joe nodded and mouthed “thank you” before he said, “I’m just going to make some coffee.”
Pat closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. Guys had to stick together; it’s what separated the men from the boys. Besides, some women get funny about other women finding their underwear hanging in odd places.
Walking back toward the kitchen, he heard Mary Murphy’s low voice. The conversation sounded serious, and he hoped it wasn’t about what he’d hidden in the hallway. Standing in the doorway, he knew from the look on Grace’s face that they were talking about Kate McCormack.
Joe glanced up. “I’ll go with you once Kate gives you the bastard’s address.”
Patrick nodded. “Kate didn’t want anyone else to get involved once we got her to agree to tell the sheriff what happened.”
Mary leaned toward Grace and put her arm around her. “She’ll feel better now that she’s gotten it off her chest and done the right thing by filing charges.”
“I hope so.” Grace leaned her head on Mary’s shoulder. “There are enough people involved that word will get out—I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about what happened. She’s my best friend.”
“People will think what they will,” Mary advised, smoothing a few strands of hair out of Grace’s eyes. “Putting the truth out there will solve that worry and might help Mitch find the bastard.”
Grace’s head popped up and she laughed. “I’ve never heard you swear before!”
Mary’s face turned a brilliant shade of pink. “I am a firm believer in not overusing words…one must use them wisely for maximum impact.”
Joe raised his mug high. “Here, here!” Pat had just swallowed a mouthful when Joe asked, “Are you planning on camping out on our sofa tonight?”
Pat wasn’t sure if that was a wise idea; Grace was temptation personified. “Dan’s already offered his sofa and I made a deal with the boys: if there were no predawn attacks, I’d make breakfast.”
Joe chuckled. “Sounds great.” He turned toward Mary. “Do you want me to follow you home?”
She smiled and rose to her feet. “Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?”
“Not
in the least, Mary,” Joe said, rising to his feet. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat, and for a moment, Patrick wondered if she’d faint.
But she finally composed herself enough to rasp, “A lovely invitation, but thank you, no.”
Joe’s laugh was deep and just this side of wicked, and from the interested expression on Grace’s face, Patrick wondered how he’d feel if it was his mother and her beau and not Joe and Mary. The grinding in his gut told him far more than he realized. His mom had been a widow a lot of years. Did she have a boyfriend that he didn’t know about? He’d be shooting Tommy a text asking just that when he got out to his truck.
“I’ll just see you outside,” Joe said, slipping his arm around Mary’s waist, guiding her toward the door.
“See you at church!” Mary called out over her shoulder.
“You bet,” Grace replied, but she wasn’t watching her father and Mary. She was staring at Patrick.
“Have we scared you away with all of the small-town drama?”
He held out his hand to her. When she rose, he pulled her close and slid his hand up and down her spine. “New York might be a big city to grow up in, but our neighborhood in Brooklyn was a small town in itself.”
She shifted so she could slide her hands around his back. Lifting her face to his, she licked her lips. “Plenty of drama?”
He cupped the back of her head in his hand and murmured, “Big time,” right before he kissed her deeply, lingering over the potent flavor that rose above the hint of coffee—pure sweetness, one hundred percent pure Grace. A man could get addicted to that.
The sound of a car door closing had them shifting apart and Grace pushing him toward the door. “You’d better let me get started cooking. It sounds as if there’ll be twice as many people eating here tomorrow.”
“I thought you were tired.”
She smiled, which did crazy things to his heart. “For some reason, being with you energizes me.”
He was reaching for her as Joe opened the door behind them, whistling softly as he walked through the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two to say your good-byes, then.”
“Drive safely—we don’t have streetlights like you’re used to.”
“I’ve been here after dark before, Grace,” Pat said. “And since I’m staying at Meg and Dan’s, I don’t have that far to go. But it’s nice that you’re worried about me. It’s been a while since anyone worried about me.”
She placed her hand over his heart and tilted her head back. “I’m sure your mom worries about you—you’re so far away.”
He covered her hand with his and drank in the sweetness of the thought and the pressure of her hand lying against his chest. “My mom’s a champion worrier, but that wasn’t what I meant.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Count on it.” He shifted his grip and lifted her up to eye level. Pouring himself into the kiss, he finally broke away, set her down, and whispered, “Dream of me.”
She was still standing with her fingertips to her lips as he backed out of the driveway.
Chapter 11
The elbow to her ribs woke her. Grace blinked, surprised to realize she was sitting in a pew and that the recessional hymn was playing.
Her father was shaking his head at her. “What time did you finally stop cooking? Not that I minded falling asleep with the scent of meatballs and sauce filling the house.”
Grace was mortified. “Did I really sleep through the whole service?”
The answering chuckle had her hanging her head. “What will Reverend Smith think?”
“Why don’t we just go on over and you can explain what happened? I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“But, Pop—” She was talking to his back. He’d already stepped into the aisle. “Perfect,” she grumbled, pushing to her feet, hurrying to catch up. Tapping him on the shoulder, she hissed, “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”
But he was either ignoring her or didn’t hear her. A moment later, she was next in line to shake her pastor’s hand. “Reverend Smith.”
His eyes were positively twinkling. “Ah, Grace, so glad you could join us today. I hope you enjoyed my sermon.”
Busted.
“I, uh…well, you see—”
“She’s just so overwhelmed that she’s speechless.” Mrs. McCormack slipped her arm through Grace’s. “Weren’t you, Grace?”
Grateful didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling. “Yes. That’s it,” she said over her shoulder because Kate’s mom was dragging her outside.
“Still staying up till all hours instead of getting enough sleep?” Mrs. McCormack asked. “I guess some things never change.”
“Thanks for saving me back there.”
“It’s the very least I could do after what you and Patrick did for my Katie yesterday.”
Grace’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Deputy Jones drove her home last night, and I, for one, am delighted. Such a nice man—good catch if you ask me, not that my Katie is paying him enough attention.”
Mrs. McCormack’s smile said it all. She’d always liked him. Grace wondered if that was why her friend was so adamant about ignoring the guy.
“When I sent her to the kitchen to put the coffee on, he mentioned that he’d be keeping a very close eye on our daughter. What with everything that happened, it’s such a relief. Those girls of ours keep long hours at the diner.”
“But they’ve never had any trouble at the diner,” Grace added, hoping to ease the rest of Mrs. McCormack’s worry.
“Well,” she said, tugging Grace’s arm so she had no choice but to follow her across the parking lot, “back when I was fifteen and working the counter for my mother, there was that time the Riverdale football team showed up ready to rumble.”
“Inside the diner?” Grace had trouble believing it. “How come I never heard about it?”
“It was a long time ago and fortunately Sheriff Meeks showed up in time to lay down the law.” She was laughing when she added, “He had every one of those boys call their parents to come and pick them up.”
“Why didn’t they just leave?”
Mrs. McCormack shook her head. “Sheriff Meeks had Bob Stuart pull their ignition wires. Tough to start a car without them.”
Grace smiled, imagining Bob Stuart sneaking around to each one of the cars, disabling them. “Was my pop in on it?”
An expert at evading questions she didn’t want to answer, Mrs. McCormack just smiled and patted Grace on the arm, slipping hers free. “Good to have you back, Gracie dear. Don’t be a stranger. Stop by the farm.”
“I will,” she promised.
“You ’bout ready to go, Grace?”
“Coming.” Hurrying over to her father’s pride and joy, the 1950 Ford F1 pickup truck, she traced the gold lettering on the door. Mulcahys. Grace was proud of what the last three generations of her family had accomplished.
Then why are you so fired up to live in the city? Once that question settled into her mind, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She liked the nightlife, she reasoned, and the museums and art galleries.
Then there was the sophistication of city-bred men; they knew how to dress and treat a lady. “I’m kidding myself,” she said aloud.
“About what?” her father asked.
Catching herself in time, she sighed and said, “Nothing. Do you mind driving into town? I could get what I still need for dinner at Murphy’s Market.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t we go on home, and I’ll call Mary and ask her to come on over early with what you need?”
“She won’t mind?”
He turned onto Peat Moss Road. “Not at all. We’ve been spending most weekends together,” Joe said, pulling into their driveway, “since I’ve been all alone in this big old house when my baby girl moved out.”
It was then that she realized she was probably cramping her fathe
r’s style—and his love life. “Sorry, Pop. I didn’t think that I’d be getting in the way by being here.”
“Nonsense. Nothing to worry about.”
***
Patrick stayed behind to clean up the mess he’d made in Meg’s kitchen while the family went to church. Once he’d left it at least as clean as it had been before he started, he headed out to the Mulcahys’. He couldn’t wait to see Grace again.
“’Bout time you got here, Garahan.”
“Dan, where’s your car and how’d you beat me here?”
“Meg dropped me off. I had a change of clothes in the car. She and the kids had an errand to run; we took the shortcut.” His friend nodded toward the cooler sitting on the picnic table. “Would you mind asking Grace for the ice I stowed in their freezer yesterday?”
“Be right back.” The sight of Grace barefoot and humming to herself caught his attention the moment he opened the door. She had her back to him and was stirring a big pot and swiveling her hips to whatever tune played in her head.
Sucker punched. That’s what he would later remember. The sight of Grace Mulcahy just then felt like that time his older brother had sucker punched him over Jenny Rosenkrantz.
“Hey, Dan,” Grace called out midstir. “Would you mind handing me that lid I left on the table? I just want to give this sauce a little more love before I—”
Grace looked over her shoulder and smiled. A slow, lovely smile that started with her eyes, softened her features, and added another blow to his midsection when her dimples deepened. He was a goner.
He grabbed the lid and handed it to her. “Smells amazing.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, stirring in random patterns. “It’s Mrs. McCormack’s recipe—no wait, maybe it’s Katie’s grandmother’s—” Grace broke off and laughed at herself. “Sleep deprived, can’t remember, but you’ll love it. Packed with garlic and spices, the red sauce will have you singing for your supper.”
Before she slid the lid in place, she opened the drawer next to the stove and pulled out a tablespoon. Dipping it in the sauce, she blew over the surface and touched it to her bottom lip—and had Patrick’s libido simmering, shooting sparks of awareness and desire to places that would be better left alone. Damn.
Welcome Back to Apple Grove Page 11
