by Terry Odell
Grinch slowed. Will was pointing at the ever-present red F-250. Who the hell was Mr. Logan?
Before he asked, Elizabeth jerked as if she’d received an electric shock. She opened her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She stared at it as if it were a rattlesnake in her hand and she didn’t know how to let it go without being bitten.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth tried to control the trembling in her hands when she saw Grace’s name on the green cell phone display. Her ears buzzed. Something warm rested on her thigh.
“Hey, you okay?” Grinch said, and she realized he’d been speaking. And it was his hand creating that warmth on her leg.
She nodded. “Fine.”
“You sure? You’re kind of pale. You think you might have caught Dylan’s bug?”
“No. Nothing like that. A friend I haven’t heard from in ages. Took me by surprise.” She slipped the phone into her purse. There hadn’t been a 911 code, so it could wait a bit.
Grinch held her gaze for a moment, then removed his hand. She didn’t think she’d convinced him, but he seemed willing to let it drop. She rested her hand where he’d placed his, absorbing some of the residual heat.
She and Victor might have ended up with serious problems, but in the early years, he’d been kind, caring, and someone who was … there. That’s what she missed most. Companionship. Independence was a good thing, but sometimes sharing the load made it easier to be independent.
The hail increased in intensity, clattering against the metal of the pickup.
“Is someone in heaven throwing rocks at us?” Dylan asked, his voice trembling.
“It’s hail,” Will said. “Like giant, hard snowflakes. Sometimes hail can get as big as a golf ball. Or even a softball.”
“You get a lot of hail where you’re from?” Grinch asked.
“No,” Will said. “This is my first time. I read about it and saw something on TV. It’s cool.”
“Will it hurt us?” Dylan asked.
Elizabeth twisted in her seat. Dylan seemed on the verge of tears. “No,” she said. “We’re safe and sound inside the truck. It’s loud, though, isn’t it? That makes it kind of scary.”
She turned toward Grinch, wondering if he’d caught on that his kid was scared and he needed to do something. His hands gripped the wheel. They’d reached the edge of town, and he seemed intent on the road ahead as he turned up the mountain. She reached for the radio. “Maybe we can listen to some music.”
Grinch stayed her hand. “Nothing but static here.” His shoulders lifted, then relaxed. He threw a quick glance into the backseat. “I suppose we could sing. What do you think, Dyl? You think we can sing ‘On Top of Spaghetti’ louder than the hail?”
Elizabeth smiled. “We know that one, don’t we, Will? Bet you can sing louder than Dylan.”
The two boys exchanged a challenging glance. Within seconds, the car was filled with a raucous rendition of the childhood classic.
After the first verse, Grinch interrupted. “Will might be loud, Dyl, but we’re good. Remember what we practiced?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened as the singing changed. Grinch had a gorgeous baritone, and Dylan’s higher-pitched voice blended in perfect harmony. Even Will quieted, listening to what was now real music. She glanced into the backseat, seeing Dylan’s formerly timid expression now glowing with delightful pride. For the moment, her world centered around the joy in the car.
They worked their way through half a dozen other songs, from “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” to “The Cat Came Back.” Although Grinch didn’t know all the words, he picked up the choruses and added a rich undertone to the singing. The hail subsided, but lightning lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled like a bass drum accompaniment.
All too soon, they pulled into her drive, and reality returned.
Grinch wheeled his pickup as close to her front porch as possible and turned off the ignition. He faced her and cleared his throat. “I can come check out your washing machine if you’d like.”
She didn’t like the idea of wet clothes sitting around, and even if she had a clothesline, it wasn’t like she could hang them in this weather. She checked the time—a little past seven. Finding out what Grace wanted could wait a little longer. “That would be great.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up,” Grinch said. “We’re going to have to run for it.”
She found her house key. “I’ve got dry towels inside. Let’s go.”
Only moderately soaked, they clambered up the porch steps. She slotted her key and twisted the knob open. Grinch set down a giggling Dylan, who he’d tossed over his shoulder as they sprinted from truck to door.
“Shoes off,” Grinch said as they stepped inside. Velcro ripped and shoes clunked as the boys tugged off their sneakers.
“Will, take Dylan to your room while we wait for Mr. Grinch to check the washer.”
Grinch flashed her the grin that shot those twisty feelings to her belly. “No need to be so formal. Plain Grinch is fine.”
She started to explain that she didn’t approve of her son using familiar names for adults, but gave up and headed for the stairs. “Laundry room’s in the basement.”
Even though he was barefoot, his tread on the stairs behind her reminded her of his overwhelming maleness. When he followed her into the ever-shrinking laundry room, her heart drummed against her ribcage. And when he placed his hands gently on her shoulders to move her aside to survey the damage, the damp, musty smell of the wet concrete floor and the aroma of laundry detergent disappeared, replaced by something masculine. She inhaled softly, afraid he’d notice her drinking him in. Sage, she thought. And cedar?
He hesitated, not yet dealing with the washing machine. If she turned, just a little, she’d be facing him. Then, if she lifted her head, just a little, and he dipped his, just a little … no. Absolutely no way was that fantasy going to play out. She settled for one more deep, quiet inhale before stepping away.
Grinch leaned over the washer and fiddled with something, humming as he investigated.
“You have a wonderful voice,” she said.
His response was a questioning grunt.
“Your singing. In the car. And the way you and Dylan harmonized. I’m … impressed. I’ve always wished I could carry a tune.”
Another grunt. This one sounded more like “mother.”
Even his grunts seemed melodious. She leaned against the wall, trying to contain her body’s responses to his presence.
A bright flash of lighting, followed immediately by an eardrum-threatening thunderclap had her jumping. For Grinch. Instinctively, she grabbed him. And then blackness surrounded them, with two ear-piercing shrieks from upstairs.
Grinch swore, loud and hard, and she was glad the boys weren’t down here. Relieved he couldn’t see the way she must be blushing, she let go of his middle, pivoted, and felt her way out of the dark chamber for the main basement space. There, windows admitted enough light to see.
She raced up the darkened stairwell, one hand on the banister, Grinch close on her heels. At the top, she nearly collided with Will, who was clutching Dylan’s hand.
“Did something explode?” Will asked. “Was it a bomb?”
She hugged him to her chest, and Grinch swung Dylan into his arms.
“Lightning,” Grinch said. “You have a flashlight? I think you took a direct hit.”
Elizabeth sniffed the air. Ozone, and something electrical. Smoke?
“Are we on fire?” she asked. She hurried to her bedroom and brought the flashlight she kept at her bedside.
“I don’t think so, but let me check. You and the boys stay here.” Grinch took the light and trotted downstairs.
“I want to come,” Dylan said.
“He’ll be right back.” Elizabeth gathered the boys and herded them onto the couch. “Mother Nature can be scary sometimes, can’t she?”
Will popped up. “Wow, Mom—look at the sky.” He hurried to the window. “I’m gonna draw that.”
The bulk of the storm seemed to have passed, and the sun’s fiery ball reflected off huge pillows of dark storm clouds, giving the sky a deep red-orange glow. She took Dylan’s hand and joined Will. “See, when Mother Nature scares us, she apologizes with something beautiful like that.”
Grinch returned, a grim expression on his face.
* * * * *
Grinch noticed the expectation on Will and Dylan’s faces, and the concern on Elizabeth’s. He mustered a quick smile and refrained from blurting out what he’d intended to say. Damn, he wasn’t used to tempering his language. With his team, it was constant banter, no holds barred.
“What happened?” Elizabeth said.
“I think it fried your breaker box. There are scorch marks on the wall where the lightning must have come in.” Actually, he was damn lucky he hadn’t been zapped when he was checking the washing machine, but no need to bring that up.
Her face fell. “Can you fix it?”
Right then, he’d have given anything to reverse time and move her house out of the path of that lightning strike. He decided against checking individual appliances to see if they were fried. Let that one wait. “Sorry. If it is your breaker box, you’re going to need a licensed electrician. They’ll have to re-do the complete thing.”
Her back stiffened, her fists clenched. “Can you recommend someone?”
“I’ll do what I can. But for now, pack an overnight bag for you and Will.”
She stared at him as if the words weren’t getting through. He stepped closer and took her hand. “You can’t stay here tonight. There’s always the possibility of something smoldering in the walls. And your power isn’t going to come on.”
“Right. No power.” Her head jerked toward the refrigerator. “My food.”
“I’ve got a couple of coolers. Load up what you can, and I’ll come back for the rest.”
“But the stove is gas. I can cook.”
Grinch checked the stove. “Electronic ignition. Needs electricity to run. Most have safety features that shut them off when the power goes out. It’s not safe to stay here.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, as if that would untangle her thought processes. “All right. Can you drive us to a motel?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. First, they’re too far away, and second, I’ve got a ton of room at my place. Three empty bedrooms. You’ll be a lot more comfortable than at a motel.”
“But—”
“No buts. Grab what you need, and let’s get going before another storm hits. And while you can see well enough to pack.”
“Mom?” Will said. That one word spoke volumes.
Elizabeth tossed her head, turned to her son and smiled. “The lightning damaged our electricity. So we’re going to stay with Mr. Grinch and Dylan. Go pack your pajamas and some clean clothes for tomorrow.”
Will’s eyes brightened. “Like a sleepover?”
Elizabeth tousled his hair. “Exactly. And don’t forget your toothbrush.”
Once Will had left, the concern returned to Elizabeth’s face. “I’ll go pack, too.”
“Can I help?”
She shook her head and disappeared down the hall.
Grinch paced the room. Grace had told him to find a way to get close to Elizabeth. It was almost as if she’d orchestrated this whole thing. Hell, if Jinx’s assessment of her talents was accurate, maybe she could control lightning. Right now, nothing would surprise him.
He snorted, then realized Dylan was standing in the middle of the room, watching. Taking his cue from Elizabeth, he tousled the boy’s hair. “Looks like Will’s going to sleep over. You like that?”
“Will our house get lightninged up, too?”
Grinch grabbed him and tickled his belly. “No, we have a magic box on our house that won’t let the lightning hit us.” And he’d make sure Elizabeth got whoever owned her house to install a whole-house surge protector. They should be part of the building code. This part of the country was a major lightning magnet.
Two hours later, Chester and the boys were in bed in Dylan’s room, although far from asleep. Hearing Dylan’s giggles made up for a delayed bedtime. As for Elizabeth—no giggles from her. She’d barely spoken. Well, she had asked him where his clothes dryer was, used his phone to report the problem to the property management company, and thanked him for going to her house for her perishables, but she might have been a robot.
She’d accepted the bedroom down the hall, next to the boys and away from his, and had sequestered herself. He listened to her footfalls as she circled her room, to the shower running, and to murmuring too quiet to be intelligible. On her phone, he surmised. She hadn’t struck him as the sort who talked to herself. He resisted the temptation to eavesdrop, instead cracking a beer and putting a few of his mother’s CDs in the player, singing along softly, accompanied by the sounds of a gentle rain, letting the music settle him.
Elizabeth’s storming into the room made short work of any settling. She wore baggy sweats, and her hair hung in damp tendrils. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. He jerked upright, killed the music and set down his beer. “Something wrong?”
She froze. As she met his gaze, he watched her body language and expression shift from anger to submission, a behavior she’d undoubtedly used to deflect her husband’s abuse.
“Guess you talked to Grace Ellsworth,” he said.
Silence.
“Elizabeth,” he said. “We obviously need to talk about this. Can I get you a drink?” Without waiting for a response, he went to his father’s private stash and poured generous shots of brandy into two crystal snifters.
He handed her one, then sank into his father’s leather armchair, indicating she should take the couch he’d vacated.
She sat, swirling her drink, but didn’t sample it. Or talk. He set his on the cherry end table beside his chair. “Grace told me not to say anything until she spoke to you.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“I’m on your side.”
“So she says. She also said you know Dalton.”
Some of her guardedness retreated when she mentioned his teammate’s name. “I do.”
“Miri seems to think I should trust you.”
“Miri?”
“Dalton’s girlfriend. She runs a shelter in San Francisco. That’s where we met. Dalton kind of helped me out of a jam.”
“Sounds like Dalt. For what it’s worth, I haven’t talked to him in over a month.”
“So, where do you want me to start?” she asked.
Again, deflecting any possible confrontation. He leaned back in his chair, trying to maximize the distance between them. “Wherever you feel comfortable.”
She lifted her glass to her lips, sniffed, then swirled some more. “Are you Dylan’s father?”
Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected. “I am. But … it’s kind of a long story.”
“Apparently I’m not going anywhere. I have time.”
He picked up his brandy and stared at the light reflecting from the crystal facets. “His mother and I divorced when Dylan was eighteen months old. She … moved up. Severed all ties and became a major social climber. Too good for the likes of us.”
She flinched, and he realized, too late, that she’d come from that life. He lifted a hand in a peace offering. “Sorry. I guess some of the bitterness shows.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. And waited.
He took a sip of brandy, then a breath. “About a month ago, she and her husband were killed in a traffic accident. Her mom’s dead, her dad’s in a nursing home. And his parents—well, they didn’t see any need to encumber themselves with someone who wasn’t a blood relation, especially if Dylan’s bloodlines weren’t up to their standards. I’m all he has left.”
Her expression softened another notch. “That must have been hard. On both of you.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled. “I know diddly about parenting—which you’ve obviously deduced. And Dylan’s afr
aid. Of everything. Today … well, today’s one of the only times I’ve seen him genuinely happy.”
“It’s normal,” she said. “You’re practically a stranger. He told Will his real father was in heaven.”
“Yeah.” Grinch rubbed his chin. “I figured I’d wait until Dylan was old enough to understand before I tell him I’m his biological father.”
She nodded. “I agree. Right now, even if he starts to think of you as a father, he’s afraid to get too close, because he thinks you might go away too. You have to give him time.”
“I’m trying. I’ve taken time off work—especially after that disaster when I had to leave him with a sitter. But I don’t think I’m exactly the right playmate for a five-year-old.” He leaned forward a fraction, pleased that she didn’t lean away. “Will’s been great for him.”
“Likewise. Since we left, it’s been me and Will.” She lifted her brandy again, this time taking a sip. “Grace said you’re supposed to teach me how to hide. But if it’s an imposition—”
“I’m glad to help.”
She tilted her head to one side and squinted at him, as if she were trying to read his expression. “I know I’m a job, or a favor, or whatever. Grace said if I ran, I’d be sending up red flags, so I’m not leaving, but if you don’t want to be saddled with us, I understand.”
“It’s not an imposition. I’m going to help you.”
She eyed him, as if expecting him to spell out the terms and conditions, probably involving favors of a personal nature. He smiled. “No strings. As a friend, if you’ll let me.”
She chewed her lip. “Even so, I don’t like being indebted.”
“Let’s call it a two-way agreement. You teach me to be a dad for Dylan, I’ll show you some tricks about blending in.” He stood, offered his hand. “Deal?”
She took his hand. “I guess it’s a deal.” Then she gave a wry laugh.
“What?”
“I was thinking. In a romance novel, we’d be stuck together under false pretenses, then we’d have a huge fight when we found out we were keeping secrets. At least this way, we can be open and honest with each other.” She took a healthy swallow of her drink. “Which, I can tell you, is a major load off my mind.”
