by A. C. Arthur
“Nana Lou?”
Lily nodded. “Uh-huh, she’s in the kitchen. I was helping her make dough, but my hands were tired.”
“I see. Where is your mother?” Gray asked.
“At work,” Lily replied and then turned to Kym and asked, “Who are you?”
Gray turned to his assistant to see her staring down at Lily as if she was some type of anomaly. Kym’s pert nose had crinkled, her dislike apparent until she caught Gray looking at her.
“Ah, hello, little one,” she said before clearing her throat. “My name is Ms. Hutchins and I’m with Mr. Taylor.”
Now he was Mr. Taylor. Gray tried not to show his confusion. “She works with me, Lily. How about I take you back out to the kitchen with Nana Lou.”
Lily shook her head. “I want to stay here and have tea with you and her.”
“My name is Kym Hutchins and we’re not having tea. We’re talking. You know, adult talk, so you can run along now,” Kym told Lily with a wave of her hand as if the little girl needed the direction.
Gray stood then, lifting Lily into his arms. Behind him he thought he heard Kym gasp, but he didn’t turn around.
“Sure, we can have tea together. Let’s see if Nana Lou will make it for us,” he said as he began walking out of the parlor, only to be stopped when Lily greeted Morgan loudly.
* * *
Morgan didn’t know what to say.
Gray was holding Lily in his arms.
They looked, well, for lack of a better word, happy.
“Hi, baby,” she said after another second of silence. “What are you doing out here with Mr. Taylor?”
She lifted her arms and welcomed her daughter into her embrace. She smelled like cinnamon rolls and icing, Morgan thought as Lily held her tightly around the neck. Lily was always glad to see Morgan when they’d been apart, as if she thought there was a chance she might not see her again. The twins had barely been two when James died, but sometimes Morgan thought they remembered that exact day he’d left them, the same way that she did.
“I’m taking a break,” Lily told Morgan. “We’re gonna have some tea. Me, Ms. Kym and, Mr. Gray?”
“He’s Mr. Taylor,” Morgan said, correcting her daughter.
“She can call me Mr. Gray,” he said with a smile.
He still stood very close to Morgan, one hand slipped into the pocket of the crisply pleated black pants of his suit. His shirt was bright white, just as it had been last night, but today’s tie was an icy-blue color. There was no question that this man looked phenomenal in a suit. Nor was there any question that the kiss they’d shared last night had kept Morgan up into the early-morning hours. She silently chastised herself. It was just a kiss. That was all.
Then why was Gray looking at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and that he begged to differ—that their kiss was...definitely something?
“Hello,” a woman said.
Morgan shook her head and looked away from Gray. Coming to stand beside him was a gorgeous woman with a frosty smile and assessing eyes. Morgan instinctively tightened her grip on Lily as she cordially said, “Hello.”
“You have a lovely daughter,” the woman volunteered. “Grayson and I work together. We were taking care of some business when this little one showed up.”
Morgan had to blink to keep the words running through her mind from spilling out. Was this woman serious? Did she have an attitude about Lily being there?
“Lily and I were going to get some tea,” Gray added, without looking at the woman at his side.
Wait, did Lily say Ms. Kym? Morgan held back her frown, along with the smart remark she’d already been trying to keep to herself. So this was the Kym who had sent Gray that text message last night. The one who had said simply, “I’m here in town. Call me.”
“That’s fine, you get back to your business. I’ll take Lily out of your way,” Morgan told Gray.
She hadn’t bothered to look at Kym again, either, until the woman spoke one more time.
“That would be wonderful. Please let the staff know that we’d like some privacy. Thank you.”
As if it was that simple to command someone to do her bidding, Kym turned away and pulled out a chair to have a seat at one of the tables. Morgan stared at Gray, who she thought looked like he wanted to say something to this Kym person. If that was the case, he was taking too long.
“Oh, you must be mistaken,” Morgan said to her. “I don’t work here, nor do I work for Mr. Taylor. My daughter and I will be going now.”
She was out of the parlor and had just dropped a kiss on Lily’s forehead when Gray touched her arm.
“You keep running from me,” he said in an irritated tone.
Not wanting to make Lily think that something was wrong, Morgan slowly eased away from Gray, until his hand was dropping away from her arm.
“Not running, leaving. You’re busy with work and I have to get Jack,” she told him.
“You ran out on me last night,” he said, his brow furrowing as if he was still trying to figure out why.
Well, he didn’t have to try any longer—Morgan planned to tell him, but then Lily moved and she remembered that her daughter would hear everything she said, so she bit her tongue once more.
“We were finished last night. You’re the one who chose not to stay for dinner,” she replied. “Or rather, you’re the one who had someplace else to be.”
Gray’s lips thinned into a straight line as he, too, looked down at Lily.
“What about what we were discussing last night?” he asked her finally.
Morgan had thought about that during the night as well. He’d said if she could give him a reason that he shouldn’t sell the buildings, he wouldn’t. Which was the exact reason why she’d been grateful when Harry asked to pick up the children after school today. She’d gone to the chamber of commerce to meet with Millie. Armed with all she needed to know about the buildings that Gray owned and a bit more, she felt like she was more than ready to show him why he should leave Temptation and those buildings alone forever.
“Whenever you’re ready for me to present my case, let me know,” she said.
“I’m ready right now,” Gray responded.
Morgan shook her head, then looked to the doorway of the parlor to see Kym standing there.
“I have to get to the community center for rehearsal and then home to bed because we have school tomorrow. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays the theater club has the center for their rehearsals, so we won’t rehearse tomorrow. I can meet you at your parents’ house at six.”
He frowned and Morgan realized it was probably because she’d called the old Victorian “his parents’ house.” After what Millie had told her—the parts that Morgan had deemed true, despite all the rest that Millie had thrown in—she could sort of understand why Gray didn’t hold much love for that house, or this town for that matter. Still, she had enough love for Temptation to try and save what they were already starting to build.
“Is that time all right with you, or will you still be working?” she asked and refused to look at Kym, who she knew was listening to every word they said.
Gray took a deep breath then let it out slowly, so that his broad shoulders moved slightly. A part of Morgan wanted to hear his side of the story. She wanted to know why his father had really left his family and why Gray’s mother thought her only recourse was to leave the town that had been her home. More importantly, Morgan found herself wondering about Gray and the man he had become. Feeling a quick spurt of guilt, she looked away from him.
“It’s fine,” he said immediately, as if he thought she might be ready to renege on her offer.
She nodded and turned away, alarmed at the fact that she had been about to tell him to forget it. How could she continue to be in this man’s company whe
n every time they were together he switched on something inside her that she’d thought she’d buried years ago with her husband? Every. Damn. Time.
Chapter 5
“Hi, Morgan. Why didn’t you call me? I would have brought the children over to the community center,” Harry said the second Morgan entered the front foyer.
She hadn’t seen him standing there on the other side of the steps and was just about to walk past him when he spoke.
“Oh, hi, Harry. That’s okay. You’ve done enough. I really appreciate you picking them up and watching them for me,” Morgan said.
Morgan had known Harry since they were little kids. He’d grown into a tall man, broadly built with a dark-chocolate complexion, bald head and warm smile. He was the oldest of three children born to Louisa and Clyde Reed and one of the most reliable people that Morgan knew. He also had a crush on Morgan, at least that’s what Wendy had said for years. Morgan had always considered Harry a friend. That’s all. Besides, she hadn’t thought about another man romantically since James’s passing. Until Gray. She shook her head again to clear the wayward thoughts that had been plaguing her these last couple of days.
“You know it’s no problem,” Harry said. “Where’d you run off to, little lady?” he asked Lily.
She still clung tightly to Morgan.
“I heard voices and then I saw Mr. Gray. I wanted to have tea with him,” Lily announced as if that was as normal as saying she wanted to watch Doc McStuffins on television.
Morgan wished she hadn’t said it and Harry looked confused.
“She’s talking about Grayson Taylor,” Morgan told him. “He’s in the parlor with his, um...a woman he works with. He’s been in town for a couple of days. Lily met him when he stopped by the community center a couple of nights ago.”
Harry had only nodded while she spoke, his brow creasing. “So the rumors are true. He’s gonna sell those buildings and add to the millions he’s already got.”
“He may not sell them,” Morgan said, then wished she hadn’t.
Harry frowned down at her. “How do you know what he’s going to do?”
She shrugged. “I’m going to try to talk him out of it.”
“What? You don’t know him. You don’t know men like him at all, Morgan. You should just steer clear and let him do what he needs to do and be gone.”
“I can’t do that,” Morgan said.
Jack came running into the room at that moment and Morgan hastily grabbed his hand.
“Thanks again, Harry,” she said. “I’ve got to get going.”
Morgan walked through the front doors and down the walkway to her car. She didn’t look back, as she was sure to find Harry staring at her.
* * *
The next afternoon, when Gray climbed out of his car to flashing lights and questions being hurled at him from at least three reporters, he wanted to reach out and punch somebody in the face. Of course, he resisted that urge, especially since two of the reporters were women.
They’d been following him around town since he’d walked out of the coffee shop where he’d met Kym for coffee and bagels that morning.
“I can talk to them if you want,” Kym had offered when they’d walked to his car.
“I don’t have anything to say to them and that means you don’t, either,” he told her.
“But they’re here to see what you plan to do for your hometown this time. Your family was so instrumental in helping to revitalize the town thirty years ago, the people here are hoping you’ll do the same. The press is eating all this up, which you know is going to be great for the launch in a couple of months.”
Gray Technologies was launching a new cell-phone-and-tablet combo that was small and slim enough to fit into a wallet. Its battery life and network range was triple that of the strongest and most popular product on the market. It was one of the biggest and brightest inventions yet, so yes, Gray had to admit it was a huge deal. But not big enough to sell his soul to the devil that was the press. He’d hated them all his life and avoided them like the plague, relying solely on his PR department to deal with all media coverage. He didn’t plan to stop now.
“I don’t know how they knew I was here,” he said.
“Does it matter? They’re here and so are you. This is free advertising, Grayson. No matter what you decide to do here, it’s a win-win for us,” Kym had insisted.
Gray had only shaken his head and climbed into his car just as one of the reporters had skirted around Kym and pressed a microphone in his face.
“Tell us how it feels to be back in your hometown, Grayson?” the reporter had asked just before Gray slammed his car door shut.
He spent the rest of the day closed in his room at the resort, reading more of his reports and thinking steadily about his meeting with Morgan later that day.
It would be the first time he walked into the house where it had all begun. There’d been happiness and excitement as his parents had waited for the birth of the sextuplets. The town had shared in the anxiety of watching Olivia waddle to church, to the grocery store, to visit with her family and then back to the big house to wait a little more. When the babies finally came, so had the press. Then came the cable television station that had offered the Taylors more money than they’d ever dreamed of to let cameras follow them around day in and day out.
The money was for the medical bills and to put into college funds for each of the children. That’s what his mother had told him one day when Gray was a teenager. It was a wonderful plan to ensure their children had the very best of everything, she’d said as her gaze had lingered on the rolling waves. She loved the water at the beach, but Gray knew that his mother had loved this little town much more.
The hours had passed quickly enough and Gray, without the help of his PR people, had called the front desk of the resort to ask about a back way out of their property. Netta Coolridge, the owner’s sixteen-year-old daughter, had come to his room carrying a tray of covered dishes, which gave the impression of him having a large meal. Instead, she’d smiled as she lifted one of the domed covers to reveal a thick length of rope.
“What’s that?” Gray asked as he looked from the rope back to Netta’s smiling face.
“It’s how I get out of the house without my parents knowing,” she replied with a brilliant, braced-teeth smile.
She was a cute girl with high cheekbones and long, straight honey-gold hair on one side. The other side was shaved like a man’s, with a row of four curving lines that showed her scalp. She wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt with the logo of a popular teen clothing store etched across the front.
“This window will lead you down to the back of the stalls. Your car is parked right on the side. It’s already getting dark so if you stay close to the wall in the shadows those nosy reporters won’t see you.”
Netta talked as she walked across the room to open one of the windows. She’d taken the rope with her and tied a knot as she wrapped it around the leg of the massive armoire lodged in the corner.
“Mama insists on feeding those rude vultures and she’s just about finished with the spaghetti and meatballs she prepared. She offered to let them come inside and eat, but they already told her they needed to keep watch. So I’ll go back down and start bringing the fixings out to them, while you sneak out.”
“Wait a minute,” Gray asked, confusion giving way to incredulity at this point. “You expect me to climb down a window and sneak to my car? I’ve never done such a thing in my life,” he told her.
When she’d dropped the other end of the rope out the window, Netta turned to him and shrugged. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” she quipped.
Gray had discarded his suit jacket and slipped a sweater over his dress shirt this time. He grabbed his leather bomber jacket and was pushing his arms into it as he shook his h
ead. “I’m not ducking and hiding from these people,” he declared.
Netta shook her head and made a tsking sound with her teeth. “Suit yourself,” she told him. “But I counted five news vans and two cars when I came over. They’re not in the driveway because Daddy threatened to shoot any of them that parked on our land, but they’re right down there by the front gate. If you want to, you can drive right on out that way and see how far you get. Me, I’d get to shimmying out that window and take the back road along the creek to avoid them.”
She was walking past Gray now, and stopped to clap a hand on his shoulder. “But you handle it your way, city slicker, and let me know how that works out for you.”
The knowing grin that spread across her face as she turned for the door both amused and annoyed Gray. He was frowning by the time he grabbed his phone and keys and headed toward the window.
Now, forty minutes later, he was getting out of his car when the reporters flanked him once more. A threat to sue their newspaper and a reminder that he was about to be on private property had them quickly backing up.
Gray was about to walk up the broken bricked pathway to the house where he’d spent the first seven years of his life. There was a tear at the bottom of his left pant leg from jumping down after climbing out the window and down the rope. He’d gotten caught on one of the bushes that Netta neglected to tell him were circling the building. She had been right about him making a quiet getaway using that back road—as far as Gray could tell, none of the reporters had followed him back into town.
It was chilly tonight and this part of Peach Tree Lane was untouched by the Christmas decorations and holiday cheer. Gray didn’t know how he felt about that, just as he wasn’t sure how this meeting was going to go. The place looked the same, he thought as he came closer to the front steps. He couldn’t see all the details of the house. It sat in the shadows of early evening almost like one of those haunted houses used for horror movies. With his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket, he gazed up, not yet ready to take the stairs and walk along the wood-planked porch.
