by Lori Ryan
“Who is it?” she asked, covering the mouthpiece.
“My mother.” He rolled his eyes.
A broad smile broke out over Sophie’s face as he took the phone. “Hi, Valerie. I’m sorry about dinner. Grant and I—” Her eyes cut to his as she pressed her lips together. His mother had obviously cut in.
“Yes, ma’am, I understand.” She paused. “That too, yes.” Her eyes caught his. “Oh, don’t worry I won’t.”
There was a long pause and Sophie walked toward the railing. “Uh-huh. Yes.”
Good, Lord, what could his mother be saying.
“I understand.” Another pause.
Suddenly Grant’s head throbbed with the beginning of a headache.
“I will.” She glanced up at him. “We will.” She wiped at a piece of dust on the back windshield. “Okay, sure. We’ll see you then.” She held the phone out to him. “She wants to talk to you.”
He took the phone from Sophie’s hands as if it were a bomb about to detonate and slipped it to his ear. “What did you say, Ma?”
“None of your beeswax.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“You’re not perfect, Grant, but neither is she. Remember that.”
He stared at Sophie, who smiled at him. His mom couldn’t be more wrong. Sophie was perfect.
“I’ll see you on Friday at six. Don’t be late or else.”
The line clicked off and a chill ran down Grant’s spine. He knew what his mother’s “or else” meant.
“I think she hung up on me,” he said, staring down at the phone.
“She told me if we don’t come to dinner then they’ll all caravan out to us.”
“Oh, hell.”
“I think she’s serious.”
“She’s very serious,” he chuckled.
“By the way, what are you doing talking to your mother on the phone?” She raised a brow. “I thought it was for emergencies only.”
“When Valerie Sumner calls, you answer.”
She chuckled. “True.”
His phone vibrated in his hand. Glancing down he noticed it was Jake. His twin brother never called unless it was an emergency.
“Hello,” Grant said.
“Uncle Grant, are you and Aunt Sophie really coming to dinner this coming Friday? Grammy Val said Aunt Sophie said yes.”
“Uh,” his gaze cut to Sophie. “It’s Becca,” he mouthed. “I’m not sure if we’re coming yet, Half Pint.”
“Aunt Sally wanted me to tell you that if you don’t, she’s going to make you shower in her bathroom for a month. What does that mean?”
Grant shuddered from head to toe. His aunt was in love with Steve Perry from Journey and had posters of the man literally plastered to the walls in her bathroom. Some pictures of the man clothed, some not clothed. Grant gagged.
“What?” Becca said to someone else. “Oh, Aunt Sally also said she’ll open up the barn and sell tickets to your blood-bath movie—” Becca paused. “Aunt Sally, I can’t say that word. And you owe me a dollar.”
Grant laughed in spite of himself. He loved his family, and was happy to learn that it hadn’t been as perfect as he’d once thought.
“Uncle Grant, did you really take a bath in blood?”
“No, sweetie. Aunt Sally is being gross. Tell her to stop or I’ll redecorate her bathroom with my movie posters.”
“Will you come to dinner?”
“Will you be there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. “And remember, you promised to play on Uncle Max’s playscape with me to keep from paying the swear jar.”
“Maybe Sophie and I can come this week. Would that be okay?”
“Yes!” She said triumphantly. “Okay, Aunt Sally says I have to go. She says y’all are going to get busy. What are you going to be busy doing, Uncle Grant?”
Grant rolled his eyes. Definitely an imperfect family.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Grant threw another log on the fire and watched as the flames kissed the top of the wood stove.
“My legs are so sore,” Sophie said behind him.
He turned and took in the sight of her.
She was stretched out on the sofa, rubbing her thighs.
Good Lord. He wished it was him with his hands on her legs, hell, on her whole body.
“You could go to the spa tomorrow at the resort for a massage,” he offered, knowing it was dangerous to put his hands on her.
“People would see me.”
“Maybe I could ask Warner to send someone here.”
“Maybe,” she said. She grimaced.
He moved toward her. “Here, let me.”
“No,” she pulled away, “You do it too hard.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He smirked.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest when he put his hands on her thighs. The leggings she wore were soft and hugged her shapely thighs. He fought back the urge to moan. He kept his hands in the safe zone, not traveling up underneath her long sweater, gently massaging her legs.
“Oh, God, that feels so good.”
Her moan did things to him that was going to make it hard to control himself soon.
He went with humor to try to redirect the mood. “That’s what they all say.”
She laughed but her eyes stayed closed. “How far did we bike today?”
“My GPS tracker said almost fifteen miles.”
Her eyes popped open. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Plus it was mountain biking over rough terrain so that’s even harder.”
“I can’t believe we went that far. It didn’t even seem like work, the scenery was so beautiful.”
“Are you having fun?” he asked, worried about her answer.
“I am,” she said, smiling. “Although I’m not completely sure about the zip-lining you have planned.”
“It’s amazing,” he said. ”Plus, you said you were all for it at O’Halloran’s.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking when I said that.”
“You’ll love it.”
She opened one eye, her brow arched high. “Yeah, right.”
As he stared down at her, she closed her eyes, sinking down into the couch as her body relaxed, the worry lines he’d seen when she first arrived in Canyon Creek slowly disappearing.
She’d been wrong earlier. This scene before him, her rested and relaxed beside him, was the most beautiful thing he’d seen all day. He felt himself harden and drew back his hands.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the frown lines from earlier reappearing across her forehead.
“Want to play cards?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“As long as it doesn’t require me to move much, I’m all for it.”
Grant walked to a side closet and rummaged around inside. “Warner said there were cards in here somewhere. Want to play strip poker?” He glanced over his shoulder.
She scowled at him. “I’m horrible at poker.”
He laughed. “I know.”
She walked up beside him. “Is there something else?”
He groaned as he spotted the board game.
“What?” she asked, pressing closer. “Oh, yes,” she practically shrieked, “Monopoly!”
Knowing there was no way Sophie would let him escape without at least playing one game, Grant reluctantly pulled the box from the closet.
She clapped and jumped up and down, all thoughts of her early soreness apparently forgotten. “I love Monopoly,” she squealed.
“I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about a board game.”
“It’s the one thing I’m good at.”
“It’s not the only thing, Soph.”
She stilled and stared at him. He realized that he and Sophie had a lot in common, low self-esteem, and the fact that they’d grown up in idyllic homes neither thought they could live up to.
“Come on,” he said. He closed the closet door and set the box on the kit
chen table, then lifted the lid.
“We could play strip Monopoly,” she said.
He stopped mid-motion, pulling out the pieces and looked at her. “Seriously?”
She rolled her lips inward as if shy and nodded.
“That’s not fair, you always win,” he said, not really giving a shit. The thought of Sophie losing even a single piece of clothing was enough to have him accept any terms.
“Suit yourself. We’ll play for money.”
He took a seat and unfolded the board. “I didn’t say no. What are the terms?”
“Well,” she said, tapping her forefinger to her chin, “let’s see. How about we use Monopoly money to buy the properties but you have to give up a piece of clothing when you pay rent.”
“How much for an article of clothing?”
“How about two hundred?”
He stared down at his outfit—jeans, a T-shirt, and socks. “I’m not wearing much,” he said.
“I’ll let you go put on more clothes,” she said, doling out the money and pieces.
“Nah, I’m good. I think my luck will change tonight.”
She stuck out her tongue and made a raspberry sound.
Grant swallowed hard, studying that delectable tongue. “You’re not wearing much either,” he said.
She remained quiet as she counted out the money. Was she hiding three layers underneath her sweater?
“They say it might snow tonight,” he said.
Her eyes went wide. “Seriously? I love snow.”
“I know, Sophie. You act like I haven’t been married to you for almost four years.”
Her hands halted counting the money and he immediately hated that he’d broken their light banter.
“I want to be the dog,” he said.
Her gaze snapped to his. “I’m always the dog.” She pouted.
“Tough. I want to be the dog. You want strip Monopoly, those are my terms.”
“Fine.” She tossed the dog at him with more force than necessary. “Baby,” she muttered.
He snorted. “Who’s being the baby?”
“I’ll be the top hat,” she said triumphantly, arranging her money carefully as if it were in a drawer.
Grant mashed his stack together in one messy pile.
“I have no idea how people do that.” She nodded toward his side of the board.
“Do what?”
“Just clump their money together. How do you even know how much you have?”
“I don’t,” he said. “I like it that way. But you put all your money out there so I know exactly what you have.”
“Except for the money I hide.” She lifted a goldenrod five-hundred dollar bill, waving it in the air as she stuffed it under her thigh.
“You cheat, admit it.”
“I don’t cheat,” she shrieked. “Here, you go first.”
“We’ll roll to see who goes first.”
She shook her head, her ponytail wrapping around her neck. “Not tonight. I’m feeling reckless. You can go first.”
“Gee, thanks.” He had a sinking feeling that he’d be naked very soon.
He rolled a four and Sophie laughed. He moved his dog, counting out the squares, and groaned. “Dammit, seriously? I have to pay taxes already?”
“You can pay with your clothes,” she offered. “Two hundred dollars for that shirt.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You sound a little too eager for me to take off my shirt.”
She shrugged. “You’re hot, I’m human. Do the math.”
“Nah,” he shook his head, pulling out two hundred dollars from his wad of cash and throwing it into the center of the board. “I’m a tease. I’ll wait until I’m dead broke.”
Less than one hour later, he was just that, dead broke and nearly naked. Sitting in nothing but his boxer briefs and one sock, he was freezing to death but unwilling to admit defeat. Damn woman.
“You owe me,” Sophie paused as she glanced down at the card for her property, “seven hundred and fifty dollars with hotels.”
Grant glanced around the board that was half filled with houses and hotels, all Sophie’s, wondering how he’d held on to his boxer briefs this long.
Sophie leaned to look under the table.
Grant covered himself.
Sophie burst into laughter. “Looks like you’ve only got four hundred dollars left on you, sailor. Care to declare bankruptcy and admit defeat? Or strip down bare?”
Grant stared at Sophie. She still sat nearly fully clothed, the only thing missing was her ponytail holder, two bracelets and her bra—seeing her toss the lingerie to the floor earlier had nearly done him in. He’d wanted to launch himself over the board and feel the soft swell of her breasts as he pulled her body against his.
He tore himself out of the fantasy and scanned himself.
Sophie stared down at his left hand where his wedding ring still sat snug on his ring finger. “I’ll give you five hundred for jewelry,” she said.
Grant closed his fist. He wouldn’t take five million dollars for his wedding band.
They’d purchased simple gold bands at a jewelry store close to the wedding chapel in Vegas just before they’d been married. When they returned home, he offered to buy Sophie a wedding ring with a larger diamond, something she could be proud to wear, but she always refused, claiming their small bands reminded her of their special day. Grant felt the same way and, except when filming demanded it, he’d never removed his wedding ring.
Glancing down at her finger now, he wasn’t surprised to see she’d removed her band. He didn’t blame her. They’d been through so much, but the fact she no longer wanted to be recognized as his wife tore something deep inside his heart, stinging him with disappointment.
“Oh, my goodness,” she yelled, jumping up from her chair to dash for the window, “it’s snowing.”
He smiled at her reaction to snow. It was always the same. She would squeal any time the flakes started drifting down, like she’d never seen snowfall before in her life.
“Come on, Grant.” She rushed out the door without a backward glance.
He stood and surveyed his outfit. Underwear and one sock. Not appropriate attire, but Sophie’s enthusiasm was contagious. He grabbed a blanket off the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders, sliding his feet into work boots before stepping onto the front porch.
His heart squeezed tight at the sight before him.
Sophie stood, arms out wide, spinning around. Her head was back, face turned to the night sky, her tongue protruding.
Grant laughed.
“Come on, Grant,” she shouted. “It’s snowing.”
He ambled down the steps toward the yard, staring at this woman he’d fallen hard for years ago. His feelings had never changed, never wavered, not even after a year of separation.
“It’s snowing!” she squealed again, racing toward him, arms extended.
He braced himself just in time to catch her, Sophie’s soft body molding to his. The blanket slid from his shoulders, but he didn’t care.
“It’s beautiful,” she said with awe.
Grant raised his eyes to the sky, watching the small smattering of snowflakes flicker to the ground. He’d grown up in Colorado and had often taken snow for granted. Tonight, holding Sophie in his arms, her cheeks flushed with excitement, the snow felt magical.
She bent her head, staring down at him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her smile wide and genuine. “It’s snowing,” she whispered.
They held each other’s gaze, a charged current flowing between them. Suddenly, something changed. The moment was weighty with emotion, perhaps an unspoken vow to reclaim what they’d once had—commitment, honesty, love.
Her lips found his, her head tilting as she deepened the kiss.
He held her tighter, his hands gripping her bottom as his mouth pressed anxiously against hers.
“Grant,” she said against his lips, “you don’t have on any clothes.”
His entire body was
on fire, for her.
“Let’s go back inside,” she said, her voice husky and filled with need.
He released his hold, letting her body slide down his. The feel of her against him was agony and ecstasy wrapped in one thrilling moment.
Sophie held his hand in hers and walked toward the cabin, glancing over her shoulder to meet his eyes. Her golden blonde hair fell down her back, her blue eyes bright with anticipation as she grinned. It was an expression he’d seen a hundred times but had stupidly taken for granted until she left him a year ago.
Not tonight. He wouldn’t let a single detail of his time with Sophie Day go unnoticed. He only prayed it wouldn’t be their last.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sophie’s heart hammered in her chest, her blood thrumming. She wanted Grant, desperately, and she was tired of trying to talk herself out it.
He’d obviously changed and grown over the past year, becoming a man he was proud of, and so was she. Never had a man affected her so viscerally like Grant.
His hand squeezed hers tight as she led them up the steps to the cabin. She swallowed down her emotions, their embrace felt so right.
The snowfall outside had been magical, creating a tiny bubble around them that filled her with hope. And the way he’d caught her with no effort, made her remember how much Grant had always been there for her.
For a long time, she’d thought he was being selfish when he left her after their miscarriages for his career. She thought he’d been cold and uncaring. But now she was realizing that maybe he’d been suffering too, in his own way, in his own time.
Bypassing the living room and glowing fire, Sophie made her way toward the stairs to her loft bedroom.
Grant stopped her. “Soph, are you sure?”
She tugged his hand again, giving him what she hoped was a sexy grin.
“Sophie.” He dragged out her name.
“Grant,” she mocked.
“We need to talk.”
“We can talk upstairs,” she said, taking the first step.
“There’s a bed up there.”
She smirked but didn’t turn around. “I know.”
“Sophie, I don’t want to do this.”
She stopped mid-step, her body going cold in a single heartbeat.
