Anywhere You Are (6 page)

“Go!” she ordered him, and he ran to fetch it, bounding across the grass and returning in a flash. She did it again, and he eagerly loped around, stretching his legs and letting out several happy barks when he had to chase it into a thick hedge. Poor thing had probably been cooped up. These kinds of dogs needed lots of space and lots of exercise.

Each time he returned with that tiny yellow ball in his huge jaws, she sank a little deeper under his spell. Even with her hand covered in slobber while some nameless dog chased a ball around and came back to her—to
her
—she couldn't remember being this happy in a while.

God, she really was lonely. She should get a pet. A companion. Something to accompany her into the woods while she sketched and to curl up at her feet at night. A giant dog, like this one. She could handle it, as long as he was as gentle as this big guy.

They played for a while longer until her ankle started aching. She sat down on a bench to rub it while the dog chased a monarch butterfly fluttering across the grass. When the creature flew away, the dog came over to her and simply lay down right next to her. Just perfect.

“Good dog,” she said, bending to rub his huge head. “Good dog.”

He started rumbling his contentment again, and she scratched him behind the ears once more. Gentle beast that he was, he simply rumbled louder.

After a long while, Marc came to join them. He removed his jacket and threw it over the back of the bench, then sat down heavily next to her. The strain on his face was palpable, just for an instant. And then it was gone.

“Well, that's over,” he said.

“Is everyone happy now?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “I just paid everyone off and it cost me two thousand dollars.” He glared at the dog again. “Demon.”

“He's not so bad,” Grace said. “What happened to make him go crazy? The squirrel?”

Marc nodded. “He jerked the leash right out of my hands, and once he was gone, I couldn't get him back.”

“He wouldn't respond to you?” Grace surmised.

“No. And if you hadn't caught him when you did, the damage would have been much worse.”

“Honestly, I think he just needed some exercise,” she told him. “He's been doing great with me.”

“Whatever he needed, I didn't give him, and you did,” he said, his gaze clear and unwavering. “So thank you again.”

Grace took a deep breath. It was now or never, and given that she'd just played the role of savior he couldn't be too angry with her…she hoped.

“Look,” she said, “I know I already said this, and you might not want to hear it again, but I'm sorry about last weekend. We weren't being taped. In fact, I haven't been on the show for a couple of seasons now.” She took a deep breath. “It's just that for the first time, I think ever, I knew who you were instead of the other way around. I guess I was just trying to pretend that things were…” She stopped and shook her head. “I just didn't expect things to get so out of hand.”

“Considering you just saved my ass back there, let's call it even,” Marc said. “Besides, I was a real dick to you.”

“You weren't,” she said quickly. “Okay, you were a little. But I understood why.”

“I don't like surprises,” he told her. “Or cameras in my face.”

“Duly noted. We'll try to avoid those in the future.” Not that she'd ever have a future with a man like Marc.

She rubbed the dog behind the ears again in that spot he liked. “What's his name?”

Marc's jaw got tight again, and he hesitated a long time before answering. “Mr. Pipplepotts.”

“No,” she breathed. “That is just
awesome.
”

“It's ridiculous,” he said tightly. “But Aunt Sarah was nothing if not eccentric. She lived that way, and she died that way. She actually said straight-up that she left me the dog to shake up my life.”

“Sounds like my kind of woman,” Grace said honestly.

“I loved her.” There was sadness in his voice. Sadness and something more…something she desperately wanted to ask him about, but instinctively, she knew that now wasn't the time.

“I don't want to change his name,” she told him, “but I can't call him Mr. Pipplepotts. It
is
awesome, but it's just too long. Hmm…Mr. P? Pip? Nah, those are kind of silly.” She thought for a moment. “His coat's kind of bluish, so what about Big Blue? It could be his call name. Like the fancy breeders at the kennel club shows use.” The dog leaned into her hand harder and closed his eyes. “Big Blue? It fits. We'll make it work. That is, if you're okay with it. I don't want to—”

“It's great,” Marc interjected. Then he went silent for a moment, watching her carefully. “You really do have the magic touch with him. Aunt Sarah had the same thing.”

“You just have to know how to handle him,” Grace said, straightening. “Firm, but gentle. Like him. All he needs is a little training.”

“I wish there were some kind of user's manual.”

Grace gave him a slight smile. “You seem like the type to always read them.”

“Let me guess. You don't.”

“Never.” Which was why she
still
couldn't figure out her cable hookup.

“Figures,” he muttered, but it didn't sound like an insult. He glanced at the dog. “He's a pain, but I don't mind him. If only he weren't so…so—”

“Giant?” Grace supplied.

“Exactly.” Marc shook his head. “This dog has really messed up my whole schedule. I was supposed to be on a flight to India, but then I got Mr. Pipp— I mean, Big Blue. I'm actually supposed to be on a plane to Arizona tonight, but I'm going to have to cancel it, given that I have nowhere to keep him. Aunt Sarah loved him, so I can't give him up, but I'm kind of stuck. In fact, I can't even take him back with me to New York. My building doesn't allow dogs, and the board is seriously strict. So I'm spending time at Aunt Sarah's old place, which is okay for now, but isn't sustainable in the long run given my travel schedule and my need to be in the office. If he were one of those tiny yapping dogs, I could figure something out. Kennel him or get a dog sitter or something. That's what I need. A dog sitter. But who'd take a dog of this size? Especially in Manhattan.”

Grace glanced at the dog, who lifted his massive head and stared back. He seemed to be able to see into her very soul.

“I'll take him,” she said without even hesitating.

Marc blinked. “Tell me you're kidding.”

“Big Blue is a little, well,
big,
but in every other respect he's perfect. He's gentle, independent, sweet, and I could use the company. Plus he likes me, see?” She gave the dog a double-handed head scratch and he did the rumbling thing again.

“If you're serious, and I really hope you are, I'll pay for everything—food, vet bills, whatever.”

“I wouldn't have offered if I weren't serious. I'd be glad to take him for however long you need.”

“This is great. Big Blue will be happy and I can get to Arizona tonight after all. Jesus, you've just saved me from a logistical nightmare. Thank you.”

He smiled at her. Really, truly smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. It was a beautiful sight.

“So we have a deal?”

“Definitely.” Marc held out his hand for a shake. She slid her palm over his larger one. He squeezed firmly, sending a long, slow shiver down her back. “Let me take you to lunch,” he said, his voice low. “For real, this time. No people. No cameras.” His hand was still gripping hers and the man was strong. Really strong. And just thinking about his hands on other parts of her body made her a little light-headed.

“No,” she said.

His lips turned down. “What do you mean, no? You won't let me get you lunch?”

She shook her head. “
I'm
taking
you
to lunch. I know a place.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “I should have known by now that everything with you is a negotiation.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Just stating fact.”

“I swear it won't inconvenience you in the slightest.”

“Famous last words.”

“No, seriously. The place I have in mind is close by.”

“Close is good.”

“And the food's excellent.”

“Interesting. What else?”

“The most important thing.” She grinned. “Dogs are more than welcome.”

Big Blue leapt into the back of Grace's pickup truck as if he'd been doing it for years, and settled down nicely into a spare blanket in the corner. The dog was fine, and definitely better than he'd been crammed into the back of Marc's luxury sedan. Marc wasn't a big believer in fate, but after today, he just might have to change his mind.

Grace's place was about ten minutes from the town's center, and he remembered the way. Marc pulled up Grace's long driveway right behind her and parked where she indicated in a big clearing.

He got out and looked around. The last time he'd been here, he'd dropped her off and driven away without a second look. Now he took the time to examine the property.

There was an old, refurbished farmhouse to his right, behind which was a small meadow. Across the clearing, about thirty yards to his left, sat a weathered barn. Between the two buildings but farther back sat a glass-enclosed greenhouse. It was rustic. Cozy. Not at all what he'd expect from the daughter of the lead singer of one of the world's most famous rock bands.

Grace slid from her truck and gave him a little wave. God, she was even more beautiful than he'd remembered. She had on jeans and a blousy top that flowed around her small frame, practical, not fussy. She wore no makeup, just a natural blush that emphasized her high cheekbones and creamy skin. Her hair was a little messy, like she'd just tumbled from bed. She licked her lips and Marc's body instantly responded.

She opened the back of the truck and Big Blue came to her right away. She rubbed him behind the ears and he let out a grateful bark. Grace just laughed.

She wasn't his type—not at all. Typically, he went for cool, composed women with their own lives and their own work. They were simply companions. There when he wanted them to be, gone when he didn't. They might accompany him to dinner or a charity event, but they knew where they stood with him and he with them. No promises. No illusions.

Kiera had been the one woman who'd broken that mold. An actress by training, she was fiery and passionate, with a temper to match her red hair. But he'd fallen. Hard. She'd also been insanely jealous, the ultimate irony since she'd been the one to cheat on him. He'd given her his heart, and in return, she'd given him nothing but grief.

But Grace wasn't like Kiera…he thought. He still wasn't sure exactly why she'd agreed to take the dog—he wasn't sure he completely bought her story about wanting company—but beggars couldn't be choosers. Regardless, whatever her reason actually was, it couldn't be 100 percent selfish.

In fact, she actually seemed to be enjoying the beast. As he watched, she guided Big Blue to the edge of the flatbed and helped him leap to the ground.

Maybe he'd misjudged her. No one who was this gentle with an animal she barely knew could be so deceitful. Now that he really thought about it, she hadn't been excited to be recognized. When the cameras had been going off—both at the diner and today—she'd flinched. As if she couldn't bear to be photographed.

Grace unclipped the dog's leash, and he trotted across the clearing and disappeared into the woods.

“Where's he going?”

Grace shrugged. “Who knows? To explore, sniff around, do his business, whatever. He'll be fine. You're okay with him wandering, right?”

“Sure.”

Grace seemed like she knew what she was doing, so he just went with it.

She crossed the clearing, opened the side door of the old farmhouse, and stepped over the threshold. “Come on in.”

He followed her in, noting the sway of her lusciously curved rear. “Don't you lock your doors?”

“Why?” she said. “No one ever comes out here.”

“All the more reason to be safe. You're all alone in these woods.”

“Not anymore,” she said with a smile.

Marc snorted and looked around. They were in a homey kitchen with faded yellow wallpaper, herbs drying on a rack, and red enameled cookware on the stovetop. He took careful note of the mismatched pottery in the hutch and the strange collection of mugs stacked three deep on the shelf.

“Make yourself at home,” Grace said, making a beeline for a crockpot sitting on the countertop. “I think it's done.” She lifted the lid and the enticing aroma of browned meat and savory vegetables wafted from the pot. “Mmm, perfect. I figured we'd eat first and then I could give you the tour later.”

“A tour? Of the house?” He couldn't hide his eagerness.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Sound okay?”

“Of course. Call it professional interest, but I do like looking at the bones of a place, especially classic New England farmhouses. Though most of the time it's the way a house is decorated that tells me the most about its inhabitants.” Pointedly, he stared at the ceiling, where a light fixture in the shape of a pineapple hung above the wooden kitchen table.

“The pineapple is a symbol of welcome,” she said, deadpan, but she couldn't help her lips from twitching.

“I see.” He kept his gaze studiously neutral. “Your handiwork?”

She shook her head. “The last owners put it in. Apparently, it's Italian. I don't mind the kitsch so much. Besides,” she said with a grin, “it's a real conversation starter.”

“Or stopper.”

Grace laughed at that. “It
is
horrible. But somehow, I can't bear to get rid of it. When I moved in, the electricians told me I should ditch the old fixtures and have the whole house rewired, but I never got around to doing it.”

“You should. It could be dangerous.”

Grace shrugged. “Eh. It's been here a long time—forty years, I think.” She rummaged around underneath a cabinet and pulled out two big plastic bowls. “It'll probably last another forty.”

She filled one of the bowls with water, then put it outside. Then she ladled some of whatever was in the crockpot into the other bowl and set that outside, too. Putting two fingers between her lips, she let out an ear-splitting whistle.

Before Marc had a chance to ask her where she learned to do that, he heard Big Blue's answering bark.

“Good dog,” Grace said, rubbing his head when he came over.

The dog didn't even pause, but immediately went to the bowl and started wolfing down the fragrant stew, as if Marc hadn't just fed him two hours ago, pausing only to lick his lips before he dove right back in.

“I think he likes it,” Grace said with some satisfaction before turning back to Marc. “It's beef stew. The perfect one-bowl meal. Protein, vegetables, and carbs. Tidy. Neat.” She looked over at the dog, who had stew all over his muzzle. “Well, maybe not so neat,” she said with a laugh. “You hungry?”

Cheeky woman, mocking him like that. But instead of being annoyed, he simply was bemused. Grace Davingham was becoming more intriguing by the moment.

He pushed aside any lingering doubts…at least for the time being.

“If it's good enough for the dog,” he told her in all seriousness, “it's good enough for me.”

After lunch, Grace gave him a tour of her studio, the old barn she'd converted into an art space.

Excluding the empty hayloft, it wasn't that big—about twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide. Art lined the floors and the walls. Canvases in various states of completion were stacked on the tables or on easels. The works were mostly depictions of the natural world, indescribably detailed, realistic, and above all, passionate.

Propped up against one table leg was an illustration of a trout, its skin shimmering, its eyes practically flickering with life. And hanging up on a paint-splattered wall was a great blue heron, its head at a jaunty angle, looking as if it were about to fly off the canvas.

In the middle of the chaos sat a canvas on an easel, with hues of black, brown, and blue.

He took a step forward. “May I?”

“See? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Please.” She motioned for him to go over and he did, stepping carefully around piles of paintings on the ground.

It was a depiction of some kind of bird—a seabird from the looks of its long legs. Grace had painted it looking up at the sky, its beak, head, and neck creating a long, elegant slope. When Marc leaned closer, he could clearly see the brushstrokes depicting the intricate layers of plumage on top of the bird's body in muted shades of brown. There was so much movement, in the way the bird was positioned, in the liveliness of its gaze. She hadn't yet completed the background, but the canvas had already come to life.

“It's an American bittern, an endangered species around these parts. What do you think?”

That he barely knew her and he wanted her. Badly.
“You're very talented.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile.

His mind? Blown.

His body?
Aching.

He couldn't get a handle on her. Up until a little over an hour ago, he'd thought of her as a ridiculous reality show babe, someone who cared about how many social media followers she had or what outfit she was going to wear to the club that night. Since then, she'd saved his ass, taken in his dog, fed him a delicious meal, and showed him that she was much more than skin deep—all without any artifice.

Before he did something stupid, like take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, he cleared his throat.

“What's your process?”

She lifted a half-finished pencil drawing off the table, examined it closely, then set it back down. “Well, every artist works differently. Personally, I like to do several sketches of my subjects. For plants, I typically keep samples here, but I also like to sketch them in their natural habitats. For animals, habitat is best, but of course that makes it tougher. I sometimes use my own photographs if the conditions are challenging. After the sketches, I do a mock-up, and then I begin the final work. It could take me anywhere from a few weeks to a few months to finish a work, depending on its complexity.”

“Do you keep your sketches?” he asked.

“Yes. I usually can't bear to throw them out.” She shrugged. “They're just practice, but I always learn something from them.” Grace gave a nervous little laugh.

He gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

“It's just that…well, this is so
normal.
”

“You don't do normal?” he surmised.

“No, I mean, I
do
do normal. I
want
to do normal. Just not with…” She gestured in his direction.

“Dog owners? Me?”

She let out a breath. “Men,” she said. “I don't do normal men. I mean—
crap.
” She looked down, her face flushed. “This is coming out all wrong.”

“I get it,” he said calmly.

She raised her gaze to his. “You do?”

“Sure. I mean, you already told me that people try to take advantage of you,” he said. “I'm guessing they see you as their ticket to fame and fortune.”

Grace nodded warily. “Some do.”

“And that they want to parade around with you and be photographed.”

The corners of her mouth went down. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“I'm not one of them,” he said simply.

“About that,” she said, her eyes sliding to the side.

“What?” he demanded.

“I need to tell you something. I feel awful because you've been so kind, and I—”

“Grace,” he said. Growled, really, but he couldn't help it. “Tell me.”

“A picture of us from the diner made it into the tabloids,” she said quickly. “I was named. You weren't. I just need you to know.” She paused. “You don't have to stay if you don't want.”

Anger flashed—privacy, violated!—then cooled just as quickly. “Why would I leave?”

“Well, uh, because you're angry, I would imagine.”

“I
am
angry,” he said. “But not at you.”

“That's it?” she asked, clearly waiting for more.

“Yes. I don't appreciate being photographed without my permission. It's much easier for me to do my job anonymously. And I value my privacy above all else. But it's clear that you're as uncomfortable about the publicity as I am. I do, however, appreciate you telling me.”

She let out a breath and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Thank you.”

Marc glanced at his watch. It was already four. “If I'm going to make my flight, I should go. Are you sure you're going to be all right with the dog while I'm gone?”

“Sure. He loves it here. Look.” She pointed to where Big Blue had curled up in a corner of the barn on a pile of old oilcloths. “He's already made himself right at home.”

The dog really did look content, which made him happy. If he couldn't personally take care of Aunt Sarah's prized possession, being with Grace, in a warm, loving home with plenty of exercise and food, surely had to be the next best thing.

“Thanks again for lunch,” Marc said. “And for saving my ass.”

Grace gave a little shrug. “After all the trouble I put you through, it was my pleasure.”

“You didn't put me through any trouble.”

“Sure I did.” She tipped her head to the side, daring him to contradict it. “But hopefully I'm making up for it now.”

“You have no idea,” he told her. She'd salvaged his entire week, and he'd owe her big-time after this. “I'll come pick him up on Wednesday after my board meeting at Briarwood.”

Grace nodded. “Sounds great. I'll take good care of him. Goodbye, and um, safe travels.”

“Goodbye.”

She was staring up at him, her eyes huge, her lips slightly parted. And then she leaned in. Just a fraction, but he felt it,
everywhere.
So he did what he'd been dying to do all afternoon. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Marc?” she breathed.

So he did something brave or stupid or both.

He speared a hand through her hair, bent his head, and pressed his lips to hers.