Her Unexpected Family (4 page)

Her heart fluttered. She moved her hand away from his face, but couldn't draw her eyes from his.

“I'll just put these on a double paper plate, Grant.” Rory's movement broke the moment, and maybe Emily was wrong. Maybe it wasn't even a moment.

But when she walked Grant to the door, he turned and held her gaze once more. Then he reached out and took her hand while raising the plate of treats. “The family will love these. Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand lightly and smiled.

Gone was the defensiveness she'd seen last week. In its place was an easy grin. She smiled back, and when he released her hand, her fingers felt downright cold and lonely as she closed the door.

She couldn't get involved, she knew that, but for that brief moment, getting involved felt like an absolutely wonderful thing to do.

Chapter Four

H
e shared the pastries with Tillie and Percy when he got home. The twins were in bed, and all was well.

It actually
wasn't
well, but Grant didn't know that until he went to check on the toddlers. Timmy had climbed out of bed and was sleeping on the floor of his room. Grant opened the door, bumped it into the sleeping boy and pinched his little fingers between the door and the floor.

The toddler woke with a start, shrieking in surprise and pain.

Dolly woke up in the adjacent room, not because she was in pain, but because Timmy was upset. She burst into tears of sympathy, or possibly envy because now Timmy was in Grant's arms, garnering all the attention.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Timmers.” He kissed the boy's hand, put ice on the fingers, then kissed it again when Timmy slapped the cold compress aside. “Daddy didn't mean it. I'm so sorry.”

Timmy hiccupped and sobbed against his chest, but fell back asleep in quick minutes.

Not Dolly. Now that she was awake, her sixty-minute catnap offered a new lease on life. He rocked her, read to her, played with her and finally—with the clock edging toward midnight—got her back into her crib.

He crawled into bed shortly thereafter, only to have his phone alert wake him at two forty-five. He pried his eyes open, scanned the report and dispatched five truck drivers to salt the highways before people woke up and discovered nearly a quarter inch of freezing rain had fallen between midnight and two o'clock.

He couldn't sleep with workers dispatched. He sat down at his laptop and prepared to get some work done.

No internet.

He sank back into the chair, ready to punch something.

How was he supposed to do it all? How was he supposed to manage everything? His mother had worked full-time cleaning patient rooms at the local hospital, then she'd spent Saturdays housecleaning for two local families, earning just enough to make ends meet. And she hadn't gone ballistic or berserk or anything else. She'd just done it.

Why couldn't he manage that well? It wasn't rocket science; it was running a house. Caring for kids. Keeping a job. Despite his best efforts, he seemed to mess up more than most.

He laid his head against the chair back, wishing he was a better father. A better brother. A better son.

The next thing he knew, Tim was at his feet. “Daddy! Up pees, Daddy! Up, pees!”

“Hey, you're up and out of your bed again, my man. You don't smell that great.” He bumped foreheads with the little guy. “Good morning.”

“Mornin'!” Timmy gave him an ear-to-ear grin and patted his face. “I have toast, 'kay?”

“It's very okay. High chair or big boy chair?”

Timmy patted his chest, kind of like Tarzan. “Big boy!”

“Don't run around with your toast, okay?”

“Don't run, don't run, don't run!” He shook his finger in a perfect and tiny imitation of Aunt Tillie.

“Now if you'd only follow your own directions,” Grant teased. He heard Dolly screech from upstairs. “I'll be right back. I'm going to get your sister.”

“Dowwy!”

“That would be her.” He brought Dolly down, changed diapers, fed them, bundled them and got out the door on time, but when he got to the end of the driveway, a thin blanket of ice still covered his rural two-lane road. He stared in disbelief, hit his Bluetooth connection and called the office. “Jeannie, I've still got ice on the road. What's going on?”

“Boss, no one got dispatched until Hank got here at five a.m. to open the service bays. Did you do a callout?”

“Yes, at two forty-five. I sent word to all five guys.” He paused and scanned his phone, and there it was, an alert that said his message hadn't been sent. And he'd fallen asleep without checking.

“Jeannie, my bad. The message is here, but never got delivered. Is everyone on the road now?”

“Yes, but you've got messages from the mayor, the police chief and the county sheriff's office wondering what happened.”

Shame bit deep.

He never goofed up a job. He double-checked everything to the point of being absurd, but this time he'd messed up. He didn't want to ask this next question, but he had to and the onus was all on him. “Any accidents?”

“None reported.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hank called the guys in stat and they hit the road by five thirty, just enough time for most everything to melt before things got too busy.”

Dolly squawked at the inactivity. To Dolly, being in the car meant the car should be moving. Sitting at the edge of the road didn't win the toddler's favor. “I'll drop the kids off and be right there.”

“See you then, boss.”

Guilt grabbed hold tight.

He'd created a dangerous situation today. People could have been hurt, and all because he was tired and dozed off without following up.

Nothing happened, and you'll know better next time. Everyone makes mistakes, Grant.

His mother's words came back to him, but Grant hated mistakes. He took pride in his work, and in the work of his people.

He called the sheriff, the mayor and saved Drew Slade for last. “Drew, it's Grant. I'm calling to apologize. My dispatch never got sent and I didn't realize it. This is totally on me.”

“I blame the napoleons,” Drew replied. “And wedding planning. And staying up too late talking to pretty girls. I appreciate the call. We're good. But you got home early comparatively, whereas I actually was up late, talking to a pretty girl.”

Grant peeked into the rearview mirror. Dolly was rolling something around between her fingers, and appeared fascinated by it. He didn't need to know the object's origin; he was just glad to have her quiet for the moment. “Me, too. Mine is two years old with uneven pigtails.”

“I remember those days,” Drew sympathized. “I raised Amy on my own for eight years, so I hear you. It's tough, and you've got twice the workload and they're at a crazy age. It'll get better in about two years, but that's faint comfort now.”

It sure was, because how was Grant going to manage those two years if he could barely manage today? He circled around the white clapboard church on Maple and pulled into the day care parking lot. “Gotta go.”

“Me, too.”

He removed Dolly from her seat first because Tim had the patience to wait the extra thirty seconds. When he set Dolly down to unfasten a stubborn buckle on Tim's seat, she yelled in anger and stomped her feet.

He stared at her.

She stomped them again, one after the other, angry and demanding.

Dolly's repeated action brought Emily's words to life.
Walking's always good.

If Dolly could stomp her feet back and forth, then she could walk. That made him look at her more carefully.

He scooped Dolly up and took Timmy's hand, to guide him up the walk. Mrs. Flanagan was waiting for them inside the door. She gave the kids a warm greeting, then settled Dolly on her hip. Grant kissed her goodbye. She flailed and yelled, reaching for him, sobbing...

“Remember what I said.” Mary offered him a wise look. “She's fine five minutes after you walk out that door. Sometimes less than that, Grant.”

He'd always doubted that before, figuring it was Mary's way of trying to ease the separation.

But right now, he had a deeper confidence that Mary was truly right.

His beautiful, charming and challenged daughter was a brat.

Now what was he going to do about it?

* * *

Emily spotted Grant inside the bakery, talking to Gabby and her daughter Rachel. Rachel burst out laughing at something Grant said, and when she did, she laid her hand on his sleeve...

Emily had the sudden urge to march across that room and push that hand away from Grant's water-resistant jacket.

She didn't, of course, but she wanted to, which meant the tall, brown-haired, hassled single father had gotten beneath her defenses. Based on her instantaneous reaction, she needed more than a mental list to keep the attraction at bay. She'd write a physical list that evening and post it on her mirror so she'd have a firm visual of why she should shy away from tall, handsome, rugged guys who had issues with her past.

“Emily.” Gabby waved her in, excited, and Rachel met her halfway.

“We've got some amazing things for you guys to taste, Em. And I am all over that coat!” Rachel admired the waist-length bolero-style jacket with a sigh. “I can't afford it, but I'm more than slightly envious.”

“It's a leftover from my buyer days,” Emily told her, then slipped the short coat off and handed it over. “Try it—see what you think.”

Rachel looked mortified. “No, I couldn't, I shouldn't have said anything. Mom will kill me for embarrassing her. And myself,” she admitted, sheepishly.

“Rach, the one thing I walked away from Barrister's with was way too many clothes, and it's silly not to share. We're the same size. You should come over tomorrow and go through my closets. Noon, my house, bring doughnuts.”

Gabby cleared her throat, which meant they should get busy, and she was right. Emily reached out to shake Grant's hand. “Hey, you got here early. The lure of cake, right? It does that to me all the time.”

* * *

He'd like to say it was just the sweets that brought him to Gabby's ten minutes before their meeting time, but he'd be lying. He shook her hand, smiled and found himself in a fine mess because now that he had her hand, he really didn't want to let go.

But he did let go. “Gotta love cake.”

Color climbed her cheeks, and Grant was pretty sure it wasn't from today's narrow sun or brisk wind. Or maybe he just hoped it was the effect he had on her. He reached over and pulled out a chair so Emily could sit down.

The color deepened slightly, and she smiled up at him. And that made him want to do more nice things, which was crazy absurd because hadn't she just admitted to owning closets full of clothes?

He'd done the fashion princess gig once, and the ache in his heart and his wallet had long-term effects. Emily was nice, she was runway-ready gorgeous and her laugh made him want to smile, then keep on smiling. But attraction only went so far, and he hadn't just been toasted by a beautiful woman, he'd been burned to a crisp. No way was he going to set himself up for the exact same scenario—a woman looking to move up and on.

Gabby brought a tray out of the nearby cooler. Rachel ran the counter for regular customers while Grant and Emily sampled the selection of cake squares. With a list of Christa's preferences, they made short work of ordering a small tiered cake for the wedding party and sheet cakes to be cut for the guests.

“It's really all right to do that?” Grant asked. “People won't think it's strange?”

“It's fine and sensible.” She made a little face of disbelief. “I'm all about saving you money where we can. If you come in under budget, then you can give Christa and Spencer the rest of the fund, right?”

“Yes.”

“So if you throw them a lovely wedding and save a couple thousand dollars, that's never a bad thing.”

They set up the order with Gabby and as they left, Rachel handed Emily the jacket. Emily laughed and shook her head. “No, I was serious, and I expect to see you at noon tomorrow, rummaging my closets. And don't forget the doughnuts.”

“But it's cold out.”

Emily shrugged that off. “I've got a block to walk to the office. Trust me, I won't freeze.”

“I'll drive you.”

Grant's deep voice sent shivers up her arms that had nothing to do with the mid-November temperatures and everything to do with him. She peeked up and his gaze warmed her. “I can walk. Really.”

“I've got a lot riding on this wedding,” he said firmly, “and neither one of us can afford for you to get sick.”

“I see. You have a vested interest in my well-being. Totally understandable.”

He held the door open and followed Emily to his SUV parked just outside the bakery door. He opened the door for her, and she tried to remember the last time a man did that and came up absolutely blank.

“The heat in this thing's a bear, so you'll warm up quick,” he promised as he turned the key. “That was a nice thing you did in there.”

“Ordering cake?”

“The jacket.”

She waved that off. “It was no biggie, honestly. I never thought of having Rachel come by and go through the bounty.”

“Bounty?”

“The remains and advantages of being a major buyer and the wife of a department store chain mogul. As long as I never gain more than seven pounds, I have clothes for life.”

“A dream come true.”

His crisp tone made Emily's back stiffen. “I wouldn't call a broken marriage, a divorce and being dismissed from the job I loved a dream come true, but maybe it looks different from the outside.” He'd pulled around the back of The Square, near the rear entrance of Kate & Company. “Thanks for the ride, Grant.” She got out, grabbed her purse and electronic tablet, and paused. “I'll be in touch.”

Did she slam the car door? Possibly, but then the guy deserved a wake-up call. Life wasn't about clothes, or pageant wins, or being noticed. It was about doing your best, trying your hardest, setting lofty goals and then putting in the work to achieve them.

Grant saw what he wanted to see, and he wasn't alone in his opinion. Pretty equated easy life in a lot of people's eyes, but never again would she let others rule her choices or damage her self-image.

She'd trusted once, unwisely.

One foolhardy mistake was all any girl needed.