Mistletoe and Mr. Right (6 page)

“Hmm.”
Grady pulls the straw out of his mouth and drops it on the floor, scuffing it into the pile with the worn toe of his boot. “Let me preface this with saying that sticking my nose into other people's business isn't my idea of fun.”

“I feel a
but
coming on, so you're welcome to just cut it off there.”

“See, if you were half this saucy when dealing with the rest of the clan, they'd have fewer reservations about you bedding their precious boy.”

My jaw falls open. “That is none of your business!”

“I know. It's just that this whole thing is painful to watch.” He catches my gaze and holds on, nothing about his posture or expression suggesting he's teasing. “And if you think you'd rather be single, why'd you come here?”

He had been lurking for a while if he'd overheard me trying to convince the goat—and myself—that the plan could be altered. Anger bubbles, but it eases to a simmer as quickly. Maybe I'm overlooking a golden opportunity here. Grady knows Brennan. More intel could be the key to turning this whole thing around.

“I'd rather not be single and alone forever,” I admit. “So I guess I'm just trying to figure things out.”

“Yeah, but you're what, twenty? What's the hurry?”

It disappoints me for some reason, to find out he's just like everyone else, at least in his opinion on this subject. “I'm not the kind of person who leaves things to chance.”

“How can falling in love be anything
but
chance?”

Normally, this is where I'd walk away from the conversation. Sigh and accept he doesn't understand and never will, but the open honesty on his face and the frank intensity in his blue eyes convince me he really wants to know the answer. So I forge ahead.

“Falling in love and finding someone to spend your life with are two different things.”

“Are they?” He wrinkles his brow. “I mean, I guess I get that in some sense. Like, you might spend weeks in bed with a certain kind of bloke but marry the one whose going to be at work every day and at home every night.”

“You make it sound shallow.”

“Well, it's just that . . . again, what's the rush? Isn't now the time in your life to spend weeks in bed with the wrong bloke?”

As much as I want to, I'm not ready to talk to Grady about my past. Only one person knows the whole truth about where I come from, why my scholarship to TCU means so much, and the reason behind my determination to be able to take care of myself after graduation, and that's Christina. Brennan only knows bits and pieces because having him look at me and see a sob story instead of a person would ruin everything.

Somehow, I get the feeling Grady wouldn't run, but I just shrug. “I like plans.”

He levels me with a serious gaze and our eyes lock. They're fused, stuck in place like someone glued them there, and even though it should be awkward and I should be in a hurry to look away, I don't.

“I like plans, too. But people like the Donnellys—ones who have never had to swerve unexpectedly— don't understand their true value. If you're looking for a way into their family, you've got to relax. Let them see your funny side, your good heart.” He nods to Nanny Goat. “Maybe leave out that you'd rather confide in goats than people, though.”

Grady ducks my swat with a smile, a genuine one this time. The sparkle in his bright eyes fades to genuine concern that reaches out in tendrils that seem to brush softly against my skin.

It sounds as though he understands what it's like to lose everything because you're not prepared, and the idea that here, halfway around the world, I would meet someone who gets it—really
gets
it—siphons all of the air from my lungs. I want to know how and why, dig around in his brain, root in his soul, but Grady isn't my boyfriend. He's not the one who should be understanding, not the one I should be confiding in—not to mention that a mostly grown man with no career plans and no education doesn't exactly fit my criteria for a serious boyfriend.

Despite the truth of every one of those thoughts, my blood runs too hot at his nearness. At his words. The compliments he gave me and the time he's taking to make me feel better all zing awareness of another human being through me like I've never felt before. I clear my throat, desperate to regain some control. “Thank you. For listening.”

“It's my pleasure.” He pauses, seeming to consider whether he wants to continue. “Brennan's not a bad guy. If you have concerns, you should talk to him. Give him a little more credit.”

“You guys are friends?”

“We both grew up in Fanore and we're the same age, so, yeah, we've always been friends.” He points a finger my direction. “But I said a
little
more credit not a lot. He's still a guy.”

“So are you.”

“How kind of you to notice, Jess.”

I roll my eyes this time. “You're just doing that to get a rise out of me now.”

“Doing what?” he asks, all innocent big eyes.

A smile sneaks onto my face despite my exasperation, and silence settles over the barn. Coziness lulls me, creates a buffer between us and the world outside, as though things are possible in here that could never even be spoken out in the cold.

“Why do you want to be a news anchor?” he asks, startling me out of my cocoon. I frown at him, but Grady doesn't even have the good sense to pretend to be sorry for eavesdropping.

“I don't know. It's a steady paycheck, and it's a service people need.”

“Hmm
.” I'm starting to realize that Grady is good at watching, at listening, and he might not realize he's looking at me like I'm an idiot when his brain is focused on gathering information. “But with the Internet and considering that most people
avoid
the news because all it does is remind them of things they can't change, don't you think that's a tad . . . obsolete?”

“Well, when you put it that way.” I poke him and he grabs my wrist to thwart the attack. A pop, then a sizzle shoots up my arm, dissolving into a shiver when it hits my armpit.

Grady drops my wrist like it's covered in acid, swallowing hard and shifting on his crate. I'm desperate to break the sudden tension, to bring our level of comfort back to where it was moments ago. My brain function fades to a minimum in the wake of his touch, my tongue stumbling over
ums
and
wells
before finding the rest of my explanation.

“I think you're right. With the way the Internet is changing reporting, people our age and younger are going to go out of their way to avoid the networks. They're slanted. In politician's pockets. News is going to be a grassroots project, probably through social media because of its immediacy. Any network that wants to stay relevant is going to hire more reporters and send them everywhere with their smartphones.”

The opinion rolls off my tongue without a second thought because it's something I've thought about often—I even turned in a massive research paper on the subject. If I were a different person, traveling the world and reporting news in real time, no network filter, would be super appealing.

“I can see that. We're
already s
eeing it, really, with the way social media sites are where people go to see what's trending by the minute.” He nods, his gaze thoughtful but more guarded than it was a moment ago. “But you, Jessie MacFarlane, still want to sit in a studio every night and read someone else's words off one of those things.”

“Teleprompter,” I supply, feeling attacked. “And I don't think my getting blown up or working for pennies, never knowing where I'm going to lay my head from one night to the next is going to change the world.”

“I think we don't know who or what will change the world.” A strange sadness touches his smile. “Our world changes, and then we trace back to the spark. The moment the earth tipped on its axis.”

Questions stick in my throat because he's lost in a memory. As someone with deep, private closets of her own, I know better than to force open the door. The idea that this guy I've never met thinks it's possible to change the world—that
I
could change the world—opens up windows in front of my eyes. In my soul.

They let in too much light, too many possibilities, and fear makes me slam them shut.

“Maybe. But I know I'm not brave enough to take on a project like that.”

“Not part of the plan?” He gives me a smile, but it hasn't recovered from whatever triggered his melancholy.

“Nope. Afraid not.”

Grady's shoulders tense as he reaches out, calloused fingers brushing the back of my hand. My brain insists I jerk it away, that taking comfort from a guy not my boyfriend is wrong, but my body refuses.

“I'm sorry your surprise didn't go off as planned. If it makes you feel any better, the Donnellys aren't going to approve of anyone for Brennan who isn't Katie McBride. So, it's not totally your fault.” He pauses, managing a more familiar, teasing smile this time. “Aside from the attempted vehicular goat-slaughter, of course.”

“Ha.” I pull my hand away under the pretense of straightening my ponytail. “Wait, who is Katie McBride?”

“Brennan's high school sweetheart. First love. Maeve named all six grandkids they were going to give her.” A line of wrinkles appears between his eyebrows. “He never mentioned her?”

I'll say one thing about Grady Callaghan. He sure knows how to ruin a moment.

After freeing myself from the comfortable confines of the barn and trekking back across the crusty, cold snow toward the farmhouse, I'm greeted by Donnellys. They tumble out of two cars, and the sight of Brennan and a girl I don't recognize supporting a pale, sweating, barely conscious Mr. Donnelly between them dries up my greeting in my throat.

“Oh my God, what happened?” I'm breathless after sprinting the last several yards to the front porch, following my boyfriend and the mystery girl into the house.

“He had an allergic reaction,” Brennan grunts, laying his father on the couch in the living room. “He's going to be fine, just a bit drugged up.”

“What? How did that happen?”

The guilt tightening the skin on Brennan's face makes my palms sweat. “Don't freak out, chicken, but my dad's allergic to nutmeg. He thought that pie you left in the fridge was sweet potato, because that's what we eat at Christmas dinner, and snuck a few bites.”

I actually feel the blood drain out of my face. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I swear!”

“Of course you didn't, dear.” There are lines on Mrs. Donnelly's face that weren't there this morning, and even though fatigue still tugs at my eyes, there's no way she looks any better. “It was an accident, pure and simple. We're lucky Katie was there.”

Katie?

I turn toward the stranger, a girl around my age with waves of silky black hair flowing from underneath an adorable green knit hat, complete with pink flower on the side. The color of the hat is no match for her eyes, which are the shade of emeralds and just as sparkly. Freckles scatter across her perky nose and the smile that splits her cheeks could probably power this whole damn island.

If this is Katie McBride, the girl is a nightmare. Mine, anyway.

“Oh, right.” Brennan clears his throat. “Jessica, this is an old . . . friend. Katie McBride.”

“Katie McBride, the hero of the day,” Molly chirps after stomping every last flake of snow from her boots and leaving them by the front door.

I look down to find mine leaving puddles on the polished oak floors.

“Stop it, you all. All I did was recognize the issue and get an EpiPen from the first aid kit in my car.” A pretty pink blush splashes across her cheeks. She turns an apologetic gaze toward me. “I'm a member of the volunteer fire department, so I always carry one. It was seriously no big deal.”

Great. I basically try to murder Mr. Donnelly and Katie McBride steps up to save his life.

“It's lucky you were there,” I tell her with what feels like a decent attempt at a smile.

“Wasn't it?” Molly beams. “And she's staying for Christmas!”

Brennan puts an arm around my waist, eyes brimming with an apology he's either not able or willing to verbalize among others. It helps that he at least realizes why this would be uncomfortable for me even though he's never mentioned this girl, ever. “We ran into her in town, and once Molly found out her family is in Africa for the holiday, she insisted—as in, threatened to handcuff her if she said no—that she come back and spend the next couple of days here with us.”

“It's so nice to meet you, Jessica,” Katie says in a soft voice. “Brennan didn't stop talking about you the whole drive.”

“The whole drive? Wow.” The smart-ass reply slips out, surprising everyone including me. It's on the tip of my sassy tongue to inform her that this is the first time
I've
heard
her
name but that seems like taking Grady's advice to relax a bit too far. “It's nice to meet you, too.”

“I'm freezing my bollocks off. Can one of you mongrels shut the blasted front door?” Grandpa Donnelly snarls, prodding his granddaughter with the rubber end of his cane.

Molly responds, skipping out of the room with a grin on her face. In fact, all of the Donnellys are smiling, and I'm not a selfish enough person to wish a lonely Christmas on Katie. But part of me wonders whether or not inviting her had been the plan all along, derailed by my showing up unannounced.

But there must be a reason Brennan never mentioned her. We've talked about past relationships and he mentioned that he dated a few girls in high school, but when I'd confessed that he's my first real boyfriend he'd allowed me to believe there weren't any serious ex-girlfriend's lurking behind door number two, either.