The MacGregor Grooms (19 page)

“Count on it,” Serena said under her breath as Cat walked away. Then, lifting a brow, she turned to her son. “So …”

“So, let’s go inside before we melt. I want to make sure Grandma and Grandpa are settling in, and I need to get the papers Dad wants to review.” Duncan took his mother’s hand. “And yes, I’ll tell you about it.”

“Good.”

*   *   *

An hour later Serena rattled the ice in her tall glass of cold tea and laughed. “He set you up! He just plopped her down on your boat the same way he plopped Justin down on my ship all those years ago.”

“More or less,” Duncan agreed. “I’m going to have to thank him for it.”

“Don’t. Please.” Justin held up a hand. “You’ll create a monster.”

“Well, I can’t fault his taste. She’s fabulous.” Behind his desk, Duncan kicked back in his chair. “Professionally speaking, she’s amazing. It’s a miracle she isn’t topping the charts. Bad management is what I figure. But we’re going to fix that.”

“We?” Serena said.

“The family has connections,” he said simply. “And I intend to use them. I know she grew up poor and she grew up rough, and her life hasn’t changed much there. But there’s no reason for that to continue when she’s got a gift like she does. That’s the business side. As for the personal, I just haven’t quite figured it out yet. She’s … unusual, and I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for her.”

Frowning a little, he picked up a brass paperweight in the shape of the MacGregor clan symbol and passed it from hand to hand. Feelings were the issue, he mused. Strong and urgent, soft and sweet, a tangled confusion of them neatly winding around his heart.

No other woman, at any other time, had ever come close to taking root in his heart.

“Maybe because she’s not like anyone else. I’m going to exercise our option and book her for another six weeks. Professionally, it’s a solid move. She really pulls them in. Personally, it’ll give me a little more time to … figure it out.”

Part of you already has, Serena thought, slipping her hand into Justin’s as she studied her son’s face. But your head just hasn’t caught up with your heart.

*   *   *

She didn’t have much time herself, Serena mused as she slipped away from her family to find Cat. She wanted a clearer impression of the woman who was dazzling her son. Though she’d managed to wheedle some facts out of her father—while scorching him for interfering in her child’s life—she needed more.

Who was Cat Farrell, and was her heart big enough to make room for Duncan?

She laughed at herself as she reached the doors of the main lounge. Not to put too fine a point on it, she supposed she was about to follow her father’s footsteps and do some meddling of her own.

Then she opened the doors and stopped. Stopped and just listened.

Cat was at the piano at the corner of the stage.

She played well, not brilliantly, Serena thought, but with enough style to give that stunning voice a
path to follow. And that voice caressed the heartbreaking lyrics of “Am I Blue” with a power that had to come straight from the soul.

When it was done, Serena’s eyes were wet.

“You should be too young to do that song justice,” she said, smiling when Cat’s head whipped around. “But you sing it as though it was written for you.”

Struggling not to be uncomfortable, Cat turned on the bench. “That’s my job.”

“No, it’s your gift. You made me cry.”

“The highest of compliments. Thanks.”

“I know I’m interrupting.” Still, she crossed the room to sit beside Cat on the piano bench. “I was hoping to persuade you to join all of us for dinner tonight.”

“It’s a family deal.” She knew nothing about families, and everything about being the outsider.

“We’d like you to come. You’ve met my father.”

“Yes, briefly, when I was in Vegas. He makes an impression.”

“Oh, indeed he does.” Laughing, Serena shifted to noodle with the keys. “He was very taken with you.”

After a beat, Cat nodded. “I suppose Duncan told you that Mr. MacGregor arranged for me to have this gig.”

“For his own purposes, yes. That’s The MacGregor. He can’t help it.” She smiled gently. “I hope you’re not offended.”

“No. Surprised.”

“Really, why?”

“I’d have expected him to browse through the debutante line for his grandson.”

“And to that The MacGregor would say, ‘Debutante! Hah!’ A good heart and a strong spine’s what he looks for, and I’d say you have both. A good mind, strength of purpose and an appreciation of family.”

Cat lifted her eyebrows. “I barely finished high school, so far my purpose has mostly been to earn enough to keep from going hungry and my only family is my mother. Though I appreciate her very much.”

“And to that he would say ‘Cat Farrell has grit.’ There’s no winning with Daniel MacGregor.”

Cat looked down at her hands, then at Serena’s. Duncan’s mother had a lady’s hands, she mused. A lady’s face. A lady’s way. She thought she was getting the drift. “And you’d like me to move along, Mrs. Blade, before Duncan starts thinking his grandfather might have a pretty good idea.”

Serena stopped playing, looked over and into Cat’s eyes. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s obvious enough. I know what I am and where I come from. My father was an ordinary man who had the bad luck to die when he wasn’t yet thirty. My mother’s a waitress who never had a chance to be anything else. And I sing for my supper. Your father might be old and sentimental, but you wouldn’t be.”

“I see.” Serena considered. “And if I offered you, say … ten thousand dollars to move along, what would you say?”

Green fire flashed, cold and bitter. “I’d say go to hell, Mrs. Blade.”

To Cat’s surprise, Serena threw back her head and laughed delightedly. “Oh, I knew I liked you—the minute you tore into Duncan on deck, I knew it. Cat, since you don’t know me, I won’t be insulted by you considering me a shallow snob, more interested in pedigree than my son’s happiness, but …” She paused, and her lovely eyes sobered. “You should think more of yourself than you apparently do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that the only one in here who’s thinking of you as less than an interesting, appealing and delightful woman, is you.”

Gently now, she laid a hand over Cat’s. “I love my son. He’s a beautiful young man in every possible way. How could I be less than happy that you love him, too?”

“I didn’t say I loved him.” Struck with sheet-white panic, Cat yanked back and scrambled up. “I didn’t say that.”

Can’t be, she thought dizzily. Won’t be.

“No.” Serena smiled again. “No, you didn’t. But if you ever do, I’ll be very happy for him. I’ll let you get back to work.” She rose gracefully. “Think about dinner, will you?”

Serena was nearly out the door before Cat could speak again. “Mrs. Blade?”

“Yes?”

“I figured when I saw this setup—” she gestured to encompass the boat “—that Duncan was a lucky man. Looks like I didn’t know the half of it.”

“Oh yes,” Serena said. “I really do like you.” Then she breezed out, content.

Cat hadn’t expected to fall in love during a six-week gig on the river. And she certainly hadn’t expected to find herself in love with a ninety-year-old man.

But she fell, head over heels, for Daniel MacGregor.

He was a rogue, and that appealed to her own sense of adventure. He was a hothead, and she appreciated pitting her own temper against an equal. His heart was sentimental mush, his mind razor sharp. The combination was more than she could resist.

She wasn’t quite so sure of Anna MacGregor. There, she thought, was dignity, serenity and that steel-and-velvet ladylike quality that could never be learned. You were born with it.

Her daughter had it, Cat mused. She imagined all the MacGregor women did, including those who’d come into the family through marriage.

Well, she’d never be a lady, had no desire to be. She didn’t intend to get anywhere through marriage. She was a solo act, and intended to stay that way. But she could meet The MacGregor head-to-head and enjoy every moment.

“You don’t know one single Scottish ballad? What kind of singer are you?”

“A torch singer, Mr. MacG.” Enjoying herself, Cat rehearsed in the empty lounge for an audience of one. Daniel had taken to sitting at one of the tables whenever the lounge was closed, and commenting and kibitzing on her song list.

“That means you can’t have some variety?” He glowered at her from under snowy white eyebrows. “Why, there’s some Scottish tunes that will rip a man’s heart out of his chest while it’s still beating. With that voice of yours, any man with the blood of the Scots in him would fall in love with you.”

Deliberately, she skimmed a hand through her hair. “They all fall in love with me anyway.”

He barked out a laugh, thumped his big fist on the table. “You’re a sassy lass, Cat Farrell. Why aren’t you reeling in that handsome grandson of mine?”

It was another standard question, and Cat grinned wickedly. “Because I’m holding out for you. Why settle for small fry when you can have the big shark?”

His wide face went pink with pleasure. When he stroked his soft white beard, his eyes, blue as summer, were canny. “He’ll give you fine babies.”

“Give you, you mean. I’ve figured you out, Mr. MacG.” She leaned over and kissed him. “You won’t be happy until you have enough great-grandchildren to fill an auditorium.”

“Anna frets for them.” And since his wife wasn’t about, he sneaked a cigar out of his pocket. “And she worries day and night over young Duncan.”

“Your wife has a very smooth brow for such a worrywart.” Cat picked up a matchbook, struck one and grinned into Daniel’s eyes as he puffed the cigar into life. “If you run away with me, sugar, neither of us will have a worry in the world.”

“Seducing my grandfather again?” Duncan strolled in, feeling the lift in his heart he experienced whenever he came across them together. Which, he noted, was often.

“I might have talked him into taking me to Venice if you hadn’t popped up.” She’d barely managed to smirk before Duncan had her by the hair and was kissing the breath out of her.

“Now then.” Daniel thumped his fist again. “That’s more like it! Keep a good strong hold on that one, lad. She’s slippery.”

“I’ve got her,” Duncan said easily. And he was beginning to think he meant to keep her. “Lounge opens in twenty, Grandpa,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on Cat’s. “Go play somewhere else now.”

“That’s no way to talk to your grandfather,” Cat said sternly.

“It is when he keeps trying to steal my woman.”

“This woman’s trying to steal him.” She tried to wiggle free and found herself firmly caught. “Some of us are working here, sugar.”

“I’m the boss, remember? Excuse us, Grandpa, I have to have a little business meeting with the talent here.” As he pulled Cat toward her dressing room, he called back over his shoulder. “By the way, Grandma’s on her way here. You’re going to want to lose that cigar.”

“Sweet Mary,” Daniel muttered, hurriedly stubbing out the cigar, waving at smoke. Then he smiled sentimentally as Duncan dragged Cat away.

He was willing to take odds there’d be a wedding before summer ended.

“Duncan, I was having a conversation with Mr. McG.”

“You’re having one with him every time I turn around. Can’t believe the old man’s beating my time.”

“I’m crazy about him.”

“So am I. But …” He closed the dressing room door, flicked the lock, then nudged her back against the wall. Watching her, he skimmed his hands up her sides, over her breasts, down again.

“Oh well,” she murmured as her heart rose up to pound hard in her throat. Keep it light, she ordered herself, keep it sexy. Don’t think, don’t feel any more than you can handle. “Why didn’t you say so?” She wrapped her arms around him and prepared to pull him into a hot, turbulent kiss.

But he framed her face with his hands, let his mouth hover over hers, then brush, then nibble. He wanted to hear her breath catch as it did when he took her slowly under. Wanted to feel that gradual, almost reluctant melting, that fluid surrender.

Sometimes it was a fire in the blood, all heat and flash and glory. In those moments they couldn’t take each other fast enough.

Other times it was like carefree children, all wrestling and laughter.

And now and then, it was slow and tender. All heart. And that, he realized as his mouth cruised lazily over hers, was what he wanted now. He wanted her heart.

So she sighed, and she sank into his arms. And she gave what she’d never known she had to give. With him there was always more inside her, one more well of emotion to be tapped, one more door to be quietly nudged open.

She said his name as he picked her up to carry her to the sofa, murmured it as he lay down with her, moaned it as his hands began to move over her.

The stroke of fingertips over flesh, the warmth of breath mingling. Mouths meeting to slide into kisses long and deep and aching.

He felt her pulse trip under his hands, felt her heart race under his mouth. But he wanted more than excitement, more than desire. He wanted love.

“Let me in.” He murmured it against her mouth. “I’ll never hurt you.”

But he was, even then he was. He was ripping something inside her, tearing something out of her that she was terrified to lose. She shook her head, denying both of them, but his mouth was patient, his
hands ruthlessly tender.

They opened her heart, held it wide and let him tumble in.

The change destroyed her, left her helpless and floundering. He slipped into her, braced so that he could watch her face, the awareness and the confusion in her eyes.

His own heart filled to bursting. “It’s different.”

She couldn’t speak, only shook her head, swallowed a sob as his mouth covered hers again. Unable to resist, she flowed with him, over the high warm wave. Then under.

*   *   *

“It’s different,” he said again.

She grabbed a robe from a hook, shrugged into it. Desperate for balance, she jerked the belt into place.

Suicide. Hadn’t she said he was suicide? And here she was, teetering right on the edge of the cliff.