Читать книгу Her Sure Thing - Helen Brenna - Страница 9

A SIMPLE, UNCOMPLICATED LIFE. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently.

A sense of dread churning in his stomach, Sean Griffin glanced out at the choppy waters of Lake Superior and waited impatiently as the ferry approached Mirabelle Island. How ironic that this should happen to him now. Right now. When he’d finally orchestrated for himself the perfect life.

Well, almost the perfect life.

For the first time ever, he had close, trusted friends. This past winter, he’d bought the business of his dreams while managing to keep his part-time medical practice. He now owned a significant chunk of land and horses, lots of horses. And although the old farmhouse that had come with the Mirabelle Island Stable and Livery operation had needed a lot of work, he’d spent the last several months refurbishing the place, getting every piece of furniture, every wall color and window treatment just right. The only thing he was missing was a woman to share it all with, a wife, and a wife was definitely not coming for him on that ferry.

The afternoon sun, brilliant and blinding, reflected off the wavy surface of the deep blue water, and as he flipped down his sunglasses the truth hit him like a blast of cold air. He wasn’t ready, probably never would be. What had he been thinking in agreeing to do this?

That a man couldn’t shirk his responsibility and still call himself a man. One way or another he was going to have to deal. It’s only for three months, he reminded himself. You can put up with anything for one summer, right?

“Hey, Sean!”

Sean spun around to find Garrett Taylor, the island’s chief of police, walking across the pier with his brother, Jesse. “Hey, guys.” The Taylors, Chicago transplants and two of Sean’s friends, had come to Mirabelle separately, but had quickly become part of the fabric of the island.

“Want to join us for lunch?” Jesse asked.

“Can’t today. Busy.” He nodded toward the ferry.

The Taylors both glanced out over the water.

“Today’s the day, huh?” Garrett said.

“Yep.”

“Good luck, man.” Jesse gave him a reassuring smile.

“Next happy hour at Duffy’s,” Garrett added. “I want to hear how it goes.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Sean lied.

The brothers went on their way to the Bayside Café. Funny, they’d both found wives here on this little island. Maybe there was still hope for Sean.

He turned around in time to see the ferry dock with a surprisingly light touch against the pier. As the crew lowered the ramps and some of the first of this season’s tourists filed onto the island, he glanced at the faces of the people coming ashore. After all these years, would he still remember what she looked like?

The thought had no sooner entered his mind than he saw her face, his ex-fiancée, although their engagement had been so long ago it seemed silly to still think of her that way. On either side of her were two adolescents, a boy and a girl, looking to be around ten to twelve years old. Walking behind the three was a tall, rail-thin teenage boy. Well, maybe walking wasn’t the best description of how he was moving. Dragging his feet was more like it.

Sean tried for a clear look at the young man’s face, hoping for some spark of recognition, a flicker of familiarity, but the boy’s gaze remained firmly focused on the ground. “Denise,” Sean called, waving his hand above his head. “Over here.”

Pulling a suitcase behind her, she smiled. “Sean!”

Awkwardly, they stood before each other, and then she shook her head and hugged him. “It’s good to see you again.”

He wished he could say the same.

“This is my son, Jeffrey. My daughter, Erin.” Both kids smiled tentatively, and Sean nodded at each one in turn. Then Denise stepped back. “And this is Austin.”

The boy raised his head, looking directly into Sean’s eyes, and Sean let go the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Denise had obviously jumped through the hoops of DNA testing for nothing. It was almost as if he was looking at his sixteen-year-old self. Sean most definitely had a son.

He cleared his throat. “Hello, Austin.”

Through shaggy bangs, the boy silently stared at Sean as if he, too, could see the resemblance and wasn’t quite sure what to think, let alone do about it.

“Austin, the least you could do is say hello,” Denise said softly.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re going to be here for the entire summer. I want you two to get along.”

“Oh. Sure, Mom. In that case, whatever you say.” He stared at Sean and bit out sarcastically, “Hi, Dad.” Then he angrily brushed past Sean and headed toward town.

Nice kid. That attitude was going to make for a great summer.

“Goodbye, Austin,” Denise called after him. “I’ll call you every week.”

The boy’s steps never even slowed.

“Austin, wait!” With tears in her eyes, the young girl, Erin, took off after her half brother.

Clearly reluctant, Austin stopped and turned.

Denise touched her other son’s arm. “Jeffrey, why don’t you say goodbye to Austin, too, and give me a few minutes alone with Sean?”

“Do I have to?”

Apparently, there was no love lost between the two brothers.

“Yes.” She gently pushed him forward. “Go.” Slowly, the boy took off toward his siblings. The moment he was out of earshot, Denise turned to Sean. “I’m sorry for this.”

“Not going to cut it, Denise. Not now. Not ever.”

“It’s all I’ve got. All the years we were engaged, you’d made it very clear that you never wanted to be a father. I wanted to start fresh with Glen. Not that it did any good in the end, but at the time, I felt justified.” She held his gaze. “Now I know that all the justifications in the world can’t make what I did right. I’m trying to fix that.”

“So just because you’re going through a nasty divorce, you decide to send your…problem here? That was the word you used, wasn’t it? You call that fixing things?”

“It’s the best I can do. Besides, you said you were going to be working 24/7 this summer. Austin can help. He’s a chip off the old block. Just go about your business and he’ll go about his.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a cut at him or not, and decided to let it pass. “If he’s so self-sufficient, why don’t you keep him?”

“I need to focus on Jeffrey and Erin. Their dad leaving is hitting them really hard. Austin’s glad to see Glen go. He doesn’t care about the divorce. And he’s…just…a lot to handle right now. I don’t know what to do with the kid anymore. You know?”

“No. I don’t.”

“What was I supposed to do, Sean? You’re his father.”

“I fathered him. Glen is his father. There’s a big difference.”

Fathers cared for their kids. They went to school conferences and sporting events. They rocked their babies to sleep, wrestled with their toddlers and disciplined and guided their teenagers. At least that’s what Sean had always imagined good fathers were supposed to do. He’d done none of those things with Austin because until Denise’s phone call last week he hadn’t known the option had even been available. “You never gave me a chance to be his father.”

“I said I was sorry, and I know this isn’t fair to you. I just need a break. I’ll be ready to take him home again before school starts. I promise.”

Sean was a lot of things. A man, a friend, a doctor and, most recently, a horse stable and livery owner. One thing he’d never planned on being was a dad, and there was a damned good reason for that. He’d had a piss-poor role model. Maybe that explained why he had no clue what to do next.

He glanced behind him. Austin had hugged both of his half siblings and said a few words to each of them and was now continuing toward town. Should Sean go after the kid? Let him be? Shower him with kindness? Play taskmaster? Maybe, for now, he needed to give the kid a little space.

“Does he know where I live?” Sean asked.

“He has your address.” She handed him a file folder. “Here are some things you might need. His cell number, insurance card, allergies, all of my contact information. Oh, and his things.” She rolled a suitcase toward him.

“Do I need to worry about him running away?”

“I don’t think so.” Beside them, people started boarding the ferry for the return trip to the mainland. Denise signaled to her other two kids that it was time to leave. “I think he’s curious about you. He’ll stay.”

“In that case—” Sean picked up the suitcase and started toward his stables “—see you at the end of summer.”

“Sean?”

The catch in her voice made him stop and turn. Her two younger kids were already boarding the ferry.

“Glen was…hard on him,” she said, her eyes pooling with tears. “But he’s a good kid deep down inside. Give him a chance to prove it.” Then she turned and ran to follow her other kids.

Three months. Then Sean’s life would return to normal. Maybe he’d been worried over this for nothing. He was an intelligent, competent man who’d made life and death decisions for years in the blink of an eye as an E.R. doctor. How hard could playing dad be?

“TAKE MY LUGGAGE TO THE master bedroom.” Grace Kahill pointed up the stairs as she walked through the first floor of the spacious colonial she’d rented for the summer, cracking open windows as she went. Since when did Mirabelle Island get this hot and humid this early in June? More to the point, how could she have rented a place without central air?

But then only a few days ago, she reminded herself, she’d been thinking of buying a beach place in Malibu. Given the late notice, she was lucky to have found any rental at all available here for the entire summer.

“Set up the computer and printer in the study at the front of the house,” she went on, shrugging out of her jean jacket. “The exercise bike goes right…” She studied the layout of the living room and pointed to a spot near the large picture window. “Here. The treadmill goes next to it. The plasma screen replaces that piece of…junk.” She pointed at the old box of a TV in the corner, surprised the contraption didn’t come complete with rabbit ears. “And I want cable and wireless capabilities installed by the end of the day. Got that?”

“Um…ah…” The mover glanced at her, then seemed to stare toward her neck.

An instantaneous sense of panic swept through her. Oh, God. Quickly, she found her reflection in the mirror hanging in the foyer and scanned her appearance. It’s okay. It’s all right. She hadn’t repositioned her layered T-shirts when she’d taken off her jacket. Taking a long, slow breath, she put her jacket back on. Just to be safe. “Did you hear a word of what I just said?”

“Um…yes, ma’am.”

“Do I look like a ma’am to you?”

“Ah, not really…Mrs. Kahill.”

No one ever called her Mrs. Kahill, either. “Grace. Just Grace will do fine.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Two more hulking men lumbered through the front door carrying suitcases, trunks and boxes, everything she owned that wasn’t being held in storage. The men stopped and stared at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. No longer worried about her shirt having shifted, she impatiently crossed her arms and transferred her weight to one leg. The novelty of any man’s obvious approval of her looks had worn off long before her twenty-fifth cover shot, and these days, more than anything else, it aggravated her. Was it too much to ask to be treated like a regular human being?

“I’m not paying you gentlemen to stand here,” she said. “Get this place set up.”

“Will do, ma—ah, Grace.” The head mover directed the other two men and the three set off in various directions.

She opened a few more windows, hoping to catch a breeze, and glanced around the place. What had ever possessed her to come back to, of all places, Mirabelle Island? Hadn’t she left this place, vowing never to return, before even graduating from high school?

If not here, though, where? There was nothing left for her in L.A., she reminded herself. Not anymore. You’re here now. Might as well make the best of it. Besides, Dad needs you.

She’d already called her father to let him know she’d arrived, but since he was busy all afternoon she’d have the rest of the day to get settled. She’d be comfortable enough in this rental, she supposed, even if the house’s blue-and-white seaside decor was a bit dated. At least it was private, located at the end of the road at the top of the hill overlooking Mirabelle’s village center, the marina and the daunting expanse of Lake Superior.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number displayed on the small screen. Excited now, she quickly answered the call. “Are you ready?”

“Yep,” the man said.

“You’re still at the airport?”

“Yep. If that’s what you could call these two short strips of cement. Been busy getting all Louie’s things together. He’s good to go.”

Mirabelle’s tiny airport didn’t get used very often, but at least the island had one. It had made her move here as simple as could be by having the movers load all of her things on a chartered flight out of L.A. “How’s Louie doing?”

“Better,” the man said. “Considering he’s never been on a plane before, he’s doing great.”

Their landing had been a bit rough, so while Louie was settling down she’d left with the movers to bring things to the house. “Good.” Grace felt herself smile for the first time that day. “You know where you’re going to meet me, then?”

“Yep. We’ll be there.”

She’d no sooner disconnected the call than her cell rang again. The moment she recognized her personal assistant’s number, her spirits sank. This call felt like an intrusion, a piece of her old life butting in and dampening her attempt at a fresh start. But she had loose ends to tie up. Might as well face the camera lens. “Hello, Amanda.”

“Good morning, Grace. How are you this fine Monday morning?”

“Could be better.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Amanda sounded sincere enough, but then Grace did cut her generous payroll checks. “Especially since you have such a busy day scheduled. A yoga session at ten and lunch with the fitness video folks at noon. Then a doctor’s appointment at three.”

“Cancel everything.”

“That’s not a problem for lunch and yoga, but…” The young woman hesitated. “You’re supposed to stick to your doctor’s checkup schedule and you missed your last appointment.”

“I don’t care. Cancel everything.” After all the surgeries, physical therapy, and doctor, acupuncture and chiropractor appointments, stacked one on top of the other over the past year, Grace was wholeheartedly sick of every medical care professional on the face of this earth.

“Grace—”

“Leave it, Amanda. You’re not my mother.”

Grace had no mother. Not anymore.

For the first time since the funeral, she missed her mom. They may not have gotten along once Grace had hit thirteen, but for the first twelve years of Grace’s life, Jean Andersen had been Grace’s rock. Moms fixed things. They made the world right. Now more than ever, Grace was on her own.

“While you’re canceling appointments for me today,” Grace went on, “you might as well cancel my entire summer.”

“What? As in the next three months? You sure about that?”

As sure as she could be about anything these days. “I’m falling off the grid for a while, so enjoy the time off with pay, Amanda. I’ll be back in the fall.”

The moment the words had left Grace’s mouth, one of the many knots in her stomach slowly unfurled. The weight that had been bearing down on her shoulders for the past year was slowly but surely being replaced by a curious sense of freedom. She’d gotten out of L.A. Finally. She could stretch out her arms and let her soul breathe.

“Grace, where are you?” Amanda asked.

“Mirabelle Island.”

“Wisconsin? But what… Why… When did you…” Amanda sputtered. “I don’t get it.”

Neither did Grace. At least, not entirely. She chuckled, and another knot unfurled. Her dad could use the company, but it was more than that. Something had drawn her to Mirabelle. Something as powerful and inescapable and deeply rooted in her soul as it was elusive. “There’s nothing to get, Amanda. I simply needed some R & R.”

“I take it, then, that you’re not interested in a house in Carmel. Your real estate agent called and said it hasn’t been listed yet, but it’s perfect for you. She wants you to get the first shot at it.”

“Tell her that for the time being I’m no longer in the market for a house.” Who knew at this point what the end of summer would bring? “Is there anything else you needed from me?”

“I don’t think so.” Amanda hesitated, and then gently, she said, “I hope Mirabelle is just the thing for you.”

Grace clicked off her phone and leaned against the nearest wall. Already it had been a long day and it wasn’t even dinnertime, but then she still wasn’t one hundred percent even a year after the accident. An all too familiar pins-and-needles type tingling sensation zinged up in her left shoulder and spread down her side. Then the itching kicked in. Panic threatened to immobilize her as her left arm became virtually useless and her upper back muscles tensed and cramped.

Holding on to the rail, she climbed the stairs and sat on the edge of the bed. Grabbing the tube of medicated prescription lotion from her purse, she unzipped the top part of the custom compression garment her layered tees hid quite well and slathered the cream over her skin, if you could even call it that. It felt more like animal hide as far as Grace was concerned.

Then she grabbed the bottle of pain meds, shook out two of her quickly dwindling supply and glanced at them. More than likely they’d not only knock out her pain, they’d knock her completely out. Better to save the rest of these for crises. Truth be told, she was sick of her head feeling as if it was stuffed in a wad of cotton.

“Saddle ’em up.” A man’s voice sounded through the open window.

Grace slid the pills back in the bottle and glanced outside. The Mirabelle Island riding and livery stables were practically in her backyard, and college kids hired to work through the busy summer tourist season were getting ready for a trail ride. With few bushes and trees to demarcate property lines, several large barns, paddocks and, beyond them, acres and acres of pastureland were clearly visible.

This—this—was why she’d rented this house. God, how she’d loved spending time with the horses, brushing, riding and feeding them. Arlo Duffy had even hired her to work for him when she’d been only twelve, and from that point on the time she’d spent at Arlo’s stables had been the only time she’d enjoyed while on Mirabelle. She’d have lived in the barn if he’d let her.

Time to go find Arlo. Rushing down the stairs, she called out to the movers, “If you need me call my cell.” Then she took off out the back door.

A path through the woods brought her out near the paddock closest to her rental. After a short, narrow trail, probably a deer path, through some scrub separating the two properties, she came out in a clearing by Arlo and Lynn Duffy’s iconic red farmhouse. As she reached the road, a man leading a very familiar solid black horse passed through the main gate and headed toward her. Louie. Her horse was clearly tired, but the moment he noticed Grace his pace quickened and his step lightened.

“Perfect timing,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke Louie’s sleek neck.

“You can say that again,” the handler said.

“He’s tired. Aren’t you, boy?” The horse let go a long sigh, as if agreeing, snuffled his muzzle in her hair, and another one of those incessant stomach knots eased. “Thank you for taking care of him.” She glanced at the handler. “I’ve got him from here.”

“No problem.” He handed over the lead. “I’ll make sure your tack and other supplies get delivered here today.”

“Thank you.” Grace was barely aware of the man disappearing down the road as she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Louie’s warm, muscular neck.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Startled by the deep voice, Grace glanced up. Leading a pretty bay, a man walked across the dry dusty road toward her. Wearing faded jeans, scuffed-up boots and a navy blue T-shirt, he was dressed much like the college kids working out in the pasture, but that was where the comparison ended. The breadth of this man’s shoulders and his confident gait clearly separated him from the others. Too rough around the edges to be considered classically handsome, he was still a sight to behold as he led the saddled-up bay by the reins.

Within seconds, Grace could’ve listed off at least five designers who would’ve been falling all over themselves to dress this rough-looking cowboy in their latest styles. If he’d been ten to fifteen years younger. As he came closer, the laugh lines around his eyes gave away the fact that he was likely in his mid-thirties.

His gaze, hard and unreadable, flicked over her, and then seemed to take in the horse. “If that isn’t a beautiful sight,” he murmured. “I don’t know what is.”

Was he talking about Louie? Or her? The slight smile playing at his mouth caught Grace completely by surprise.

He has the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen.

The moment the thought crossed her mind, she sucked in a breath. She thought about men as photogenic or stylish, not kissable, and out of her element as she was, her defenses rose. Straightening her shoulders, she glared at the man. “He’s a Friesian.”

“I can see that.” He came to stand on Louie’s other side, opposite Grace. “Don’t run into this breed of horse every day.”

A solid jet-black, Louie’s coat gleamed silver in the clear afternoon sun. With typical Friesian characteristics, his mane and tail—which almost touched the ground—were long, thick and wavy, and his fetlocks were silky and untrimmed. His conformation was close to the shape of a light but powerful draft horse, but he’d been bred to be taller and finer-boned than his ancestors. The lines of his neck, long and gracefully arched, showed the quality of his bloodlines.

Laughing about what to give a woman who had everything, Jeremy had given the gelding to Grace for her twenty-fifth birthday, almost as a joke. Her ex-husband hadn’t realized it at the time—he’d probably never fully understood—that the spirited but loyal animal had been the dearest gift he’d ever given her.

Grace watched the man slowly run his hands down Louie’s neck before patting his back. There was something inherently sensual in the way he moved that she couldn’t help but notice his tanned skin, trimmed nails and the light dusting of dark hair on his fingers. First his lips and then his hands. What next?

“Nice horse,” the man said. He crossed his arms, causing his biceps to flex and bulge. His blue eyes regarded her unemotionally, making him appear as unmovable as a mountain. “What’s he doing here?”