Читать книгу The Unexpected Gift - Irene Hannon - Страница 12

The low-battery light gave an ominous blink, and as Morgan shut down her laptop in frustration, her stomach rumbled. Again.

Her foray into Seaside to buy food had been useless, so she’d had to make do with the meager provisions in the cottage. And she was rationing those. Which wasn’t easy, since her last real meal had been a late lunch yesterday. So far, she’d eaten one can of cold soup and a few crackers, all the while thinking about the meal A.J. and Morgan had planned. The pitiful can of soup, tin of tuna and handful of crackers that remained just depressed her, so she knew she needed to do something to distract herself. Namely, more work.

Her face resolute, she moved her laptop aside, reached for her bulging briefcase, and withdrew the latest layouts and copy for an upcoming ad campaign. Looking at photos of toothpaste and reading about the merits of the product wasn’t the most exciting activity for Christmas Day, but it had to be done sooner or later. And since she had nothing else planned for the day, she might as well get it over with.

But as Morgan tried to focus on the layouts, she found her attention wandering to the scene outside the bay window. It was just as lovely in the early afternoon as it had been this morning. The view of the sea was framed by a few fir trees, and there appeared to be a small beach. The rough water was dotted with frothy whitecaps that peaked and dissolved in rapid succession, and the vast expanse of open sea was mesmerizing. She set her pen aside and propped her chin in her hand, the ad copy forgotten for the moment.

A sudden knock on the door startled her out of her reverie, and she looked toward it in surprise—and with more than a little trepidation. No one in town knew she was here except Grant Kincaid. And he was unlikely to make an appearance on a holiday, she thought wryly. In Boston, she never answered the door without having the security guard in her building screen visitors. However, she didn’t have that luxury out here. And this was a pretty isolated spot.

She reached for her cell phone, then made her way to the door and checked for a peephole. No luck. She moved to the window. A pickup truck was parked next to her sporty car, but she couldn’t get a glimpse of her visitor from this angle.

Another knock sounded, this time with a bit more force, and she moved back to the door. At least there was a chain lock. Not that that would do her much good if someone was determined to get in. But it would slow them down while she called 911.

Sliding back the chain, Morgan opened the door just enough to peer out with one eye. A man with vivid blue eyes and neatly trimmed sandy brown hair stood on the other side, dressed in a wool topcoat with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He appeared to be several inches taller than Morgan, maybe close to six feet. And he definitely did not look like a derelict.

“May I help you?” she said, her voice muffled through the door.

“I’m Grant Kincaid. May I come in?”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “Of course. Sorry for the caution, but I’m a big-city girl. I wasn’t expecting anyone today.” She slid the lock back, then moved behind the door as she opened it to give him access to the small entry area.

Stepping inside, Grant pulled off his gloves while she shut the door behind him. “Sorry to disturb you on Christmas, but…” His voice died as he turned and found himself face to face with the woman he’d seen in church. The one who had been fighting off tears, who had looked so alone and sad. Which was not at all the image he’d formed of Morgan Williams. In his mind, he’d come to think of her as cold, calculating and rather hard. This slender woman, dressed in black slacks and a soft angora sweater the exact color of her jade-green eyes, didn’t look hard at all.

But there was surprise on both sides The man with whom she shared ownership of this cottage wasn’t at all what Morgan had expected, either. For some reason she’d thought he would be older. But he looked to be only in his late thirties. And what was the reason for that odd expression on his face? As the silence lengthened, she grew uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?” she asked at last.

Grant forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sorry for staring. I was expecting a stranger, but I saw you in church this morning.”

“A rare occurrence, I assure you,” Morgan told him, feeling hot color steal up her neck. “But it is Christmas. And I didn’t have anything else to do. With the electricity out, I knew I wouldn’t get much work done today once my laptop battery died. I see you found my scarf.”

He held it out. “A fir tree out front was wearing it. The wind here can be pretty fierce.”

“So I discovered last night. Thanks for rescuing this.” She draped the black cashmere scarf over a convenient chair. “What brings you over on a holiday?” she asked, emphasizing the last word.

She was sounding more and more like the Morgan he’d dealt with before, Grant thought.

“I tried to call several times yesterday to make sure you’d arrived safely and had settled in, but you never answered. Then, when I called this morning, I discovered the phones weren’t working. I also heard the electricity was out in parts of the peninsula, and Jo’s cottage is often affected when that happens. So I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He glanced toward the fireplace. “I laid a fire in the grate, but I see you discovered the back-up kerosene heaters. Is everything else okay?”

Morgan looked at the fireplace. She hadn’t even noticed the stacked kindling, waiting to be lit. She was touched by the thoughtful gesture—and by his visit. Even though it was Christmas, Grant had gone out of his way to check on her. For the first time since his arrival, there was genuine warmth in her voice when she replied.

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted your holiday.”

“I was on my way to my sister’s, so it wasn’t a problem. Did you find the candles?” He started to pull his gloves back on.

“I didn’t even look. It was already light when the electricity went out.”

“There should be some on the bottom shelf of the credenza by the table. Let me check.”

As he moved through the living room and into the dining area, he glanced at the table. Morgan was sure his perceptive eyes missed nothing—neither the ad copy spread across the surface nor the soup, tuna and crackers. She expected him to make some comment about working on Christmas, but when he turned back to her, his question surprised her. “Is that your dinner?”

“I planned to stop on the way up and get a few things, but I left the office late and the weather turned bad, so I just kept driving. I have a couple of frozen microwave dinners, though, if the electricity ever comes back on.”

“That could take a while.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about gaining weight over the holiday,” she said with a rueful smile.

“Besides, I’m sure the stores in town will be open tomorrow. I can stock up on what I need then.”

But that didn’t solve her problem today. Instead of responding, Grant turned and pulled open the door of the credenza, crouching down to check out the bottom shelf—and buy himself some time. He and Morgan might be reluctant partners with major philosophical differences, but he didn’t feel right about leaving her alone to eat tuna and a bowl of cold soup on Christmas Day. Not when Kit always made enough food for an army and would be the first to invite Morgan to join them if she was here. Even though Morgan wouldn’t be among Grant’s first choice of holiday guests, he couldn’t in good conscience leave her out in the cold, figuratively speaking. Not after just listening this morning to the familiar Christmas tale about no room in the inn. And not after his prayer in church, when he’d asked the Lord to let Morgan feel His love and care in a tangible way. It seems that he’d been appointed the instrument to make that happen. Maybe God had a sense of humor, he thought, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

Standing, he brushed off his hands. “Looks like you’re well-fixed for candles. And I found a flashlight, too.” He flicked it on and off, verifying that the battery was still working, then set it on the top of the credenza.

“Thanks again for stopping by,” Morgan said.

“Look, why don’t you join us for dinner?” Grant said before his charitable impulse deserted him. “My sister, Kit, always makes plenty, and she won’t mind one more guest.”

Startled, Morgan shook her head. “I couldn’t do that. It would be too much of an imposition, especially on Christmas. Besides, I’m not that hungry. This will be fine. But I do appreciate the thought.”

Okay. He’d done his Christian duty by inviting her to dinner, and she’d refused. So he was off the hook. He could walk away and enjoy the afternoon with his family, Grant rationalized.

But for some reason, the image of Morgan in church, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, kept replaying in his mind. She didn’t strike him as someone who often gave in to such displays of emotion. Although she seemed to be fine now, he couldn’t forget that moment in church. Or the pain he’d seen in her eyes. And for that reason, even more than basic Christian charity, he felt the need to make one more try.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with prime rib and glazed carrots and homemade rolls, not to mention a fabulous white chocolate raspberry cheesecake?”

Morgan’s resolution wavered. She glanced at the proofs spread across the table, then at her meager dinner. Neither were appealing. But she couldn’t just barge in on Grant’s family. It wouldn’t be right. “I can’t do that to your sister, Grant. But I do appreciate the invitation.”

Hesitating only for a moment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cell phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled.

“Calling Kit. I’ll double check, if that will make you feel better about it.”

“Oh, no, please don’t put her on the spot like…”

“Kit? It’s Grant. Listen, I’m at the cottage with Jo’s niece. There’s no electricity here and she didn’t have a chance to stop and buy any groceries. All she’s got is a can of soup and some tuna.” There was a pause before Grant spoke again. “That’s what I told her. But she doesn’t want to impose.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll put her on.”

He held the phone out to Morgan, who had no choice but to take it.

“This is Morgan.”

“Morgan? Kit Adams. I hear you’re in need of a meal.” The woman’s voice was friendly and open.

“As a matter of fact, I’m not. I told Grant that what I had was fine. I’m sorry he bothered you.”

“He’d be a lot sorrier if he hadn’t and I found out later what you had for Christmas dinner. Trust me, I have enough food to feed a dozen people, let alone eight. Please come. Jo was very special to us, and she always came for dinner if she was here on a holiday. We’d be honored to have you in her place.”

Grant was leaning against the island that separated the kitchen from the dining area, arms folded across his chest, an I-told-you-so look on his face when she looked his way.

There didn’t seem to be any polite way to decline the invitation. Not that Morgan wanted to. As the day had worn on, her thoughts had drifted with increasing frequency to A.J. and Clare and Christmases past. She’d felt more and more alone, and her work had grown less and less appealing. Now, thanks to Grant and his sister, she had another option.

“All right. If you’re sure it’s no trouble?”

“None at all. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Hitting the Off button, Morgan handed the phone back to Grant. “Your sister is very persuasive.”

For the first time since he’d arrived he gave her a genuine smile, and Morgan felt her heart beat double-time. Of course she’d noticed that Grant was a nice-looking man. But that smile…it transformed his face, and in the blink of an eye he went from nice-looking to heart-stopping handsome. Morgan met lots of attractive men in her business, but most of them knew they were good-looking. The appealing thing about Grant Kincaid was that he seemed completely unaware of his charm. Which made it all the more potent.

“Tell me about it. Kit is very diplomatic but single-minded. Most of the time she accomplishes whatever she sets out to do,” Grant replied, his voice tinged with affection. “How soon can you be ready to leave? Kit is pretty laid-back about most things, but when she plans a big dinner, she expects her guests to be on time.” He checked his watch, revealing a crisp white cuff and gold cuff link below the sleeve of a dark-gray suit. “I figure we’ve got thirty minutes, at best.”

Morgan looked from his formal attire to her black pants and angora sweater, feeling underdressed. “I didn’t bring any fancy clothes for this weekend.”

He gave her a quick but thorough once-over. “You’re fine just like that. I’m going to change into more casual clothes when I get to Kit’s. I just went right from church to…I had another stop to make.”

“In that case, give me five minutes.”

Morgan took only enough time to run a comb through her hair and touch up her makeup before rejoining Grant in the living room. He stood when she entered, then reached for her coat and held it as she slid her arms inside.

“Thanks,” she murmured, turning to face him as she buttoned it. “I’ll just follow you there.”

“It might be better if I drove you. These back roads can be tricky.”

She smiled, but she wanted to be able to leave at the time of her choosing without disrupting the party for anyone else. When she spoke, her voice was firm. “I found that out last night, after I drove in circles for an hour. But I’ve already been to town today and I have a better sense of direction now. Thank you for offering, though.”

Given the determined tilt of her chin and the uncompromising expression in her eyes, it was clear that her mind was made up. So Grant didn’t push. “Okay. Let’s head out.”

He took her arm as they made their way across the slippery drive, his grip tightening when she lost her footing on a patch of ice.

When he glanced at her boots, she gave him a wry smile. “Don’t even say it. These were bought for the streets of Boston, not the wilds of Maine. And, as I discovered last night, the two do not mix. I’ll be better prepared on my next trip.”

“Well, be careful in the meantime. Falling on ice can have nasty, long-term results. I have a bad knee to prove it.”

Once in her car, Morgan took her time maneuvering out of Aunt Jo’s driveway and then turned onto the main road, keeping Grant’s truck in sight. He headed back toward Seaside and into the town, turning down a side street not too far from the church she’d attended that morning. When he pulled into the drive of a small, colonial-style house with dark green shutters, she eased in behind him. Even before she’d set her brake and gathered up her purse, he was opening her door.

“Looks like Bill cleared off the walk pretty well, but take my arm just in case there are any hidden patches of ice,” Grant said as Morgan stepped out.

She did as he asked, and as they made their way toward the front door she turned to him. “Did you say there would be eight people here today?”

“That’s right. Kit, her husband, Bill, and their twin daughters, Nancy and Nicki, who are fifteen. My dad and uncle will be here, too, and us. So it’s a small group.”

“Is that the whole family?”

A shaft of pain darted across his eyes, so fleeting that Morgan wondered if she might have imagined it. “Pretty much,” he replied.

So he had no family of his own, Morgan concluded. She hadn’t noticed a wedding band on his hand, but that didn’t always mean anything. Not all men wore rings. And it didn’t matter, anyway. She had no interest in him in that way. It was clear they led very different lives and had very different philosophies. But many women would find an attractive, eligible man like Grant appealing. So why was he single?

Morgan’s musings were cut short when Grant pressed the bell at the front door and it was opened seconds later by a man with dark hair touched with silver at the temples. It was the same man who had conducted the services that morning at church, she realized in surprise. From the pulpit, he’d struck her as a kind person. Up close, her impression was verified. The fine lines on his face spoke of compassion and caring, and his hazel eyes radiated warmth and welcome.

“Hi, Bill,” Grant greeted him. “This is Morgan Williams. Morgan, my brother-in-law, Bill Adams.”

The man held out his hand. “Welcome, Morgan.”

She returned his handshake. “Thank you. I enjoyed your sermon this morning, Reverend.”

“Just make it Bill. We don’t stand on formalities around here. But I appreciate the kind words. Come in, both of you, before you freeze out there.”

Grant ushered Morgan inside, and a petite, raven-haired woman with lively brown eyes and a warm smile hurried down the hall from the back of the house. “You must be Morgan,” she said, holding out both hands. “I’m Kit. Welcome. I’m glad we persuaded you to join us today. Serenity Point is wonderful, but holidays are meant to be spent with other people.”

Two older gentlemen joined them from the adjacent living room. They both shared Grant’s vivid blue eyes, but there the resemblance faded. One of the men was tall and spare, though not quite as tall as Grant. He had thinning gray hair and a work-worn face with kind eyes. The other man was a couple of inches shorter and a bit heavier, with a thick head of silver hair and ruddy cheeks.

Grant drew Morgan toward them, a hand in the small of her back. “Morgan, this is my father, Andrew, and my uncle, Pete.”

They reached for her hand in turn.

“Welcome,” Grant’s father said.

“Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Just make it Andrew and Pete,” he told her. “Otherwise, this place will be drowning in Mr. Kincaids. And I’d like to offer my condolences on the loss of your aunt. Jo was a fine lady. We were all real sorry to hear of her passing.”

“Thank you.”

“Where are the twins?” Grant asked.

“Upstairs, trying on their new clothes. Speaking of clothes, let us take your coats.”

Bill reached for Morgan’s coat as she slipped it off her shoulders, while Grant shrugged out of his and handed it to Kit. She reached up to give him a hug, and Morgan couldn’t help overhearing their brief, muted conversation.

“Did you stop in to see Christine?” Kit asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you give her our love?”

“Of course.”

Morgan glanced toward them just in time to see Kit lay her hand on Grant’s shoulder while the brother and sister exchanged a look that Morgan couldn’t even begin to fathom. All she knew was that she felt as if she’d witnessed some very personal exchange. Feeling like an eavesdropper, she turned away and made an innocuous comment to Andrew about the weather.

When they moved into the living room, Grant excused himself so he could change into more casual clothing. And as Morgan’s gaze followed his retreating form, lingering on his broad shoulders, she couldn’t help wondering: who was Christine?

“Okay, Bill, I think we’re ready.”

As Kit reached for her husband’s hand, the other seven people around the table followed her example. Morgan found her hand taken on one side by Andrew, whose fingers were lean and sinewy, and on the other side by Grant, whose grip was firm, yet gentle—a combination she found very appealing.

Bill bowed his head. “Lord, we thank You for the gifts of family, friendship and food we enjoy this Christmas Day. We appreciate the many blessings You give us today, and every day. As we reflect on Your humble birth and Your great example of selfless love, let us come to know and live Your message every day of our lives so that others may see, and believe. We ask You to bless all those who are alone and lonely on this day, and to let them feel Your presence in a special way. And finally, we ask You to bless those who can’t be with us today in body, but who are always in our hearts. Amen.”

Grant released her hand, and Morgan found herself missing the comfort of his warm clasp. Which was odd, considering she’d just met the man. But she didn’t have time to dwell on her disconcerting reaction, because the conversation was boisterous and non-stop throughout the meal, filled with laughter and good-natured teasing. The bubbly twins, who had inherited their mother’s raven hair and bright, animated eyes, added to the liveliness, and Morgan found herself relaxing. She even forgot about work—until her pager began to vibrate.

She reached for it and gave the message a discreet look, noting that it was from Clark. One of her clients had come up with some brilliant idea for a new ad campaign, which in his opinion couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He expected Morgan to return his call today.

Placing her napkin on the table, she rose. “I’m sorry, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to return a page.”

The table fell silent, and Kit looked at her in alarm. “Is there an emergency?”

“Only in the eyes of my client.”

“You mean someone wants you to return a business call today?” Kit asked in shock.

Morgan glanced around the table. Everyone looked dumbfounded—except Grant, who didn’t appear at all surprised, just disapproving. Morgan felt a flush creep across her cheeks. These sorts of interruptions, day or night, holiday or weekend, were so much a part of her life that she took them for granted. But it was clear that this family considered it appalling that anyone would bother her on Christmas Day.

“Yes,” she replied to Kit. “It’s pretty much expected in the ad business that you’ll be available twenty-four-seven. I’m sorry to disrupt the meal. Please go ahead. I’ll be right back.”

In fact, by the time Morgan dealt with her demanding client and returned to the table, almost everyone had finished eating. As she slid into her place, Kit rose.

“I put your plate in the oven, Morgan. Let me get it for you,” she said.

Cold food was another thing Morgan had gotten used to over the years. Her meals were always being interrupted. “You didn’t have to do that,” she apologized. “And I don’t want to hold things up. It looks like you’re about ready for dessert.”

As Kit disappeared through the door into the kitchen, Bill spoke. “It’s Christmas. We have no other plans for the day, so you’re not keeping us from anything. And we need to let our food settle a bit, anyway.”

Although Morgan was touched by the graciousness of her hosts, she made short work of her remaining food when Kit placed the plate in front of her. Then they moved on to the cheesecake, which was every bit as good as Grant has promised. After the last bite, Morgan leaned back, her face content as she sipped her coffee.

“Wasn’t this better than tuna and cold soup?”

At Grant’s quiet question, Morgan turned to find him watching her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Her own lips curved up in response. “Eminently.”

“How about some music?” Kit said from across the table.

“Will you play, Uncle Grant?” Nancy asked.

“I’m a bit out of practice.”

“You always say that,” Nicki scoffed. “Besides, it won’t feel like Christmas unless you play.”

“In that case, how can I refuse?”

They all moved into the living room, and Morgan watched, intrigued, as Grant slid onto the bench of an upright piano and ran his fingers over the keys. For some reasons, she wouldn’t have expected him to be musical. But as the family gathered around and he began to play the familiar holiday carols, she discovered that he was, in fact, quite talented. Morgan hung back, feeling a bit like an intruder in this family scene, but Kit drew her forward.

“We may not be the Metropolitan Opera chorus, but what we lack in ability we make up for in enthusiasm,” she said with a laugh.

As Grant played one carol after another, Morgan found herself staring at his hands. His fingers were strong and capable, lean and long, as they moved with confidence over the ivory keys. He had wonderful hands, she realized. And all at once she found herself wondering what it would be like to be touched by them.

Trying to force her mind in a more appropriate direction, Morgan turned away from Grant and looked over the family gathered at the piano—only to be transported back to another time, another piano, another family raising sometimes off-key voices in song. Her throat constricted with emotion, and her voice faltered on the words of a familiar carol as her eyes grew misty. When Grant sent her a questioning look, her cheeks warmed and she pointed to her pager, then quickly slipped away on the pretense of returning another call.

Once in the hall, she drew a few long, deep breaths. For some reason, this day had been an emotional roller coaster, from her conversation with her sisters this morning, to her unexpected tears in church, to her wandering thoughts when she’d tried to work earlier at the cottage. The memories had been relentlessly lapping at her consciousness, much as the surf lapped against the shore at Aunt Jo’s cottage. Happy memories, for the most part, but memories of days long past. Most of the time she kept them deep in her heart. But today, they had risen to the surface, throwing her off balance.

By the time Morgan returned to the living room, she had her emotions back under control. Most of the group seemed to accept her excuse for stepping away, but something in Grant’s expression told her that she hadn’t fooled him. His eyes were probing, questioning, curious, as if he was trying to reconcile her emotional reaction just now with the image she presented to the world of a savvy, businesslike, sophisticated career woman.

Morgan looked away before his searching gaze went too deep, before he delved right to her soul and found out things about her that even she didn’t know. Things she didn’t want to know. And suddenly she felt an overpowering need to escape. There was something about Grant Kincaid that threatened her peace of mind. As soon as she could, she thanked her hosts and said her goodbyes, explaining that after her long drive yesterday, she was ready to call it a night.

Grant insisted on walking her to her car, and short of being rude, she couldn’t refuse. He took her arm as they stepped into the frigid air, and their breath formed frosty clouds in the clear, dark sky as they made their way in silence down the driveway. She fitted her key in the car lock, then turned to him, grateful for the dim light that made it hard to read expressions. “Thank you again, Grant. I had a wonderful time.”

“It was our pleasure. Are we still on for Monday?”

“Yes. How about eight?”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then. Drive safe.”

After she slipped into her car, he shut the door behind her, watching as she backed out of the driveway. When she reached the corner, she glanced in her rearview mirror and was surprised to find Grant still standing there, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, staring after her.

As Morgan retraced the route to the cottage, she found herself reliving her unexpected holiday dinner and thinking about Grant. She pictured his strong, competent fingers on the piano keys. Recalled the feeling of security that had swept over her when he’d taken her hand in his for the blessing. Remembered the way his smile had warmed his eyes and lit up his face.

And wondered yet again: who was Christine?