Читать книгу Falling For Grace - Stella Bagwell - Страница 9

He was back! Her prayers had been answered!

Heedless of the late hour, Grace Holliday whirled away from the living room window and hurriedly searched the floor for her sandals.

Since they were nowhere in sight, she quickly decided she didn’t need shoes and flew out the door to scurry across the dark lawn toward the bungalow next door. Part of the structure was hidden by pines and magnolia trees, but she hadn’t dreamed the light shining in the kitchen. She could see it plainly now.

The yellow shafts filtering through the pine boughs were like a beacon to her weary heart and in spite of her growing girth, she felt as light as air as she skimmed up the wooden steps and across the planked porch.

The solid wooden door was open to the ocean breeze, and through the screen she could see the small living room was dark. No sound stirred from within the house, making her wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

Rapping her knuckles on the jamb, she called out, “Trent! Trent, it’s me, Grace. Are you in there?”

Seconds dragged into a minute as she stood in the muggy darkness, anxiously awaiting his answer.

To her left, parked beneath the small carport next to the porch was a late-model sedan of an indistinguishable dark color. It wasn’t the vehicle Trent drove while he’d stayed here in the bungalow, but he could have easily changed cars since she’d last seen him.

“Trent! Answer the door!”

Another long minute passed without any sort of response and she decided to enter the house and make herself known to him. Surely he hadn’t heard her knock. He wouldn’t just ignore her. After all, he’d come back to Biloxi. That had to mean something.

Inside the shadow-filled living room, she called again, “Trent! Where are you?”

Moving toward the light in the kitchen, she entered a short hallway. Suddenly the floor creaked behind her, and then a male voice lifted the hair on the back of her neck.

“Who the hell are you?”

Her heart hammering, she whirled around, then unconsciously inched backward toward the light and away from the dark bulky image of a man looming in front of her.

“I—I’m Grace Holliday. Who—are you?”

“Obviously not who you were looking for.”

His deep voice was full of sarcasm and just a hint of warning. Unwittingly she moved several more steps behind her, until she was completely illuminated by the dim overhead light in the kitchen.

“I thought—I was looking for Trent,” she said haltingly.

“I know. I heard.”

Her brows lifted with skepticism. If he’d heard, why hadn’t he answered her knock? she wondered. Slightly irked, she asked, “Is Trent here?”

The man suddenly moved into the light and it was all Grace could do to keep her hand from flying to her mouth as he stopped within inches of her.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I…thought—he—”

Her disconnected words halted completely as her gaze tried to access everything about him at once. Aside from being tall, he was lean and fierce-looking with hooded gray eyes, a square set jaw and chiseled lips, which at the moment were pressed together in a grim line. Hair the color of a lion’s mane curled ever so slightly against his collar and fell in a thick wave straight back from a broad forehead. Grace realized she was looking at one irritated but very sexy man.

“You thought he…what, Miss Holliday?”

Nervously she licked her lips, then pulled her gaze away from him to glance around the room. Funny how nothing in the cozy little kitchen had changed since Trent had come and gone. She supposed the only thing his presence had changed was her.

“Nothing. I…saw the light from next door and thought it was him. Sorry about the mistake.”

The young woman standing in front of him had a messy blob of coal-black curls piled atop her head. She was wearing white shorts and a loose red T-shirt. Her feet were bare and the legs connected to them were long and firm and shapely. But her legs were not what riveted his attention. It was the rounded protrusion evident beneath the swell of her breasts that quickly caught his eye. The woman was pregnant! Very pregnant!

The discovery distracted him, making him momentarily lose his train of thought. Which was a cardinal sin for a man in his field of work.

“My name is Jack Barrett,” he finally said.

She extended her hand to him and Jack felt inclined to take it rather than rebuff this pretty intruder. Which wasn’t like him, either. Jack didn’t usually give a damn whom he snubbed. Beautiful women included.

“Are you—did you buy this place, or something?” she asked in a faintly bewildered tone.

As he clasped her soft hand in his, he decided she couldn’t be more than twenty-two or three. Jack quickly racked his brain, trying to remember if Trent had ever mentioned a girl named Grace, but that was like fishing in a lake for a minnow. In the span of a work week he heard more names than most people heard in a year. And it wasn’t as though he associated with his nephew on a regular basis. Since his sister’s boy had grown up, Jack rarely saw the young man.

“Or something,” he said as he suddenly decided to move cautiously with Grace Holliday. If she’d been involved with Trent, there was no telling what she might want. But with the Barrett family, it usually boiled down to one thing. Money.

“Tell me, Miss Holliday, do you usually enter other people’s houses at night like this?”

A blush stole over her cheeks and Jack noticed that even though her face was bare of makeup, it was still rich with color. Delicate black brows and thick lashes, pale green eyes and skin that was tanned to a deep rose-brown. The image of a Tahitian goddess, he decided. Sensual, earthy, and naturally beautiful. Just the kind that ruined a man’s common sense.

“No,” she answered. “But the door was open and I thought—”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a sneering sort of smile. “And you thought Trent was here.”

She nodded and he could see disappointment all over her face. What did it mean? he wondered.

“Do you live here in Biloxi?” he asked.

She nodded again. “In the house next door. That’s how I met Trent. He was staying here earlier this year.”

Jack racked his brain again. Trent had finished college at midterm break back in December. He tried to remember if he’d told Trent he could use the beachside bungalow after that time. Not that it would have mattered if his nephew had used the house without his consent. Jack had never seen the place until today.

Two years ago he’d bought the piece of real estate on a whim. An employee with the firm had needed quick cash and Jack had written him a check without much thought to what he’d do with a beach house in Mississippi.

Two years was a hell of a long time to finally get curious about a place.

The words his secretary had spoken to him yesterday suddenly popped into Jack’s mind, putting an even deeper twist on his lips. He’d started to tell Irene that nothing could rouse his curiosity anymore. He’d done and seen too much. But he was glad he hadn’t. Because Grace Holliday would have made him out to be liar. She was doing more than rousing his interest.

“Uh…how long has it been since you’ve seen this—Trent?”

She grimaced as she considered whether to tell this man anything. “I—look, I don’t know you. Maybe I should just apologize for the intrusion and be on my way.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he eyed her suspiciously. “You’ve already said you were sorry once. That’s enough. But if you weren’t a pregnant woman, I would think you’d walked in here to steal something.”

Her green eyes widened with disbelief, then filled with insult. “I’m sure because I am a pregnant woman you’re thinking all sorts of things anyway.”

He was. But not the sort of things she believed he was thinking. And suddenly Jack decided he couldn’t let her know he was Trent’s uncle. At least, not for now. If he expected to find out who she really was and if her baby had any connection to his nephew, he was going to have to be very guarded about himself.

His gaze dropped to her left hand. There was no engagement ring or wedding band of any sort and she hadn’t corrected him when he’d addressed her as Miss.

“You’re not married to this Trent guy?”

She shook her head as a puzzled frown creased her face. “Why would you want to know?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “No reason, actually. But the way you were calling his name—you sounded pretty desperate to see him.”

Grace had been desperate to see Trent. Five months had passed since he’d left her and the baby behind. And during that time she’d mostly accepted the fact that he didn’t want her in his life. Especially on a long-term basis. But she’d hoped—prayed—that he would return for the baby’s sake.

“Yes,” she quietly admitted.

When she didn’t elaborate he asked, “Are you…planning on marrying this guy?”

A sad little smile curved her full lips. The expression bothered Jack more than he cared to acknowledge.

“No.”

His brows lifted ever so slightly. “Is he…the father of your baby?”

A shadow crossed over her face, closing it off to Jack.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “But I—have to get home now. Goodbye, Jack Barrett.”

For a moment, as she stepped past him, he considered latching onto her arm and stopping her. But he didn’t. She obviously didn’t want to talk to him. And he was in no position to press her without making himself appear suspicious.

When he heard the screen door softly bang behind her, Jack walked to the front of the bungalow and peered through the front screen.

Grace Holliday was crossing the small lawn in the direction of the house next door. Her head was down, her steps slow. No doubt she dreaded going home to face her parents with the news that it hadn’t been Trent she’d found next door, but an older, wiser and much more hardened man.

Hell, he very much doubted Trent was the father of her child anyway. If his nephew had stayed in the bungalow earlier this year, he’d no doubt brought friends along with him. If there was one thing Jack did know, Trent had always had plenty of buddies hanging around him. She could have gotten tangled up with one of Trent’s friends and was now looking for him to help her in some way.

One way or the other, Jack was going to find out. If for no other reason than his sister’s sake. Jillian was ten years older than Jack and had been divorced almost as many years as Trent had been living. The boy’s father had skipped out not long after the kid had been born, leaving Jillian to raise her son alone. The last thing his sister needed was for some money-hungry young woman to slap a lawsuit on her son.

By the time Grace entered the house and sank onto the side of the old four-poster, she was visibly trembling.

Clamping her hands together, she closed her eyes and willed the image of Jack Barrett away. She didn’t know who he was or why he was in Trent’s house. Yet one thing had been clearly certain, he hadn’t taken kindly to her little visit.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked hard, determined to keep them at bay. It was far too late for tears or disappointment, she fiercely told herself.

Still, when she’d first seen the light in the bungalow her heart had soared. She’d been certain Trent had come back. Not for her. No, any hope she’d had for the two of them had died months ago when she’d first told him about the baby. The news had forced him into admitting he’d never really loved her. And had never intended to have a lifelong relationship with her. He’d simply come to Biloxi for a bit of fun and to wind down from final exams at Texas University in Austin.

After the initial shock and pain of being used had worn off, Grace had accepted the fact that she’d been a fool. And slowly the feelings she’d had for Trent had died. But since then she’d kept hoping, praying, he would return for the baby’s sake. She wanted her child to have a father. She wanted her son or daughter to know it was loved by both parents. And tonight, for a brief moment as she’d raced to the bungalow, she’d thought her hopes had come true.

Instead she’d discovered a man quite unlike any she’d ever encountered. Sensuality had oozed from every pore of his body. Just looking at him had made her quiver with an awareness she’d never before felt.

She’d not allowed herself the time to ask if he’d had a family or if he were planning to stay for a while. Getting away from his prying gray eyes had been of the utmost urgency in Grace’s mind. Yet even now, in the safety of her bedroom, she could still feel his gaze on her face and body.

He was not the sort of neighbor she would have chosen to have move in beside her. A big family with lots of happy, rowdy kids would have been more to her liking than Jack Barrett. From the look on his brooding face, she’d gotten the impression he’d wanted to either clamp his fingers around her neck or kiss her.

Shivering at the thought, she reached over and switched off the lamp at the head of the bed, then slowly undressed in the darkness. She had to forget about the man. Tomorrow was going to be another long, tiring day. She had to be rested and ready.

The next morning Jack’s secretary, Irene, answered his call on the fourth ring.

“What in hell are you doing?” he barked into the receiver. “Eating bonbons?”

“No, trying to seduce one of your clients. But he hightailed it out of here after the third ring. You have rotten timing, Jack. Besides, what are you doing calling the office? The doctor wanted you out of this place for a while, remember?”

Heaving a weary sigh, Jack tilted his head back far enough so that he could get a view of the house next door. Early this morning, before he’d cooked himself breakfast, he’d watched Grace carry an armload of books and a straw tote bag out to the car parked in the driveway. Her black hair had been down on her shoulders and the sea wind had whipped strands of it across her face and tugged at the tail of her long flowered skirt as she’d lowered herself into the little compact car.

Moments later she’d driven off in the direction of Gulfport, and so far she hadn’t returned. Nor had anyone else stirred around the big old house.

“I’m not in the office, Irene. I’m merely talking to you.”

“I don’t know why. You said you didn’t give a damn if you ever saw this place again,” Irene reminded him. “You said you never wanted to hear another phone, alarm clock, radio or TV. And you especially didn’t want to hear a judge’s rulings, a witness’s testimony or a client whining for a larger settlement.”

“That’s true,” he said curtly. “And I meant every word.”

He set his empty coffee cup on a low table in front of the couch, while Irene made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“So you’re quitting Barrett, Winslow and Layton?”

Was he? Jack asked himself. In his eyes, quitting was akin to losing. And Jack had never lost a case in the courtroom. He didn’t know how to lose. But the job was getting more and more meaningless. And so stressful that two days ago he’d wound up in his doctor’s office with a stomach full of fire and blood pressure high enough to kill him.

For thirty minutes he’d listened to the doctor lecture him about burying himself in his work and not taking time out for life outside his law practice. Hell, Jack didn’t have a life outside the office and he’d told the doctor so.

“Then you’d better get yourself one before you wake up with no life at all,” he’d told Jack.

“You haven’t answered, Jack. Are you quitting the firm?” Irene repeated her question.

“That would make Dad especially proud,” he said mockingly.

“John Barrett is dead, Jack,” she said bluntly. “There’s no reason for you to keep trying to please the man now.”

John Barrett. For years just the mention of the name had been enough to make corporations shake in their boots. No business large or small wanted to face the formidable lawyer in the courtroom.

From the time Jack had been a small boy he’d been groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps. Generations of Barretts before him had built the firm of Barrett, Winslow and Layton. Jack was expected to keep it going. Nothing else would have been acceptable in the eyes of his father.

“I didn’t call to get into a psychological discussion with you this morning, Irene. I need a little information and I was wondering if you’d seen or talked to Jillian lately.”

After a pause Irene said, “I don’t remember exactly when I last spoke with your sister. A couple of weeks ago, I think. She stopped by the office to see you. But you were in court that day.”

“What did she want to see me about?”

“Hmm. Nothing special that I recall. I think she just happened to be out shopping and dropped by on a whim. Why?”

“Did she mention Trent?”

“I asked her about him,” Irene explained. “She said he was doing fine. Especially now that he’d started at his new job.”

“What about a girlfriend? Did she mention one of those?”

Irene laughed. “Well, Trent has gone through a list of girlfriends. Sort of like his uncle, you know.”

Letting his secretary’s snide comment slide, he said, “I’m talking about a special one.”

“Trent thinks each one is special. Until he gets tired of them.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my nephew’s behavior, Irene. Just the facts.”

That he was treating the conversation as lawyer to a witness didn’t bother Irene. After fifteen years of being his secretary she was used to his brusque, plain-spoken manner.

“Sorry, I got carried away for a moment. Must have been all that sugar from the bonbons,” she replied. “But as for a name, I do recall Jillian mentioning some girl he’d been seeing steadily. I believe it was something like Tessa or Tricia.”

Not a Grace. Jack didn’t know how he felt about this bit of news.

“You’re sure?”

“Not a hundred percent. But I do remember it was a T name. Does that help?”

“A little.”

“Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, why should that surprise me,” she said with mock hurt. “I’m just the old faithful secretary that puts in sixty hours a week for you. I don’t deserve an explanation.”

He rolled his eyes. “Irene, if I thought I could do without you, I’d fire you.”

He could hear a wide smile in her voice as she replied, “But you can’t do without me, Jack. So you won’t fire me. Besides, I’m the only real friend you have.”

She was so close to the truth it made him wince. The fact that his fifty-five-year-old secretary was his very best friend said a damn lot about his life.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said crossly.

“Well, frankly, I don’t understand, Jack. I thought you went to Biloxi to get away from the stress of this place, not investigate your nephew.”

“I’m not doing an investigation, Irene,” he said tiredly.

There was a long pause, then she asked, “So how long are you planning to stay down there?”

“I don’t know. It all depends.”

“On what?”

His beautiful pregnant neighbor, Jack thought.

Out loud he said, “My mood, Irene.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope you’re in a better one the next time you call.”

“So do I,” he rumbled, then hung up the phone before she could say more.

Rising from the couch, he walked out onto the porch and gazed at the Gulf of Mexico. A brisk south wind was white-capping the water and pushing the waves onto the beach. The stretch of empty sand was no more than seventy-five to a hundred yards away and ran parallel to the front of the house. At the moment egrets and gulls screeched and swooped over the rolling salt water, some strutting boldly upon the white sand in search of a scrap to eat.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in Biloxi. He thought it might have been seven years ago. Vaguely, he recalled a case he’d been handling at the time. A casino had been suing a building contractor for some reason that escaped him now.

Since then, several more casinos had sprouted up along the beaches of the coastal resort town. But surprisingly, the added traffic and noise was far removed from this place, which, being some three miles away from town, had somehow managed to stay quietly sheltered. Other than the house next to him, there were no other residences around.

Jack couldn’t imagine Trent staying in such a quiet, isolated place. He always remembered the boy liking bright lights and excitement. Jack figured a plush room in one of the casinos would have been more to his liking. But then, he had to admit Grace Holliday would be an attraction in her own right for any young man. Perhaps between her and the gaming tables, his nephew had kept himself entertained and content with the place.

Damn it, what was he doing? He was already making the supposition that Grace Holliday was carrying Trent’s child. And that could be the furthermost thing from the truth.

If Jack were being completely honest with himself, the simple fact that Grace was carrying a child, no matter who had fathered it, bothered him. Though he didn’t understand why. Nowadays unwed mothers were the norm rather the exception. Besides, she was a total stranger to him. How she chose to live her life was none of his business.

Yet last night, when she’d offered him her hand, he’d sensed something different about her. It was almost as though she were a Southern-bred lady with pride and morals and family values. Not some woman who would sleep with a man, then try to extort money from him.

Hellfire, Jack, he silently cursed himself. You’ve been in the courtroom too long. You can’t see a gold digger when one is standing right in front of you.

Hours later, a squeaking noise grew louder, intruding on the fringes of Jack’s slumber. Damn birds, why didn’t they go back to the beach where they belonged? he wondered drowsily.

Another screeching squawk pierced his ears and popped his eyes wide open. Above his head, he saw a network of pine boughs swishing in the gentle breeze. Where the hell was he?

Scraping his fingers through his hair, he sat up on the chaise longue and through squinted eyes glanced around the small backyard. Everything came back to him with sudden clarity. The doctor’s grim edict. The long drive from Houston to Biloxi yesterday. The weariness he’d felt last night before Grace Holliday had made her uninvited appearance in the bungalow.

The memory of his pretty neighbor had him quickly glancing at the place next door. She could be home now. He hadn’t been watching; he’d spent most of the afternoon working on brief for a major upcoming trial. He’d come outside for a break and the last thing he remembered was sitting on the longue, listening to the lulling sound of the restless ocean and drinking in the scent of pine and salt water.

He must have been more tired than he’d thought to have fallen asleep like that. His lips twisted ruefully at the thought. Another clue that he was getting old and burned out.

Rising from the longue, he started for the house, then stopped dead in his tracks as Grace’s voice floated over to him.

“Joshua, don’t let your instrument sag. What have I been telling you for the past three weeks? You must keep it up and level at all times. Now, hold it there and start again. And this time don’t disappoint me.”

Jack’s eyes opened wider. The woman wasn’t in any condition for kinky, afternoon sex, was she?

Not less than fifteen feet away, a chain-link fence, along with several head-high azalea bushes, separated the two backyards.

Not knowing what to expect, he walked to the fence and peered through the bushes. About ten feet away, on a brick patio, Grace was standing with her back to him. Her hair was once more piled atop her head in a mass of loose curls. She was still wearing the yellow blouse and long skirt he’d seen her in early this morning.

As for the reprimanded Joshua, there was no sight of him. Then suddenly the squeaking noise that had awoken Jack moments earlier began again. Grace stepped to one side, giving him a bird’s-eye view of the culprit.

He appeared to be about eight years old. A shock of brown bangs threatened to jab his eyes and his tongue stuck from one corner of his mouth as he concentrated for all he was worth on the small violin tucked beneath his chin.

A music student! God help him, he’d come here for peace and quiet. This was the most torturous noise he’d ever heard in his life! And Grace Holliday couldn’t be a music teacher. She was too young. Too pregnant! Women like her didn’t do things like this, he silently argued.

“That’s much better, Joshua.” She spoke again. “But you’re letting your bow slide. Remember you must keep it straight with the bridge. And level.”

“Yes, I remember, Miss Holliday. But when I’m thinking about the notes my fingers have to make, I forget about the bow,” the youngster complained.

Jack watched her give the boy an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “I know you do, Joshua. But soon it will all come together for you and you’ll be playing Strauss in no time. I promise.”

Strauss! Hell’s bells, this kid couldn’t even play the scales. Was she loony?

Jack didn’t wait around to hear more. The screeching sounds of horse hair pulling and pushing against metal strings filled the backyard again, drowning out the breeze and the call of the seagulls.

He escaped into the bungalow, glad he had the windows shut and the air conditioner running. It was time for dinner, anyway, he thought. He’d fix himself something to eat, then maybe later, after “poor little Joshua” was gone, he’d find some way to talk to Grace again.

This time he intended to get some answers.