Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls) (6 page)

Grant paused to read the medicine labels: the usual concoction of fluids, antibiotics, and steroids. The Colonel’s white hair was clean and combed, and the bed linens appeared fresh. A biography of General Braxton Bragg lay open on the bed tray. Someone had been reading to him. Grant and Hannah spent a hefty sum of money each month to supplement the Colonel’s benefits and ensure he received excellent medical care. It was all he could do from the other side of the globe, but with Lee handling the day-to-day details, Grant and Hannah shouldered the financial burden.

“Hi, Dad.” He pulled a chair up to the bed and touched his father’s forearm.

The Colonel’s clouded eyes, once a bright and piercing blue, blinked vaguely on Grant. “Who are you?”

“It’s Grant. Your son. I’m home on leave.”

“Grant. General Grant?” Confusion creased his features.

Only the Colonel would remember the historical figure he’d named his firstborn after and not his actual firstborn.

“Not yet, Dad, but I’ll get there,” Grant promised.

“I don’t have a son.” Agitation sharpened his father’s tone. “Who are you? Are you trying to rob me?”

“No, sir.” Grant stood. The ache in his chest expanded. “I was just leaving.”

Once Dad’s paranoia got rolling, it would take the nurses hours to calm him. Better to leave and try again another day. Besides, there was no point telling him about Lee when he didn’t recall Lee existed. Maybe the Colonel’s memory loss was a blessing today. His son’s death would have broken him if he were whole.

Grant found his dad’s nurse at the station around the corner and let her know what happened. She promised to check on him. Grant got back into the rental car and glanced at the dashboard clock. Thanks to his abbreviated visit, he had time for one more stop, the law offices of Peyton, Peyton, and Griffin. Anything to avoid going back to Lee’s empty house.

His brother had worked in an established law firm that occupied a converted stately three-story home on First Street. Miles of white trim set off pale yellow clapboards. Grant parked in the rear lot and followed the paver path alongside the building to the front door. He stepped into a polished foyer turned into a lobby. In the center, behind an antique desk, sat Lee’s pretty neighbor, Ellie. Gone were the ripped jeans and stained T-shirt, the wallboard dust and paint smears. Not that construction-worker Ellie wasn’t hot, but this . . . this feminine version reminded him too much of the Ellie from last spring—the Ellie in that sundress.

“Grant.” She rose, rounded the desk, and held out her hand. A pale blue blouse and slim gray skirt hugged her curvy body to just above her knees. Below the hem, her shapely legs ended in low-heeled pumps. Her hair was coiled in a neat bun at her nape. She wore minimal makeup. The effect was wholesome, natural, and demure.

Grant ignored the pleasure that lightened his chest. But damn, that smile. It brightened everything that had gone bleak inside of him at the nursing home.

“Hi, Ellie.” He took her hand. Her skin was soft and smooth in his rough palm.

“What can I do for you?”

The erotic image that popped into Grant’s head was both unexpected and inappropriate. He should be ashamed, but my God—

Damn sundress.

He released her hand. “Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Lee’s boss. We’ve been playing phone tag.”

“Let me see if he’s free to speak with you.” She went back to her desk and picked up the phone.

Grant gave her space. He strolled to the other side of the lobby and checked out the portraits of the senior partners hanging on the wall. Was being old and unhappy required of a senior law partner? Who wanted to look at a bunch of crabby old men when he could stare at Ellie?

“He’ll see you now.” She crossed the lobby, her heels silent on the blue carpet. She opened a door and stood aside.

“Major Barrett, come in.” Roger Peyton Jr. emerged from behind his desk to shake Grant’s hand.

“Mr. Peyton.” Scotch fumes hit Grant’s nostrils.

“Call me Roger, please. Mr. Peyton is my father. Would you like coffee?”

“No, but thank you. I just came to collect Lee’s things. I have to get back. There are so many details to address. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Roger said. “Please accept my condolences. Such a tragic event. We’ll certainly miss your brother here at the firm.”

Grant breathed though the stab of pain. No matter how many people offered their sympathy, he couldn’t wrap his mind around Lee’s death.

Roger appeared to sense his discomfort. “If I can be of any assistance, legal or otherwise, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you.”

Grant sidestepped toward the exit. “I don’t mean to rush, but I have to be back at the house soon.”

Roger ushered him to the door. He pasted a trying-too-hard-to-be-casual smile on his face. “I believe your brother had taken some client information home. If you find any of the firm’s property, would you please return it? Confidentiality is a very serious issue.” The man’s thin lips flattened and his eyes darkened.

“I’ll be going through my brother’s office over the next few days. If I find anything that belongs to the firm, you’ll be the first to hear.”

“Thank you.” The anxiety that simmered under the alcohol-induced glaze in Roger’s eyes seemed like more than confidentiality.

As he exited Roger’s office, Grant made a mental note to check out Lee’s boss. Did whatever was wrong with the firm have anything to do with his brother’s death?

Chapter Seven

Ellie felt Grant’s gaze hot on her back as she led him to Lee’s medium-size office down the hall.

She flipped the light switch on the wall. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered, then illuminated. Two copier paper boxes sat on top of an empty desk.

Grant scanned the space. His gaze settled on the boxes. “He was here for seven years. That’s all that was his?”

“He didn’t keep many personal items here. Mostly photos.” Ellie stood aside. Grant always seemed too close. Or maybe she was just too aware of him.

He lifted one of the lids, pulled out his brother’s nameplate, and ran his forefinger over the name
LEE BARRETT
engraved into the brass.

“Were you and your brother named after Generals Lee and Grant?” she asked.

“We were.” He sighed, his chest deflating. “It wasn’t so bad for us. My youngest brother, McClellan, got the worst of it. We nicknamed him Mac out of pity. My father is a Civil War buff.”

His gaze lifted from the nameplate to study her face. Heat rose into her cheeks at the scrutiny, but she didn’t look away. Grant’s directness was both refreshing and disconcerting.

“Oh, excuse me.” A masculine voice startled Ellie.

She whirled. The other associate, Frank Menendez, stood in the doorway. The box in his arms made it painfully clear he was moving into Lee’s office.

Ellie recovered her composure. Damn Frank. The seat of Lee’s chair had barely cooled.

Lured from a law partnership in Albany, Frank had been with the firm for less than a year. He had been Lee’s competition for the partnership. Hired by Roger Peyton Sr., Frank played for the opposing team. Ellie tried not to hold it against him. The family rift affected most of the firm’s employees. It was nearly impossible to avoid being claimed by one side or the other.

She motioned between them. “Major Grant Barrett. Frank Menendez.”

Frank set his box down on the credenza behind the desk. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Grant shook his hand. From the sad drift of his gaze, he was aware that Frank was moving into his brother’s office.

Frank shifted his weight in the awkward moment of silence that followed. He nodded to the stack of files on the credenza. “I’ll bring these out to you, Ellie.”

“All right.” Suspicion bloomed in Ellie’s mind. Frank wasn’t ordinarily helpful. What was he up to?

“I need to get going.” Grant picked up the boxes.

“I’ll show you out.” She escorted him to the lobby without any more conversation. She pushed the front door and went onto the porch to hold it open for him. “I’m sorry about Frank.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” The stoic gaze he turned on her made her eyes tear. “Thank you for everything.”

Damn.

“Good-bye.” She shivered, the cold blowing right through her thin silk blouse.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.

“It’s just the wind.” She blinked the mistiness from her eyes.

He leaned closer. Ellie caught a whiff of a mild aftershave, a woodsy scent that reminded her of warm spring days. His leather jacket was open. The V neck exposed the masculine column of his throat. What would that solid body feel like under her palms?

“I’d like to talk to you later. I have a few questions.” His gaze darted back through the doorway to the law firm lobby, and Ellie knew that his questions would be about the missing case files and Frank Menendez, and that she wouldn’t be able to answer them.

Grant Barrett, and his soldiering-on-through-his-grief fortitude, awakened emotions inside her: respect, empathy, and an inexplicable desire to rest her head on his chest while he wrapped those strong arms around her. What would it feel like to have someone to share life’s burdens? None of which would excuse talking about the firm’s private business. She was contractually bound to maintain client confidentiality. She needed this job, and he was only here temporarily. She had no future with a man who would leave her. Been there, done that.

But none of those reasons stopped her lips from blabbing, “All right.”

It was a good opportunity to see if the Hamilton file was in Lee’s home office, as Roger had requested.
Ha.
Like that was why she’d agreed. Mentally, she rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness. But while she was in Lee’s house, lusting over his brother, she would keep her eyes open for the Hamilton file. The children would be home then, and Ellie needed to see how they were faring, especially Carson. She could still picture the utter despair in his eyes. Regardless of her determination to keep her relationship with Grant neighborly and platonic, she would do whatever was necessary to help the kids adjust.

Through the glass front door of the law firm, Grant watched Ellie walk away. Why had he asked to see her again? Was it just to talk about the firm and his brother? Or was this a desire of a more personal nature? If it was, he’d have to cool his libido. He didn’t have the time or energy for unwanted desires, personal or otherwise.

What was wrong with him? He was thinking about a pretty woman while carrying his brother’s effects? But he couldn’t seem to help himself. When was the last time he’d had a date? In the army, fraternization was limited to other officers, and the number of female officers was limited on the remote base, unlike if he’d been stationed in Kabul or even Kandahar, where US military facilities were larger. At the moment, his career was a lonely one, but it wouldn’t always be this way. He’d date again when he was transferred back to Texas.

As he drove out of town, he occupied his rambling mind with Roger’s request. The law partner was understandably concerned about confidential client information going missing, but Grant’s instincts told him Roger was hiding something. Of course, Grant would much rather dive into a mystery than simply accept that Lee and Kate were dead.

He drove back to the house with sorrow clamping around his chest. AnnaBelle greeted him in the foyer, pressing her head against his legs. Grant knelt down and rubbed her neck. No doubt the dog was missing her family, too. “The kids’ll be here soon.”

He’d barely hung up his jacket before a bark from the dog alerted him to an approaching car. Grant let the locksmith in, and while the man rekeyed tumblers, Grant went into Lee’s office and boxed up all the case files he could find. He had enough on his plate. He didn’t need an imaginary conspiracy.

He’d just seen the locksmith drive off when tires grated on gravel outside. The dog leaped from her bed and bolted into the hall. Nerves humming, Grant went out onto the front porch. He pushed the whining dog back in the house with his knee and closed the screen door. A middle-aged woman in slacks and a coat exited a tan sedan. She opened the rear door. Carson slipped out, his skinny body dwarfed by a thick ski jacket. He didn’t look much bigger than he had been last spring.

Grant approached the car. “Hey, Carson. Do you remember me?”

Crack! Slam.

On instinct, Grant nearly dove on top of his nephew. He stopped his forward motion just in time as the dog bolted past, reminding him he was in Scarlet Falls, not Afghanistan. The social worker’s eyes bugged. Grant’s pulse hammered.

“It’s OK,” Grant said, not sure who he was trying to reassure, the social worker, Carson, or himself.

The boy dropped to both knees and flung his arms around AnnaBelle’s neck. Grant glanced back at the house. The screen door flapped against the house on one hinge.
Note to self: the screen door will not hold the dog.

Carson loosened his grip on the retriever’s neck. The dog whined, and the boy returned to the car for a red backpack. AnnaBelle took the strap, turned, and raced for the front door, backpack dangling from her mouth.

“I’ll be damned,” Grant muttered. He turned back to his nephew and went down on one knee. “Do you remember me, Carson? I’m Uncle—”

The boy launched himself at Grant. He caught the tiny body. Carson’s arms wrapped around his shoulders with more strength than Grant expected. The boy’s entire frame shook. He buried his face in Grant’s sweatshirt and held on, as if he could lose Grant at any second. Overwhelmed by the boy’s desperate embrace, Grant wrapped his arms around the slight frame. His eyes burned, and he blinked back unshed tears. Anger rushed through him. This should not have happened. Carson shouldn’t have lost his parents.

“I’m glad to see he remembers you, Major.” The woman offered a hand. In her other, she held an infant car seat with a baby strapped inside. A tiny face peered out from under a thick pink blanket. “I’m Dee Willis from child services.”

Balancing Carson in one arm, Grant shook her hand. Carson was clinging so tightly, Grant could have let go and the boy wouldn’t have fallen. But he would never do that.

He took the car seat, the responsibility of two children loading him down far more than their combined weight.

“Let me get the rest of their things.” The social worker returned to her car.

Grant led the way inside, Carson still wrapped tightly around him. AnnaBelle spit out the backpack, then pranced and whined around Grant’s legs as he led the way back to the kitchen. He set the baby seat on the floor next to the kitchen table. AnnaBelle gave her a happy sniff and rose on her hind legs to paw at Carson. Crouching down, Grant let the dog give the kid a solid slurp. The boy’s grip loosened, and he reached out one hand to stroke the golden head.

Mrs. Willis set a small suitcase on the floor and a tote bag on the kitchen table. She was frowning at the dog. “There’s enough formula and diapers in the bag for a few days, but she’s a bit colicky.”

“Colicky?”

“She cries at night.”

“Oh.” Grant wrote all of the baby feeding information down on a notepad by the phone.

She fixed Grant with a doubtful look. “I wouldn’t let the dog get too close to the baby. Have you ever cared for an infant, Major? Because the foster family informed me that this baby is a challenge, even for an experienced caregiver.”

“Yes.” Technically, he’d only babysat Carson a few times each year during his annual visit, but she didn’t need to know that. He gave her a level stare.

“Can you change a diaper?”

“Yes.”

Her brow wrinkled as if she didn’t share his confidence.

“If it’s too much for you, the children can always go back into foster care,” she said, and he decided he didn’t like her very much.

Carson’s grip tensed, the bony arm around Grant’s throat pressing against his windpipe and threatening to strangle him. This was not the time to have this discussion, not with a terrified kid within earshot. Carson needed the same confidence in Grant’s abilities as the troops he’d led into enemy territory.

“Ma’am, I’ve cleared buildings in a-hundred-and-thirty-degree heat wearing seventy pounds of body armor. Faith is a baby, not an IED. I assure you. We will be fine.” He wasn’t worried about feeding the kids or changing diapers. Those were tasks. Tasks were learned, but the emotional and psychological aspects of caring for two orphans terrified him. How did he talk to Carson about his parents’ deaths? “My sister will be here tomorrow, and I’m expecting to hear from my brother any time.”

“All right, then.” She placed a business card on the table. “Call me if you need anything. We’ll need to have a discussion about permanent arrangements for the children.”

“Thank you.” He showed the insensitive bitch out, with Carson clinging to him as if they were neck-deep in floodwaters.

Returning to the kitchen, he sat down. Carson’s legs were wrapped around his waist. They sat in the quiet kitchen for a few minutes. What should he say to the kid? Faith made a fussy sound, breaking the silence.

“You hungry?” Grant asked Carson. “Sounds like Faith might be.”

Carson shook his head.

“I guess it’s time I figured out how to feed your sister.”

Carson gave him a squeeze, then climbed off his lap. God, he was small, all bony arms and legs. His sad blue eyes peered out from under a shock of straight blond hair and freckles.

“
Can
you feed her?” Carson’s look was more hopeful than doubtful.

“I’ll get the hang of it,” Grant bluffed. How hard could it be?

With a serious nod, the boy went to the tote bag and pulled out a bottle. “You put the powder in here. Then you add water and shake it up.”

“Good to know. I’m probably going to need your advice from time to time.” Grant rooted through the bag and came up with a can of formula. “Is this it?”

Carson nodded. Grant read the back of the can and mixed up the formula. The baby’s fussy sounds escalated into crying. A high-pitched shriek pierced the kitchen. Grant jumped and fumbled the bottle, catching it just before it hit the floor. Faith launched into a scream that sent a flood of apprehension through Grant.
Holy . . .

“Hurry up!” Carson covered his ears with his hands.

“Hello, Faith.” Grant crouched in front of the wailing baby and unsnapped the car seat’s harness. He picked her up, his efforts to be gentle hampered by her stiff body and kicking legs. He hadn’t held a baby since Carson was born. He’d forgotten how fragile they seemed. He settled in a kitchen chair and tucked her in the crook of one arm. She took the bottle with a greedy mouth, her big eyes staring up at him with rapt attention while she sucked away between hiccups. He snatched a tissue from the box on the table and wiped the tears from her face. A small current of relief eased though him as she calmed and drained the bottle.