Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (14 page)

She drew back at his unexpected outburst. “But less money for your dad would mean the town could maintain its integrity. Don’t you think you’re both being selfish?”

The tightness around his eyes and mouth intensified. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Indignation lit a fire deep inside her. “Just because I’m new here? I still recognize greed when I see it.”

Fury flickered across his face so intensely that she braced herself for a slap. She recoiled, remembering the kind of person she was dealing with. How had she been so careless?

As quickly as the anger came, it passed. He dropped his head back and appeared to be scripting his response. When he spoke, his voice was low and measured. “It’s not what we expected, but at this point I’m not second guessing how God answers my prayers.”

“Your prayers?” She frowned. “You were praying for a million bucks to fall out of the sky? How original.”

“I have my reasons.” His voice was so low she could practically hear the paint drying. He turned back to the wall, but didn’t resume his work. “Look, let’s just drop it, alright?”

“But—”

“Besides, what’s it to you?” He dipped the roller and lifted it to the corner. “You’re not staying long anyway.”

Silence settled. Why had she thought she could make a difference in the way he chose to see this?

“Oh, look at him. Sam!” Lucy’s muffled voice called out from the other room.

“Yeah, be right there!” He practically dropped the roller and headed for the door. He flung it open and charged out.

Befuddled, Grace followed.

Lucy waved a mustard-coated knife in the air as she huffed at the front window. “He’s lifting that thing all by himself. Doesn’t he know the meaning of ‘take it easy’?”

“You kidding?” Sam wiped his hands on a rag. “Don’t worry, Luce. I’ll take care of this.” With that, he rushed out the front door.

“What’s going on?” Grace frowned as she joined Lucy at the window. Mr. Roberts was in the front yard, lifting a door onto two sawhorses. Sam hurried down the steps and grabbed one end of it.

Lucy sounded melancholy. “Mr. Roberts has such a kind heart. He’d do anything for anybody.”

A question formed on Grace’s lips, but before she could put voice to it, Lucy had returned to her lunch duty. Grace turned her focus back to the yard, where Mr. Roberts had started to sand the door, preparing it for paint. Sam stood over him, talking in what seemed to be a calm manner.

Mr. Roberts stooped slightly, blowing away the sawdust from the area he’d sanded, and Grace saw something else for just a flash. A brief memory of a night long ago. It had been a week or so before her seventh birthday and she’d snuck downstairs for a drink of water. She heard something, a grinding noise, coming from the basement. She tiptoed down, taking care not to make a sound. Peering around a dark corner into the space her father used as a wood shop, she saw it—an outline of a small house. The grinding stopped and her father bent over to blow away the sawdust and inspect his work.

Grace smiled at the memory. She had loved that dollhouse.

Looking out the window again, she felt her throat constrict around a lump she’d never learn to swallow. The guilt that had smoldered in her gut for a solid week flared like a campfire. There was no way to quench it.

For some reason that she might never understand, Mr. Roberts—that sweet man—was in serious need of money. What was she supposed to do about that?

Chapter 19

“You’re in for a real treat.” Devon’s sly smile put her at ease as he skillfully maneuvered his Lexus down the curved country road.

“It’s a treat just to get out of town for the afternoon.” Grace subtly caressed the buttery soft seat, inhaling the rich scent of the leather. The beautifully clear summer weather had her in a lighthearted mood.

“It’s an idyllic part of the country, isn’t it?” He propped an elbow on the window’s edge, resting one hand across the top of the wheel. His suave manner made every move seem effortless.

“Yes, I never knew.” She watched the forested hillside glide past her window. She’d seen so much of the world, and had generally considered countryside to be just the necessary space between cities. She had never really taken the time to appreciate the beauty of farmland and fields.

Her head rested on the padding behind her and she reveled in the moment. This felt right. “How are rehearsals going?”

He cast a quick glance from behind the taupe lenses of his Burberry sunglasses. “The good news is, you were right about Ruby.”

“I knew she could do it.”

“Yes, and the bad news, I’m afraid, is the rest of the cast. I’m pinning all my hopes on Mabel to carry the day. I hope that’s not too much to ask of a woman who’s up at four to milk the cows.”

An easy chuckle lilted from her throat. She rolled her head to the left, stealing an eyeful of Devon as he spoke. Her gaze lolled back to catch the view out the driver’s side. A rushing river paralleled the road, as if racing them to their destination. From the look of things, it was winning.

“And Myra,” he continued his good-humored account. “From what I hear she used to actually know how to play the piano. I don’t have the heart to tell her the notes should be played in the order in which they appear on the page.”

Grace drew her hand to her mouth in combined amusement and exasperation. She wanted so much to see this show succeed, but sometimes she felt like she was the only one who did.

She looked out her window, unwilling to dwell on thoughts of the theatre. She wanted to relax and enjoy the drive, like a normal girl living a normal life.

Lush farmland gave way to rolling hills that abutted the roadway. She had never given much credence to the restorative powers of nature, but this drive was opening her eyes. She raised her head and leaned toward the windshield, intent on drinking in this scenery. Nature had carved the perfect path between river and hill, and they were exploring it.

Just up ahead, the road curved and something at the foot of the hill caught her attention. “Look at that.”

“What?” Devon perked up. “And don’t say ‘that tree over there’.”

“No, that old cabin straight ahead.” Her mind swirled with the romantic notion that a home built by a hearty frontier family could still sit on the spot where they’d chosen to live. “I’ll bet it’s been there since the original settlers won the west.”

“Maybe.” Devon jutted out his strong jaw. “Think that old pickup has been there that long too?”

As they grew closer, Grace got an eyeful of the clearly not-so-romantic ramshackle redneck hovel that looked more Viet Nam era than classic Old West. She turned away in disgust, then did a double take.

She leaned in as they drove past, not wanting to see but staring anyway. She wanted to be sure. Two men stood in front of the shack talking. One was unmistakably Carson, in the same muscle T she’d seen him in that first day. The other man she’d recognize anywhere. It was Sam.

Her eyes stayed glued to the scene even after they’d passed. If there had been any doubt in her mind, which there wasn’t, there was no mistaking that old blue pickup truck.

“Something wrong?” Devon’s voice was tinted with concern.

She sat back in her seat, wondering what to make of it. “No, nothing. Just curious how anyone could live like that.”

Devon shrugged. “Takes all kinds.”

He continued talking, but Grace had difficulty pulling her thoughts away from the scene she’d just witnessed.

“I was so pleased when you said you were available today.” Devon eventually drew her back with his velvet voice. “Thank you for trusting me with the details and the destination.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She shook off her disturbing thoughts from a few moments before. “So, can I ask where we’re going?”

His look turned playful. “You can ask, but in a minute you’ll see for yourself.”

He made a sharp left into a dusty clearing and brought the car to a standstill. Holding up a wait-here hand, he opened his door and stepped out. Grace enjoyed his passage around the front of the car, appreciating his sleek GQ style. His peach polo showed his muscular form to great advantage, and casual grey linen pants fit like they’d been tailored for him.

Pleased that she’d made an effort beyond what had become her daily uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, she smoothed her grey Anatomie capris and tossed her short sleeve retro hoodie on over a floral print sleeveless blouse. He opened her door, offering a gentlemanly hand as she stepped out into the crisp morning.

“Don’t worry.” He walked behind the car and clicked open the trunk. “It’s just a short hike.”

“Sounds like fun.” She stood on her toes in a cat-like stretch.

Grabbing a basket, he pushed down the trunk lid and reached out to her. She took his hand, enjoying the smoothness of his skin. She delighted in the reminder that the tools of
his
trade were his mind and artistic taste, not the greasy kind that promoted calloused palms.

He led her gingerly down a well-worn trail edged by giant pines. A whooshing sound lulled her as she took in a cleansing breath of pure air.

Devon turned his head slightly as he continued to guide them down a rocky grade. “It’s just round this bend.”

The whoosh graduated to a roar, and as they came around a cluster of mammoth pines she saw the reason why.

“Oh, Devon. It’s magnificent.”

“Now you can say you’ve really been to Madison Falls.”

They had come out right at the point where the rushing river plunged dramatically into a pool of cloudlike vapor. She held out her hands to feel the chill of the mist that hung in the air like stage smoke.

Devon carefully navigated the huge stone ledge at the peak of the clearing. He turned, reaching a hand to her. “Come on, I want you to see this.”

Her heart hit her ribs as if warning her of an unseen danger. She dismissed the thought, stretching her hand toward his.
Be Calm
. She refused to believe that Kirk had ruined her ability to enjoy the company of men by hacking into her instincts, recalibrating them to a constant state of high alert. At some point she would have to learn to trust again, and this seemed like a rewarding opportunity. His assured grasp boosted her faith in her ability to get her footing on the slippery rock. He easily hoisted her up, and she witnessed the full expanse of nature’s artwork.

“Impressed?” he shouted to be heard above the roar.

She smiled, shouting back. “Very.”

He eased closer to the brink, his hold on her still solid. She resisted for a beat, then gave in to his lead, inching up as far as she could safely go. Looking straight down, she had the dizzying sensation that the rocks below were really only inches from the tips of her shoes. She felt herself sway, ever so slightly. Forward.

Suddenly Devon’s hand touched her shoulder and she rebounded back, catching her balance on wobbly legs.

“Grace, you’re not afraid of heights?” Devon put a comforting hand on her arm. “You should have told me. Let’s go back over there.”

She nodded, glancing down one more time. She huffed out a calming breath and tried not to dwell on what a terrifying place this would be under different circumstances.

Scolding herself for her momentary lapse, she stepped back from the edge and onto more level ground, where they still had an ample view of the upper part of the falls. The cold spray gracefully touched her skin, sloughing away her temporary doubts. She could trust Devon. She’d succumbed to a fleeting afterburn of fear, but who wouldn’t after the torture she’d been subjected to?

“I hope you enjoy nature.” He set the basket on the level top of a small boulder.

“Does Central Park count?” The intoxicating effect of the setting had begun its work on her mood.

“Aha, so you
did
lie to me.”

Her stomach buckled. What had she just said? “What do you mean?”

Opening the basket, he took out a blanket and spread it on the ground. “You said you’d never been to New York.”

Her chest heaved. “Oh…”

He glinted a handsome smile as he moved the basket to the blanket and sat on his haunches. “I suspected you weren’t being entirely truthful. You’ve got the whole ‘woman of mystery’ thing down. I have to pay attention or I might miss something.”

Her palms moistened. She sat on the blanket, desperate for a subject change. “So, I’m sure the play will come around. You’ve got a few weeks yet.”

He tossed her a snide grin as he lifted several containers from their wicker carrying case. “It doesn’t much matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like we’ll be plying any critics from New York on opening night.”

“No, I don’t suppose so.” She brushed off her feeling of unease. “The lunch looks delicious. Don’t tell me you made this yourself.”

He shook his head, amusement creasing his brow. “I wouldn’t know a fillet knife from a frying pan. The fine people at the Peach Basket deli actually stopped frying chicken long enough to pull this out of their hats.” He lifted a bottle of champagne and two flutes out of the bin.

Her stomach fluttered at the romantic implications of his choice of beverage. “So, you don’t cook. That makes two of us.” She folded her legs under her, taking a proffered glass. “I must say, you do know how to show a girl a good time.”

He lifted his glass. “I credit the company.”

She smiled, taking a sip. The champagne warmed her, easing her into a sense of calm. He opened the containers and displayed each one proudly.

She raised her brow. “You’re kidding me. The deli has smoked duck?”

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. Not only that, but they iced the shrimp, and this puff pastry with balsamic onions and cheese is their own recipe.”

“My goodness.” This was like a dream. “We could be dining on the banks of the Seine.”

His eyes washed over her as his mouth lifted in an impious smile. “And for dessert…” He took a vibrant fruit tart from its nest.

She was suddenly ravenous. “I’m so impressed. I really thought their creativity extended only as far as their chicken salad.”

“Yes, well just as I was about to change my opinion of their level of sophistication, they tried to throw in a bag of barbeque chips, so you see what we’re up against.”