Chapter Five
The tractor roar at five fifteen was almost as bad as the rooster crow five minutes later.
Almost.
The first thing Grace did was check her email. Nothing from Claire. She’d probably gotten distracted by another Simon emergency. Grace would give her another few hours. If the files didn’t arrive by afternoon, she would call.
Showered and dressed, she peeked out the front screen door more than an hour later. She didn’t hear the tractor anymore. Hopefully she could sneak out without having to talk to Noah. She didn’t want a continuation of last night’s conversation, at least not without several cups of coffee.
“You’re up early.” Noah stood behind her.
“Oh.” She turned. “I thought you were still outside.”
Grease smeared his stubbled chin. Another ragged T-shirt stretched across his chest, outlining every curve, every hard muscle. God, he was sexy even when covered in muck.
“You need a shower,” she said. The thought of his body—naked, slick, steamy—made her insides melt like marshmallow in S’mores. She futilely fought the heat filling her cheeks. Maybe Noah’s knack for reading her had faded with time. Right.
Good Lord, how was she ever going to survive thirteen more days of this?
“We need to talk about your plans for JJ.” He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. “Where are you going?” He made no comment on her outfit.
For her meeting with the attorney, she’d kept it simple and professional—gray linen skirt, matching jacket, and a jade silk top. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds when she wore green. Mr. Lincoln was old enough to be her grandpa, but since she didn’t know what she was in for, a little extra help couldn’t hurt. Okay, maybe she’d also meant to show Noah what he’d given up. Too bad it seemed to have no effect on him.
“I’m meeting Mr. Lincoln at nine. Figured I’d grab some coffee at the Stop-n-Gas first.” Her eyes flickered to the freshly brewed pot on the counter. She really didn’t want to start the morning with Noah and a round of coffee and condemnation.
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “I can’t make nine. I told Bobby Jones that I’d pick up some hay this morning. He’s only got two bales left.”
“You’re not invited.”
His eyes narrowed. “This affects all of us.”
The words jabbed her in the chest. “There is no ‘us.’ This isn’t a mutual fund. It’s my ranch, my business.” She grabbed her keys and handbag off the table, her eyes lingering on the full pot of coffee on the counter. No, stick to the plan.
She pushed through the porch door without looking back.
…
Grace’s phone rang just as she was walking into the diner, the “stop” part of the Stop-n-Gas. She smiled when she saw who it was and answered, “Grace Harper.” She nodded at the waitress and followed her to a booth.
“Hey, babe.” The velvety voice of Spencer Hall, businessman extraordinaire, soothed through the phone and massaged her Noah-frayed nerves. “I’ve got two tickets to the opera tonight,” he said. “You game?”
Dang. With all the confusion of the past couple weeks, she’d forgotten to tell Spencer she was leaving.
“Wish I could.” Grace slid into the pea-green vinyl seat and accepted the cup of coffee the waitress had already poured. “Something came up out of town. Something unavoidable.”
“No problem, hon,” Spencer said smoothly, without an ounce of regret. Grace knew better than to take it personally. She could almost hear him flip to the next page of his little black book.
Spencer was a permanent bachelor—happily, by choice—which was perfect, since Grace didn’t want to be attached to anyone. They’d been introduced through Spencer’s business acquaintances who’d invested in Simon’s studio a few years back. Now Spencer and Grace had a friendship of sorts: an occasional escort to a work event, an occasional dumping ground for office politics, and—Spencer still hoped—an occasional booty call. Tonight’s offer was most likely about the latter.
She’d almost gone through with it several times. God knew there was a lot, almost too much, to resist with Spencer: good looks, great personality, tons of money. But for the past seven years, Grace had stuck to one-night stands and the goodbye forever that followed in the morning, something she couldn’t bring herself to do with Spencer. He was always straight-up with her, called her bluff when she tried to bullshit him, and stood by her when she needed a friend. He was like Noah was supposed to be, but without all the baggage.
“You’ll be back for my opening, right?” he asked.
“Even Reno’s wild horses couldn’t keep me away from the hottest new club in Soho.”
“Reno? Yee-haw. And what finally brought the prodigal daughter home?”
“My father died, and his wife.” She tried to keep her tone light, and failed.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he said.
“Don’t be. We hadn’t spoken in years.”
Silence.
“Spence?”
“Does your family need anything?” he asked quickly. “Do you need anything?” Concern crept into his voice.
Out of nowhere, tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want comforting, not from him. She wanted crass, callous, even cranky. Something she could blow off, not something that would burrow in and pinch her stomach like she’d swallowed a porcupine. “Yeah, you can stop being so nice. It’s freaking me out.”
“Glad to see you’re retaining your New York sense of humor.”
“And two weeks from now hopefully that’s all I’ll have left.” That, and her New York rent-controlled apartment lease. “As soon as I sell my father’s ranch—no, that’s too kind. It’s more of a hobby farm. A dumpy hobby farm.”
“You never told me you were a farm girl.”
“Of course I didn’t. Besides casinos, what did you think comes out of Reno? Ranching, rodeo, and rednecks.”
“Touché. So it’s just you and the animals for the next couple weeks?” He chuckled. “That’s something I’d like to see.”
“Thank God JJ will help with the animal part.”
“JJ?”
She really didn’t want to go down this road with Spence. Or did she? He’d understand her position, tell her she had a solid plan. Spencer would support her. The total opposite of Noah. “He’s my father’s wife’s son.”
“You have a brother?”
“Stepbrother. But we hardly know each other,” she added, as if that made it less true.
“How old is he?”
Simple question. “Ten.”
“Losing your parents is tough at any age, let alone ten. It’s a good thing you’re there with him.”
“I guess.” With work and the rush to get here, she hadn’t thought about the situation much from JJ’s perspective. But kids were tough, especially boys, right? And resilient.
The smell of fresh cinnamon rolls wafted through the air from the kitchen, reminding Grace she hadn’t eaten yet. Hunger usually made her snappy, not that she needed a reason with everything else going on.
“Does he have any other family—aunts, uncles, grandpar—”
“I know what other family is, Spence,” she said. He was leading her someplace she didn’t want to go, someplace she couldn’t go. And she’d prove it. “No, he doesn’t. And there’s more. He has autism, high-functioning, but still…”
Spencer let out a whistle. “How’s he doing? Scrap that, stupid question. So he’s coming back with you, then?”
That chilly thought head-rushed her, then swept down her spine and swirled in her empty stomach, around and around and around. “N-n-no. Absolutely not.” She waved away the waitress coming at her with more coffee. “How could you even think that?”
“What other options are there?”
“A boarding school would work.”
“For not much more, we could probably find some kind of nanny for you. If you needed, I could help with the expense.”
She didn’t want his advice. She wanted his agreement. “I’ll have the money I need once I sell the ranch. But even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t take your money, Spence.”
“Consider it a gift.”
A gift that would come with strings, attached not by Spencer but by Grace and her can’t-take-anything-for-free rule. “Why are we even talking about this, like me bringing a kid back to the city is something other than crazy?”
“What other options are there? You just said you’re the boy’s only family.”
“We’re not family.” The cyclone in her stomach picked up speed. It burned, ready to explode. She didn’t want to hear this, not from Spencer. He was logical, unemotional, unattached. That was why they got along so well.
When had Park Avenue’s Playboy become her frickin’ moral compass?
“You know what? Just forget it,” she snapped. “I have to go.”
“No, wait, Grace. Don’t hang up.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t mean…look, I’m sorry. I just assumed, that’s all.”
Grace swallowed through the swelling in her throat. “The school I found is upstate and really good.” She tried to inject as much confidence as she could into the words. They squeaked out, barely.
“Does the kid know?”
She pictured the pouty face JJ had given her when she’d arrived. How bad would it get when she told him? Very bad. “Not yet.”
“Good.”
“What does that mean?”
“Did I ever tell you about my family, Grace?”
He knew he hadn’t. Family wasn’t their go-to small talk topic. “No.”
“Growing up, my family had a lot of money for me but no time. I started getting in trouble at school. When I was nine, my parents sent me to a boarding school, you know, to straighten me out. I attended several and got kicked out of several. I graduated from one, finally. My parents didn’t show for the ceremony. The next day, I hit the road and never looked back. I don’t talk about my family because in my mind, I don’t have one.”
“And it doesn’t matter. They’re not who you are. I have one, had one for a while anyway, and never talk about them.”
“By choice.” It wasn’t his words, but his whisper that sliced her heart.
An image of a nine-year-old Spencer, huddled in the corner of a sterile boarding school, alone, flashed in her mind. She didn’t trust her voice to respond.
“I have to go, Grace.” Spencer cleared his throat. “I’ll call you in a couple days. Keep your chin up.” He hung up.
Grace stared at the phone, wishing she hadn’t answered it. She hadn’t meant to hurt Spence. Just like she didn’t want to hurt JJ. This was why she stuck to herself. Staying alone minimized the hurt, the giving and the getting. She put her head down on the table, her forehead resting on her arm. Please, please God, let this all be one big, bad dream.
A woman cleared her voice. Grace looked up and blinked.
Bright red lipstick, over-tanned face, over-dyed hair, and a neon-pink hairband that matched a neon tank top two sizes too small stood before her.
Grace’s living nightmare continued.
The wannabe blonde pasted on a steel-shark smile and said, “Look what the cat dragged in.”