Chapter 9

“Auntie Jo!”

Thank God. Saved by a seven-year-old.

The little voice carried across the restaurant as two women, one of them Lucia, attempted to herd a rowdy group of second graders into a private dining room partitioned off from the main seating area of the inn.

“Auntie Jo!” Tyler, the smallest and bounciest bundle of barely contained energy in the class, waved both hands while hopping sideways to follow the teacher.

“Hey, sweetie!” Joanna waved, then pointed him out to Grant. Tyler was the perfect way to change the subject from the current, very volatile topic. “See the smallest boy in the middle? Black hair and the bright red superhero T-shirt? I’m not sure which superdude he is today. I can’t keep up with his favorites. That’s my godson, Tyler. Lucia’s son. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

She was babbling, but it was Grant’s fault. Today was supposed to be damage control day and fix what her lack of self-control had sabotaged yesterday. She totally sucked when it came to damage control. Especially when all she really wanted to do was fall back into Grant’s arms, skin to skin, boobs smashed against hard chest, and go to sleep. Well…maybe play a little first and then go to sleep. Joanna clenched, tensing every muscle. Stop it! That’s what started this mess.

The muscles in Grant’s jaw rippled. He stared at Joanna without blinking. A hard, determined stare. One that threatened to strip her soul bare and pry out all her secrets one by one. He finally blinked, as though waking from a trance, and looked in the direction Joanna pointed just as seven-year-old Tyler came bounding up to the table.

“Mom said you’d be here today. You look like you just got outta bed. You forget your makeup or something? Your eyes look all dark and circley, kinda like they did when you hit your nose and broke it.” Tyler studied her, one corner of his mouth curling upward as he wrinkled his nubbin of a nose as though he smelled something disagreeable. “You really need your makeup today, Auntie Jo. You look kinda bad.”

“Thanks a lot, Tyler.” Joanna snagged his shirt and pulled him closer. “If you don’t be nice, I’m going to hug you in front of your friends.”

A look of horror spread across Tyler’s face. Pushing away, he twisted out of Joanna’s grasp and scooted sideways. “Nuh-uh. You promised!” Without missing a beat, he turned to Grant and stuck out his tiny hand. “I’m Tyler Banks. Who are you?”

Grant visibly relaxed and politely took hold of Tyler’s hand. “My name is Grant MacDara. ’Tis a pleasure t’make yer acquaintance, Mr. Banks.”

Frowning and assuming a leaned-back stance as though he ruled the world, Tyler crossed his spindly arms across his tiny chest. “You can call me Tyler, but you and I need to get some things straight. I heard Mom talking to Auntie Jo on the phone this morning. Are you the guy that went to Auntie Jo’s slumber party last night?”

“Tyler!” Hot coffee nearly spewed out Joanna’s nose, scalding her throat and the roof of her mouth until her eyes watered. She snatched a nearby linen napkin, coughing into it until she could wheeze in enough air to speak. “Don’t you think you’d better be getting back to your class? Your teacher will be looking for you.”

“She knows I came over to see you,” Tyler replied with a casual flip of one hand. He turned back to Grant. “Well? Are you? ’Cause if you are, I wanna make one thing clear, Mister. If you hurt my Auntie Jo like that last guy did that went to her slumber parties, I’m gonna make you sorry.” Tyler lifted his chin and glared at Grant. “I’ve got a BB gun and if I pump it up enough times before I pull the trigger, it’ll sting your butt really bad. You get what I’m saying?”

Oh shit. Shut up, Tyler. Please shut up. Digging into her pocket, Joanna found her phone and punched Lucia’s speed-dial number. “Come. Get. Your. Son. Now.” Lucia’s sunshiny “hello” made her want to scream the words across the dining room rather than use the phone, but she managed to keep her tone civil—temporarily.

Grant’s face grew redder by the minute. He cleared his throat, ducked his chin, and held his fist to his mouth as though he was either going to cough or burst out laughing. Joanna prayed he wouldn’t hurt Tyler’s feelings and also feared where the conversation could possibly go from here. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at Tyler with all seriousness. “Aye, sir. I ken yer meanin’ quite clearly.” He cleared his throat again and nodded. “I am the man who attended yer auntie’s wee party last night but let me assure ye, I’d ne’er treat her wrongly. But just so I fully understand all that yer sayin’, what exactly did this other man do to yer Auntie Jo to cause her such pain?”

You sneaky bastard. Joanna glared at Grant, then looked wildly across the restaurant, praying Lucia would get her ass over there before Tyler had a chance to say whatever it was that Tyler was going to say. You never knew with that kid. “Tyler, here comes Mom. Tell Mr. MacDara ’bye.”

The look Tyler gave Joanna sent another wave of oh hell no shivering up her spine. He edged closer to Grant, his round-cheeked face scrunched up in as threatening a look as a seven-year-old could muster. His eyes narrowed even more and he thumped the table with his little fist. “Mom said that guy was the rat bastard that hit Auntie Jo in the face and broke her arm too. His name is Mr. Matthew. And Mom said he forgot to tell Auntie Jo that he already had a wife and was a dad to two kids. But that’s a lie. I say he didn’t tell her ’cause he knew if he did, she wouldn’t invite him to any more sleepovers. She has good snacks at her sleepovers, but you prolly already know that.” Tyler paused and glanced back, obviously calculating how much time he had left to speak by how close his mother was to reaching him. He gulped in a quick breath and started again. “And when Auntie Jo told the cops that Mr. Matthew hit her, he got mad and got her fired from the job that made her a lot of money.” Tyler thumped the table again, talking faster and faster, determined to get out all the juicy details before anyone could stop him. “She doesn’t know that I heard, but she cried every night when she first came back to live with us. Her and Mom both cried every night.”

“Tyler!” Joanna and Lucia shrieked in unison.

“Good talking to you, Mr. MacDara. Don’t forget what I said.” Tyler shot under his mother’s outstretched hand and scampered back to the private room holding Brady Elementary’s second-grade class.

Lucia leaned over, rested a hand on Joanna’s shoulder, and squeezed. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

Joanna clasped her hands on the table. She laced her fingers so tightly her knuckles turned white. Staring down at her hands, she gave Lucia a slight jerking nod, then leaned forward and pressed her clenched hands against her forehead. Eyes closed, she tried to focus on something else—anything else. Breathe. Take in air. Blow it out. She needed to be still and block out the world until the feeling that she was either going to vomit or pass out went away.

“Joanna—I am truly sorry. I promise I’ll handle it.” Lucia hugged her a moment longer, then her arm slid away, making Joanna feel even colder.

“He’s only seven, Mr. MacDara,” Lucia said, a mother’s plea for understanding ringing in her voice. “His daddy died when he was four and he’s been a very protective ‘man-of-the-house’ ever since. Please don’t hold Joanna responsible for anything Tyler says.”

Eyes still shut, Joanna vaguely heard the tapping steps of Lucia’s favorite high-heeled boots fade off into the distance. Maybe if I keep my eyes shut and my head bowed he’ll think I’m praying and go away.

Her hopes rose when she felt the table shift slightly and heard the sound of someone sliding along the wooden bench across from her. He was standing up. He was leaving. Thank you. Once you’re gone, I can crawl in a hole and die.

A large hand slid under her upper arm and gently lifted. “Come, Joanna. We need privacy. This is no’ the place to discuss such sensitive matters.”

Joanna stiffened and pulled back. She barely raised her head, still pressing her hands against her forehead. Slowly, she opened her eyes and stared straight ahead. “Can’t you just go away?” She couldn’t look at him. She’d completely lose it if she looked up and saw the disgust and pity that had to be in his eyes. “Please? Just go?”

“Nay. I cannot.” He pulled on her arm again, steady but firmer this time. “Come. We’ve many ghosts betwixt the two of us and I willna lose ye to such. ’Tis time t’send the ghosts back to the hell to which they belong.”

Joanna rose, not sure if her legs would hold her. She’d sworn she’d never tell that damn story again. It had nearly killed her to confess all to Lucia and beg for a place to stay. But God bless her foster sister. Newly widowed and needing comfort herself, Lucia had happily welcomed Joanna in and never once judged her for the idiotic choices that had landed Joanna’s life in the toilet. “We’re sisters,” she’d said with a simple shrug. And that had been the end of the discussion.

“Where are we going?” Joanna asked, finding it difficult to speak above a hoarse whisper.

“My croft.” Grant tossed a few bills on the table, nodded to the waitress, then pressed a hand to the small of Joanna’s back and steered her toward the exit. “ ’Tis on the far eastern border of the park. Beside the river and a great deal more private. I’ll borrow one of maintenance’s UTVs.”

“Fine.” She was totally damned. What the hell else could she do? At least, after she’d told him the sad saga of Joanna the Stupid, he’d be done with her and she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. Hopefully, he wouldn’t hold her incompetence with relationships against Carolina Adventures. When it came to business, she had a brain and used it.

“This one here. ’Tis the smoothest ride of the three.” Grant helped her climb into the passenger side of the utility terrain vehicle and securely buckled her in as though she were a child.

Knotting her hands in her lap, Joanna stared out the windshield. Damn, I don’t wanna relive that nightmare again. I really don’t want to tell him about Matthew. But what choice did she have? Thanks to Tyler’s teasing tidbits, she owed Grant an explanation—especially after today and last night. At least then the man would understand why it was better if they went their separate ways before something terrible happened.

The road they were on grew narrower until it couldn’t even be called a path. Joanna grabbed hold of the straps hanging down from the roll bar, rocking in the seat as they bumped across a washed-out section of what could only be called a dirt trail through the woods. Dammit. He wasn’t kidding when he said his place was private. It’s freaking secluded.

“Nearly there,” Grant said, rapidly whipping the steering wheel back and forth to find the smoothest parts of the road. “I dinna think I have any coffee in the place, but I’m sure I can find a bit of tea for ye, some ale—and for certain, whisky, if ye need something stronger.”

“I’m thinking I’ll definitely need whisky.” Of course, as queasy as she was currently feeling, weak tea might be the best. An alcohol-induced crying jag and a grand finale of puking would probably make Grant kick her ass out into the woods, and she’d never find her way back to civilization from this remote level of what was soon to be her own personal hell.

Grant geared down and braked the UTV to a rough stop in front of a sprawling structure of rough-hewn wood beams and stone that looked as though its oversized blocks had been chiseled and set during the Dark Ages. Tall slabs of ancient limestone stained a greenish brown from encroaching moss and ivy framed the foundation to the roof eave, but modern-day tinted windows guaranteed to keep out the heat and the cold.

“ ’Tis a combination of both old and new. Dwyn wouldna hear of anything less.” Grant waved her toward the entrance.

“I was expecting something a lot smaller. Just you here—right?” Joanna climbed out of the vehicle and followed a leaf-strewn path of large, flat rocks to a porch massive and elaborate enough to hold its own with the over-the-top design of the house. “It’s like a castle mated with a Swiss ski lodge and this is their secret love child they’re hiding in the woods.”

“Aye, perhaps.” Grant shrugged, his gaze roaming across the split-level compound that covered nearly an acre of mountainous North Carolina woodland. “I ne’er thought of it that way. All I know is this place is what came to mind when I decided I needed a sanctuary of me own.”

“It’s lovely.” If I stall long enough…

“Come.” Grant held out his hand. “Best ta get this o’er with. I see what yer about. Time t’talk this out. Now.”

Dammit. Joanna ignored Grant’s hand and climbed the wide limestone steps leading up to the enclosed porch that appeared to run the length of over half the building. Rustic wooden chairs, chaises, and loungers were strategically placed in cozy seating areas on the finely sanded oak plank flooring that had been bleached a pale shade to lighten up the space.

Bronze lanterns with decorative bubbled and wavy glass housed thick ivory pillar candles. Some were placed on the small end tables arranged beside the chairs and others hung from the rafters. A fireplace was built into a turn in the porch and a wet bar filled the wall beside it.

The entire outside living space was screened in but since it was March, the protective glass storm windows had yet to be removed. Ceiling fans evenly spaced across the porch created a pleasant breeze throughout.

Entwining her fingers in the rope netting of a hammock-style reading chair suspended in a corner overlooking the river, Joanna lightly spun the cozy seat, then patted its overstuffed cushions covered in the MacDara plaid. “You designed the seating areas on this porch? This reading nook with the pillows and throw blankets? The breakfast table and chairs with the pine bough and candle centerpiece?” If Grant MacDara had designed all this, the man was really in touch with his designer side.

“Nay. Esme. She’s fond of makin’ spaces more…pretty, she says—when she’s no’ actin’ like a wee sixteen-year-old beastie.” Grant made his way to the bar. Lining up two heavy-bottomed short glasses on the dark granite counter, he glanced back at Joanna. “Will it be whisky then?”

What the hell. Might as well. “It’s a little early, but sure, why not.”

He splashed a good amount of amber liquid into both glasses, picked them up, and motioned toward a bench fitted out with enough cushions and pillows to be deemed a full-grown sofa. “Have a seat, lass. Ye look as if yer about t’bolt.”

If she thought she stood a chance at getting away, she would. But a night of no sleep, no breakfast, and damn sure not enough coffee did not make for the best prepping for a cross-country run. She accepted the glass of whisky, then backed up and leaned against the narrow wooden shelf running almost waist high around the circumference of the screen wall of windows. “I’d rather stand if you don’t mind. Don’t worry. I won’t run away, but you’ll wish I had before I’m done here.”

“I verra much doubt that.” Grant smiled as he lowered himself to the couch and took a long, slow sip from his glass without taking his gaze from her.

How could a man make the simple act of taking a drink look so damn sexy? Joanna took a hesitant swig of her own drink, then hugged the glass to her chest. The liquid created a not unpleasant burn all the way to her middle, hit her veins, and spread warmth clear to her fingertips.

Grant’s glass was dwarfed between his large hands. He patiently waited, sitting there looking at her as though she were about to read him a bedtime story.

Joanna took another hurried sip of whisky to stoke her courage and stared down at her feet. “What exactly do you want to know?”

When he didn’t answer, she leveled her gaze with his and shrugged. “There’s no sense boring you with info overload. Yesterday was amazing. It would be a lot easier if we just left it at that and moved on.” Maybe she could still talk him out of it. After all, she’d been the best bullshitter Asclepius Pharmaceuticals had ever had.

“I already told ye that yesterday wasna just about the sex.” Grant’s darkening scowl and the way he spit out the words warned Joanna that labeling their rendezvous as an unforgettable one-nighter was not an option. “Now. If ye dinna mind…proceed to tell me what exactly the fine Mr. Banks was referrin’ to when he spoke of a…how did he put it?” Grant’s eyes narrowed, then he slowly nodded. “Rat. Bastard. Aye, that was it. The rat bastard that used to go to yer slumber parties, then decided t’beat ye and break yer arm.”

“Dr. Matthew Tasker.” Even the son of a bitch’s name burned like battery acid poured into her mouth. “Gynecologist to the elite upper-crust society of Chicago, Illinois.” Joanna turned and stared out at the river peeking back at her through the trees growing along the rough hillside behind the house. So peaceful. So…serene. It seemed almost irreverent to say the things she was about to say in such a naturally holy place.

“I was the best damn drug rep that Asclepius Pharmaceuticals had ever had. Even though I’d only been there two years, I broke all the sales records. Scored the highest commissions. Raked in the primo bonuses.” Joanna killed her drink, then slid the empty glass far enough down the wood railing so she could prop her elbows on the shelf and lean on it for support. “My CEO was Dr.—PhD, not medical—Mason Tasker, and I made him look damn good.”

It was starting to rain. Joanna could almost see the budding trees stretching out to catch the sweet spring moisture filling the air, then playfully flip the caress of the droplets away. She loved rain. The sound of it pattering all around had always soothed her. She flattened her hand against the screen and forced herself to unearth the garbage from her past. “But Mason had this brother. Older brother.” Joanna watched a raindrop race down the outside glass. “Dr. Matthew Tasker was his name and annoying the living shit out of my boss Mason was his favorite game.”

“Annoying his brother,” Grant repeated. “Yer sayin’ the men werena close.”

“Oh, they were close. Closely competitive.” Joanna gripped the wooden railing and took a deep breath. “Matthew was an esteemed gynecologist, and his favorite way to piss off my CEO was by not prescribing or recommending any of AP’s drugs.”

“AP?”

“Asclepius Pharmaceuticals. Easier to say AP.”

“Aye.” Grant remained silent a moment longer, then cleared his throat. “Go on, lass. Get it all out.” The sound of his footsteps grew louder. He retrieved her glass from the shelf beside her, refilled it, and then set it back within her reach. “Yer safe here. I willna let the ghosts hurt ye.”

Silly man. You don’t have a clue. Joanna took a long, deep drink, then licked her lips. Not numb yet. She was still good for a few more hits of booze. “My boss decided he’d finally win at the asshole contest by pitting his brother against me—his number-one sales rep.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Nobody could tell me ‘no.’ ”

“Did this Dr. Tasker know that ye worked for his brother?”

“Of course.” Joanna shrugged again, then stared down at her folded hands, pale and cold on the shelf. “That’s why it was even sweeter to my boss when Matt and I hooked up—personally as well as professionally.”

“Did you love him?”

Joanna swallowed hard. Thank goodness she’d learned how to block off the weakness of tears when she was a kid. “I thought I did. At the time.”

She turned around and faced Grant, hugging herself to hold all her broken pieces together. Damn…it’s cold in here. “Everything was great. At first.” She scrubbed her hands up and down her arms, then pointed at the fireplace. “Think you could build a fire? The rain made it cold in here.”

“Aye.” Grant rose and with the punch of a button on a remote, gas logs roared to life in the stone hearth.

A snorting laugh escaped Joanna. “That’s efficient.”

Grant frowned down at the fire as though it didn’t quite measure up to his expectations. “I suppose.” He looked back at Joanna. “What happened after ‘at first’? What made ye change yer mind about the man?”

“Odd blowups. Not mine. His. He’d completely lose it about the dumbest things. Towels on the bathroom floor. Unmade bed. With each passing day, his inner assitude made itself more and more apparent. Never physical, but his rants got more and more derogatory.” Joanna shifted uncomfortably, squirming against the stinging memories. “Then he didn’t show up for dinner one night. Left me stranded high and dry in a restaurant where the price of the meals cost about four of my car payments. This place was so fancy that the entrees and desserts had to be pre-ordered when the reservations were made and since he had me make the reservations, it was my credit card that held the golden spot.” Joanna walked closer to the fire, eyes locked on the mesmerizing orange flames. “I’d pre-ordered our meal so I had to pay for it whether we ate it or not. He didn’t call to say he couldn’t make it and didn’t call the next day or the day after that.” Joanna leaned against the warm stones of the hearth and took another long, slow drink of whisky. “At first I figured he’d had some sort of emergency—his being an OB-GYN and all. But as more days passed I got pissed. Royally.”

“Aye. I should think so.”

And now for the good part. Joanna downed the rest of the whisky, then held out her empty glass. “More.”

Without a word, Grant took her glass, refilled it, and handed it back to her.

“When the son of a bitch had the unbelievable balls to show up a week later at my apartment expecting me to go flat on my back with my legs spread in the air as though nothing had happened, I lost it. My redhead’s temper went into overdrive and I gave my inner demoness full control.” Joanna stared down into her glass, gently swirling the amber liquid in mesmerizing circles. “I bitched him out with both barrels and clipped the side of his head pretty hard with a ginormous mug of root beer and ice cream.”

“And the cur lost his temper and attacked ye,” Grant stated quietly, his voice calm but deadly.

Joanna nodded, still staring at her whisky, entranced by its golden glow as the liquid caught the warm, flickering light of the candles. “I guess in all fairness, I started it—the physical part of the fight anyway. But when he kicked me into the entertainment center and my arm snapped, things got uglier a lot faster.” Joanna took another deep swallow, inhaled to fan the alcohol burn, then lifted her glass up in a silent toast. “You know what? That broken arm, black eye, and dislocated shoulder didn’t hurt nearly as much as finding out that the son of a bitch had a wife and two kids.”