Grant snorted, straightening from the wall. No wonder she was a private detective. The woman was more guarded than an escaped convict. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.” He headed towards the church’s entrance.
Her killer heels clicked behind him, sharp little taps that probably mirrored her irritation. He reached the foyer, a comfortable little room defined as a place to wait by the few padded chairs lining its walls and a table topped with magazines.
“I’m not going outside with you until you answer my question.” The rhythm of her heels ground to a halt, filling the room with a tense silence.
He turned slowly, arching a brow. “I’m a policeman, Rachel.”
“That’s no guarantee of anything.” A mulish expression crossed her face and he resisted an urge to laugh. She really was audacious. And suspicious, to boot.
“Stalking is not my style. I was headed to the Pizza Place when I saw your car in the parking lot.” He flashed her a grin. “Wanna eat some lunch?”
He didn’t miss the brightening of her eyes before she looked away, setting her jaw. “I have things to do.”
“You need to eat.” Stepping forward, he lightly took her hand. Her fingers seared his skin, ice-cold. He frowned, all thoughts of coaxing acquiescence from her disappearing. “What’s wrong?”
She slid her hand from his, a smile trembling on her lips. “Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind.” Her gaze met his.
She looked worried.
His protective instinct kicked into gear. He forced his hands to his pockets. They’d only been on one date. A funeral and a couple of morning runs didn’t count. “Let me help you.”
Rachel pressed her lips together, hating the concern etched across his features. She couldn’t blurt out that he was her problem, messing up her controlled and safe life. Making her feel defenseless against his charm. “I’m fine,” she said and was glad when he didn’t press for more.
He dragged a hand across his face and she suddenly realized he wore jeans and a faded t-shirt.
“No work today?”
“Nope. Tomorrow.” His fingers sliced through his hair, ruffling it, and an unwelcome urge to smooth the area down overcame her senses. Tenderness toward a man. She barely kept from growling, not liking the feeling one bit.
First, she began falling in love with him because Katrina kept inviting her out to eat and Grant was always there. She’d been safe when he hated her, even if his caustic attitude had been hurtful. But now . . . Not only did he try to charm her at every opportunity, but he was a man who seemed intent on learning more about God.
At her party yesterday, he’d been fun. Teasing and light-hearted.
At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single reason to resist this impossible attraction. This thorn impaling her good sense. Not her father’s gypsy presence in her childhood, not Scott’s unfaithfulness.
The lessons of her past paled beneath the lure of Sergeant Grant Harkness.
The bells on the front door tinkled as it swung open. Widow Carmichael hobbled back in, arms filled with paperwork. She glanced from Grant to Rachel, her smile changing to a disapproving frown.
“Dear Grant,” the widow laid a blue-veined hand on his arm. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Grant’s blue eyes sparkled as he looked from Rachel to the little woman in front of him. “And you, Ms. Carmichael.”
“Rachel, are you done visiting with the pastor already?” The widow cocked her head, like a little bird ready to fly off with a secret.
“I just had a question for him.”
“I see.” Widow Carmichael’s mouth quirked, introspection brightening her beady eyes.
Rachel sighed. She could stop the rumors right now. “Actually, Grant, I’d love to eat lunch with you today.” She flashed him a broad smile, hoping he’d forgive her abrupt change of mind.
For a second his eyes widened, then the dimples deepened in his cheeks. “Great. Let’s head out.”
As Rachel suspected she would, the widow disapproved. Her mouth pursed into a flat line while she processed this new information. She stared up at Rachel, eyes narrowed.
Despite herself, Rachel chuckled and patted the widow’s shoulder. She couldn’t fault the woman for meddling. A widow’s life had to be lonely. “Don’t worry. Grant is a good man.”
Widow Carmichael snapped her chin up. “Of course he is. Best police officer Manatee Bay could have. I do wonder about your morals though, Miss McCormick. To lead our pastor on and then take up with Grant.” She tsked, and Rachel thought she heard a cackle disguised in the censorious sound.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“What was that about?” Grant snagged Rachel’s arm as they walked up to the Pizza Place. Beside it, Katrina and Alec’s coffee shop, Roasted, brought in a steady flow of caffeine-addicted customers every day.
Rachel shrugged Grant’s fingers away, struggling to hide the sudden burn of her cheeks.“I think the good widow has been spreading rumors about me and Joe.”
“Really?” He made a strangling sound that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh.
“That’s the only reason we’re going to eat lunch today.”
“Sure thing.”
“I mean it, Grant. Relationships take time. Trust. Those are two things I don’t have to spare.” Rachel held his gaze for a moment so he would know she was serious.
Nodding, Grant reached for the door to the Pizza Place and held it for her. “But you have time for pizza?”
“Of course.” She sniffed before flicking him a smile. “It’s my favorite food. Right up there next to Mocha Chip ice cream.”
If he could be relaxed about this, so could she. Sliding into a booth, she inhaled the scent of warm, baking yeast.
Grant sat down across from her, a grin stretching across his lips. “Do you know how fattening pizza is?”
“Do you know how rude it is to bring that up?” She smirked. While she’d enjoyed her date with him the other night, there’d still been the underlying tension brought on by both nerves and the mayor’s appearance. Today she felt more settled. Though his presence unnerved her at the church, resolving the issue of Widow Carmichael’s nosiness bolstered Rachel’s confidence and put her in a good mood.
An optimistic mood in which sharing lunch with a charming, strait-laced cop didn’t seem so threatening.
Dishes clanged as Barb sidled to their table and set down a basket of fragrant garlic butter breadsticks. Rachel’s stomach quietly rumbled. She eyed the bread, mouth watering.
“Thanks, Barb.” Grant patted the older woman’s arm, his tone thick with charm. Sunlight scissored through the blinds and razored ribbons of light across his features. Rachel looked away, grimacing at the sudden longing that spiraled through her.
“You’re welcome, Sergeant.” Barb balanced her loaded tray against an ample hip. “How are things down at the station?”
“Normal.” He took the glass she handed him. “Sweet tea? How did you know?” His teeth flashed pearly white.
Barb’s apron rustled as she gave Rachel an ice water. “It just seemed like a sweet tea kind of day.”
“I agree.” Grant met Rachel’s eyes before taking a healthy swig of his drink.
Rachel couldn’t help but marvel at Barb’s easy way with Grant, especially after everything she’d gone through trying to convince the cops her son Lee was innocent. “You two are getting along well.”
There, a vague reference to the past, but not strong enough to dredge up hurt. She hoped.
“Barb and I go way back,” Grant told her.
Barb clucked her tongue, her eyes squinting beneath the push of her smile. “You were always such a mischievous child. Why, I remember that time you stayed with me… You were seven, I think?” Her head wagged. “Toilet papered my best bedroom.”
She chuckled while they ordered a pepperoni pizza, then waddled away.
Rachel sipped her water, its icy nip slipping down her throat. So Grant had stayed with Barb during hi
s childhood? Why? Beneath lowered lids, she watched him stir lemon into his tea, his vacant gaze suggesting Barb’s statement had jerked him into the past.
Rachel felt her mouth tightening. It was just as she’d always expected. Grant hid secrets beneath his playboy façade.
Before she could ask him about his childhood, he cleared his throat.
“I guess you’re wondering about that.”
She nodded slowly, measuring his mood.
“Remember how I mentioned foster care? Barb kept me for about a year.”
Rachel wiggled in her seat. She’d forgotten. “How long were you in foster care?”
“Since I was six.”
“Six?” The word screeched out louder than the murmurings of the lunch crowd. She didn’t care. Poor Grant. “Why? Your mom is alive and well.”
Grant shrugged, but his cheekbones seemed more prominent, as if the skin had grown tighter in the second she’d asked. As if hurt marked him more surely than a slap across the cheek.
She fiddled with her fork. “Was it because your father left?”
Grant’s gaze shot up, narrowing on her face. “You knew that?”
Alec, Katrina, and she had been raised by single moms. “We all came from the same side of the tracks.”
“The fatherless ones.”
“Yeah.” Though her father had come home when she was nine. Not to stay, though. Never to stay.
It was Grant’s turn to fiddle with his silverware. Rachel shifted in her seat. Around them conversations flowed and ebbed. The other customers couldn’t see the scars marring her, the wounds too deep to heal.
But she knew their secrets. From living in town, observing, listening. And she’d bet Grant did too. The life of a cop didn’t leave room for rosy dreams. Harsh, raw, Grant had probably been exposed to every kind of soul sickness there was. Every sin.
She should let his past rest, but she hungered to learn more. To discover more about a man who never quite left her thoughts. Her fingers curled around a napkin. “What kind of mother gives her son to the system?”
With the sun the shining against his eyes, the irises appeared translucent. Like slivers of ice hewn into the craggy ridges of his face. “A mother who can’t love.”
Rachel shivered at the way his voice had chilled. “I’m really sorry, Grant.”
He glanced to the window, focusing on the open blinds. “It’s probably the best thing she could have done. Maybe she knew she couldn’t give me what I needed. She’s almost a classic sociopath.”
Rachel’s curiosity surfaced, rippling the heaviness caused by Grant’s mother’s choice to give him up. “Really?”
He nodded. “Not dangerous but selfish in every way. Besides grocery runs, I stay away from her.”
“I would too.” Rachel shivered again, then rubbed at her arms. “What was foster care like?”
“Lonely.”
Stark and bare, the word thudded against Rachel’s heart. Before she could stop herself, she reached across the table and covered Grant’s fist with her palm.
He looked down at her hand, his expression blank, as though he didn’t recognize the comfort she longed to give. All this time she’d judged him for his carefree ways, his superficial charm. But this was what haunted him.
He pursued women, captivated them, because the woman who mattered most could not be charmed. Then he discarded the same women before they could reject him, just as he’d been rejected by his mother.
She caressed his wrist with her thumb, feeling the rasp of hair against her skin. There would be nothing she could say to ease the hurts of the past. Time and faith in Jesus would do much more for him than paltry words.
Because his wounds moved her, because his vulnerability seared the armor fused around her heart, she didn’t pull away when he lowered his other hand over hers.
Her heartbeat slowed, a rhythmic drum beating through her blood. The callused warmth of his hand spread up her arm, a thawing burn that reached to the farthermost neglected regions of her soul.
When Barb brought the pizza, their hands unclasped and they started to eat. Rachel barely tasted her pizza, her heart was so full of him. Could she trust him? She didn’t want to surrender to love’s silken chains, but perhaps it would be different this time.
She'd told him she didn't have time or trust but suddenly she wanted those things. She wanted to try.
Chewing his food, Grant seemed to be absorbed by his own thoughts. Did he feel what she did? Or was she another conquest for him, something to fill the hole his mother had dug?
No, he’d changed.
He backed his up his claim with actions. Not once had she seen his eye rove to the pretty brunette sitting in the booth across from them. He didn't hide his cell phone when he texted. That was real. A change she could see was a change she could believe.
As she ate her pizza, she marveled at the skipping of her heart. Had she felt this way for Scott?
Not really.
He’d been safe, she’d assumed. A church boy. In love with Jesus. Not someone who would abandon his family whenever the whim took him. Scott hadn’t struck her as the type of person who would let his eye wander, as her own father had. But hopes and dreams, trust, collapsed beneath the weight of reality. Scott had been a man, first and foremost. A tough lesson to learn, but one she’d memorized by now.
A familiar scent interrupted her musings, followed by her sister’s voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Move over, sis.” Maggie bumped her shoulder with a hip and Rachel grudgingly slid toward the window.
Annoyed, she wiped her lips with a napkin, then met Grant’s questioning gaze. “Have you met my sister, Maggie?”
“At your birthday party. But before that, well, it’s been a long time.” Grant’s usual smile made his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Prom night, right?”
Rachel looked between them, annoyance fading beneath an irritating insecurity. Prom night? What were they talking about? Grant would have been a sophomore when Maggie was a senior. Had they dated?
“Yeah, you were such a mischief maker,” said Maggie.
“I’m starting to realize that. But you got over it.” Grant grinned.
Maggie turned to Rachel, a slight smile on her pale lips. She hadn’t bothered to put on makeup but at least a faint flush stained her cheeks. “Remember how I came home with a slice up the side of my dress?”
Rachel gaped, then screwed up her nose at Grant. “You did that?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “It seemed funny at the time.”
“Maggie came home in tears.” Rachel didn’t know if she liked that old part of Grant. He’d ruined her sister’s prom with his skewed sense of humor.
Beside her, Maggie giggled. “I guess I should come clean. The tears were for Billy Mann. He dumped me.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. She could still hear her sister’s frantic cries, could still hear the snipping of Maggie’s scissors as she destroyed her dress. Drama queen.
Barb appeared at the table, fists on her waist. “How’s the pizza? Do you need anything else?”
“I think we’re good.” Grant looked at Rachel, his eyebrows raised.
“Actually—” she began.
“Extra pizza sauce.” Barb waved a plump finger through the air. “I should have remembered. I’ll be right back.”
“Yum,” said Maggie. She leaned forward and sniffed. “Wish I could stay and chat but I have a job interview.”
“You do?” Rachel swiveled to face her sister. A job interview already? That was a good thing. Maybe Maggie could move past the decision that had unraveled her threadbare life.
“I’ve gotta get out of that apartment. Your rules are way too strict.”
“There’s not that many rules.”
“Whatever.” Maggie rolled her eyes. She looked at Grant and jabbed a finger in Rachel’s direction. “Don’t ever go to her house. One spot on her pristine carpet sends her into a panic.”
Rac
hel wanted to grab her sister’s finger, the one pointed at her nose, and wrench it like she had as a kid when they fought. Pulling in a deep breath, she clenched her fingers together. She would be an adult. She would behave.
Breath seeped from her lips as she struggled to speak coherently. “Rules are necessary.”
“Sure, sure.” Maggie slid out, her pert nose scrunched. “I don’t know when I’ll be home, so don’t wait up.”
“No drinking,” Rachel said after her, but the words hit the back of Maggie’s stubborn head and dropped to the floor, useless and unheard.
“Well, well.” Grant laced his fingers behind his head, the booth creaking as he settled against its back.
“What?” She scowled at the smirk stretching his mouth into a handsome curve.
“I thought you were a rule-breaking machine.”
“Others’ rules. Not mine. Stop smiling like that.” Feeling suddenly vulnerable beneath his scrutiny, she dug through her purse for some money. It was almost two. And she had a mission she wouldn’t miss for anything.
Why had she thought things would be different? Just because Grant had a hurtful past, just because he was now a Christian, didn’t mean he’d be different. Okay, so he hadn’t paid attention to the girl in the booth. Or Maggie, for that matter. Not at least the way he’d stared at her the other day. She plopped some money on the table, frustrated with herself for snapping at him.
She knew what he was doing, over on the other side of the table. Studying her. Trying to figure her out.
She didn’t like being beneath his microscope.
Breath hissed between her gritted teeth. She scooted out, still unwilling to meet Grant’s eyes. Not afraid to meet them, she reassured herself. Just didn’t want him to read her feelings.
The conversation with Maggie had opened Rachel’s eyes to a flaw within herself, something she’d never seen. The problem was, she thought Grant may have picked up on the subtle clue. The last thing she needed was for him to see her weaknesses. The chinks in the armor.
And yet, he’d exposed himself to her.
“I have an appointment,” she said, focusing on the curly headed guy in the booth behind Grant. “Thanks for lunch.”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 17