Forever Grace

by Linda Poitevin

  “I hold black belts in jujitsu and tae kwon do. I travel a lot for work, sometimes to countries that aren’t overly friendly to women. I like to be able to look after myself.”

  She jutted her chin at the bottle in his hand. “Do you need water?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” He dumped two tablets into his palm.

  She cleared her throat. He looked up.

  “Might I suggest just one this time around?” she asked. “Apparently I quadruple in presence when you take more than that.”

  Sean’s brows drew together. “Hell. That was real?”

  She fought back a smile. “It certainly seemed so for you.”

  “Then the rest of it…” Trailing off, he replaced one of the tablets, then recapped the bottle and handed it back to her.

  “How much do you remember?”

  “Apart from Wonder Boy and Romeo, you mean? Too much,” he muttered. “Enough to know I owe you an apology. Hell, Grace, I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t. I knew it was the drugs talking, and believe me, I’ve had to deal with far worse.”

  “And you’re very capable of looking after yourself. As we’ve just seen.”

  Setting the pills back on the nightstand, she glanced out the window. It was full-on dark now. The kids would be wondering where she was. “Do you need anything else before I go? Food? Water?”

  “I think I can manage.” He patted his cast. “It’s easing up already.”

  “Probably because you’re not bashing into things with it.”

  “Probably.”

  Grace hesitated. Well then. This was it. Time to say goodbye, with no further need for communication between them, even though they lived just a few hundred feet apart. The small silence between them threatened to grow into something uncomfortable.

  Definitely time to leave.

  She turned toward the door. She paused in the opening.

  “Before I forget, I brought your shotgun back. It’s on the kitchen counter. The shells are with it.”

  “Keep it. I wasn’t kidding about finding bear scat beside my driveway. Now that this place is occupied again, chances are good a bruin will give both our cottages a wide berth, but with all those kids you have over there, you should play it safe.”

  “I’d rather not have a gun in the house.”

  “And I’d rather you did. It’s not like I can run over and do the shooting for you if the occasion arises.” He pulled himself up and tucked a crutch under each arm. “You know how to use it, right?”

  She hesitated. As long as she kept it well out of the kids’ reach, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. She had to admit there was a certain appeal to having a weapon handy just in case Barry—

  “Well?” Sean prodded.

  “My uncle taught me when I was twelve,” she said. “But I’m not licensed.”

  “You don’t need a license, and even if you did, I’m not about to rat you out for illegal possession of a firearm. You don’t have to carry it around with you, just keep it handy. For the kids’ sakes.”

  For the kids’ sakes.

  He had no idea.

  “What about you?” she asked. “As you pointed out, you can’t even run.”

  “Which is why I’m not likely to be wandering more than a couple of feet from a door anytime soon. Take the gun, Grace.”

  He made a valid point. Several, actually, and so she capitulated with a single nod.

  Sean swung past her on his crutches and led the way through the living room, pausing along the way to turn on two table lamps and then the overhead light in the kitchen. Grace picked up the shotgun and shells she’d left on the counter, and then Sean followed her to the door.

  “You have a flashlight?”

  She patted her jacket pocket in reply.

  “Well, then,” he said, holding out a hand. “It’s been an adventure.”

  Snorting at the droll summary of the past two days, Grace accepted the handshake.

  “That’s one way to describe it,” she said. “Though I’m sure you’ll be glad to get down to the peace and quiet you had in mind when you came out here. Not to mention giving your poor leg a chance to heal.”

  Sean glanced down at the offending—and offended—limb. “Healing would be nice,” he agreed, raising his gaze to hers again. “But I’m glad to have met you. And your brood.”

  Grace realized he still held her hand, his fingers strong and warm around hers. And that he remained shirtless. She pulled from his grasp.

  “It’s been nice meeting you, too.” She cleared a foreign huskiness from her throat. “And if you do need anything, I usually keep the kitchen window open during the day. If you yell loudly enough, I should be able to hear you from our place. Unless it’s raining, of course. Or if it gets any colder and starts to snow. Though I could still…”

  She let her babble trail off. Leave, Grace. Just leave.

  “I’ll remember that.” Sean reached past her to flick on the porch light. Heat radiated from his bare arm, doing nothing to relieve the frisson of awareness running along her veins. His gaze lingered on hers one last time. “Safe walk home.”

  Grace made it across the deck to the top of the stairs before Sean’s voice stopped her.

  “Um, Grace?”

  She turned to find the amusement dancing in his eyes again. He nodded at the weapon she carried.

  “Those things tend to work better if they’re loaded.”

  He closed the door, leaving her to fumble three of the shells from her pocket into the shotgun’s loading port, certain she could still feel his gaze on her.

  CHAPTER 15

  ………………

  SEAN FOUGHT HIS WAY OUT from under a tangle of covers and grabbed for the shrieking cell phone on the bedside table. He squinted at the too-bright display. Scowled. Jabbed the icon to answer the call.

  “This had better be damned good, Connor. It’s still bloody dark outside.”

  Momentary silence. Then his cousin’s voice, with its signature dryness, said, “It’s ten o’clock at night. Just what color did you expect the sky to be?”

  Sean did a double take. “It can’t be ten. I went to bed at…” he trailed off. “Shit. I slept twenty-three hours?”

  “As I’m not there to either confirm or deny, you’ll have to go with your gut on that one. Everything okay?”

  Sean pushed upright to lean against the headboard. He scrubbed his free hand over his face, pausing to scratch at the three days of growth along his jawline. Man, he needed a shave. It was a wonder he hadn’t sent Grace and her brood screaming yesterday morning, the way he must have looked. Especially after a night of not sleeping on that damned couch.

  “I said, is everything okay?” Gareth’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Yeah. Yeah, it’s all good. I had a couple of rough days, but I’m settled in now.” He sensed the gathering concern at the other end of the connection and went for a diversion tactic. “So, how’s married life treating you?”

  “About the same as ten months of living together did. And before you ask, Gwyn is fine, the kids are fine, and I’m not letting you change the subject that easily. How rough?”

  “The drive took a little more out of me than I’d anticipated.” It wasn’t an outright lie, Sean told himself. Just more of an omission, because if he filled Gareth in on the rest of his adventures here, there’d be no stopping the man from sending a small army of nurses to look after him. “I needed a couple of days to recuperate.”

  “By sleeping twenty-three hours straight?”

  “That just shows how much more relaxed I am out here than I was at the apartment.” Okay, that might have been an actual lie. Sean sighed. “Seriously, Gareth, you’re like a freaking mother hen. Stop worrying so much. I’m fine.”

  “Right. Because getting shot in the leg and requiring two separate surgeries has barely affected you.”

  Sean tried to shift his casted leg into a more comfortable position,
but none existed. “Exactly.”

  “And you’re as sharp as ever.”

  Sean paused. “Is that a note of sarcasm I hear?”

  Gareth met his question with another. “Tell me something. How much battery do you have left on your phone?”

  “I don’t know…fifty percent, maybe? I haven’t check—” Sean broke off. “Hell. I forgot my charger, didn’t I?”

  “I’m standing in your living room with it in hand as we speak,” Gareth said. “Pam left some things here, so I stopped by to let her in. I found the charger on the kitchen counter.”

  “Crap.” Sean took the cell phone away from his ear and glanced at the red low battery icon that had popped up on its face. Crap, crap, crap. He returned the phone to speaking position. “Yeah, so I may not be calling you much after all. Turns out I’m at ten percent.”

  Gareth snorted. “This cottage idea of yours just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it? All right. Keep the battery for emergencies. I’ll settle for a text from you on Thursday just to let me know you’re still alive, and I’ll take a run up to bring you the charger on the weekend. Probably Sunday.”

  “You know I’d like nothing better than to tell you not to bother.”

  Especially since he knew damned well Gareth would hold this over him for years.

  “I’ll settle for a you were right, Gareth, and thanks so much.” Amusement threaded his cousin’s voice.

  “How about a piss off instead?” Sean grumbled.

  Gareth chuckled outright. “See you Sunday,” he said. “I’ll bring lunch.”

  The connection went dead. Sean switched off the cell phone and dropped it onto the bed beside him, plunging the room back into complete dark. He tipped back his head to rest against the headboard. Great. Gareth would undoubtedly take one look at his limited mobility on Sunday, and the argument for Sean returning to Ottawa would be on. Now there was something to look forward to.

  That, and now that he’d been woken from a twenty-three hour sleep, the probability he’d be up all night, too.

  His stomach grumbled. Sighing, he reached to switch on the bedside lamp. Gareth would be looking for signs of self-sufficiency when he arrived. Now was as good a time as any to start practicing.

  He made his way out to the kitchen, switching on lights as he traveled so he wouldn’t kill himself tripping over furniture. Once there, he opened the refrigerator door and surveyed the contents. He’d kept the groceries simple: eggs, enough fresh vegetables and fruit to get him through to the weekend when he’d planned a shopping trip to Perth, a roast that would feed him for several meals if he ever managed to get it into the oven, and a couple of packages of boneless, fast-cooking chicken thighs. He reached for those now, along with some sweet potatoes and a head of broccoli. Within minutes, even operating one handed as he balanced on crutches, he had the oven preheating and liberally seasoned chicken thighs in a roasting pan. The sweet potatoes went into another pan, scrubbed, unpeeled, and unadorned.

  The oven signaled its readiness, and the chicken and potatoes went in. He turned his attention to washing the broccoli and cutting it into uniform florets, then drizzled it with olive oil, tossed it with salt and pepper, and slid the pan onto the oven’s top rack. He set the timer for ten minutes, and then smiled with satisfaction.

  It felt good to be back on his feet in a halfway independent fashion again. He hadn’t cooked since before the shooting—before Gwyn and Gareth’s wedding—when he’d shuttled Gwyn out of her own kitchen and made dinner for everyone while she and Gareth caught their breath. He shook his head. Damn, that had been an interesting run-up to marriage they’d had. One more reason he had no interest in that kind of commitment. It looked like way too much work.

  He turned to retrieve the dishcloth from the sink, and a jolt of pain shot through his thigh. His breath left him in a whoosh. Halfway independent he might be, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He shuffled into the bedroom for his painkillers. A smile pulled at his mouth as he dumped a pill—just one—into his hand, remembering Grace’s suggestion the night before. She’d been such a good sport about the whole four-Graces thing. Hell, she’d been a good sport about everything that had happened since he’d first scared the bejeezus out of her nephew.

  And she smelled like strawberries.

  And she’d kicked his butt.

  Strong, beautiful, sarcastic, warm, capable…if he ever did change his mind about settling down, he’d want to do so with someone like—

  The thought hit like a shock of cold water. Holy hell, where had that come from? No. No settling down. Not now, not ever.

  And in the remotest possible possibility that he did? Strawberries and chocolate aside, someone like Grace was even more strictly off limits. He could admire her all he wanted for stepping in to take on those kids the way she had, but the key word here remained kids. As in not going there.

  Between the job and his own growing-up years, he’d seen enough messed-up families to turn him off fatherhood for several lifetimes.

  Sean scowled. Why was he even having this argument with himself? It shouldn’t be an issue. It wasn’t an issue. Kids. No. End of discussion. Besides, all of this was moot now, anyway. Grace was gone, back to her own cottage, and he was here. She had no reason to return, and—barring disaster—he had no reason to ask her to. It was done. Whatever it might have been.

  He set the bottle of painkillers back on the bedside table and turned to go back to the kitchen. A glint of metal on the floor by the pine baseboard caught his eye. With his cast extended behind him in a careful balancing act, he leaned down to scoop up an unfamiliar key ring with a vehicle fob and three keys attached.

  Grace.

  She must have dropped it last night when she’d pulled that move on him. Which meant she’d be back to visit.

  Warmth tugged at his belly, and the smile returned. Damn. Had his internal lecture meant so litt—

  A scream filtered in through the window he kept cracked open for sleep. Thin, high-pitched, and laced with terror. Sean’s heart crashed to a stop in mid-beat, then surged against his ribcage. A single thought gripped his mind.

  Grace—kids—bear.

  He tossed the keys onto the bed, turned, and thudded out of the bedroom. The maze of furniture in the living room ratcheted up from annoying to deadly, nearly sending him sprawling twice before he reached the sliding doors. He pulled aside the glass so hard, the door bounced out of its track and came to rest at a tilt. He didn’t pause. Didn’t slow down.

  He tracked across the deck. The bear. It must have returned. Broken into her cottage. That scream. Had it gotten one of the kids?

  The gun, he urged her silently. Get to the gun.

  He crutched awkwardly down the stairs and across the ink-black ground to the edge of the woods, staggering on the unevenness, searching for the entrance to the path connecting him to the other cottage. Shoving aside tree branches. Cursing under his breath.

  Slowly, the night’s silence filtered through to him. He paused. Clamped down on the instinct driving him forward. Remembered he was a cop, trained to assess a situation, not to run hell-bent-for-leather into the unknown. He held his breath, peering through the trees, listening through the hammer of blood in his ears.

  The other cottage sat dark and quiet.

  No screams, no crashing of furniture, no animal growls.

  A light came on in the kitchen window. Grace’s figure appeared. A cupboard door swung open, briefly blocking her from view before closing again. She stood, framed in the light for a few seconds more, then moved away. The light went out. Sean expelled the air from his lungs in a long, slow hiss. His heart rate slowed.

  Behind him, from his own kitchen, came the faint sound of the oven buzzer.

  Grace was fine.

  The kids were fine.

  And the scream?

  He filtered through the facts. Kids. Night time. Sleep. Single, high-pitched scream that could have come—no, almost certainly had come—from a child. His s
houlders descended from around his ears.

  A nightmare.

  He uncurled his hands from their death-grip on the crutches and winced as he flexed them. Someone had had a freaking nightmare, and he’d been ready to risk life and limb by crashing through the bush, in the dark and on crutches, casting aside everything he knew as a cop, just to get there.

  “Goddamn, McKittrick,” he muttered into the breeze that stirred against his skin. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  Scowling anew, he turned to answer the oven buzzer’s summons.

  And to repair the damned sliding door he’d pulled off its track.

  CHAPTER 16

  ………………

  “AUNT GRACE, CAN I HAVE the keys to the van?” Josh raised his voice over Annabelle’s shrieks as Grace tried to wrestle her into a t-shirt. “I left my grey hoodie in there the last time we went shopping.”

  Seated on the floor, Grace stuffed her niece’s writhing arm into its armhole for the fourth time. She pinned the limb under her own as she reached for its partner.

  “They should be in my jacket pocket,” she bellowed at Josh.

  Annabelle flung back her head, connecting hard with Grace’s chin. Stars burst behind Grace’s eyeballs, and she blinked back tears of pain and frustration. The toddler’s arm pulled free yet again.

  How in the world could a two-year-old be this slippery?

  “I looked,” Josh said. “They’re not there.”

  Hell. Could anything else go wrong this morning? Annabelle had two new molars coming in, and between being up with her half the night and dealing with nightmares for both Lilliane and Sage, Grace figured she’d managed a scant three hours of sleep at best. She brushed a lock of hair back from her sweaty forehead and looked down in despair at her screeching captive.

  “Jammy jammy jammy jammy!” yelled Annabelle.

  Grace had planned to get outdoors and run the legs off the toddler so she’d nap out of sheer exhaustion, freeing Grace to focus on the other three and their school work for a couple of hours. At this rate, however, aunt would be more in need of sleep than niece.