Love and Hope

by Kayla Perrin

  “They’re cattle, Jill.”

  “But it’s like you know them.”

  Grant shook his head in mock disgust, but his eyes shone with humor. “It’s not like we have a deep personal relationship or anything.”

  Jill looked at the package in his hand and grimaced.

  “You’re not a vegetarian are you?”

  No, she definitely wasn’t. She loved a grilled steak as much as anyone. “It’s just that I never thought about where meat comes from before. I mean, before it gets to the store.”

  “Most city people don’t, or at least they don’t want to. Remember the old slogan: If you ate today, thank a farmer?”

  “All right,” Jill giggled. “Let’s see if Kedar really is a good year.”

  *

  Grant waved goodbye to Sami, locked the clinic door, and returned to his own home. Jill was still sound asleep on the couch where he’d left her several hours earlier.

  Sami hadn’t asked any questions when he’d called to ask her to come in and help with an emergency surgery. He didn’t know why he did it. And he sure as hell wasn’t convinced it had been the right thing to do.

  But when he saw Jill laugh—he’d done that, made her happy—it had felt amazingly good.

  He was such an idiot. There was a huge gulf between making a woman chuckle at a ridiculous story and undertaking a risky and expensive surgery on an animal with less than even odds of recovering, just to see her smile.

  Jill stirred and sat up. “Is something wrong? Is it Sherlock?”

  “No, he’s fine,” Grant said, sitting down beside her. “I’m going to keep him for a while.”

  “It’s not fair to him, is it?” she whispered hoarsely. She lowered her head to her hands. Her voice was muffled and he had to strain to hear her. “I’m so sorry. You were right. I was being selfish. I was the one playing God, not you. You were just being realistic.” Her sobbing intensified. “I can’t bear to see him in constant pain and I can’t afford the surgery. Even if I could, I’m not sure how I’d manage everything you said needs to be done afterward.” She raised her head, her expression raw agony. “I just wanted to save him, you know?”

  Grant took her hand and squeezed it gently. This woman constantly amazed him with the depth of her passion and her strength of will. He couldn’t imagine how much it had cost her to admit defeat.

  “I believe I was successful at relieving the pressure on his spinal cord,” he said. “I’ll keep him here at the clinic during his recovery period, and we can figure out how to handle the rehabilitation once we have a better idea of what he needs.”

  She gaped at him. “You did the surgery?”

  He nodded. There it was, the smile, the joy he wanted see—the reason he’d done it. She squealed with glee and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him toward her.

  Her lips were soft and he held his breath, expecting her to back away after a quick ‘thank you’ peck. Instead, she paused, her mouth only a kiss away. She expelled a soft, warm breath that fanned his lips. It was likely only a fraction of a second, but time seemed suspended. Was she waiting for him?

  He reached for her. His fingers threaded through her messy curls and he held her head as he leaned in to claim her mouth. She shifted closer, and he groaned as her hip brushed the bulge at his crotch.

  He deepened the kiss, teasing open her lips so his tongue could enter her mouth. Damn, she tasted good.

  She felt good, too. One hand continued to play in her hair while he lowered the other along the contour of her cheek, down her neck, along her collarbone, to her shoulder—

  Jill gasped and pulled away. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  Grant’s body hummed with tension and he ached with the realization that relief wasn’t coming. He took a deep breath. What the hell had he been thinking? First the damned dog and now this?

  She looked stricken and he pushed aside his physical discomfort. She wasn’t responsible for this. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a nice way to be thanked—better from you than Mrs. Simmons.” He forced a sheepish grin and was rewarded by a tentative smile from Jill.

  “Can I see Sherlock?”

  “Sure.” Grant allowed her to get up first and head to the door. While her back was to him, he rose and quickly adjusted his pants to hide the obvious tenting. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop staring at her ass as she led the way into the clinic.

  This has got to stop.

  He had nothing to offer her but sex—and God, how he wanted to make love to her—but she wasn’t that kind of woman. She was vulnerable. The mother of one of his employees. A widow, for chrissake.

  She probably hadn’t slept with anyone since her husband died. And before then? Who knows what went on in their marriage? Rachel had called her family boring, but his every encounter with Jill had revealed a woman full of passion. Definitely not boring.

  The humming throughout his body was back.

  She’s not the type of woman you date, Palmer.

  And yet, to his horror, he heard himself ask her to go with him to the firemen’s dinner and dance the following weekend.

  Shit!

  Chapter 6

  “Is it my imagination or am I the most hated woman in the room?”

  “I wouldn’t say hated.” Grant’s sister-in-law, Loretta, giggled. “Certainly speculated about.”

  From the moment she and Grant arrived at the firemen’s dinner and dance, Jill had felt a piercing scrutiny from the community. Everyone was very polite when Grant introduced her, but she could feel hostility radiating from the unattached women in the room and unabashed curiosity from the men.

  Grant seemed oblivious to the stares and glares being thrown their way. He’d stayed by her side during the pulled-pork dinner, and had asked her to dance as soon as the music started.

  She watched him move on the dance floor with Mary-something, a fortyish bleached-blonde, who looked like the stereotyped desperate divorcee on the prowl—tight leopard-patterned leggings, low-cut top displaying ample cleavage, and lots of shiny jewelery competing for attention with her overly made-up face. She’d been circling Grant all evening and, finally, Jill had urged him to accept her request to dance, if only to get a little breathing room.

  Jill had seen the look of astonishment that had passed between Loretta and her husband, Doug, when they’d arrived. She wasn’t sure if they were more surprised that Grant had actually shown up, or that he’d brought a date. He’d warned Jill about small town gossip, and explained that was one of the reasons he’d moved to St. Thomas, although, truth-be-told, St. Thomas was hardly a thriving metropolis. Even there, he was viewed as one of the most eligible bachelors, according to Mae. If he were looking for anonymity, he’d have been better off going to Toronto. However, with his good looks and charismatic personality, she doubted even that city would be large enough for him to hide in.

  Jill had liked Loretta immediately. She was a strong, determined woman, who spoke her mind, but in the most loving and well-intentioned way. It was obvious she was the one running her family, and equally obvious that her husband and three sons doted on her. She possessed a natural beauty, with big green eyes, and a wide friendly smile. There was nothing pretentious about Loretta Palmer. She wore little makeup, didn’t try to hide her graying, brown hair with dye, and was dressed in a pretty, but modest, short-sleeved, floral-printed dress that fell below her knees. Even her low-heeled Mary Janes were practical for an evening of dancing.

  By contrast, Jill had chosen a short, jade-green, form-flattering dress and less-than-comfortable high-heels, which she’d kicked off after the first dance. She was wearing more makeup than usual due to Rachel’s insistence. She had been nervous about how her daughter would react when she’d learned of her date with Grant, but Rachel had been enthusiastic, insisting on helping with her makeup and hair. Jill raised a hand to her unruly curls, which had shaken loose of the clasp during dancing. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

/>   The song ended. Grant was leading a reluctant Mary-something off the dance floor when the music changed into a slow romantic tune. Another woman—Jill couldn’t remember her name—made a bee-line toward the pair and tried to drag Grant back onto the floor. Mary-something was having none of this, taking Grant’s other arm and insisting he dance with her.

  “This is the most entertainment I’ve had in a long time.” Loretta chortled. “Usually these things are so deadly dull—same people, same conversation. But this is better than an episode of The Bachelor!”

  Jill joined her laughter. She was enjoying the show, too. Poor Grant looked like he was about to be yanked in half. Looking frustrated, he shook his arms free, sending Mary-something and the other woman spinning away. He stomped toward Jill and held out his hand. “Dance.” More of a statement than a request.

  She followed him onto the dance floor. As he pulled her close, she remembered that, in her bare feet, they were about the same height. Strange. He always felt bigger than her, even when she was in heels. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he rested his cheek against hers. He was warm and solid, and smelled of sweat and aftershave—a heady, musky scent that stirred something deep inside of her. Something she hadn’t felt for a very long time. It both frightened and exhilarated her. She shivered and he pulled her closer.

  They didn’t speak. Jill closed her eyes and trusted Grant to lead. She felt safe and protected in his arms. Another slow song followed the first. His cheek was smooth and she knew if they turned their heads the slightest bit, their lips would meet. She flushed. She couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. It was so unlike her. But the way he’d responded … matched the way she felt.

  She felt a damp heat between her breasts, and lower, in her abdomen.

  She’d never been with any man other than her husband, and had only rarely fantasized about making love with someone else.

  Was that what she was thinking of doing with Grant? Was this where she wanted things to lead?

  Fiery moisture pooled between her thighs.

  The song ended and the drum-beat intro signaled a switch to a faster-paced dance number. As they moved apart, Jill noticed Mary-something galloping toward them.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Grant whispered, threading his fingers through hers and gently pulling her off the dance floor.

  They said a quick goodbye to Loretta and Doug, and to his three nephews who were sitting outside with the other teenagers too cool to dance alongside their parents.

  “Let’s never do that again,” Grant said, as he slid into the driver’s seat of his SUV.

  Jill exploded into laughter, and after two seconds, Grant joined her. “You should have warned me that I was taking my life in my hands by coming here,” she said when they were finally able to contain themselves. “Next time I’ll wear a Kevlar vest to protect me from the daggers being thrown my way.”

  Grant’s gaze raked over her. “I’d like to see you in full body armor.”

  He made it sound sexy, and Jill felt a blush creep into her cheeks.

  He chuckled at her reaction, started the engine, and pulled onto the highway.

  Jill glanced at the dashboard clock as they passed the St. Thomas welcome sign. It was only ten-thirty. They’d be at her house in a couple of minutes and the evening would be over.

  “Would it be okay if I stopped in to see Sherlock before you take me home?” she asked. She’d visited Sherlock every day since his surgery, including earlier today. She hadn’t always seen Grant at the clinic because he was often with patients, but that wasn’t why she’d been going—or so she told herself.

  “Sure,” he said and drove past the turn-off for her street.

  Grant had told Jill he was both pleased and surprised by the dog’s recovery. He expected the Beagle would be allowed more movement this week, and some sort of physiotherapy would begin shortly after.

  Sherlock greeted her with a soft tap of his tail against his crate. She gently rubbed the dog’s forehead, wondering what the heck she’d been thinking by inviting herself back to Grant’s home. It had been exciting to be on the arm of the most eligible bachelor at the dance, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed the evening, but the dance was over. What was she expecting to happen now?

  She turned off the light in the recovery room, and walked back to the kitchen where Grant waited for her.

  “I poured you a glass of wine,” Grant said when he saw her. “Pinot Grigio, right? Rachel said it was your favorite.”

  “Thanks.” She accepted the glass, her hand shaking slightly. He’d asked Rachel about her favorite wine? He was either incredibly thoughtful or … She took a sip, savoring the tangy citrus flavor in her mouth and the cool rush as it flowed down her throat. They’d only served beer and cheap liquor at the dance.

  She was trembling. She didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t even know what she wanted to happen.

  She watched Grant over the rim of her glass. He leaned back comfortably against the counter and rolled the wine around his glass, eyeing it suspiciously.

  “Not a wine drinker?” she asked.

  “Not usually. This isn’t bad, though. I could grow to like it. A lot.”

  The way he said ‘a lot’ made her skin tingle and the look he was giving her seemed to indicate he was talking about much more than the wine. But it had been so long since she’d done anything like this … if she ever really had. Was he waiting for her to say something? Make the first move? Women did that these days.

  Goodness, he was handsome with his tousled dark hair, striking blue eyes, and roguish grin—not to mention great physique. In a dark purple pin-striped dress shirt and tight black denim jeans, it was no wonder the women at the dance were in a frenzy over him. And he was here with her. Why?

  “Look—” she began, but he interrupted her, which was just as well since she hadn’t been at all sure what she’d intended to say.

  “Jill.” He put his glass on the counter and stepped toward her. He took her wine and set it beside his. With one hand, he gently cupped her face and she found herself lost in his eyes.

  “I—” She tried again to speak.

  “Shhh,” he whispered, slowly leaning in.

  As soon as his lips touched hers, she melted into him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His free arm encircled her hips, pulling her in closer. She tasted the Pinot on his lips and moaned as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

  She wriggled in closer, excited by the dual sensation of his large warm hand cupping her bottom while his erection strained at the juncture between her thighs.

  His fingertips brushed over her cheek before threading into the thick curls that had fallen around her face. He broke away from her mouth to trail small kisses down her cheek and along her chin. She arched backward, giving him easier access to her neck. Grant murmured something she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like “beautiful,” but she couldn’t be sure.

  His hands slid to the zipper at the back of her dress. She felt a tug and then a rush of cool air on bare skin as the fabric slipped opened.

  For a quick moment Jill congratulated herself on her purchase of the lacy violet bra and panty set, and then she chastised herself. That made her sound scheming. It wasn’t as if she bought it expecting this to happen.

  Had she? She’d wanted to look nice and feel … sexy. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like that at all. All rational thought quickly disappeared when Grant’s hand covered one lacy breast and he lowered his mouth to suckle at the other through the fabric.

  His free hand worked its way down the back of her unzipped dress until she felt his hand caress her bottom. Her hips rolled in rhythm and his erection grew, digging deeper between her legs.

  She was frantic to feel him, to touch his skin, to taste him. Her hands shook as she drew his shirt free from his jeans. She fumbled with the buttons until she was able to run her hands along his naked shoulders, and down the plane of his back, feeling the strength of him.
/>
  She felt flushed and dizzy. Her nipples were aflame as Grant nuzzled one and toyed with the other. She wanted him to touch her, skin-to-skin. Jill reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She heard him gasp as it fell away, and he greedily took one pebbled nipple between his teeth while he rolled the other with his thumb and forefinger.

  So much better, but not nearly enough. Sweet hot desire spiraled downward. She unbuckled his belt and then undid his jeans before pushing them down over his hips where they fell heavily to the floor. She cupped his bottom through his boxer briefs and then reached around the front and under the waistband—

  Grant seized her wrist. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse and his breathing ragged. “Because I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. We can stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop.” Jill’s voice was a breathless whisper. “I’m sure.”

  “Thank God.” He whisked her up into his arms and carried her into his bedroom.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh my gosh! Is that really the time?”

  Jill lurched up, instinctively clutching the sheet to keep herself covered. The glowing red numbers on the digital clock read 3:45.

  Grant lay beside her, his head propped on one arm. She feared she had dozed off, but he looked wide awake. He grinned, and rolled to push her back down onto the bed. “The night’s still young.”

  Jill was torn. A big part of her wanted to stay with him, but how would it look? What would Rachel say if she didn’t come home? “No, no, no, I can’t spend the night.” Grant ignored her protest as he kissed his way along her collarbone, moving lower toward her breasts, pulling the sheet down as he descended. It felt so wonderful … “Please, Grant. Stop.”

  He raised his head, his eyes questioning. “Are you sure?” His voice was teasing, suggestive.