Austin avoided her direct statement. “I’ll carry the salad.”
Needless to say, dinner was awkward, with Carlie Beth and Aubrey trying to make extra small talk while Austin picked at his food and sulked. And if that didn’t say everything there was to say about whether or not he was ready for a romantic relationship of any kind, nothing did.
Yvonne ate her last bite of lasagna and put her fork aside. “That was delicious. Thanks so much, ladies.”
His plate still half-full, Austin pushed away from the table and mumbled, “Just remembered I have to be somewhere.”
“Before dessert?” Aubrey said.
“I’m allergic to chocolate.”
“Let me walk you out,” Carlie Beth offered.
“I know the way.” Then a few seconds later, the front door opened and closed.
“It’s not chocolate. It’s lemon,” Yvonne said, finally making Carlie Beth happy for the first time since she’d heard Grif wouldn’t make it to dinner. “What are you going to do about that, Carlie Beth?”
She laughed. “Eat it.”
With a raised brow, Yvonne drawled. “Not the cake. The kid.”
“Give him a little time to get his pride back together. It’ll blow over.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
She sighed. “Guess I’ll deal with that when I have to. But enough about my problems. How’re things going at the gallery? Any uptick in business since Grif Steele took over as city manager?”
With a nod, Yvonne said, “A little, but I’m hoping it’s a good sign. I’ve actually gotten a few requests for axes lately. One person in particular is interested in a Gotland style. Think that’s something you could work up for the gallery?”
Hmm. Not her normal type of work, but maybe for the handles, she could reach out to the woodworker who’d made Miss Joan’s table. “Let me put some coffee on and we can chat about it over cake.”
By the time the coffee was brewed, Aubrey excused herself from the table with a big piece of Yvonne’s cake, saying she had some homework to finish.
Yvonne watched her carry the plate from the room. “Do you ever regret having her?” she asked Carlie Beth.
Carlie Beth almost dropped a mug of coffee in front of Yvonne and sat her plate down with a clink. “What do you mean?”
“With the quality of your work, you could’ve been huge, showing in galleries all over the world.”
“Who says I won’t still do that?”
Yvonne’s laugh had a condescending edge Carlie Beth had never heard before. “I love my gallery, but I can’t say it’s ever been a jumping-off spot for major talent.”
“I’m happy with my life.”
“Of course you are.” With a slow drag, Yvonne raked her fork tines through the frosting. “Since the gallery is right there on Main Street, I can’t help but notice she’s spending a lot of time with Grif.”
“She’s helping him with the State of Steele Ridge reception.”
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“No, why should it?”
“Madison Henry.”
Indignation scrawled up Carlie Beth’s back, stiffening her spine. “You said yourself he was cleared. He and I discussed the situation and I believe every word he said.”
Yvonne nodded, but it didn’t convince Carlie Beth she was convinced. “What about money?”
“What about it?”
“Not to be crude, but he has a lot more of it than you do.”
“So?”
“So girls Aubrey’s age like things—clothes, makeup, cars.”
“I’ve already told him he’s not allowed to go overboard with her.”
“Then I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Yvonne scooped up a bite of cake and chewed. When she smiled, a tiny piece of lemon glaze clung to her lips, quivered there, then dropped to the table. “Now, about those ax heads.”
Still unsettled by Yvonne’s comments, Carlie Beth deliberately took a breath, scooted her plate to the side, and reached for paper and a pencil. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
24
“It’s what?” Grif asked the guy handing him the report. The private lab he’d hired to test the slippery stuff on the climbing wall grips had finally come through.
“A quenchant.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s basically an oil or polymer used to temper metals.”
Then what the hell was it doing smeared all over fiberglass climbing holds? “And where would I buy something like that?”
“Lot of online suppliers. Best I can tell this is something called Sure-Quench.” The guy pointed to a line on the lab report.
Griff read the quenchant description aloud. “Often used by knife makers or other craftspeople who work with metal.” He pinned the guy with a stare. “Would that include blacksmiths?”
“I’m no expert, but I’d say yes.”
“Motherfu—”
“I take it this isn’t good news.”
“Not really.”
“Good luck to you, man.”
It was a little after eleven when Grif pulled up in front of Carlie Beth’s house. He sat there in Louise’s less-than-comfortable seat for a few minutes just thinking. Or at least trying to, because the buzzing in his brain made it hard to be rational. His heart hadn’t stopped thumping in a sick rhythm since he left the lab in Charlotte. Because who the hell in Steele Ridge but Carlie Beth or her apprentice would use quenching oil?
Maybe she didn’t believe he was innocent of all the abuse accusations. Maybe she didn’t believe a damn thing he said about anything.
That thought ate at his gut like a pint of mountain moonshine.
But he needed to know the truth, so he shoved his door open without giving a crap that he pushed it to the limit of its hinges and it protested. But before he could make it to Carlie Beth’s porch, the front door swung open and she was squinting at him.
“Grif? I thought you couldn’t make it. Dinner was over four hours ago. Do you want to come in?”
“No. Yes. No.”
“Let it never be said that you’re not a decisive man. There’s still lasagna and cake.”
“I’m not hungry.” The words came out sharp.
“Okay. Not looking to force-feed you. You’re obviously in a pisser of a mood. Something go wrong with the event? It’s a school night, so I don’t want to wake up Aub—”
“I’m not here to chat with Aubrey. I’m here to talk with you.”
She nodded, a hesitant motion, and pointed toward the small porch swing. “We can sit out here.”
Grif tried not to notice how damn cute and rumpled she looked in her shorty pajamas. When she sat on her wicker porch swing and pulled her feet up, he averted his gaze so he wouldn’t be seduced by the sexy line of her hamstring. Instead of taking the space beside her, he leaned against the porch rail and trained his attention over her head. “Tell me about hardening steel.”
“What? Why?”
“Just humor me.”
“Okay. Oils and fats have been used for hundreds of years to harden metals. Of course, blacksmiths back in the day didn’t completely understand why that was. But now, you could read all the ins and outs of heat transfer in academic papers. If you cool too rapidly, the metal, especially steel, can distort or crack. But basically the quenching oil controls the heat transfer, tempering the metal, which reduces that likelihood.”
“So an oil is always used to temper metal?”
“No, some people prefer water.”
“What about you?”
“What about me what?” She grabbed the chain holding up the swing, causing it to lose its smooth track. “Why would you wake me up in the middle of the night to talk about—”
“It’s only eleven-thirty.”
“When you have a kid in school, it’s the middle.” She stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. As if he couldn’t possibly understand the rhythms of being a parent. Goddammit.
“Carlie Beth, w
hat do you and Austin use in your forge to cool and harden metal?” He swiped a hand across his eyes, hating himself for the way he was pushing her, but knowing he had to. If she’d been the one to—damn, he didn’t want to think it. Her apprentice also had access to everything in her forge.
“Now I know exactly what this is about.” She put her feet down on the porch and the swinging came to an abrupt stop. “You got the lab results back.”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“Quenching oil. Apparently a kind often used by blacksmiths.”
“And you think Austin…I know he’s acts a little territorial around me, but he’s just a kid with a crush. Besides, I don’t let him temper anything yet—”
"Hell."
Sudden understanding—and hurt—filled her eyes.
She jumped off the swing and squared off with him. If the human eyeballs could mimic death-ray lasers, Carlie Beth’s would’ve laid him out flat in a smoking pile of ash. “All this getting to know Aubrey. All this family time. All this”—her hand waved between them below waist-level—“between you and me was complete pretend, wasn’t it? The whole time, you were just trying to keep us close while you figured out who has it in for you.”
God, when she said it like that, it sounded bad. And it was bad. But her anger didn’t mean he could simply drop this. “Do you or do you not use quenching oil in your forge?”
She was glaring so hard at him that her teeth were actually bared. “I don’t know why you even bothered to ask because you won’t believe what I have to say anyway.” She stalked toward her front door and yanked it open so hard that it bounced off the siding. “So why don’t you go find out for yourself?”
* * *
Although he wanted to follow her, explain himself, he didn’t for two reasons. One, because he heard the deadbolt engage approximately three-quarters of a second after the door closed behind her. And two, because she hadn’t answered his damn question.
Still, he stood there on the porch for a few minutes, head down, and rubbed at the back of his neck. None of this shit would be happening if Jonah hadn’t fucked with that contract. Right now, Grif would be home…
Yeah, he’d be home in his professionally decorated LA apartment, still in his office, probably with his phone superglued to his damn ear. On the West Coast, it was too early for his clients to be out stirring up trouble in the nightclubs. So Grif would still be dealing with the daily shit—contracts, deals, hustles.
Somehow, that didn’t sound so damn attractive anymore. Truth be told, it hadn’t for months. But coming back home, finding out he had a daughter, getting involved with Carlie Beth was making him face that truth head-on.
What was happening to him?
Rather than answer his own question, he stepped off the porch and strode around the side of the house. He tried the the forge’s door, but it was locked. He was reaching for the overhead’s handle when someone said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Grif turned to find Austin standing there trying to look big and tough. And Jesus, if he’d thought Carlie Beth’s look earlier was a killer, this one would’ve sliced him open and pulled out his guts.
“I asked you a question and I expect an answer.” Whoa. True, Grif hadn’t exactly been a charmer when he met the kid before, but this was more than simple territory marking. This was you’re a fucking douche and I’d as soon shoot you as look at you.
“I need to get something from the forge.”
“Carlie Beth know you’re out here?” Subtext: asshole.
“She’s the one who suggested I come out here.” Okay, maybe suggest was pushing it. “Can you please unlock the door?” It took every bit of self-control Grif had not to get chest to chest with this guy and show him which dog was the alpha.
Austin pulled out a set of keys and pushed by Grif to open up the forge. Once the lights were on, he said, “Now what do you want?”
“Carlie Beth have a quenching tank?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is it?”
“Are you here for a blacksmithing lesson?” Austin’s hostile expression took on a cocky are-you-effing-kidding-me slant. “If so, we do those tours on Neverdays at ten and two.”
Okay, enough, young pup. Grif got right up in the guy’s personal space. “Where’s the fucking quenching tank?”
Austin’s chin angled up, but then he used it to motion to his left. “Over there by the coal forge.”
Yeah, like Grif knew what a coal forge was.
“That vat.” Austin pointed to a large bucket near a metal table with a lip surrounding it. Yeah, he should’ve known because the coal forge was littered with chunks of what looked like black rock. “You know, with the liquid in it.”
It was wrong to want to coldcock someone this bad, so Grif tried to eighty-six the feeling. Then he realized he hadn’t brought a damn thing to put a sample in. “You got a cup or something?”
Carlie Beth’s apprentice sneered, “Maybe you’d like some crumpets with that?”
Grif surged around and grabbed him by the shirt. “What is your problem?”
“You’re my problem, you slick big-city asshole. You stroll into town acting like Carlie Beth should fall at your fancy-shoed feet.”
Grif glanced down at his expensive loafers. What the hell did people have against his damn footwear? Maybe it was time to invest in a new pair of hiking boots. “How is it any of your business what’s between Carlie Beth and me?”
“She’s too good for you.”
Yeah, that was probably true, but that hadn’t ever stopped Grif from going after what he wanted before.
“And she deserves better.”
Ah, so the possessiveness wasn’t about Carlie Beth being his teacher, his mentor. He actually thought he had a chance with her. “You realize you’re closer to Aubrey’s age than Carlie Beth’s, right?”
“Age doesn’t matter.”
Grif leaned forward, took a good look at the guy’s chin. “Maybe not, but I figure she might want a man who’s shaved more than once in his life.”
Total asshole thing to say, but every one of Grif’s buttons had been pushed tonight.
Austin covered his chin. “You fucked everything up. She would’ve noticed me if not for you strutting around town.”
Grif took a deep breath, trying to keep his shit together. In fact, when he got all this oil crap settled, he’d swing back by and invite Carlie Beth’s apprentice out for a beer. Shit, or maybe just a soft drink. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve wronged you in some way, but Carlie Beth and I have history. In the form of a fourteen-year-old daughter. Neither you nor I can do a damn thing about that. Now, I need a cup.”
The guy shot him one last glare before stomping across the room and coming back with a battered Solo cup. “Get it and get out.”
25
The guy at the private lab thought Grif was a complete nut job when he called him up around midnight asking to bring in another sample. At first he said no way in hell, but when Grif had offered him a cash bonus to meet him and run the test ASAP, the lab dude had changed his mind, apparently deciding a nut job with money to burn was okay.
So here it was, seven thirty in the morning, and Grif was sitting outside Carlie Beth’s house after wrestling a dolly holding his forgive-me-because-I’m-a-dumbass gift to the foot of her porch steps. But when the front door opened, it was Aubrey who walked out.
“Dad?” She drew back a little and studied him. “What are you doing here so early and why do you look like you slept in your clothes?”
“Is your mom up?”
“Yes, but she wasn’t in a great mood, so—wait a minute, y’all had a fight, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t a fight exactly. It was more of a—”
“It was something because she forgot to put coffee in the basket and ended up brewing a pot of hot water.”
“Maybe she was—”
“And she drank half a cup before she realized it
.”
“Oh.” Yeah, that was pretty damn bad. Maybe he should’ve hit the Mad Batter and picked up a box of pastries before coming here.
“I thought I heard people talking last night.”
“Your mom and I had a little discussion.”
“So I didn’t dream the door slamming.”
He sighed. “No.”
Aubrey slumped down beside him on the porch swing. “I knew it was going too well.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You know, that we were kinda getting our groove as a family. And you and Mom were…um…dating or whatever.”
Yeah, with the way he’d screwed things up, they might not be whatevering again. He took his daughter’s hand, sad that he hadn’t held it when she was a baby. When she was learning to walk. Learning to ride a bike. “I missed a lot. I don’t want to miss out in the future.”
“What’re you saying?”
“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “Because relationships take two people. But I can promise you regardless of what happens between your mom and me, I’m in your life for good now. And as your parents, we’ll learn to do it together.”
Aubrey rested her head against his shoulder, and everything in Grif’s world simply slipped into alignment. “It would be great if the two of you would be together, but I’ll love you both however it works out.” She seemed to realize there was a big wooden stump near the porch steps and laughed. “Is that what I think it is?”
He’d called around for hours trying to find something that would say “I’m sorry” to a blacksmith. He’d gotten lucky—damn lucky—when he woke Randi up in the middle of the night and she mentioned Carlie Beth had been pining for a sturdier anvil stand. “Stupid?” Shit, he should’ve gone for the traditional—chocolate, more flowers, jewelry.
Aubrey’s smile dominated her face, and she hopped off the swing to give him a quick hug. “No, perfect. Which means there’s still hope for you, Grif Steele.” She jumped nimbly off the porch and waved as she headed down the sidewalk.
Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series Page 21