by Irene Hannon
“Ricky came to us the first time when he was about twelve,” Grant told her. “Like a lot of the kids, he was from a troubled home. His father had deserted the family when he was two, and his mother was into the drug scene big-time. By twelve, he’d seen it all and was tough as nails. And he didn’t want any part of Good Shepherd or the ‘Jesus stuff,’ as he called it.
“Anyway, his first night here, he ran away. Except he got lost. And all of the counselors had to go out searching for him in the woods.”
“Including you,” Elizabeth interjected. “How old were you then, Grant? Eighteen, maybe?”
“Yeah, I think so. I ended up finding him, huddled under a tree about a mile from camp, absolutely terrified. He’d never been away from the city, or in a place without any lights. The darkness freaked him out.”
“Until you showed him the stars,” Joe said.
A smile whispered at Grant’s lips. “When I found him, I’m not sure if he was more scared of the dark or of the punishment for running away. But instead of getting mad, I gave him an astronomy lesson,” he explained to Morgan.
That sounded like Grant. “Why do I think you made a friend for life?” she mused with an answering smile.
“He did,” Joe confirmed. “After that, Ricky was Grant’s shadow. And when the week ended, he didn’t want to leave. He came back every summer for a number of years, always the week Grant was here. He told me once that if it hadn’t been for Good Shepherd Camp, he’d have ended up dead in a street fight before he was twenty. But he found friends here. And support. And despite himself, God.”
“Where is he now?” Morgan asked.
“He’s an attorney in Boston,” Elizabeth said with pride. “And he handles the youth ministry at his church.”
“That’s a remarkable story,” Morgan said, impressed.
“It’s just one of many,” Grant replied. “That’s why this fund-raiser is so important. There are still a lot of Rickys out there who need what Good Shepherd has to offer.”
As they finished their coffee and Grant glanced at his watch, Morgan took the cue.
“I guess we need to head back. Elizabeth, Joe, thank you so much for your hospitality. And for the stories. I have a much better understanding now of the impact the camp has had on so many lives. And I also have some ideas on how to revise the text of the brochure to make it even more effective.”
“We’re so glad you came,” Elizabeth said, rising to retrieve their coats. “You’re welcome anytime.”
The drive home was quiet. Grant seemed lost in thought, and Morgan had plenty to think about herself. Especially her tour guide. The more she saw of Grant, the more she liked him. But even if Christine wasn’t in the picture—and that was a big if—there were still too many obstacles for a relationship between them to succeed. Grant was happy living on the back roads of Maine; Morgan was a big-city girl. Grant liked life in the slow lane; Morgan was on the fast track. Grant made time for family and causes in which he believed; until these past few weeks, Morgan hadn’t had time for anything but work. But even though she had more balance in her life now, and a better perspective, she and Grant were still very different.
And Christine’s shadow was too long.
When they pulled up in front of Jo’s cottage, Grant came around to help Morgan out of the high cab of his truck. His hands were strong and steady, and once again Morgan’s pulse accelerated at his touch. But she stifled her feelings as best she could. She needed to keep her distance. For both their sakes. Neither needed the kind of complications that romance would bring.
Morgan disengaged her hands from his and moved a couple of steps away before she turned to him. “Thank you for the tour, Grant. I’m sorry it took up most of your day.”
“Sylvia was right. It was important for you to see Good Shepherd. I have more time on my hands now, anyway.”
Because Christine is gone.
He didn’t say it. But he didn’t have to. Morgan could read it in his eyes. Along with wrenching pain and a desolate loneliness.
Morgan could relate to that. She’d been feeling more and more lonely herself over the past few weeks. Forgetting her resolve of moments before, she stepped closer again and laid her hand on his arm.
“I want you to know how sorry I am about…about everything,” she said softly. “And I just want you to know how much I respect you. And how much I envy your strength. I wish I had even half of it.”
As Grant gazed into Morgan’s sincere, compassionate eyes, he suddenly didn’t feel strong at all. He felt lost. And alone. And needy.
Grant had always had tremendous self-control and discipline. And those traits had held him in good stead over the past few years. But he’d lived in an emotional vacuum way too long, and as he savored Morgan’s lovely face, those virtues seemed to desert him. His mouth went dry, and he was filled with a yearning to reach out and touch her porcelain skin, run his fingers through her shiny, copper hair, taste her inviting lips. The impulse was so strong that he had started to reach for her before he realized that things were getting out of control.
With an abrupt movement, he yanked his hand back and jammed it into the pocket of his sheepskin jacket.
“I need to go,” he said in a curt, clipped manner.
Morgan was startled, though not surprised, by his sudden retreat. And she was more than a little disappointed, because even though her head told her that it wouldn’t be wise to get involved with Grant, her heart said otherwise.
“I’ll see you around, I guess.” She couldn’t stop the tremor that rippled through her voice.
He gave a brusque nod, climbed into his truck and pulled away.
And he didn’t look back.
He didn’t dare.
Because he was afraid the tenuous hold he had on his self control would snap as easily as a dry, lifeless twig too long deprived of water if he allowed himself one more look at her face.
But it took every ounce of his will power to keep his gaze fixed on the road ahead instead of on the woman he’d left behind.
Morgan pulled her sporty car into a parking place in front of the barnlike structure that bore the name Kincaid Woodworks and set her brake. She hadn’t seen Grant since he’d given her a tour of the camp, and considering their parting, she hadn’t intended to seek him out. But she had good news, and she figured he could use some cheering up after all he’d been through. So she’d decided to pay him an impromptu visit.
As she entered the tiny reception area in the front of the building, the muffled sounds of a saw and the smell of newly planed wood greeted her. A button was mounted on the wall, next to a sign inviting customers to “ring bell for service.” She pressed it, only to be startled by the loud clang that echoed through the building. It sounded much like the bell that had been used to signal the end of recess in grade school, she recalled with a nervous grin.
The saw went silent, and Andrew came through the door from the back room.
“Morgan! It’s good to see you,” he greeted her, extending a hand. “You’ve been keeping yourself pretty scarce.”
She returned his firm grip. “I haven’t wandered far from the cottage,” she admitted. “Is Grant around?”
“Last time I checked he was behind the shop, inspecting a new load of maple. Shall I send him up, or would you like to go back?”
“I’ll go back. I’ve never seen the workshop before.”
As she followed Grant’s father through the door marked Private, she glanced around with interest at the spacious shop. The pleasant scent of fresh-cut wood was much stronger back here, and various pieces of furniture in different stages of completion stood about. Grant had come back inside, and she spotted him in the far corner, intent on his work and oblivious to their approach. She watched as he leaned close to examine the front of the cabinet he was working on, and when he reached over to let his strong, lean fingers glide over the smooth surface, Morgan’s pulse went haywire.
“Grant, you have a visitor.”
&n
bsp; He looked up, and for a moment he seemed taken aback by Morgan’s presence. Caution warred with warmth in his eyes as he greeted her. “Hi. What brings you here?”
“I have something to show you. You might want to see this, too, Andrew.” Morgan tried for an easy, conversational tone as she struggled to make her uncooperative lungs behave.
Setting aside a white bakery bag, she opened a folder, then pulled out two sheets of paper and handed them to Grant while Andrew looked over his son’s shoulder. “You mentioned when we went to the camp that a reporter from Boston had called after I sent them some info on the benefit. So I started monitoring the paper on the Internet. This story appeared this morning.”
As Grant and Andrew scanned the feature article, complete with pictures of the camp, Morgan pointed out that the reporter had used the backgrounder she’d created to contact not only Grant, as chairman, but some of the prominent alumni of the camp, as well. Comments from them were included, along with a quote from the featured entertainer for the event.
“It’s a very positive article, and when I spoke with Mary this morning she said she’d already received quite a few phone calls about tickets, as well as inquiries from people who were interested in supporting the camp.”
Grant looked over at her. Warmth had triumphed over caution in his eyes. And the effect of his smile registered at about an eight on the Richter scale. “This is fantastic! You really know your stuff, Morgan.”
She flushed at his compliment. “You just need a hook to get reporters interested, and our stellar entertainment and successful alumni did the trick.” She reached for the bakery bag and waved it under their noses. “And I brought some cookies to celebrate. Courtesy of the local bakery.”
“Anybody home?”
They all turned at the sound of Kit’s voice, and Andrew motioned her over. “Come and see what Morgan just brought in.”
Kit joined them and perused the article. “Way to go, girl!” she congratulated Morgan when she finished. “With this kind of publicity, I expect the dinner will be a huge success. Bill and I are really looking forward to it, not only because it’s a great cause, but it will be the social event of the season—make that the decade!—for us. The last time Bill wore a tux was at our wedding! You’ll have to rent one, too, Grant.”
“It’s on my list of things to do.”
Kit turned from Grant to Morgan. “So…who are you bringing?”
“Bringing?”
“Aren’t you going to invite a date?”
Morgan shook her head. “Everybody I know is in Boston. It’s too long a drive from there to Portland, especially since the event will run late.”
Her expression innocent—maybe too innocent—Kit turned to Grant. “Why don’t you two go together?”
Based on Grant’s frown, the idea didn’t appeal to him. Morgan stifled a pang of disappointment and spoke before he could respond. “I’m used to attending events by myself, Kit,” she assured the other woman. “I did it all the time in Boston. My job required me to show up at lots of different kinds of social gatherings. I’m an old pro at going solo.”
“I’m sure you are, but there’s no need in this case,” Kit countered. “You and Grant are both going. And it’s a long drive by yourself, especially in the dark. Bill and I would be happy to take you, but we’re going to make a night of it and stay until Sunday.”
“I think Kit’s idea makes a lot of sense, Grant,” Andrew concurred.
When Grant’s frown deepened, Morgan decided that was her cue to exit. “Look, we can sort all this out later. The event is still weeks away. In the meantime, I need to run. I’ll just let myself out. See you all later.”
And before anyone could say another word, she made a hasty escape.
After watching her leave, Grant met the disapproving eyes of his sister. Her critical expression was mirrored by his father. He planted his fists on his hips and glared at them. “What?”
Kit wasn’t about to be intimidated. “You weren’t very nice to Morgan. She doesn’t know that many people up here. The least you could do is take her to the dinner, after all the work she’s put into it. I think you hurt her feelings.”
“Kit’s right, son,” Andrew agreed.
“Look, I’m not in the mood for social events right now, okay?” Grant raked his fingers through his hair, feeling cornered. “I even considered not attending the dinner, but as chairman of the board, I think I have to go. I didn’t mean to hurt Morgan’s feelings, but I’m not very good company at the moment.”
“You’re better than no company,” Kit shot back.
“I’m not so sure of that.” His shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the cabinet, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’m barely getting through the days right now,” he admitted, his eyes downcast. When he continued speaking, his voice was rough at the edge. “It’s a struggle to adjust and to accept that…that Christine is gone. I’ll think about what you said, but I just need some time.”
Kit’s eyes grew soft, and she glanced at Andrew as she reached out to put a hand on Grant’s arm. “I’m sorry for coming on so strong. I know how hard this is for you, and I’m sure Morgan understands.” She turned to Andrew. “I brought some lunch for everybody. Is Uncle Pete around?”
“He’s out back. I’ll get him.”
“I baked your favorite brownies,” Kit told Grant.
“Thanks. I’ll be right over.”
He watched her walk away, grateful she’d backed off. Even though her suggestion made sense, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. For all the reasons he’d laid out. As well as for the ones he hadn’t.
His attraction to Morgan. And his guilt about it.
Grant didn’t understand why he was drawn to Morgan. But he knew it was much too soon to have those kinds of feelings. And he didn’t have the energy to deal with disturbing emotions and difficult questions right now.
So taking her to the black-tie dinner, which required a long drive to and from Portland with just each other for company, was not a good idea.
Chapter Ten
“Anybody home?”
Grant came out from behind the bookcase he was sanding and smiled at Bill. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Your sister sent me on a mission of mercy. Homemade cookies.” Bill held up a large plastic container.
Grinning, Grant wiped his hands on his jeans. “Perfect timing. I was just about ready for a break. Do you want to join me?”
Bill checked his watch. “Well, I’m on my way to a meeting…but Kit’s chocolate-chip-pecan cookies are hard to resist. So, okay, I’ll give in to temptation,” he capitulated with a smile, as he followed Grant to the lunchroom in the corner of the shop. “Where are Andrew and Pete?”
“Making a delivery,” Grant told him as he reached for the coffeepot on the counter. “Which is a good thing. The last time someone brought cookies, those two devoured most of them before I could grab more than a couple. Turnabout is fair play.”
Bill took a seat and opened the container. “I thought Kit was your sole cookie source. Who’s infringing on her territory?”
A shadow passed over Grant’s eyes as he set their mugs on the worn wooden surface and joined Bill at the table. “Morgan brought cookies the other day.”
“No kidding? That was nice. I heard about the coverage Good Shepherd got in the Boston paper, by the way. That was great.”
“Yeah. She’s good at what she does.”
“She’s a hard worker, that’s for sure. We found that out on Christmas. Remember how she had to excuse herself during dinner to return those calls?”
“I remember.”
“But Kit was just saying the other day how much Morgan has mellowed since she’s been here. And I have to agree. She doesn’t seem nearly as driven or high-strung.”
“Yeah.”
As he sipped his coffee, Bill studied his brother-in-law over the rim of the mug. “So how much longer will she be in Seaside?”
“I guess until a b
etter offer comes along.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a nice woman.”
“I know.”
“Kit will miss her. And…I have a feeling you will, too.”
Taken aback, Grant wrapped his hands around the large, no-nonsense mug. Even though he’d never given voice to his feelings about Morgan, somehow Bill seemed to have picked up on them. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Grant needed to talk with someone, and he’d always valued his brother-in-law’s insights and counsel. Maybe Bill could help him sort out his jumbled thoughts and feelings.
“I will,” he ventured.
“Have you told her that?”
Slowly Grant shook his head.
“Why not?”
A troubled frown creased Grant’s brow. “Because it’s wrong to feel this way.”
“What way?”
Grant raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m not even sure I can talk about this. I feel guilty enough already.”
“Guilt isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it works in tandem with our conscience,” Bill remarked. “But sometimes it can be misplaced. Sometimes, instead of stopping us from doing things we shouldn’t do, it can keep us from doing things we should do. Could this be one of those times?”
Grant’s frown deepened. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to talk it through? Sometimes that helps.”
“I thought you had a meeting to go to.”
“Actually, it’s a tea that the ladies’ guild is sponsoring. I promised to put in an appearance. But to be honest, I’d rather eat Kit’s cookies. And talk to you,” Bill confessed with a grin. “As long as I show up for a few minutes, they’ll be happy.”
After flashing him a brief answering smile, Grant’s face grew somber and he stared into the murky depths of his coffee. “I like Morgan,” he acknowledged. “A lot. Too much, in fact.”
“How much is too much?”
A warm flush crept up the back of his neck, and Grant shifted in his seat. “There have been a few times when we’ve been together that I’ve been…very attracted to her. And when I drove her home last week, after the tour of Good Shepherd, I almost…I wanted to…to touch her.”