No more avoiding the hard stuff.
No more Ms. Nice Guy.
Gracie pulled into her father’s tiled driveway and parked the Beetle. She climbed out, gaze fixed on the house in front of her. Dusk had fallen, the Auckland streetlights keeping the shadows at bay, except under the portico, where the front door remained hidden. If she squinted, she could almost make out the formidable brass knocker on the oak door.
She sighed. Anyone would think she was David meeting Goliath on the battlefield. Or Luke confronting Darth Vader—she bit back a smile, remembering Glen’s old nickname for their father.
Or Harry Potter facing Voldemort one last time.
The smile slipped a little bit, sucked down into the relentless ache in her chest as she walked to the front door. She missed the kids. But more than she missed Charlie, William, and Morgan, she craved Owen.
However, she had something to do before she returned to Bounty Bay and made a stand for her man. Gracie’s new catchphrase played on a never-ending loop in her brain. She took a lesson she’d learned from Owen and was putting it into practice.
You never knew how long you had to put things right.
Gracie knocked on the door and kept her spine stiff against the nerves that threatened to make her knees wobble. Nothing but silence inside. She checked her watch and then dropped her wrist with a sigh. Duh, Dad never used to leave the office before eight each night—
The door swung open, the slice of yellowed light from the hallway inside revealing an old man in a striped toweling robe. She blinked.
“Dad?”
His craggy face crumpled into…almost a smile. “Grace? What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” she said. “Are you sick?”
He gestured for her to come in. “No, no. You know me, I never get sick.”
James Cooper, Sr. didn’t wear a bathrobe either. The father she knew wouldn’t be caught dead in anything other than finely tailored suit pants cut from the finest New Zealand merino cloth.
She followed him down the hallway and into the spotlessly clean kitchen—and froze. Because it wasn’t spotlessly clean. There were a few dirty coffee mugs clustered beside the sink, a stack of microwave meal containers waiting to be recycled, and at one end of the table, where he’d once lectured her and her two brothers on table manners, sat a fast-food bag with the half-eaten remains of a burger still resting on the paper wrapping.
Her father’s face flushed with mottled color as he swiped the uneaten portion of bread and meat patty into the bag.
“Long day at the office. I couldn’t be bothered cooking.” He crammed the bag into the kitchen bin.
Gracie walked to the fridge and opened it. None of the fresh fruits and vegetables that had stocked the shelves when she’d arrived from the UK were there now. Just empty space and old Chinese takeout, from the look of it. The freezer wasn’t much better, with a few microwavable, ready-made meals stacked in one corner.
Tears prickled hotly in the corners of her eyes. “You’re not looking after yourself.”
He shot her a guilty glance. “I’m fine.”
“That was always my line, remember?” she said. “Because I wasn’t brave enough to admit I needed help.”
He grunted and sat at the table. “I had to let Mrs. Anderson go a couple of weeks ago. She called me a grumpy old bastard who couldn’t see what was under my nose. I’m not old.”
Margaret Anderson had cleaned their family’s mausoleum of a house since a few weeks after Gracie’s mother died. And Gracie had long suspected the divorcee had a little crush on her father.
“Did you apologize for whatever you did or said that upset her?” she asked, taking the seat opposite.
“I’m not good with apologies.” His mouth twisted, and he sighed. “Or admitting when I’m wrong.”
Mrs. Anderson wasn’t the only one to have figured out that little character trait.
But Gracie wasn’t her dad’s employee, who he could “let go” if she displeased him. She’d finally figured that out. So she angled her chin and boldly met his gaze.
“I’m staying in Bounty Bay, and I’m going into business with some friends who want to expand their clothing range. I don’t expect you to approve, but this is what I want. This is my choice for my life.” After blurting it all out, Gracie whooped in a huge gulp of air. Butterflies darted around her stomach but they were light and free butterflies.
Her dad pursed his lips and gave a little nod. “You always did have your mother’s artistic flair.”
That sounded almost like acceptance, bordering on approval. Surely not. “And you’re okay with my decision?”
“Not entirely,” he said. “But you’re a grown woman and it’s not up to me. I can see that now, thanks to you and Glen blazing your own trails. Your brother is happy with his life, and I assume you’ll be happy with yours.” He rolled his shoulders. “The two of you were never cut out for the cutthroat corporate world. You’re too much like your mother.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“It was intended as one. As different as she and I were, she was my soul mate, and she did her best to keep my eyes on what was important—a loving wife and family.” He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers, gripping it tight. “I lost more than my soul mate the night she died. I lost myself, and I lost my way with you and the boys. I apologize…Gracie.”
Gracie laid her other hand over his. “You can find your way back to us, Dad. We’re willing to meet you halfway.”
He gave a small smile and a nod. “And I’m willing to concede I don’t have all the answers. I don’t want to lose you and your brothers.”
She blinked a few times to keep the tears at bay. How many years had she waited for her father to open up, even a little, about her mother’s death? But an old dog couldn’t learn too many new tricks at once.
“Now, how about a cup of tea?” he asked, sliding his hand out from under hers. His gaze skipped around the kitchen, as if afraid emotions were contagious. “The kettle’s just boiled.”
“Good idea.”
He walked over to the kettle and switched it on again. “Why don’t you tell me about Owen?”
Did she want to go there while she was still so vulnerable and emotional? Hell, no. “He’s working, and the kids are staying with their grandparents who’ve come up for a few weeks.”
“I mean, tell me what happened.” His flat and steady stare, the one she used to think of as his Gracie, you’re in trouble again look, skimmed over her face, then dipped down for a quick assessment of her body. Checking to see if she’d lost a suspicious amount of weight.
“Because something has. Your eyes are still puffy, your nails are chewed to the quick, and your hair, well, it’s—“ He flicked a hand in the direction of her head. “Are you eating properly?” Unsubtle Dad code for are you binging and purging again?
Gracie ran a self-conscious palm over her hair, which, ick, wasn’t at its best after she’d finally risen Walking Dead fashion from Vee’s fold-out couch that morning. And she did desperately need a manicurist to repair the damage from a restless night of worrying. What she didn’t need was excessive food—because nothing she shoved into her mouth could ease the ache of needing Owen.
“I’m okay, Dad—truly. I just need to talk to Owen.” She grimaced. Might as well admit the truth to her father since the lawyer in him could spot a lie at ten paces. She moistened her suddenly dry mouth. “He’s a good man, but I bailed when I thought he didn’t feel the same way I did.”
Her father’s face softened. “We Coopers do seem to fall hard and fast. You love him?”
“Yes. Very much. That’s why I’m not running this time. I’ll stay and fight for him. Wear him down.”
“Pig-headed stubbornness.” Her father chuckled. “Another Cooper trait.” The kettle boiled and he switched it off. “You fight hard, and fight dirty if you have to, though somehow I doubt your Dr. Bennett will put up much resi
stance. You’re good for each other.”
Warmth flooded through her. Even if her father hadn’t approved of Owen, she would’ve continued to pursue him. But his approval meant a lot.
Her father cleared his throat and rummaged through a cabinet. “I think Marg—I mean, Mrs. Anderson, bought some of that flowery stuff you like.”
“Flowery stuff sounds perfect,” said Gracie. “And tomorrow, why don’t you call Margaret and ask her to come back?”
“Hmmmph,” her dad said. “Perhaps that’s another thing I was wrong about.”
For the first time since she’d left Bounty Bay, a smile sprang onto her lips. “You know, Mrs. Anderson’s good for you, too. And not just as your housekeeper.”
This time, there was no mistaking it. James Cooper, Sr. blushed tomato red.
Chapter 21
“How do I look?”
Morgan gave a little twirl, sparkly eyed in her sea-green party dress Natalie had finished sewing a few days before. The floaty fabric swirled around Morgan’s legs, and the new ballet flats Gracie bought complemented the dress perfectly.
“You make my heart hurt, you look so beautiful, Morg,” Gracie said from Natalie’s couch.
Morgan beamed. “Take a photo of me so I can send it to Uncle Owen?”
“Okay.”
Gracie kept her smile front and center as she picked up Morgan’s phone from the coffee table. She’d driven up from her dad’s place this afternoon, after arranging by text to meet Morgan at Natalie’s house that evening so the two girls could get ready together. She wasn’t surprised when Morgan texted to say her uncle was working a double shift at the hospital.
“Are you okay with that?” Gracie asked Morgan after giving her a hello hug.
The girl had shrugged. “I would, like, literally die if Uncle Owen tried to dance near my friends—I’m glad you’re coming, though, Gracie.”
“I’ll try not to embarrass you,” she’d said.
Not that as a chaperone she’d be dancing. More like cleaning up spilled drinks, refilling empty potato chip bowls, and ensuring none of the young teens slipped out of the darkened school hall to get into…mischief.
The kind of mischief she’d imagined getting into with a fellow chaperone if his schedule had been different. Eh. Tomorrow was soon enough to set things in motion with Owen. And if she needed to break a limb and arrive in his emergency department in order to get his full, undivided attention, she’d make the sacrifice.
“Ready?” Gracie snapped a half dozen poses with Morgan’s phone.
She handed it over, and Morgan scrolled through the photos, dimples appearing in her cheeks.
“I look pretty good.”
“You look pretty, full stop. Lucky I’ve got a baseball bat in Nat’s car ready to fight off the boys when she drops us at the dance.”
Natalie and Olivia entered the living room, the teenager wearing a dusky-rose colored dress, another of Gracie’s designs and Natalie’s handiwork.
Olivia, overhearing Gracie’s comment, giggled. “We’re not going in Mum’s car—”
Morgan’s elbow connected with Olivia’s arm.
“Ow!”
Gracie’s gaze zipped between the two girls, Olivia blushing and rubbing her arm, Morgan looking both panicked and guilty. A crunch of tires on gravel sounded outside then a short horn blast.
“Change of plans,” Natalie said. “Sounds as if your ride’s here, ladies.”
Gracie crossed to the living room window and cracked open the drapes. Outside, parked in Natalie’s driveway, was the biggest, pinkest vehicle she’d ever seen.
“What the hell is that?” she asked then answered her own question. “It’s a pink stretch…Hummer?”
She let the drapes fall shut and turned to Natalie, laughter bubbling out of her throat. “Nat, you crazy woman! Girls, come and see what your Fairy Godmother arranged for you.”
Both girls rushed to the window, giggling and snapping photos with their phones. Gracie walked back toward Natalie, smoothing the folds of the midnight blue, full-length ball dress—another surprise from Natalie that evening. She wrapped her arms around her friend and hugged her close.
“I’m glad you made me wear waterproof mascara, otherwise I’d end up with panda eyes and ruin the look of this gorgeous dress.”
“Cinderella couldn’t go to the ball in those hippie harem pants you arrived in.”
“I’m no Cinderella, Nat.”
Because horse-drawn carriages and glass slippers looked shinier in fairy tales. Real life wasn’t sprinkled with fairy dust but with a layer of grit from two people working hard to earn their happily ever after. She was okay with that—she wanted that—because her man would be working hard to save lives tonight. That made him a prince in her eyes.
The doorbell buzzed.
“Come on, girls. We’d better not keep the driver waiting.”
Neither of them moved toward the door, so Gracie strode past them and flung it open.
On Natalie’s doorstep, the driver stood wearing a tuxedo. Cut perfectly to fit a broad chest and shoulders, the dark suit tapered down to lean hips and long legs. He held a pale-pink orchid corsage.
Huh? Gracie’s gaze jerked from the driver’s hand to his face—Owen’s face.
Her brain ceased processing and sorting information. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
Hardly the most romantic thing to say when a guy turns up on your doorstep rocking a tuxedo and looking as if he’d stepped from the pages of Vogue.
“No. I’m right where I’m meant to be.” His lips curved. “I’m a little slow on the uptake, but, Gracie Cooper, will you go to the dance with me?”
Flickers like tiny, darting fish swooped and dived around her stomach, and she balanced on the razor’s edge of wanting to believe so desperately that he was here for all the reasons she wanted him to be, and the trepidation that she was reading too much into the situation.
“I’d love to.”
Owen stepped forward, his fingers tangling with hers.
“Give her the corsage, Uncle Owen.” Morgan’s stage whisper came from somewhere behind. “And tell her she looks nice.”
Owen’s mouth parted in a crooked grin, and he held up the corsage. “You look very nice.” The heat of his gaze uncovered different adjectives.
Beautiful. Desirable. Mine.
Her stomach quivered, triggering a flush of heat from the roots of her hair down. She bit her lip, tugged toward hope in one moment, drawn back to confusion the next. What did this mean?
“I have no idea what to do with this flower thingy,” he added. “Morgan told me I needed it, but I suspect she’s watched too many sitcoms.”
A heartfelt and dramatic sigh from his niece. “Pin it to her dress.”
“Ah.” His gaze dropped to the plunging halter neckline of Gracie’s dress.
“If you can suture an open wound with a steady hand, I trust you not to stick me with the pin,” Gracie said.
Owen leaned in closer and dipped his head, his lips brushing her earlobe. “My hands aren’t steady. I don’t know how I’ll keep my hands off you tonight.”
And sure enough, his fingers fumbled, just a little, as he accidentally brushed her breast while pinning on the corsage. Goose bumps raced along Gracie’s skin and her nipples tingled with anticipation. How would they keep the rest of the evening G-rated?
Natalie tapped Gracie’s shoulder and handed her the matching sheer wrap and a borrowed evening purse. “Here,” she said. “Have a wonderful time. Be home before midnight.”
“Because the pink Hummer will turn into a giant pink dragon fruit?” Gracie said with a laugh.
Owen swept a hand toward the Hummer. “I’ll see her safely home.”
The way he said it—the way he looked at her with such intensity—sent Gracie’s flickering belly fish into a frenzy. Her breath hitched as she stepped outside into the cool night air, home conjuring up images of being locked in Owen’s arms well past the witching m
idnight hour.
***
Owen hadn’t been this nervous since he was eighteen and waiting to hear whether he’d been accepted into medical school. He slanted a glance across the crowded school hall—decorated with helium balloons and crepe-paper streamers—to the clusters of teenage boys jostling each other against the walls, all the while sending shifty glances toward the clusters of teenage girls.
God. Identify, much?
He hooked a finger into his shirt collar and tugged it away from his throat. His gut still on high alert, Owen’s gaze skimmed over Gracie, who was chatting with Morgan and her friends. He poured himself another glass of raspberry soda and grimaced at the taste. A blood sugar spike—yeah, that’s what he needed to settle his nerves.
At least Gracie appeared to be enjoying herself. She’d laughed with the girls on the ride over, posing for selfies with them beside the eye-razing pink Hummer. Owen even danced a couple of songs with her, impressing the teens around them with his slick hip-hop moves. Gracie’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes shiny with laughter by the time Morgan had grabbed his elbow and ordered him to slow dance with Gracie.
But he hadn’t wanted to slow dance with Gracie surrounded by balloons and giggling teenagers, no matter how much he’d ached to take her in his arms. No, he had other plans.
He checked his watch and glanced at the hall entrance for the tenth time. Sam, with Isaac scowling behind him, appeared in the double doorway. Owen grinned. The power of friendship—nothing short of it could’ve dragged Isaac here tonight.
Sam strolled onto the dance floor, assimilating effortlessly into the center of a bunch of girls who giggled in a good way at him dancing. Both he and Isaac—before the accident—never had a problem breaking out the dance moves at parties and weddings. Sam looked over with a smirk, flicking his hand to signal that, yep, Owen and Gracie could sneak out. Assuming Gracie would be willing to sneak with him.
Owen sent one final glance toward the entranceway to ensure Isaac hadn’t bolted. He hadn’t, but he was as close to the exit as possible, a picture of icy stoicism covering a bubbling lava pit of guilt and grief…and his gaze seemed to drill into Natalie, who manned the snack table. Owen never would’ve asked him for help if he’d known she’d volunteered to cover for another parent who’d bailed at the last moment. Isaac went to complicated lengths to avoid Natalie and Olivia. More than he normally avoided contact with anyone other than his family and the few friends he allowed into his world.
Teach Your Heart: A New Zealand Opposites Attract Romance (Far North Series Book 3) Page 25