On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Kelleher, Tracy

  He leaned back and eyed her slowly. “My job is demanding. My daily commute extends the hours even further.” Conrad was a founding partner in a private equity firm on Wall Street.

  “No one’s denying that.”

  He was silent for a thoughtful moment. “Is this conversation some roundabout way of telling me you’re planning on leaving me?”

  “Not at all. I’m merely saying that I consider myself extremely lucky to be able to raise our child without having to worry about how to pay for the bread on the table. Yet—”

  “Ah, the all-important qualifier.” He grinned knowingly.

  Despite the smile, Noreen noticed he squinted a little nervously. She charged on. “Yet, as important as I think it is to be here for Brigid, I also believe I should show her—and show myself—that her mother is capable of accomplishing things outside our home. There are only so many PTA functions I can volunteer for or nonprofit boards I can sit on. All they want is your name and money anyway.”

  “Last I heard, both were still worth something,” he said with a degree of pride.

  “Of course they are,” she agreed. “But you know what I’m getting at. How many pillows can I needlepoint? Pretty soon you won’t be able to see our bed beneath all the cushions.”

  “There are other beds in the house,” he offered.

  She gave him a look of exasperation.

  “You want to visit your mother in Belfast?”

  Noreen shook her head. “No, she was just here for Christmas and New Year’s. And now she plans on coming over this summer again.”

  Conrad raised his eyebrows at that last bit of news, but he held his tongue. Nonetheless, he leaned over to reach for his drink. “Perhaps you want to go to work, then?” he asked after a healthy sip.

  “To tell you the God’s honest truth, I’m not sure exactly what I want,” Noreen replied. “I’m still mulling things over, but, yes, I have some ideas. And before you say anything—money’s not the issue. I’ve never defined myself by a paycheck.” Unlike you, she could have added but didn’t. “It’s more that I feel the need to contribute to society.”

  “But you do, you know,” Conrad said with all sincerity. “You take care of Brigid and me in ways I can’t thank you enough for. You make us both very happy.”

  Noreen smiled in appreciation. “I’m glad. And that is rewarding. But not enough. Don’t you understand? Several years ago when I got inquiries from Allied Irish Banks in Dublin and UNESCO in Paris—following up on internships that I’d had with them in university—I didn’t feel it was fair to you or Brigid. It was one thing to do consulting from Grantham, but given the travel these positions would have entailed, I turned them down. After all, my home is here.” She paused. “But now she’s older. And I’m older. Not to mention, you’re older, too.” The remnants of her Irish lilt made the end of the sentence sound almost like a question.

  But then Noreen got serious. “As I said, I’m still considering my options, but I believe it’s time to adjust my priorities. I owe it to myself and my late father.” She paused to compose herself for a moment, then cleared her throat. “But I must tell you—whatever I decide on, it will entail a greater commitment from you in terms of Brigid. I’m not talking about being a househusband, just providing greater flexibility in terms of being here.”

  Conrad finished off the rest of his vodka. The ice cubes rattled in the empty glass as he put the cut-crystal tumbler on the coaster. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to get out tonight, but I hope you don’t mind if I pop over to campus, catch up with some of my old mates?” He simply ended the discussion by changing the subject.

  Noreen could tell he was miffed. He wasn’t used to having her assert her needs over his. Still, that did not mean she was about to give up. She loved him. But she also needed to be true to herself. She rose. “Just don’t be too late, darling. It’s your turn to take Brigid to soccer first thing tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I CLIPPED you in the head with the ball,” Justin repeated after the game was over. He and Lilah and her parents were seated at a picnic table. After a quick bite, Mimi had taken off to collect Matt so that he could talk to Lilah. All afternoon, a whole pig had been roasting away on a spit in the picnic area adjoining the baseball field. Now the players, their families and friends, were clustered around outdoor tables, eating far too much meat, potato salad, baked beans and the token green salad.

  Justin’s remorse was still going strong long after hitting her with the foul tip. Right after, he had rushed over and clucked over her like a mother hen until Walt had ordered him back in the batter’s box to atone for his actions.

  “It’s not so bad. You didn’t get much wood on it—or should I say, metal—so it wasn’t moving that quickly,” Lilah said, gingerly touching her jaw. “Anyway, the ice worked its magic. To tell you the truth, the impact seemed to counteract exactly the whiplash from the car accident.”

  “I thought you said your neck didn’t hurt?” he said, frowning.

  “It didn’t—really. That was just a joke.” Kind of. “Whatever else, this incident only confirms what I always suspected—that I have a hard head—”

  “Stubborn as the day is long,” her mother confirmed. This pronouncement came after she had also carefully inspected Lilah’s head and declared her fit as a fiddle.

  “See, both physical and maternal corroboration,” Lilah said, trying to make him feel better.

  He narrowed his eyes and studied her closely. Then his phone sounded. He quickly checked the caller ID, frowned and let it go through to voice mail. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, slipping his phone into his jeans’ pocket.

  “Don’t worry about Lilah, Justin,” her father reassured him. “The important thing was you hit the game-winning home run and now you guys have The Tail.” Barbecue sauce dripped down his chin.

  Daphne reached over and wiped it off. “How can you be so heartless?”

  Lilah waved aside her mother’s look of outrage. “It’s all right, Mom. I know I’m still loved. I think it’s more that Dad is just getting into the whole Grantham tradition thing.”

  “They’re more yours than his,” her mother countered.

  “Are they? I mean, it’s not like I’m all rah-rah about my old alma mater, and I’m certainly not one of those alums who can never seem to leave the place.” Lilah caught herself. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about you, Justin. Really.”

  She looked around to see if Mimi had returned yet.

  “No, maybe you’re right,” Justin answered. “Sometimes I think it was too easy to come back and settle here. I look around the community—it’s pretty, it’s intellectually interesting because of the university and it’s safe. But maybe almost too safe, personally, I mean.”

  “Justin, you came from Grantham. Your family’s here. It seems perfectly natural to settle here,” Walt interjected. “In any case, you’re doing what you love.”

  “And, tell me, why should you apologize for living in a place that’s safe, beautiful and provides intellectual stimulation?” Daphne asked. “Most people would give their eye teeth to live in a place like this.”

  “I know. But trust me, it’s not all sweetness and light—especially on the work front.” He shook his head. “But never mind that. Anyway, compared to Lilah, what I do seems so trivial.”

  “Nonsense. Everything’s not a competition—despite what you boys think. The important thing is to do something you love. Look at Walt. He quit working in Seattle because he realized his heart was on the island,” Daphne said. “And luckily for us, he could take a buyout from Boeing.”

  “How many people realistically can do something they love and live in a place that’s home?” Lilah protested.


  Walt shrugged and nodded.

  Justin cocked his head. “So where’s your home?” he asked Lilah. “In a village in Congo?”

  Lilah frowned. “I’m not sure. A part of me will always consider Orcas Island home. It’s where I grew up, after all, and where I still love to visit.”

  “It grabs you in the gut, doesn’t it, honey? You could almost never leave,” her father said, his gaze focused on a faraway place.

  “You could almost never leave, Walt.” His wife nudged him in the ribs. “Justin’s question was to Lilah, not you.”

  “So?” Justin prompted her again. “Anywhere else?”

  Lilah wasn’t sure what he was fishing for, so she did what came naturally. She was honest. “I guess since I still have my place in Brooklyn and use that as my home base, I think of New York as home.”

  “Oh, please, no one could think of that damp basement apartment as home! And it barely has a window,” her mother argued.

  “We all have to start out somewhere. And you should be happy that now there’re bars on the windows,” Lilah countered.

  “Window,” Daphne corrected.

  “Okay, maybe not my apartment so much, but you gotta admit New York is amazing.” Lilah looked at her mother for affirmation.

  “I don’t deny that, if you like city living, that is,” Daphne responded.

  “Please, enough with the devil’s advocate.” Lilah opened her arms wide in protest—and inadvertently pushed her paper plate over the edge of the table.

  Justin, seated opposite her, somehow managed to scoop it up in midair. His large fist bent the sides of the paper plate over like a taco, saving the contents.

  “Wow! Lightning reflexes. Thanks.” She reached over to retrieve her plate. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand.

  “Got it?” he asked, looking her straight in the eye.

  Her throat tightened. She forced a gulp and nodded, then carefully set her plate on the table again.

  Her mother was watching carefully.

  “What did you ask me again?” She gripped her soggy paper plate with two fists.

  “Home?” Justin straightened up.

  She was still feeling the lingering touch of his hand like an imprint. “I guess, I guess…” She willed herself to think straight. “I guess for me home isn’t so much a specific place in terms of geography, but the feeling I get because of the people that are there. If I’m in Congo, it’s because Esther’s there.” She smiled at the memory of the celebratory dance and feast her friend had organized for her, the same day she’d gotten the phone call from Mimi about the alumni award. “Just like if I’m in Washington State, it’s because Mom and Dad are there. I still think of us as the Three Musketeers,” she said, smiling at her parents.

  “All for one and one for all,” her father said triumphantly.

  Lilah reflected for a second. “And now, here, even Grantham is home—because…well—” she looked around at the three people with her at the picnic table and realized that suddenly the Three Musketeers had embraced a fourth member as easy as pie, as her dad would have said. Well, maybe easy for her mom and dad…

  Lilah swallowed. “Because of you all here.” She purposely left the “you” vague, but looked at her mother at her side, her father across the way—and then Justin.

  “Hey, there, fellow victorious tenth reuniongoers. Look what the cat dragged in.” Mimi broke the silence as she barged in with Matt trailing behind her. She waved hello and pushed Matt forward. “C’mon, don’t be shy. You already know Lilah, and she’s eager to talk to you. And these are her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Evans.”

  And like the polite young man he was, Matt made his dutiful introductions and offered firm handshakes. Then he turned to Justin. “I’m Matt Brown. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Justin.” Justin held out his hand. “Won’t you join us?” He got up, swinging one leg over the bench, and motioned for Matt to take his place. “I’ve finished eating anyway.”

  Lilah reached out. A foot of air separated them. “You don’t need to leave. There’s plenty of room. We can all squeeze in.” Her eyes never left his.

  “That’s okay. The call I got earlier?” He pulled out his phone. “I should really call back before it gets too late. But don’t worry. I’ll be back. I have to fulfill my duties after all as the perfect host.” He nodded.

  “There’s a man who takes his work seriously,” Mimi noted mischievously as she watched him wander off to a quiet spot under a tree. She slipped in at the end of the table next to Walt.

  Lilah stared at Justin as he waited with his phone to his ear, waving at a few people who called out to him. Then she saw his lips move, and he turned away from the festivities. She was curious and, she realized, more than slightly jealous—without basis, she told herself. But, still, who calls someone on a Friday night about business? And if it were personal, then who? And what did she look like?

  Lilah was pondering the possibilities when a voice approached from behind. “Hey, can anyone join this gathering or is it a private confab?” a male voice asked. She looked around. “Hunt. Please, join us. We can always make room for you. Do you know everybody? My parents?” They exchanged hellos and the usual information. “And of course you already know Mimi, but I don’t know if you’ve met Matt,” she said

  “No need to go any further,” Hunt said as he half sat, half straddled the end of the bench next to Daphne. “Matt’s dad and I used to run a company together before he started a nonprofit and I entered medical school.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out my first career let alone start a second one,” Lilah responded not completely in jest, even though everyone laughed.

  Her mother turned from Hunt on her right to Lilah on her left. “Don’t worry, dear. All of life is a series of passages.”

  “Not to state the obvious, but for someone who’s still trying to figure her life out, you seemed to have done pretty well,” Hunt said with an easy charm. “Your award’s completely deserved. My congratulations.” The son of a well-to-do Grantham family, he had inherited generations of good breeding in addition to wealth—both of which he took with a grain of salt and a rare sense of humility.

  “Thank you.”

  “And you must be very proud,” Hunt said to her parents, who beamed. “But not to change the subject…”

  “Oh, please do,” Mimi said. She reached across the picnic table and snatched a carrot stick from Lilah’s plate.

  “Hey! That’s my food,” Lilah scolded.

  “Complaints, complaints. Besides—” Mimi held the carrot stick vertically “—a girl can never get enough…” She eyed the taut shaft provocatively before taking a bite.

  Lilah narrowed her eyes. “Let’s keep this conversation PG-rated, okay?” she murmured.

  Mimi rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, it’s not as if Matt hasn’t seen or done it all already.”

  Matt seemed to take a sudden interest in his cuticles.

  Lilah leaned forward on her elbows. “I wasn’t talking about Matt,” she snarled softly, nodding her head in her parents’ direction.

  Hunt laughed. “I’m glad to see my former partner from Miss Dunham’s Dancing School still refuses to behave properly. But the real question is, why have you chosen to foist your corrupting influence on this upright young man here, Mimi?”

  “He’s about to tell Lilah all about his life’s dreams and his ambitions to save the world from famine, war and pestilence,” Mimi explained.

  Matt blanched even more.

  “Tell you what.” Lilah looked across the table at him and smiled, trying to reassure him after Mimi’s sarcasm. “Why don’t we start with your plans for the summer? We’ll move on to famine, war and pestilence the next go-round.”

  And eve
n though she was giving Matt her full attention, out of the corner of her eye, she managed to keep watch on Justin.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, MATT WAS on the phone to Press. “Can you believe it? Lilah said this group in the field will be helping to evaluate the effectiveness of her pilot program to distribute cell phones to village women. They want to see if it’s made a difference in terms of medical needs and emergencies and infant mortality.”

  “So you’d be going over with her, then?” Press balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear while he hoisted a full garbage bag out of the bin.

  “No, that’s the thing, see. The project’s supposed to start in two weeks, but she has to appear in court on some stupid traffic accident that happened here.”

  “Huh?” Press wasn’t really listening as he pulled the bag shut with the built-in ties and relined the pail with another. Matt might be hobnobbing with the alums, but he was busy working his butt off at Lion Inn. He dragged the bag full of used plates and bits of nachos and cheese dip and a lot of other things he’d rather not think about.

  “So, you see, she’ll have to join us later,” Matt went on. “Anyhow, now I just have to convince my parents, but Hunt was there.”

  “Hunt?” Press headed through the kitchen and out the side door to the Dumpster.

  “You know? My dad’s old partner? Anyway, since he knows Lilah, he says he’ll be an advocate in my corner. At which point, you wouldn’t believe it, but Lilah went into gory detail about the possible dangers involved in travel to remote areas of the country. But the idea is that if there’s even the remotest possibility of a threat, I’d stay in Kinshasa, helping at the headquarters there. And if I do go out with a traveling clinic, they always travel with bodyguards.”

  “And that’s supposed to reassure your parents?” Press asked.