by Noelle Fox
Instead of agreeing, Connor sipped his wine, looking a little uneasy. “Why don’t you go see what he has to say in the morning, then decide?”
Something about the way he spoke made her pause. “Do you know what he wants to talk to me about?”
“I have an idea. I could be wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me are you.”
“Nope.” He put his napkin on the table and held out his hand. “It’s a beautiful starlit night in Aurora, would you allow me to escort you home?”
She took his hand, trying not to giggle like a little girl. She had not needed that indulgent glass of dessert wine with the crème brulée. “That would be entirely acceptable, yes.”
“I should also warn you that on the way…” He came around the table and stopped a little too close to her, an invasion of her personal space she welcomed shamelessly. Because his eyes were so magnetic, and he smelled really— “I’m going to kiss you.”
Oh. My.
The butterflies in her stomach were not sweetly flapping their wings, they were going for the Indianapolis 500.
“Again?”
He chuckled and let his forehead rest on hers. “Would you mind?”
“That would also be acceptable.” She tried to speak airily, but managed only a cracked whisper.
Crap.
“Let’s go.” He escorted her out of the dining room, through the nearly deserted lobby—they’d been talking for hours!—and out into the sweet ocean-smelling June air.
She could get used to this. “Such a pretty night.”
“This is an incredible part of the world.”
“Did you always want to live in Alaska?”
“Nah.” He took her hand as they walked. “It just worked out this way.”
Did he ever take charge of any part of his life? “Where did you want to live?”
“Wherever I was happy.”
Grace took a few more steps, liking the feeling of his hand, the natural swing of their arms as they walked together. His answers not so much. “Do you not believe in making plans?”
“I used to. But I learned that life has plenty of plans of its own, and trying to fight those is exhausting and hopeless. Best you can do is learn to go where they take you, and try your best to be content wherever you are.”
“Huh.” A pretty-sounding excuse not to take responsibility for himself. “I think plans are vital if you want to get anywhere.”
“Okay.” He looked over at her. “Where do you want to get?”
“To be my own boss in the kitchen. I got there once. I want to get there again.”
“Looks like you landed where you were meant to be, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can take the job here.” He stopped and turned to face her, his features calm but his eyes searching. “You just got an offer.”
She laughed, feeling antsy and uncomfortable. A guy like him, a hummingbird, content to light on the surface of whatever flowers it found, wouldn’t understand her need to do this her way. “Connor, it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not? “I…don’t want to work here.”
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not? “Because…” The wine was confusing her. Something was. “It’s not my plan. I mean, I have always wanted a place somewhere in New York, my home state. A restaurant with my name outside and my dishes inside. I was so happy when I had that.”
That wasn’t entirely true. It had been a grueling and incredibly anxious time as well as a triumph—er, a temporary triumph. But it was sort of true. Or… Maybe it wasn’t the wine, maybe he was confusing her.
“Do you have a job waiting back east?”
“Not yet. But it’s up to me to find that place, work hard there, then work to find another restaurant of my own.”
“That’s a lot of work, Grace.” They resumed walking. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But ask yourself why, when what you want is right here, you would go out of your way to choose a more difficult path?”
“Because…” She couldn’t get her brain to work on that one except to tell herself he didn’t understand.
“It’s beautiful here. You’re needed. You’d be your own boss, can design your own menu, have a steady stream of hungry customers…”
Grace bristled, uncomfortably aware that she was annoyed because she was struggling with the logic of his argument. I thought you weren’t going to tell me what to do.”
“What?” He looked astounded. “Did I sound like I was favoring one option over another?”
Grace burst out laughing. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’re just trying to get me to shut up.”
“Absolutely.”
He swung her around with their linked hands behind her body so by the time she realized what was happening, she was pressed solidly against him, their lips inches apart. “You are a truly fantastic woman.”
“Hmph.” Somehow she kept from melting against him, though she didn’t exactly struggle to get away. He felt so good, solid and male and warm. “You are…not so terrible.”
He snorted. “And I would like to kiss you right now.”
“Oh.” Grace sighed and gave in without even the hint of a struggle. “I would like to let you.”
Kissing Connor was heaven. Truly heaven. His lips were gentle, exploring, lingering then pulling away. Once, twice, three times, then she lost count.
“Thanks.” His voice was a low murmur. “I am pretty sure I’m going to want to do that again sometime.”
“Really?” She sounded like a breathless idiot. Because she was a breathless idiot. “When?”
“Now.”
“Mmm.”
Crazy, impossible and so, so wonderful. She was kissing Connor Reed under a starry Alaskan sky, hearing waves tumbling onto the shore, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.
Where had these wild, powerful feelings come from? They were fantasy. Unreal. Dangerous. She was rebounding from the demise of her restaurant, carried away by the romance of the evening and the man. She needed to regroup, reassess, get in touch with her…
With her…
Oh, never mind.
Finally he pulled away, leaving chill where his warmth had been.
“Wow.” His whisper was hoarse, his breathing high. “Something is happening here, Grace.”
Oh no. Him too. One of them had to stay sane. “You’re kissing me?”
“Yeah.” No smile. He was gazing at her as if he wanted to read what was written on the dark side of her brain. Or in the secret depths of her heart. Or both.
She wasn’t even sure what was written there. But she was starting to fear it involved the letters C-o-n-n-o-r. Had she learned nothing from her mother?
They walked the rest of the way to her cottage in silence. Twice she thought of shattering whatever spell they were under by offering a cheerful observation—the sky was so pretty. The harbor was so pretty. The mountains were so pretty.
But she couldn’t bring herself to spoil the magic. Even if it was dark magic, it was still magic.
At her door Connor pulled her close for a long moment, then kissed her too briefly. “Good night, Grace. Sleep well. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She nodded mutely and let herself into the cottage. Closed the door and leaned against it.
Oh boy.
She’d dated a few guys. One in high school. One at the CIA. One briefly at a restaurant she worked at, until she found him in the pantry making out with someone else amid boxes of early lettuce and English peas. Outside of those relationships, she’d kissed a few men. Made out with a couple more, all meaningless experimental fun.
None of them had come close to this.
Not even close.
This was trouble.
Big trouble.
But the biggest danger was that when Connor had been talking about her taking the job and staying here, in essence giving up everythin
g she’d dreamed about…he’d come close to making perfect sense.
Chapter 10
“So, Clancy.” Derek glanced at the clock on his desk, a wind-up that had belonged to his grandmother. Something about its simplicity and dependability soothed him. Tick tock, gears meshed, time went on. Nothing complicated or mysterious about it. As necessary as his cell had become, convenient as it was—he still couldn’t quite trust the thing. Which probably made him sound like a cranky ninety-five-year-old man instead of a guy pushing fifty. “The moment of truth approaches.”
Clancy lifted his head, made a slight snorting sound through his nostrils and laid it down again.
“I know, I know.” He rubbed his face, nearly unbearably nervous for this meeting in which he’d acknowledge his middle daughter. “A moment of truth at least twenty years overdue. Looking into the jaws of death teaches you something. You’d know all about that, huh, boy?”
Clancy yawned.
“Right. My problems are no skin off your—”
“Who are you talking to?”
Derek jumped to his feet. He hadn’t seen Grace standing in the doorway. How much had she heard? Had he said anything that might have given him away prematurely? This had to go just right.
“Come in, come in, Grace. Have a seat, have a seat.”
Oh smooth. He sounded exactly as nervous as he felt.
“Sure.” She took a chair in front of his desk and settled herself, looking around, hands fidgeting in her lap. Clancy retreated to his favorite corner.
Derek forced a grin, feeling buffoonish and scared. Left up to him, he probably would have put the big confession off until the day Grace left. As much as he hated to admit it, Liz had been right to push him to act sooner.
“So. Did you sleep well?”
“Extremely well. How about you?”
“Extremely well also.”
“Good.”
“Good. I mean thanks.” Derek wiped his forehead, which was starting to sweat. When he’d imagined this meeting, he was calm and gentle, delivering the news evenly and compassionately. Who was he kidding? Some other guy might be able to pull that off. Not him. “So.”
“So?”
“So I asked you to come here because I wanted to tell you something.”
She leaned back in her chair. “All right.”
He had the speech memorized. He’d start by telling her again how much her father loved her as a baby, how grief-stricken he was when she was taken away. Then when she was brimming with sympathy, he’d let out that Dick Wiggins wasn’t her father’s real name—which would have to come as a huge relief. Then Derek would admit he was actually her father. By that time she’d be consumed by regret for all the years she hadn’t known him, and they’d fall into each other’s arms.
Yeah, except that sentimental crap only happened in the movies. He was fully prepared for her to punch him in the face, or throw up on his carpet.
“You were going to tell me something?”
“Yes.” He looked directly into her blue eyes and knew instinctively how she’d want to be told. She was his daughter. The same way he’d want it. Right between the eyes.
“It’s about your father. He’s…” He had to clear his throat to be able to go on. “Me.”
No response. Maybe she hadn’t realized what he was saying. He put a hand to his chest. “Me. I’m your father.”
Her left eyebrow rose, head tilting in a gesture he recognized as his own, and his heart melted. Or would have melted, except for it being frozen in terror.
“You are my father.” She sat gripping the arms of the chair as if she were trying to squeeze them into dust. She was so beautiful, his daughter, even now, eyes wide from shock, her usually rosy color ashen.
“Yes.”
“You are Dick Wiggins.”
“God no. Derek Wakefield is your father. He’s me. I’m him.”
She gave a bitter half-laugh. “Okay.”
And there they sat. He had no idea how to go on. His prepared scenarios hadn’t included clipped responses and then silence. “That’s all you have to say?
“No.” She gave that sickening almost-laugh again. The sound was painful. “No, actually, that’s not all I have to say. You just told me that the father I thought was dead because my mother lied to me, and James Whittaker’s letter lied to me, is now sitting in front of me admitting that he lied to me, too.
“I’m just taking some time to consider how really touching and lovely it is to have parents I can count on for the all-important basics of honesty and support.”
He took her attack unflinchingly. Inside, he was dying of shame and regret. She was right. “You deserve better.”
“Anyone deserves better. Why the hell did you even have me if neither of you was mature enough to deal with me honestly?”
“You’re right. We weren’t.” He set his jaw. He hated hurting her more. But if he was ever going to get close to her, he had to tear down all the bullshit keeping them apart. “I won’t lie to you again, Grace.”
“Now you tell me.”
“The truth is, we didn’t plan you.”
Her breath went in on a gasp. “You didn’t want me?”
“No, I said we didn’t plan—”
“I heard what you said and I also know what you meant. Well, guess what?” She stood, face flushed and furious, and pounded her fist on his desk so hard his pencils jumped. “You aren’t wanted either.”
She strode to the door, yanked it open and was gone.
Clancy got up and gave a soft bark of sympathy.
Derek swallowed. He could barely process what had just happened except to know without question that he’d totally screwed it up.
“That went really well, huh?”
Woof.
Liz stuck her head in. “You okay?”
She was the only person on the entire planet that he could tolerate seeing right then. No, more than that, a person he actually needed to see, which she undoubtedly knew. God bless her. “Given that Grace is probably halfway to Hawaii by now, no.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry.” Liz came in and shut the door, crossed behind the desk and gave him a very sweet-smelling and very welcome hug, even though it was brief and sort of awkward with him half-turned away in his chair and her having to bend down. “Give her time. It was a shock. She needs to process it.”
“I told her I was her dad. And then I told her we hadn’t planned to have her.”
“You what?”
His elbows thudded despairingly onto his desk; he dropped his head onto his hands. “I was going to qualify that, but she didn’t exactly hang around.”
“Geez, Derek. One life-altering shock at a time is plenty, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t want to lie to her again.”
“There’s a difference between being honest and bringing up crap she doesn’t need to know yet. If ever.” She mumbled something that sounded like Men!
He stood, trying to puff himself up indignantly, but at six feet three inches, he felt more like three feet six. She was right. Again. “If I need your opinion I’ll ask for it.”
“Yeah, well, you better start asking.” Liz headed for the door, the second beautiful and fabulous woman he’d chased out of there that morning with his infinite supply of charm and tact. “Because, trust me, you do need it.”
Slam.
Derek picked up his stapler, considered throwing it at the wall, and decided it was not a good idea. Where was that common sense when he’d needed it earlier? “That went well, too, huh, boy?”
By this time Clancy was so disgusted with Derek he couldn’t even look at him.
“I know. You’re impressed. I don’t blame you for—”
The door flung back open. Liz stood there, glaring, him, hands on her hips. “Who are you talking to?”
He was too miserable to make anything up. Who cared if she thought he was crazy? “My dog.”
Liz looked around his office. “What dog?”
“My Irish Setter. There.” He pointed to the corner where Clancy lay curled up, his beautiful red coat catching the light.
Liz looked at him in concern and bewilderment. As expected. “There is no dog there.”
“You can’t see him.”
“What do you mean I can’t see him? You have an invisible dog?”
Derek shook his head. “It’s Clancy. He died several years ago, you remember. Then he started showing up again. Pretty regularly.”
“Derek…” She was clearly alarmed. “Do you need any meds checked?”
“No.” He sank back into his chair, thinking he hadn’t felt this old and tired since he finished his cancer treatments. “It’s okay, Liz. I’m not crazy. He’s not hurting anyone. Leave it alone.”
“Okay. Okay.” This time he didn’t move when she came around behind him, didn’t move when she slid her arms around his shoulders and laid her cheek on his head. “I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry for what happened with your daughter, and I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“Nah. It’s okay. You were right.” He put a hand on hers, clasped over his heart. It felt really, really good to be touching her again.
“Derek… I’ve been thinking.”
His body stiffened. His heart sped, half with hope, half with dread. Something about her tone…
She released him abruptly and stepped away. “Um, I’ve been thinking that if you can find money for a full-time medical person on your staff I can find money for your Fourth of July extravaganza. Deal?”
He was disappointed. And relieved. Instinct told him she’d been about to say something else, something he ultimately wanted to hear, but not today. Not soon. Not with so much he had to settle in his own life first, with his daughters, and with his conscience.
However, she had a really good idea. “That sounds like a win-win situation. Thanks, Liz, I appreciate the—”
“Hey.” Connor’s grinning head poked in. “You busy?”
“I’m leaving.” Liz smiled at Derek, eyes lingering just a bit too long, long enough that his heart sped up again. “Thanks for the info, Derek.”
He nodded, not as annoyed by Connor’s presence as he would have been even a week ago. The bum had proved himself to be capable and efficient taking charge of him and of Grace after the accident, and the look on Grace’s face both then and during their dinner at the lodge made him think something might be starting between the two of them, and that he might just waive the staff-can’t-date-guests rule in this case. Connor could be an additional draw in convincing Grace to take the chef job and stay on Polaris.