Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19) Page 7

  She’d only shared a handful of words with Grant before her mom had been arrested. But he’d done things around their yard when he’d thought no one was home. Of course, Maurie had always been home. She’d been a homeschooling recluse, and when her mom was gone Maurie had stayed inside. Only in the afternoons when her mom had been sleeping had Maurie dared to sit on the porch and watch the other kids walk home from school.

  She’d often imagined she was one of them. She had been until she was about eleven. But then her father had left, and everything had changed. Her mother had started drinking and inviting other men over. She’d slept most of the day and watched television all night. Then after an argument with the principal, she’d pulled Maurie out of school when Maurie was too young to fully understand what was going on.

  She remembered early mornings during the winter when Grant had shoveled snow from their walkway. He’d even mowed their lawn when her mother had been gone and there’d been no car in the driveway. He’d probably thought Maurie had been gone, too. But once her mother began shoplifting and hanging out in the next town’s bar, Maurie stopped going anywhere with her.

  Grant had come around the corner from his own neighborhood once, when Maurie had gone out to the mail box. He slowed down and asked her how she was doing.

  She’d told him, “Thank you for helping with our yard.”

  He’d turned bright red, and she’d fled, running up the driveway and into the house.

  But now she was a college graduate, ran a successful business, and had had her share of boyfriends. Of course, she could credit her foster mom and dad for showing her what normal was. Oh, and a few dozen therapy sessions in high school.

  “What made you decide to return to Pine Valley?” Grant asked in the here and now.

  His deep tone sent a wave of warmth through her. She’d always loved his voice, the few times she’d heard it. Voices seemed to have more power over her than a man’s looks. But Grant had plenty of looks as well. He was taller than she remembered, and his muscular frame was a testament to his construction-type profession.

  She turned to him, holding a carton of cream and a pint of milk from the refrigerator.

  “My mom left me the house, apparently, and well…” She shrugged. “I really needed a change of scenery.”

  He was watching her closely. Quite intensely, in fact. It felt as if he were trying to read her thoughts.

  She set the things on the counter and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Have you ever needed a do-over?”

  He nodded. “Several times.”

  When he didn’t offer more, she folded her arms and tilted her head and said, “What about you, Grant Shelton? What have you been up to in Pine Valley all these years?” She tried to sound lighthearted, but in truth, her heart was pounding. Here it came… the story about his beautiful wife and two kids. Or his live-in girlfriend who was a supermodel.

  “Uh, that’s a depressing tale,” he said, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand through his hair.

  Depressing? Not what she expected at all. Grant Shelton didn’t seem like he had a depressing life. His light brown hair was trimmed, his face shaved, although a five o’clock shadow was making an appearance. And his nails were clean, even though he worked construction. Not to mention, she’d caught his clean and spicy scent more than once as they explored the house.

  No, Grant Shelton was no deadbeat.

  She took the dark chocolate mix out of the cupboard and poured milk into a pan.

  “You’re making me hot chocolate?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Cocoa,” she clarified. “And you’ve never tasted anything like it, believe me. Besides, I want to hear your depressing tale.”

  He visibly swallowed, and a thought hit her. Maybe he was as nervous as she felt.

  “All right,” he said, writing down some numbers on the note paper. “If you’re sure you want to hear it.”

  She turned on the burner and watched the gas flame leap to life. “I’d love to.” After mixing in the cream and several scoops of dark chocolate powder, she lowered the temperature to a simmer and said, “I’m listening.”

  Grant pushed the note paper to the side with a grimace. Then he met her gaze. “So, right now I’m in a custody battle for my five-year-old son. His mother wants to keep him in another city and raise him with another man.”

  “Oh,” Maurie said, moving to the table and sitting across from Grant. He was divorced, and he was a father. Wow. “What’s your son’s name?”

  He looked surprised at her question. “Trent.”

  Maurie nodded. “Trent Shelton. I like it. He’ll be a strong and good man, like his father.”

  “How would you know?” Grant asked, although he sounded more curious than bothered by her pronouncement.

  “A kid takes after the good parent,” she said in a quiet voice. “Believe me, I know. My father might have left us, but I think I must be like him. I am nothing like my mother.”

  “That’s pretty clear,” Grant said, his tone also subdued. “I appreciate your compliment, but I just can’t see through much more than the court battles right now. I had him for three days over Christmas, and now I won’t see him until Spring Break.”

  Maurie stood and stirred the hot cocoa. “When’s that?”

  “Middle of March.”

  She shook her head. “That’s a long time for a little kid. Can you call him at night?”

  “Joy usually tells me he’s asleep.”

  “Does he have an iPad or a phone?”

  “He has an iPad.”

  “Perfect,” Maurie said. “Then you can Facetime.”

  “Is that like Facebook?” he asked. “I hate social media.”

  Maurie scoffed. “Me, too. But it’s a great way to reach my customers. Here, let me see your phone.” He handed it over, and she turned on Facetime in his settings, then handed it back.

  “What’s your number?” she asked. Typing the numbers he recited into her phone, she then Facetimed him.

  “What do I do?” Grant said.

  She leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the answer button. “Answer it and keep it in front of your face.”

  He did, and his eyes widened.

  “Hi Grant,” she said into her phone, smiling at his image on the screen.

  “Hi,” he replied as he stood. He walked about the small kitchen, angling his phone this way and that, experimenting with her image.

  “Is the bid ready yet?’ Maurie asked as Grant brought his phone really close to his face until only one blue eye filled her screen.

  He laughed at his copied image in the corner of his phone, the sound sending warm prickles along her skin. “I’m nearly finished.”

  “Great. What’s the estimated completion date?”

  He paused by the table and looked down at the note paper. “At least two weeks.” Then his blue gaze was back to staring at her through the screen, even though they were standing only a couple of feet apart.

  She ignored his closeness and his spicy clean scent. “Sounds good. When can you get started?”

  “Does tomorrow work?” He slid a sideways glance at her, smiling.

  “Perfect.” Maurie ended the call. She looked at the Grant in the flesh. “What do you think? Will Trent like it?”

  “He’ll love it,” Grant’s smile turned into a grin.

  And then he pulled her into a hug. It was brief, enthusiastic, and over way too soon.

  “Oh, uh.” Grant took a step back and scrubbed a hand through his hair. A nervous habit of his, apparently. “Sorry. I’m just really grateful.”

  She wanted to laugh, but it would be a nervous laugh. Instead, she turned calmly back to the hot chocolate. “I can’t wait to hear what Trent thinks of Facetime.”

  “Yeah,” Grant said. “I’ll let you know. I’m going to talk to him tonight about using it on his iPad— if Joy lets me get through to him.”

  Maurie touched Grant’s arm. “Good luck.” She decided that the stove
was making the kitchen warmer than usual. She released him and said, “The hot cocoa smells ready.”

  “Smells?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Maurie said with a shrug. “Can’t you smell the richness of it?”

  He inhaled. “It smells good, that’s all I know.”

  Their eyes connected again, and before Maurie allowed herself to blush, she turned toward the cupboards and took out two mugs, each of them different. She never bought two exactly alike. She poured in the steaming cocoa, and then used a peppermint stick in each to stir. Leaving the peppermint sticks in the mugs, she topped each with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

  “Wow,” he said as he sat and she placed his mug on the table in front of him. “This is too fancy to drink.”

  “I can make you another if you’d just like to look at that one,” she teased.

  “No,” he said with a grin. “I’m drinking this.” He took a sip and swallowed. He closed his eyes. Then he reopened them. “It’s like perfection. How did you do this?”

  “Years of practice. My foster mother was a gourmet cook. You should have seen her meals— even the simple ones. I was pretty desperate for a normal mom, so I stayed with her in the kitchen after school and on the weekends, instead of being social.”

  When Maurie looked over at Grant, his face had paled. Had she said something to upset him? She didn’t remember much about his parents, but his family had seemed a decent lot. Maybe his ex-wife cooked?

  “Well, this is delicious,” he said after a moment, finishing his drink, surely scalding his throat. “I’d better get going.” He stood and picked up the mug and rinsed it in the sink.

  “You don’t have to…” she started, but he was finished before she could protest.

  “Tomorrow?” Grant asked.

  Maurie nodded, stunned out of a reply.

  “I’ll be here around 8:00 am.”

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  As Grant strode to his truck, it sank in that Maurie didn’t know he was the one who’d changed her life. The wintry air had turned sharp, and he cranked on the heater. Had he done the right thing ten years ago? Looking at how successful and seemingly content Maurie was now, he could probably talk himself into believing it had all been for the best. But a thirty-minute visit with her couldn’t erase ten years of questions and guilt. There had to be much more that she wasn’t telling him, and probably not telling anyone. If the roles had been reversed, he couldn’t imagine what he might be feeling.

  What if it had been him taken from his family and placed in foster care?

  He pulled away from the curb and started driving to his last appointment of the day. He’d spent the last two weeks building and painting cupboards for Mrs. Jones, two blocks over. Today he’d mount all of the cupboards and install the hardware. He couldn’t wait to see the finished product, and it would be a welcome distraction to take his thoughts away from the beautiful woman he’d just spent time with.

  Mrs. Jones turned out to be little distraction. The install went quickly, and soon Grant was home from work. He texted Julie that he wouldn’t make dinner that night, and instead he turned on his too-slow laptop and Googled Maurie Ledbetter.

  Before he knew it, he’d spent two hours reading links associated with her name. She’d graduated high school with honors and earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in college. When he poked around on her Facebook page, he unearthed only a few pictures. To see more he’d need to friend her. But she looked happy and healthy and successful from what he saw.

  Grant shut off the laptop and leaned back in his chair. Night had fallen around him, and there were no lights on in his apartment, so he sat in the dark, thinking. Why rock the boat now? Maurie had turned out fine, better than fine.

  The guilt that churned in his stomach would fade with time. He’d spend the next couple of weeks fixing up her house, while she’d probably be putting together her shop. How much would he really see her anyway? Then after his job was completed he might see her once in a while about the town, but to have a congenial relationship with her, it wasn’t as if he’d need to bare his soul.

  He flipped on a couple of lights and called Joy. Not his favorite thing to do, but for now it was the only way to get through to Trent. He hoped that Facetime would change all of that. Tonight must be his lucky night because five minutes later, Trent’s small face popped up on Grant’s phone screen. They spent the next twenty minutes talking and laughing as Trent told Grant every joke he’d heard at school. Most of them were told wrong, but Grant didn’t mind one bit.

  The following morning, he knocked on Maurie’s door, confident with his decision to not tell her about that night he’d called the cops on her mother. When no one answered, he knocked again, then looked for a note she might have left. Maybe she had already gone to her shop. But there was no note, and with still no answer to his knocking, he tried the door knob and found it unlocked.

  “Maurie?” he called as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The house was quiet, but for some reason it didn’t feel empty.

  “It’s Grant. I’m here to start working.” Still nothing.

  He peeked into the kitchen, surprised to see the mug of hot chocolate that she’d drank from still on the table. His bid was where he’d left it on the table, seemingly untouched.

  “Maurie?” He moved into the hallway and started peaking around doorways. The bathroom was empty, so were the bedrooms. And then he heard her voice.

  “Grant?”

  The sound came from above… the attic. He hurried toward the sound and saw the open hatch in the corner of the second bedroom.

  Two feet dangled from the opening.

  As he strode toward the hatch, Maurie’s legs appeared as she lowered herself to the chair beneath the hatch. He grasped her arm to steady her as her feet touched the chair.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling as she started to brush off her clothes. Then she sneezed.

  “Bless you,” he said, smiling back. Her hair was pulled up into a knot, and her black leggings and oversized shirt were covered in dust and lint. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s really dusty, but I was checking to see if my mom had put anything up there.”

  He held out his hand again and she took it, using his support to step down from the chair. She brushed against him as she reached the carpet, and he exhaled as heat swept through him at her nearness. Even though she was grimy from the attic, she was even more beautiful than yesterday.

  He released her hand and stepped back, giving her space to pass him.

  “Find anything?”

  She halted and looked up at him. They were standing about three feet apart, but it felt as if the room had shrunk and they were mere inches away from each other. “I did. I’ve been up there for over an hour looking through old albums that my grandmother probably put together. Pictures I’ve never seen.”

  “Do you want me to bring them down?” He asked, noticing a piece of lint in her hair. He said, “Hold still,” and stepped closer to pluck it out.

  “Thanks. But you don’t have to go up there.”

  He lifted his hands. “Free of charge.”

  “All right, I’d appreciate that.”

  “No problem.” He stepped onto the chair and poked his head through the hatch opening. The attic’s mustiness attacked, and he sneezed.

  “It’s really dirty.”

  “I got it,” he said, bracing his elbows on the edges and pulling himself up. “I’ll hand down the boxes to you.”

  “Okay,” came her muffled reply.

  He scanned the small area. There were about a dozen boxes— handmade boxes, with their taped edges and corners. A small crib that was more of a bassinet stood in one corner. And a huge stack of National Geographic magazines teetered in another corner. Grant picked up the top magazine. 1968. He put it into one of the boxes, then handed it down to Maurie.

  He looked down through th
e hatch. “Did you see all of these National Geographic's up here?”

  “Yeah, I think they were my grandpa’s,” she said peering up at him. “He died when I was pretty young, so I don’t remember much.”

  “Well, if you want someone to take them off your hands, let me know,” he said.

  “Really? You want them?”

  He shrugged. “Only if you don’t.”

  Her smile was soft, and it traveled all the way to his heart. “They’re all yours, Grant Shelton. Hand them down.”

  So he did, right after they finished with the other boxes. By the time the attic was mostly cleared out and Grant had lowered himself down through the hatch, he was even dirtier than Maurie had been.

  “Look at us,” she said. “Do you need to go home and get cleaned up?”

  “I’m used to these working conditions,” he said, winking at her. This gave him pause. It had been a really long time since he’d winked at a woman.

  “Well, I need a shower,” she said. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, I plan to start in the kitchen so you’ll have it functional first.”

  They parted ways, leaving the boxes from the attic in the second bedroom for now, and he set to work repairing the two broken cupboards and adding two shelves to the pantry. As he moved back and forth between the kitchen and the saw table he’d set up on the porch, he tried not to think of Maurie in the shower only a couple of walls away. She definitely trusted him. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t trustworthy, but he was definitely attracted to her and his imagination wasn’t exactly behaving.

  He chalked it up to the fact that he hadn’t allowed himself to relax around a woman in a long time. He’d gone on exactly two dates since his divorce— one was set up, and the other a spur of the moment connection. Neither had led to second dates. But now it was all that he could do to not let his imagination get away from him as he thought about what it would be like to take Maurie out for dinner, or maybe on a long walk near the ski resort, or even just grabbing a coffee at the Main Street Café.