Healing Hearts (9 page)

“Who I am. Are you ashamed of me?”

“Hardly.” Sweeping the woman into his arms, he planted a kiss on her cheek. “You always have perfect timing. I see the film wrapped early. How’d it go?”

“Just fine, the usual problems with actors with big egos, but now that I’m back, I had to stop by and meet your new assistant. So be a dear and introduce us properly.”

Grant looked at Gillian, then at her. Uncomfortable with the whole situation, Sarah was ready to bolt even though she was tired of running. Accusations from an earlier time echoed in her mind. The circumstances were different, but then she’d been able to make a clean break. Here it wouldn’t quite be so easy. She had Rocky to think of, not to mention school, the diner, or her unpaid bill.

“Gillian Morrison, Sarah Churchill. Sarah, my beloved pain-in-the-neck twin sister, Gillian, make-up artist to the stars.”

Heat rose to Sarah’s cheeks. Now that she took a long, close look at the woman, she wondered how she could have missed the family resemblance. Gillian had the same coloring and bone structure as her brother.

“Pleased to meet you, Gillian.” Relieved and a bit embarrassed because she’d jumped to conclusions, Sarah took the other woman’s hand in hers again and shook it soundly. The firmness of her handshake reminded Sarah of Grant, and how his hand had caressed her back last night. The heat in her cheeks rose again at the memory.

“Hi, Sarah. It’s nice to finally meet you, too. I hope my brother has been treating you properly?” Gillian’s coolness faded.

Sarah relaxed. “Of course. Your brother is one of the kindest , most generous people I’ve ever met.”

A look Sarah couldn’t decipher passed between his sister and Grant. “I know. That’s why we all look out for him.”

Gillian gave her a warm smile. It was as if Sarah had been put through a test and passed it. Then she faced her brother. “Mom wants you to stop by tonight to discuss the barbecue this Saturday. Oh, and get a haircut, the shaggy look doesn’t become you.” She pulled on a stray piece of Grant’s hair and turned to Sarah. “Men. If it weren’t for us women, nothing would ever get done. You’ll bring Sarah along Sunday, won’t you?”

Grant gazed at her. Sarah didn’t know what to say. The faraway look she’d seen earlier had disappeared; replaced by an intense one that made her toes curl. Had her earlier conclusion been wrong?

“It’s just a barbeque with the family. Please come.” Gillian said to her as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Yes. Please say you’ll come,” Grant echoed softly.

Overwhelmed by the invitation, Sarah agreed to go. It was only a day with a few of his family. How hard could that be?

Chapter Seven

A few people turned out to be 50, of all ages and sizes. Sarah sat mortified at one of the many picnic tables set up around the yard as Grant went in search of some soda. She should have brought Rocky along. Large family gatherings had never been a favorite pastime of hers; she’d always felt inadequate, invisible among the people who’d taken her in.

The urge to run ate at her as she clutched her lightweight sweater together to keep out the cool air as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. Indian summer was over; fall had made its appearance last night. She shivered, wishing she’d brought a jacket.

Grant should have returned by now with her drink, but obviously he’d been detained by one of his many relatives. Sarah dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Only pride kept her here, and the knowledge that it would hurt Grant if she disappeared.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know anybody. Grant had made sure to introduce her to several people on the way in but all the faces jumbled together. Sarah would never remember any of these people once she left and so far, Gillian or Mrs. Thatcher had yet to appear.

Veronica spotted her and wove her way through the crowd toward her. “Hi, Sarah.” She sat down on the opposite bench.

Surprised, Sarah gave her a timid smile. “Hi.”

“I’m going out with Grant’s brother, Matthew.” She waved her hand at the assembled crowd. “It can be rather intimidating, can’t it? You get used to it though. I grew up with most of them, and I still get some of the cousins confused. It just takes a while, that’s all. Hi, Grant.”

“Hi, Veronica.” He sat down on the wood bench next to Sarah. She sighed in relief, even though his nearness did crazy things to her. It had since that first night in her apartment.

A surge of energy zapped her as their hands touched when he handed her the soda, and he intense longing flared again. Scared, it was all she could do to stay seated and not run away. But she was tired of running. That’s why she settled in Greer in the first place.

“Sorry I took so long, I ran into a cousin I haven’t seen in a while and couldn’t get away.” He rolled his eyes and gave her a sheepish grin. “Susan had to tell me all about her latest exploits—you’ll understand when you meet her.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“But I do. It’s rude to bring a guest and ignore her.” She trembled as he reached to tuck a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. His touch reassured her, his voice blanketed her in a cocoon of warmth. “Especially when she hardly knows anyone.”

“There’s Matthew,” Veronica broke in, and Sarah was glad for the distraction. Her emotions were spiraling out of control. “See you later.” Veronica loped off toward what Sarah would consider a younger version of Grant, even down to the cropped, dark, wavy hair.

Sarah protested, not wanting Grant to guess her unease among his family. “I know a few people.” She looked at him again, unsure if she liked his new haircut. She’d grown accustomed to the way his curls lay over his collar in an unkempt fashion.

Long or short, she still found him incredibly attractive—and generous. A lethal combination since she wanted to—no needed to—depend on no one but herself. Still, she knew she’d found herself starting to rely on him, which could only lead to a broken heart.

Sarah’s hair tickled Grant's fingertips as he pushed it out of her face. The soft curls enticed him, her freckles enchanted him, and her blue eyes fascinated him. He wanted to feel her lips beneath his, drink in the essence of her. He’d had high hopes for today. From their few conversations when he’d gotten Sarah to talk, he realized that she had never known what a normal home life was like.

He’d wanted that to change.

He’d wanted her to feel comfortable around his family, to fit in. It was important to him. He’d begun to think too much about Sarah in ways that had nothing to do with her work at the clinic.

Now he wasn’t so sure this barbeque was such a great idea. His mother had gone overboard, inviting the whole clan. Grant sense Sarah’s discomfort, regardless of her words. “A few was the operative word, Sarah, I was expecting immediate family today, not every cousin, aunt and uncle, and the person in between. I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay. Really, I am.”

He didn’t contradict her. “I’m glad. Let me show you around the old homestead.” Cupping his hand underneath her elbow, he helped her rise, then steered her toward the back of his parent’s house. His grip tightened possessively around her arm as he avoided eye contact with everyone so they could proceed uninterrupted to the back door and into the kitchen.

“Well, this is it. The place where I grew up.” Looking around the sunny kitchen, his mood lightened. He wondered if Sarah could sense the love, the happiness that surrounded them.

In every nook and cranny, some memory of an earlier time bombarded him; kitchen magnets he and Gillian made in summer camp secured newspaper clippings of some Morrison activities, a ceramic soap dish in the shape of a frog made by his brother Matthew sat on the windowsill, and his mother’s frilly, white apron hung from a peg by the refrigerator.

“We used to help my mom make chocolate chip cookies over there.” He pointed to the counter by the far wall. “And we used to eat them over at the table, with a glass of milk after school while we did our homework.”

“You don’t strike me as much of a baker.” Sarah looked at him, her eyes widening slightly. Her jaw slackened and a slight smile played at her lips. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, my dear.” He was glad to see some of the tension had dissipated. “Of course I should clarify that we didn’t actually bake all the dough. Most of it ended up in our stomachs. Back then we didn’t worry that raw eggs could make us sick.

“Raw? I’ve never eaten raw cookie dough before.”

“No? Well, you’re in for a treat.” Grant walked over to the freezer, opened the door and pulled out a roll of dough wrapped in wax paper in a freezer bag. “My mother makes a bunch at a time so all she has to do is slice and bake when the grandkids come over.” Reaching down, he pulled a knife out of the drawer and cut the roll. “Don’t tell her I’m doing this. She'll have my hide for spoiling your appetite.” He divided the piece in two, handed one to Sarah, and then popped the other half in his mouth. “A little hard, but as good as always, what do you think?”

The look on Sarah’s face enchanted him. Excitement replaced surprise, which replaced apprehension. “Wow. That was good. Would your mother notice if we ate more?”

“Of course, mothers know everything.” As soon as the words slipped out, Grant knew he’d made a mistake. Her expression, so open before, shut down tighter than the streets of Greer at midnight and he cursed himself for bringing up the subject. He was trying to make Sarah forget about her past and all he’d succeeded in doing was to remind her. “Let’s go. I’ll give you a quick tour of the rest of the house.

He placed the dough back in the freezer, and steered her through the old two-story farm house and out the front door. He had more things to show Sarah, and with any luck he might be able to make her forget about her childhood.

A more likely scenario was that it would only show her what she missed, but it was a chance he had to take. Somebody had to show her what it meant to be a family.

“Where are we going? The party’s out back.”

“I wanted to show you one of my special spots.” Keeping her by his side, he escorted her past the old barn, which now doubled as a garage and storage area, toward a huge oak tree growing near the property line. A well-worn tractor tire hung from one of the lower limbs. Fortunately, none of his nieces or nephews was around.

“A tire swing?” Sarah walked up to the rubber tires and ran her and across the faded surface. “I’ve always wanted to swing on one. Is it safe?”

Grant tugged on the thick piece of rope. “Of course. My dad checks it every spring to make sure everything is okay. Here, let me help you get in.” Stepping up behind her, he grabbed Sarah around her waist and lifted her. The sweet herbal scent of her shampoo drifted by his nose as her ponytail swung in his face. He longed to loosed the darned thing and run his fingers through her curls. But the impropriety stopped him. Both Sarah and certain members of his family would probably take offense to the action. “Take hold of the rope and slip your legs into the hole.”

Sarah did as Grant suggested, disappointed when he released his hold. She enjoyed the protective warmth of his arms around her, even though she tried to deny it.

As he began to push her, she appreciated his trying to make her feel welcome among his family, but the emotional scars from years of neglect could not be healed overnight. Nor did she want them to. They formed a defensive layer to keep her from being hurt again although it was probably too late. She was in love with her boss.

Four screaming kids broke the silence as they rounded the corner of the barn, running as fast as their legs could carry them. “Not it,” the older boy yelled as he tagged the tree, followed by two other boys.

The smallest one, a girl, whom Sarah vaguely recalled belonged to a cousin on Grant’s mother’s side, wobbled up last. “Not it.” She slapped the tree with her tiny hand.

“But you are, Jordan. You’re the last. Catch us if you can,” shouted the boy in a green T-shirt. They took off running, leaving the confused girl standing by the tree.

“Wait for me,” Jordan cried.

As Sarah looked at the child, a lump formed in her throat. She knew how the girl felt. Maybe Grant’s family wasn’t as perfect as he wanted her to believe, although these boys weren’t as cruel as her foster siblings had been in home number two, nor had Sarah been quite so young.

She fought the memories of a long time ago. Their taunts and jeers couldn’t hurt her now unless she let them.

“Hey, Jordan, want to swing for a while?” Grant knelt beside the sobbing child and wrapped his arms around her. Sarah’s mood lifted as he occupied the girl’s attention.

“’Kay. Can I?”

“Of course, sweetheart. As long as you’re with a grownup, it’ll be okay.” He lifted the girl and placed her on Sarah’s lap. “You remember Sarah, don’t you?”

The girl shook her head, settling her small body against her. Sarah wrapped an arm around her. “I’m a friend of your Uncle Grant’s. How old are you?”

Jordan held up three fingers.

“Wow. You’re a big girl. Can you help me hold onto the tire so we don’t fall off? I hear your uncle can push us into the next county if we’re not careful.”

Jordan giggled. Holding her securely, Sarah felt giddy herself as Grant pulled the tire back to get the momentum going again. He pushed them so high Sarah thought they were going to touch the fluffy, white clouds in the sky. The child’s laughter mingled with her own.

Sarah’s loosely tied ponytail came undone and she could feel her hair whipping around her face with each swing. Getting the tangles out would be hard, but the ride was worth it. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so happy. Her spirits stayed buoyant even after the ride ended.

“You girls have worn me out,” Sarah heard Grant pant as the swing stopped. “I suppose we should join the family before they wonder what happened to us.”

He helped them out, and then picked up their discarded soda cans before they headed to the backyard, Jordan running along in front of them. “I meant to tell you the other night you look good with your hair down. You should wear it that way more often.”