their paths had crossed. Now that he was back to stay, seeing him so often brought back longings she thought were dead and buried. She got tongue-tied and bashful. Fiddled with her hair.
No one man should have the power to cause a girl to get so fluttery, and, well, girly. She was supposed to be past that by now. She left girly behind when she and Steve had signed the divorce papers. When she realized that happily ever after didn’t really exist.
The house was quiet when she knocked, so she wandered around to the side of the house in case someone was outside.
She was in luck. Johanna, Connor’s grandmother, was kneeling at a small flower garden with the curly-topped Maren babbling happily at her side.
“Good morning, Mrs. Madsen.”
Johanna’s head turned, a smile lighting up her face. “Grace, dear. It’s so good to see you.” Rising, she brushed off the knees of her slacks and held a hand out to the toddling baby beside her. “Maren, you remember Grace, don’t you?”
Maren suddenly fell silent and popped a thumb into her mouth, and Grace laughed.
“She probably doesn’t remember me. I haven’t been around much.”
“That’s about to change, isn’t it?”
Grace nodded at Johanna, the two exchanging a solemn look. “I thought I’d stop in today and get up to speed.”
“Connor and Mike are both out, but you’re no stranger to the setup. I know they’re both happy you’re here.”
“How is Alex, then?”
“Being monitored.” Johanna picked up the baby and climbed the steps to the deck. “So far she’s doing okay, but at thirty-two weeks…”
“They want to buy her—and the baby—some more time.” Grace followed Johanna inside, standing back as Maren was placed in her high chair.
“Exactly. The doctor said that even another couple of weeks can make a big difference with the baby’s lungs. Of course Connor’s worried sick.”
Johanna put a sippy cup in front of Maren. “Connor’s spending almost all his time at the hospital, and Mike isn’t meant for bookwork, so I’m glad you’re here to help.”
“I’d do anything for…to help,” she finished, coloring at her almost mistake. Even if she knew she’d do anything for Mike, she didn’t need the rest of the world to know it. Thankfully Johanna seemed oblivious as she busied herself making cool tea.
The front door slammed and Grace jumped. When Mike strode into the kitchen, she took a step back, her gaze drawn undeniably toward his.
God, he looked fabulous. All coiled strength in his faded jeans and corded muscles beneath a blue T-shirt. His hat, the cream-colored Stetson he never worked without, was on his head, but when he saw her standing there he automatically reached up to remove it.
His hair clung to his scalp in dark curls and Grace watched as one solitary bead of sweat trickled from one temple down his jaw.
Maren smacked her cup on the tray of her chair while Johanna watched, clearly intrigued with the silent interplay between the couple.
“Grace.”
“Mike.” His name sounded strangled to her as it came out of her mouth. And she knew she was glad she’d chosen a skirt and pretty blouse after all.
“I, uh, just came to get something to drink.”
“I think Johanna’s making some iced tea.”
Still their gazes clung and she remembered the feel of his hands on her arms yesterday morning. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Goodness, they were staring at each other like idiots.
He broke away first. “Iced tea sounds perfect, but you’re not here to look after me, Mrs. Madsen.”
Johanna poured three glasses without batting an eye. “I’d like to know where all this Mrs. Madsen nonsense came from all of a sudden. I’ve known both of you so long I used to wipe your runny noses, so call me Johanna or Gram like everyone else.”
Mike’s lips quivered as he struggled not to smile. The Madsens were as close to family as he had, not counting his cousin Maggie.
Johanna took one look at Maren and plucked the girl up from her chair. “I’ll just go change the baby,” she suggested blandly. “Grace, I’m sure you remember your way to the office.”
“Of course I do. I’ll sort things out, not to worry.”
“I’m sure Mike will help you. Won’t you, Mike?”
His lips pursed together and he let his eyes twinkle at the older woman. “Indeed I will…Gram.”
Her rusty laugh disappeared with the baby and he was left with Grace.
She looked beautiful today. As usual. But he thought he saw hints of purple beneath her eyes. Lord only knew what work she’d taken on now. She was always working. And now he’d helped her exhaustion along by asking for a favor. He should have found another way.
But another way would have meant that he wouldn’t have an excuse to see her. And after she’d let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, at the Rileys’s anniversary party, he thought about seeing her more and more. He’d been shocked to say the least, but not unpleasantly. Knowing Grace still felt some attraction for him seemed to legitimize his own for her. He’d let her get away once before, and had always been sorry. But knowing she still thought of him in that way changed everything. Heck, not that he’d admit it to her, but he’d made the excuse for a midmorning drink just because he’d seen her car pull into the yard.
Her hair was sneaking out of the twist, curling around her temples in damp tendrils. The warmth of the morning gave a glow to her skin. To him, she was a picture of femininity, of innocence, purity. Certainly too fine of a woman for a man like him to tangle with.
“You’re looking tired. I hope this extra work won’t put unnecessary strain on you.”
That was it? Grace tried to keep her lips from falling open but failed. All those long stares and all he came up with was “you’re looking tired”? Her elation at seeing him flew out the window.
“Your compliments make a girl all warm and fuzzy.”
He at least had the decency to look chagrined. “I didn’t mean to say you looked bad.”
“Even better. You know, I can’t imagine what the women around here see in you.”
It was out before she could think better of it and she instantly flushed. They both knew it was a lie. He knew very well that she was one of those women. She’d said it herself as they’d danced. She covered the slip with more offensive:
“But I can assure you I can handle a little unnecessary strain, as you put it. I’m not made of china, Michael.” She used his full name and watched his lip curl a little. She knew how much he hated being called Michael.
Mike had put his hat back on, the brim shading his eyes
