of him wanted to do just that. The part that always crushed any memories of his mother, the part that taught him years ago to have complete control over his environment, his life, his emotions.
But another part heard a nagging little voice that he really would have liked to ignore. But he couldn’t.
You’re going to heal the hurt in this family, Cam McGrath. His grandmother’s Irish lilt was as clear in his head as the first time she made her pronouncement. You’re the oldest. It’s your job. You’ll heal the hurt.
He’d forgotten that prediction. Just as he and Colin and Quinn had forgotten the hurt. Or learned to fake that they had.
But here stood a woman with the answers all of them had secretly craved for twenty-six years. The answers that might make three McGrath men finally, once and for all, close the holes that had busted wide open in their hearts so many years ago. The answers that might rid them of the memory of the day they’d crouched at a second-story window and watched their mother blow out of Pittsburgh. For Wyoming. Or California. Or somewhere.
Evidently, he had to make another choice tonight. And the recriminations could be far worse than missing the first few innings of a baseball game.
He could sign the paper and forget Jo Ellen Tremaine ever graced his office. Or he could get some answers from the cowgirl mechanic.
This could be his only chance to heal the hurt—for Gram McGrath, and for his brothers.
He would just never, ever let this woman know that’s what he was doing.
He stood and gave her a slow, lazy grin. “So, Jo. Do you like baseball, by any chance?”
Jo resisted the urge to let her jaw drop. Cameron McGrath stood a full six foot something and gazed down at her with what could only be called a glint in deep-blue eyes.
Baseball? Was he serious?
“I think it’s dull as dirt,” she replied.
The glint disappeared and the eyes narrowed to disbelieving slits, feathered with eyelashes that, she couldn’t help noticing, were just as long and thick as Katie’s had been. “Dull as dirt?”
Did he really want to discuss the merits of baseball four minutes after she told him his long-lost sister and mother had recently died and that he had a baby niece whom she planned to adopt? Could he be that cold?
Of course he could. Jo had read the letters from Katie’s mother to this man’s father. The letters he’d sent back with a scratchy “Return to Sender” note on the front. Jim McGrath had vinegar in his veins and evidently, that blood type was dominant on the McGrath side. Katie had missed the bad blood, but obviously got the traffic-stopping good looks.
This McGrath, however, had slightly different coloring from his sister. His hair was dark blond, his eyes the color of the September sky on a clear California day. He was rugged, with a shadow of beard and thick eyebrows. Still, he had the wide-set eyes, the chiseled jaw, the perfect cheekbones—features universal in beautiful people and in McGraths.
From what she could surmise under his gazillion-dollar, custom-made, three-button designer suit, he had a flawless body, too.
She forced her attention to the reason she came to New York: the envelope in his hand. “How much time do you need to read that and sign it?”
He shrugged, his gaze on her now and not the envelope. Assessing, scrutinizing. “I’m not sure. How much time do you think it’ll take to change your mind about the nation’s pastime?”
She almost laughed at how shallow he sounded. “You don’t have that much time, Mr. McGrath. I’m leaving on a red-eye at eleven-thirty.” With that piece of paper, signed, in my hand.
He made a show of looking at a sleek timepiece on his wrist. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make the bottom of the first. And—” he looked back at her and winked “—with no extra innings, you might get to see the whole game.”
Shallow and cocky. One of her least favorite combinations, no matter how well packaged. “I’m not going to any baseball games tonight. But the sooner you sign that paper, the sooner you can get to the park.”
“Not the park. The Stadium,” he corrected. “With a capital S.”
She managed a rueful smile. What would she have to do to get that petition signed?
“I’m guessing this is pretty important to you,” he finally said, leaning just close enough for her to catch a whiff of a musky, male scent.
His baritone assumption held enough of a challenge to send pings of apprehension dancing down her spine. Or maybe those were pings of…something else. She’d have to be blind, deaf and neutered not to recognize the raw attractiveness of this man. But she’d have to be stupid to let that influence her.
She wasn’t neutered or stupid, only determined. Callie McGrath would not become a ward of the state, or some kind of novelty for curious, distant, icy family members. Jo Ellen might not be the model of maternal instinct, but she couldn’t resist repairing a wreck. And Katie had left one hell of a mess when she died with no will and no plan for her tiny baby.
She phrased her response carefully. “Yes, it’s important. Important that it’s done right. I don’t want any loose ends threatening to strangle me.”
A half smile tipped the corners of his lips. “I don’t want to strangle you, sweetheart. Just share a little dull-as-dirt baseball with you. And during the game—” he put a warm hand on her shoulder “—we can get to know each other a little bit.”
She heard the subtle message in the request. He was a lawyer, as he’d made sure to remind her. And he wasn’t about to hand his signature and consent to a complete stranger.
“Fair enough,” she agreed, dipping out of his touch. “But is it absolutely necessary to go to a baseball game?”
“Absolutely.” He laughed a little and inched her toward the door. “Plus you can have that beer.”
She had a feeling she’d need it.
Two
Cameron watched her climb into the back seat of a cab, admiring both her spontaneity—however reluctant—and the delicate curve of her rear end. He’d decided moments after she dropped her little bombshell exactly how he’d play this game. The only way he played anything. Cool.
First of all, she could have the wrong Christine McGrath. Or she could be some sort of con artist. Or she could be a total fruitcake.
But on the off chance she was telling the truth, he’d give her a shot. Spending the evening with her wouldn’t be a hardship. Playing it cool was easy enough, since the news of his mother’s death didn’t have the usual effect it would on most men—but then, Christine McGrath hadn’t acted like most men’s mother. And the fact that he had a surprise sister who had also perished in an act of nature was a miserable shame, but he had no control over that.
If he had known Katie even existed… An unfamiliar pressure constricted his chest. He hadn’t known. Period. He couldn’t control that, either.
And
