03_The Unexpected Gift Read online

  “Okay.”

  Grant expected her to conduct the call in her typical style—dispense with chit-chat, get right down to business, then hang up. But that didn’t seem to be her inclination today. He sensed that something was on her mind, and thought back to the board meeting two weeks before, when she’d been so distressed. He’d tried without success that day to give her an opening to share her problem. And he’d tried with even less success since then to push thoughts of her aside. Maybe she would be more receptive to an overture today.

  “Is there something else we need to discuss?” he asked when the silence lengthened.

  “Actually, I was planning to come back to Maine and spend some time at the cottage,” she told him.

  “Okay. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for you. When did you want to come up?”

  “In a week or so. Maybe ten days. I can let you know for sure when it gets a little closer.”

  “How long will you be staying this time?”

  There was a slight pause. “Indefinitely.”

  Morgan’s voice was a bit unsteady, and there was a quality in it that Grant had never heard before. She sounded…uncertain. Maybe even embarrassed. As if her confidence had been dealt a powerful blow. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Based on what she’d told him about her dilemma of trying to juggle the demands of her career with the stipulations in Jo’s will, he could only conclude that her sudden ability to spend time in Maine meant that something had happened with her job. Something bad. At least in Morgan’s mind.

  He knew he was treading on shaky ground, but even though she might rebuff his questions again, he felt compelled to ask. He sensed that she was hurting and was in need of a sympathetic ear.

  “So you’ve managed to work something out with the job?” he asked, choosing his words with care.

  When she hesitated, he expected her to brush him aside. But she surprised him by answering.

  “The job isn’t an issue anymore. My firm was taken over by another company, and a number of people were laid off. I was one of the casualties. But I’m working on lining something else up.”

  Grant heard the bravado in her voice and recognized it for exactly what it was—a veneer. And a thin one, at that. Knowing her work ethic and her priorities, he could only imagine what a devastating blow her job loss had been to her identity, her ego, her very sense of self. And even if he disagreed with her work-comes-first attitude, he still felt sorry for her. It was clear that her whole world had been turned upside down. And that was something he could definitely relate to.

  “I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said softly.

  “These things happen. But I’ll survive. And looking on the bright side, it makes meeting Aunt Jo’s residency stipulation a breeze.” She tried for a light tone, but her voice was laced with pain.

  Grant knew she was deeply upset. But he admired her spunk. She might be hurting on the inside, but she was doing her best to keep up a brave front to the world. What the emotional cost was, he wasn’t sure.

  “Well, until something else turns up, why don’t you look on this as a vacation? Jo always found her time in Maine to be very relaxing. Maybe this will give you a chance to decompress a little.”

  “You sound like my sister,” Morgan replied. “She said almost the same thing when I spoke with her.”

  “I have a feeling I’d like your sister.”

  “Yeah. I have a feeling you would, too.” In fact, both her sisters—A.J. and Clare—seemed far more on Grant’s wavelength than she did. Especially free-spirited A.J., who was saddled with a buttoned-up business partner who sounded more like Morgan’s cup of tea.

  And as she ended the call, Morgan wondered yet again.

  What had Aunt Jo been thinking?

  Chapter Seven

  Thank heaven the weather was better on this drive north, Morgan thought as she pulled onto Seaside’s main street. Though the ground was snow-covered, the sky was deep blue, the sunshine glorious. And she hadn’t gotten lost once, she congratulated herself, as she rolled to a stop in front of the town’s sole grocery store. This time she was going to stock up on provisions before she went to the cottage. She’d learned her lesson the last time, when she’d almost ended up with soup and tuna for Christmas dinner.

  Shopping in the small store took far less time than she expected. Probably because there was such a small selection. Marshall’s General Store couldn’t hold a candle to the megastores in Boston in terms of merchandise. But when Morgan noticed the pot-bellied stove in one corner, where two patrons were playing checkers, she had to admit that what the store lacked in variety, it made up for in atmosphere.

  Dusk was beginning to descend as she started down the secondary road to the cottage, and she again noticed a distinct contrast to Boston. Rush hour there would be in full swing. Here, cars were few and far between. After the last hectic week, when she’d been scrambling to put her trendy, minimalist furnishings into storage, close up her apartment and tie up other loose ends, she welcomed the quiet.

  The past few days had also been emotionally trying, because as she’d wrapped up her life in Boston, she’d had an overwhelming sense that she would never call the city home again. That had left her feeling even more uncertain about the future. And for a woman who had always had everything carefully planned, it was not a comfortable place to be.

  Morgan tried to put those depressing thoughts aside as she pulled to a stop in front of the cottage and began to unload her belongings. She’d brought only the clothes she thought she might need for the next month, as well as her printer/fax and laptop, so it didn’t take long to settle in. And she’d bought enough groceries to last several days, so she didn’t have to venture out if she didn’t want to. And she didn’t particularly want to.

  By the time she’d unpacked her clothes and set up her computer, she realized she was starving. She selected a microwave dinner, then flipped on the TV to catch the end of the news while she waited for her meal to heat. Nothing much caught her attention until the last story, a feature on Valentine’s Day.

  With a start, she realized it was February 14. In years past, her life had been so busy, her job so demanding, that holidays had just been a minor blip on her radar. If she’d thought about Valentine’s Day at all, it had only been as a vague reminder that one of these days she needed to pencil romance into her calendar. A husband and family were certainly on her agenda. Someday. But she’d never quite gotten around to them. There had been other, more pressing priorities.

  Priorities that had robbed her of something precious—and priceless.

  That realization had come to her at Christine’s funeral, but it had been hammered home when she’d found herself jobless and been forced to acknowledge that she’d spent her whole life chasing a dream that had no real substance, that couldn’t sustain her in the most important ways.

  If she hadn’t lost her job, she might have reached the pinnacle of success someday. Perhaps she’d have been powerful and wealthy and respected in the business world. But she had a feeling she would also have been alone, that she would never have found the time for the things that gave life its real meaning, the things that mattered in the end.

  Even more disheartening was the fact that it might already be too late to find those things. At thirty-five, she wasn’t exactly over the hill. But the tick of her biological clock was starting to get pretty loud. And eligible men weren’t exactly coming out of the woodwork. Maybe she’d already lost her chance for love, she admitted with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  And that was a totally depressing thought for Valentine’s Day.

  The knock on the cottage door startled Morgan, and she jerked, dropping the log she’d just retrieved from the deck. In the past couple of days she’d become accustomed to the quiet of Serenity Point, which was broken only by the sound of the sea lapping against Aunt Jo’s tiny beach and the raucous calls of the gulls. So the sharp rapping jangled her nerves.

  She glanced d
own at the floor, now littered with bits of bark, then headed toward the door. It was too dark to see out the window, so she cracked the door open just enough to peek out. When she saw Grant on the other side, she shut the door and slid the chain back, then pulled the door wide.

  “Come in. I’m still being cautious, as you can see.”

  He moved past her, bringing with him a puff of cold and the bracing scent of spruce.

  “We don’t have much crime around here,” he reassured her as he pulled off his gloves. “But it never hurts to be careful. Sorry for the impromptu visit, but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I meant to stop by sooner, but it’s been busy at the shop.”

  “Everything’s fine. The electricity and phones are working, and I have a fully stocked kitchen this time, thanks to a stop at the quaint general store—which seems to double as a social club.”

  He flashed her a brief grin. “You must have seen Ralph and Joe playing checkers in the back.”

  “How did you know?”

  “They’re fixtures at the place.” He glanced toward the living room. “I see you’re making use of the fireplace.”

  “That’s one luxury I didn’t have in Boston. Thank you for putting the wood on the deck. Can I offer you some coffee?”

  “That sounds good. Thanks. How’s the job search going?”

  “Nothing yet. But I’m working on it.”

  “I’m sure something will turn up. You obviously have talent, based on the plan you created for Good Shepherd. I’ve passed it on to the rest of the board, and so far I’ve gotten a great response. Everyone is excited about the possibilities and anxious to get everything finalized at the next meeting.”

  “Good. I should have some additional information by then. I’m still working my contacts. Go ahead and have a seat in the living room.”

  Grant strolled into the room and bent to pick up the log Morgan had dropped. As he crouched to place it in the fireplace, he angled his body so that he could observe her without her notice. Her movements were awkward, as if she was stressed out and had way more nervous energy than she knew what to do with. She seemed somehow fragile—almost brittle—as if she might break at the slightest provocation. And when she joined him and held out the coffee, her hand was trembling. With a self-conscious blush, she reached out to steady it with her other hand.

  As Grant took the mug, their fingers brushed. Hers were cold, and for the briefest instant he felt an urge to take her hands in his, cocoon her slender fingers, let the warmth of his skin seep into hers. It was an unexpected, disconcerting—and totally inappropriate—impulse, and he took a startled, abrupt step back.

  Morgan gave him a surprised look, and he felt his neck grow warm. Sorry now that he’d agreed to stay for coffee, he figured the best plan was to finish it off as fast as possible and get out. He took a long sip—and almost scalded his throat. When he started to cough, Morgan moved closer and placed a hand on his arm.

  “Are you okay?” she asked in concern.

  As a matter of fact, he wasn’t. He was so close to her, he could see tiny gold flecks in her deep green eyes. And the faint sprinkling of freckles that dotted her silky, fair skin. She also had long, sweeping eyelashes, he noted. And her soft, full lips were…

  Grant’s mouth went dry, and he drew in a sharp breath. This was all wrong. He didn’t even like Morgan Williams. Yet he was acting as if he was attracted to her. Then another deeply disturbing emotion joined the jumble of feelings he was already experiencing.

  Guilt.

  What on earth was wrong with him? He’d just lost his wife, whom he’d loved with all his heart. He shouldn’t be attracted to this woman—or any woman. He needed to leave. Now. Yet he couldn’t seem to get his feet to cooperate.

  Morgan stared back at Grant, unable to interpret the look in his eyes. But she was very aware of their intense blueness. As well as the fine lines that radiated from their corners, which told her that at one time he had laughed more than he did now. There were other lines in his face, too. Lines of weariness and strain. But also appealing lines that spoke of character and maturity. She let her gaze trace the strong angle of his jaw, which held just a hint of five-o’clock shadow, then wander to his neatly trimmed hair, noting the fine sprinkling of silver among the sandy-brown strands. Finally, she looked again into his eyes. They were still focused on her, and for just a moment, before he shuttered them, she thought she detected a glimmer of…attraction? But that was absurd. They had been thrown together by circum stance, not choice. And they had very little in common. She didn’t think he even liked her. And he had just lost the woman he loved.

  Yet there was something between them. Something she’d never before experienced and had no idea how to describe. She’d always known Grant was a handsome man, with an appealing combination of strength and sensitivity. But she’d never been attracted to him before, probably because she hadn’t let herself be. They were too different, after all, and she’d had other priorities. Yet right now their differences seemed less important, and her priorities were beginning to shift. Which opened up a lot of possibilities—none of which she was ready to consider. Especially in light of her currently chaotic life.

  The sudden ringing of the phone broke the spell, and Grant looked as relieved as Morgan felt when she excused herself to answer it. Even though it was just someone soliciting a donation, she took her time with the call, giving herself a chance to regain her balance. By the time she returned, Grant had finished his coffee and pulled on his gloves. This time she made it a point to keep a good distance between them.

  “I need to run,” he said.

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  As their stilted conversation came to an end, he made a beeline for the door. She followed, and he turned to her before stepping outside. “I hope things go well with the job search.”

  “Thanks. Me, too. I’m not used to having so much time on my hands.” She summoned up a smile. “But at least this gives me more time to work on the Good Shepherd project.”

  “Well, that’s our gain, though I’m sorry it’s at your expense.”

  “It’s helping me keep my skills honed,” she replied with a shrug. “And in touch with real people. It gets pretty quiet out here.”

  In the fast-paced world of business Morgan was used to, she must have interacted with dozens of people every day, he realized, his resolve to make a rapid escape faltering. Living in a remote cottage in Maine had to be an abrupt change for her. Isolation could be good in some ways, allowing quiet time for reflection, but based on her comment, he suddenly had a feeling she might be getting too much of it. The dark shadows under her eyes indicated sleeplessness, the tremor in her hands implied taut nerves and the weight loss suggested that her appetite wasn’t good. He knew firsthand those were all signs of depression. While Morgan struck him as a strong woman, even strong people could cave, given sufficient stress. And there was no question that having your world turned upside down fell into that category.

  Grant didn’t think Morgan was the type to take any sort of desperate measures, but he didn’t know her that well. And contact with other people couldn’t hurt. Except she didn’t know anyone up here. Other than him and his family. After the unsettling episode by the fireplace, Grant didn’t think it would be wise for him to spend too much time with her alone. But maybe he could call on Kit for help. She had a lot of empathy and was good at dealing with people. And they had seemed to hit it off at Christmas.

  “Jo chose this spot years ago because she wanted a place that felt removed from the world,” Grant responded.

  Morgan smiled. “I’d say she found it.”

  “Have you explored the property at all?” Exercise wasn’t a bad idea, either, he decided.

  “No. I wasn’t sure where the boundaries were, and there’s been so much snow.”

  “She owned three acres, so this whole little spit of land was hers
. There’s a bench down at the very point that looks out to sea. It was one of her favorite places. The roads are clear now, too, and lightly traveled, if you’re in the mood for a walk.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Take care, then.”

  When Grant reached his truck, he looked back toward the cottage. Morgan’s lithe form was silhouetted in the doorway, warm light spilling around her. She raised a hand in farewell, and he responded before climbing behind the wheel. As he put the truck in gear and drove into the darkness, he glanced in the rearview mirror. She was still standing there, looking lovely. And appealing.

  Grant forced himself to focus on the road. For almost three long years he’d been alone, caught in a time warp, as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into years, while Christine clung tenuously to life. And each day, as he’d sat by her bedside and held her unresponsive hand, he’d ached for the simple pleasures of the happy marriage he had once known. The tender touches. The warm, intimate smiles. The private jokes. The cuddles by the fire on cold winter evenings. The sense of contentment, and the feeling that all was right with the world.

  Perhaps that basic human need for connection explained his reaction to Morgan tonight. Perhaps it wasn’t so much her, as the fact that the emptiness of his solitary existence had finally caught up with him. Perhaps she had simply been in the right place at the right time, and he would have reacted the same way to any woman.

  But somehow he had a feeling that his explanation was far too simple.

  And not likely to stand the test of time.

  It had been one of her most depressing days so far. Three rejections, all from firms that she’d had high hopes about.

  No one wanted her.

  For the first time since losing her job, Morgan felt tears well up in her eyes, and the bitter taste of despair was on her tongue. Suddenly the walls of Aunt Jo’s cottage seemed to close in on her, and in desperation she grabbed her purse and headed out to her car. She needed a change of scene.