Echoes (21 page)

Grant expressed his surprise in much more colorful words. Steadying her with one hand, he rescued the dish before she dropped it. The heavy flashlight succumbed to gravity and crashed down hard on her foot.

"Dammit.”

It hurt bad enough to make her eyes water. Refusing to indulge in the howl of pain that she deserved, she bent to pick up the flashlight. She didn't see Grant going for it at the same time until she cracked heads with him so hard that she saw stars. The flashlight rolled between his feet and bumped to a stop at the doorway.

Where was it written that she had to make a fool of herself every time she saw this man? Feeling like a complete ass, she rubbed the sore spot on her forehead, watching Grant do the same. She pointed at the casserole dish and said, "I came by to thank you for your help last night."

Under other circumstances, his expression might have been funny.

He said, "Come in," but didn't look as if he meant it.

"No, I should… You were on your way out, weren't you? I can come back another time. Or not at all. I'll just, um—"

"Tess, come in."

He was shaking his head as he stood aside for her to enter. Thinking the best thing she could do was cut her losses and get the hell out of there, she scooped up the flashlight and stepped inside Grant Weston's home. He waited for her to move a safe distance then reached down for the cowboy boots he'd been carrying before he'd had to intercede on behalf of her casserole. He dropped the boots just inside the door and closed it.

From the foyer, she could see dark wood paneling lining the hallway on the lower half of the wall and heavy, ornate portraits hung precisely above. A room opened to the left, but heavy drapes blocked out the sun, giving it a look of perpetual dreariness. All it needed was Boris Karloff playing a pipe organ in the background. She set the flashlight on a small entryway table and tried not to look at the red spot on Grant's forehead.

"This smells good," Grant said, looking at the casserole with suspicion.

"It's still warm. Are you hungry?"

The question seemed to catch him unaware. "I'm starved," he said, and a sudden smile spread across his face. Tess tipped her head back to stare with fascination as it transformed his features like sunlight on a pond. The dark murkiness vanished beneath the glittering light and the cold depths became warm and inviting. In that instant he changed from man to movie star.

She found herself blushing and reaching to take back the casserole. "Why don't you sit down and I'll make you a plate? Just point me to the kitchen."

Inside, she gawked at the cockeyed Suzy Homemaker who'd taken over her mouth but she couldn't seem to stop it. Last night she'd been tuned in to every glance, every chance touch of his hand, but by this morning she'd convinced herself that her reactions had more to do with being frightened of the storm than attracted to the man. Now there was no denying or pretending.

On the big screen, Grant Weston stood tall and muscular—stronger, smarter, sexier than any ordinary man. In real life…he wasn't much different. The rough hewn features of his face, broken nose and square jawed, the light gleam of his eyes, the thick black lashes, so long they should be feminine, but weren't…the chemistry that was so devastatingly male, it taunted her senses like a familiar song. It all hit at once and deep within her, an inexplicable need awoke and responded.

Thinking maybe she needed to take that flashlight and give her head another whack, she followed him down the somber hallway to the kitchen.

Here the theme of dark and gloomy crossed the line to dismal and depressing. Who could cook in a room like this? She glanced at the round table in the nook by the window. Not even the bright sun and fresh breeze could make eating there a pleasant experience. A scented candle sputtered on the table, as if in puny defiance to the overpowering task of brightening the room. She sniffed the air, noting it hadn't done much to improve the smell here either.

"I can't get rid of it," Grant said. He crossed to the back door and looked out at the corral. The muscles in his broad back tensed as he lifted an arm and rested it on the doorframe. He made a fist and softly drummed it against the wood. "The tractor was right over there. Smoke must have poured in through the window and settled…."

She set the casserole dish on the counter and moved to his side. The corral outside looked benign, but the black spot near the fence fanned out like a malignant growth. She glanced at Grant from the corner of her eyes as he stared at it, his jaw tight and his gaze set far off and inward.

This close, she couldn't help but be aware of his height, of the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his legs. His faded blue jeans hugged his hips and thighs below an untucked, soft gray flannel shirt that echoed the shade of his eyes. It seemed ridiculously intimate to be standing so near, her head barely reaching his chin even though he wore only socks on his feet.

"It's the craziest damn thing, isn't it?" he murmured, still looking out the window. He cleared his throat, nodding toward the corral. "I came back to see if I could be a better son..." The words trailed off, filled with irony.

"You probably weren't such a bad one to start with."

He turned suddenly and stared deeply into her eyes, as if he was searching for something specific that he knew would not be waiting on the surface. She didn't look away, although every protective instinct she possessed screamed for her to hide. The grays of his eyes swirled like smoke and she felt drawn into the illusion they created. Had she moved closer, or did everything else fade back? She didn't know.

"Your eyes are blue," he murmured.

And his were like falling rain, both clear and opaque at once.

His gaze shifted and she felt the heat of it on her face, her lips, her throat. She swallowed and he watched the flexing of her muscles with minute attention.

"Why are you here, blue eyes?"

Gruff, yet at once gentle, his voice rubbed her senses like velvet. "I came to thank you," she said.

A slow grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You're an even worse liar than your sister," he said. The sensual pitch of his voice gave the words a feel of innuendo and absolved them of insult.

"I wonder how you'd know," she answered, her own husky response seeming to come through the veil of his erotic spell. "You're hardly more than her acquaintance after all."

His soft laugh sent chills to a place low and liquid and started a ripple that traveled up and throughout her entire body. He was definitely closer now, though she still couldn't have said which of them had moved. He brushed her cheek with his fingers, his skin rough yet the touch exquisite in its tenderness. She caught the warm scent of him and thought back to her conversation with Sara. Grant Weston definitely wore the right cologne.

"Want something to drink?" he asked.

Without waiting for her answer, he stepped back, leaving her swaying in place. He pulled a liter of diet Pepsi from the fridge and a pair of glasses from the cupboard. She took a deep breath and quietly let it out. So much for taking charge. She felt exposed, defenseless and completely at the mercy of the hot pulse he'd ignited within her.

Moving to the counter where she'd set the casserole, she said, "Where is your silverware?" She was relieved to hear that her voice no longer sounded like it belonged on the other end of a dial-for-sex phone call.

He nodded at a drawer to her left. She found a serving spoon and opened the lid on the dish. A delicious aroma drifted out. "Plates?" she asked.

Grant set her glass down beside her and reached over her head to open another cupboard. The movement brought him so close she could feel the heat of his body, imagine the touch of his skin. If she turned, she would be in his arms. He handed her two plates and leaned back against the counter. She felt like she had six thumbs as she scooped out servings.

By silent agreement, they left the gloom of the kitchen and went outside with their plates to the chairs on the sprawling porch. The fresh air felt like a gift from God after the stale confines of the dungeon where Grant lived. He ate like his last meal had been days ago. From the looks of the inside of his refrigerator, that might have been true. Tess surprised herself by cleaning her plate too.

Appetites appeased, they sat in wary silence. She'd come to play hardball with Grant. As far as she could tell, he was the last person to have seen Tori. She couldn't believe that he didn't know something,
anything
. She'd planned to lull him into a false sense of security with the food then hit him hard with the questions. But somehow one long look and a brush of his fingers had skewed her agenda and now she didn't know how to begin. Worse, a weak-kneed part of her didn't
want
to ask questions. His presence had chased back the taint of fear that clung to her like the smell of death to Grant's kitchen. She wanted to lose herself in his spell again and never resurface.

But on the heels of that came the outraged scolding from the realist in her. Whatever was happening here, she couldn't escape it. She had to find out where her sister was.

"You're thinking pretty hard over there, blue eyes."

He was watching her with a look so intense that she felt everything inside her fine tune to respond. Was he doing that on purpose? Did he know the effect he had on her? Was it all practiced and polished or could it be as natural and forthright as it seemed? She forced herself to look away and breathe. Breathing had become quite difficult.

He stood suddenly, reached in the house for his boots and pulled them on. "Let's go look at the horses," he said.

Tess followed him down to the stables, all the way trying to deny the way his closeness made her feel. At the fenced corral, he stopped. He leaned his forearms on the top railing. Tess stood hesitantly beside him.

He pointed to the pinto who'd been watching her when she drove up. "That's Superman. He's been in more movies than I have." He made a thumb and finger gun at the horse. Superman looked up, pricking his ears. "Bang," Grant said.

The horse reacted immediately. He took two staggering steps to the side, then another and then he collapsed with a grunt. He closed his eyes and froze. Not even an ear twitched.

"That's incredible," Tess said, smiling in spite of herself.

Grant whistled a strange, off-pitch note. Superman's ears twitched again and he clamored to his feet and ambled over for a reward, which Grant pulled from his shirt pocket.

"He likes Lifesavers?" Tess said with another laugh.

The horse slurped on the candy, working the small thing around its big mouth with determination. Grant grinned.

"Superman's the best dead horse in Hollywood. Too bad he's got no gas pedal. Slower than a mule, that one. Now, Midnight over there—" He pointed to a raven horse with one white sock. "She's like the wind." Midnight knew her name and came over to see what they were talking about. "Watch her hooves. See how they almost touch there—She's built to run. Only problem, she doesn't have brakes."

Midnight got a Lifesaver for her effort as well. Tess rubbed a hand down her silky neck and Superman bumped it away. Laughing, Tess scratched him behind the ear.

Grant pointed out the other horses in the corral, telling her about each one's area of expertise. His eyes glittered in the bright sunlight and his smile had a contagious quality. Occasionally his arm would brush against hers and a thrill would follow it. She had to force herself to focus on his words and not just the lips that formed them.

"Why do you have so many horses?" she asked.

"Midnight's mine. The others I'm working with to get them ready for their next movie. They're going to learn to joust."

"Is that what you do now? Train horses for the movies?"

"It's what I'm hoping to do. I've still got a few friends in the business, not many, but a few. Ever heard of Brandon Forsythe?"

"The producer?"

Grant nodded. "He's agreed to use the ranch for his next shoot. And if I can get these animals in shape, there'll be more to work with down the road. I'm hoping there will be anyway. Right now I'm hocked to my eyeballs trying to get things rolling. Dad let the place come down around his ears."

"The ranch is important to you."

"It's all I have," he said simply.

They turned and headed back up to the porch in silence. Tess couldn't stop thinking of Craig and his claim that the ranch was everything to Grant. Apparently, he was right.

"You're doing it again," Grant said when they reached the porch. "Why don't you just come clean and tell me what's on your mind?"

Tess felt another hot flush creep up her neck. "I was thinking about Tori. I mean, I'm always thinking about Tori. She's been gone for over forty-eight hours now."

"I know." He pulled the roll of Lifesavers from his pocket again and offered it to her before popping one in his mouth.

She sucked on the candy, peering at him from the corners of her eyes as she chose her next words. "I'm pretty sure she's pregnant."

His eyes widened for a moment and his nostrils flared with the quick breath he took in. His surprise looked too real to be faked. But then again, there was that whole actor thing. Taking his reactions at face value would be foolish.