Falling for Grace (3 page)

But he hadn’t pondered it for long. He’d
been way too busy the past few days trying to tie up loose ends.
His small, private law practice was consuming all his time, as
usual, even though he’d already started weaning over projects to
his associate Jack Roberson, the other half of Roberson and
Price.

He wanted out. Jack knew it and was more
than eager to take up the slack Carson had tossed his way the past
few weeks. Even though he had not a clue what the coming months
would offer, Carson did know that he had to get out of Louisville
and he had to get out of practicing law. And soon. His biggest fear
was that Izzie was making a bee-line directly to six-year-old
self-destruction. He was hell-bent on turning the child around.

A new town. A new career. A new way of life.
That’s what he wanted.

He blamed himself; he refused to blame Marci
any longer. The lengthy hours at the office, the hours later at
home where he practically ignored his daughter—those were the
things he blamed. Not Marci’s leaving. His pattern of the past
three years had to change and change dramatically. Izzie was his
priority now and he’d be damned if anything or anyone would stand
between him and his daughter’s well-being.

“
Well, this is
it.”

Grace turned and smiled as she pulled the
key from the lock and swung the door into the shop. Carson gave
himself a mental shake, pulling his thoughts back to the task at
hand. But at that point he felt something else, something foreign
pull and tug in his chest. Subconsciously sweeping it away, Carson
motioned for her to step inside. Watching her let herself into the
shop in front of him, he allowed a brief sigh to exit his lips.

She was a graceful beauty whose name suited
her well.

“
It really has a nice
layout,” Grace said as she led him further into the room. He
watched the slight sway of her hips as she moved ahead of him. Her
movement reminded him somewhat of a feather being blown
forward.

“
The front room is large
enough for just about any kind of shop or
café
or what-have-you. There is a
nice storage area in the rear, which I’ll show you in a minute, and
a small bathroom. And of course, as I mentioned, the apartment
upstairs goes with it.”

She stopped and he sensed her staring at
him.

“
Mr. Carson?”

He glanced away and cleared his throat. No,
he’d been wrong. It was he who was staring at her.

“
Yes, it is a nice
layout.”

He glanced about the room, taking mental
notes as he panned the area. Yes, it might just do. It needed some
work, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, after sitting
behind a desk the past several years, he was looking forward to
some mindless labor. He could almost feel the weight of a hammer in
his hand.

“
What about water? Other
than the bathroom, I mean. Any problem with piping some plumbing
into this main room?”

Grace Hart tossed a baffled glance his way
then looked out over the room again. “Water? In this part?”

“
Just for a...a serving
area,” he glanced to his right, to the wall dividing his shop from
Grace’s, “maybe over there, against the wall.”

She followed his gaze.
“Serving area? So, you are thinking of a restaurant or a
café
, Mr.
Price?”

Carson swallowed.
“
Café
. Yes.”
Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie, he told himself.

Suddenly, her face brightened. “That’s
perfect! The little soup and sandwich place down the street closed
a few months ago, so if you open up down here, it’s sure to bring
more business this way! I’m sure the Chamber of Commerce will be
thrilled.”

She smiled broadly in acceptance of his
so-called plan. Carson felt a twinge of guilt, then pulled his gaze
away from Grace Hart’s face. Panning the room, he tried to take his
mind off his psuedo-lie and picture the plan that was in his mind,
mentally transferring it to the space before him.

Yes. It will do.

He wanted it badly. Bad enough to let a
little white lie slip between his lips to get it.

“
It’s darned near
perfect,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Grace
Hart.

“
It’s ugly,
Dad.”

Horrified, Carson looked sharply at Izzie.
“Young ladies are to be seen and not heard.” He bit out the
warning, mentally chastising himself for being so blunt.

A small pained expression etched over
Izzie’s face, tearing at his heart. Immediately, he reached out to
touch her face and started to apologize. She jerked away.

“
Well, you know, I’d
really have to agree, Isabella.”

Grace laughed feebly; Carson slowly turned
his gaze back to her. His heart, however, was heavy with Izzie’s
pain. Damn him. He’d gone and done it again.

“
The last tenants left
quickly and didn’t do a very good job at cleaning up. I’ve just
been putting it off. Of course I’ll have it cleaned before you
would rent.”

“
Still doesn’t give a
child the reason to voice her opinion,” Carson offered.

This time Grace’s face held the puzzled
look. “Really, it’s all right. She was just saying what she
thought. There is no harm done.”

Carson glanced back at his daughter. “I’d
like for you to apologize to Ms. Hart, Isabella.”

“
Really, there is no
need.”

Carson ignored Grace and held his daughter’s
gaze. “Isabella?”

Izzie peered up at him through curled bangs.
She held his stare for a minute then slowly turned to look at
Grace. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Carson didn’t think she meant it.

An instant later, Grace Hart stepped closer
to Izzie and crouched down so that she was eye-level with the
child. Carson watched as Grace took one of Izzie’s small hands in
her long, slim fingers and smiled.

“
Apology accepted,” she
said, while patting Izzie’s palm. After a moment, she continued,
“But I perfectly understand what you mean, Isabella.”

“
Izzie,” the child
corrected.

Grace nodded. “Oh yes, of course. Izzie.
It’s a wonderful name, you know? I really like it.”

Carson watched as a smug, little expression
sprouted across his daughter’s face. “So do I,” she returned.

Grace smiled broadly and Carson felt
something catch in his chest. Her smile was one to be liked.
Pleasant. Warm. Soothing almost.

Izzie must like it, too, he thought, because
she was grinning right back her.

“
You know,” Grace began
again, searching Izzie’s face, “I bet a girl like you would like a
little snack about now.” She glanced at the watch on her delicate
wrist. “In fact, it’s almost ten o’clock. I think a mid-morning
snack is in order. What do you think?”

Izzie cocked her head to one side and
squinted. “Well, I did have an early breakfast.”

“
That clinches it!” Grace
dropped Izzie’s hands and stood. “Over in my shop, back in the
corner where the big chairs are, there is a plate of cookies and a
pot of tea. You do like tea, don’t you?”

Izzie frowned. “Hot or cold tea?”

“
Well, it’s probably
lukewarm by now but I’m sure it’s just fine for you. It’s
chocolate-raspberry.” Grace smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll like
it.”

She glanced to Carson then and motioned
toward the door. “Please help yourself, Izzie.”

Carson watched his daughter’s gaze dart from
him to the door, saw her tongue rake over her lower lip and her
eyes glaze over in the hopes of a sugar rush. He had to head this
one off at the pass.

He reached out and snagged Izzie’s arm
before she got away. “That’s very kind of you Ms. Hart, but—”

“
Now, please don’t tell me
your one of those parents who deprives your children of sugar, Mr.
Price?” Her eyebrows arched in anticipation of the answer to that
question.

Carson swallowed the words on his tongue.
“Well, actually—”

“
That’s what I thought.”
Grace crouched down to look Izzie in the eyes again. “Now why don’t
you run along and find those cookies and the tea so your father and
I can talk business for a few minutes. We’ll join you in a little
while.”

Izzie’s gaze met Carson’s once more.
Briefly.

“
Okay!” she replied and
then was off in a flash.

“
Izzie!” Carson started
after her.

“
She’ll be fine, Mr.
Price.”

“
But you don’t
understand.” He started toward the door.

“
Mr. Price.”

Carson felt a warm hand on his lower arm and
it threw him momentarily off-kilter. He glanced down and took in
the slim fingers resting there.

“
She’ll be fine. I
promise. Now why don’t you and I finish looking over the shop and
get down to business.”

Carson Price met Grace
Hart’s eyes again for about the hundredth time in the past fifteen
minutes. This time, however, their gazes seemed to interlock and
mingle and play some sort of
betcha-I-can-hold-the-stare-longer
game.

Suddenly, Carson was only thinking of one
thing. Just what kind of business did Ms. Grace Hart really want to
get down to?

He was misreading her, he was certain.

Grace Hart was all business, right down to
the core. Feminine? Yes. Savvy? Definitely. Sophisticated?
Absolutely. Sexy? Well, yeah. That, too. But he was trying not to
think about it.

Above all, she’d showed some heart and
compassion with Izzie a few minutes earlier.

There was definitely more to Ms. Grace Hart
than business, but business was the name of the game at the moment.
Nothing less, nothing more.

Izzie. My God. The havoc she could wreak
next door. Praying that she would behave, he turned away once more
to glance toward the door still open to the street.

It was at that instant he
heard the tinkering, lingering,
oh-God-don’t-let-that-be-what-I-think-it-is
crash—then an impish shriek followed by a loud,
child-like gasp.

He knew that shriek and gasp all too
well.

Abruptly, he turned back to Grace Hart’s
face and watched her eyes grow rounder than the elegant saucers
he’d spied on the dainty table with the fancy cookies and the
delicate tea pot in the prim and fancy shop next door a few minutes
earlier.

Oh, hell.

* * * *

“
Izzie!”

Gracie watched as Carson Price took off in a
flash toward her store. Her heart had leapt to her throat just
seconds earlier at the thought of poor Izzie lying in the midst of
shards of glass and splinters of china.

She raced after Carson.

It was her fault. All her fault.

Dammit!

He’d tried to stop her, tried to tell her he
didn’t want his child to have cookies and tea. But nooooo, she had
to push the issue. Some minute, maternal instinct had wormed its
way to the surface and manipulated her into plying the child with
cookies and tea, which now, of course, was leading to disaster.

Her brain was spinning like a
Tilt-a-Whirl.

Oh, Lord, she silently prayed, please let
the child be all right. And please let Carson Price not be too mad.
And please let this be just a minor little skirmish that won’t
prevent him from wanting to rent the place from me.

She didn’t really understand why, but she
needed Carson Price. She needed him to rent the place next door and
she needed him for—oh hell, some reason she really didn’t quite
understand yet. But more than that, she had the distinct feeling
that he needed her. Izzie, too.

When and where she’d decided that, she
wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it had something to do with the way
Izzie looked into her eyes a few minutes ago.

Gracie rushed through the door and into her
shop. Damn, damn, damn maternal instincts! she chided herself.

What the hell do I know about maternal
instincts? For all I know mine could be cracked off-kilter since
the opportunity to be maternal has not yet once presented itself
into my life.

She entered her shop just behind Carson and
raced to the back. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the
room, trying to find Izzie. She didn’t see her.

Carson stopped abruptly in
front of her and she plowed into him from behind with an
oof!

“
Sorry,” she said as she
planted her feet and peered around him. Carson, unmoving, didn’t
answer.

She glanced at the table, the glass inset
piece teetered off the edge.

The place was a mess.

Her tea pot was a goner.

The cookies were smashed to smithereens.

Her favorite cookie plate was now in three
distinct pieces.

And even worse, it seemed upon closer
inspection, that Izzie had vamoosed.

“
Izzie!” Carson
bellowed.

Gracie backed up, the sound of his stern
voice startling her. She studied him from the side. Etched into his
face was worry and anger and frustration and a host of other things
probably, that she couldn’t quite define. The tendons of his neck
were taut and prominent and his jaw was firmly set.

“
Isabella!”

Silence. Gracie slipped her gaze away from
Carson’s face to pan the room again, more slowly this time. Izzie
couldn’t have gone far, there wouldn’t have been time.

Unless, of course, she’d slipped out the
back door.

“
Isabella
Price!”

Carson was still unmoving, as though he’d
played this game before with his daughter, and that the name of the
game was: when he bellowed, she jumped. Well, so far, Izzie wasn’t
jumping.