Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (61 page)

She spent the next five minutes listening as he talked about a large rock fountain in the center of the garden in place of the gazebo. About flowering shrubs and blooms that would appear at different times throughout the year, giving the garden a sense of new life year-round. Endings and new beginnings, no matter what time of year it was.

She was trying not to think about a new beginning for herself. With him in the picture somewhere.

“What?” He was smiling at her again, but it was a more personal smile.

“What, what?”

“I don't know. You just looked like you had something to say.”

They weren't talking about flowers. And she wasn't imagining anything.

“I appreciate what you're doing here,” she said, opting for what she knew to be true, not hoping for what couldn't be. “You've captured the essence of what we're trying to create and devised a plan that would bring it to life much better than anything we've accomplished so far.”

He paused, watched her for a moment and then said, “It's my business.”

“Our agreement only requires you to keep up the premises, not enhance it.”

“Do you always only give what's expected of you? What you're required to give?”

They weren't talking about landscaping. Or jobs.

“Of course not.”

“I didn't think so.” His expression serious, he moved farther into the garden, with occasional glances back toward where they'd come.

“You can go get him,” Lynn said, understanding the burden of being solely responsible for the welfare of another human being—the senses that had to be tuned in every hour of every day, whether you were physically with that person or not.

Grant shook his head. “No, as much as I'd like to, I can't.”

“Why not?”

“For the first time in longer than I can remember, Darin reached out for freedom today. It makes me nervous, but from what I'm told, he has to form some kind of life for himself or risk falling into a depression that could eventually kill him.”

And she only had to watch over Kara while she grew up and could take responsibility for herself....

“He moved his arm a little bit ago.” Grant's tone reminded her of Brandon when he'd called her in between her university classes to tell her he'd seen Kara take her first step. “He's only had six days of therapy and already there's improvement.”

“That's great!” she said, meaning it. “I expected it to take a couple of weeks, at least, before there was any noticeable change.”

“Don't get me wrong. It wasn't much. Just an inch or so. But I saw it with my own eyes. He moved his arm.”

“I'm not surprised, Grant,” she said when he started to sound defensive. “Darin's determined. And the damage the surgery did was to a portion of the brain that is retrainable, as you know. I'm just surprised at the speed with which we've seen progress!”

“That's my brother for you. Once he's made his mind up about something, there's no going back.”

The way he was looking at her seemed to be sending some kind of personal message—beyond the perfectly circumspect conversation they were having. Had Grant made up his mind about something, too?

Something to do with her?

And him?

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I
REMEMBER
WHEN
Darin decided he was going to play ball for the high school team.” Grant was heading for the middle of the garden, and Lynn kept pace beside him, trying to follow his conversation while she recovered her breath and wondered if she'd imagined the double meaning behind his words. “He'd been a star in Little League. I'd gone to all his games. But his high school...they had guys playing for them that were expected to go straight to Triple-A. That didn't stop Darin, though. He wasn't just going to play ball, he was going to play first base. I didn't doubt him for a second.”

“You two were close growing up.” She had herself fully back in control.

“Yeah.”

“That's kind of unusual, given your age difference.” They'd reached the gazebo and were standing inside of it. Out of the setting sun. Glad that she'd brought her sweater with her, Lynn rubbed her arms to stave off the chill of the February evening air.

She tried not to notice the way Grant Bishop's jeans fit thighs that were proportioned perfectly enough to be etched in stone and gawked at for eternity.

Or to be aware of the fact that they were in the private gazebo all alone.

“Our father was an officer with the LAPD, killed in the line of duty when I was eight,” Grant said, and somehow they were sitting together on a bench of one of the three wooden picnic tables set in the gazebo. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his work gloves on his thigh, as he sat with his back to the table, facing the direction of the park across the commons. She was facing out, as well, with several inches between them.

“Darin was fourteen at the time. Somewhere along the way someone told him he was the man of the house, and he took his responsibility seriously.”

“Was this before or after his resolve to try out for high school baseball?”

She could see the writing on the wall. Darin giving up his dreams to care for his little brother...and after Darin's accident, Grant returning the favor for the rest of his life.

“Dad was killed the summer before Darin started high school.”

“So he didn't have a chance to make the team?”

“He made the team. As a freshman. And by the time he was a junior he was starting at first. I'm telling you, my brother has what it takes to get it done.”

Considering the Bishop brothers' current circumstances, the near–hero worship choked her up.

“You're a lot like him.” Softly, she told him what she was thinking. His gaze met hers again. And held. Long enough for her to read the appreciation in his eyes.

Her comment had been personal.

But so was the connection between them.

And while she wasn't married anymore, she wasn't any more open to a romantic relationship between them than she'd been four years before.

Everyone had their gift to give the world, their own particular difference to make. Hers was here. With these women. And raising Kara.

Their life was unusual. And didn't leave room for another personal partnership.

“I'm not like him,” Grant was saying, while Lynn, suffering from a heavy dose of sexual attraction, busily disavowed herself of a relationship he hadn't offered. “He was able to do it all and stay kind and considerate. I get irritable just keeping up my half.”

“He had help. Your mother was there to help shoulder the responsibility of raising you. And, based on normal childhood development, you got more independent every year, too.”

He was facing a life sentence without parole. Not that she'd ever tell him so. He didn't need her reminding him of the burden he'd undertaken.

But as a medical professional, she was completely aware of it. And knew all about the stresses common to family members of terminally ill or injured patients.

She admired those family members so much—admired their ability to face the burden that had been given to their loved one—and consequently to them.

Grant was shaking his head.

“Our mother died of a rare form of leukemia when I was a junior in high school. Grant was married by then, and he and Shelley took me in and not only gave me a home, they helped put me through college.”

Her heart caught again. “I'm sorry. I had no idea....”

She felt as if she had to do something. To help somehow. More than just as a facilitator of Darin's therapy at The Lemonade Stand.

Except that his problems weren't hers.

With his elbows leaning on his knees, Grant's gaze was pointed out toward the direction they'd come—across the grassy expanse. She had a feeling that the second his brother appeared, he'd be up and out of there, shooting across the yard like a torpedo.

“You know, through all of that, I can only remember my brother losing his temper twice.”

Curious, she glanced at him. “When?”

“The first time was the one time I came home drunk. He half carried me to the bathroom and stood there while I threw up. He handed me an aspirin and stood over me while I drank it down. And then he put me to bed, all without saying a word or offering an ounce of sympathy. The next morning, in a very cold voice he let me know that he was not going to ask his wife to live with a young man who was so selfish, immature and weak as to lose control of himself to that extent. That's all he said, but I knew he'd given me warning. If I ever came home drunk again, I would have to find another place to live.”

A bit extreme, maybe. For a first drinking experience.

And yet...

“I'm guessing you never came home drunk again.”

“More to the point, I never got drunk again. At least, not until I was of age and in my own living room.”

Which made her wonder when and why he'd done that. What had driven him to the point, as an adult, to sit in his own home and drink himself into a stupor?

Just with the little she knew of him, she could pinpoint a time or two that could prompt such an act.

“When was the second time you saw him angry?”

“When Shelley was fired from her job as a paralegal for filing a written complaint against one of the attorneys in the firm for sexual impropriety.” He stood up. “We should head back. I don't want him confused if he gets back and I'm not there.”

“He can't leave the grounds. Not without going through the main hallway, and the staff know to redirect him.”

“I'm not worried about him getting lost,” Grant said. “Darin wears his phone on his belt at all times. I'm the first speed dial, and also a speed dial picture on his front screen. He knows to call it if he needs me.” They were walking at a brisker pace now. “But if I'm not there he could get confused, which makes him feel...less than whole. Which depresses him.”

She wondered who looked out for Grant's emotional well-being.

Keeping up with him, she said, “It's a good thing you're doing, Grant. Not only caring for him, but protecting his confidence in himself, as well.”

“He's still my big brother. So do you want to check with Lila and the board and see if we can get the go-ahead to remodel the Garden of Renewal?”

They were done talking about Darin. She got the point.

“Based on how you described things, I know they'd love the idea,” Lynn said, attempting to switch gears as rapidly as he did. “But I'm afraid the cost of such a thing is out of our league right now. The initial design work on the grounds was donated several years ago when the concept of The Lemonade Stand was first devised. It takes everything we have budget-wise just to keep it all up.”

“I wasn't planning on charging you,” Grant said with a sideways look at her that made her insides dance as they walked toward the park. “I work in exchange for Darin's time here, remember? In case you hadn't noticed, my brother is practically living here during the day.”

Darin had already progressed to therapy twice a day but had been helping out in the kitchen—of his own volition—during the lunch hour.

“We can't even afford the supplies....” Which was a shame. The rock fountain, the ambiance he'd described...Lynn could even see herself gravitating toward the area for an occasional respite from the emotional traumas of life.

“Darin and I can build the benches ourselves. And, with your permission, I'd like to hit my suppliers up to donate the plants and the rest of the materials. I bring them more than a million dollars of business a year—I think they'll carry me on this one. But for the initial rock work, I'll need to bring in Luke and Craig—my two full-timers. They're good guys, as your background check will show you. As I said before, Luke's been with me since college and Craig's someone he met working at Habitat for Humanity.”

Very familiar with the volunteer organization that built homes for needy families, Lynn's mind was reeling. She was used to being the one most on top of things, of taking control and making things happen.

Grant was...impressive.

The oasis he was describing would be a godsend to their work. Grant was talking about providing a place of serene beauty, of aesthetic wonder. A place that could help heal the soul. And that was the part of these women that was damaged most of all.

They'd made it back to the area where Darin had left Grant.

“I'll talk to Lila tonight,” she told him. “But I can pretty much guarantee she'll be delighted.”

“As soon as you get an official go-ahead, let me know and we'll get started.”

Just like that.

He was watching her watch him. She moistened her lips with her tongue, and his gaze lowered to them, then rose back up to meet hers.

What were they doing here?

“How long do you think it will take?” Her words were a little too slow. Too soft.

“A week. Tops.”

She said something appropriate. Told him she had to get going. He glanced at her mouth again.

And Lynn fled.

* * *

L
ATE
THE
FOLLOWING
Monday, after putting in a full day as owner and CEO of Bishop Landscaping, Grant was in the Garden of Renewal with design software opened on his tablet, measuring off distances and envisioning finished results. With the help of the software, which would take his inputted measurements and choices and display outcomes, his idea would materialize into a working plan.

“Darin said I'd find you here.” The voice startled him. Turning, Grant almost dropped his tablet.

“Wow!” He'd said the word out loud before realizing he was doing so. In a pair of tight black jeans, high-heeled black leather sandals and a button-down, tapered white blouse, Lynn looked...nothing like a nurse. Her hair, loose and curling around her shoulders, was longer than he'd suspected. She was wearing makeup.

And not meeting his eyes as she handed him a manila folder. “This is the signed letter with our nonprofit tax ID that should be all your vendors need for their donations,” she said, her tone unusually subdued.

She seemed to be looking right through him. Or over him.

Taking the folder, Grant wanted to touch her hand. Her face. To bring her back to him. She was at the Stand for a reason. Had left her job at the hospital to live here.

Because she'd been abused? He knew for certain she'd been wearing a wedding ring four years before. He'd checked. He didn't ever flirt or even think about flirting with another man's wife.

Her fingers were unadorned now.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sounded so surprised,” he said, making certain that he didn't touch her at all. “I've just never seen you out of uniform.”

He'd begun to picture her wearing her various colored and designed scrubs to bed. Only the top. With nothing on beneath it.

Because he was certain he hadn't misread those looks—the way she'd licked her lips...the softer, sexy tone she used a time or two....

“I had a fundraising lunch,” she said. “It was outdoors, on a patio at a country club, and part of the program was a fashion show. I agreed to be a model and they gifted me the clothes as long as I wore them through lunch. We not only raised enough money to keep us going here for a month, but the fashion designer donated makeup and an outfit for each one of our residents.”

Noticing that it was almost time for Darin's therapy session to end, he closed his tablet, latched his tape measure back onto his black leather belt and tucked the folder she'd walked all the way out there to give him under his arm.

She'd walked all the way out here, dressed like that, to give him a folder she could have left for him someplace. She could have texted or called to tell him to pick it up at the front office.

She'd wanted him to see her.

“How many residents are currently living at the Stand?” he asked, treading carefully as he walked with her back toward the main house.

She was attracted. And afraid? Not a combination he'd ever dealt with before.

“Two hundred and forty-two. We're almost maxed out at the moment. But Lila's working on a deal that would include enough new bungalows to allow us to take in another fifty.” The voice of a woman who didn't sound the least bit fearful.

Because when she was a nurse, she was in her element? Secure and confident?

Living with Darin had made him more sensitive to the fact that people behaved differently in different circumstances.

“Is there some kind of a time limit for how long someone can live here?” he asked, partially to keep her comfortable, but also because he was growing more and more curious about this aspect of life that he'd, thankfully, never been exposed to before.

His dad had adored his mother. He'd revered her. And so had her sons.

Apparently, the world was also filled with jackasses who didn't cherish the women in their lives. He'd known there were some...but two hundred and forty-two right here in Santa Raquel? The town wasn't that big.

“Not in terms of a number of days or weeks or months,” she said, answering his question. “A few of us, like Maddie and me, are paid employees and live here full-time as part of our jobs,” she said.