Saint and Scholar (17 page)

“Hmm?”

“Why’d you change your major from art history?”

“Were you stalking my files, Grant?” The words were cynical, but the side of her mouth curled up into a smile. Why lie?

“Yes. Wanted to know how best to run into you, so that required me knowing where most of your classes were.”

“Well, you failed.”

“Obviously.”

She sighed, and turned her body as far to the right as she comfortably could under the seatbelt. “I changed my major after that year I took off. I’d moved back home to my mother’s while I saved up some money, and I thought about how difficult a path would be career-wise. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my degree. I just knew I liked art and I was interested in what influenced the artists who made it.”

“Wild-ass one eighty to biology, huh?”

She scoffed. “No kidding. I hated it, but I knew I’d be able to get a job even if I didn’t go to dental school.”

“So, where’d
that
get you?”

She swatted at him. “Shut up.”

“Really, love. Are you going to be a forensic artist for the rest of your life? I know I’ll be teaching and researching until I croak. That’s what I want to do. What do
you
want to do?”

She stared through the windshield for a minute, then two, before she admitted in almost a whisper, “I don’t know. Survive, mostly. Be happy.”

He retook her hand and kissed the back. She didn’t need to have an ambition. He had enough for the both of them.

“We won’t stay long at my dad’s. You’ll probably want dinner soon, but I told him I’d be nearby and he insisted we stop by for tea.”

“Don’t worry about it. I need to call my friends before they call Interpol or the American embassy and insist they send paratroopers out to track me down. It’ll be nice to stop moving for a while, if only for that.”

He chuckled. “Why are your friends so certain I’ll do away with you?”

“It’s not
friends
. Just one friend. And my brother. Anyhow, they think I have questionable taste in men, and further that I lack common sense.”

“What gives them that preposterous idea?”

She ground her teeth and stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

It didn’t matter. He had some idea. Carla seemed to be one of those women who picked her men carefully, but not well. Perhaps if he picked
her
rather than the other way around, he could change her luck.

His father kept a small house near the golf course. He’d tended the course grounds for years and maintained his own small garden with the same level of professionalism and precision as the greenways. Carefully trimmed hedges surrounded a maze of flowers and stepping stones. In the middle of the garden where the paths converged, a wrought iron bench and table had taken on a reddish patina from longtime exposure to the elements. Grant shut off the ignition of the car in front the house and stared at the steering wheel. He felt Carla’s gaze on the side of his face.

Her lips turned up in a curious smirk. “What are you thinking about?” She leaned forward a bit to look at the property through his side window.

“My dad’s expecting us.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and jammed them into his jacket pocket.

“Okay, so…why are we still sitting here?”

“I’m just…” He fondled the leather lacing on the steering wheel with his thumbs and ground his teeth. “I’m wondering if Dad cleaned up.” He turned slowly to look at her. “You know what? I don’t know what I was thinking. This was a bad move on my part. If you want, you can use my phone to call your girlfriends. I’ve got an international rate plan. Call them and I’ll drive you on to your inn.”

“Don’t be silly.” She gently extricated her hand from his and pulled the latch on her door. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.” She slammed the door shut before he could respond.

He complied and exited the car himself with a weary sigh.

The front door of the cottage was thrown open wide before they made it all the way up the path. An older, grayer version of Grant appeared in the doorway wearing overalls over a flannel shirt and mud-caked rubber boots. There was dirt on his face, but his broad smile was beaming. He held out his arms as they approached, and Grant groaned. He hated when his father hugged strangers. He didn’t want Carla more spooked than she already was and figured that would damn sure do it.

She took it all in stride, however, and allowed herself to be pulled into the rather bony group hug complete with healthy thumps on their backs.

“Well, come on in! I’ve got everything all set up. I just took the kettle off.” Dad held out an arm to indicate they should cross the threshold in front of him, then waited as Grant stepped in and pulled Carla gently behind him. She froze just inside the open door, staring at the cluttered front room with her eyes wide. Dad seemed oblivious and scooted in behind her while whistling some jaunty tune. He pulled the door shut and latched it.

When she finally looked up at Grant, she hurried over to him and took his hands in hers. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hands and pulled her through the mess of piled clothes, stacks of newspapers, repair projects and giant bags of dog food.
Where’s the dog? Does he even have a dog anymore?
“Best to watch your step,” he murmured. He leaned down so his lips were near her ear as they approached the kitchen. “My mum used to keep this house neat as a pin. I offered to hire someone to help, you know. Just once a month. He didn’t want anyone here. I’m honestly surprised he was okay with
you
coming.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care because I’m a stranger,” she whispered back.

“Perhaps,” he said, with one last squeeze of her hand. He was pretty sure Dad knew she would be far more than that.

The kitchen was clean enough for food consumption, if not tidy, so they chose seats as Dad poured a proper tea. When he sat, he pushed his glasses down his nose and looked across the table at Carla. She was mimicking how Grant sweetened and creamed his tea. She was obviously a coffee girl. Who could blame her? That’s what he wanted to be drinking right around then.

“So, Carla, my boy says you’re here to look for your roots?”

She nodded. “Well, yes. It was kind of him to offer to help, especially since he has so much to do in the coming week. I’ll be here for about a week, myself.”

“Might take a little longer,” Grant said in a low voice. She kicked his shin under the table, but kept smiling.

“Well, I’m sure the young lady will stay for a nice visit. Lots to do and see. Do you like football, Carla?”

“
Soccer
, Dad.”

“Oh yes.
Soccer
, then. Although football doesn’t make much sense in the American context, does it? I mean, the only time your blokes
kick
the damned ball is for an extra point. Why not call it
running
ball or
tackle
ball, eh? It’d save a lot of confusion.”

“I don’t really pay much attention to sports, to be honest,” she said. “My brothers played a lot of sports between the two of them and I would watch with my dad sometimes, but I could never follow the plays very well.”

Dad’s eyes went wide and his jaw popped open. He very nearly dropped the biscuit he was aiming at his mouth. “Well, what sort of hobbies do you
have
if not the greatest sport ever imagined? You know, Grant used to play.”

Grant blew out a raspberry and slumped in his seat. “
Bí i do thost
.”

“Why? It’s true. You spent half your life playing. It was important to you once.”

“No, it was important to
you
, Dad. Mom told you that. I couldn’t give a shit.”

“Bah.”

Carla turned to Grant with one brow raised and skimmed her gaze down what she could see of his body. “I don’t think it’s been that long since you’ve played.”

He grunted and pretended to be very interested in the color of his tea. “Just intramural stuff with the guys. Played a bit of rugby with Seth, too. That’s how I got my nose broken the third time, by the way.”

“Hey, I think it’s nearly straight now!” Dad tapped the tabletop excitedly. “Carla, the lousy bloke could have gone pro. All the big teams were scouting him from the time he was sixteen. Ol’ Grant from Meath, eh? What’s he do? He goes off and gets a degree in some obscure topic I can’t even remember. Then he went off to study another one. My friends ain’t too impressed at that, I tell ya.”

“But he’s teaching Irish history now. Doesn’t that make you proud? I mean, he’s rather smart. He taught me for a while. He’s got to get those brains from somewhere.”

Grant chuffed. Who the
hell
was this charming little woman he’d picked up? Must be that Southern thing she’d explained the day before.

“Pride isn’t the issue, girlie,” Dad said as he shook an index finger at her. “He didn’t even talk to his old dad about it. Here I was thinkin’ he was going to play for FAI and he didn’t even tell me he’d gone and applied to Oxford and got
in
no less!”

“
Oxford
, Grant? Why would you downplay so much of what you’ve accomplished?”

He sighed and took off his hat so he could rake his hair back. Then he jammed it back on. “You were preoccupied at the time, Dad.” He gave his father a warning glare, which Dad readily returned with a mean green stare of his own.

She looked at them both and pushed back from the table. “I think I’ll go take a walk and let you two have some time to catch up.”

“No, stay,” Dad said at the same time Grant said, “I’ll join you.”

“No, I’ll go…
alone
,” she said, picking up Grant’s tweed jacket from his chair back and shrugging into it. “I won’t go far. I just need to check in with folks at home.”

Grant nodded and held out his phone to her without taking his eyes off his father. She took it and scurried away before the tension bubbling up between the two men boiled over.

* * * *

“Meg will be glad to hear you’re still alive,” Sharon said with a giggle from her side of the Atlantic. Carla made a slow walk around the perimeter of the sprawling golf course with the phone tucked into the crook of her neck as she fastened the buttons of Grant’s jacket.

“Yeah. It’s been an interesting couple of days. Maybe a little bit
too
interesting.”

“How so?”

“I’m just…I don’t know. He has a couple of personality quirks I’m trying to get used to.”

“Like what? Does he leave the toothpaste uncapped or something?”

“No, I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spent a night here yet. He’s just…I don’t know how to explain it. He seems like he’s this laidback, easygoing kinda guy, right? He’s got three freaking degrees, Shar.
Three
. And he did undergrad and the first master’s at Oxford, of all places. But, guess what? He’s not just a geek. He could have played pro soccer and apparently has had his nose broken three times…that I’m aware of anyway. I guess he’s got the testosterone to go with it, because every now and then the alpha machismo crap Ashley and Tony shine at seeps out.”

“What kind of machismo crap? Is he crushing beer cans on his head or something?”

“No, that’s not what I mean. More like caveman shit. I don’t know if I like it. Say, who’s that voice in the background?”

“Oh, it’s Ashley.”

“
My
brother Ashley?” She froze midstep.

“How many male Ashleys do
you
know? Yes,
your
brother. I…um…saw him at the mall trying to pick out a new tie and I helped and we got to talking.”

“Oh yeah?” Doubtful. Sharon did spend a good amount of time at the mall, but not generally in the sorts of stores that sold the midrange haberdashery Ashley’s resident income afforded. If anything, she’d lurk in stores like Brooks Brothers waiting for a hot prospect to cross her path. “Talking about
what
?”

“Oh, the usual stuff. Anyway, because you didn’t forbid me otherwise, I told him where you are.”

Carla’s anger burned up through her cheeks to her ears, but she swallowed hard, took a few deep breaths and tempered her voice. She
had
figured as much, so her sense of shock at the moment was unjustified. “Oh yeah?” She was starting to sound like broken record.

“Oh, come on. He can keep a secret. He says he won’t tell your mom, and I hope he’s being truthful for his sake. Hold on. He’s grabbing for the phone.”