Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) (20 page)

It was too bad he’d done the unthinkable; he’d stolen her heart and manipulated her into giving up her freedom. Somehow he didn’t even know how much like her mother he’d become. Deceptive.

The end justifies the means
.

“No, Griff, it doesn’t.” Because breaking someone’s heart didn’t justify a damn thing.

Griffin eased the back door open. Darkness greeted him.

“She’s gone,” he said, sensing it. He didn’t bother to turn on the light. Closing and locking the door, he turned back to his empty future.

The house had never been this cold or hollow. It seeped into him, nearly choking him.

He focused on getting to his study, and then holing up there. Once he got to the room, Griff reached for the light. Something seemed different. He flicked it on.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he glanced around at the changes she made. “Pixie,” he murmured, coming into the room and taking note of the same shade of aqua blue on the walls. Her pink chair remained, but held a colorful pillow with pinks and blues against a white background to tie in the colors to the rest of the room. A new rug graced the floor in front of the fireplace. The bookshelves behind his desk held something that caught his eye.

Slowly, he walked toward it, frowning at the glare on the glass container there. When he realized what it held, his chest tightened. He could barely take another breath. His medals were there on display. Beside them, a picture of him and his buddies in fatigues she’d found in the box stood in a frame.

Next to that, she’d discovered and framed a grainy picture of a little boy holding his father’s hand. Him. His father. The only thing that had survived the long, lonely years without his dad.

Griffin swallowed hard. No matter what he’d done to her, no matter how much he’d hurt her, she still loved him. Because she’d never do this for someone she despised. Or so he hoped.

***

Screwing up all the courage she could muster, Priscilla pressed the doorbell. It hardly ended ringing when the door swung open.

She looked at her mother, perfectly made-up and with every hair in place.

“Priscilla, dear, I knew you’d come to your senses. That hair.” She tsked, “It will grow. That outfit must go. Where are your bags?” She peered out the door and around the front step.

“I’m here to talk.”

Her face fell, and then she pasted on a serene smile. Her dark eyes were shadowed, though. “Come in. You are alone, aren’t you?”

Priscilla stepped over the threshold of her former home. It felt like another world, faded and smaller than she recalled. Her trepidation siphoned out of her.

In moments, she entered the parlor behind her mother who darted to the drinks cabinet. “I won’t offer any to you. I know you don’t drink.”

The things she doesn’t know, Priscilla thought, would turn her hair permanently gray. She suppressed a giggle. Taking a seat on the old-fashioned sofa, she watched her mother fill a glass, and then take a long swallow and top it off again. Her mother sashayed to her then, gingerly sitting in the chair across from her. “Do you have a drinking problem?”

Her mother lost her color. “Of course not.” She scowled. “I know my limits.”

“Do you? Not with your daughters, you don’t.” Priscilla couldn’t drag the words back even if she’d wanted to.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” she asked sweetly.

“You pushed us away. You hurt us.” In the back of her mind, she thought, she could say the same to Griff. Dawning hit. “You can’t let go of the past. You’re so fixated on what was that you can’t even see what’s in front of you. Where’s your dog? Where’s the Colonel?” She noticed the house was so silent.

“The butler took the dog for a walk.” She waved a hand. “And the Colonel no longer…”

“He left you.” She knew it, but hoped he’d changed his mind and come back.

Looking around now, Priscilla discovered something she herself had never realized before. “Nothing’s changed. It’s all the same since Daddy was here.” She stared at her mother now, saying softly, “He’s not coming back.”

Gazing down into her drink, her mother cried. “He said he’d always take care of us. He lied. He left me.”

Tears smarted Priscilla’s eyes. She went to her mother. Sitting on the arm of her chair, she hugged her. Sobs racked her mother’s body. For a long time, they stayed that way. Suddenly, her mother jerked away, pushing her hands off her. “I don’t want your pity.”

Priscilla went to her tote bag and fished out some tissues, handing them to her mother before she sat on the sofa again. “You don’t need my pity; you have so much of your own.”

“How dare you say such a thing to me!” The fire was back and directed at her.

“Mother,” she began, “I am not your enemy.”
No, my husband is.
“I want you to face the truth. You lash out because you’re in pain. You lost your husband, but not your life—”

“Is that what he tells you? Is that what he sent you here to say?”

“Griff doesn’t know I’m here. No one does.” She sighed. “You’re changing the subject. Look, I’m not your little girl anymore. I’m not coming back. I want more for my life. I stink at piano. I stink at etiquette.”

“And manners. And grammar,” her mother pointed out.

“Life is what you make it, Mother. You have to decide if you want to be miserable by yourself or try to find happiness, even a little bit, and maybe, just maybe you can earn your way back into our family. Don’t you want to see Charlie’s twins when they’re born? They’re a part of Daddy. You’ve alienated everyone, including the Colonel.”

“He…” She took a sip of her drink. “Doesn’t like my meddling.” Her admission must have cost her dearly.

“I don’t blame him. None of us do.”

“He had a little snit and I thought he would return. But,” she looked away, “he hasn’t.”

“Do you love him?” Priscilla held up her hands, saying, “Wait, as much as you can love another man?”

Her mother shrugged. “I suppose I do.”

“Call him.”

“I am not crawling to him and begging.”

“You don’t have to. Here.” Priscilla dug for her cell phone. “I’ll break the ice and call for you.” She scrolled to find his number, found it, and then held up her phone. “Just nod your head if you agree.”

She watched her mother swallow hard and give her a barely noticeable nod.

Priscilla hit the number and waited. It rang three times before he answered. “Colonel? This is Priscilla.”

His blustery voice boomed. “Is anything wrong, dear?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Agnes? What’s happened?” His concern told her everything she needed to know.

“She misses you, Colonel. Do you think you could call her and talk? Maybe make up?”

“That blasted woman. You tell her if she wants to talk, then she has to be the one to call me. Have a good day, dear,” he said, hanging up.

“You heard?” Priscilla asked, putting her phone away.

Her mother nodded, staring down at the remnants of her drink.

“He’s not Daddy. No one will ever compare, but he seems to care for you.”

“He does love the dog,” she said, “and he treats me well enough.”

“Maybe it’s time to make some changes.” She got up and walked to her mother’s side. Leaning down, Priscilla kissed her on the cheek. “For now, I can’t see you for a while. But I do love you. Remember that.”

With each step she took toward the door, Priscilla felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

Somewhere she knew her stepfather would be proud of her. Somewhere along the way, she realized she’d grown into the King name. She was a King. No one could deny it.

***

“Yo, baby girl,” Bruno greeted Priscilla as she carried the box of food into the quiet store.

“Pick your poison, friend,” she said, holding the box up. He peered over the edge. “I suggest the grilled meatloaf sandwich. It’s the one on top to my right.”

“Sounds good to me.” He reached in and grabbed it. “You pulling an all-nighter with your hubby? The workers got the women’s department demoed already.”

Francie came in with Marcus following close behind, both laden with boxes, too. “It’s only her design,” her sister boasted. “Of course she’s going to come. But all night? We’ll have to see if we drop before dawn.”

“I’m betting Francie falls asleep first,” Marcus said, “in the linen department. I don’t call her my Sleeping Beauty for nothing.”

“Stop,” Francie said. “I only did it once.”

“Once is enough for me,” her husband teased.

After Bruno promised he’d drop by on his rounds in another two hours, Priscilla followed her sister and brother-in-law to the escalators. She was happy for them, truly she was, but it only magnified her own situation.

Charlie and Francie had talked to her about Griff, urging her to listen to him and give him another chance. After all, he hadn’t enacted his wrath or revenge on them. In fact, he’d done everything in his power to turn the store around for them. He had a conscience. And, they insisted, he loved her; it was clear for anyone to see.

But she couldn’t just sweep it all away just like that. The hurt pulsed in her, through her, and all around her.

Her middle dipped as she stepped off the escalator and found herself staring at Griffin’s wide shoulders and broad back as he spoke to one of the construction crew. She gulped hard. Days had gone by and the only thing she’d heard was a message from him, thanking her for his study. She saved it, listening to his deep, low voice over and over again, making the sweet ache hurt even more.

“Thank you…I never told you, but this was my childhood home. I bought it to prove I could get back what I’d lost long ago. But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring my father back. I was still lost. That’s why I didn’t decorate. What was the point?” He hesitated. “God, I wish I could erase this message and start all over again. Start us all over again, too.” His sigh, heavy and filled with regret, rushed to her middle every time she replayed it. “You’ve given me the home I always longed for but never thought I could have. It’s too damn bad you’re not here to share it…”

Now, Marcus and Francie called out to Griff as they made their way to the table set up a few feet away. He turned, and then did a double take when he noticed her.

“Here, let me,” he offered, coming up and taking the heavy box from her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, avoiding his stare. But when he didn’t move, she glanced up. Her heart tumbled. His dusky gray eyes held her captive.

“Pixie,” he said.

“McGruff,” she countered.

He blew out a breath. “I’ll show you around.”

“You already have.” She smiled tightly, and then left him there holding the box to stare after her.

***

Griffin couldn’t imagine a longer night than what he’d just been through. The women’s department remodel had nothing to do with it. Priscilla King James did.

Her professional manner earned her respect from the crew as she asked pertinent questions and pointed out where her design could improve as obstacles came up. She listened to their suggestions and, surprisingly, to his. In the end, they’d worked as a team and done the bulk of the builds by their morning deadline, finishing up before the painters arrived.

But her cool demeanor to him caused him to wonder if he should have stayed on at King’s. How much could he take? How long before he cracked and just swept her up in his arms and carried her back home? He reminded himself he didn’t have that right. He never really did.

Once he gave instructions to the new crew, pointing out the boutique style—built-in shelves were white, yet the back of them would be the custom King’s lavender shade—Griff signed off and headed home. He’d be back in a couple of hours to check on the progress.

His steps slowed when he saw Bruno and Priscilla talking at the door.

“I’m off in thirty, baby girl. I can swing you by your house.”

“No need,” Griff said, overhearing them. Thankfully, she didn’t challenge him. “Thanks, Bruno.”

“Sure thing, Griff. Hey, you know some guy was here asking questions, ’bout you, ’bout what we talked about weeks ago.”

Griff stilled. “Got his name?”

“He gave me his card.” He tugged it out of his top pocket and handed it over. “Thinking about writing a book, about bygone golden days in Dallas or something or other.”

His hand shook when he saw the familiar reporter’s name, the same man who’d written countless articles on his father years ago. He handed it back to Bruno, saying, “You can toss this.” He nodded at the other man’s broad smile, and then he said to Priscilla, “Ready?”

She went ahead of him, and then shivered when they walked out into the cool morning air. He shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her. “Thanks,” she mumbled, burrowing in farther.

Walking beside her, highly aware of every inch of her, he suppressed the moan bubbling up in him. God, he wanted her so bad he could taste it. Opening the door of the Vette for her, he ushered her in. Going around and getting in behind the wheel, Griff snapped his seat buckle in place, and then jammed the key in and turned. The engine purred. He revved it a couple of times, wishing he could take off and go full throttle.

Biting down on his desire, for her and for a dose of speed the sleek sports car could perform, Griff eased out into the nearly empty street.

She stared out of her window. He glanced at her. “How have you been?”

“The truth?” She caught his brief stare, and then looked out the windshield. “Terrible.”

“Me, too.”

“You engineered all of this. You should be prepared for the consequences.”

It didn’t come out angry or cold, just flat. That hurt more than if she screamed at him. “You’re right. But I never thought I’d have met you.”

“Single-minded focus?”

“It works, most of the time,” he agreed. “Just not when pixies fly in your way.”

She giggled.

His heart soared.

For the rest of the journey they were quiet, but the tension had eased. For that he was grateful.

Less than twenty minutes later, he walked her to her loft apartment. “Can I come in?”