Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (20 page)

He could be lying though. She closed the internet and pulled back onto the road.

Gerta could wait. The first thing she needed to do was confront Maggie. It being Saturday posed a problem, though. Maggie might be out anywhere, partying it up, getting cozy with Loser Owens. Or she could be at home.

Drawing a deep breath, Rachel drove home and prepared herself for a fight.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

As Grant dressed for church Sunday morning, his thoughts kept returning to his impromptu lunch with Rachel yesterday.

He tugged his tie, remembering her tender sympathy, the way she’d covered his hand with hers, as though trying to protect him. There were things from childhood he could never tell anyone but yesterday he’d come close. Not to spilling information, but to baring his soul.

The realization shook him.

The more he knew Rachel, the more he understood there were no similarities between her and Laura Harkness. Now he wondered if comparing Rachel to his mom had been his subconscious trying to protect him from falling in love.

Because he’d definitely fallen. And hard. But was it love? Was it right? Were there any rules he should follow to make God happy about this? That was important. Another lesson learned the hard way. If people wanted him, he had to behave. Follow the rules. Smile. It took a couple of years in dozens of foster homes throughout Orlando before the knowledge sunk in. Once he’d gotten his act down at fourteen, a Manatee Bay foster couple kept him until he was legal, even when his mother came back to town.

The foster parents moved shortly after he started college. A few letters, a few phone calls and then the relationship blurred into nothing but a hazy memory of stability and good food.

He shrugged on his suit jacket, grabbed his keys, Bible and a bag of canned goods, then headed to church.

Would Rachel be there today? He wanted to see her emerald eyes flash, wanted to hear the soft sound of her chuckle. A part of him worried about settling down with someone, having a family. The other part worried about being alone the rest of his life.

It would be interesting to see what God had in store for him. This morning, with the bitter brew of black coffee clearing his brain, he’d studied Jeremiah. The spot where God said he had good plans for Jeremiah. Plans for a hope and a peace.

Grant figured if God loved him like he loved Jeremiah, if he obeyed God the way Jeremiah had, then God would surely plan some good stuff for him too.

At church, he searched for a parking spot. When he’d first started coming there’d been plenty of room. Now cars clogged the front spots. Joe’s congregation was growing. Grant thought about the hug Rachel had given Joe yesterday and her defensive posture afterwards. Joe probably tried to keep his reputation spotless and her hug could cause potential ripples with his newer members.

Of course, Grant would keep the hug to himself. Maybe he should tell her that, set her mind at ease.

A spot situated besides a sturdy oak caught his attention. He parked facing the other cars, angling his truck so that he could exit quickly if needed. After jumping out, he shut the door and started toward the church.

Would she be there today? She’d skittered away yesterday for her appointment. Not for the first time, he wondered what she’d done all afternoon.

The church bell rang, dulcet tones carrying through the humid morning mist. Grant slid into the sanctuary on the third peal and scanned the seats, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rachel’s vibrant hair.

Third row.

Looking down at her lap.

He smiled at Widow Carmichael, nodded at an elderly gentleman he recognized from the smaller Wednesday night meetings and maneuvered his way down the aisle until he reached her row. Before she could react, he slid in next to her.

Her perfume slammed into him. A forceful concoction of wildflowers and woman. He hadn’t smelled this scent before. It made him think of a woman ready to stand her ground. Strong. Bold. The woman he knew Rachel to be.

A bible rested in her lap. Opened to Romans. Her fingers flopped the pages closed, her crimson-tipped nails contrasting with the black leather binding. Reminding him that church was for more than getting to know Rachel McCormick.

He’d begun to know the One who changed him, filled him, loved him.

Rachel looked up at him and he settled more firmly into his seat. He grinned at her, drinking in the sight of her freckled nose, the guarded look in her eyes, the delicate set of her lips.

It almost seemed as though God had designed her especially for him. His fingers tightened around his Bible. There’d been very little belonging to him as a child. Would God do that? Would he bless Grant now, though his youth had been bereft of joy? Grant swallowed hard, his throat working against a strange welling of emotion.

Yes. God would do that.

His grin widened. Rachel’s eyes grew round. He probably looked ridiculous, but who cared?

She was special. The way she tried to protect those she loved proved her tender insides. He leaned towards Rachel, her perfume entrancing him. Inhaling, he whispered, “You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks pinked. “Grant, are you going to sit by me the entire service?”

“Sure.”

“We’re not dating, though.”

“I like the third row. It smells good here.”

She fidgeted, and the silky black suit she wore rustled against the pew.

Grant chuckled. “Nervous?”

“Should I be?”

“No. I’d say we’re friends, wouldn’t you?”

A thin, curved brow rose in an elegant arc. “More like acquaintances.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” He knew a smug smile stretched his lips and couldn’t help it. He made her uncomfortable. It said that either she was hiding something or she felt something for him. Though the former was more than plausible, the sight of her rosy cheeks confirmed the latter.

He stifled a laugh when she shifted her entire body to face him.

“I don’t get you.” Her eyes searched him.

Around them people filled the pews, their voices cocooning him and Rachel from speculation. No one would hear their conversation. But since she was whispering, he would too.

“What don’t you get?”

Her face came closer. He caught a hint of strawberry beneath the perfume. Sniffing, he allowed himself to slump closer to her.

“You used to hate me. Now you’re practically chasing me.” Her eyes darted around him, no doubt scoping out possible eavesdroppers.

“I was wrong.”

Her eyes clouded and Grant felt a twinge of regret. He’d been hasty in his judgments of her. Since high school. And she’d known it. “I’m sorry. I live my life by using split-second judgments. When I was a kid and when I became a cop.” He reached up to rub his neck. “You’re much more than I expected.”

Rachel’s lip caught between her teeth.

“Will you forgive me for treating you the way I have?”

“Okay.” Her head nodded slowly, as though she wasn’t sure what to think. “I guess I can forgive you.”

He nodded and then straightened against the pew. Would this change things? He looked upward, hope warring with doubt. Childhood taught so many lessons and he’d taken most to heart. He wanted to believe this was the beginning of something precious. He needed to believe, despite the past.

Some things were forever. Love. Peace. A real family.

***

Rachel struggled to pay attention to Joe’s sermon but she kept thinking of Grant’s request for forgiveness. As heartfelt as his apology had been after mom cut her hair, this one really topped it. His voice had been low, sincere. And now she couldn’t escape the scent of his cologne or the memory of his gaze, warm and faithful as he asked for pardon.

He kept surprising her. Wooing her. Rachel grasped her Bible closer, wishing it would protect her from his pursuit.

How easily he admitted to judging people. And yet she’d held onto years of resentment against her family…

“Don’t forget about our food drive. We need volunteers.” Pastor Joe stood at the pulpit with a wide grin. “It’s for the good of the neighborhood so I hope I’ll see some of you there.” He closed with a prayer and Rachel rose with the congregation. She followed Grant out of the pew, achingly aware of his proximity, the back that stretched wide beneath his suit, as broad and strong as his character.

She might as well admit she loved him. Differently than she’d loved Scott, too. They filed out of the church, stepping into the hot summer day. Sunlight shone against the stone steps of the church.

Grant turned to her. “Are you planning to help with the food drive?”

“The food is in my car.” She couldn’t stay for long. Maggie hadn’t returned home last night and Rachel kept fighting images of her sister buried at the bottom of the river.

“I’ll be helping, too.” Grant’s cheeks dimpled, as though he couldn’t think of anything better than spending time with Rachel McCormick.

She felt the rush of people around them, heard the cough of engines, the spin of tires. All leaving, while she felt as though she were just arriving. Somewhere new. Someplace special. Energy jolted through her.

She stuck her hip out. Flinging her hair back, she flashed him a saucy smile. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

He grinned back, his eyes warmer than the bayside of Key Largo in summer. “You sure will.”

***

By the time Rachel reached the food drive being held at the town beach, she was fighting conflicting feelings. She wanted to stay and flirt with Grant but she also wanted to find her sister. It bugged her that Maggie’s cell kept going to voicemail.

She stuffed down her worry and grabbed the bag of canned food from her passenger seat. Maggie was probably at a friend’s, sleeping off a hangover. Rachel hefted the groceries out of her car, nudged the door shut and then walked down to the picnic tables. The day would be hot. Good thing she’d decided to change into flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt.

Most of the congregation had done the same. They milled around the tables, sorting and stacking, making lists. Once everyone brought in the food and it had been sorted and itemized, the church always grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. Different members often cooked sides and the food drive would end up feeding more than just the poor.

She set her bag on a long fold-out table. An older gentleman stood behind it. He grabbed the goods, pulling them out and labeling a piece of paper.

Rachel shifted onto the soles of her feet, feeling useless. Maybe she could go look for Maggie after all. She cleared her throat. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The man smiled up at her, laughter lines etched deep into his cheeks. “Oh, no. I have it. Why don’t you go enjoy yourself.” He gestured with a gnarled hand toward a table surrounded by younger people laughing and jostling each other.

Rachel tossed him a grin. “Thanks. I’ll see what there is.”

But she didn’t head toward the table of young twenty year olds. She was thirty and way too realistic to have anything in common with those fresh-faced kids. Besides, she had bigger fish to fry. The food drive had jumped into full swing. No one needed her here. She’d go home, grab some Mace and her gun, and then hunt down the mayor until he told her where he’d put Maggie.

Determination stiffened her stride across the man-made beach area. Sand scuttled beneath her heels, grainy and warm. She should go to the Keys again. Once Maggie was settled, she’d drive down and spend a few days diving and snorkeling.

Exhaling, she tried to let the tension slide from her shoulders. Maggie was probably fine. Probably conked out on someone’s couch. But still, worry niggled at her.

“Rachel.” Grant jogged up behind her, then matched her stride. “You leaving?”

She halted and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The concern in his voice unbalanced her. How did he know she was stressed? Did he care as much as his voice indicated? Belatedly she remembered her fingers glued to her forehead. Dropping her hands, she took a good look at him.

Mr. Straitlaced-Cop was gone. Grant wore a deep blue t-shirt with the logo Billabong splashed across the front in vivid yellow letters. His cotton shorts and flip-flops combined with that unruly blond hair made her think of an easy-going surfer. He looked too handsome for her good. And sweet, because he studied her face with concern engraved across his features.

She should tell him about Maggie. Not her meeting with the mayor, just that she hadn’t returned home. She lifted her chin and met his worried gaze.

“Maggie never came home last night and she’s not answering her cell phone.”

“Is this out of character for her?”

“No.” Rachel squared her shoulders so they wouldn’t slump.

“No?” He cocked his head.

“She’s…unreliable. Look, you don’t have to help.”

“I want to help, I’m just trying to sort out a strategy.”

Strategy? Too late she remembered her own plan to confront the mayor. “Don’t worry about it. She’s probably at a friend’s house. I’m just going home to feed the cat and grab a few things, then I’ll track her down.”

“You have a cat?”

“Yes,” she said stiffly, not liking the shock in his tone.

“Sorry, just find it funny.” He flashed his teeth at her. Normally, she might find some humor in his surprise, but not at this moment. Not when she was so worried about her wayward sister.

She started walking again toward her car. “Laugh it up, Grant. Right now I simply want to find Maggie.”