Her Unexpected Family (6 page)

But the bright look in her eye indicated she was doing a mental assessment, much like Emily had noticed at the office when they first met, and that could mean her reasoning was probably in the higher subnormal range. Either way, Dolly was sizing up the situation and making a choice, and that was pretty solid behavior to work with. She worked the cymbals again, then slid back to the floor. “Come here, precious.”

“Ba!” Dolly crawled back her way, pulled herself up on Emily, patted her cheek and smiled. “Oh, ba!”

“You're pretty, too,” Emily interpreted, smiling. “Here you go.” She handed Dolly a pair of slightly bigger cymbals and showed her how to clang them. “Ding! Ding! Ding!”

To take the cymbals, Dolly had to let go of Emily and the couch. Emily put a shiny cymbal in each hand and when Grant called Dolly's name, she turned his way, beaming. “Ding! Ding!” She clapped the two cymbals together, off center, but close enough to create music. “Ding, Da!”

“You're making music, Doll-face.” Grant smiled at her and he started to cross the room, but Emily shook her head.

“Stay right there. Squat down, open your arms and call her, as if she comes running to you every day.”

He sent her a funny look, but did it, and then...

Oh, then!

Dolly clanged her cymbals, grinned in delight and took a step as if she'd been doing it forever. Then she stopped, made music again and took another step, a happy smile brightening her face. She repeated the action until she got to Grant's side. “Doll-face, you did it! You walked to Daddy!”

“Ting! Ting! Da!”

“You made music and walked to Daddy, Dolly.” Emily crossed the room and hugged her, then smiled right into her china-doll eyes. “You did it! Big girl!”

“I have some?” Timmy noticed the instruments, stood up and came their way. “Music for Tim?”

“Absolutely.” Emily reached into her bag and withdrew a xylophone and a little horn. She showed him both instruments and let him pick. He picked the horn, then marched around the room, tooting and strutting, the leader of the band.

Dolly got down on all fours and followed him, but she couldn't keep up. Finally she sat back on her bottom and wailed.

“And this is where you would normally pick her up and move her closer, but let's see what she does if we just walk away,” Emily whispered. She was close enough to Grant to note the way his hair curled around the back of his ear, enough to say Dolly's curls came from her daddy. When he followed her toward the kitchen, a whiff of some inviting, guy-scented soap took precedence over old breakfast dishes.

Dolly fussed and scolded in unintelligible gibberish, while Tim kept marching. She looked at them.

They pretended not to notice.

“Da!” she yelled, but without her normal force.

They ignored her, talking quietly.

She stared across the room where Emily had left her cymbals at the edge of the couch, an invitation to join the band if ever there was one. She crawled over, head down, determined, and when she got to the couch, she pulled herself up and grabbed the cymbals.

Emily reached for Grant's hand. “I think she's going to do it.”

“You think?” Grant whispered the words close to her cheek, close enough to feather her hair with coffee-scented breath. “How—?”

He stopped talking as Dolly clapped her cymbals together twice in a row, and then took a tiny step forward. “Ding!” She yelled the word, paused, banged her cymbals and took another tiny step. “Ding! Ding!”

Timmy didn't notice. He was too busy marching and tooting.

“Ding!” She yelled it again, but as she took another step forward, she almost giggled. “Ding!” Step. “Ding!” Step. “Ding! Ding!” Step. Step. Step.

And now Timmy noticed. His hazel eyes went wide and he tooted his horn and pointed. “Dowwy, good! Dowwy, good! Yay!”

Grant stayed silent and still behind Emily, and for a few seconds she thought he was upset or angry. Then she turned.

Damp-eyed, he watched his little girl as she tried to follow her more adept brother around the room. She couldn't keep up, but it didn't matter. Tim marched around the outer perimeter, leading his imaginary band. Dolly made a much smaller circle in the middle, but she was walking, all by herself, and playing with her brother.

“How'd you know what to do?” Grant whispered. His gruff voice sounded emotional and not a little chagrined. “Has she been fooling me like her occupational therapist has suggested?”

“Therapist-1, Grant-0,” Emily replied, just as soft. “Her good looks inspire people to take care of her. But of course, in the end, that doesn't do her any good because you want her to be as independent as she possibly can be. To shoot for the stars.”

“And have her chronically disappointed?”

Emily snorted, then laughed at his expression. “Listen, Mr. Glass-Half-Empty, struggle builds character and character builds strength. With her problems, she's going to need to be as strong as possible. Your job is to see she gets that way, even if you have to wipe a few tears.”

“I hate seeing her cry,” he told her.

“I meant your tears,” she teased, laughing, and jabbed his arm gently. “Letting go is tough. But necessary. Absolutely, positively necessary.”

Chapter Six

O
thers had said similar things. Several times, in fact. Why did he finally listen when it came from Emily? What was it about her that made sense? She might not be an expert, but somehow, her opinion mattered. He wasn't sure why, but he'd promised her lunch and it was almost twelve thirty. “We should do lunch, shouldn't we?”

“What time are their naps?”

“In about an hour.”

She nodded. “Then yes, and if you won't be insulted, you can make food while I load the dishwasher. Four hands go faster than two, and it's anybody's guess how long we have.” Her quick glance into the front room indicated the toddlers.

“True enough. And pizza's okay?”

“Way better than okay. Especially if it's homemade.”

“One of my few culinary talents. That and red sauce. I should have been born Italian, but Irish and German won the day.”

“I'm a Gallagher, so Irish works for me, Grant.” She filled the top rack with sippy cups and coffee mugs and tiny bowls. “I've chatted with Christa over the computer, and next Tuesday morning at ten seems like the best time.”

“I can't deny being a little intimidated by the thought of going to a bridal store—”

“Salon.”

“Bridal salon,” he corrected himself in a long, dry tone, “and shopping for a dress. Awkward.”

“It won't be awkward at all—it will be nice. Caroline's excited that Christa's getting married and can't wait to pull dresses that might work. And she's hooking up the computer to a bigger screen so we'll actually be able to see Christa if all goes well.”

“This is only one of the many times I wish my mother was here.” Grant layered sauce and cheese on the rolled dough. “She should be here to do this stuff, to see her daughter get married. My father left because he wanted to. Mom didn't have a choice.”

“Family stuff gets hard, doesn't it?” Emily bent to fill the lower dishwasher tray. “I used to be so jealous of my big brother. Dave was good at everything he did. Sports, music, school. And then he was gone and I couldn't get over the guilt of being jealous for a long time. Forgiving someone who hurts you or the ones you love is tough. And the more important they are, the harder it is to forgive and forget.”

“No sense worrying about forgiving someone who abandons you, is there?” Grant shrugged. “My father made a choice and stuck by it. I can't imagine wanting anything to do with him. He had his chance to be part of the family. He blew it. End of story.”

* * *

Ouch.

Emily took a mental step back.

Wasn't forgiveness part of life? Part of being a good person?

Can you honestly say you've forgiven Christopher for dumping you and having his father dismiss you from your job?

A part of her knew he'd done her a favor, but she hadn't felt that way eighteen months ago. Time and prayer had helped heal her.

But Grant was talking a three-decades-old hurt. Harboring a grudge that long couldn't be healthy, but what did she know? Her parents had been together nearly forty years. Hers was only the second divorce in their family in two decades, and that wasn't a sought-after distinction.

Besides, she wasn't privy to the details. In that case, erring on the side of caution was best, but his rigid attitude concerned her. Forgiveness was a part of life, and a huge part of reconciliation. Relationships without forgiveness were doomed before they started.

You're not looking for a relationship, remember? You're looking for respect, recognition and appreciation for a job well-done.

Her goal wasn't easy when her older sister was a paragon in the event industry, while Emily was more like a fledgling. But she was learning. “Done.” She finished loading the dishes and wiped the counter as Grant spread more cheese over the sauce-covered fresh dough. “That smells wonderful and it hasn't even started baking yet.”

“It's this.” He held out the bowl of fresh mozzarella and Parmesan. “This blend is perfect, and I get it hand done at Luigi's.”

“Best Italian food on the lake,” she declared. “Their ravioli alone are enough to die for.”

“Not much romance in killing your date,” he supposed with a wink as he slid the tray into the top side of the double oven. “But the food is great. Or was,” he corrected himself. “Our food tasting last week was the first night I've been out to eat since these guys were born.”

“Over two years?”

He winced a little. “Put that way, it sounds awful, doesn't it?” He shrugged. “But life's busy and I'd rather spend my time with the kids. But of course—” and this time he aimed a very direct gaze her way “—those things take on a different spin if you're in very special company.”

She pretended to misread his meaning intentionally. “Good company is never a bad thing.”

“A bestseller on a rainy night is good company.” He leaned over and smiled at her, unafraid to make his point. “
Very special company
is different. That's when you have the chance to talk to a pretty girl and you actually sit down and do it.”

“I don't expect that happens all that often, either, though,” she said as he went back to arranging pepperoni while Dolly attempted to wrestle the horn from her brother. “Unless the pretty girl stops by the highway department now and again.”

“Or your house, to talk about kids.” He didn't look up from arranging the pepperoni in even, concentric circles, but his grin underscored his meaning.

Heat crept up her cheeks, but when Dolly put a wrestling move on Tim, Emily didn't have time to worry about flirtations or really nice-looking overprotective fathers because she had to move quick to save Timmy from his sister's wrath.

And by the time Grant had calmed Timmy down and put Dolly in her high chair munching on a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, she figured she'd read too much into his words.

“Em, can you check that pizza?”

She opened the oven and peeked in. “Almost, but not quite. Shall I set the timer again? Give it another few minutes?”

“That would be great.” He handed sippy cups to both kids. “So what do you think about this one?” He slanted a quiet gaze down to Dolly. “Will she just walk automatically now?”

“She'll probably need encouragement every step of the way until she breaks the habit of begging to be carried. Just say no.”

He winced. “Possible fail expected.”

She waggled her finger at him. “Be tough. Don't think about today—focus on tomorrow. That's important with kids, but especially with kids who have developmental issues.”

“If you know so much about this and love kids, why go into business?” he wondered, and he didn't seem interrogatory. Just—curious.

“By the time I realized I was good at this and liked it, I was three years into my degree. So I stayed the course. And I like buying and looking forward to what folks will love, want or need eighteen months in advance. I enjoy having a window on the fashion world, my own sneak preview. Wipe that expression right off your face—there is nothing wrong with liking nice clothes, or finding nice clothes that look good on women of all sizes for an affordable price. You've got it in your head that it's all about me.”

He frowned as if ready to argue, and she raised a hand for quiet.

“I have been fighting the pageant-princess image for years. I might have to do it forever, who knows? If I'd been skilled at soccer or the violin or debate, people wouldn't look at me and see an empty head on a good body.”

His smile said he appreciated the good body, and she couldn't help but laugh then she sobered. “The thing is, the skill set to nail pageant wins is partially earned and partially due to God-given attributes. But isn't that true for everything we do? The big, burly linebacker owes part of his success to body type. The amazing cellist might owe part of her talent to her parents' genetics. In my case, I like being on stage, I'm good with people, I can dance and I think fast on my feet. Turning all of that into a free ride at NYU was a smart thing to do.”

* * *

It was, he admitted to himself, but he hesitated to agree because of his experience with Serenity. As a broadcaster, a good appearance was part of the job. She'd taken it to extremes, making good looks the baseline for everything. Him, her, the house, the yard. There was no arguing with her, so he went along with it most of the time. She took offense easily and would spend days in a silent, pouting mode. A change of subject would be best, he decided. “Your stint at the children's center opened my eyes, Emily. With more than the great smile and really nice jeans,” he added.

“Good jeans are important in any closet.” She laughed. She glanced at the clock and frowned. “I've got to head out. I've got some things to take care of for Kimberly's wedding, and I promised I'd get them done this afternoon. Can I take my pizza to go?”

“You have to go? Really? Or did we just scare you completely away when Dolly started painting her high chair with grape jelly?”

Emily took a soft, warm washcloth from his hands and wiped Dolly down. “I don't scare easy, Grant.”

“Is that the truth?” He bent around her at the sink, to see her face. “Because it's not just one big old scarred and kind of rusty heart in this house.”

She met his gaze, counted the tiny flecks of green and yellow softening the deep gray around his pupil, and swallowed a sigh because Emily Gallagher didn't sigh. Ever.

“It's three,” he continued softly. “And that makes a big difference.”

“It does,” she answered quietly. “And you and I have rocked the romance boat in the past with little success.”

“These guys were my amazingly wonderful, tiny lifeboats.”

She smiled in the twins' directions. “Reason enough to stay afloat, right here. But we've both been burned, Grant. And we're both cautious. Maybe too cautious, but that's how it is.” She slipped out from beneath his arm and retrieved her jacket.

“Does this mean no Italian food dinner date?” he asked as he set two slices of pizza onto a paper plate. “Because one of us was serious about that, Em.”

The steady look he gave her made her heart go unsteady. There was strength in this man. Commitment was his mainstay; he was rock solid.

But he didn't go to church, he couldn't forgive his father and he was feet-in-concrete stubborn. She accepted the pizza, but not the date. “A discussion we can pursue at a later time. I'm going to leave the bag of musical instruments here for Tim and Dolly to play with, okay? I borrowed them from Rory's summertime pre-K stuff, so I have to give them back, but she won't need them until she does next year's session. If you don't mind the noise.”

He grinned in the kids' direction. “Noise concerns went out the window when these two came in the door.”

She liked that. His sacrificial nature with kids was a real blessing. Kids should always come first, shouldn't they?

Her phone suddenly beeped with a text alert. She glanced at it and frowned. “Wedding stuff. Gotta go. We're six days out from Kimberly and Drew's wedding, and who'd have thought the wedding planner would get the jitters? But she has and I'm needed.” She accepted the plate of pizza, smooched both kids on their sticky cheeks and headed to the door. “So next Tuesday, ten a.m. unless you hear differently, okay?”

“I'll be there.”

“Good. And don't forget the wedding invite for next Saturday, okay? A family invite.” She jerked a thumb toward the twins and left before the temptation to have a Sunday afternoon with Grant and those two kids proved too strong to resist.

She recognized her attraction to Grant. And she saw it was two-sided. But two people with issues of trust and forgiveness needed to heed the warning signs God posted along the side of the romance road.

He wanted to take her out on a date. She wanted to go.

How she wished it could be that easy.

* * *

“When are Mom and Dad getting in for the wedding?” Emily asked as she tied an extravagant number of tiny ribbons into minute bows later that afternoon. “I know they had to change their flight to accommodate the doctor's appointment in Houston.”

“Eleven fifteen on Tuesday at the Rochester airport. Can you pick them up?” Kimberly narrowed her mouth as her attempt at ribbon tying ended in failure. She growled as she tossed the wrinkled ribbon across the room.

“I can't. I'm meeting with Stella Yorkos about her wedding shower, and I can't even imagine how you're handling her wedding because she's three shades of crazy over a fairly simple event.”

“Give her anything she wants to keep her reasonably happy.” When Emily winced, Kimberly sighed. “There's really no other way around the Stellas of this world, Em. Trust me on this.”

“It doesn't bother you, how she argues about everything? The prices, the look, the presentation? Nothing is ever right.”

“Welcome to my world,” said Kimberly, which was exactly why Emily didn't fit in. She didn't like arguing or bartering. She liked peace and contentment. Making people happy.

“I'll pick up Mom and Dad.” Their widowed sister-in-law Corinne raised a hand as she made a list the old-fashioned way with paper and a pen. “The kids are in school and we'll be back here in time to help with whatever Kimberly's fussing over at that particular moment.”

“I don't fuss.”

Emily, Corinne and Rory exchanged looks and kept their mouths shut.

Kimberly opened a box, stared at the contents and promptly burst into tears. She grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped her face. “But these are the most hideous little boxes for wedding favors I've ever seen. What was I thinking?”

Emily let Rory put an arm of comfort around the oldest Gallagher, while she and Corinne looked inside the box.