Isabelle winced. “I keep forgetting he’s not into compliments.”
“He’ll survive,” said Grant, giving her a wink. “Besides, they’re good for him. Make him tough.”
“If he was any tougher, he’d be shoe leather.”
“He seems like a good kid.”
“The best. He never gives me any trouble. I think he’s afraid I’ll send him away if he does.”
Grant gathered up what little was left of the sliced turkey and mayo and stowed them back in the fridge. “He doesn’t know you very well, then.”
“And you do? After fourteen years and a few letters?”
It was more than a few letters. It was little bits and pieces of her life she’d chosen to share with him, and that was of more value than she’d ever know. She’d remembered him, and she cared enough about him to keep on remembering him even when he wasn’t very good about writing back.
What was he going to write? He couldn’t talk about his job beyond the surface stuff, like promotions, and there really wasn’t a whole lot else in his life. Eventually, he got tired of thinking up stuff to say and stopped writing. Even so, Isabelle kept writing to him.
“I know enough about you to know that you’d never throw a kid out for screwing up a little. I also know that any woman who cares about whether or not a kid has homework is certainly going to care about whether or not he has a warm place to sleep at night. You can’t fool me. You’re still as soft as ever.”
And not just her heart. He could still feel the slippery weight of her hair gliding over his hand, the silky smoothness of her cheek beneath his fingertips. He wanted more. A lot more.
Part of him stalled out every time a thought like that went through his head, like he was invading on forbidden territory. She wasn’t some woman in a bar who was expecting to hook up with him for a night of debauchery. And Grant couldn’t give her more than that. At least not right now. He had plans. A new job waiting for him in Denver. He had a schedule to keep that would hopefully lead him to a woman like Isabelle in a few years, but not yet. He wasn’t ready yet.
He had to be sure he’d burned every shred of his father out of his makeup before he committed himself to a woman. Until then, he’d never take the chance that he’d abandon a family and do what his father had done. Anything less would be unforgivable.
Isabelle cleared the dishes from the table. “Do you think I’m too soft on him? I mean, maybe he’d be better off in a home with a father figure. That’s something I can never be for him.”
The insecurity in her voice made Grant want to kick himself. He went to where she was rinsing off dishes in the sink and pulled her around by the arm until she looked at him. “You misunderstood me. Soft is a good thing. Dale doesn’t need anyone to teach him the harder lessons of life. Life has a way of taking care of that without any help, and probably already has in his case.” He knew he shouldn’t be touching her so much, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He slid his hand down her arm and took her wet fingers in his hand, giving her a little squeeze. “What he needs is to know he’s safe, that he has a home where he’ll always be welcome, and someone to lean on when things get hard. You’re doing all of that, so give yourself some credit. He’s lucky to have you.”
Isabelle’s eyes went shiny, and she blinked several times to clear them. “Don’t you dare make me cry, Grant Kent. You’re here to help, not make me all sappy.”
He gave her a wink, when what he really wanted to do was see if her mouth was as soft as the rest of her. “Fine. No sap here. I’m all about the help. How about I start by taking out the trash?”
She stared at him with a strange look that he couldn’t decipher but said, “It goes in a bin around back.”
Grant took care of the chore, but when he came back inside, Isabelle was no longer in the kitchen. He heard her voice float in from the living room, along with that of another man. Not Dale. He said something to her, and when she spoke, her tone was tight with anger. “I won’t do it.”
“You have to,” said the man. “Wyatt will do anything to get his son back. You’re not safe with Dale in the house.”
“If you didn’t think I’d be safe, then why did you bring Dale to my attention? We both know he needs to be here right now. I’m not kicking him out.”
Grant ignored the fact that he was not invited into their conversation and stepped into the living room. Isabelle looked stricken, almost like she was going to be sick. Grant went to her side so she’d know he was here for her. And to let the man in her living room know it, too.
He turned to the man standing there and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
The man had short, dark hair and wore a well-fitted suit. He was average height with a slightly stocky build that told Grant he had some muscle under his jacket.
He frowned and tilted his head up at Grant as if he recognized him. “Grant Kent?” he asked. “Is that you?”
Grant tried to place him but couldn’t.
“Grant, this is Keith Elders,” said Isabelle.
She’d recovered some of her composure, but he could still see a slight tremor of tension running through her slim frame.
“Do you remember him?” asked Isabelle.
The man’s name struck a chord in Grant’s head, but he couldn’t quite place him.