Chapter 18
Colby sat at the small picnic table, watching Grace attack her cinnamon roll in her own distinct way.
She loved the concoction from a famous local bakery, with the slightly hollowed out center filled with even more of the luscious frosting.
She carefully tore the soft roll into pieces as she went, dipping each one into the center to be sure each had its share of the good stuff, as she called it.
And he knew when she was down to the last piece she would wipe it across the plate to catch any escaped drops, and then lick any residue off her fingers before finally admitting it was gone and wiping her hands with the napkin.
His girl did love these cinnamon rolls.
He took another sip of the strong, black coffee he’d ordered. Liam had dropped them off in the picturesque little town and gone about some Foxworth business, and would be back to pick them up for the unhappy trip back to “the mother,” as Grace always put it.
He sat fighting down the usual ache he felt on these days, that in far too short a time he would have to take her back to that house and that woman. Which gave him another battle to fight, that of his own stupidity, and wondering how on earth he’d ever fallen for her mother. Especially when—
“I wonder if Ali likes these too,” Grace said out of the blue.
Colby blinked. Because the thought she’d interrupted would have ended with “—when there were women like Ali Moran around.”
“I…don’t know. She hasn’t lived over here that long. Maybe she’s never had one.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “We need to get her one.”
“I…”
“Let’s buy one and take it to her.”
“Honey, I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it has to be a secret that… I know her.”
She frowned. Not in an unhappy way, but in that way that told him that agile mind was racing. “Oh. Because then she’ll—” she didn’t explain what she, just made it clear with the emphasis “—make me stop seeing her, if she thinks you and Ali are friends.”
Yes, his girl was smart. And she’d had to learn to survive under the current regime. “Exactly,” he said.
Grace frowned again, and this time it was the unhappy kind. And it ripped at him. He felt as if he were trapped in some cell made of unbreakable glass, where he could see the outside, could see his daughter and what she was having to live with, but couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
He shoved it out of his mind. He only had an hour left with her today, and he didn’t want it weighed down with his own frustration and unhappiness.
But that became a harder task when, as they walked down to the harbor to look at the boats—and hadn’t he sometimes thought about buying a nice big one and taking off for parts unknown with Grace—she spoke again, in as close to a sulky tone as she ever got.
“I don’t want to go tomorrow.”
He sighed. He knew Liz was taking her to the city for the weekend. And he was very much afraid he knew why.
“I won’t get to see Ali or Ziggy or Cutter, for two whole days,” Grace said.
“I know.”
“I don’t like it over there. There’s nasty stuff painted on all the walls and signs and they cut down all the trees.”
He couldn’t argue with that, remembering his last trip over there, thankfully some time ago. He just wasn’t a city guy at heart, yet another part of him he’d have had to crush to follow Liz’s diktat.
“Maybe, if you ask right, when you get home she’ll let you go over and say hello, at least.”
Grace made a sour face at that, no doubt imagining what it would take to ask in a way that would get her the answer she wanted. Then she brightened. “Maybe Cutter will come over and get me. Ali said he might if he misses me.”
“Now, that’s an idea,” Colby said.
But he couldn’t help wondering how long Liz would put up with the dog interfering. He doubted she’d ever figure out it was planned, because she barely gave other humans credit for that kind of intelligence. Not when compared to herself, anyway.
Still, it might be worth a call to Ali, asking her if she could send the big dog over when she saw they were home. Actually it would be Hayley who would do it of course, he was her dog after all, but…he could still call Ali to ask.
That he wanted to do that so much should be a warning, he told himself.
The last thing he needed right now was to get himself all tangled up over a woman, even if she was the first woman he’d reacted to like this in…
maybe ever. With Liz he’d been blinded by the flash, the confidence, the demeanor he now knew was very well practiced to conceal the reality.
With Ali it was genuine. She was just as gorgeous, in her own green-eyed way, with that red hair that made him think of nights in front of a warm fire.
And on the inside, she was genuine, honest, open and caring, everything Liz was not.
Her insides were like that warming fire, not Liz’s dark, cold, swirling, muddy evil.
“Daddy?”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, snapping out of his reverie. “I was just thinking about calling and asking if they—” he chose the nonspecific word carefully “—could send Cutter over once they see you’re home.”
Grace lit up. “Would you? I know Ali would if you asked her.”
“I will,” he promised.
“I wish Mother would let me have a phone. Then I could call myself. And I could call you, too.”
“Sweetheart, I have a feeling that’s exactly why she won’t let you.
I’d buy you one myself, except if she found out, it would make things worse.
Much worse.” At the look on her face his stomach knotted.
“But think about it,” he said, trying to cheer her up, “how many people get messages delivered by a very clever dog?”
It worked, because she smiled widely at the memory. “Hey, I could send messages with Cutter to Ali, then she could give them to you. Mother doesn’t pay much attention to him.”
“I’ll talk to them about that. I can’t go there, I don’t want your mother not trusting Ali, but I think our new Foxworth friends will figure something out.”
Grace seemed delighted with the idea that she could easily reach him. “I could write you a note every day!”
She was so entranced with the idea of communicating via Cutter that he didn’t point out she could do that while at Ali’s anyway. “And I would treasure every one,” he said instead. “And what a cool way to do it.”
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully again. “But if you write me back, she might find it. Where could I hide them?”
“Maybe Ali would keep them safe for you.”
She brightened. “She would! I know she would.”
When their time was up and he had to get her home, he felt better than he usually did, probably because Grace was happier. Even Liam noticed the difference, and teased Grace about not getting him one of the treats he also loved.
“Next time I will, promise,” she said.
She clearly had come to trust the young man with the twang, just as he had. “I like how you play stupid and she believes it,” she’d told him when she’d first gotten into his truck today, making Liam grin.
“Don’t forget,” she said as they arrived at Liz’s door, three minutes early because he figured she’d have the sheriff already dialed in ready to call if he was one second late, “I’ll be back Sunday afternoon.”
“I won’t.”
Liz’s only response to their arrival was to double-check her watch, then order Grace to her room. She didn’t say a word to Colby, merely shut the door in his face.
“Chatty, huh?” Liam asked as he got back in the truck.
“I kind of prefer her that way,” he admitted wryly.
“I can see why.” He started the engine and backed out of the driveway. “That girl of yours is a pistol.”
“She is.”
“I’m glad Cutter found y’all, so Foxworth can help.”
Colby looked at the man driving. “I never would have expected them to get involved in something this…small.”
“It’s not small, to us. Because what matters is what’s right, not how big a case is. We’re not in it for the headlines—” he grimaced and rolled his eyes “—even if we have been collecting them in the last couple of years or so.”
What’s right.
Colby took a long, deep breath, still not quite adjusted to the idea that he had these people on his side. That he just might be able to free Grace, even a little bit, from that chewing machine that was the Hollen family.