Emily knew his story. Most of the town knew Grant’s story because he was a public figure. Head of the highway department and public works, he was the man in charge for blizzards, floods, road collapses and season-to-season road repair.
Privacy was nonexistent for town officials. She knew that firsthand, her father having been the town police chief for decades. Living center stage was one of the downsides of small-town life. The entire area knew Grant’s wife had walked out on him after having twins, one of whom had Down syndrome. And here he was, trying to juggle raising two kids and planning his sister’s wedding while she and her fiancé were deployed.
Sympathy welled within her, and she drew on that initial reaction when the guy caved to Dolly’s miniature temper tantrum.
Not her kid. Not her business.
Her sister Rory came through the back door just then. Mags, their mother’s spunky Yorkshire terrier, raced in with her. Mags spotted the kids, spun around in circles, jumped up on her hind legs and yapped hello.
“Does she bite?” Grant asked.
Emily raised her eyes slowly as Rory scooped up the Yorkie. “Only on command.”
He narrowed his gaze, holding hers, and she wondered if he was going to get up and walk out. He didn’t, but she was pretty sure he was tempted to. “Keeping these two safe isn’t an easy task, Miss Gallagher.”
“Whereas my dad always told us life was meant to be lived, challenge by challenge.”
He put up his hands as if conceding a battle. “Well, runway walking can be considered dangerous, especially in high heels.”
She froze.
So did Rory and Allison, as if they couldn’t believe what he just said. Even the dog paused, but then Emily burst out laughing. The thought that she still had to justify her Miss Rochester and Miss New York pageant wins years later was absolutely hilarious. Obviously, her years as a major department store buyer were inconsequential in her hometown. “Fortunately, wedding planning is rarely lethal, so we’re all good. What kind of budget are we looking at for Captain McCarthy’s wedding?”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable.
He reached out and steered Dolly away from the stairs. “My mother created a fund specifically for this wedding before she passed away.” He named a figure that allowed her some latitude, and as Emily went through the list of typical questions, he relaxed somewhat. Of course Rory and Mags were now amusing the toddlers, and that was a big help as Allison put the finishing touches on a planning board for an upcoming reception at an esteemed vineyard.
Emily laid out a bunch of brochures before him. “Mr. McCarthy, your job makes you uniquely familiar with the area.”
He nodded, but didn’t ask her to call him by his first name like a normal person would. She wasn’t sure why that irked her, but it did.
“Weather might go our way, or it might not. We’ve had some of our worst storms in January, ranging from blizzards to ice storms, to driving rain storms that caused road flooding,” she said.
“I can’t change the date.”
She acknowledged that smoothly. “I realize that, but I want you to have a clear picture as you make choices. Choosing a hillside setting can be lovely if it’s blanketed in snow, but horrific if we’ve got icy conditions and no one can get to the venue. Likewise, the lakeshore options are stunning, but a mild winter where the lake doesn’t freeze can cause road flooding if we get a storm that weekend. If your department has to close roads, it means no one can access the reception.”
“Gotcha.” He studied the brochures, then angled a look to her, and when he did, she had to remind her heart that he was a somewhat presumptuous jerk who overprotected his children, no matter how gorgeous his smoke-toned eyes were. “A town reception venue would be a better choice, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “I hate to discourage you from the others, because they’re gorgeous, but it’s important for our clients to see the whole picture when they plan an event. On the other hand...” She slanted a smile his way, and for just a moment, he held that look, almost as if interested...which was completely preposterous, of course. “You are the head of the highway department, your people are skilled at keeping roads clear and the few mishaps that have occurred are rare. So now it’s up to you. Shall we set up a time to go see some of these lakeside venues? I’ve got Monday free. Is it possible for you to get some time off?”
“There’s no availability to see them on a Saturday?”
She shook her head. “Fall and the holidays are crazy busy. They’re booked solid. We could arrange for evening visits if time off is difficult. I can call the ones that interest you, arrange a food tasting and a tour.”
“What evenings are you free next week?” he asked.
She should lie.
She should pretend to be crazy busy with a social life that overflowed into the following year, but the fact that she had every single night free was her new reality. “I’m available Monday through Thursday.”
He scanned the brochures, then handed three back to her. “Let’s check these first. I’d take the day off but Norm Pinkerton is out for knee surgery and he’s second-in-command. I really can’t take any vacation days for a few weeks.”
“Evenings are fine,” she assured him. “I’ll make arrangements. Our local venues hunger for business in the winter. They’ll offer us price concessions we’d never get in the busy season, and they’ll throw in extras to tempt you to sign with them.”
“I love a great deal,” he admitted. “But won’t that just muddy the waters?”
“Not with me on board.” She filed the brochures he’d chosen into a folder and started to stand.
He beat her to it, stood and reached down a hand to help her up.
Hand in hand, he pulled her upright, then steadied her with his other hand at her waist.
Electricity buzzed. The lights might have dimmed, or flashed or maybe they did nothing at all, maybe it was just the feel of her hand wrapped in his. Warm, solid, strong, yet gentle, as if he was the kind of man who was strong enough to be gentle.
Back away. He thinks you’re an airheaded beauty queen, and he’s kind of a jerk, so pretend you felt nothing and do your job.
She obeyed her conscience happily. Grant McCarthy may have traveled a tough road since his wife left, but she’d been handed a similar set of walking papers from her rich, self-absorbed ex-husband, and she wasn’t a jerk about it.
She slipped her hand away, pretended his touch had no effect on her and took a firm step back. “I’ll set these up and let you know the details. Do you prefer phone or email contact?”
“Email’s fine.”
Of course it was. Why would he want any more human contact with her than absolutely necessary?
She nodded, tapped her folder and moved toward the stairs. “I’ll send you times as soon as I have them.”
“I’ll be watching for them.”
She heard Rory laugh and chat as she helped Grant get the twins’ jackets fastened, and as the upstairs glass door swung silently shut behind her, she paused, wishing she could go back and help with those two priceless children.
She knew that kids with disabilities did better with high expectations. The thought that Grant McCarthy was content with babying that little girl made her pulse race.
Of course, when he’d held her hand her pulse raced in a different way, but she chalked that up to reading too many romances lately. Since coming home a year before, she’d avoided dating. She was back in Grace Haven on temporary assignment, to help her parents in a time of need. Her