From what she could surmise under his gazillion-dollar, custom-made, three-button designer suit, he had a flawless body, too.
She forced her attention to the reason she came to New York: the envelope in his hand. “How much time do you need to read that and sign it?”
He shrugged, his gaze on her now and not the envelope. Assessing, scrutinizing. “I’m not sure. How much time do you think it’ll take to change your mind about the nation’s pastime?”
She almost laughed at how shallow he sounded. “You don’t have that much time, Mr. McGrath. I’m leaving on a red-eye at eleven-thirty.” With that piece of paper, signed, in my hand.
He made a show of looking at a sleek timepiece on his wrist. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make the bottom of the first. And—” he looked back at her and winked “—with no extra innings, you might get to see the whole game.”
Shallow and cocky. One of her least favorite combinations, no matter how well packaged. “I’m not going to any baseball games tonight. But the sooner you sign that paper, the sooner you can get to the park.”
“Not the park. The Stadium,” he corrected. “With a capital S.”
She managed a rueful smile. What would she have to do to get that petition signed?
“I’m guessing this is pretty important to you,” he finally said, leaning just close enough for her to catch a whiff of a musky, male scent.
His baritone assumption held enough of a challenge to send pings of apprehension dancing down her spine. Or maybe those were pings of…something else. She’d have to be blind, deaf and neutered not to recognize the raw attractiveness of this man. But she’d have to be stupid to let that influence her.
She wasn’t neutered or stupid, only determined. Callie McGrath would not become a ward of the state, or some kind of novelty for curious, distant, icy family members. Jo Ellen might not be the model of maternal instinct, but she couldn’t resist repairing a wreck. And Katie had left one hell of a mess when she died with no will and no plan for her tiny baby.
She phrased her response carefully. “Yes, it’s important. Important that it’s done right. I don’t want any loose ends threatening to strangle me.”
A half smile tipped the corners of his lips. “I don’t want to strangle you, sweetheart. Just share a little dull-as-dirt baseball with you. And during the game—” he put a warm hand on her shoulder “—we can get to know each other a little bit.”
She heard the subtle message in the request. He was a lawyer, as he’d made sure to remind her. And he wasn’t about to hand his signature and consent to a complete stranger.
“Fair enough,” she agreed, dipping out of his touch. “But is it absolutely necessary to go to a baseball game?”
“Absolutely.” He laughed a little and inched her toward the door. “Plus you can have that beer.”
She had a feeling she’d need it.
Two
Cameron watched her climb into the back seat of a cab, admiring both her spontaneity—however reluctant—and the delicate curve of her rear end. He’d decided moments after she dropped her little bombshell exactly how he’d play this game. The only way he played anything. Cool.
First of all, she could have the wrong Christine McGrath. Or she could be some sort of con artist. Or she could be a total fruitcake.
But on the off chance she was telling the truth, he’d give her a shot. Spending the evening with her wouldn’t be a hardship. Playing it cool was easy enough, since the news of his mother’s death didn’t have the usual effect it would on most men—but then, Christine McGrath hadn’t acted like most men’s mother. And the fact that he had a surprise sister who had also perished in an act of nature was a miserable shame, but he had no control over that.
If he had known Katie even existed… An unfamiliar pressure constricted his chest. He hadn’t known. Period. He couldn’t control that, either.
And Cameron avoided anything he couldn’t control. So he’d avoid any regret that accompanied the thought that a girl, a girl who had shared at least half his gene pool, had lived and breathed and, sadly, died. As far as the baby—well, that was a no-brainer. He certainly didn’t want a child.
Of course, he had two brothers. But Quinn had just gotten married, and he and Nicole were up to their eyeballs restoring their resort in Florida. Colin was planning his wedding to Grace, and they were also consumed with their new architectural firm and huge assignment that had them living in Newport, Rhode Island. He couldn’t say for sure, but he doubted either of his brothers were thinking about children—their own or their sister’s.
And Dad? Well, James McGrath had become a loner in the last few years, retired from his construction business, the job of raising his sons complete. Should he be told of his former wife’s passing? Of her daughter’s death?
Did any of them need to know this? Was this outrageous tale even remotely possible? And why would Jo show up at his office and not a different McGrath’s?
You’ll heal the hurt, Cam McGrath.
He shifted in his seat, which brought him a little closer to the mysterious woman dressed like she owned a ranch instead of a body shop. She sat stone still, staring out the window at the streets of New York City.
She placed her hands flat on her thighs, a position he’d noticed in his office. At the same time, she took a quiet, deep breath and exhaled. She was the picture of serenity.
“So, where’d you learn to be a mechanic?”
She flashed him a vile look. “I’m not a mechanic.”
“That’s good,” he replied, placing a friendly hand on top of hers and adding an assuring pat. “I don’t trust mechanics.”
She picked up his hand and removed it from hers. “I don’t trust lawyers.”
He laughed. “But you didn’t answer my question. How does one train to be a…collision repair expert?”
“Trade school. I apprenticed in Sacramento for a while, then worked in Reno. We opened the shop about a year ago.”
We? His gaze instinctively dropped back to that unadorned left hand. “Is your husband in the same business?”
“I don’t have a husband.”
Another earthquake casualty? “Ah. I just assumed when you said ‘we’ that you meant you and your husband.”
“You assumed wrong.” This time a smile teased the corner of her lips. “The we was Katie and me. She was my business partner.”
“My sister worked in a body shop?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
She plucked an imaginary thread from her jeans, her smile threatening to get wider. “I can’t let you go one minute believing that.” She looked up, a hint of mirth sparkling like gold dust in her eyes. “She couldn’t bear to set a pedicured foot in the work bay, and the sound of a sander sent her running with her hands clamped over her ears.”
He wasn’t sure he liked that, either. It was unimaginable for a McGrath—male or female—to act like a sissy. “But she was your partner.”
“She was my business partner. But we had two separate businesses in the same building, under the same corporate name. Buff ‘n’ Fluff.”
A hearty laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Buff ‘n’ Fluff? What kind of business is that?”
She shrugged, as though she’d heard the question a million