The Unexpected Gift. Irene Hannon

me for a moment? I need to return a page.”

      The table fell silent, and Kit looked at her in alarm. “Is there an emergency?”

      “Only in the eyes of my client.”

      “You mean someone wants you to return a business call today?” Kit asked in shock.

      Morgan glanced around the table. Everyone looked dumbfounded—except Grant, who didn’t appear at all surprised, just disapproving. Morgan felt a flush creep across her cheeks. These sorts of interruptions, day or night, holiday or weekend, were so much a part of her life that she took them for granted. But it was clear that this family considered it appalling that anyone would bother her on Christmas Day.

      “Yes,” she replied to Kit. “It’s pretty much expected in the ad business that you’ll be available twenty-four-seven. I’m sorry to disrupt the meal. Please go ahead. I’ll be right back.”

      In fact, by the time Morgan dealt with her demanding client and returned to the table, almost everyone had finished eating. As she slid into her place, Kit rose.

      “I put your plate in the oven, Morgan. Let me get it for you,” she said.

      Cold food was another thing Morgan had gotten used to over the years. Her meals were always being interrupted. “You didn’t have to do that,” she apologized. “And I don’t want to hold things up. It looks like you’re about ready for dessert.”

      As Kit disappeared through the door into the kitchen, Bill spoke. “It’s Christmas. We have no other plans for the day, so you’re not keeping us from anything. And we need to let our food settle a bit, anyway.”

      Although Morgan was touched by the graciousness of her hosts, she made short work of her remaining food when Kit placed the plate in front of her. Then they moved on to the cheesecake, which was every bit as good as Grant has promised. After the last bite, Morgan leaned back, her face content as she sipped her coffee.

      “Wasn’t this better than tuna and cold soup?”

      At Grant’s quiet question, Morgan turned to find him watching her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Her own lips curved up in response. “Eminently.”

      “How about some music?” Kit said from across the table.

      “Will you play, Uncle Grant?” Nancy asked.

      “I’m a bit out of practice.”

      “You always say that,” Nicki scoffed. “Besides, it won’t feel like Christmas unless you play.”

      “In that case, how can I refuse?”

      They all moved into the living room, and Morgan watched, intrigued, as Grant slid onto the bench of an upright piano and ran his fingers over the keys. For some reasons, she wouldn’t have expected him to be musical. But as the family gathered around and he began to play the familiar holiday carols, she discovered that he was, in fact, quite talented. Morgan hung back, feeling a bit like an intruder in this family scene, but Kit drew her forward.

      “We may not be the Metropolitan Opera chorus, but what we lack in ability we make up for in enthusiasm,” she said with a laugh.

      As Grant played one carol after another, Morgan found herself staring at his hands. His fingers were strong and capable, lean and long, as they moved with confidence over the ivory keys. He had wonderful hands, she realized. And all at once she found herself wondering what it would be like to be touched by them.

      Trying to force her mind in a more appropriate direction, Morgan turned away from Grant and looked over the family gathered at the piano—only to be transported back to another time, another piano, another family raising sometimes off-key voices in song. Her throat constricted with emotion, and her voice faltered on the words of a familiar carol as her eyes grew misty. When Grant sent her a questioning look, her cheeks warmed and she pointed to her pager, then quickly slipped away on the pretense of returning another call.

      Once in the hall, she drew a few long, deep breaths. For some reason, this day had been an emotional roller coaster, from her conversation with her sisters this morning, to her unexpected tears in church, to her wandering thoughts when she’d tried to work earlier at the cottage. The memories had been relentlessly lapping at her consciousness, much as the surf lapped against the shore at Aunt Jo’s cottage. Happy memories, for the most part, but memories of days long past. Most of the time she kept them deep in her heart. But today, they had risen to the surface, throwing her off balance.

      By the time Morgan returned to the living room, she had her emotions back under control. Most of the group seemed to accept her excuse for stepping away, but something in Grant’s expression told her that she hadn’t fooled him. His eyes were probing, questioning, curious, as if he was trying to reconcile her emotional reaction just now with the image she presented to the world of a savvy, businesslike, sophisticated career woman.

      Morgan looked away before his searching gaze went too deep, before he delved right to her soul and found out things about her that even she didn’t know. Things she didn’t want to know. And suddenly she felt an overpowering need to escape. There was something about Grant Kincaid that threatened her peace of mind. As soon as she could, she thanked her hosts and said her goodbyes, explaining that after her long drive yesterday, she was ready to call it a night.

      Grant insisted on walking her to her car, and short of being rude, she couldn’t refuse. He took her arm as they stepped into the frigid air, and their breath formed frosty clouds in the clear, dark sky as they made their way in silence down the driveway. She fitted her key in the car lock, then turned to him, grateful for the dim light that made it hard to read expressions. “Thank you again, Grant. I had a wonderful time.”

      “It was our pleasure. Are we still on for Monday?”

      “Yes. How about eight?”

      “That’s fine. I’ll see you then. Drive safe.”

      After she slipped into her car, he shut the door behind her, watching as she backed out of the driveway. When she reached the corner, she glanced in her rearview mirror and was surprised to find Grant still standing there, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, staring after her.

      As Morgan retraced the route to the cottage, she found herself reliving her unexpected holiday dinner and thinking about Grant. She pictured his strong, competent fingers on the piano keys. Recalled the feeling of security that had swept over her when he’d taken her hand in his for the blessing. Remembered the way his smile had warmed his eyes and lit up his face.

      And wondered yet again: who was Christine?