Falling for Grace Page 2

  “And besides, he could be money in the bank.”

  She really had to get out of this perfectionist thing. It was going to drive her nuts.

  Her head jerked up when the tapping sounded at her front door. “Thank goodness,” she said under her breath. She could see a figure standing behind the mottled, stained-glass window in the door and could only assume it Carson Price. As she crossed the shop, she smoothed a hand over her skirt and straightened the sweater on her shoulders, then tipped her chin up and straightened her back to achieve her power posture.

  Actually, it was her dancer’s posture but since she hadn’t danced in years, she now called it her power posture.

  “Please let this work out,” she whispered and sent up a small prayer. “I need this to work out.”

  Stopping briefly in front of the door, Gracie inhaled deep then exhaled long, twisted the dead-bolt, and opened the door fully.

  She extended her hand without even really looking. “Mr. Price, I assume?”

  Then she did look. Up. And up some more. My, he was a tall man. She gulped. He had to be tall for her to look up to him. She was nearly five foot ten, herself. Her mouth and lips went incredibly dry.

  Her eyes met the most unbelievable sea-blue eyes she’d ever seen. Finally she felt something touch her palm.

  “Oh!” She dragged her gaze away from his and glanced downward to her hand, now in his. His hand was warm, his handshake firm.

  “Grace Hart?”

  “Oh, yes.” She looked back into his face. “Yes, I’m Grace Hart. Mr. Price?”

  He nodded and she took in more of his features. Dark brown hair, chiseled, high cheekbones, and those eyes...

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Please come in,” she returned politely.

  He stepped inside and she closed the door behind her, then felt it push open again against her rear.

  “Forget something, Dad?”

  Carson Price turned and so did Gracie. An imp of a child stood in the doorway, staring past her. Gracie guessed her to be about six or seven years of age. There was a frown on her face as she eyed her father, the doorway still framing her. Slowly, she crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin to look at Carson, a small look of defiance on her face. Her right foot repeatedly tapped the floor.

  Gracie was not quite sure what to make of the child. She glanced quickly to Carson, who returned a hesitant smile, then to the child.

  The little girl’s head held a mass of light brown curls which, if left loose, would most likely tumble halfway down her back, Gracie thought. Oh my, what she would have given, as a young girl, for curls like that. Oddly enough though, this child’s locks were caught up in a dusty, Louisville Cardinals baseball cap, which contrasted sharply with the Sunday-best frill she wore.

  Gracie bent slightly to look the girl more closely in the face. “Well,” she finally said, pushing out her hand, “I’m Grace. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Iz—”

  Carson Price bolted forward. “Isabella,” he returned, grasping the child’s hand.

  Gracie stood tall again and looked Carson in the eyes. It was nice looking directly into a man’s eyes and not looking down at him for once. “What a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you. Isabella is my daughter. There was no school today. I hope you don’t mind. My babysitter is out of town.”

  Gracie shook her head. “Oh, my no. It’s not a problem.”

  She dismissed the issue of the child for a moment, then headed for the cash register. “Just give me a second to grab the keys and I’ll take you next door.”

  An awkward silence filled the shop as Grace fumbled with the cash register drawer, her thoughts nowhere near where they should be.

  Carson Price was not the kind of man she expected. No indeedy. He was much too—

  No, she refused to think about it. After all, the man had a child. Most likely there was a wife in the picture somewhere.

  Gracie sighed deeply.

  With that thought, she retrieved the key from the secret drawer inside the old cash register. Gracie glanced up to see Carson crouched down on eye-level with the child, faint mutterings of conversation going on between father and daughter.

  “Ready?” She stepped up behind them and Carson rose quickly to his feet, snatching the ball cap off his Isabella’s head on his ascent. Gracie registered a sharp glance of annoyance from the child and the stern, warning stare back from the parent as he quickly stuffed the ball cap into the back pocket of his khaki pants. “We’ll take a look at the shop first, then the apartment,” she continued.

  “That’s fine,” Carson Price replied.

  “Unless, of course, you’d rather wait until your wife could come to look at the apartment.”

  He shook his head. “No wife, just us.”

  Gracie nodded. “Oh. Well, right this way then.” She extended a hand toward the front door.

  Carson Price led the way, daughter in tow, and Gracie found herself watching those nicely fitting khaki’s from the rear until he opened the door and held it for her to pass through.

  No wife. This wasn’t a good sign.

  No indeedy.

  There was a brief tingle as she brushed passed him and Gracie wondered from just where that tingle sprang. She’d not felt anything like that in—oh, in quite some time. Years, if she cared to admit it.

  And she didn’t want to admit it.

  She decided right then and there, that renting to Carson Price was probably a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  He was much too handsome and much too charismatic for her own good. He had an adorable little child. And no wife.

  Two strikes against Mr. Carson Price.

  No. Strikes two, three, and four.

  Chapter Two

  This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  Carson lifted one eyebrow and glared another warning at his daughter. Her tilted chin and shining eyes flared a defiant challenge right back.

  Be good, he mouthed behind Grace Hart’s back.

  Izzie grinned sweetly—a grin he knew meant anything but sweetness—and followed along beside her father, desperately trying to keep in his stride.

  Big, tough, little girl, he thought. What in the world made her that way? Was it him? Marci’s leaving? What?

  He tried not to think about it. Surely Izzie wouldn’t turn on her shenanigans this morning. Of course, if that ball cap trick was a precursor of things to come, he wanted to be prepared. Sometimes Izzie turned on without warning. Other times she worked herself up to it. And her moody behavior in the car earlier was probably the first subtle warning that things might go terribly, terribly wrong today.

  Oh hell. Not today. He was counting on today working out.

  Pull it together, Price, he told himself. Trust that Izzie will be okay. Concentrate on the thing at hand.

  And remember. This is for Izzie, even if she doesn’t know it or understand it.

  Yet.

  He forced himself to focus on the tall, willowy female in front of him. Perhaps force wasn’t the right word. Grace Hart was very easy on the eyes and nothing like he’d pictured. Of course, he’d only spoken to her on the phone, and briefly at that, a few days earlier. Her voice was pleasant and young-sounding and he’d be a liar if he hadn’t conjured up thoughts about what the face behind that voice might look like.

  But he hadn’t pondered it for long. He’d been way too busy the past few days trying to tie up loose ends. His small, private law practice was consuming all his time, as usual, even though he’d already started weaning over projects to his associate Jack Roberson, the other half of Roberson and Price.

  He wanted out. Jack knew it and was more than eager to take up the slack Carson had tossed his way the past few weeks. Even though he had not a clue what the coming months would offer, Carson did know that he had to get out of Louisville and he had to get out of practicing law. And soon. His biggest fear was that Izzie was making a bee-line directly to six-year-old self-dest
ruction. He was hell-bent on turning the child around.

  A new town. A new career. A new way of life. That’s what he wanted.

  He blamed himself; he refused to blame Marci any longer. The lengthy hours at the office, the hours later at home where he practically ignored his daughter—those were the things he blamed. Not Marci’s leaving. His pattern of the past three years had to change and change dramatically. Izzie was his priority now and he’d be damned if anything or anyone would stand between him and his daughter’s well-being.

  “Well, this is it.”

  Grace turned and smiled as she pulled the key from the lock and swung the door into the shop. Carson gave himself a mental shake, pulling his thoughts back to the task at hand. But at that point he felt something else, something foreign pull and tug in his chest. Subconsciously sweeping it away, Carson motioned for her to step inside. Watching her let herself into the shop in front of him, he allowed a brief sigh to exit his lips.

  She was a graceful beauty whose name suited her well.

  “It really has a nice layout,” Grace said as she led him further into the room. He watched the slight sway of her hips as she moved ahead of him. Her movement reminded him somewhat of a feather being blown forward.

  “The front room is large enough for just about any kind of shop or café or what-have-you. There is a nice storage area in the rear, which I’ll show you in a minute, and a small bathroom. And of course, as I mentioned, the apartment upstairs goes with it.”

  She stopped and he sensed her staring at him.

  “Mr. Carson?”

  He glanced away and cleared his throat. No, he’d been wrong. It was he who was staring at her.

  “Yes, it is a nice layout.”

  He glanced about the room, taking mental notes as he panned the area. Yes, it might just do. It needed some work, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, after sitting behind a desk the past several years, he was looking forward to some mindless labor. He could almost feel the weight of a hammer in his hand.

  “What about water? Other than the bathroom, I mean. Any problem with piping some plumbing into this main room?”

  Grace Hart tossed a baffled glance his way then looked out over the room again. “Water? In this part?”

  “Just for a...a serving area,” he glanced to his right, to the wall dividing his shop from Grace’s, “maybe over there, against the wall.”

  She followed his gaze. “Serving area? So, you are thinking of a restaurant or a café, Mr. Price?”

  Carson swallowed. “Café. Yes.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie, he told himself.

  Suddenly, her face brightened. “That’s perfect! The little soup and sandwich place down the street closed a few months ago, so if you open up down here, it’s sure to bring more business this way! I’m sure the Chamber of Commerce will be thrilled.”

  She smiled broadly in acceptance of his so-called plan. Carson felt a twinge of guilt, then pulled his gaze away from Grace Hart’s face. Panning the room, he tried to take his mind off his psuedo-lie and picture the plan that was in his mind, mentally transferring it to the space before him.

  Yes. It will do.

  He wanted it badly. Bad enough to let a little white lie slip between his lips to get it.

  “It’s darned near perfect,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Grace Hart.

  “It’s ugly, Dad.”

  Horrified, Carson looked sharply at Izzie. “Young ladies are to be seen and not heard.” He bit out the warning, mentally chastising himself for being so blunt.

  A small pained expression etched over Izzie’s face, tearing at his heart. Immediately, he reached out to touch her face and started to apologize. She jerked away.

  “Well, you know, I’d really have to agree, Isabella.”

  Grace laughed feebly; Carson slowly turned his gaze back to her. His heart, however, was heavy with Izzie’s pain. Damn him. He’d gone and done it again.

  “The last tenants left quickly and didn’t do a very good job at cleaning up. I’ve just been putting it off. Of course I’ll have it cleaned before you would rent.”

  “Still doesn’t give a child the reason to voice her opinion,” Carson offered.

  This time Grace’s face held the puzzled look. “Really, it’s all right. She was just saying what she thought. There is no harm done.”

  Carson glanced back at his daughter. “I’d like for you to apologize to Ms. Hart, Isabella.”

  “Really, there is no need.”

  Carson ignored Grace and held his daughter’s gaze. “Isabella?”

  Izzie peered up at him through curled bangs. She held his stare for a minute then slowly turned to look at Grace. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  Carson didn’t think she meant it.

  An instant later, Grace Hart stepped closer to Izzie and crouched down so that she was eye-level with the child. Carson watched as Grace took one of Izzie’s small hands in her long, slim fingers and smiled.

  “Apology accepted,” she said, while patting Izzie’s palm. After a moment, she continued, “But I perfectly understand what you mean, Isabella.”

  “Izzie,” the child corrected.

  Grace nodded. “Oh yes, of course. Izzie. It’s a wonderful name, you know? I really like it.”

  Carson watched as a smug, little expression sprouted across his daughter’s face. “So do I,” she returned.

  Grace smiled broadly and Carson felt something catch in his chest. Her smile was one to be liked. Pleasant. Warm. Soothing almost.

  Izzie must like it, too, he thought, because she was grinning right back her.

  “You know,” Grace began again, searching Izzie’s face, “I bet a girl like you would like a little snack about now.” She glanced at the watch on her delicate wrist. “In fact, it’s almost ten o’clock. I think a mid-morning snack is in order. What do you think?”

  Izzie cocked her head to one side and squinted. “Well, I did have an early breakfast.”

  “That clinches it!” Grace dropped Izzie’s hands and stood. “Over in my shop, back in the corner where the big chairs are, there is a plate of cookies and a pot of tea. You do like tea, don’t you?”

  Izzie frowned. “Hot or cold tea?”

  “Well, it’s probably lukewarm by now but I’m sure it’s just fine for you. It’s chocolate-raspberry.” Grace smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  She glanced to Carson then and motioned toward the door. “Please help yourself, Izzie.”

  Carson watched his daughter’s gaze dart from him to the door, saw her tongue rake over her lower lip and her eyes glaze over in the hopes of a sugar rush. He had to head this one off at the pass.

  He reached out and snagged Izzie’s arm before she got away. “That’s very kind of you Ms. Hart, but—”

  “Now, please don’t tell me your one of those parents who deprives your children of sugar, Mr. Price?” Her eyebrows arched in anticipation of the answer to that question.

  Carson swallowed the words on his tongue. “Well, actually—”

  “That’s what I thought.” Grace crouched down to look Izzie in the eyes again. “Now why don’t you run along and find those cookies and the tea so your father and I can talk business for a few minutes. We’ll join you in a little while.”

  Izzie’s gaze met Carson’s once more. Briefly.

  “Okay!” she replied and then was off in a flash.

  “Izzie!” Carson started after her.

  “She’ll be fine, Mr. Price.”

  “But you don’t understand.” He started toward the door.

  “Mr. Price.”

  Carson felt a warm hand on his lower arm and it threw him momentarily off-kilter. He glanced down and took in the slim fingers resting there.

  “She’ll be fine. I promise. Now why don’t you and I finish looking over the shop and get down to business.”

  Carson Price met Grace Hart’s eyes again for about the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes. This time, however,
their gazes seemed to interlock and mingle and play some sort of betcha-I-can-hold-the-stare-longer game.

  Suddenly, Carson was only thinking of one thing. Just what kind of business did Ms. Grace Hart really want to get down to?

  He was misreading her, he was certain.

  Grace Hart was all business, right down to the core. Feminine? Yes. Savvy? Definitely. Sophisticated? Absolutely. Sexy? Well, yeah. That, too. But he was trying not to think about it.

  Above all, she’d showed some heart and compassion with Izzie a few minutes earlier.

  There was definitely more to Ms. Grace Hart than business, but business was the name of the game at the moment. Nothing less, nothing more.

  Izzie. My God. The havoc she could wreak next door. Praying that she would behave, he turned away once more to glance toward the door still open to the street.

  It was at that instant he heard the tinkering, lingering, oh-God-don’t-let-that-be-what-I-think-it-is crash—then an impish shriek followed by a loud, child-like gasp.

  He knew that shriek and gasp all too well.

  Abruptly, he turned back to Grace Hart’s face and watched her eyes grow rounder than the elegant saucers he’d spied on the dainty table with the fancy cookies and the delicate tea pot in the prim and fancy shop next door a few minutes earlier.

  Oh, hell.

  * * * *

  “Izzie!”

  Gracie watched as Carson Price took off in a flash toward her store. Her heart had leapt to her throat just seconds earlier at the thought of poor Izzie lying in the midst of shards of glass and splinters of china.

  She raced after Carson.

  It was her fault. All her fault.

  Dammit!

  He’d tried to stop her, tried to tell her he didn’t want his child to have cookies and tea. But nooooo, she had to push the issue. Some minute, maternal instinct had wormed its way to the surface and manipulated her into plying the child with cookies and tea, which now, of course, was leading to disaster.

  Her brain was spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl.

  Oh, Lord, she silently prayed, please let the child be all right. And please let Carson Price not be too mad. And please let this be just a minor little skirmish that won’t prevent him from wanting to rent the place from me.