Dead Silence (Stillwater Trilogy #1)(75)
Author: Brenda Novak

“You like Grace.”

Like was a pretty mild word for absolute infatuation. “I care about her,” he admitted.

Clay seemed to measure him in some way. “Then leave the past alone.” He started to go back into the house, but Kennedy grasped his arm.

“I have my own family to protect, Clay. That’s why I’m here.”

Clay looked at Kennedy’s hand, but Kennedy didn’t let go. “What do you want me to tell you? That you have nothing to worry about? That you can have Grace right along with everything else?”

“I want the truth.”

“Whose version?”

“I’ll take yours, for starters.”

Chuckling mirthlessly, Clay shook his head as though Kennedy was crazy for even asking.

“If this person stepped forward, there could be others,” Kennedy said, hoping to convince him. “Who knows when something new might come out?”

“‘What if’ is a tough thing to live with,” Clay agreed. “That’s why, if I were you, I’d keep my life simple and start seeing someone else. Grace isn’t meant for anyone around here. She—” his eyebrows clashed as he struggled for words “—she’s too good for this place.”

Kennedy had never had anyone suggest a woman was too good for him before. But, considering how he’d behaved toward Clay’s sister in high school, he accepted it. “She’s been through a lot. I know that.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Clay said, almost fiercely. “Don’t think she needs you.”

The door opened and Alexandra stood there, wearing only a sheet. “Oh. Hi, Kennedy,” she said with a giggle.

Kennedy barely had a chance to wave before Clay told her to wait for him inside.

She pouted at the impatience in his response but obeyed him. Kennedy got the impression that Clay would simply send her home if she didn’t. He made no secret of the fact that he didn’t care deeply for her or any of the other women he entertained. His indifference was probably the very thing that kept them coming back.

“You’re right,” Kennedy said with a sigh. He was making this harder than it needed to be. He had to stay away from Grace, just as she’d tried to tell him. That would solve everything. Then, if the truth emerged, it wouldn’t affect him, his kids or his parents. Life would continue as it always had.

“Good night.” Turning, he walked to his truck. But once he was on his way home, he found that Grace had left a message on his cell phone.

“Hi, Kennedy. Give me a call when you can, okay?”

He told himself he wouldn’t respond. He’d just made the decision to steer clear of the whole Montgomery mystery. How many people did it take to warn him that he was traveling hell-bent for trouble?

But he didn’t get more than a block from Clay’s farm before he made a U-turn and headed back to town. He wasn’t going to call Grace. He was going to see her. Because part of him stubbornly believed they still had a chance—if she cared about him. If she cared enough to tell him the truth.

17

Anxiety surged through Grace the moment she saw Kennedy’s SUV pull into her drive. She’d been trying to come up with a good reason for contacting him. But it’d been two hours since she’d called his cell phone, and she still hadn’t thought of anything beyond the truth—that she wanted to hear his voice.

“Grace? It’s me,” he said and knocked again when she didn’t immediately answer.

She considered pretending she was asleep or gone. But since his mother had come by, and she and Clay had boxed up all the reverend’s things, she felt…renewed. As though she was on the verge of something really fantastic. She was sure Kennedy had some part in that. Everything seemed to center, in one way or another, on him.

“Grace?” he called a second time.

Smoothing her tank top and shorts, she quit stalling and opened the door.

His eyes ran over her as if he wanted to pull her into his arms. But he kept his distance. “Hi.”

The butterflies in her stomach made it difficult to breathe. “Hi.”

“You called earlier?”

She thought of offering him some of the excuses she’d already devised. Heath left his swimsuit here, and I wondered if you’d like to pick it up…. I made some cinnamon rolls I bet the boys would enjoy for breakfast. But she didn’t see the point.

“Yes.”

He waited expectantly for her to continue, then finally asked, “What did you want?”

She took in the green of his eyes, admired the squareness of his jaw. “To see you,” she admitted.

His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “Tonight?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” he repeated to himself as though it was a loaded question.

She moved back so he could come inside, but hesitated before closing the door behind him. “You might want to move your truck.”

“For the Vincellis?” he said. “Forget it. I’m not moving anything.”

Evidently, he was more like his mother than she’d thought. “I’m afraid you and your family are too proud for your own good.”

“People can think what they want of my being here.”

“You’re running for office.”

“And if I’m elected, I’ll do the best job I can. That’s all I owe the voters of this town.”

“I can’t believe you don’t care more about winning.”

“I care about it,” he said. “But I’m not willing to let other people use it to dictate what I can and can’t do.”

She shook her head at his stubbornness. “Fine. I guess that’s up to you.”

He said nothing.

“So…can I get you a glass of wine?”

“Sure.”

She led him into the kitchen, where she took a bottle of merlot from the cupboard. She was just starting to uncork it when he took hold of her hands.

“What happened?” he asked, examining the nicks and gouges she’d sustained while destroying the reverend’s office.

She shrugged. “I got a little too aggressive with my gardening.” She let her gaze fall to his thumbs, which gently brushed the insides of her wrists. She wanted to touch him, she realized with a sharp pang of desire. Intimately. She imagined sitting astride him, watching his face as she took him inside her.

Finally, at thirty-one years of age, she craved physical intimacy—and it was creating an unexpected and incredible high.