Her Unexpected Family. Ruth Herne Logan
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it. Let’s not forget that Kate & Company managed to put together a star-studded wedding for the president’s daughter, while her whole family was stomping the campaign trail two months ago. Ninety percent of that was in absentia.”
“And it was amazing,” Drew called from the other room. “Not that I’m listening to you guys or anything.”
Drew’s words seemed to bolster Grant. “If you could talk to Christa, and make everything flow for her, I don’t think there’s enough money in the world to show my thanks. She asked me to stand with her, so that’s a little weird already.”
“As her witness? What a perfectly lovely thing to do, brother and sister, standing before God together.”
He made a face. “I’d have been okay with just walking the bride down the aisle and maintaining a low profile for the remainder of the day.”
“That makes Christa’s gesture sweeter.” She handed him the hard-copy contract. “I’ve got Christa’s email now. Maybe she and I can arrange a Skype session at the bridal salon. And with so many possibilities online, we can come up with something absolutely beautiful for her.”
Grant withdrew his phone and pulled up a picture of a happy couple with snow-capped mountains in the background. “This was taken two years ago when they were at a ski lodge in Colorado. She’s built like you,” he told Emily. “But taller. She usually likes things kind of simple, but that’s everyday stuff.” He frowned at the picture. “When it comes to a wedding gown, who knows?”
“It’s always the ones you least expect who choose a princess gown,” Rory muttered as she closed her laptop and stood. “And the princesses pick a mermaid dress and can’t climb into the overpriced limo without help.”
“Yeah, like that,” Grant agreed. He shifted to face Emily directly again. “You don’t mind doing that part, too?”
“I’ll love it. I’ll get hold of Christa as soon as I can. We’ll set something up and I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Rory had crossed to the kitchen. She came back and set a tray of pastries in front of Grant. “Gabby sent these as a thank-you for the business we’ve been bringing her, and Kimberly made it abundantly clear that they need to disappear,” she instructed. “Something about fitting into that wedding gown next week.”
“Let’s send a few home with him,” Emily suggested. “Leave a couple for Amy, but if we send them with Grant, the twins will be beside themselves, and Tillie and Percy will love us forever.”
“Percy’s got a sweet tooth, for certain, but—”
Emily stepped closer, reaching one hand up, over his mouth. She slid her gaze toward the living room, then raised one brow. “Taking them will be an act of kindness, Grant. There’s a bride in the next room,” she whispered. “Save her from herself, and just take the pastries. Okay?”
His eyes met hers, and this time they didn’t stray. They lingered and twinkled as if he liked looking into her eyes. “Okay.”
Her heart fluttered. She moved her hand away from his face, but couldn’t draw her eyes from his.
“I’ll just put these on a double paper plate, Grant.” Rory’s movement broke the moment, and maybe Emily was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t even a moment.
But when she walked Grant to the door, he turned and held her gaze once more. Then he reached out and took her hand while raising the plate of treats. “The family will love these. Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand lightly and smiled.
Gone was the defensiveness she’d seen last week. In its place was an easy grin. She smiled back, and when he released her hand, her fingers felt downright cold and lonely as she closed the door.
She couldn’t get involved, she knew that, but for that brief moment, getting involved felt like an absolutely wonderful thing to do.
He shared the pastries with Tillie and Percy when he got home. The twins were in bed, and all was well.
It actually wasn’t well, but Grant didn’t know that until he went to check on the toddlers. Timmy had climbed out of bed and was sleeping on the floor of his room. Grant opened the door, bumped it into the sleeping boy and pinched his little fingers between the door and the floor.
The toddler woke with a start, shrieking in surprise and pain.
Dolly woke up in the adjacent room, not because she was in pain, but because Timmy was upset. She burst into tears of sympathy, or possibly envy because now Timmy was in Grant’s arms, garnering all the attention.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Timmers.” He kissed the boy’s hand, put ice on the fingers, then kissed it again when Timmy slapped the cold compress aside. “Daddy didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.”
Timmy hiccupped and sobbed against his chest, but fell back asleep in quick minutes.
Not Dolly. Now that she was awake, her sixty-minute catnap offered a new lease on life. He rocked her, read to her, played with her and finally—with the clock edging toward midnight—got her back into her crib.
He crawled into bed shortly thereafter, only to have his phone alert wake him at two forty-five. He pried his eyes open, scanned the report and dispatched five truck drivers to salt the highways before people woke up and discovered nearly a quarter inch of freezing rain had fallen between midnight and two o’clock.
He couldn’t sleep with workers dispatched. He sat down at his laptop and prepared to get some work done.
No internet.
He sank back into the chair, ready to punch something.
How was he supposed to do it all? How was he supposed to manage everything? His mother had worked full-time cleaning patient rooms at the local hospital, then she’d spent Saturdays housecleaning for two local families, earning just enough to make ends meet. And she hadn’t gone ballistic or berserk or anything else. She’d just done it.
Why couldn’t he manage that well? It wasn’t rocket science; it was running a house. Caring for kids. Keeping a job. Despite his best efforts, he seemed to mess up more than most.
He laid his head against the chair back, wishing he was a better father. A better brother. A better son.
The next thing he knew, Tim was at his feet. “Daddy! Up pees, Daddy! Up, pees!”
“Hey, you’re up and out of your bed again, my man. You don’t smell that great.” He bumped foreheads with the little guy. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’!” Timmy gave him an ear-to-ear grin and patted his face. “I have toast, ’kay?”
“It’s very okay. High chair or big boy chair?”
Timmy patted his chest, kind of like Tarzan. “Big boy!”
“Don’t run around with your toast, okay?”
“Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run!” He shook his finger in a perfect and tiny imitation of Aunt Tillie.
“Now if you’d only follow your own directions,” Grant teased. He heard Dolly screech from upstairs. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get your sister.”
“Dowwy!”
“That would be her.” He brought Dolly down, changed diapers, fed them, bundled them and got out the door on time, but when he got to the end of the driveway, a thin blanket of ice still covered his rural two-lane road. He stared in disbelief, hit his Bluetooth connection and called the office. “Jeannie, I’ve still got ice on the road. What’s going on?”
“Boss, no one got dispatched until Hank got here at five a.m. to