Man, Wife And Little Wonder

Gracie seemed to enjoy getting her hair cut, though. And her smile cut right through to Johnny’s heart. He knew the pain that lurked beneath the surface, knew how Gracie cried in the night, how she clung to him if he had to leave her for a short while, afraid that, like her parents, he wouldn’t come back.

Johnny didn’t leave Gracie anymore. He ran his business by phone. He’d stopped partying, stopped everything for Gracie. He’d turned his world upside down to make her happy. He wasn’t going to lose her now to his parents.

Which meant, according to his lawyer, that he had to clean up his act. Provide a loving home life to rival that of his respectable, wealthy parents. What a joke.

Gracie wasn’t going to grow up in the same cold environment he and Janelle had. Not if he could help it. Not if Grace would marry him.

Frowning, Johnny contemplated Grace. She and Janelle had exchanged occasional letters. Through Janelle he’d learned that Grace was hanging on to that farm by a thread, and that there was no special man in her life. Maybe his proposal was a little sudden, but he could see that she wanted to help Gracie. He couldn’t understand what held her back.

But then, Grace had always been independent. Though she’d never let him down, she’d never been as easily swayed as Janelle to help him in and out of mischief.

He trailed his gaze the length of Grace’s body, over the soft curves that rounded the angles she’d had as a teen. Grace had almost seemed like a sister to him back then, but now...

Snipping little Gracie’s bangs expertly with scissors, Grace caught his gaze. “What?”

“I’d pictured you married by now,” he lied, a little shocked to think he’d imagined that slip of a dress falling to her ankles.

“I pictured you married by now to a bleached blonde wearing spandex.” Grace pursed her lips against a smile. “Spandex over silicone.”

He laughed. A spark of fun had always lurked within Grace even though her life, which had revolved around her mother’s Alzheimer’s disease and resulting financial struggles, had forced her to be responsible and serious. It occurred to Johnny that she didn’t deserve to wind up married to someone like him, even for a little while. She deserved a happily-ever-after kind of guy, one who believed in the game of hearts and flowers and rings. One who believed in love.

But she was just the kind of girl he needed to marry, with her wholesome country upbringing. And he knew she would be good for Gracie, the way she’d been good for shy Janelle.

Grace leaned to snip Gracie’s bangs, her dress hugging her curves—a woman’s curves. Johnny narrowed his gaze. Grace might have acquired a boyfriend in the past month. She might already be engaged to some other guy. He scanned her busy fingers for a ring, but she was moving this way and that, clipping Gracie’s hair, and he couldn’t see. He shifted impatiently.

Gracie, meanwhile, sat like a queen, her little chin lifted in clear imitation of Grace. He was counting on Grace to draw Gracie out of her shell, the way she had Janelle. But he hadn’t expected the effect of Grace’s personality to rub off so quickly. He was more certain than ever that Grace would be good for Gracie, and that he’d done the right thing in coming here.

Grace sensed Johnny’s scrutiny, his impatience. She gave little Gracie’s hair a final combing, then smiled. “In the drawer by the cash register, there’s a box of ribbons and barrettes. You can go pick out some if you’d like.”

Gracie gave a quick nod and climbed from the chair, hurrying over to open the drawer. Grace watched her, while a keen awareness of Johnny’s slow approach radiated through her.

“We need to talk,” he said, echoing her earlier thought in a low voice. He stood close, and she caught the scent of him, still with that hint of motor oil. His belly was flat as it had been when he left town at eighteen, and he looked solid and strong in his white T-shirt. His gaze was unwavering, and it was hard to believe Johnny needed her for anything.

Then the light in his eyes changed, and her heartbeat changed with it. That dark promise she read in Johnny’s gaze was not the kind of promise a brother made to a sister.

But before she could be sure of it, before she could take it to heart, Gracie ran over to them, diverting Johnny. Holding a pink ribbon in each hand, she told him, “I’m hungry.”

Johnny gave Grace a beguiling smile and, as if they were already married, asked, “What’s for lunch?”

With a brief glare for Johnny, Grace smoothed little Gracie’s hair. “How would you like to have lunch on a farm, Gracie?”

“Is there a cow?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “No cow. But there are kittens you can play with and flowers you can pick.”

Gracie’s smile was Janelle’s smile. It was both endearing and heartbreaking. Grace turned away, but there was no escaping her sorrow, a sorrow that didn’t begin to compare to Gracie’s. Grabbing a can of styling spray, she said quickly, “First, let’s fix those ribbons in your hair.”

Gracie looked longingly at the pink can of spray, the kind her mom used to buy. “Can I, Johnny?”

No “uncle,” just Johnny, Grace noted. Leave it to Johnny to waive the formalities.

He gave his consent in the form of a wary shrug, standing well away from the spray while Grace lightly misted Gracie’s hair. Minutes later, they exited the shop.

Little Gracie was adorable and Grace felt a pride in Janelle’s child, a pride she supposed Janelle had felt tenfold. She imagined herself brushing Gracie’s hair each morning, tucking her into bed at night.

She imagined tucking Johnny into bed, too....

“Hey, Gold Groceries is still open?” Johnny said, pointing just down the street at the store’s sign.

Grace always thought it had been Johnny who’d thrown the rock that broke the bulb that lit up the “G,” leaving the sign to read “old” Groceries.

“Let’s walk down there and I’ll get some stuff for lunch.”

She glanced uneasily at Johnny. “I have plenty of food at the farm.”

“Bet you don’t have the right kind of peanut butter. Come on, I want Gracie to see Gold’s. I remember hanging around there, drinking pop and watching girls.”

“I remember you were banned from the store,” Grace muttered, hoping by get some stuff for lunch, Johnny meant he would pay for it. His parents had paid dearly for the fireworks he’d stolen.

Grace started after him, certain Henry Gold wouldn’t share Johnny’s enthusiasm if he knew Johnny was coming to his store.

As they walked down the street, Gracie skipped before them, never more than two cracks in the sidewalk ahead. Grace thought all of Ashville must be watching and wondering over Johnny’s return. She imagined the last thing they would think was that he’d come back to marry her.

Although, watching Gracie’s carefree skipping, Grace could understand Johnny’s desire to raise his shy niece in the quiet town of Ashville as opposed to the city. She pressed her lips wryly. She could understand, as well, why Johnny’s lawyer thought marriage would make the court more amenable to his keeping guardianship of Gracie.

Johnny drifted closer to her side, until his arm brushed her shoulder and their hips met occasionally, the skirt of her jumper ruffled by the brush of his jeans. She wanted to look up at him, see the blueblack shine of his hair in the sun, but she ignored the impulse. Instead, she contemplated the prospect of Johnny raising Gracie, when all he’d ever raised was Cain.

She wanted to help Gracie, too. But the truth was, she didn’t know much more about kids than Johnny. Her mother’s struggle with Alzheimer’s had resulted in her spending many hours at home or at the Ashville Nursing Home, instead of baby-sitting like most teenage girls. And the idea of marriage to Johnny, once a dream of hers, seemed only a painful prospect, with the knowledge that he didn’t love her.

Gracie spotted the store, interrupting Grace’s thoughts with her excitement as she read her initial, G, on the sign to Johnny.

Johnny grinned. “Just seeing that place makes me want a beefstick and a cola.”

“Hardly an appropriate lunch for a little girl,” Grace pointed out, certain that was just what he had in mind.

“I like peanut butter,” Gracie said.

“With celery,” Johnny added. “Let’s go.”

Inside, the store was cool and dim and quiet. Henry came from behind the counter, wearing a clean white apron over his bib overalls. His frown had left wrinkles over the years, and his drawn eyebrows were now white, matching the wispy hair on his head. Johnny towered over him at six feet, but that didn’t keep Henry from aiming his famous glare at Johnny.

“Well, if it ain’t Johnny Tremont. Heard you was in jail and heard you was rich. Which is it?”

“Well, I’m not in jail,” Johnny said pointedly, leaving Grace to hope he would mind his temper.

“Humph. I got mirrors now.” Henry pointed his gnarled finger over the door and to a back corner of the little square store. “And alarms.” Henry nodded toward Gracie. “Who have you got there?”

Grace expected little Gracie to wilt beneath Henry’s perpetual glare. But Gracie only stared at Henry, a funny little smile on her face.