Welcome Back to Apple Grove (14 page)

“The first weekend in August.”

“You’ll be back to work long before then,” Jack reassured him.

“Hey, Grace,” Mike said, “wanna go with me?”

Pat thumped Mike on the head as he walked past him to join his friends on the field. “Go find your own woman,” he warned.

Mike looked at Meg and then Cait. “But they’re all taken.”

To keep from laughing at the sad look on Mike’s face—and the reason for it—Grace sought out Patrick in the group of men talking. The cutoffs he’d worn to play soccer were ragged and hit his leg midthigh, leaving a lot of exposed bronzed skin and a fair amount of scars along one leg that wrapped around to the back of his knee.

“Do you need us to drive him to the hospital for an X-ray?” Pat asked. When he noticed the direction of Grace’s gaze he said, “Not job related. I earned those when I got pushed out of our tree house.”

Incredulous, she asked, “Did you say earned them?”

“Yep.” He slipped away from the group and walked toward her. “Half the scars on my body are from growing up second in line of seven kids.”

What could she possibly say to that? “We, um, didn’t fight much as kids.”

His grin was quick and lethal to her heart, and from the expression on his face, he knew the power of his smile. “That’s ’cause you’re a girl and you only had sisters.”

Grace had a snappy comeback about his sexist comment but decided to let it go for now. Why spoil a good thing? Right now, what they had going was definitely great. “If you wash up, you can help me serve the meatball sandwiches.” She was already in the kitchen, washing her hands in the sink when he started to nudge her aside with his hip.

“Oh no. Men as dirty as you have to wash up in the bathroom.”

“Seriously?”

“Ask Pop if you don’t believe me.”

“Ask me what?” Her father ushered the twins inside and down the hallway.

“Only Grace can wash up in the kitchen?”

Joe grinned. “The cook calls the shots around these parts. Come on, boys,” he said. “Time to wash up.”

They raced down the hallway after their grandfather, leaving Grace and Patrick alone for another moment.

He leaned close to capture her lips in a kiss just this side of scorching.

“I’d touch you,” he rasped before he eased back, “but my hands are dirty.” He held them up and laughed as he danced down the hallway toward the bathroom.

“Men,” Grace grumbled.

“Can’t live with ’em,” Meg said, walking into the kitchen. “No fun trying to live without ’em.”

“Amen,” Cait said, joining them. “The guys said they’re too dirty to come in and clean up and are asking for special dispensation to gorge on your meatball sandwiches outside—grass, dirt, blood, and all.”

Jack stood on the other side of the screen door, grinning like a loon. “Can we, please, Gracie?” he asked in a high-pitched youthful voice. “Just this once?”

She laughed and shook her head at him. “Go and take care of your patient, and don’t let him have any beer!”

“Too late!” Dan hollered.

“Will you be driving Mike home?” Grace asked, handing Patrick the hot stockpot.

“Not part of my plans for later. Bear and Sledge will make sure he gets home.” Pat took the pot and used his shoulder to open the door. “Besides, we’ve got a date to go for a drive after this.” The look he shot her way was dark, dangerous, and had her heart pumping double time.

Grace couldn’t speak—her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth—so she nodded and followed after him with a huge basket filled with Italian rolls.

***

“This tastes great, Grace,” Mike told her. Everyone agreed.

“I can’t take credit; it’s Kate’s mom’s recipe.”

Timmy shook his head. “It’s Gram’s recipe, but she never follows it, says recipes are a guideline and every cook adds their own special ingredients.”

“McCormack likes to cook,” Doyle teased his friend.

“So?” Timmy asked. “I’ll probably be working over at the diner—and not waiting tables.”

Grace smiled. “Your cousins have been holding down the fort ever since their mom retired. I’m sure they’d appreciate your help.”

“Yeah,” Timmy said. “They wanted me to serve people, but that’s woman’s work. I can cook.”

Cait and Meg were laughing when Grace set down her sandwich and turned to stare at Timmy. “Is that so?” Grace asked. “And where did you hear that?”

Timmy must have realized he’d said something to upset her; he paled and every single one of his freckles stood out. “I, uh, well…that is—”

“Best just to keep eating,” Joe advised. “A wise man never tries to tell a woman what to do.”

The answering rumble of laughter among the men had Grace taking pity on the white-faced young man sitting across from her.

“I’m sorry, Gracie,” he said, using Kate’s nickname for her. “Mom says I talk before I think.”

Grace leaned across the table toward him and asked, “Who should Mulcahys send to your house the next time your furnace stops working or your plumbing springs a leak?”

Timmy looked from Meg to Cait and back to Grace and said, “Just ignore the freckle-faced kid,” earning a nod of approval from Joe.

“I taught my girls everything they know about fixing things, woodworking, plumbing—”

“Too bad they’re all spoken for,” Finney said from his end of the table.

Patrick slid his arm around Grace’s neck and ate one-handed, licking the excess sauce before it had a chance to spill out of the roll. “You should stop at the Apple Grove Diner on your way back to the firehouse—Kate and Peggy are amazing cooks. And Kate’s single.”

Bear leaned toward Sledge and said, “Notice he didn’t say anything about what they looked like.”

Finney grinned. “Maybe we can sweet-talk Peggy into being single. Besides if they can cook—it doesn’t matter what they look like.”

Timmy’s head shot up. “My cousins are real lookers, right, Coach?”

Dan nodded. “Pretty blonde, and curves that go on for—” He ducked as Meg took a swing at his head. “Hey, it’s always best to tell the truth,” he said, snagging her arm and tucking her against his side. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he told Meg, “and I’m beholdin’ a beauty right now.”

Grace watched the fight go out of her oldest sister. The love that shone between Dan and Meg warmed Grace’s heart, but she didn’t get to think about it too long because Sledge and Bear started a heated debate.

When Bear shot to his feet, Grace looked up at the size of him and decided whatever the man wanted to do, she’d let him.

“I said I’m going to the diner,” Sledge said, pushing Bear, but the man didn’t budge.

Patrick leaned close and asked, “Are you going to finish that?”

Grace stared down at the half a sandwich left on her plate and shook her head. “I’m full. You want it?”

He slid his hand along the curve of her shoulder and down the length of her arm to her wrist. His hand expertly slipped to the inside of her wrist and he grinned. “Thinking about me or worried about those two goons?”

Grace had trouble concentrating when his voice dropped to that low seductive rumble. He must have taken her silence as a yes. He lifted her limp hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to one knuckle at a time.

“Maybe we should stay a little longer,” Bear said, nodding toward Patrick.

Sledge nudged Finney, who elbowed Jimmy before saying, “I’m thinking we should ask Grace if she’d like to come to the firehouse and cook for us.”

Grace heard her name, but nothing else because Patrick had turned her hand over and placed a kiss on the center of her palm. Who knew that the palm of one’s hand was an erogenous zone?

“No deal, guys. Grace only comes to the firehouse if I’m there.”

The hard, clipped tone of Patrick’s voice had her looking up to see every one of the Newark firefighters staring at her and smiling.

“What?” she asked, looking at her sisters and realizing everyone had stopped talking. “Maybe we should get the apple pie,” she said, rising to her feet.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Patrick offered.

***

“Five bucks says he proposes by Christmas,” Finney said as the pair walked away.

Jimmy reached into his pocket, whipped out a ten, and slapped it to the table. “Ten bucks says he caves by Thanksgiving.”

Joe tried not to smile. “That’s my baby girl you’re betting on.”

The five firefighters shook their heads. “We’re betting on Garahan, Mr. Mulcahy,” Finney explained.

“He’s never been so far gone over a woman,” Bear added.

“Not in the four years he’s been with the Newark Fire Department,” Sledge added.

“What about my daughter?” Joe glared at his sons-in-law until they stopped laughing.

Dan was the first to reach into his pocket. “My money’s on Grace. She’s an amazing woman—she just doesn’t realize it. He’ll be proposing, all right.”

Jack stood and reached into his pocket but came up empty. He turned to Cait and held out his hand. She shook her head. “Come on, babe, we’re betting on a sure thing here. Don’t you want your baby sister to be as happy as we are?”

Cait punched him in the shoulder and stood up to reach in her jeans pocket. “If you tell Gracie that I bet money on her and Patrick, I’m moving in with my pop.”

Joe chuckled. “You’re always welcome here, Caitlin.”

“Pop!” Meg said. “Don’t encourage their betting. Come on, boys,” she said to her sons. “Let’s go see if Deidre’s awake.”

“I’m coming too,” Cait said, following her sister.

Joe shook his head. “You men are on dangerous ground. You have no idea what it’s like when one of my darling girls gets her Irish up.”

Finney chuckled. “My ma’s got a tongue that’d clip a hedge when she’s mad.”

Sledge and Bear were watching the back door. “What’s keeping them with the pie?”

Dan and Jack started to laugh until Mary stood up and they both fell silent.

“I’ll go and see if your girls need help.”

Joe waited until she left before standing up and reaching into his pocket. “Twenty bucks says my darling girl captures his heart before the summer’s over.”

There was a good deal of discussion between the men before Finney nodded. “We’ll take that bet.”

Jimmy grumbled, “Who’s gonna keep the money until Thanksgiving?”

“Christmas,” Finney interrupted.

“You’re both wrong,” Joe said. “Labor Day.”

Dan and Jack just smiled. “Never bet against a Mulcahy, my friends,” Dan said.

“You’ll lose every time,” Jack added.

Before anyone could protest, Grace and Patrick came back outside. “The lovely Kate McCormack baked these pies for you.”

Finney nudged Jimmy. “Let’s let Bear and Sledge drive Mike home—we’re stopping at the diner.”

Patrick drove over the railroad tracks. “Which way?”

Grace snickered. “You already asked me that.”

He sat at the intersection and seriously considered rolling his eyes the way his sisters always did when they couldn’t believe he’d said something. “OK, and did you tell me left or right? I can’t remember.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“I like your family.”

Grace patted his hand. “You’ve said that before.”

“Grace…”

Her laughter filled the cab of his truck. “I couldn’t resist.”

For the first time in a long while, Pat had found a woman he could relax with and be himself—not some kind of firefighting hero the woman had made him out to be. Expectations could be a real pain in the ass.

“That’s where we go to church,” she said as they drove past Apple Grove Methodist Church.

Of course, church was the last thing on his mind at the moment. A nice drive in the country at the end of the day, some passionate necking, and maybe getting to second base—God help him, she had him thinking like a randy sixteen-year-old. But he wouldn’t push for more than Grace was ready to give.

“If we drive a little farther, you can see the railroad trestle bridge that Dan jumped off of saving Charlie and Tommy.”

She wasn’t on the same page as him yet, but she would be soon. “I do remember hearing that story, but your brother-in-law doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“So what did you think of them?”

Patrick’s mind was filled with thoughts of kissing the side of Grace’s neck and working his way to the hollow of her throat and wasn’t following the conversation. “Them who?”

“The two boys he rescued that day.”

When he didn’t say anything else, she added, “Charlie Doyle and Tommy Hawkins—you played soccer with them today.”

“Those college kids?”

“Uh-huh. They haven’t changed much, just filled out a little bit.”

“It’s the typical college diet—beer.”

“I didn’t drink much beer when I was in school. You can take this turn,” Grace told him, “and park by that stand of pine trees.”

The breeze picked up as he parked, carrying in the scent of sun-warmed pines with it. He breathed deeply. “Don’t have many of these back home in Brooklyn.” He got out and closed his door, walking around to open Grace’s for her.

“What kind of trees do you have?”

He held out his hand to help her down. She hesitated for a second before putting her hand in his. Unable to resist making her laugh, he said, “Big ones with green leaves in the summer that turn color and fall off when winter starts.”

Instead of the light laughter he expected to hear, Grace made that huffy sound his sister Grania made whenever she was about to correct him. “You don’t know what kind of trees they were?”

“Honestly? They could have been oak trees or maple trees for all I know. If you really want to know, I’ll text one of my sisters. They know that kind of stuff because my nephews are always asking questions like that.”

She hadn’t let go of his hand. He liked that. The breeze shifted and something hauntingly familiar blew past his face. “What’s that smell?”

Grace sniffed and smiled. “Slightly sweet and tugs at your mind like something you remember from childhood?”

“How did you know?” After their conversation this morning—black sheep leaving home—he’d felt as if a lock had clicked open inside of him. They were headed in the direction he was planning to go—forward. He needed Grace at his side and in his life.

“Come on.” She tugged on his hand and he followed her lead. “See that farmer’s wall over there?”

He stopped and nudged her chin up. “What kind of wall?”

“Those stones over there.”

“Looks like it was an old stone wall.”

“Exactly. Farmers used them to delineate their property lines.”

He traced the curve of her cheek and the line of her jaw with the tips of his fingers, pleased when her gaze shifted from his eyes to his mouth. Seizing the opportunity, he bent and captured her lips, pouring everything he’d come to feel for her into his kiss.

When he finally eased back, her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands were cupping her sweet derriere.

She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Um, that’s why they’re called farmer’s walls.”

“What does that have to do with that smell?”

“There used to be a farm here, alongside the river, before the railroad went through. All that’s left is the fieldstone foundation and a few overgrown Privet hedges.” Grace traced his bottom lip with her pointer finger, distracting him. “That’s the amazing scent.” She tapped the fullest part before slowly, lazily, tracing the outline of his lip again.

The woman was driving him crazy. “Grace—” The words slid down his throat when she leaned forward and used the tip of her tongue to follow the same path her fingertip had. His good intentions wavering and his control in shreds, he gave in to the need grabbing him by the throat.

He lifted her up. “Put your legs around my waist.” When she did, he groaned, reveling in the feeling of her million-dollar legs locking around him. “Baby, you’re killing me.”

Much more of her lips on his and her sweet spot blasting heat against the top of his zipper, and his legs would give out. His lips never left hers as he backtracked, walking toward the stand of pines by his truck. He backed her up against a tree, giving him the advantage, and shifted so his erection was nestled where she was hot, moist, and ready for more.

“You’re so damn hot.” He was hanging on to his last thread of control. He’d lost his mind somewhere around daylight, lying in his bed alone, wishing she was there with him. Sinking into her, letting his fingers explore her ripe curves, had been in the back of his mind all day. Knowing that she’d be closer and he’d be able to spend more time with her for the next little while short-circuited his brain.

“Patrick,” she moaned, taking control of the kiss, tangling her tongue with his before delving deep again and again.

“Tell me to stop,” he ground out. “Or I’m making you mine right here—right now.”

Her slumberous gaze met his as her hands slid between them and she fumbled with the snap of his cutoffs and the tab of his zipper. “Don’t stop.”

She had him freed by the time he’d eased her legs—and her zipper—down. “Wait!” he bit out. “We both want this, right?”

She nodded and he let his forehead fall against hers while he caught his breath and shoved her jeans down over her hips and swept the swath of lace to one side.

“Back left pocket.”

Reaching behind him, she found the tiny foil packet and opened it with her teeth. Before he could find his voice, she’d covered him with protection from tip to base.

“Your turn,” she whispered, watching him like a hawk about to dive on its prey as he shifted his stance and his shorts slid to his feet. He kicked them aside and lifted her up, hesitating when her moist warmth brushed the tip of his erection. “Take me inside you,” he rasped. “Please?”

Grace spread her legs wider and locked her ankles at the base of his spine, forcing Patrick so deep his head spun and his heart thundered in his chest.

***

Hard and hot, Patrick drove into her again and again. Grace arched back to accept more of him—all of him. She swore he touched her heart when she felt him touch her womb. “More,” she urged, using her pelvic muscles to receive and then give back more of herself with each measured thrust.

The bark rubbed under her T-shirt, but she couldn’t think about that now. Patrick moaned low in his throat and drove into her—faster, harder, longer. She couldn’t take much more. “I can’t wait!” she keened.

“I’m right behind you, baby,” he rasped against her ear. “Grab it, baby, take what you want and I’ll give you more.”

He thrust and she shattered around him, her inner muscles grasping at him to hold him deep inside, but he wasn’t through with her. Again and again, he thrust hard and deep until she felt him stiffen and he threw back his head. He swept his hand down between them and played her until she sang out, her groan of pleasure in harmony with his own. They came together in a blinding flash of fire and she went limp in his arms.

“Jesus, Grace.” Patrick shifted his hold to tighten his grip. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak, but she could feel. Heat-tangled sparks were still zinging from her center, shooting out to her fingertips. She moaned low in her throat, a garbled sound. It was the best she could do.

“Come on, baby,” he urged, shaking her until she lifted her head and looked up at him.

“Hi,” she managed.

Worry lines eased into a slow and seductive smile as he realized she was all right. “Hi.”

“Wow.” Good Lord, she could only think in one-word sentences.

“You pack a punch, Mulcahy.”

She sighed and felt her throat loosen until it was as relaxed as the rest of her. “That was amazing.”

“Once you started moving your hips, my brain shut off.”

His eyes distracted her. They’d changed from warm, deep amber to molten caramel. Desire shimmered in their depths and she knew she’d be a fool not to take him up on the silent offer in his gaze. “I stopped thinking when your hands grabbed my backside—but I felt everything.”

She licked her lips and was rewarded with another of his mind-numbing kisses. “How am I going to let you leave?”

He chuckled. “Baby, I’ve only just gotten started.” He slipped free and carried her over to the truck. Setting her on her feet, he looked around and found his shorts and her pants. “Here,” he said, holding hers out. They each slipped into their pants but didn’t bother fastening them. Patrick grabbed her by the hand, walked to his truck, and leaned her against the side.

His tongue tangled with hers and traced the rim of her mouth, delving deep, before he came up for air. Air-soft kisses feathered along her cheek and down to the hollow of her throat. “Patrick, I—”

“Shhh,” he urged, opening the door before turning to her and stripping her bare. “Let me show you how I feel, Grace.” He shoved at his shorts until they fell to his feet. He kicked them off and backed her into the cab and across the bench seat before crawling in after her, holding himself up so he wouldn’t crush her.

“I wish I had a mattress in the back of my truck. We could camp out here under the stars.”

Grace let her fingers grip and knead his powerful shoulders, reveling in his strength. “I’ve camped out before, but never in the bed of a truck.” She ran her fingers down to where his biceps bulged.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I love the way you touch me.”

She obliged by slipping her fingers across his pecs and down to his abs.

“If you go any lower, this show will be over before you get warmed up.”

She giggled and slid her hands to his taut backside and held on as if he were her life raft and they were in a storm-tossed sea. “Shut up and kiss me, Garahan.”

His grin faded as he leaned toward her. She met him halfway, losing herself in the taste and feel of him. He stroked the fire inside of her until she was writhing beneath him, begging him to make love to her.

She was half out of her mind by the time he reached into his glove box and pulled out another foil packet. “Hurry,” she begged as he covered himself and thrust home.

Wave after wave of ecstasy swept over her, and still he kept up the pace, all the while raining kisses along her shoulder and beneath her ear, coaxing her back from the edge until she was right there with him, thrust for thrust. Kiss for kiss.

He tensed and she squeezed her inner muscles hoping to send him over the edge. His hands slipped beneath her backside and lifted her impossibly closer, sending him impossibly deeper. They rose together and descended into madness locked as one.

Moonlight filtered through the pines, setting his hair on fire. “I love red hair.”

He chuckled. “I was hoping your first words might be more along the lines of what an amazing lover I am.”

She was on top now and settled her elbows against his chest, absorbing every ounce of feeling she could derive from their time together. “But your hair’s got moonlight in it and it looks like it’s alive—on fire.”

He trailed his fingertips up the backs of her legs, drawing circles and then switching to long, lazy strokes. She shivered at his touch.

“Mmmm,” she breathed. “Without sounding like an idiot, it’s never been like that for me before.”

His hands stilled at the base of her cheeks before continuing on their journey up and over her backside, tracing more circles, driving her daft. “Patrick!”

He stopped, palming her cheeks in his big, callused hands. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t think when you touch me.”

He was back to chuckling, the rumble setting off sparks deep in her belly. “Thinking’s highly overrated.”

“You said that before.” She shifted beneath his questing fingers as he slipped them up to her waist and eased her one hip up so he could slide his hand between them.

With unerring accuracy, he found the spot he was looking for and toyed with her until her breathing grew choppy and she was begging him for more.