"What?"
She almost shouted the question. Grant was sure his neighbors could hear Erina's startled reply to his bombshell.
Well, the idea had been a surprise to him at first. Now that he'd had time to think about, he could see the merit of such an outrageous proposal.
"Even if Mrs. Henshaw doesn't cause any problems, you still have the ongoing problem of no documentation. What could happen when Colin gets older or if you need some government assistance? Sam mentioned that as the wife of a U. S. citizen, you would have a much better chance of gaining resident status. And if you said that Colin was the son of a U. S. Citizen, then--"
"And what man did you have in mind for such a task?"
"You're kidding, right?" He watched the high color of her cheeks, the flash of her dark blue eyes, and changed his opinion of her once again. This wasn't the reaction of a woman--or a girl--trying to trap a rich husband.
"I do not find the holy state of matrimony the subject of a jest."
"Look, Erina, I thought this would be clear to you. I'm offering to marry you if necessary to keep Colin away from the authorities."
She sank back into the chair, her mouth parted in surprise. "Are you daft?" she whispered. "We cannot get married."
"Why not?"
"Because . . . Well, we hardly know each other. We don't love each other. You've already helped me far beyond what any other man would do--"
"And you don't trust my motives."
"I trust you with my son's life, but that's not the point I'm tryin' to make."
"Oh, then tell me why we can't get married to keep him safe."
"First, you said we need documents. And we don't know that the social worker will causes us trouble."
"Believe me, they're like a dog with a bone. If she reports Colin to the Child Welfare department . . . well, sometimes it takes them awhile to decide a child is in danger, but once they do, they hang on for dear life."
"So you believe that someone in authority will insist on seeing these documents?"
"I don't know, but you've got to be prepared. I'm calling Mrs. Henshaw tomorrow. I'm certain she'll want to set up a meeting immediately with you and me."
Erina closed her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap. "What are you going to tell her?"
"I'm going to say that you'll be glad to meet with her, with me and your attorney. And if she asks about documents, I'll stall her until I can find out how to get counterfeit identification."
"That sounds very illegal."
"Believe me, it is. That's why the attorney doesn't need to know anything about it."
"But I thought you said he suggested it?"
"Not in so many words. I just understood what he meant."
"Are you sure you're not just speculatin'? Maybe no one will care about where I'm from or ask for any documents on Colin."
"No, I'm sure this is very serious."
Erina sprang from the chair and paced the width of the room. Her floral skirts swirled around her legs as her long black hair flowed about her shoulders and arms. She seemed agitated, meditative, unapproachable. Grant knew she needed time to think, time to assimilate all the information and options he'd heaped upon her, but they didn't have a lot of time. He needed to finalize a story--an tale almost as outrageous as her claims to be from the past.
He walked to the bar and found a bottle of good cognac from his limited stock. Grabbing two glasses, he poured them each about an ounce. He returned to the sitting area and stopped in front of Erina. "Here, try this."
She looked at him suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Brandy--cognac. Just sip it."
She did. Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard.
"Not a big drinker, I take it?"
"No."
"Good, neither am I." He tasted his own drink, then put the glass on the coffee table.
"Erina, I have an idea of how we're going to be able to pull this off."
"What do you mean?"
"A story. Come and sit down. I'll tell you my idea."
#
Erina couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned until her nightgown tangled around her legs. The walls seemed to press in on her; the air was too still, the night too quiet. She couldn't stay in bed a second longer.
Finding the satin robe that matched the nightgown--an extravagant creation that Grant had purchased with the other clothing--she slipped her feet into houseshoes and made her way across the bedroom. She eased open the door. The condo was quiet; Grant was no doubt sound asleep after telling her his preposterous story of how they'd "met."
She tiptoed into the kitchen and looked for a mug that she was sure could be put in the microwave oven. Grant had showed her again how to heat water for hot tea, but she was still unsure of which dishes to use. Some plastic heated okay, he'd said, but she still didn't know what plastic was.
The tall, wide windows beckoned. She took her cup of tea into the living room and looked out into the darkness of night. A full moon had risen high into the night sky, giving the water a blue glow and showing each wave clearly. Erina slid open the latch on the door and pushed it open, stepping out onto the small balcony.
She was so high up! Twelve floors, Grant had said. No building that high existed in her own time in Galveston. Four stories was the most, she thought. Even though she was so far above the beach, the sound of the waves carried upward, soothing her with their rhythm. She loved the ocean and the beach. Although she hadn't been able to visit it often, she'd treasured each time. Once, she'd accompanied Mrs. Kirby and her two daughters to Murdoch's Bath House for a summer outing. The two girls dressed in bathing costumes and ventured out into the waves while she and Mrs. Kirby sat above on the verandah built on piers driven into the sand. They'd sipped lemonade and watched the citizens of Galveston mingle, giggle, and generally enjoy the day.
That was one of the times that had made Erina think of marrying well--at least well enough to afford a bathing costume and an occasional day at Murdoch's Bath House. Not long after that summer day, Jerrold Kirby had gone away to college and her father had died. Her dreams had faded, replaced by grief and loneliness.
"A penny for your thoughts."
Grant's voice cut through the softness of the night, making her jump and splash some tea on her hand.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, stepping out beside her on the balcony. "That wasn't hot, was it?" he asked, placing his large hands around her own and cradling the mug.
"No," she said, still shaking from the start he'd given her. At least, that's what she wanted to believe. His mere presence, his gentle touch, wouldn't make her tremble so.
"So, what were you thinking so intently?" he asked again.
"Just about the beach. A long time ago I visited a bath house with Mrs. Kirby and her daughters. The day was special to me, but then my life changed . . ."
"What happened?"
"My da," she said softly.
"I'm sorry."
"I am too. He was a fine man. Colin is named for him."
"Colin Patrick?"
"Patrick was my mother's da's name."
Grant released her hands and went to the railing, staring out into the ocean. "Colin deserves a good life."
"I know. Right after he was born, I dreamed of taking him to the beach, teaching him to walk on the wet sand, showing him the waves. When I learned how ill he was, I knew I'd never have that chance."
"He'll have that opportunity now."
"But if I don't convince the social worker that he should stay with me, I won't be the one to teach him to walk in the waves." She heard the catch in her voice and tried not to sniffle.
"You will. We're going to make this work." Grant made the statement with such certainty that she could almost believe he was right. He turned to look at her, resting his back against the railing.
"Doesn't the height bother you?" she asked, watching him nervously as he leaned to casually against the narrow band of metal.
"No. I've been rock climbing since I was eighteen. I'm used to heights."
"What do you mean, rock climbing?"
"It's a sport, like skiing or surfing or skydiving."
She had no idea what he was talking about.
"You climb almost vertical faces of rock using just a few tools. Sometimes you're dangling from your fingertips, hundred of feet above the ground. It's a real rush."
"That sounds horrible! What if you slip and fall?"
"Each climber wears a harness and is attached by chocks wedged into a fissure or driven into the rock. There's a rope that fits through metal rings into the harness and the chocks. You can fall, but you don't fall far."
"But what if the rope breaks, or these chock things pull out of the rock? You could be killed!"
"I'm careful."
She looked at his large, workman's hands. "Is that how you . . . why I thought you worked with your hands."
"Probably. You don't have to be bulked up to climb, but upper body strength is important. And you depend on your hands to pull you up the face of the mountain or cliff."
She shook her head. "This doesn't sound like a good pastime."
"I enjoy it."
"You enjoy the danger?"
He shrugged. "I enjoy controlling the risk of climbing. It's just you against the rock." He shifted his weight, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Anyway, I learned to climb when I attended The University of Colorado. Some friends already knew how and I went along. I loved it. After living in Houston and occasionally Galveston, I loved the mountains and the sheer rock faces. It was so different. And I was studying geology, so my interest in rocks fit right in."
"What's geology?"
"The study of rocks, basically."
"And you went to college to study rocks?" she asked skeptically. She'd never heard of such a thing.
"Yes. My father wasn't too happy about it either. But that's what I wanted to do. My mother was convinced that I'd come to my senses soon, change my major, and transfer to a 'better' school."
"So did you change your mind? I mean, you're running your da's company."
"No," he said, looking out into the night, "I didn't change my mind. My father died and I didn't have much choice."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too. I was having a hell of a time in Colorado." He looked at her again, smiling in a way that didn't convince her he was telling her much of what he felt. "So, have you thought any more about the story?"
"Of course I've thought about it."
"Is that why you couldn't sleep?"
"I'm not sure."
"Do you want to talk some more?"
She shook her head. "I just need to think."
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
"Yes . . . no. I mean, I'm not sure. I don't want to keep you from your rest."
"I don't need a lot of sleep." He pushed away from the railing and took a step toward her. "I could use a kiss, though," he said softly.
He pressed her up against the cold glass, his own body warm and hard. Erina knew she should push him away, should ask him to stop before he even began kissing her, but her sense faded with the first touch of his lips. When his mouth closed over hers, she could only moan and grasp his shoulders. And when his tongue slipped inside her parted lips, she kissed him back.
She felt as though she were floating above the balcony, high into the breeze that pushed her gown around her legs, far out over the waves that gently pounded against the sand. Yes, she was soaring, and Grant was with her.
His hand was hot against her satin-covered waist, sliding along her ribs . . . and higher. She couldn't believe she would allow such liberties, but her body had awakened and she wanted to feel the touch of his hands on her breasts. And then he gathered the weight into his large hand, rolled the nipple between his fingers, and she thought she just might die.
Panting, she broke the kiss. That didn't stop Grant. He trailed his lips down her throat, to the sensitive point where her neck joined her shoulder. Her knees buckled. He caught her easily, pressed her more firmly against the glass, and dropped to his knees in front of her.
"What?" she managed to gasp faintly.
And then his mouth closed over her swollen breast.
"No," she moaned as she felt her body respond. A sweet, urgent throbbing began low in her body, a feeling she'd never experienced before. Was this what the magazines told, of passion so strong that a woman could forget where she was, who she was?
"Grant, no," she said again.
He stopped his gentle assault, looking up at her with eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. "Why? Just let yourself go. I want to give you pleasure."
"I . . . I can't," she said.
"Is it because of Colin's birth?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?"
"No, I don't think so. But this is wrong. I cannot make love with you."
"Then don't," he said, resting his head against her sensitive breasts. "Let me make love to you, as far as you want to go. I won't demand anything, Erina. I won't force you."
"I know that," she said, her eyes closed as she felt his warm breath against her nipple through the satin. "But being with you this way is against my beliefs, my religion."
"Even if we're engaged? Even if I'm going to be your husband?"
"No. I will not tie you in marriage to me for Colin's sake."
"You know you will if it's the only way. Erina, let me show you how good it can be."
"Please, don't ask me," she whispered.
He stood up, still touching but no longer pressed against her. She felt the dampness of his mouth on her breasts, but also the milk that had leaked. She was embarrassed at what Grant might think of such a blatant reminder of her motherhood.
"Look at me, please."
She opened her eyes, surprised to feel tears escape and spill down her cheeks. She wiped them away, hoping Grant wouldn't notice. But, of course, he did.
"I've made you cry," he said, his voice low and sad.
"No, I'm just confused. I never expected to feel this way."
"You've never wanted a man before?"
"No, never. I read about such things in the magazines at the hospital, but I've never . . . You make me feel so different."
"Is that necessarily bad?"
"I don't know," she said, closing her eyes again as new tears threatened. "I look different in my new clothes. I'm tryin' to act like a woman of your time. But inside, I'm still the same person. I cannot go against what my father taught me, what the church states as doctrine, because I want to make love with you."
"I appreciate your honesty," he whispered. Then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close but not trying to kiss or caress her. His face rested against her hair; she felt his steady breathing. He just held her, while the salty breeze blew around them and the waves continued their journey to shore.
And at that moment she knew that she'd fallen in love with Grant Kirby.
#
Grant called Sam Reynolds the next morning and set up an appointment for Erina to meet him in Houston next Monday. Then he called Brian.
"We're going ahead with the plan, Brian. Erina and I are meeting Sam on Monday to get the ball rolling. I'd like for you to be there too."
"I'll just tell you one more time that I think you've lost your ever lovin' mind."
"I know." Grant rubbed his forehead, where a headache threatened. "Look, I've got to tell Mother something. Our appointment with Sam is for two o'clock. Why don't we have an early dinner at her house around five thirty?"
"Who's we?" Brian asked suspiciously.
"You need to be there too."
"Oh, no I don't. I don't think your mother wants me to see her when she goes ballistic."
"Sure she does. Someone has to be there to commiserate with her. After all, Erina and I will be on one side. You need to hold her hand and agree that she's raised an idiot for a son."
Grant imagined that Brian was shaking his head. "How much are you going to tell her?"
"We're going with the story. Nothing more."
"She's not going to believe it. She'll check back on the calendar. She'll get your travel records. Hell, she'll probably have her own background check done on Erina."
"And what do you think she'll find? When you did your initial check, you found nothing, right? Not here or in Ireland."
"That's right, which is just going to tell your mother that Erina is an impostor."
"She'll come around when she sees Colin."
"You're bringing that baby to dinner?" Brian almost shouted.
"No, of course not. He'll probably still be in the hospital on Monday, although he should get to come home Tuesday. He ran a degree of fever, so I'm going to make sure he's well before they release him."
"You've gotten real attached to the boy, haven't you?"
"Yeah. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was mine, Brian. I mean, he looks like me, and there's this kind of bond I felt the first time I held him."
"That's because he's a little kid and needed help. Don't read more into this than there is."
"I'm trying to retain some objectivity," Grant said, exasperated at himself for the softness and domesticity he was experiencing for the first time. It was Erina's fault too; she inspired that kind of thinking. Of warm, cuddly nights sleeping together, making love while the waves crashed to shore. Of eating meals together, snuggling on the couch while they watched television, laughing as they walked along the beach. All those American ideals, those middle class values that he'd missed so far in his life. He wanted a family--but only if that was Erina and Colin.
"Okay. I'll call your mother and make plans for dinner on Monday."
"Thanks, Brian. I'll call if anything comes up."
"Think you could squeeze in some contract signing while you're in town attending to your other business?"
"Of course. After we get finished with our appointment at Sam's office, we can stop by the office. That reminds me: Erina agreed to be fingerprinted for a more intensive background check."
"Really?"
"Yes. It surprised me a little too, how fast she agreed. But Brian, she'll do anything to protect her baby."
"Sounds like she's thought of everything."
"Or maybe she's just a devoted mother."
"Um hmm," Brian said. "Do you want me to call the PI we use for securities checks?"
"Yes. If possible, he could be at the office when we come by. He could fingerprint Erina and get the information he needs."
"I'll call him. What do you want me to tell him?"
"Just to put a rush on the check. You can say that we're thinking of hiring her for a critical position."
"Okay, but I doubt if he'll find anything."
"You may be right." Grant wanted some proof, anything that would tell him who Erina really was, where she was born, where she'd lived. "We'll see you at Sam's office then. After we get finished at my office, we can ride to Mother's together, if you want."
"No way. I'm taking my own car in case she throws me out for aiding and abetting the enemy."
"Hey, I'm not the enemy. I'm her only son, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember. I just hope she does when you present your very young Irish love to her."
"She's not my love. I'm just doing the right thing by Colin." Grant ignored the leap in his pulse. He did not love Erina; he did, however, want her. And she was so vulnerable, so lovable . . . But he didn't love her.
Really? A little voice inside his head questioned his judgment.
"Whatever you say. I'll see you on Monday."
"Thank, Brian."
Grant hung up the phone. He couldn't ignore the dichotomy of his logic; he wanted Erina, he was willing to marry and live with her, but he didn't love her.
Of course he didn't. He had to trust her to love her, and she still hadn't told him why she'd made up her story. Until she told him the truth about where she was from and how she'd gotten into his condo, he couldn't give his heart to her.
Someday, she'd tell him the whole story. She'd admit how and why she picked him to save the life of her child. And then he'd decide if he could fall in love.