"Are you sure I look okay?" Erina said, fidgeting in the seat of the Cherokee as they drove out of Galveston on Broadway.
Grant was certain she'd asked the question twice before. Ever since buying a new outfit specifically for the trip to Houston, she'd fretted over how she would appear to the attorney and to Grant's mother.
"You look great," he said. The blue, tiny-flowered dress she'd chosen was modest, but clung to her curves in all the right places. Her long black hair was pulled back with a lacy bow, but a few tendrils escapes around her temples and in front of her ears. It wouldn't take Sam Reynolds, Brian Abbott, or his mother any great stretch of their imaginations to believe that he'd fallen for Erina O'Shea at first sight.
"As a matter of fact, if you looked any better, I don't think I'd want you to leave the condo."
"What do you mean? Is there something wrong? Am I dressed inappropriately to meet your mother?"
"No, not at all. And she'd not the one I'm concerned about. It's Sam and Brian who'll probably be a bit too charmed by your appearance." As the words left his mouth, he recognized the possessive and protective attitude he'd developed about Erina. She was charming, beautiful, and projected an innocent sexuality that had turned him into a lusty fool. Would she have the same effect on Sam and Brian?
If she did, they better have the good sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. Erina was his.
Damn, he did sound like a cave man. He'd never been that way around a woman before. As a matter of fact, if a woman got possessive with him, it was time to leave the relationship. He'd never wanted to be "tied down" until now.
Erina seemed to be pondering his words, then said, "Are you sayin' I'm sexy?"
She sounded so surprised and confused that Grant burst out laughing before he could stop himself. "Darling, you are definitely sexy. Where did you come up with that, though?"
"From the magazines. They claim that women are supposed to be sexy, but I didn't know . . . that is, I never thought of myself that way."
"Well, you are, but just for me."
"Why is that?"
"Because Sam and Brian are too old for you."
"I thought you believed you were too old for me too."
"I am, but I'm not as old as those two."
"My da was fifteen years older than my mother, yet she died when I was just a babe. I don't think age has much to do with . . . things."
"Older men are usually attracted to younger women, but you're younger than most."
"In my time, I'm considered quite mature."
"Well, in the 1800's, I think the average life span was about 50 years. So if you'd lived back then, you'd be almost middle aged at 20. But you don't live then, you live now. And 20 is very young."
"Will your mother and the attorneys think poorly of me because I've had a child?"
"No." They'd better not. Not when he'd claimed the child as his.
"I'm havin' a hard time believin' you," she said, looking out the window. "What's this?" she asked, her tone indicated she was quite startled. She edged forward on the seat, as much as the seat belt would allow, and looked with wide eyes out the windshield.
"The bridge over the bay," Grant answered, wondering what kind of story she'd come up with next. "Surely you noticed it when you drove the island the first time. Or did you fly into the local airport?"
"No, I got off the ship. I haven't been off the island before, but I know that a railroad bridge was built from Houston to transport the cotton to Galveston. But nothing like this!" Her knuckles had a death grip on the dashboard.
"It's perfectly safe. We're not that high."
"I think maybe we're higher than your condo."
"I doubt that. Just sit back and relax. If you're going to get this frightened over a bridge, then you're going to have a heart attack when you see the traffic in Houston."
"Traffic?"
"On the interstates and highways that go around and through town. They're notoriously crowded."
"Oh."
He could tell she wasn't too concerned about traffic. Maybe she'd been in Houston traffic before. Or maybe she really doesn't know what you mean, a little voice said. He pushed aside the idea that she hadn't crossed a large bridge or driven in traffic. At least her convincing aura would help with their story, both with Sam and his mother.
"How long does it take to drive to Mr. Reynold's office?"
"About forty-five minutes. Just sit back and relax. We're driving through the salt marshes now, but soon we'll be on solid ground."
"This road seems very solid," she said, glancing out the window at the tall grasses and water on either side of the highway.
"It is. I meant the rest of the ground. Not much is built out here because of the land. Kind of like around my condo. There are salt marshes there too."
"Yes, I've seen them. I like the beach though."
"If it gets a little warmer we should start exercising along the beach. We can take Colin for walks."
"I'd like that." She was quiet for a moment, then said, "But I'm not sure how long Colin and I will be here."
"Let's not get into this right now, okay? You know I want you to stay. Unless there's somewhere else you need to be, I don't see why you can't stay in Galveston."
"Oh, I think we'll be stayin' in Galveston," she said softly, "but I'm not sure in what time."
He ignored that remark. Traffic picked up as they passed the outlet mall. He didn't need to think about Erina's fantasy right now; he needed to concentrate on getting them to Sam's office--and convincing everyone that Erina was Grant's fiancee and Colin was his son.
#
Erina sat on the edge of the chair in Sam Reynolds's office, wondering if she would be able to get through this meeting without bursting out with the truth. But as she listened to Grant tell the story so convincingly, she began to believe it herself. He sounded so sincere! If she didn't know he was spinning a yarn, she would have wept from the depth of emotion he evoked.
She glanced at Brian Abbott, Grants friend and attorney, and wondered what the man was thinking. He displayed little on his face--at least to her. She suspected he was much more open to Grant. He probably thought all this was her idea, a way to get Grant to marry her so she could take his money. As though he felt her eyes on him, Mr. Abbott looked at her. His eyes narrowed even as he smiled slightly. She imagined he was assessing her, trying to decide who and what she was.
Well, she didn't blame the man. If her friend had suddenly decided to marry an unknown person and declare themselves the parent of a child, she would be suspicious too. She smiled at Mr. Abbott and scooted back into the chair as Grant began to explain how she'd arrived in the United States.
"On a private plane," Sam Reynolds said.
"That's right. She didn't go through customs because she didn't realize she needed to."
"Grant, that's a bit hard to believe. Surely the pilot or your friend knew that she needed to enter the US legally."
"Yes, I think they mentioned it. They would have mentioned it, wouldn't they, Erina?" he asked, turning to her.
"Yes, I suppose so," she answered carefully.
"But then Colin became ill suddenly. All Erina could think of was finding me fast and getting Colin to the emergency room."
"I can understand how that crisis would preclude any formalities, but what about later?" Mr. Reynolds asked, looking between Grant and her.
She looked to Grant.
"Since Colin was admitted to the hospital, Erina has been with him constantly, and I've been there quite a bit too. We haven't had time to contact INS."
"What is INS?" Erina asked.
"Immigration and Naturalization service."
"And these are the people I need to see?"
"Yes," Mr. Reynolds answered, "but when you do see them, I'll be with you. You don't need to contact them now."
"So you'll represent Erina?" Grant asked.
"Yes, and you knew darn well I would," Mr. Reynolds said, shaking his head. "I still don't know the whole story, but I'm convinced that with Colin's critical medical condition, we can successfully represent this case to INS. The worst thing that could happen is that Erina will need to go back to Ireland for a short period and re-apply--"
"No," Grant stated. "She's staying here. If necessary, we'll marry immediately. They won't deport the wife and son of an American citizen."
"Now Grant, don't jump the gun," Mr. Abbot said in a cautious voice.
"Don't worry about this, Brian. We'll do what's necessary."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Erina heard him murmur.
She'd been right about Mr. Abbott's disapproval of her, but apparently he was also unhappy with Grant. She prayed that she didn't come between the two men. Surely Grant wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their friendship. She had a feeling Mrs. Abbott was like a second father to Grant.
"As soon as we receive Erina's documents from Ireland, I'll courier them to you," Grant was saying to Mr. Reynolds.
"You do that. And make sure that everything--I mean everything--is in order." .
"It will be," Grant assured him.
Erina had no idea how he could make such an outrageous claim. Everything they gave to the attorney would be a lie. She'd need to attend mass and confession after this one, and she'd have to take Grant with her. She just hoped she would be forgiven for telling such a story.
Grant got up from his chair beside her, then reached down and helped her to her feet. She felt a bit shaky. All these lies . . . But she didn't have a choice, she told herself. She had to do this to save Colin because no one, including Grant, would believe the truth.
Brian Abbott walked with them past Mr. Reynolds' secretary and out the door of his law office, which was located in the tallest building Erina had ever seen. She'd been terrified to get into the elevator to come to the twenty-seventh floor, although Grant assured her that the ride was perfectly safe. Now they had to ride back down to the ground. Erina didn't want to think about the chances that the elevator could fall.
"I think that went pretty well," Grant said as they stood waiting for the doors to open.
"I think you're full of--"
"Watch your language in front of a lady," Grant warned quickly.
Brian Abbott looked at her. "I just hope that these documents you're getting will be authentic enough to get past INS and child welfare."
"I've been told they will be," Grant said. "I mean, why wouldn't they be?"
"Yeah, why indeed?" Mr. Abbott said sarcastically.
"Brian, you need to be with me on this. Either that, or just back out now. You don't have to be involved if you're not comfortable, because I'm going to help Erina and Colin, whether you like it or not."
"Hell, Grant, you don't know what you might be getting into. What if there's something criminal? Did you think about that?"
"No, what I'm thinking is that I'm helping Erina and her son, a baby that needed medical attention or he was going to die. There's nothing criminal about that."
"No, but--"
The elevator doors opened and Erina walked in first, her cheeks blazing. She wanted to tell Mr. Abbot what she thought, but did she dare? Not if her outburst would hurt Grant. For him, she'd hold her tongue and let him vent his suspicions. As long as Grant didn't listen to him. As long as he didn't desert her . . . and Colin.
"Brian, I need to know if you're going to support me on this," Grant said, pushing a button that would send them pummeling down to the ground floor. Erina placed her palm against the wall to provide some stability while the elevator descended.
"I think you're a damn fool," Mr. Abbott growled in a low voice. "There had to be another way to help her and the kid."
"Just what other way?"
"Did you try money?"
"Okay, that's it," Grant said, reaching for his friend, grabbing a handful of shirt and tie.
"Grant, no!" Erina cried out, tearing herself away from the wall to hold on to Grant's other arm. "You mustn't fight with Mr. Abbott. He's your dear friend. I won't have you fightin' him, do you hear me?"
Grant looked at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted another head. His eyes blazed and his cheeks were flushed. His eyebrows, darker than his sun-streaked hair, drew together over his eyes. She looked at him, pleaded silently with him. Soon his expression calmed and he let go of Mr. Abbott's shirt.
She turned to the older man. "Now Mr. Abbott, you can think what you will of me. I'm a poor Irish girl and I know I'm not the kind that you'd have Grant marry, but I'm not deaf and I'm not stupid. I didn't ask for his money or his name. All I ever asked for is help for Colin."
She turned to Grant. "And you . . . well, you need to remember that I have a mind and a voice. I'd thank you not to speak about me as though I were a child. I'm a woman grown.
"Now I'm not goin' to be the cause of an argument between the two of you. So settle your differences right now. I'm none too fond of meetin' Grant's mother with both of you bickerin' in the background."
Grant stared at her a long time. He smiled, then laughed. After reaching over and holding her hand, he turned to Mr. Abbott. "Any more questions? I think Erina is in charge now."
"Damnation. I'm convinced that you can pull of any story you want," he said with a bit of admiration and a shake of his head. His expression sobered. "But do you think your mother's going to be as easy?"
"Leave Mother to me," Grant said, "and Erina. You're there for Mother's moral support and a possible shoulder to cry on."
"Whatever you say, son. I just hope you have a miracle up your sleeve in case she decides to have you investigated," Mr. Abbott murmured as the elevator doors opened.
A miracle. Erina was afraid one miracle in a lifetime was all she was going to get.
They stopped by Grant's office so he could sign some important papers. Erina was again impressed; she didn't know much about businesses, but this one looked prosperous. The desks were dark wood, but there were many windows and glass partitions, some etched with designs of flowers and birds. She could tell the people who worked for Grant were curious about her, but they smiled shyly, their gaze darting between her and Grant.
She sat on the edge of a leather chair in his office. The decor seemed almost too bare. There were no photographs of family like Sam Reynolds had on his desk and shelves. Several works of art hung on the wall, but Erina couldn't understand what they represented. To her, they were just the pretty colors of a sunset in slashes across a pale lavender background.
But she could watch Grant while he bent over some contracts that Brian Abbott was explaining to him. The men talked so quietly that Erina couldn't understand what they were saying, but she was sure this was the business that Grant's company did and not a personal issue. His face appeared different when he discussed business. She'd seen the same expression when he talked on the telephone. Did he dislike what he did, or did he need to concentrate fully on the documents?
She couldn't tell because he seldom talked about his business. One thing she knew was that he wasn't in any hurry to rush back to this office, despite the pleasant people and surroundings. He stayed in his condo in Galveston, took her back and forth to the hospital, and bought baby furniture for Colin when he could have been working.
With a sigh, she shifted on the chair. Grant made her feel like she'd never imagined; hot and achy, lost to his kisses and craving his touch. She was also drawn to the kindness in him, but there were many things about him she didn't know. Perhaps after dinner tonight, she'd understand more. Surely when she saw him with his mother, she'd get a better idea of the kind of family he'd grown up in.
Because if she stayed in this time, she knew she'd think of Grant and family often. She'd think of them walking along the beach with Colin . . . and maybe even more children. Children with blond hair and dimples. She gripped the arms of the chair and suppressed a sigh.
"Erina?" Grant said, looking up from his desk. "Are you getting tired? I'll be finished in just a few minutes."
"I'm fine. I'm just thinkin' about . . . Colin."
"Why don't you ask my secretary to help you phone the hospital? You can talk to Colin's nurse and find out that's he's okay."
"She can do that?"
"Of course. You can call anywhere you'd like."
"Excuse me then," she said to both Grant and Mr. Abbott.
She watched Grant's secretary, a charmingly efficient woman named Margaret, dial the telephone and connect to the hospital. Within a few seconds, she handed the phone to Erina. "Mrs. Bea Parker is on the line," she said, smiling.
"Mrs. Parker?"
"Hello, Ms. O'Shea. Little Colin is fine. He's lying in his bed, trying to reach the mobile above his bed."
"He does love to look at the colors and shapes."
They talked for just a little longer about Colin's health, then Erina said good-bye. As she hung up the phone, Grant and Mr. Abbott came out of the office.
"Erina, I'd like you to talk to someone."
"Of course," she said, surprised that he had something else planned at the office. She supposed that anything to prolong her ordeal with his mother would be welcome, but the waiting was beginning to set her nerves on edge.
She walked beside Grant down a row of offices, stopping in front of one that read "Conference Room" on the door.
"Do you remember when I asked if you would give your fingerprints to a private investigator?"
"Yes."
"Brian managed to get in touch with him. He's waiting inside. If you would, give him some information and he'll take your prints."
"And what will he be doin' with my fingerprints?"
"He'll check police and government databases to see if you match anyone on file."
"I won't, you know," she said, looking up into his blue-green eyes. "I'm not from your time."
"That's why I want him to check you out. If he doesn't find anything, then INS won't either. We'll be in much better shape to face whatever questions they have for us--"
"You will be, you mean. I know perfectly well where I'm from."
"If you don't want to do this, just say so." Grant paused with his hand on the door knob.
"I don't mind," she replied, but inside a lump formed in her chest when she thought that Grant didn't believe her--and probably never would."
The private investigator took only a few minutes to "print" her. He used a special kind of ink that seemed invisible, but then turned black on the paper. And he asked only a few basic questions about her place of birth and other numbers and identifications, which she didn't have. Grant told him to forget using her date of birth. The man looked at him strangely, but nodded. Throughout the whole ordeal, Erina kept thinking about how many lies they'd told, and how many they were yet to tell to his mother.
A few minutes later, he was gone. Grant said, "We're finished here. Are you ready for dinner?" He opened the door for her.
"I'm not sure I can eat a thing," she answered honestly, queasy at the thought of how they were deceiving the people important to him. He hadn't talked about his mother, about what kind of woman she was. Erina had no idea what to expect, but in any case, she would have been nervous even without the lies.
"Don't worry. We won't eat right away. Mother will want to put us on the grill for a while and watch us sizzle."
"She's not that bad," Mr. Abbott added, joining them in the hallway.
"I think you're prejudiced," Grant said with a smile.
"Hmm."
"Perhaps dinner would be more pleasant if you went without me," Erina volunteered.
"No way," Grant said. "We're in this together. Don't forget that."
#
Grant's mother was as intimidating as every other society matron Erina had ever met. Tall, slim, with a regal bearing, she stood in the foyer of her home like a queen receiving subjects. Her eyes were wide and deep set, looking down at Erina like she were a thief come to steal the silver--or the son.
"Mother, may I present Erina O'Shea, recently of Ireland?" Grant said formally, yet with a bit of a smile.
"Erina, this is my mother, Virginia Kramer Kirby."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Erina replied, resisting the urge to curtsy at the tall, blond-haired woman. Instead, she stood a little straighter.
Mrs. Kirby extended her hand and Erina shook it tentatively. There was no warmth involved in the handshake; it was polite at best. She reminded herself to be as gracious as possible; this was Grant's mother and he must love her, even if he didn't talk about her.
"Welcome to Houston," Mrs. Kirby said, crossing her hands in front of her.
"Thank you." Erina looked around the entryway to the large brick home. A decorative gilt paper covered the bottom half of the walls, with cream walls above it and light, almost golden stained wood around the tall window and along the floor. A large mirror hung above an ornate white and gold credenza, it's doors painted with twining vines and flowers. Overhead, a gold and crystal chandelier glistened in the afternoon sun.
Jerrold Kirby's mother would have loved this entry hall.
"How about something to drink before dinner, Mother?" Grant finally asked when the silence stretched too long.
"Of course. Where are my manners? But Erina seemed so interested in the decor," she added with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Please, come into the library and we'll have some wine. I received an excellent vintage just the other day."
Grant again reached for her hand, this time holding on while they walked down a short hallway next to an impressive staircase.
"I hope dinner didn't ruin any of your plans," Grant said as they took a seat in a dark, masculine-looking room. Bookcases lined a fireplace. The walls were a dark red, matching the red, black and gold patterned rug over the hardwood floors.
Erina sat next to Grant on a cane-back, leather settee. She resisted the urge to slide closer on the uncomfortable piece of furniture, sitting up straight and trying to appear confident when that was the last thing in the world she felt.
"Just a tennis game at the club," Mrs. Kirby answered. "We're getting ready for the tournament."
"My mother is a great tennis player," he told Erina. "She took the trophy last year in the senior division at the country club."
Mrs. Kirby twirled around, a white knuckled grip on a bottle of wine in one hand, a cork extractor in the other. "Grant, why don't you do the honors while Erina and I have a chance to talk?"
"Of course," he said, rising from the settee.
Mrs. Kirby settled in a wing-back chair that resembled a throne. "Have you been in the U.S. long, Erina?"
"No, not really." At least, not in this time, she told herself to justify the misconception. She'd been in Galveston for eight years by 1896.
"And are you here visiting friends or on business?"
"Well, actually--"
"Mother, why don't you save the inquisition so I can join in the fun," Grant said, walking up with two glasses of white wine.
"Really, Grant, there's no reason to be defensive," she said, taking a sip of wine. "Is there?"
He handed a glass to Erina. "Not at all. But Erina is my guest. I don't want expect her to face one of your chats alone."
"Honestly, Grant--"
"You know I'm not exaggerating, Mother. You love to intimidate the common folk."
"I do no such thing!"
"Grant, please," Erina asked softly, "don't argue over me."
"This isn't about you, sweetheart," he said, bringing his own glass of wine over and sitting beside her. "This is a long-standing disagreement we have."
"That's not true. I can't imagine where you get these ideas. I'm just making conversation." Mrs. Kirby took a sip of her wine, her gaze on them.
Erina felt a blush creeping into her cheeks at the endearment Grant had used. Although she knew the reason they were here--to explain her and Colin's relationship to Grant--she still wasn't used to thinking of herself as his "sweetheart."
"Brian should be here soon," Grant said. "He wanted to bring his own car."
"Yes, he told me he was coming," Mrs. Kirby said. "By the way, Erina, how long will you be staying in the U.S.?"
"Mother!"
"Well, what do you want me to say? I'm trying to find an acceptable topic of conversation."
"Why don't you just wait for me to explain everything when Brian gets here?" Grant said, leaning back and placing his arm across the settee. Erina felt the brush of his fingers against her hair. Chills chased heat down her spine.
A chime sounded. Erina jumped, but Grant placed his hand on her shoulder. "That must be Brian."
"Maria will get it," Mrs. Kirby said.
Silence descended for just a few seconds before Mr. Abbott's large, bear-like frame filled the doorway of the library.
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Traffic along Westheimer was a . . . awful."
Erina watched Mrs. Kirby as she tracked Mr. Abbott with her gaze. Her face softened and she looked much less regal than when she'd greeted them. Odd, how the woman would appear warmer to a friend than to her own son.
"Let me get you a glass of wine, Brian," Mrs. Kirby offered. "Or would you like something stronger?"
"Scotch would be nice," he said, walking over to stand beside her. "I've got a feeling I might need it," he said in a low tone.
"I may join you," Erina heard Mrs. Kirby whisper.
As soon as they took their seats, Grant said, "So, is everyone ready to hear about Erina? I could wait until after dinner if you'd like."
"No! That is, I'm sure we're all anxious to hear why Erina is here."
Grant smiled. "I thought so. Well, it all started last fall when I went to Europe."
Mrs. Kirby's brow drew together in a frown. "I don't remember a trip you made to Europe last year."
"For climbing," Grant explained. "I'm not sure I even mentioned it. It was a very quick trip between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'm sure you were busy with your charities and the holiday season."
"Perhaps," she replied, not appearing convinced.
"Yes, it was a spur of the moment thing. I heard about a good place to climb in Ireland."
"I thought you went to Europe."
"Ireland is in Europe."
"Did you go with one of your friends around here?"
"No, I didn't go with anyone you know, Mother. Just a climbing instructor from Colorado."
"Oh, I see," she said. Erina got the impression Colorado was a sore spot between mother and son. "So that is where you met Grant?" she asked Erina.
"Yes," she replied, crossing her fingers in the folds of her skirt. Please forgive me for lying, she prayed silently. I'm doing this for Colin.
Grant looked deeply into her eyes. "I forgot all about climbing when I saw Erina."
"And where was that?"
"Just in the village."
"Um Hmm," she heard Brian Abbott murmur.
"And what did you do there?" Mrs. Kirby asked her.
"Do?"
"Yes. Did you live there? Work there?"
"I lived in the village with my da," Erina answered carefully. That was true. Before 1888, she'd never left their small village.
"Her father was a landscape architect," Grant said.
"He was a gardener," Erina whispered as she turned her head toward Grant.
"Yes, I know," he whispered back, his breath hot against her ear. She shivered at the pleasurable chills that raced through her.
He smiled and faced his mother again. "I'm afraid I swept her off her feet," he said, playing with a strand of Erina's hair. "She'd never met anyone as determined as I was."
"You mean you took advantage of an innocent child," his mother said with censure in her voice.
"No! He didn't take advantage of me," Erina said quickly, angry that Grant would make himself look so callous in front of his mother and his friend.
"She's just saying that to make me look better," Grant added.
"Um Hmm," Mr. Abbott murmured again, his lips against the glass of scotch.
"That's a very touching story, but what does it have to do with why Erina is visiting us in Houston?"
"Actually, she's visiting me in Galveston," Grant corrected. "You see, I had to leave Ireland after less than a week. Something came up and I couldn't stay any longer."
Um Hmm," Mr. Abbott murmured.
"I tried to contact Erina, but couldn't get through. I called the embassy, but that was during the budget crisis last year and the offices were closed. You remember all that lack of funding problem the government had last year?"
Apparently Grant was weaving fact and fiction together. Erina watched as Mrs. Kirby nodded, her eyes narrowed in speculation. "So I take it you couldn't contact Erina for some time."
"That's right. Then her father died and she had to move."
Heavenly Father, forgive us, Erina silently prayed again, for our lies to this woman.
"I'm sorry about your father, dear, but again, I wonder why you're here now."
"I wasn't sure I could find your son, Mrs. Kirby," Erina said, glancing at Grant for moral support. He nodded. "I probably wouldn't have tried to find him, but you see, I . . . we . . ."
"What Erina is trying to tell you is that my time in Ireland was very fruitful. We have a son."
"Aye, a son named Colin," Erina continued quickly as color drained from Mrs. Kirby's face. "And he's a sweet child, just two months old, but he has a heart problem that needed an operation, and--"
"And in any case, congratulations. You're a grandmother," Grant announced with a smile as Mrs. Kirby slumped back against her chair.