The Unexpected Gift

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Cold food was another thing Morgan had gotten used to over the years. Her meals were always being interrupted. “You didn’t have to do that,” she apologized. “And I don’t want to hold things up. It looks like you’re about ready for dessert.”

As Kit disappeared through the door into the kitchen, Bill spoke. “It’s Christmas. We have no other plans for the day, so you’re not keeping us from anything. And we need to let our food settle a bit, anyway.”

Although Morgan was touched by the graciousness of her hosts, she made short work of her remaining food when Kit placed the plate in front of her. Then they moved on to the cheesecake, which was every bit as good as Grant has promised. After the last bite, Morgan leaned back, her face content as she sipped her coffee.

“Wasn’t this better than tuna and cold soup?”

At Grant’s quiet question, Morgan turned to find him watching her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Her own lips curved up in response. “Eminently.”

“How about some music?” Kit said from across the table.

“Will you play, Uncle Grant?” Nancy asked.

“I’m a bit out of practice.”

“You always say that,” Nicki scoffed. “Besides, it won’t feel like Christmas unless you play.”

“In that case, how can I refuse?”

They all moved into the living room, and Morgan watched, intrigued, as Grant slid onto the bench of an upright piano and ran his fingers over the keys. For some reasons, she wouldn’t have expected him to be musical. But as the family gathered around and he began to play the familiar holiday carols, she discovered that he was, in fact, quite talented. Morgan hung back, feeling a bit like an intruder in this family scene, but Kit drew her forward.

“We may not be the Metropolitan Opera chorus, but what we lack in ability we make up for in enthusiasm,” she said with a laugh.

As Grant played one carol after another, Morgan found herself staring at his hands. His fingers were strong and capable, lean and long, as they moved with confidence over the ivory keys. He had wonderful hands, she realized. And all at once she found herself wondering what it would be like to be touched by them.

Trying to force her mind in a more appropriate direction, Morgan turned away from Grant and looked over the family gathered at the piano—only to be transported back to another time, another piano, another family raising sometimes off-key voices in song. Her throat constricted with emotion, and her voice faltered on the words of a familiar carol as her eyes grew misty. When Grant sent her a questioning look, her cheeks warmed and she pointed to her pager, then quickly slipped away on the pretense of returning another call.

Once in the hall, she drew a few long, deep breaths. For some reason, this day had been an emotional roller coaster, from her conversation with her sisters this morning, to her unexpected tears in church, to her wandering thoughts when she’d tried to work earlier at the cottage. The memories had been relentlessly lapping at her consciousness, much as the surf lapped against the shore at Aunt Jo’s cottage. Happy memories, for the most part, but memories of days long past. Most of the time she kept them deep in her heart. But today, they had risen to the surface, throwing her off balance.

By the time Morgan returned to the living room, she had her emotions back under control. Most of the group seemed to accept her excuse for stepping away, but something in Grant’s expression told her that she hadn’t fooled him. His eyes were probing, questioning, curious, as if he was trying to reconcile her emotional reaction just now with the image she presented to the world of a savvy, businesslike, sophisticated career woman.

Morgan looked away before his searching gaze went too deep, before he delved right to her soul and found out things about her that even she didn’t know. Things she didn’t want to know. And suddenly she felt an overpowering need to escape. There was something about Grant Kincaid that threatened her peace of mind. As soon as she could, she thanked her hosts and said her goodbyes, explaining that after her long drive yesterday, she was ready to call it a night.

Grant insisted on walking her to her car, and short of being rude, she couldn’t refuse. He took her arm as they stepped into the frigid air, and their breath formed frosty clouds in the clear, dark sky as they made their way in silence down the driveway. She fitted her key in the car lock, then turned to him, grateful for the dim light that made it hard to read expressions. “Thank you again, Grant. I had a wonderful time.”

“It was our pleasure. Are we still on for Monday?”

“Yes. How about eight?”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then. Drive safe.”

After she slipped into her car, he shut the door behind her, watching as she backed out of the driveway. When she reached the corner, she glanced in her rearview mirror and was surprised to find Grant still standing there, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, staring after her.

As Morgan retraced the route to the cottage, she found herself reliving her unexpected holiday dinner and thinking about Grant. She pictured his strong, competent fingers on the piano keys. Recalled the feeling of security that had swept over her when he’d taken her hand in his for the blessing. Remembered the way his smile had warmed his eyes and lit up his face.

And wondered yet again: who was Christine?

Chapter Four

“Anybody home?” Grant called as he opened the door of the house he’d grown up in, the house his father and uncle now shared.

“We’re in the kitchen, son,” his father responded, his voice muffled.

Grant made his way down the hall and found his father and uncle wolfing down what looked like remnants from yesterday’s Christmas dinner.

“Pull up a chair,” Uncle Pete invited. “There’s plenty. Kit made us take all this home. Said she had way too much left over. We didn’t argue a whole lot.”

After draping his sheepskin-lined jacket over the back of a chair and retrieving a plate from the cabinet, Grant joined the older men at the sturdy oak table.

“On your way to see Christine?” his father asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I admire your commitment, son. But I worry about you,” he said, his face troubled. “It’s been two-and-a-half years, and you almost never miss a day. You’re going to wear yourself out.”

“I have to go, Dad. She’d do the same for me.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go. Maybe just not every day.”

Because it doesn’t seem to make any difference.

The words were unspoken, but they hung in the air. His family had long ago accepted that Christine would probably never recover from the head injury that had sent her into a deep coma. Yet according to the doctors, there was brain activity. So she was still there, trapped in a broken body. Grant couldn’t abandon her, even though only a tiny glimmer of hope remained in his own heart. But even if that last glimmer was finally extinguished, he still had an obligation to her. And he would see it through…for as long as she needed him.

Grant reached for a slice of prime rib and answered the way he always did. “I’ll see, Dad. For now, this is what I need to do.”

Pete looked at Andrew, then changed the subject. “That was one fine meal yesterday. And the leftovers aren’t bad, either.”

“I’m glad you convinced Jo’s niece to join us, Grant.” Andrew picked up Pete’s cue. “Didn’t sound like she had much of a meal planned. And nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

“To be honest, she turned me down at first. So I called Kit, and her powers of persuasion did the trick.”

Pete chuckled. “Your sister could charm a moose out of his antlers.”

Grant grinned. “I agree.”

“I hope Morgan had a good time,” Andrew said. “Seems like that job of hers doesn’t give her a minute of peace.”

“I expect it’s the kind of life she wants,” Grant said with a shrug.

“Can’t imagine why. Seems like too much stress to me. She is one high-strung young woman.”

“She’s a looker, though,” Uncle Pete added.

“She is that,” Andrew agreed. “But I feel sorry for her, living on the edge like that. Can’t even enjoy a holiday without interruption.”

“Don’t waste your sympathy, Dad. She chose that life, so it must suit her. Just like it did Mom. In fact, she reminds me a lot of Mom.”

Andrew tilted his head, his expression quizzical. “Is that right? She seems real different to me.”

“How do you figure that?” Grant helped himself to some potatoes. “She’s ambitious, driven, puts her career first…it’s Mom all over again.”

“I don’t think so. There’s more to Morgan Williams than that. I picked up a sort of…restlessness…like she’s still searching for her path. Your mother was single-minded once she made up her mind to go for the gold. I don’t get the same vibes from Morgan.”

“Then you must be on the wrong wavelength,” Grant said, giving him a wry look. “What do you think, Uncle Pete?”

“Like I said, she’s a looker.”

“You have a one-track mind, you know that?” Grant told him with a grin.

“Well, it’s true.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But we weren’t discussing her appearance.”

“You can discuss anything you like. But when the good Lord sends a pretty woman my way, I intend to enjoy it instead of trying to psychoanalyze her.”

“How did you stay a bachelor all these years?” Grant asked, shaking his head.

“I like my independence. But I don’t mind lookin’.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s a fact,” Pete agreed good-naturedly.

As his father and uncle began debating the merits of cherry versus maple for an upcoming project, Grant finished his lunch. Then he rose and snagged his coat off the back of his chair. “I’ve got to run. See you both tomorrow.”

“Take care, son.”

The two older men watched Grant leave, then turned their attention to the leftover cheesecake. As Andrew cut them each a generous wedge, Uncle Pete spoke.

“I worry about that boy.”

“So do I.”

“Livin’ the way he does isn’t healthy. He spends all his time at the shop or running back and forth to Brunswick to see Christine. He’s got to be lonely.”

“He has us. And Kit’s family.”

Uncle Pete brushed that aside. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Andrew said with a sigh. “But he loved Christine, Pete. He still does. And he won’t go on with his life as long as he feels she needs him.”

“Sometimes it sure is hard to figure why the good Lord gave him such a cross to bear,” Uncle Pete declared, shaking his head.

“I don’t expect we’ll ever find the answer to that one.”

“No, I don’t suppose we will. But it sure does seem a waste. He’s a fine man with a fine heart. He should be going home to a wife and a family every day, not spending time in that depressing extended-care facility.”