03_The Unexpected Gift (4 page)

But as Morgan drove past the church, the steady in-flux of people made it clear that she was just in time for a ten o’clock service. A wry smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. Clare and A.J. would be pleased to find their wayward sister back in the fold—at least for one day.

Morgan found a parking spot down the street and made her way toward the tall spire that rose in splendor toward the cobalt-blue sky. As she slipped into the back of the spruce-and poinsettia-bedecked church, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, the choir was singing a pre-service program of familiar carols. And with sudden vividness and poignancy, memories of her childhood came rushing back—memories of the warm and loving family she had been blessed with, of a life that was simple but good, of the sense of security she’d always felt as she’d observed the steady, deep love between her parents.

Over the years, those happy, younger days had become just a distant recollection, but today the memories were startling in their intensity, perhaps because the setting reminded her of the Christmas services they’d all attended together in a church very similar to this one. It had been a holiday ritual.

But everything had changed forever the year her father died. Her sense of security had been shattered as her mother struggled to hang on to the farm her husband had loved. Clare had gone off to college. And life had never been the same again. She had left, when the time came, without a backward glance. Yet in this place, on this day, she wished she could recapture that sense of closeness, of family, that had once been such an integral part of her life. Her eyes grew misty, and she bowed her head, hoping no one would observe her uncharacteristic display of emotion.

But she wasn’t quick enough. Grant was making his way back down the aisle to retrieve his father’s glasses from the car when he noticed the striking woman with the dark copper-colored hair seated in a back corner, alone. In the instant before she bowed her head, he caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. His step faltered, but he quickly regained his stride. The woman was a stranger to him, and whatever her problem, it was none of his concern.

Still, he was curious. He knew most of the members of the congregation, even the ones who only attended services on special days. In fact, he knew most, if not all, of the year-round residents in town. And though Seaside was becoming a summertime mecca for those seeking peace and quiet, it had few visitors in the off season. The woman could be someone’s relative, visiting for the holiday, he supposed. But if that was the case, why was she here alone? Especially on a day that most people spent with those they loved?

Grant knew he should just forget about the woman. He’d probably never see her again. But his brief glimpse of her had left him disturbed. Because in her eyes he’d seen what
he
had often experienced these past two-and-a-half years, despite his faith and the love and support of his extended family. Loss. Abandonment. Emptiness. And the sense that things would never be the same again.

Grant knew there was nothing he could do about his own situation except pray. Which he did. Every day. And that gave him great comfort.

But from the desolate look in her eyes, he somehow sensed that the solitary woman in the back of church didn’t have that kind of faith to rely on, that despite her presence here today, she didn’t expect to find any solace in the Lord. And perhaps she wouldn’t even try.

So he did it for her.

Lord, please watch over Your daughter, who seems in need of comfort. Let her feel Your healing presence and give her guidance, as You have done for me. And on this Christmas Day, don’t let her feel alone or abandoned. Instead, let her feel Your love and care in a tangible way. Amen.

T
he low-battery light gave an ominous blink, and as Morgan shut down her laptop in frustration, her stomach rumbled. Again.

Her foray into Seaside to buy food had been useless, so she’d had to make do with the meager provisions in the cottage. And she was rationing those. Which wasn’t easy, since her last real meal had been a late lunch yesterday. So far, she’d eaten one can of cold soup and a few crackers, all the while thinking about the meal A.J. and Morgan had planned. The pitiful can of soup, tin of tuna and handful of crackers that remained just depressed her, so she knew she needed to do something to distract herself. Namely, more work.

Her face resolute, she moved her laptop aside, reached for her bulging briefcase, and withdrew the latest layouts and copy for an upcoming ad campaign. Looking at photos of toothpaste and reading about the merits of the product wasn’t the most exciting activity for Christmas Day, but it had to be done sooner or later. And since she had nothing else planned for the day, she might as well get it over with.

But as Morgan tried to focus on the layouts, she found her attention wandering to the scene outside the bay window. It was just as lovely in the early afternoon as it had been this morning. The view of the sea was framed by a few fir trees, and there appeared to be a small beach. The rough water was dotted with frothy whitecaps that peaked and dissolved in rapid succession, and the vast expanse of open sea was mesmerizing. She set her pen aside and propped her chin in her hand, the ad copy forgotten for the moment.

A sudden knock on the door startled her out of her reverie, and she looked toward it in surprise—and with more than a little trepidation. No one in town knew she was here except Grant Kincaid. And he was unlikely to make an appearance on a holiday, she thought wryly. In Boston, she never answered the door without having the security guard in her building screen visitors. However, she didn’t have that luxury out here. And this was a pretty isolated spot.

She reached for her cell phone, then made her way to the door and checked for a peephole. No luck. She moved to the window. A pickup truck was parked next to her sporty car, but she couldn’t get a glimpse of her visitor from this angle.

Another knock sounded, this time with a bit more force, and she moved back to the door. At least there was a chain lock. Not that that would do her much good if someone was determined to get in. But it would slow them down while she called 911.

Sliding back the chain, Morgan opened the door just enough to peer out with one eye. A man with vivid blue eyes and neatly trimmed sandy brown hair stood on the other side, dressed in a wool topcoat with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He appeared to be several inches taller than Morgan, maybe close to six feet. And he definitely did not look like a derelict.

“May I help you?” she said, her voice muffled through the door.

“I’m Grant Kincaid. May I come in?”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “Of course. Sorry for the caution, but I’m a big-city girl. I wasn’t expecting anyone today.” She slid the lock back, then moved behind the door as she opened it to give him access to the small entry area.

Stepping inside, Grant pulled off his gloves while she shut the door behind him. “Sorry to disturb you on Christmas, but…” His voice died as he turned and found himself face to face with the woman he’d seen in church. The one who had been fighting off tears, who had looked so alone and sad. Which was not at all the image he’d formed of Morgan Williams. In his mind, he’d come to think of her as cold, calculating and rather hard. This slender woman, dressed in black slacks and a soft angora sweater the exact color of her jade-green eyes, didn’t look hard at all.

But there was surprise on both sides The man with whom she shared ownership of this cottage wasn’t at all what Morgan had expected, either. For some reason she’d thought he would be older. But he looked to be only in his late thirties. And what was the reason for that odd expression on his face? As the silence lengthened, she grew uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?” she asked at last.

Grant forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sorry for staring. I was expecting a stranger, but I saw you in church this morning.”

“A rare occurrence, I assure you,” Morgan told him, feeling hot color steal up her neck. “But it
is
Christmas. And I didn’t have anything else to do. With the electricity out, I knew I wouldn’t get much work done today once my laptop battery died. I see you found my scarf.”

He held it out. “A fir tree out front was wearing it. The wind here can be pretty fierce.”

“So I discovered last night. Thanks for rescuing this.” She draped the black cashmere scarf over a convenient chair. “What brings you over on a holiday?” she asked, emphasizing the last word.

She was sounding more and more like the Morgan he’d dealt with before, Grant thought.

“I tried to call several times yesterday to make sure you’d arrived safely and had settled in, but you never answered. Then, when I called this morning, I discovered the phones weren’t working. I also heard the electricity was out in parts of the peninsula, and Jo’s cottage is often affected when that happens. So I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He glanced toward the fireplace. “I laid a fire in the grate, but I see you discovered the back-up kerosene heaters. Is everything else okay?”

Morgan looked at the fireplace. She hadn’t even noticed the stacked kindling, waiting to be lit. She was touched by the thoughtful gesture—and by his visit. Even though it was Christmas, Grant had gone out of his way to check on her. For the first time since his arrival, there was genuine warmth in her voice when she replied.

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted your holiday.”

“I was on my way to my sister’s, so it wasn’t a problem. Did you find the candles?” He started to pull his gloves back on.

“I didn’t even look. It was already light when the electricity went out.”

“There should be some on the bottom shelf of the credenza by the table. Let me check.”

As he moved through the living room and into the dining area, he glanced at the table. Morgan was sure his perceptive eyes missed nothing—neither the ad copy spread across the surface nor the soup, tuna and crackers. She expected him to make some comment about working on Christmas, but when he turned back to her, his question surprised her. “Is that your dinner?”

“I planned to stop on the way up and get a few things, but I left the office late and the weather turned bad, so I just kept driving. I have a couple of frozen microwave dinners, though, if the electricity ever comes back on.”

“That could take a while.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about gaining weight over the holiday,” she said with a rueful smile.

“Besides, I’m sure the stores in town will be open tomorrow. I can stock up on what I need then.”

But that didn’t solve her problem today. Instead of responding, Grant turned and pulled open the door of the credenza, crouching down to check out the bottom shelf—and buy himself some time. He and Morgan might be reluctant partners with major philosophical differences, but he didn’t feel right about leaving her alone to eat tuna and a bowl of cold soup on Christmas Day. Not when Kit always made enough food for an army and would be the first to invite Morgan to join them if she was here. Even though Morgan wouldn’t be among Grant’s first choice of holiday guests, he couldn’t in good conscience leave her out in the cold, figuratively speaking. Not after just listening this morning to the familiar Christmas tale about no room in the inn. And not after his prayer in church, when he’d asked the Lord to let Morgan feel His love and care in a tangible way. It seems that he’d been appointed the instrument to make that happen. Maybe God had a sense of humor, he thought, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

Standing, he brushed off his hands. “Looks like you’re well-fixed for candles. And I found a flashlight, too.” He flicked it on and off, verifying that the battery was still working, then set it on the top of the credenza.

“Thanks again for stopping by,” Morgan said.

“Look, why don’t you join us for dinner?” Grant said before his charitable impulse deserted him. “My sister, Kit, always makes plenty, and she won’t mind one more guest.”

Startled, Morgan shook her head. “I couldn’t do that. It would be too much of an imposition, especially on Christmas. Besides, I’m not that hungry. This will be fine. But I do appreciate the thought.”

Okay. He’d done his Christian duty by inviting her to dinner, and she’d refused. So he was off the hook. He could walk away and enjoy the afternoon with his family, Grant rationalized.

But for some reason, the image of Morgan in church, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, kept replaying in his mind. She didn’t strike him as someone who often gave in to such displays of emotion. Although she seemed to be fine now, he couldn’t forget that moment in church. Or the pain he’d seen in her eyes. And for that reason, even more than basic Christian charity, he felt the need to make one more try.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with prime rib and glazed carrots and homemade rolls, not to mention a fabulous white chocolate raspberry cheesecake?”

Morgan’s resolution wavered. She glanced at the proofs spread across the table, then at her meager dinner. Neither were appealing. But she couldn’t just barge in on Grant’s family. It wouldn’t be right. “I can’t do that to your sister, Grant. But I do appreciate the invitation.”

Hesitating only for a moment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cell phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled.

“Calling Kit. I’ll double check, if that will make you feel better about it.”

“Oh, no, please don’t put her on the spot like…”

“Kit? It’s Grant. Listen, I’m at the cottage with Jo’s niece. There’s no electricity here and she didn’t have a chance to stop and buy any groceries. All she’s got is a can of soup and some tuna.” There was a pause before Grant spoke again. “That’s what I told her. But she doesn’t want to impose.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll put her on.”

He held the phone out to Morgan, who had no choice but to take it.

“This is Morgan.”

“Morgan? Kit Adams. I hear you’re in need of a meal.” The woman’s voice was friendly and open.

“As a matter of fact, I’m not. I told Grant that what I had was fine. I’m sorry he bothered you.”

“He’d be a lot sorrier if he hadn’t and I found out later what you had for Christmas dinner. Trust me, I have enough food to feed a dozen people, let alone eight. Please come. Jo was very special to us, and she always came for dinner if she was here on a holiday. We’d be honored to have you in her place.”

Grant was leaning against the island that separated the kitchen from the dining area, arms folded across his chest, an I-told-you-so look on his face when she looked his way.

There didn’t seem to be any polite way to decline the invitation. Not that Morgan wanted to. As the day had worn on, her thoughts had drifted with increasing frequency to A.J. and Clare and Christmases past. She’d felt more and more alone, and her work had grown less and less appealing. Now, thanks to Grant and his sister, she had another option.

“All right. If you’re sure it’s no trouble?”

“None at all. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Hitting the Off button, Morgan handed the phone back to Grant. “Your sister is very persuasive.”

For the first time since he’d arrived he gave her a genuine smile, and Morgan felt her heart beat double-time. Of course she’d noticed that Grant was a nice-looking man. But that smile…it transformed his face, and in the blink of an eye he went from nice-looking to heart-stopping handsome. Morgan met lots of attractive men in her business, but most of them
knew
they were good-looking. The appealing thing about Grant Kincaid was that he seemed completely unaware of his charm. Which made it all the more potent.

“Tell me about it. Kit is very diplomatic but single-minded. Most of the time she accomplishes whatever she sets out to do,” Grant replied, his voice tinged with affection. “How soon can you be ready to leave? Kit is pretty laid-back about most things, but when she plans a big dinner, she expects her guests to be on time.” He checked his watch, revealing a crisp white cuff and gold cuff link below the sleeve of a dark-gray suit. “I figure we’ve got thirty minutes, at best.”

Morgan looked from his formal attire to her black pants and angora sweater, feeling underdressed. “I didn’t bring any fancy clothes for this weekend.”

He gave her a quick but thorough once-over. “You’re fine just like that. I’m going to change into more casual clothes when I get to Kit’s. I just went right from church to…I had another stop to make.”

“In that case, give me five minutes.”

Morgan took only enough time to run a comb through her hair and touch up her makeup before rejoining Grant in the living room. He stood when she entered, then reached for her coat and held it as she slid her arms inside.

“Thanks,” she murmured, turning to face him as she buttoned it. “I’ll just follow you there.”

“It might be better if I drove you. These back roads can be tricky.”

She smiled, but she wanted to be able to leave at the time of her choosing without disrupting the party for anyone else. When she spoke, her voice was firm. “I found that out last night, after I drove in circles for an hour. But I’ve already been to town today and I have a better sense of direction now. Thank you for offering, though.”

Given the determined tilt of her chin and the uncompromising expression in her eyes, it was clear that her mind was made up. So Grant didn’t push. “Okay. Let’s head out.”

He took her arm as they made their way across the slippery drive, his grip tightening when she lost her footing on a patch of ice.

When he glanced at her boots, she gave him a wry smile. “Don’t even say it. These were bought for the streets of Boston, not the wilds of Maine. And, as I discovered last night, the two do not mix. I’ll be better prepared on my next trip.”