Welcome Back to Apple Grove (19 page)

“Wait—”

She lifted the spatula and pointed it at his plate.

He knew what she wanted him to do. Somewhere he found the strength to grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t call me ma’am,” she grumbled. “Makes me feel old.”

When he opened his mouth to speak, she picked up the spatula again. He laughed and continued to eat, grateful when she placed two slices of toast on a paper towel next to his plate and slid the jar of peanut butter next to his hand.

“How do you know what I need to eat?”

She shrugged. “Low blood sugar runs in our family, so I don’t have to think about what will get me back on track fast. I know without thinking.”

He was already feeling better as the eggs hit his stomach.

As his system leveled out, he noticed her mug was nearly empty and got up to pour her more.

“Thanks.”

Her sweet smile did things to his heart that he’d never really felt before. With a blinding flash of insight, he realized he’d found the one his ma had always told him was out there waiting for him.

He got his mug and sat across from her, watching the way she brushed her bangs out of her eyes before lifting the cup to her lips and blowing across it to cool it. Lifting his mug in a silent toast to her, he waited for her smile to reach her pretty green eyes.

He couldn’t wait to bring her home to meet his family.

Grace drove home, trying hard to keep her mind on the road and not on the man who’d wrapped himself around her heart so quickly it felt as if they’d been together for years.

“How is that possible?” Needing to focus on where she was going and not where she’d been, she set thoughts of Patrick Garahan aside, to be taken out later and savored like a giant-sized chocolate bar. Both were drool worthy, but the former wouldn’t add any inches to her hips.

Chuckling to herself as she drove, she was in a great mood by the time she’d parked in front of Mulcahys. It was later than she’d hoped to arrive. “Locked.”
No
matter
, she thought. She could probably still get in through the back unless somebody moved the spare key Grace kept above the door.

Walking through the alley between her family’s shop and the Apple Grove Diner, her mind was focused on a broad-shouldered hunk with auburn hair. She didn’t notice that she wasn’t alone until she walked into something solid and felt the cruel grip manacling her right wrist.

“Hey!” She struggled against his hold before looking up. Ice began to form in her blood. A dark-haired stranger was glaring at her. Instincts had her digging deep to remember the moves her father had taught her and her sisters.

The stranger mistakenly thought he had the advantage when she let her arm go slack in his grip. He started to smile. She stomped on his foot and plowed her fist into his nose. The satisfying cracking sound eased the pain singing up her arm from the impact.

“You bitch!” he roared, releasing his hold on her.

She drew in a deep breath and did something she hadn’t done since sixth grade; she screamed for help. The sound of heavy footfalls headed her way, and she turned away from her attacker—a mistake, because a shove from behind sent her down hard on both knees.

Deep voices answering her call gave her the strength to get up and start to give chase, knowing there was only one direction to go—toward the Main Street end of the alley. She stumbled but kept going, ignoring the pain in her knees.

“Call Mitch!” Charlie shouted, tossing his cell phone at her as he and Tommy sprinted past her.

Grateful for a moment to catch her breath, she leaned against the wall and dialed 911. When Cindy Harrington answered, she cleared her throat and told her what had happened. While Cindy kept her talking, Kate and Peggy were already running toward her.

“Grace!” Peggy called to her.

“Oh my God!” Kate shrieked. “You’re bleeding.”

Grace looked from her friend’s horrified face to the front of the T-shirt she’d borrowed from Patrick. The block letters spelling out FDNY were covered with blood. The sight of it left her light-headed. “Not mine,” she managed.

“Come on, honey,” Peggy crooned, putting an arm around Grace’s waist.

“You need to sit,” Kate told her, slipping her arm around Grace from the other side. “Your poor knees.”

Grace looked down and swore. “These jeans weren’t even broken in yet.” Sandwiched between the McCormack sisters, Grace let herself be led to the diner.

Inside, they pushed her onto a chair by the front window. Peggy went to fetch her first-aid kit, while Kate asked, “Who did this to you?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

Peggy returned with a bowl of steaming water, peroxide, and a bag of cotton balls. “Doc’s on his way,” Peggy told her.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Tough,” Peggy grumbled.

“Wait!” Kate called out. “I should probably take a picture in case Mitch needs it.”

Grace was about to tell Kate she watched too much TV when the pain in her wrists had her remembering the bruises on Kate’s. They hadn’t caught the guy who assaulted her friend. What were the odds that he’d come back?

Mulling it over, she waited while Kate took the picture and Peggy started cleaning her knees. She sucked in a breath as the peroxide started doing its job. “That stings.”

Peggy glanced up but kept working. “That’s how you know it’s getting rid of the dirt and stones and whatever else got ground into your knees when you landed in the alley.”

Before her friend could switch to the other knee, Jack burst through the open door. “Grace! What happened?”

The concern in his tone felt like a hug. Despite the fact that she said she didn’t want anyone to call him, she did feel better knowing that someone from her family was here for her.

“She was attacked,” Kate told him.

Jack looked from Kate to Peggy and back to Grace. “Thanks, Peggy. I’ll take it from here.”

With a deft hand and light touch, he had her other knee cleansed and free of debris by the time Charlie and Tommy walked into the diner. Both young men were out of breath and covered in sweat. “We almost caught him,” Charlie told her.

“Yeah, but he’d parked a car behind the
Gazette
and had one of those key chains that you can start your car with.”

“Bastard was a few steps ahead of us when he leaped in the car and drove away.”

“Did you get the license plate number?” Grace asked, hoping they had at least that much.

“I only got the first three numbers,” Charlie said.

“He was driving a Crown Vic,” Tommy told them. “You know, like one of those undercover cop cars on TV.”

Kate had grabbed one of the pads they used to take orders and started jotting down whatever was said. “OK,” she said, turning toward Grace. “What did the son of a bitch look like?”

Grace described him as best she could, but other than his height, build, and hair color, she hadn’t had time to get a good look at him.

Rhonda showed up a few minutes later with Grace’s father and Mary. The room was buzzing with conjecture and offers of getting a posse together—that would be her dad’s idea. It made Grace smile.

While Charlie and Tommy took Rhonda out to the alley to take pictures, Mitch told them to wait for Deputy Jones. They grumbled but did as he asked. A few minutes later, the four of them went outside.

Mary waited until Jack was finished checking out Grace’s hands and knees before she shooed him to the side. “Let’s get the blood off that shirt.” As she was leading Grace to the ladies’ room, Mitch walked into the diner and told them to wait.

“I brought a spare shirt with me.” He handed it to Grace. “I need yours for evidence.”

She was hesitant to turn the shirt that still had a hint of Patrick’s scent on it over to him but knew it would be important if they could identify her attacker’s blood type. “It’s not mine,” she warned.

Mitch nodded. “You can tell Patrick he can have it back when we’re through.”

She froze in her tracks. “I didn’t say who it belonged to.”

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze met hers. “And that’s why I’m the sheriff around these parts,” he told her, making her smile. “I know things.”

“I took notes, Mitch,” Kate said, handing them over while Mary tugged on Grace’s arm to get her moving again.

“What you need is a cup of my special tea,” Mary told her, holding the door to the ladies’ room open for Grace. “Do you want any help?”

Grace shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Mary told her, handing her the clean shirt Mitch had brought. “But you will be.”

A few minutes later, Grace opened the door and nearly tripped over Mary. “You didn’t have to wait.”

“It was either me or your father,” Mary said.

“Thanks,” she said and meant it, feeling another knot of tension loosen. “I guess I could use a cup of tea after all.”

“I’ll just ask your father to run across the street to my shop for the bottle.”

“Bottle?” Grace had no idea what she was talking about.

“A splash of the Irish in a hot cup of tea will set you to rights,” Mary promised. “You’ll see.”

Winding their way around the tables, Mary called out, “Joseph!”

Her father’s grim expression softened when his gaze met Grace’s and he started walking toward them. “You punched him good, baby girl.”

Grace smiled. “He didn’t start bleeding right away, though,” she told him.

Joe’s mouth twitched as he fought to keep a straight face. “All of my girls know how to throw a solid punch,” he told Mary. “Taught them myself.”

Mary tut-tutted and made shooing motions at Joe. “Gracie needs me to fix her up with a special cup of tea.”

His eyes softened as understanding flowed between them. “Be right back.”

“Such a dear man.” Mary sighed.

Her father returned with the bottle and let Mary doctor Grace’s tea while his daughter gave the bloody shirt to Mitch.

A fan of TV crime dramas, Grace wasn’t surprised that Mitch didn’t handle the shirt, merely holding open a Ziploc bag that Peggy had given to him to be used as an evidence bag.

“I’ll need to call Pat to get his blood type.”

“Is that really necessary?” She hadn’t planned on talking to Pat until this evening.

“He’s got the kind of job where bleeding is part of the territory. If you’d rather call him and explain why you need to know, that’s fine with me as long as you call him right now.”

What should she do? She didn’t want to interrupt him on the job. He needed to focus in order to save lives and keep himself and his fellow firefighters safe.

“Can’t you call his lieutenant and explain why you want to know?” Grace asked Mitch. “I don’t want Patrick to be distracted on the job.”

Mitch nodded at the wisdom of her request. “I’ll have Cindy put the call through to dispatch and handle it that way.” He paused in the doorway. “If I were you,” he said, “I’d either call the man or send him a text message.”

With that threat left hanging in the air, Kate settled next to Grace in the booth and picked up Grace’s mug, taking a sip and then promptly choking on the sip. “What’s in there?”

Grace grinned. “Mary fixed it for me.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Tastes like my grandmother’s cure-all.”

Peggy was laughing when she poured another round of coffee for the people still hanging around the diner waiting to hear the latest update on Grace’s attacker.

Grace was surprised when her father walked over and handed her his cell phone. “It’s for you.”

“Who’d call me on your phone when I have my own…” Her voice trailed off. “I guess it’s still in my car.”

Her father’s gaze held hers for a moment. “Cindy must have already gotten through to the Newark Fire Department. Patrick needs to talk to you.”

“Your words,” she asked, “or his?”

“Both,” her father bit out, shoving the phone into her hands. “Talk to the man.”

Grace wasn’t ready for Patrick to be worried about her safety.
Funny
how
relationships
unfold
, she thought.
Getting
to
know
one
another
physically
first, then the intimate details of what’s in your head and your heart
.

“Grace?” The deep voice had her concentration shifting to matters closer at hand.

“Hey. Sorry, my phone’s in the car and I didn’t have a chance to—”

“Are you all right? Where are you hurt? Did they catch the bastard yet?”

Patrick’s quickly fired questions left her feeling a bit shaky as the moment of panic in the alleyway washed over her.

“Grace?” he pleaded. “Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, I got blood on your shirt, but you’ll get it back all cleaned up after Mitch is through with it.”

“I don’t care about my shirt—did you say blood?” She could hear the click as he swallowed. “I’ll be there in a half hour,” he ground out.

“It’s not mine,” she said, “and it’s at least a forty-five-minute drive from Newark.”

“He hurt you,” Patrick rasped.

“Peggy and Doc Gannon patched me up. Mary Murphy is plying me with spiked hot tea. You need to stay at work; people are counting on you.”

“It’s been quiet,” he told her. “We’ve been catching up on cleaning the rig and the firehouse.”

“I’m sure that won’t last all day,” she said. “Trust me to know that I’m OK and that you shouldn’t worry.”

When he didn’t answer her, she motioned for her father to come back over. “Pop, please tell Patrick that I really am fine and that he doesn’t need to drive all the way over here to see for himself.”

Her father talked to Patrick for a few minutes before disconnecting. Grace was about to thank him when her father told her to sit still. “Smile, damn it.”

She laughed and her father took a picture. “So that’s how you’re convincing him not to leave work?”

His nod of agreement actually eased one of the knots in her belly. “He’ll be picking you up at seven o’clock.”

“But, Pop…”

Her father shook his head and told her to deal with it. “The man cares about you. Let him.”