“I didn’t know anything about this. Apparently, Pamela and my mother have been planning this little surprise for the last several weeks.”
Meghan would take bets that they’d arranged this about the time Grey had started dating her. She had to give Pamela Riverside credit. Grey’s colleague had used the most effective means possible to show Meghan how ill suited she was to Grey. All the arguments in the universe couldn’t have said it more eloquently than those few stilted moments with his mother. Meghan knew that no matter what Grey felt for her, she would never fit into his world. His family had already rejected her with little more than a passing thought.
Meghan had faced this argument before, but always from her own perspective. She’d stood on the other side of the fence, knowing that her family and friends would accept Grey without a moment’s hesitation. The one sample of her meeting Grey’s colleagues had been slanted in her favor; for the majority of the evening, she’d stayed glued to his side. It was impossible to calculate how the evening had actually gone.
“I’ll phone you tomorrow,” Grey promised.
“I’m working.” She wasn’t due in until three, but twenty-four hours wasn’t long enough for her to analyze her feelings. If she could delay dealing with this until her head was clear and her mind wasn’t clouded with emotions, Meghan knew she would cope better. “When’s your mother leaving?”
“Not until Sunday afternoon.”
“It probably would be better if you waited until then to contact me, don’t you think?” This was Meghan’s subtle method of keeping the peace for Grey’s sake. She didn’t doubt he would get an earful later. His mother was bound to tell him how improper a relationship with Meghan was the minute she drove out of sight. On second thought, Frances Carlyle was intelligent enough to relay the message without ever having to utter a word. She would probably do it in the same manner Pamela Riverside had delivered her own missive to Meghan.
“What my mother thinks or says isn’t going to change the way I feel about you,” he said tightly.
Meghan loved him so much at that moment that it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to break down and weep. She raised her fingers and lovingly ran her hand down the side of his face.
“Thank you for that,” she said, her voice little more than a broken whisper. She lowered her eyes, fearing that if she looked at him much longer, she wouldn’t be able to hold back the emotion straining for release. Her eyes burned and her chest ached.
She started to turn away from him, but his grip on her shoulders tightened and he brought her back against him. Surprised, Meghan raised her gaze to his, only to discover that Grey meant to kiss her. A weak protest rose in her, but she wasn’t allowed to voice any objection. With infinite tenderness, he settled his mouth firmly over hers. His hands on her shoulders were strong enough to lift her onto the tips of her toes.
Meghan opened her mouth to him, kissing him back with all the longing stored in her heart. She gripped the front of his shirt, bunching the material with her fists, holding on to him as though she never intended to let go. She moaned softly as his mouth moved with tender ferocity over her own until they were leaning against each other.
“Meghan,” he whispered, planting a series of soft kisses over her eyes and cheeks. He threaded his fingers through her hair, keeping her close. “I’d rather spend the day with you and your family. I’m sorry it has to be like this.”
“Don’t apologize. I understand, Grey.” She clung to him, her eyes closed. But when she looked up, she happened to notice his mother standing in the picture window, looking out at them. The older woman’s face was creased into a look of disapproval so sharp that Meghan could feel its pointedness all the way across the yard. With some effort, she eased herself out of Grey’s arms.
He opened her car door for her. “I’ll call as soon as I can, but it probably won’t be until Sunday afternoon.”
She nodded and looked away.
“Have a nice Thanksgiving.”
“You, too,” she said, and slipped inside the car and inserted the key into the ignition.
***
“Meghan,” her mother said softly, taking the chair beside her in the kitchen after the Thanksgiving meal was over. “We haven’t had a free moment to talk since you got back from Grey’s. Did you two argue?”
“No. He’s got company from out of town.”
“You hardly touched your dinner.”
“I guess I wasn’t hungry.” The excuse was weak, but it was the best she could come up with. She made a show of looking at her watch. “I suppose I should think about heading off to work.”
“Isn’t it a little early yet?”
“I’m sure Sherry’s swamped,” Meghan explained, hoping her mother would accept that rationalization without voicing an objection. “She’ll appreciate an extra pair of hands—”
“Hey, Meghan,” Danny interrupted, strolling into the kitchen, gnawing on a turkey drumstick. “Can you call Grey and tell him we need him for touch football? We’re one man shy.”
“I already told you he won’t be coming today,” she replied sharply. She hadn’t meant to snap at her brother, but the words had slipped out uncensored before she could put a stop to them.
Danny’s eyes rounded and he shrugged expressively, giving her a wounded look. “Well, I’m sorry for livin’. I thought he’d want to come over, that’s all.”
“I’m sure he did want to join us,” Colleen O’Day assured her son, arching a thoughtful brow in Meghan’s direction.
Meghan stood, pushing in her chair. Her fingers bit into the cushion on the back of the seat. “I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t mean to jump all over you.”
“Will you tell Grey the next time you see him that we missed him?” her brother pressed. “Hey, you’re not breaking up with him, are you? Grey’s neat. I like him.”
“Don’t worry about it, all right? What I do is my own business.”
“You are going to keep dating him, aren’t you?” Danny demanded, not satisfied with her answer.
“Who’s breaking up with whom?” Brian asked, strolling into the kitchen. Allison Flynn was with him, and the two had been holding hands from the minute she arrived. Meghan had watched them during dinner and marveled at how they’d ever managed to eat.
“Meghan and Grey are on the outs,” Danny informed his oldest brother. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to her and she’s dumping him.”
“What?” Brian cried.
“Listen, you two, this isn’t any of your business,” their mother reminded them. “Whatever happens between Meghan and the professor is their own affair.”
“I suppose this means you want us to stay out of it. Right?” Danny asked.
“Exactly,” Meghan told him sternly.
“But, Meghan,” Danny whined, “where would you ever find anyone as nice as Grey? None of your other boyfriends ever took Chad and me to the movies. I like him. Think about that before you go throwing away the greatest guy in the world.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to Meghan. Grey’s mother would be flying out Sunday. Frances Carlyle had four long days to convince Grey how wrong Meghan would be for him, and how perfectly Pamela Riverside would fit into his life.
If Meghan didn’t hear from him Sunday afternoon, she would know exactly how successful his mother had been. It was almost comical when she stopped to think about it. Meghan could have saved Dr. Frances Carlyle a good deal of trouble. She’d already made up her mind about where her relationship with Grey was going.
Nowhere.
***
Grey lay on his bed, his hands linked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. If he lived to be a hundred and ten he would never forget the look on Meghan’s face when she met his mother. She’d marched into his house, insisting he kiss her, and heaven knew he’d been tempted. Then she’d looked around Grey and discovered his mother standing just inside the kitchen, looking at Meghan as though she were the devil incarnate come to corrupt
her only child.
Regrettably, Frances Carlyle was no Colleen O’Day. Grey’s mother meant well, but he’d long ago given up letting her dictate his life. One of the reasons he’d accepted his position with Friends University in Wichita was in order to escape his mother’s constant interference.
For the past three days, Grey had been forced to hear her list Pamela Riverside’s fine qualities over and over again until he’d wanted to shout for her to cease and desist. When that ploy didn’t seem to be working, his mother had gone on to tell how she prayed she would live long enough to enjoy her grandchildren. This was followed by a short sigh, as if to suggest that her stay on earth was only a matter of time and Grey shouldn’t expect her to hang on much longer.
Actually, his mother had missed her calling; she should have been in the theater. And as for grandchildren, Grey sincerely doubted that Frances would want anything to do with his children until they were old enough to conjugate verbs.
Over the course of the next few days, Grey had tried to talk to his mother about Meghan, but every time he mentioned her name, the subject had been subtly changed. Yes, Meghan was “a dear girl”; it was unfortunate she was so … “common.”
Grey chuckled in the dark. Meghan, common! His mother had a good deal to learn about the Irish miss. Meghan O’Day was about as common as green eggs and ham. She was sunshine and laughter, unfathomable, unnerving, and incomprehensible. And he was in love with her.
Meghan had been concerned that he would be upset by what Carol and Carrie had whispered in the theater the other night. To be frank, he had been troubled at first, but he’d tried not to let it bother him. The age difference between him and Meghan was almost ten years, but it hadn’t seemed to affect her. If that was the case, he shouldn’t allow it to worry him.
The one thing that had shaken him more than anything was knowing that his students referred to him as Old Stone Face. He smiled. He had a reasonable sense of humor. Now that he’d met Meghan, it was becoming a little more fine-tuned. His students would notice the changes in him soon enough.
***
The following afternoon, Grey drove his mother to the airport. He did his best not to show his enthusiasm. This visit had been more strained than usual. Frances tried, but she really wasn’t much of a mother—the instincts just hadn’t been there. Her idea of mothering had to do with manipulation and control. She loved him as much as it was possible for her to care about anyone, and he loved her. She was, after all, responsible for giving him life and for nurturing him to the best of her capabilities.
Frances hugged him close. “Keep in touch, Greyson.”
“Yes, Mother,” he said, and dutifully kissed her on the cheek.
“And please consider what I said. It’s time you thought about settling down.”
If he settled down any more, his chest would start sprouting corn, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Pamela is a dear, dear girl. I do hope you’ll try to arrange some time to get to know her better.”
He answered that with a weak smile.
“She’s crazy about you, Greyson, and just the type of woman who will help you in your career. Your father, God rest his soul, would be pleased. Marriage can’t be taken any too lightly, especially by someone in your position. You need a woman who will give you more than attractive children. You must marry someone your equal.” She paused and looked directly into his eyes. “You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother.” Grey clenched his hands into fists, battling down the anger that flared to life so readily. He only needed to hold on a little while longer. She would be gone in a matter of minutes.
“Good.” Frances Carlyle nodded once, looking pleased that her message had been received. She gave her son a smug look and headed into the airport.
Grey hurried home. In fact, he could hardly get there fast enough. The minute he could, he reached for his cell, punching out Meghan’s number with an eagerness that had his fingers shaking. He let it ring ten times before he cut off the call. Meghan wasn’t answering.
Ten
“Hello, Eric, it’s good to see you again,” Meghan said, draining whatever energy she had by coming up with a smile. For three nights straight, she hadn’t gotten more than four hours’ sleep. She was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. Filling his coffee cup, she handed him a menu, then automatically recited Monday’s special—all-you-can-eat spaghetti and meatballs.
“You look terrible,” her college friend commented, studying her through narrowed eyes. “What happened? Did you just lose your best friend?”
In a manner of speaking, that was exactly what had happened. Meghan brushed off his concern with a light laugh. “Don’t be silly.”
“Meghan, sweetie, I recognize men problems when I see them. If you need a shoulder to cry on, you come to Uncle Eric, okay? Or, better yet,” he said enthusiastically, “let me arrange for you to talk to Don Harrison.”
“Who?”
“Don Harrison. You met him two weeks ago at the reading group. Actually, Don’s interest doesn’t lie so much in the classics as it does in you. He’s been pumping me with questions about you every day for the last two weeks, but I’ve discouraged him because I knew you were seeing someone steadily.”
Meghan didn’t even remember meeting Don, but that wasn’t unusual. The reading group had ten faithful members who showed up every week and nearly as many others who came and went as the spirit moved them.
“Listen,” Eric continued, undaunted by her apathy. “I’ll call Don and let him know you could use some cheering up. He’ll be thrilled to hear it.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Meghan told him. She just wasn’t in the mood to see anyone new. Maybe in a few weeks, when her heart was on the mend, but not now. It was too soon. And she felt too raw and vulnerable.
“Why wouldn’t you want to see Don? He’ll provide the right kind of therapy to help you get over this guy who’s making you so miserable.”
It was apparent that Eric wasn’t going to listen to her objections, but she was equally persistent and shook her head. She took the pad out of her pocket, hoping Eric would take the hint and order.
“Give it some thought and let me know, all right?”
“Okay,” she murmured. But she had no intention of dating this guy.
“Everything will look better in the morning,” Eric said confidently. “Just wait and see. Now, don’t argue with your uncle Eric, because he’s all-wise and he knows all about these things because he’s suffered a few broken hearts in his time. By the way, I’ll take the spaghetti and meatballs and a piece of the cherry–sour cream pie.”
Rarely had she been more woeful, she realized. It took effort just to get through the day. No one had ever told her that loving someone could be so painful. All her life, she’d grown up believing that when she fell in love there would be birds chirping some sweet song, apple trees blossoming in the distance, and enchantment swirling about her like champagne bubbles.
What a farce love had turned out to be.
Meghan didn’t even know what she was going to say to Grey. Avoiding him, which she’d succeeded in doing for the last couple days, wasn’t going to work forever. Sooner or later she would have to answer her phone. If she didn’t, he would simply arrive unannounced at Rose’s, and then she wouldn’t be able to escape him.
With that thought in mind, Meghan went on her break. She sat in the employees’ lounge and after a few heart-pounding moments of indecision, she picked up her phone and slowly, deliberately dialed Grey’s number.
“Meghan, where have you been?” he cried, then promptly sneezed. That outburst was followed by a loud, nasty-sounding cough. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two solid days.”
“I … I’ve been busy. How did your visit with your mother go?”
Grey emitted a short laugh. “About as well as they ever do. I know she went out of her way to intimidate you Thanksgiving morning, but I’m hoping you
didn’t let anything she said bother you.”
“No, not in the least,” Meghan lied. Dr. Frances Carlyle had looks that would make a Mafia hit man tremble. In those few minutes she’d spent with the other woman, Meghan had sat with her back straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap. Words she rarely used kept slipping out of her mouth—words and phrases like indeed, quite so, and most certainly.
“My mother often means well,” Grey continued, “but I refuse to allow her to rule my life. And before you say another word, I didn’t have anything to do with Pamela’s joining us for dinner that day. I’m not interested in her and never will be. I’m hoping you realize that by now.”
“You don’t need to worry, Grey. Having Dr. Riverside join you didn’t bother me in the least.” However, Meghan was willing to wager a month’s worth of tip money that his mother would convince him Pamela was the woman of his dreams before the year was out. Meghan was all too aware that this ploy to marry Grey off to Pamela hadn’t been all his mother’s doing. Grey’s esteemed associate had done her share—subtly, of course, but effectively.
“Good, I—” He stopped abruptly and let loose a series of turbulent sneezes. “Sorry. I can’t seem to stop once I get started.”
“You sound terrible, Grey.” Now that she wasn’t so concerned with her own emotional pain, she realized how miserable he seemed to be.
“It’s nothing but a nasty cold. I’ll be over it in a couple days, but I’m sure I’ll feel better by Saturday. This is probably just a twenty-four-hour virus.”
Meghan tightened her grip on the telephone receiver. “Saturday night?”
“We’ve been invited to a dinner party. I mentioned it the other night while we were eating ice cream, remember?”
No, she didn’t. Not at first. Then vaguely her memory was stirred. Knowing how nervous she was about attending these formal affairs with him, Grey had offered to let her scoop up the last of his hot-fudge topping if she would agree to let him escort her to a holiday dinner party at the home of Dr. Essary. High on her love for Grey and his generosity to her brothers, Meghan had willingly agreed to the exchange. Now she felt like a dimwit. All things considered, the last thing she wanted to do was attend a social function with him.