to compare to Gracie’s. Grabbing a can of styling spray, she said quickly, “First, let’s fix those ribbons in your hair.”
Gracie looked longingly at the pink can of spray, the kind her mom used to buy. “Can I, Johnny?”
No “uncle,” just Johnny, Grace noted. Leave it to Johnny to waive the formalities.
He gave his consent in the form of a wary shrug, standing well away from the spray while Grace lightly misted Gracie’s hair. Minutes later, they exited the shop.
Little Gracie was adorable and Grace felt a pride in Janelle’s child, a pride she supposed Janelle had felt tenfold. She imagined herself brushing Gracie’s hair each morning, tucking her into bed at night.
She imagined tucking Johnny into bed, too....
“Hey, Gold Groceries is still open?” Johnny said, pointing just down the street at the store’s sign.
Grace always thought it had been Johnny who’d thrown the rock that broke the bulb that lit up the “G,” leaving the sign to read “old” Groceries.
“Let’s walk down there and I’ll get some stuff for lunch.”
She glanced uneasily at Johnny. “I have plenty of food at the farm.”
“Bet you don’t have the right kind of peanut butter. Come on, I want Gracie to see Gold’s. I remember hanging around there, drinking pop and watching girls.”
“I remember you were banned from the store,” Grace muttered, hoping by get some stuff for lunch, Johnny meant he would pay for it. His parents had paid dearly for the fireworks he’d stolen.
Grace started after him, certain Henry Gold wouldn’t share Johnny’s enthusiasm if he knew Johnny was coming to his store.
As they walked down the street, Gracie skipped before them, never more than two cracks in the sidewalk ahead. Grace thought all of Ashville must be watching and wondering over Johnny’s return. She imagined the last thing they would think was that he’d come back to marry her.
Although, watching Gracie’s carefree skipping, Grace could understand Johnny’s desire to raise his shy niece in the quiet town of Ashville as opposed to the city. She pressed her lips wryly. She could understand, as well, why Johnny’s lawyer thought marriage would make the court more amenable to his keeping guardianship of Gracie.
Johnny drifted closer to her side, until his arm brushed her shoulder and their hips met occasionally, the skirt of her jumper ruffled by the brush of his jeans. She wanted to look up at him, see the blueblack shine of his hair in the sun, but she ignored the impulse. Instead, she contemplated the prospect of Johnny raising Gracie, when all he’d ever raised was Cain.
She wanted to help Gracie, too. But the truth was, she didn’t know much more about kids than Johnny. Her mother’s struggle with Alzheimer’s had resulted in her spending many hours at home or at the Ashville Nursing Home, instead of baby-sitting like most teenage girls. And the idea of marriage to Johnny, once a dream of hers, seemed only a painful prospect, with the knowledge that he didn’t love her.
Gracie spotted the store, interrupting Grace’s thoughts with her excitement as she read her initial, G, on the sign to Johnny.
Johnny grinned. “Just seeing that place makes me want a beefstick and a cola.”
“Hardly an appropriate lunch for a little girl,” Grace pointed out, certain that was just what he had in mind.
“I like peanut butter,” Gracie said.
“With celery,” Johnny added. “Let’s go.”
Inside, the store was cool and dim and quiet. Henry came from behind the counter, wearing a clean white apron over his bib overalls. His frown had left wrinkles over the years, and his drawn eyebrows were now white, matching the wispy hair on his head. Johnny towered over him at six feet, but that didn’t keep Henry from aiming his famous glare at Johnny.
“Well, if it ain’t Johnny Tremont. Heard you was in jail and heard you was rich. Which is it?”
“Well, I’m not in jail,” Johnny said pointedly, leaving Grace to hope he would mind his temper.
“Humph. I got mirrors now.” Henry pointed his gnarled finger over the door and to a back corner of the little square store. “And alarms.” Henry nodded toward Gracie. “Who have you got there?”
Grace expected little Gracie to wilt beneath Henry’s perpetual glare. But Gracie only stared at Henry, a funny little smile on her face.
Johnny rested his hand on Gracie’s shoulder. “This is my niece, Gracie.”
As much as was possible, Henry’s face softened. “I was sorry to hear about Janelle.” Then he added meaningfully, “She was a good girl.” He frowned down at Gracie. “Are you a good girl?”
Gracie nodded vigorously. “Johnny said so.”
“Humph. Don’t break anything in the store. If you don’t break anything, I’ll give you a candy.” Henry shuffled behind the counter, mumbling about apples falling close to the tree.
Johnny drew a deep breath and headed down the aisle to the peanut butter. Grace knew he would find it in the same place that it had been ten years ago.
“He’s Grumpy,” Gracie chimed, looking back at Henry.
“Old grouch hasn’t changed any, that’s for sure,” Johnny muttered.
“No, like Grumpy the dwarf,” Gracie explained.
Grace laughed. “You mean the dwarf in Snow White?”
“Johnny reads it to me,” Gracie said, choosing peanut butter and leaving Grace to contend with the appealing image of Johnny reading a fairy tale, his niece cuddled beside him.
In all her years of daydreaming about Johnny, it was certainly not something she’d ever imagined before.
Gracie’s presence seemed to have quite an effect on Johnny. Years ago, Johnny and Henry had had a running feud, Johnny laughing off every battle. Now he almost seemed bothered by his lingering reputation, most likely because of Gracie.
Along with Gracie’s peanut butter, they chose oranges and celery and ham. Grace insisted she had anything else they might need, but when they reached the counter, Gracie wanted cupcakes. Johnny immediately went in search of the treat with Gracie, holding his niece’s hand. Grace dug in her skirt pocket for quarters to buy Gracie candy, thinking maybe Johnny had changed some after all—
A crash came from the back of the store, followed by the thunder of rolling canned goods.
Grace closed her eyes. Maybe not.
Chapter Two
Gracie.
Grace dropped her quarters on the counter. Henry glared into the mirror over the door, that look of old in his eyes. Ignoring him, she ran to the pyramid of soup cans she’d seen at the back of the store.
She found Johnny holding Gracie safe in his arms, cans rocking to a halt at his feet.
His anxious gaze met Grace’s over top of the little girl’s head. His breath rushed out. “She’s all right.”
Grace felt the tension leave her, only to have it rise again as Henry came to survey the damage, something he’d done often in Johnny’s presence. In the quiet aftermath, the whir of a ceiling fan brought to mind the time Johnny had dropped a bag of flour in front of Henry’s old floor model fan. Grace caught her lip, recalling the shouting match that had ensued. Actually, it had seemed funny at the time.
Henry glowered at Johnny. “Figured it was you.”
Gracie clutched her arms about Johnny’s neck. “Johnny didn’t do it.”
“Humph. Heard that before.”
Gracie’s