Maybe so. He knew as well as anyone the influence a childhood trauma could have on the rest of a person’s life.
“Let’s finish up with a carol before we go downstairs for dessert.” Maggie glanced toward Pastor Jim, who obediently seated himself behind the piano.
“What will it be?” he asked, playing a chord or two.
“‘Away in a Manger,’” several children said at once.
“You’ve got it.” He began to play.
Grant tried to open his mouth, to sing like everyone else.
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed.
But something had a stranglehold on his throat, and he seemed to see his brother’s face, his eyes shining in the light of a thousand candles.
He’d thought he could cope with this, but the old anger and bitterness welled up in him so strongly that it was a wonder it wasn’t written all over him.
Maggie had her arms around a couple of the children as they sang. She glanced at him, and apparently his expression caused her to stumble over a phrase.
Maybe his feelings were written on his face. All he could think was that the moment the song was over, he was out of there.
The expression on Grant’s face when the children began to sing the old carol grabbed at Maggie’s heart and wouldn’t let go. Dr. Grant Hardesty, the man she’d thought had everything, looked suddenly bereft.
She couldn’t have seen what she thought she’d seen. That glimpse into his soul shook her, rattling all her neat preconceptions about who and what he was.
The last notes of the carol still lingered on the air as people started to make their way to the church basement and the homemade pies. Grant looked as if he intended to head straight back the aisle and out the door.
Aunt Elly didn’t give him the opportunity. She grabbed his arm as soon as they stood, steering him toward the stairs at the rear of the sanctuary.
Maggie followed, shepherding the flock of children along the aisle. She was close enough to hear Aunt Elly as they reached the back of the church.
“Come along now.” She hustled him toward the stairs. “You don’t want to get last choice of the pie, do you?”
Grant was out of Maggie’s sight for a few minutes as they started down. By the time she and her charges had reached the church basement, he had resumed his cool, well-bred expression. That brief moment when she’d glimpsed an inner pain might have been her imagination, but she couldn’t quite make herself believe that.
The children scattered, some racing for the table, others searching for their parents. She hesitated. Should she go up to Grant and introduce him around? She hadn’t brought him. That was clearly Aunt Elly’s idea.
“Come on, Doc.” Isaiah Martin, looking better dressed than he had been for his clinic visit, waved toward Grant. “Get up here and pick out a slab of pie.”
Friendly hands shoved him toward the table on a wave of agreement. Feeding him was their way of welcoming him. Would he recognize that?
“Here you go, Doc.” Evie Moore slid a piece of cherry pie onto a flowered plate. “That’s my cherry pie, and you won’t find better anywhere, if I do say so myself. Those cherries come right off my tree. Now, what else will you have?”
“That’s plenty,” he began. Then he stopped, apparently realizing from the offended expressions on the other women that he’d made a strategic mistake.
He wasn’t her responsibility. Still, maybe she’d better rescue him. Maggie slipped closer.
“You’d better try all of them,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t want to insult anyone.”
“I can’t eat fourteen pieces of pie unless you want to let out my lab coats.” He slanted a smile at her, apparently not surprised to find her at his elbow. “How about getting me out of this?”
Suppressing that little flutter his smile provoked, she took a knife and split the piece of pie, sliding part onto a different plate. “Let’s give Dr. Hardesty a little sliver of each kind,” she suggested.
The pie bakers greeted that with enthusiasm. Evie might be acknowledged as the best cherry pie baker, but no one else intended to be left in the dust. Before Grant escaped from the serving line, they’d managed to add slivers of dried apple, rhubarb, lemon meringue and mincemeat pie.
Maggie helped herself to coffee, then realized that Grant had headed straight for the table where Joey sat. Her nerves stood at attention.
By now, all five hundred and three residents of Button Gap knew about the warning Gus had delivered. They were all on the lookout for Mrs. Hadley. Everyone, in other words, but Grant.
She reached the table quickly. She thought Joey understood how important it was to keep quiet about their mother’s absence, but kids were unpredictable, and it was her job to keep them safe.
Joey wore a rim of cherry around his mouth. “Sure is good pie,” he said thickly.
“You better take it easy, or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Relieved, Maggie slid into the seat next to Joey. Unfortunately, that put her directly across from Grant.
His level brows lifted. “Are you talking to Joey or to me?”
“Both of you.”
“You’re the one who made me accept all of this,” he protested.
“You didn’t want to insult anyone, did you?”
He glanced at the crowded plate. “If it’s that or my arteries, I think I’ll take the arteries.” He took a bite of Evie’s cherry pie, and then gave a sigh of pure pleasure. “Although this might be worth the risk.”
Their smiles entangled, and her heart rate soared.
You’re mad at him, remember? she reminded herself, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. Maybe she’d better concentrate on finishing her dessert and getting the kids home.
Unfortunately Grant seemed to be eating at the same rate she was. He put his plate on the dish cart right behind her, grabbed his coat while she was getting the kids into theirs and walked out the door when they did.
“It’s chilly out here.” He buttoned the top button of his jacket.
She nodded. “Winter comes early in the mountains. We usually have a white Christmas.”
By Christmas, Nella would be safely home with her children, and one source of Maggie’s concern would be taken care of. By Christmas, Grant would be back in his world, probably forgetting about Button Gap the moment he crossed the county line.
The kids romped ahead of them. Joey stopped in the middle of the deserted street. He spun in a circle, his arms spread wide. “Snow!” he shouted.
Maggie looked up. Sure enough, a few lazy flakes drifted down from the dark sky.
“It is snow.” She felt the feather-light touch of a snowflake on her cheek. “Look!”
Her foot hit a pothole in the road, and she stumbled. Grant’s arm went around her in an instant, keeping her from falling.
“You’re as bad as the kids.” His voice was low and teasing in her ear. “Next thing you know you’ll be dancing in the street.”
“Is that so bad?”
She looked up at him and knew immediately she’d made a mistake. Grant’s face was very close, his eyes warm with laughter instead of cool and judging. His arm felt strong and sure, supporting her.
The laughter in his eyes stilled, replaced by something questioning, even longing. Nothing moved—no one spoke. The children’s voices were a long way off, and the world seemed to move in a lazy circle.
He