"It may hurt you more to find them." He looked down at their joined hands. "The past has a lot of nasty trapdoors. It's a tenuous tie, Brianna, between you and Amanda's child. Stronger ones are broken every day."
"My father loved her," she said simply. "The child she bore is kin. There's nothing else to do but look."
"Not for you," he murmured as his eyes scanned her face. There was strength there mixed with the sadness. "Let me help you."
"How?"
"I know a lot of people. Finding someone's mostly research, phone tag, connections."
"Rogan's hired a detective in New York."
"That's a good start. If he doesn't turn up something soon, will you let me try?" He lifted a brow. "Don't say it's kind of me."
"All right I won't, though it is." She brought their joined hands to her cheek. "I was angry with you for pushing me to tell you. But it helped." She tilted her face toward his. "You knew it would."
"I'm innately nosy."
"You are, yes. But you knew it would help."
"It usually does." He stood, scooped her from the rock. "It's time to go back. I'm ready to work."
Chapter Eleven
The chain the story had around his throat kept Gray shackled to his desk for days. Curiosity turned the key in the lock now and again as guests came and went from the cottage.
He'd had it to himself, or nearly so for so many weeks, he thought he might find the noise and chatter annoying. Instead it was cozy, like the inn itself, colorful, like the flowers that were beginning to bloom in Brianna's garden, bright as those first precious days of spring.
When he didn't leave his room, he would always find a tray outside his door. And when he did, there was a meal and some new company in the parlor. Most stayed only a night, which suited him. Gray had always preferred quick, uncomplicated contacts.
But one afternoon he came down, stomach rumbling, and tracked Brianna to the front garden.
"Are we empty?"
She glanced up from under the brim of her garden hat. "For a day or two, yes. Are you ready for a meal?"
"It can wait until you're finished. What are you doing there?"
"Planting. I want pansies here. Their faces always look so arrogant and smug." She sat back on her heels. "Have you heard the cuckoo calling, Grayson?"
"A clock?"
"No." She laughed and patted earth tenderly around roots. "I heard the cuckoo call when I walked with Con early this morning, so we're in for fine weather. And there were two magpies chattering, which means prosperity will follow." She bent back to her work. "So, perhaps another guest will find his way here."
"Superstitious, Brianna. You surprise me."
"I don't see why. Ah, there's the phone now. A reservation."
"I'll get it." As he was already on his feet, he beat her to the parlor phone. "Blackthorn Cottage. Arlene? Yeah, it's me. How's it going, beautiful?"
With a faint frown around her mouth, Brianna stood in the doorway and wiped her hands on the rag she'd tucked in her waistband.
"Any place I hang my hat," he said in response to her question of whether he was feeling at home in Ireland. When he saw Brianna start to step back and fade from the room, he held out a hand in invitation. "What's it like in New York?" He watched Brianna hesitate, step forward. Gray linked his fingers with hers and began to nuzzle her knuckles. "No, I haven't forgotten that was coming up. I haven't given it much thought. If the spirit moves me, sweetheart."
Though Brianna tugged on her hand and frowned, he only grinned and kept his grip firm.
"I'm glad to hear that. What's the deal?" He paused, listening and smiling into Brianna's eyes. "That's generous,
Arlene, but you know how I feel about long-term commitments. I want it one at a time, just like always."
As he listened, he made little sounds of agreement, hums of interest, and nipped his way down to Brianna's wrist. It didn't do his ego any harm to feel her pulse scrambling.
"It sounds more than fine to me. Sure, push the Brits a bit further if you think you can. No, I haven't seen the London Times. Really? Well, that's handy, isn't it? No, I'm not being a smartass. It's great. Thanks. I-what? A fax? Here?" He snickered, leaned forward, and gave Brianna a quick, friendly kiss on the mouth. "Bless you, Arlene. No, just send it through the mail, my ego can wait. Right back at you, beautiful. I'll be in touch."
He said his goodbyes and hung up with Brianna's hand still clutched in his.
When she spoke, the chill in her voice lowered the temperature of the room by ten degrees. "Don't you think it's rude to be flirting with one woman on the phone and kissing another?"
His already pleased expression brightened. "Jealous, darling?"
"Certainly not."
"Just a little." He caught her other hand before she could evade and brought both to his lips. "Now that's progress. I almost hate to tell you that was my agent. My very married agent, who though dear to my heart and my bankbook is twenty years older than I and the proud grandmother of three."
"Oh." She hated to feel foolish almost as much as she hated to feel jealous. "I suppose you want that meal now."
"For once, food's the last thing on my mind." What was on it was very clear in his eyes as he tugged her closer. "You look really cute in that hat."
She turned her head just in time to avoid his mouth. His lips merely skimmed over her cheek. "Was it good news then, her calling?"
"Very good. My publisher liked the sample chapters I sent them a couple weeks ago and made an offer."
"That's nice." He seemed hungry enough to her, the way he was nibbling at her ear. "I suppose I thought you sold books before you wrote them, like a contract."
"I don't do multiples. Makes me feel caged in." So much so that he had just turned down a spectacular offer for three projected novels. "We deal one at a time, and with Arlene in my corner, we deal nicely."
A warmth was spreading in her stomach as he worked his way leisurely down her neck. "Five million you told me. I can't imagine so much."
"Not this time." He cruised up her jaw. "Arlene strong-armed them up to six point five."