Page 34 of Homecoming

Grace rolled up her window and broke into giggles as soon as he was gone. “Oh, my God. I’m sitting in a church parking lot necking. It was probably good that he stopped, because I don’t know that I could have,” she said, giving him a look.

Owen actually grinned, his thumb running over his hat band again. There was a satisfied look on his face. “You know he feels possessive of you,” he murmured.

Grace winced. “I know,” she sighed. “He’s asked me out a couple of times, but I’ve known him all my life. He was in school with my brother and was always hanging around, so it felt weird when he wanted more.”

Checking her surroundings, she shifted into gear and pulled out of the lot. Her hands were shaking with the aftereffects of Owen’s kiss, and she glanced at him. There was the slightest smirk on his lips, and she could imagine he had some kind of macho crap running through his mind. Something like, he had the girl, and the sheriff didn’t. “You seem smug.”

“I don’t mean to be, but…” he shrugged his broad shoulders, and the smirk spread.

Grace snorted and turned in front of the coffee shop. A car was pulling out as she pulled up, so she took the spot the car vacated. They climbed out and crossed the sidewalk. Owen held the door open for her to enter. As always, the coffee shop was bustling, and there was a line. Grace stopped behind an older gentleman and glanced over her shoulder at Owen. He stood relaxed, his hands hooked on his jeans pockets. Their eyes met, and she couldn’t help flush at the remembered feel of his lips on hers.

Owen Black was a dangerous, fascinating man, and her heart was in serious trouble.

Owen didn’t carethat it was a little too warm in the car, or that his drink was a little too sweet. He only cared about talking to Grace and learning more about her. Her eyes flashed as she laughed about a screwed up job in New York, and he wanted to drag her back into his arms. The woman was like a drug to him, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with all the feelings she was churning up.

He’d kind of thought that if he spent more time with her, she wouldn’t draw him so hard, but it was quite the opposite. Themore she talked and smiled and laughed, the more entranced he became.

And then they went into the church to watch the wedding.

Cars had flowed into the parking lot and well-dressed people had trouped up the steps into the church. At a few minutes before the hour, Grace had urged him out of the car and around the church to the side entrance where they’d taken in the flowers. He followed along as she led him through a dark hallway, then up a set of steps. She glanced at him at one point, a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet. Then she’d let them through a door and onto the mezzanine level. From this vantage point, they would have a perfect view of the bride and groom.

Grace settled onto the bench, and he sat down beside her, fascinated at the way her expression lit up. It was obvious that this woman loved romance.

“Mallory didn’t have a great life growing up,” Grace said, leaning into him slightly, “so I’m so happy that she found someone to love her.”

The music shifted below them, and people quieted. The groom, a nervous-looking blond-haired man, walked out with his groomsmen and stood at the altar, facing the back of the church. Owen smiled along with everyone else as a tiny little boy and girl in wedding finery wandered down the aisle, throwing rose petals. Then came the bridesmaids, all dressed in very pale shades of purple. They lined up opposite the men and smiled as they turned to face the back of the church as well.

The music shifted again, and the wedding march played. Grace tensed beside him, and he looked at her. Her hands were clenched in her lap, and there was a dreamy expression on her face as she watched the bride walk down the aisle. Owen didn’t even look at the bride. He was too fascinated by Grace’s ever changing expressions.

By the time the ceremony drew down to the ‘I do’s’, Grace was a quivering mess. She pulled tissues from somewhere and blotted at her eyes and nose, and she gave him a laughing look. They watched the bride and groom exit as man and wife to a cheering crowd.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she stood when everyone was gone. “The emotion really gets me.”

“Obviously,” he said with a gentle smile.

Owen didn’t mind that Grace was emotional. She had a depth to her and an openness that he struggled with. She was right when she said he was very alone. He was. In the torture camp, he’d been friends with three men, but they’d all died over the course of their captivity. Over the past few years, his life had been transitory and even now, on the mountain, he struggled to connect with the men sometimes.

Was he afraid they were going to leave as well? Was that why he was keeping a distance between them?

Being with Grace reminded him that there was more to life than work and schedules and worry. She reminded him that there was love in the world, and hope.

Owen was quiet as they retrieved the boxes and started loading everything up again. It was a lot of work, and he was glad he was here to help Grace out. It would have been a lot for her to do herself.

She drove them to the reception hall and she showed him where to put everything. By the time they were done, his legs were aching, and he was craving a soft chair. They stood at the front of the hall and looked out. It was very pretty, he thought, and he could understand why a bride would want this.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping me,” Grace said, bumping into his arm.

Owen looked down at her. The tears were gone, but there was a vulnerability to her expression.

“It was interesting,” he said, and he meant it. “Certainly not what I expected to be doing today.”

Grace snorted. “Let’s get out of here. I’m dying for a glass of wine and something to eat.”

Yeah, that sounded good to him, as well, but he didn’t want to assume she meant together. When they arrived back at her shop, he climbed out, his back and legs aching. It seemed like the cold always made his bones ache more, and Dr. Elizabeth had warned him that he had arthritis setting in already. Thirty-four and he was dealing with arthritis.

Grace circled the truck to him, her golden eyes guarded. “Would you like to come up? I’ve had a soup simmering in the crockpot most of the day. I’ll do up some French Bread…” her voice trailed away, and he looked at her. He’d been with her all day, but he didn’t want to leave anymore than she wanted him to.

“I would love to stay for dinner.”

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