Page 9 of His Saving Grace

She flicked a glance across the table. Declan had placed his sandwich on his plate and was reaching for the salad bowl, his gaze stuck on Mason.

The realization that the question wasn’t directed at her washed over her. He was talking to his brother. The relief that flooded through her was so great it made her muscles rubbery. She fumbled with her napkin, her fingers trembling so badly it was hard to hold on to. Somehow, she managed to drape it over her lap.

The heat from Mason’s thigh, so close to her fingers, made her hand tingle. She pulled her hand away, afraid she might do something stupid. Like touch him.

Would that be so bad?

Yes, yes it would, you idiot. And she was not having this argument with herself again. Mason Callahan was forbidden fruit. No exceptions.

Mason grabbed the plate of sandwiches Simon held out to him. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” He turned so he could pass the platter along to her. His knee bumped her leg under the table.

She jolted, like he’d shocked her. Electricity sparked from the point of contact, sizzling along her nerve endings to pulse between her thighs. He looked at her, and for the briefest moment, his mask slipped and she caught a glimpse of something. Something that looked a little like heat, maybe hunger. A shiver prickled up her spine. And then he blinked, and it was gone, and she wasn’t totally sure she hadn’t imagined it.

“Thank you.” The words came out breathy, with an underlying strain she couldn’t hide. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on her face for a couple of agonizing heartbeats. Then he turned his attention back to his food and grabbed his beer, taking a long swig.

She took a sandwich and held the platter out for Jake, who sat across the table from her. He smiled and reached for it. She smiled back, the reaction automatic.

Out of nowhere, Mason slammed his beer bottle down with so much force, the entire table rattled. Grace jumped, and she could feel her eyes widen.

Everyone stopped to stare at him.

The only one who didn’t seem startled by Mason’s actions was Jake. He leaned back in his chair, tipping it up onto two legs. His smile morphed into one with a sly edge, and he picked up his sandwich and took a big bite. He chewed slowly, his gaze flicking between Mason and Grace.

Grace glanced at Mason, who didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He just dug into his dinner like nothing happened. Taking the hint, everyone else turned back to their meal. She picked up her sandwich and took a small bite. The food was delicious, as always, but it sat in her twisty stomach like a little lump of lead.

“Where’s Isabella?”

It was almost as if Mason had insulted everyone and their parentage. Everyone stopped and stared at him again.

Grace knew Isabella was Owen’s wife. Or maybe his ex-wife. She wasn’t sure. It hadn’t seemed right to ask, for plenty of reasons, the main one being, if she didn’t ask questions, no one would turn the tables on her. Ask questions she didn’t want to answer. The one thing she did know was that Isabella didn’t live on the ranch.

Jake dropped his chair back on four legs. “She’s gone.” He reached for his beer and took a long drink. Simon and Declan exchanged a glance, Simon placing his half-eaten sandwich back on his plate.

“What do you mean, gone?” Mason was the only one who continued to eat.

“The last few years have been tough for them.” Eloise’s voice caught on the words, and she picked up her glass of water and took a sip, turning her head to stare out the window.

Simon reached for his beer. “Last summer she packed up and moved back into town.”

“So, they’re not together anymore?” That fierce frown sent Mason’s eyebrow arrowing down again. Grace was happy the expression was no longer aimed in her direction.

Eloise turned back to him. “You know their history. It’s complicated.”

“I get that. But what the hell?” Mason’s fingers tightened on his beer bottle. Grace was pretty sure that no one else noticed, but for some stupid reason, she was so attuned to him, she couldn’t help but notice. “Are they officially separated? Divorced?”

Every curious instinct in Grace perked up. The desire to offer to help was hard to ignore, but she forced it aside. Opening up and getting involved would eventually lead to curiosity about her and her story. People asking questions and expecting her to have ready answers. That was not happening. She glanced around the table.

Simon and Declan had both gone back to eating, keeping their gazes down and their mouths shut. Jake was less discreet, his gaze swinging between his brother and his mom. He was keeping silent, though, which was very un-Jake like. She was pretty sure this was the longest he’d gone without saying anything in Grace’s short time here at the ranch.

Eloise shook her head. “No, they’re not divorced.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to grasp that the yet was not only implied, but all but a done deal. A strange sadness spiraled through Grace, which was dumb because she didn’t even know these people. She got the impression that whatever had happened between Owen and Isabella was something heartbreaking.

“So, then what the hell—” The growl in Mason’s voice sent the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck to attention. She wasn’t sure why. Okay, that was a lie. She just refused to admit how sexy he sounded, or how the sound of his voice rippled through every single one of her cells.

Eloise raised her hand, palm out. “That’s enough.” Her lips pulled down at the corners, and there was sadness and frustration and anger in her gaze. “We’re not having this conversation. If you want the details, you’re going to have to ask Owen.” There was a finality in her tone that said the conversation was over.

Mason went rigid next to her, but kept his mouth shut. The urge to soothe him, to soothe them all, to make the tension clogging the room go away, welled up inside her. But, of course, she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place, this wasn’t her family.

The reminder didn’t stop her from feeling twitchy and unsettled, and against her will, her knee started bouncing. Her napkin slipped off her lap and fluttered to the floor.

Before she could grab it, Mason bent down and picked it up. His scent wafted over her. Musky, masculine and clean.

Her mind filled with thoughts of leaning down and burying her face against his neck. Of running her fingers across the steely muscles hiding under his shirt. Of licking every inch of him, from the most likely sensitive space behind his ear to the soles of his very large feet. Ideas that involved naked, sweaty bodies.

No, no, no, no, no.

That was not happening. At all. It was the stupidest idea ever. And it stopped now.

“Excuse me.” She pushed her chair back and dropped her napkin on top of her untouched plate. She didn’t wait for a reply, but stood and hightailed it out the back door and into the heat of the evening. The pressure of everyone’s gaze didn’t let up until the door closed behind her.