Page 2 of His Saving Grace

“What’s your name, huh?”

The dog leaned forward and licked Grace’s face.

“No, no kissing.” Grace sputtered the words through a laugh. She nudged the dog back a little, trying to get it so they weren’t sharing the same air. As if it was a game, the dog leaned forward with a little more weight, licking at Grace’s face more frantically. Grace squealed—honest to God, squealed—at the playful pooch’s antics. She caught sight of Mason at the base of the steps and her face exploded with heat at her childish reaction.

Mason took the porch steps one at a time, his right leg jerky and slightly awkward. His jaw was clenched tight, as if he held back a curse—or a string of them. Her brain buzzed with ways she could help him, what sort of therapy she could do to ease the obvious pain he was in, fix the awkwardness and overcompensation of his steps.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped and pulled off his sunglasses to stare down at her. Yup, he was definitely a Callahan. All the brothers shared those inky blue eyes.

“Tank, come.” Mason’s deep voice echoed around the porch. His tone said he was someone used to giving orders. The kind that brooked no argument.

The dog immediately pulled back. It walked over to him and sat next to his leg, leaning into him. Mason stroked the silky fur on the dog’s head. It was almost like an involuntary or instinctual reaction on his part. Like he couldn’t not touch the dog.

Taking a deep breath, Grace tried to drag everything back under control. She took a quick moment to study Mason through her lashes. His face, while handsome—who was she kidding? He was gorgeous—was all hard angles and sharp lines. Intense. Similar to the photo that fascinated her, but so much more in the flesh.

She dropped her gaze to his injured hip, unable to help herself. Her brain had already started working out a course of treatment. He stood with his weight balanced on his left leg, taking all the pressure off the right. If he was using a cane, he’d be able to stabilize…

“Who are you?” Another command.

Crap, she’d been staring. Her gaze shot to his face. “I’m, ah…Gr—Grace…” She flushed. Stammering? What was wrong with her?

“Grace who?”

Unease rolled through her, and she scrambled to her feet, wiping her palms on her skirt again. Self-consciousness flared to life under his scrutiny. “Sm—Smith?” She silently cursed the weakness in her voice.

“Are you asking me?” One side of his mouth turned down in half a frown, suspicion sharpened his gaze. “Because that’s what it sounds like.”

Grace opened her mouth to reply, but was saved by the squeak of the screen door. Mason and the dog both whirled around at the sound. The dog’s tail thumped against the porch, although this time, the dog didn’t leave his side.

Eloise Callahan breezed onto the porch from inside the house, looking lovely as usual, in a navy and white polka-dotted sundress. Her blonde hair, which contained just a hint of gray at the temples, was pulled back into an elegant chignon and held in place by a jeweled comb. Her eyes widened and a radiant smile spread across her face, making her look much younger. Not that she was old. Grace would bet she hadn’t celebrated her fiftieth birthday all that long ago.

“Mason, my darling.” Eloise’s melodic voice took on a husky quality, like her throat had thickened at the sight of her son. She rushed forward and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight. The dog, sensing Eloise’s happiness, wagged its tail faster, the thud as it hit the wood reverberating around the porch.

Mason wrapped her in his arms and his shoulders released some of their tension. The dog whimpered, nudged its nose between them, and moved forward, wanting in on the action.

“Hello, Mama,” Mason said, his voice low and raspy.

Eloise’s arms tightened, like she was refusing to let go, even as he tried to pull away.

A sliver of envy slid under Grace’s skin. It had undoubtedly been some time since Mason and Eloise had seen each other. That she’d never get to hold her mom like that, never get to talk with her, never get to laugh with her, never get to argue with her again, was like a punch to the chest. The half-mended fissure in her heart cracked open. Heartache oozed into her bloodstream.

Feeling like an intruder and needing a moment to wrangle her emotions, she shuffled to the right, sizing up the distance to the front door. The mother and son reunion was firmly planted between her and freedom. If she was quick, she could squeeze by before anyone was the wiser.

She took a couple of steps, holding her breath, as if that would somehow make her escape effortless. Tank shifted her attention to Grace and bounded over. To avoid stepping on the dog, she took a small step to the side, but misjudged the direction Tank was moving and ended up overcompensating and losing her balance.

Grace pitched forward, her front coming into full contact with Mason’s broad back. She oofed, the breath bouncing out of her lungs. To steady herself, she planted her palms on the hard, hot muscle. Her fingers tingled with the urge to explore the flesh underneath her hands.

Mason glanced over his shoulder. Something she couldn’t begin to decipher flared in his eyes, and his jaw tightened. He jerked away from her touch, pulling out of his mother’s grip and spinning so his back was no longer to Grace.

Eloise, oblivious to whatever had happened between Mason and Grace—not that she had any idea, either—clapped her hands and bent down to scratch the dog’s head. “And who is this?”

“Tank.” Mason’s gaze locked on Grace, and she could almost feel the press of the glass microscope slides clamping over her. She felt like a specimen that he was not only studying, but one he was trying to find a way to dissect.

Grace’s fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts, and she battled the urge to reach up and brush it away.

She licked her lips, refusing to be intimidated. She would not show any fear or break eye contact with the hulking giant. This was the new her. She tipped her chin up a touch and held his inky stare.

Eloise cooed at the dog, rubbing the fur behind its ears, oblivious to the epic stare down happening on her front porch. The dog flopped over on its back, belly exposed and waiting. “Why on earth would you name her Tank if she’s a girl?”