Page 7 of His Saving Grace

Eloise had been gracious and lovely over the last few weeks, but there had always been an air of sadness surrounding her. Having Mason back seemed to have helped a bit.

Mason.

Her back was to him, but it didn’t matter. The weight of his stare pressed against her, sending prickles skittering down her spine. Being his sole focus made her nervous and jumpy. Her hands trembled so badly she was lucky she hadn’t cut herself already.

She finished slicing the cucumbers for the salad and tossed them into the bowl next to her. Scooting to the right, she turned on the tap to rinse the knife. She was stalling, afraid to turn around, because he would be staring at her. Watching her.

The kitchen door flew open behind her, and her heart vaulted into her throat. She spun, tightening her grip on the knife. Her gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for danger.

There’s nothing there. You’re safe.

She lowered the knife to the counter and forced her fingers to release the handle. Her hand shook as she slowly straightened them. She kept her head down, her gaze seeking out the others. No one seemed to notice.

Except Mason.

His eyes flicked from the knife to her face and then back. His eyes narrowed. She braced for whatever he was going to say, whatever he was about to accuse her of, but before he could speak, his attention was drawn to the back door.

Owen stepped into the kitchen and pulled his hat off. “Dammit, Jake, I thought I told you—” His gaze locked on Mason.

Mason rose slowly to his feet.

Wow, the resemblance was remarkable. While the all the Callahans were similar—there’d be no denying they were related—other than Simon and Declan, who were twins, none of them were more alike than Mason and Owen.

They were roughly the same height, about six three or so, with broad shoulders and long legs. They both had dark hair, although Mason’s was cut in a shorter style, most likely due to his military service. High cheekbones, straight noses, rugged chins. Mason had taken a shower and shaved since his surprise arrival an hour ago, while Owen had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. Other than that, their similarities were eerie. So much alike.

Two sets of inky blue eyes stared at one another, neither handsome face giving away any emotion.

Mason seemed slightly more at ease, although there was no doubt in Grace’s mind that he could spring into action in a matter of seconds. Owen was tense, rigid from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He had his jaw so tightly clenched, Grace wasn’t sure how his teeth hadn’t snapped in two already. Unease and apprehension rolled through the room like thunder clouds.

Eloise cleared her throat, and six sets of eyes turned in her direction. “Owen, why don’t you sit down? We were just about to have some dinner.”

Owen glanced at his mother and shook his head. He glared at Mason for a handful of heartbeats and then strode across the room to the fridge. He wrenched it open with so much force, Grace was surprised the door didn’t fall off its hinges. Grabbing two bottles of beer, he kicked the fridge door closed with his foot. No one said a word, everyone just watching him. He yanked open the drawer next to him and grabbed a bottle opener. Popping the top on both bottles, he turned his back to everyone, and then downed half the contents of the first bottle.

“Owen?” Eloise placed her hand on his arm, but he shrugged her touch away.

Grace took a moment to sneak a peek at the others. Jake leaned against the counter next to his mother. Her gaze met his, and he winked. She suppressed a smile. Her gaze then traveled to the twins. They both still sat at the table, Declan’s gaze slowly moving between Mason and Owen, Simon focused on the pattern he was drawing on the tabletop with his finger.

And finally, Mason.

He still stood next to the table, although now he was full of tension. His arms were crossed over his chest, his jaw tightly locked. He kept his gaze trained on Owen. At least until she looked at him.

It was almost as if he had a sixth sense or something. As soon as her gaze landed on him, he turned his head to capture it. His eyes had darkened and…was that hurt in their depths?

He blinked, and it was gone. Just like that. His gaze flicked back to the knife, and she shivered. And it had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

She held his stare, determined to not to be cowed. It was hard, because he was imposing and intimidating and altogether far too attractive for his own good. Not the point, Grace. Stay on topic, please.

His stare pierced through the armor she’d been building over the last few months. Pulling down her barriers with nothing more than a look and growl. Splintering the layers she’d constructed on the outside, so he could peer into her soul, find the truth.

Owen slammed the now empty beer bottle on the counter, the sound reverberating around the silent kitchen.

Grace jumped, her stomach practically smacking into her heart, and let out a little yelp. Tank raced to her side and sat down, placing her furry rump on Grace’s foot. Grace looked down at the dog and ran her finger through the soft fur on Tank’s golden head.

Owen spun, glowered at everyone and no one in particular, and then stomped toward the hallway. No one moved. He deliberately stepped around Mason, making sure there was no possibility of them touching.

Mason didn’t move, didn’t say anything, didn’t watch Owen exit the room. He stared straight ahead, his indifferent mask firmly back in place. Owen’s boots pounded up the stairs and then, a second or so later, a door slammed on the second floor.

After a moment of awkward silence, Eloise clapped her hands. “All right, everyone, have a seat and let’s eat.” She carried the plate of sandwiches she’d made to the table.