Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [104]
But he simply looked at me. “You’re so beautiful, Grace,” he said, and that pretty much sealed the deal.
I was rather crazy about Callahan O’Shea.
THE NEXT MORNING, I opened one eye. The clock on the night table read 6:37 a.m. Callahan was asleep next to me.
It took a minute for that to sink in, and as it did, I felt a glow in my chest. Callahan O’Shea was sleeping next to me. After shagging me. Three times. Ahem! And quite fabulously, I might add. So much so that the second time, I’d awakened Angus, who then tried to tunnel under the bedroom door to ascertain why his mistress was making all that noise.
Not only that, it was…fun. Hot and steamy, yes, that I’d expected from a guy like Callahan O’Shea. But maybe I hadn’t expected that he’d make me laugh. Or to tell me how soft my skin was, his voice in a tone of near wonder. When I woke up somewhere around 3:00 a.m., he’d been looking at me, smiling like I was Christmas morning.
“Hey, Cal?” I whispered. He didn’t move. “Callahan?” I kissed his shoulder. He smelled so good. God, three times last night, you’d think I’d have had enough. “Hey, gorgeous. I have to go.” I thought about adding honey, but that felt a little…sweet. Bub, maybe. Not honey. Not yet. “Wake up, bub.”
Nope. Nothing. I’d worn him out, poor lad.
I realized I was grinning. Ear to ear. Maybe humming a bit. Felt a little Cole Porter coming on. With one more kiss and one more look at the beautiful Callahan O’Shea, I slipped out of the warm bed and tiptoed out of the room, gathering my mud-stained clothes as I went. Angus bounced up in the living room the minute he saw me. “Shh,” I whispered. “Uncle Cal’s still sleeping.”
Taking a quick look around the living room, I could see that Callahan had been hard at work. The floors still held the faint bite of polyurethane, and the walls were painted a pale gray. Planks of some sort were piled in the corner, and beveled wooden trim framed two of the four living room windows.
It was a lovely home, or it would be when he was finished. The fireplace tiles were painted blue, and though the stairs leading to the second floor had no railing, they were wide and welcoming. It was the kind of home that had been carefully built, with surprising little windows with deep sills, crown molding and a pattern inset in the oak floors. The kind of house that just wasn’t made anymore.
Angus whined. “Okay, boy,” I whispered. In the kitchen, I found a pen and piece of paper by the phone. “Dear Mr. O’Shea,” I wrote.
Thank you ever so much for your kind assistance in helping me find my beloved Angus last night. I trust you slept well. I have the unfortunate duty of fighting off the Yankee hordes this morning at Chancellorsville (also known as Haddam Meadows on Route 154 just off of Route 9, should you be interested in watching us drive back the Northern aggressors). Should I survive unscathed, I very much hope that our paths will cross again in the near future. Very best wishes, Grace Emerson (Miss).
Dumb or cute? I decided it was cute and tucked it by the phone. Then I took one more peek at the gorgeous sleeping man, picked up Angus and let myself out. My dog needed a bath, and so did I.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“THIS WAY, FIRST VIRGINIA!” I called, safely aboard Snowlight. Granted, the fat little white pony was not exactly a warrior steed, but he was better than nothing.
Margaret trotted up to my side. “I really need to stop doing this,” she said, pulling at the corner of her wool uniform. “I’m dying here.”
“Actually, you’re supposed to die over there, by the river,” I corrected.
“I can’t believe this is your social life,” she said.
“Yet here you are, tagging along.” I turned toward my troops. “‘Who could not conquer, with troops such as these?’” I quoted loudly. My soldiers cheered.
“So you went to bed early last night,” Margs commented. “Lights out, Angus quiet, and it was only 9:30 p.m. when Mom dropped me off.”
“Yup. Early to bed, early to rise,” I said, my face prickling with telltale heat. Margs had found