Free 03_The Unexpected Gift by Irene Hannon Page A

to her stomach.
    She turned away sharply, almost as if she’d been slapped, and stumbled toward her car, pausing just once to glance back. Bill and Grant were the only ones left at the grave site now, and the minister had his arm around Grant’s shoulders. Grant’s head was bowed, and his hand rested on the coffin. He nodded at something Bill said, then the minister turned away, leaving Grant alone with his pain.
    Morgan’s heart contracted, and she felt an unexpected, overpowering urge to go to him, to touch him, to ease his sense of loss, to let him know he wasn’t alone. But that wasn’t within her power. Nor was it her place.
    So she turned away, leaving him to his final, private moment of wrenching grief. And as she got into her car, it occurred to her how very lucky Christine had been to be loved by a man like Grant. Maybe he wasn’t successful in the worldly sense. Maybe he didn’t have a high-powered job and make an executive’s salary. But as she’d learned in the past few days, he had other compensations in his life. Like love. And family. And faith.
    And she’d learned something else, as well. Grant Kincaid was a kind, decent, faithful man who had deeply loved his wife and lived the vows he’d taken on his wedding day long after most would have collapsed under the burden and relinquished their responsibilities.
    As strange as it seemed, Morgan found herself envying a dead woman. Because even though Christine’s life with Grant had been brief, it was clear that it had been full and happy, based on a profound, abiding love that transcended even death.
    The kind of love Morgan had never known.
    And all at once her eyes flooded with tears.
    For Grant’s loss.
    And for her own.
     
     
    “Morgan, there’s a Grant Kincaid out front for you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he’s a hottie! I figured I’d check with you before I told him to get lost.”
    Startled, Morgan looked up at the receptionist, the ad layouts strewn on her desk forgotten. After the funeral, Morgan hadn’t expected to see Grant again until the Good Shepherd board meeting in Portland in January. What had brought him to Boston? And, more specifically, to her office?
    “Go ahead and send him back, Lauren,” Morgan said.
    “Sure thing. Let me know if you need me to take notes or anything,” she said with a wink.
    When Grant appeared in her office door a couple of minutes later, Morgan had to agree with Lauren. Despite the weariness in his face, and the sadness that lurked in the depths of his eyes, Grant Kincaid was a man who could make women’s heads turn.
    He was dressed in a sheepskin-lined jacket and worn jeans that hugged his lean hips. His hair was a bit wind-blown and his eyes were an intense blue in the midday sun that streamed in her large office window, which offered a panoramic view of the Boston skyline. Her gaze dropped to the hands that had mesmerized her on Christmas before she forced it back to his face.
    She stood and held out her hand. “Good morning, Grant. Come in.”
    He returned her greeting, his grip sure and firm. “Sorry for the unexpected visit, but I had to come to Boston to take some measurements for a new commission and I thought I’d drop off some additional Good Shepherd material. I planned to give it to you when we met after Christmas, but…” A shaft of pain ricocheted through his eyes, and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was in the neighborhood, and with the board meeting coming up, I figured I’d just deliver it in person.” He held out a large manila envelope.
    “I’ll be sure to review it before the meeting,” she promised, setting it on her credenza. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
    “I don’t want to keep you from your work.” He surveyed her cluttered desk.
    “It’ll wait. Have a seat.” She punched the button for the intercom. “Lauren, could you bring my visitor a cup of coffee?” She settled into her chair and turned her attention back to Grant. “So, how