Page 39 of His Fantasy Girl

After the way they’d parted last time, he wouldn’t be surprised if she cancelled, just to pay him back for being a grouchy bastard. But the strength of his reaction had shocked the hell out of him. He’d thought himself impervious to what people thought about him, and she’d brought him face-to-face with how big a delusion that was. He did care. At least about what some people thought. And he was still pissed off that she believed he wasn’t good enough to mix with her goddamned copper friends. As if he’d want to anyway.

All the same, he’d dressed with care today, in black pants and a white shirt. His fingernails were clean, and his hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. He tried to tell himself it was for his daughter, but he was quite aware he wasn’t being entirely truthful with himself.

He closed his eyes and saw again Abby’s look of abject horror when he’d asked if she wanted to show him off.

The sound of wheels on the gravel outside dragged him from his less than happy thoughts. She was here. He took a deep breath and strolled to the front door. As he opened it, a small red car pulled up between his dad’s Ferrari and Tamara’s Porsche. He recognized Rachel in the driver’s seat and for a second he thought maybe Abby really had backed out—in which case the party would be delayed while he hunted her down and hauled her ass over here. Then she climbed out of the passenger side, and the tension eased from him.

Dressed in a dark blue pantsuit, with a nipped in jacket that emphasized her small waist and the curve of her breasts and hips, she looked as pristine as ever. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she hooked it behind one ear as she waited for the others to get out. Jenny emerged from the back and Rachel from the front.

There was a commotion behind him, and Grunt pushed past, hurtled down the stone steps, and hurled himself at Abby. She staggered back under the force, then pushed him down and rubbed his huge head. “Hiya, boy,” she murmured. “This is Grunt,” she said to Jenny and her mum.

Well, at least she was pleased to see his dog.

“Grunt! Come!” Logan called, and the dog slunk away, casting them one last longing look.

He waited at the top of the steps as they followed the dog, coming to a halt in front of him. He ruffled Jenny’s hair and gave her a quick hug. She hugged him back—hard—which made him feel a little better. Turning to Rachel, he leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek. He gave Abby a curt nod. He was probably being childish, but he wasn’t quite ready to forgive her yet.

“Come and meet my family,” he said. “Everyone’s here except for Declan and Jess. They’ve just flown in and are on their way from the airport, but they should be here any minute.”

“Oh goody,” Abby muttered, not quite under her breath, “more McCabe’s.”

Ignoring the comment, he led them through the hallway and into the main reception room, where Rory stood beside Judith and Tamara.

“That’s your grandfather,” Logan murmured to Jenny, as he steered her across the room with a hand at her back. Rory was also dressed in dark pants and a white shirt, but with a matching jacket. He didn’t look like Logan’s idea of a grandfather. Hopefully, Jenny wouldn’t be disappointed in her new family—they were hardly conventional.

All three stopped talking and turned to face them as they approached. “This is Jennifer,” Logan said, and he could hear the pride in his voice. He turned to Jenny. “Jenny, this is Rory, my father and your grandfather.” He bit back a grin as Rory’s eyes narrowed at the comment, but he didn’t refute it. “This is Judith, my stepmama, and Tamara, my sister.”

“We’re delighted to meet you,” Judith said. She leaned across and kissed Jenny on the cheek, followed by Tamara.

“Hey, I’m an aunt,” she said with a grin. “And you look just like me.”

Rory reached across and shook Jenny’s hand. “Welcome to the family.”

“And this is Abby, Jenny’s mother, and her mother, Rachel.”

Judith and Tamara each gave Rachel a bright smile, and then turned slightly and regarded Abby frostily. From the conversation earlier, he was quite aware they both believed Abby in the wrong to have kept his baby from him for ten long years. He hadn’t made much of an effort to defend her, because it was the truth, and while he could understand why she’d done it, he didn’t think he would ever truly forgive her.

Her shoulders slumped a little at the less-than-warm reception, and now—when it was too late—he had the urge to stand up for her. Then she straightened and put back her shoulders. She might appear small and defenseless, but he was beginning to realize she had backbone and didn’t need—or want—his protection.

Rory kissed Rachel’s hand, which made Jenny giggle, and gave Abby a cool nod. “Sergeant Parker.”

She gave him a serene smile. “Mr. McCabe.”

“Call me Rory.”

Her eyes widened as though she found the idea incomprehensible, but she remained silent and gave Rory another serene smile. It looked as though the effort made her jaw ache.

“Let me get you a drink, sergeant,” Rory said. He put a hand on her waist and steered her away from the group. For a moment Logan considered rescuing her, but decided she was more than a match for Rory, and maybe it was time his father discovered that for himself.

Abby didn’t want to go with Rory McCabe. She also wanted to tell him that if he called her sergeant again she was going to punch him on the nose. And she couldn’t understand where the aggression was coming from. But a drink sounded like an excellent idea, so she walked with him across to a bar, where just about every drink she’d ever heard of was set out.

She’d done a little research on Rory McCabe. While the family company was now totally legitimate, with a stellar reputation—thanks to the hard work of Logan’s brother, Declan—that hadn’t always been the case. But despite the best efforts of the police, Rory McCabe had never done time. He’d had a frightening reputation, taking over from his father when he was only twenty-one and somehow managing to hold the company together and make it grow. Somewhere along the way, he’d made the decision to go straight and had applied the same level of ruthlessness that he had to everything else. She’d talked to some of the old-timers who had been around in those days; the dislike between Rory and the police went way back and, by the sound of it, had continued even after the company had gone legitimate.

She’d also looked into Logan’s case. The police had been called in to stop a fight. One of the officers had taken a punch in the process, and Logan had been arrested. But from what she could see in reading about the case, the charge was excessive, and as a first offense, she wouldn’t have expected Logan to do time. But they had pushed for it, claiming undue force. The punch had apparently put the officer in hospital, but all the same it had left a nasty taste in her mouth—she hated injustice of any sort.

“What can I get you?” Rory asked.

“Vodka and tonic.”

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