Read Disturbed Mind (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) for Free Online Page A

says. She flushes, avoiding my gaze. “That’s a joke. Nobody is expecting anything.”
    “I got it,” I say, kissing her cheek. “You don’t need to explain to me. I know how mothers are…or at least I’ve heard how they can be.”
    She leans against me and presses her lips against the side of my neck.
    “I love you,” she says, her warm breath billowing against my skin.
    “I love you, too.”
    Mom and Louise walk in with stuffing and mashed potatoes. Grace gets off my lap as they set the dishes on the table, but the two mothers are already grinning and exchanging looks as if they caught us making out.
    “Do you need help?” Grace asks. “I’m sorry that I left the kitchen—”
    “Grace, we understand,” Mom says. “After what you’ve been through, we’re all proud that you’re still a good woman with her head on her shoulders.”
    “Thank you,” Grace murmurs. The two women disappear back into the kitchen. Grace turns to me.
    “I thought you said your Mom was callous?” she whispers.
    “She was,” I say. “I think the holiday spirit, my Dad’s successive heart attacks, and the fact that my brother is expecting twins helped her realize that life was passing her by. It is truly a holiday miracle.”
    Our mothers return with green bean casserole and dinner rolls. They set them on the table.
    “Are we supposed to be able to sit anywhere at the table, Mom?” I ask. She pretends to glare at me.
    “There is enough room to eat, Samuel Jacob Meadows,” she says. “Why don’t you help your father in the kitchen, so the three women here can talk about you pesky men?”
    “Fine,” I say with mock exasperation. I give Grace another quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t say anything too bad about me.”
    “I’ll try not to make you sound too bad,” she teases. I step into the kitchen. Dad is the polar opposite of Mom. He’s overweight, she’s slim. His hair is sparse and gray, whereas Mom has dyed dirty-blond hair that seems thicker than ever. Their biggest difference is their eyes. Dad has the same dark-brown eyes that I do—I’ve been told that the color almost has a soft texture to it—but Mom has blue eyes that appear as cold and hard as ice. They used to match her temperament, but lately it’s simply off-putting when contrasted to her personality.
    My father has already expertly cut up half the turkey. Layers of white meat are piled up on a plate. “Do you need some help? Mom says that you do.”
    “I’m handling this bird just fine,” he says. “But why don’t you pull up a stool, so we can talk?”
    This whole talking thing is new for my family. It makes me wonder if my parents suddenly took a seminar on personal relationships or if all of their time at the hospital and physical therapy taught them how to react in more intimate social settings.
    I pull up my beechwood barstool to the left of Dad and sit down.
    “What’s up?” I ask. “Have you been taking your medication? Have you had any difficulties breathing while doing anything strenuous?”
    He waves away my words with the carver knife still in his hand. It probably is best that Grace isn’t in the room.
    “I don’t want to talk to you as my doctor, I want to talk to you as my son,” he says. “How’s your relationship with Grace?”
    “It’s great,” I say. “I’m happy. I’m pretty sure she’s happy. It’s…I don’t know, it’s good. It feels right…like this where I was meant to end up.”
    “That’s my boy,” he says, smiling. “So, are you going to ask her the big question?”
    “Big question?”
    He rolls his eyes.
    “The do-you-know-where-the-TV-remote-is question,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Come on, Sam. The will-you-spend-the-rest-of-your-life-with-me question. Are you going to ask her to marry you?”
    “We’ve only known each other for a few months,” I tell him.
    “Well, maybe you’re not going to ask her right now, but do you see it heading that way? At this