Family Matters (7 page)

“What is it you've got on your mind?” she asked evenly.

Olivia took Uncle Bren's arm and moved him closer, putting the four of them almost shoulder-to-shoulder in a small circle.

Kerry felt like the runt of the litter.

“Matthew—” Olivia began.

“Mom, let me take care of this,” he said, his gaze locked on Uncle Bren. “MacBride, it's bad enough you've thrown innocent people's hard-earned money away on a run-down pier, a scattering of ramshackle booths and a handful of amusement rides all battered and rusted beyond repair. And now you're too busy—” his gaze shot to Olivia, then back “—even to lend a hand with this decrepit amusement park?”

Kerry looked at him in surprise. Matt's argument hadn't presented anything new, but this last angle certainly had. Could it be Uncle Bren's friendship with his mother that had him so upset now?

His voice had risen, and his deep, rumbling baritone projected easily into the room. It must come in handy in court. Just as Kerry had feared, the residents started to gather around.

“It's not decrepit.” Indignation filled Uncle Bren's tone. “Why, if you'd only come take a stroll around the park like we asked—”

“To see what? That the buildings look about to collapse, and the pier's likely to give way any minute?”

Kerry flushed. For just an instant, she felt light-headed enough to give way herself. Even from a distance yesterday, she had noticed how run-down the old park looked. Matt had a point, she had to admit. The investors could be in over their heads. But she couldn't let him browbeat her family. “How do you know what the park looks like, if you haven't seen it up close?” she demanded.

“I don't need to—”

“Excuse me.” A slight, deeply tanned man had stepped closer to their group. “The pier is steady as they make them.”

Matt frowned. “And you know this, how?”

“A good eye—”

Matt laughed.

“—and forty-eight years in structural engineering.”

Kerry turned to him in relief. “Thank you, Mr….”

“Call me Carl.”

“What about the buildings?” Obviously, Matt wasn't going to let this go. “You can't tell me they're not in bad shape.”

Another man stepped forward, as tall and broad as Carl was slight. “Weather damage, that's all. Some wear and tear, but nothing a handful of two-by-fours and a coat of paint won't fix.”

“And you know—” Matt began.

“Fifty-three years in construction,” the man interrupted, a smug smile creasing his broad face. “And
you
can call me Mr. Delmont, sonny—
if
you have to call me anything at all.”

Kerry choked back a laugh. The smooth-talking lawyer had been outtalked—and outfoxed—by a couple of small-town seniors. Evidently, the knowledge didn't sit too well with him. A slow burn of color crept across his cheekbones.

Her hand suddenly itched for a pencil and her sketchpad.

Uncle Bren gave her a tentative grin, which brought her back from her artistic fantasies immediately. If he'd known
all these positive things about the park, why hadn't he said something
before
Matt threatened him with jail?

“All right,” Matt said in a tone so unexpectedly soft, a few of the residents moved closer to hear. “If the property's not totally derelict, that ought to make it easier to sell.”

His mother touched his arm. “Oh, Matthew—”

“Sell?” Uncle Bren roared, drowning her out. “What are you thinking, lad? We threw that idea out long ago.”

Matt froze. So did Kerry.

The room settled into a breathless silence.

Several long seconds later, he turned slowly in her direction, his eyes wide in disbelief.

A wave of guilt washed through her. She hadn't yet been able to bring herself to tell Uncle Bren—or anyone else—about Matt's sixty-day ultimatum. She didn't want them digging in their heels over it. But she'd convinced the residents it was in their best interest to fix up the amusement park and sell it for a profit.

At least, she
thought
she had.

Still, she raised her chin defiantly. “I presented the proposal this morning. It passed.”

“Totally
uuuuu
nanimously,” Uncle Bren put in. “We're keeping the park.”

Trust him to make the situation worse!

“But, Uncle Bren,” she began, “we didn't say anything about keep—”

“It was after you went to the office to get that package,” he mumbled, then turned back to Matt. “We've just told you the place is fit for running. We've all agreed on it, too.”

“Fine,” Matt snapped at him. “My original argument stands. So, get the place up and running—that will make it easier to find a buyer so you can refund my mother's money.”

Olivia Lawrence opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Matt turned on his heel and walked away. His
long-legged stride carried him across the room and out of Kerry's sight before she could do much more than blink.

Olivia met Gran's frown with a resigned shrug. Obviously, the woman knew her son.

The gesture confirmed Kerry's worst fear.

Matt wouldn't budge on his ultimatum. Especially not if Uncle Bren and Olivia had unknowingly pushed his concerns to another level.

Part of her—a tiny part—couldn't help feeling sympathy for Matt. She would fight just as hard, if she thought someone wanted to take advantage of her family. And clearly, he had suspicions along that line.

But one look at the shock on Uncle Bren's face and the fire in Gran's eyes told her she had to do more than stand there flapping her eyelids.

After taking a deep breath and stalking to the doorway, Kerry stared down the hall, where Matt paced furiously enough to wear the flowers off the carpet.

Chicken that she was, she waited until he was striding away from her before following him. Unfortunately, before she could think of what to say, he made an abrupt U-turn and nearly ran her down. She almost tripped backing up a step.

“Your grandmother shoved this in my pocket.” He raised one fist between them, then spread his fingers wide to reveal a wad of multicolored wool resting on his palm. “What the heck is it?”

“It's a green bag.”

“It's
not
green.” His expression clearly showed he found her as nutty as the rest of her family.

“I mean, it's green as in recycled. Gran's very big on saving the environment. It's a shopping bag—she knits them by the dozens and gives them out to everyone she meets.”

“What a letdown,” he said, his tone loaded with sarcasm. “Here, I thought I was special.”

You
are
special.
She wished she could say those words.

“Umm…Matt. Can we talk a minute? About those empty threats you keep making…?” When she saw the hardness in his eyes, she faltered but pushed herself to go on. “You wouldn't have my uncle put in jail. You couldn't.”

“Couldn't I?” His lips curved upward.

Her heart gave an erratic double beat. From stress, no doubt. Her blood pressure was probably sky-high from this fiasco, too.

She wished she could fade away, like the trampled flowers worn beneath Matt's feet. But she had to save Uncle Bren. And strange as it seemed, in order to do that, she'd have to fight this lawyer over a cause she didn't fully believe in.

She braced herself and began her argument. “You use expert witnesses in the courtroom, don't you? You heard those men in there. They might be retired, but they're retired
experts.
If they say the pier and the park are in good shape, why won't you listen?”

“Because this has been a crazy idea from the start. Most amusement parks don't break even, let alone make a profit—especially small local parks like this one. This entire deal is taking advantage of unsuspecting people. And their money. And I feel compelled to add, I'm not impressed by the underhanded way things are done around here.” He leaned toward her, his face set in grim lines. “Like getting that proposal passed.”

She shrugged. “The meeting was for the property owners, and you're not one of them.”

“My mom is, unfortunately.”

“Yes, but we had a majority vote, with ninety-nine percent of the owners here. Your mother was the only one missing.”

“That was convenient.”

“Wait a minute.” She froze. “Do you think I deliberately held the meeting when she wasn't around?”

“No. More like, when
I
wasn't around.”

“You heard Uncle Bren—even I wasn't there when they decided to go ahead with running the amusement park.” Anger mixed with another wave of guilt. She hadn't set up the meeting with Matt's absence in mind, either, but she
had
been happy to present her ideas without him there. She didn't need a rabid lawyer breathing down her neck. Or becoming a distraction.

As if things hadn't already gone beyond that.

“I'll work on them,” she conceded. “I've got sixty days—”

“Fifty-eight.”

“All right, fifty-eight. Until then, you've got to lighten up a little, Matt. The world—and this project—doesn't revolve around you. And if you ask me, your mother looks perfectly capable of taking care of herself. You make it sound as if she's too fragile to dress herself in the morning.”

Again, color slowly suffused his cheeks. His hazel eyes darkened. “I'm a better judge of what my mother can and can't handle, don't you think?”

Hold your tongue.

The warning came too late. The situation had stressed her too much.

Emotions welled up inside her. Disappointment and resentment over the upset to her summer plans. Anger at the way Matt treated her family. And irritation at Uncle Bren, too.

A regular storm of sensations she couldn't—maybe didn't want to—control any longer.

She was tired of always being the peacemaker. The fixer. The one who saved her family from themselves.

She was so tired of always having to bite her tongue, swallow her words, tamp down her temper, and make everything right for everyone—everyone but herself.

For once, she just wanted to let her Irish rip. And Matt had given her a perfect opening.

“Since you've asked,” she began, keeping her voice pitched low with an effort, “what I think is, you spend too much time judging people. You're not content with being a legal eagle. You want to be judge, jury and chief jailer.” Proud of her
control, she softened her voice another notch, proving she could be calm and reasonable—even if
he
found the idea too much of a stretch. “Your attitude's not right, Matt. And it's not necessary.”

He laughed without humor. “Yeah? Try taking a look at your uncle and saying that with a straight face. If not for you, this entire project would sink like a stone into the lake.”

Above the angry buzzing filling her ears, she heard footsteps behind her. Her next words caught in her throat. Praying that neither Uncle Bren nor Gran had heard Matt's statements, she whirled around and found herself facing Matt's mother.

Judging by Olivia Lawrence's wide eyes and pale face, Matt's taunt had affected her as much as it had Kerry. The older woman sent her a glance of agonized apology.

“Let's go, Matthew,” she told him. “We'll be late for my appointment.” Taking his arm, she half pulled him toward the exit doors.

He looked over his shoulder at Kerry. She straightened her spine and stood with her chin up and her lips pressed together. But her eyes narrowed against the spike of pain shooting through her temple.

Matt's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something else.

Before he could speak, Kerry turned and walked away, not wanting to hear another thing from him. Not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her left alone, defeated, in the hallway.

Defeated?
Ha.

Maybe she should have stayed behind and let that lawyer think he had bested her. Assuming he'd won might cause him to loosen up, to let his guard slip a bit.

At the thought, yet another pang of guilt shot through her.

That devious idea had sounded exactly like one her crazy family would have come up with.

But if Matt thought he could threaten, scare or dictate to her, he had a few more thoughts coming. He didn't know Kerry Anne MacBride at all.

Or how far she would go to save her crazy family.

 

S
EETHING,
M
ATT STRODE
along the sidewalk.

The conversation with his mother wasn't going at all the way he'd planned. Irritation ate at him, lack of control made him more abrupt than he intended. Worst of all, worry about her had him stumbling over his words—a hell of a thing for a normally glib lawyer to have to admit.

He gestured with both hands in frustration, found he was still carrying crazy Maeve MacBride's green bag, and shoved the stupid thing into his back pocket. “Mom, why can't you see it? It's obvious this project's nothing but a scam, and you and all your friends have thrown good money away on it. It's just as clear this MacBride character's a loser.”

“Don't you think you're being harsh on him?”

“No,” he said bluntly, and meant it.

“Well,
I
do. You know, Brendan is one of those friends you mentioned. And I think he's done a great thing for all of us.”

He swallowed his cynical response but couldn't help exhaling in derision.

“Matthew.” She rested her hand on his arm, forcing him to come to a stop beside her. She also forced a smile for him, crinkling the skin around her hazel eyes. “I'm sixty, sweetheart, not seventeen. And while I appreciate your concern, I believe I'm capable of judging this situation for myself.”

He nearly severed his tongue trying to hold back his instinctive response. That was just the problem—his mom wasn't any kind of judge at all when it came to men. It was up to him to protect her and get her out of this predicament.

“I also believe,” she added, “that I did a better job of raising
you than appearances seem to show. I heard what you said to Kerry MacBride—”

“All true.”

“It might be. But so were some of the things she said to you. You're so
focused,
Matthew. So intent on looking for the bad, you forget there's often good to be found there, too.” She gave his arm a quick squeeze. “Now, I really have to get to my appointment. Please, let's go.”

She headed toward his Jeep in the parking lot, leaving him with his mouth hanging open.

He snapped it shut and followed her, shaking his head.

What was going on here? He should have been able to handle this disaster the way he handled his cases in court: by outlining a simple, straightforward legal argument that would lead to a clear-cut resolution.

And instead it had come to this.

The MacBrides were making him as crazy as they were. The first woman to intrigue him in years treated him like her worst enemy. And even his own mother didn't understand he was doing what he had to do.

 

L
ATE THAT AFTERNOON,
the supplies in the game room finally in order, Kerry turned to the next item on her agenda. Clipboard in hand, she headed outside. From there, an easy half-hour stroll around the lake would take her to the amusement park on the opposite side.

In the crowded game room, she had seen the results of Uncle Bren's spending spree, of what he'd bought with the balance of the money contributed from most of Lakeside Village's residents.

Now, she had to find out what he had done with the bulk of the investment—to see exactly what kind of pig in a poke he had gotten everyone involved in. She needed to figure out whether or not they could fix up the property enough to sell it.
But more than that, she had to see for herself the mess Uncle Bren had got them into. It was just her way, ingrained after years of taking care of her family.

She was going to take care of them, as always, and she was going to sacrifice her dreams yet again. The argument with Matt Lawrence earlier had proved to her she had no other choice.

No matter what she told herself about solving this problem and walking way, she wouldn't be able to do it. She couldn't leave her family behind to deal with this themselves. Especially not with Matt around, constantly making things worse.

“In a hurry, aren't you?”

The sound of his voice almost directly in her ear made her jump. She hadn't heard his footsteps on the gravel. He must have cut across the grass from the parking lot to creep up behind her. After their last conversation, she found it surprising he would come near her at all.

“You know,” she said mildly, “every time I turn around, you're at my heels.” In another situation, from another man, she might have enjoyed such undivided attention. But this was ridiculous. “And I'm only going out to the pier to look around. So I'll be—”

“I'll go, too. It'll give me the opportunity to see just what your uncle's done with the money he's…taken.”

“Invested,” she retorted.

“Right.”

Looking past Matt to the lake, she wished fervently that she could drift away on the breeze-stirred ripples scoring the water's surface. She brushed past him, hurrying down the slope. A big mistake. The uncut grass, thick and slippery, didn't offer much traction. Her feet began to go out from under her. She fought to stay upright, to save herself from a fall.

He reached out to grab her, his hand firm, his fingers
strong, his palm solidly against her skin. Warmth from the contact made her skin flush, all the way up her arm to her neck and into her cheeks, and she knew there was no way Matt could miss it. Just as she couldn't miss the opportunity to look at him this close up, to see the contrasting dark flecks in his hazel eyes and the tiny scar just visible under one of his brows.

For a moment, they stood without moving and stared at each other.

Matt's lips parted.

Kerry took a deep breath and pulled away.

“Looks like it's a good thing I'm out here,” he said. “I came to lend a hand—and you might be needing one. Literally.”

“Oh, really?” She forced a laugh and started walking down the slope again. Carefully. “I'm not usually such a klutz. But your offer's on the table now, so no taking it back. I just might put you to work at the park.”

At the bottom of the slope, they turned onto the well-worn dirt track leading to the lake. Wildflowers lined the path on both sides, straggling onto the walkway and creating a riot of color, catching on Kerry's jeans as she brushed past them and sending up clouds of perfume. Normally, she would have stopped, smelled and touched the blooms, and mentally begun sketching them on paper.

Today wasn't a normal day.

They tramped along silently, sometimes in full light, other times in the shadows cast by the branches of spreading trees. Kerry's skin prickled from the alternating bands of sun and shade. Or so she told herself, refusing to believe she could still feel a reaction to Matt's hand on her arm.

As they closed in on the amusement park, Matt finally spoke.

“You're really willing to risk sending people out onto that pier?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

She eyed the park, trying to observe it through his eyes. Or, at least, from an objective artist's standpoint. Even from this distance, she could see the unkempt look of the buildings, with their exteriors shedding layers of peeling paint and their tattered awnings trembling in the light breeze. But those were incidentals.