Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (19 page)

“Fine.” She summoned up a smile. “Show me your grandmother's flowers.”

They strolled across the grass, toward the flower border against the white fence that separated Matt's grandmother's yard from the churchyard beyond.

Matt nodded toward the white frame cottage. “Did you know Gran's house is one of the oldest on the island? She's lived here next to the church since she married my grandfather.”

Sarah couldn't help contrasting that with her own family; no one had stayed in one place for more than a year or two. But Matt didn't need to know that. “Your family has deep roots here.”

“The deepest.” He nodded toward the circle of children around his grandmother. “She's telling the family legend now, about the first Caldwell—a shipwrecked sailor who was saved by an island girl.” His face softened as he watched the storytelling. “She's been telling it as long as I can remember, and it never changes. ‘He took one look at her and knew he'd love her forever.' That's what she always says.”

His words struck a chord, vibrating into her heart. Was that how love was supposed to be? If so, maybe some people were born incapable of it.

She shook the thought off, watching the group clustered around Matt's grandmother. Everyone, not just the children, was intent on the story—their story. It was part of them, and they were part of it. She hadn't felt like such an outsider since she'd come to the island.

“Is the story true?” She glanced at Matt, and he shrugged.

“Their names are in the chapel registry, and they're buried in the graveyard. The wooden dolphin he carved for her stood in the sanctuary for years. And Caldwells have been here ever since.”

They'd been here ever since. The words echoed in Sarah's mind. Matt Caldwell belonged here—

But he'd chosen to go away.

The thought stuck in her head, and she was almost afraid to look at it too closely. He'd gone away. He'd built a name for himself out in the wide world. Maybe Matt Caldwell was as much a wanderer as that shipwrecked-sailor ancestor of his must have been.

She glanced up at him, wondering. Was that really the face of a man who'd settle down in a backwater town to run a weekly paper, where the most exciting story in the last month had been the theft of a shrimp net?

No. She knew a wanderer when she saw one. After all, most of her life had been spent with a father who moved from one army base to the next with as little concern as most people would spend on changing a shirt.

Maybe she didn't have to battle Matt over who would control the paper. She could just wait him out. Sooner or later, probably in weeks, not months, he'd tire of this quiet life, and he'd be on his way. If she saw him again, it would be on her television screen.

That should make her happy. It did make her happy. She assured herself of that fact. Matt would go away, and she could go back to life as it had been before he'd walked through her door.

S
arah glanced again at the children. Miranda's father had brought out a fiddle, and her brother David was leading the children in a song. Apparently the Caldwells were good at devising their own entertainment.

She and Matt stood near the flower beds that overflowed the border along the fence.

“Your grandmother must have a green thumb.” Anyone watching them would think they had nothing more on their minds than the flowers.

“Gran's good at a lot of things. Flowers, needlework, quilting…and like I said, she's a born storyteller.”

“Maybe that's where your journalistic talents originated.”

Her comment seemed to take him by surprise, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I'm not sure that would please Gran. She doesn't like the places my career has taken me.”

“You're here now. That must make her happy.” She held her breath, waiting for him to admit he probably wouldn't be here long.

The amusement wiped from his face. “Yes.” His mouth clamped shut on the word, chilling her. Obviously he didn't intend to confide in her.

She sought for something else to keep the conversation going. “You mentioned the dolphin in the chapel. I've never seen it.”

“It disappeared one summer night, years ago.” The lines deepened in his face, as if he mourned the loss of that symbol.

“No one knows what happened to it?”

“No.”

“Sounds like the sort of story a reporter might have tried to investigate in his younger days.”

He frowned, as if he hadn't considered that. “I suppose I might have, but I never did. I guess I looked farther from home for my stories.”

“Maybe you were born to be a wanderer.” She held her breath, wondering what he'd say to that.

“Maybe so.” Again she had the sense that this wasn't something he'd talk about with her.

Their steps had taken them around the corner of the house. Matt gestured to the flower beds that ran along the sheltered side of the building. “Gran's roses. Nobody on the island has any to compare.”

“They're beautiful.” Sarah touched a pale yellow rose with an apricot center, inhaling its rich perfume. “What's her secret?”

“No one knows.”

His hand encircled hers, touching the rose. She felt a jolt that traveled up her arm, warming her skin. Her breath caught, and she snatched her hand away, feeling as if her cheeks were on fire.

That hadn't happened. It hadn't. She couldn't possibly be attracted to anyone. That part of her life had ended with her husband's death. She had her children, and that was enough of a life for her.

And if she were going to be attracted to someone, it certainly couldn't be Matt Caldwell, of all people.

 

Sarah Reed had to be the most frustrating woman he'd ever met. Matt rode along the beach early Monday morning. He'd expected to be at the office first thing, but Sarah had said that since she always worked late getting the paper out on Friday, she didn't start until ten on Mondays.

So he'd decided on an early-morning ride, hoping the horse's pounding hooves and the sea breeze in his face would clear his mind and let him approach the situation with Sarah rationally.

That didn't seem to be working. Instead of hard beige sand and blue water, he saw Sarah's face when they'd stood talking by the roses. One minute they'd been communicating, and he'd begun to believe they'd find a way of working together that would satisfy both of them. The next minute she'd turned away, gathered her kids together and left.

The pounding of Eagle's hooves echoed the pounding in his head. Nothing about his return was going as smoothly as he'd anticipated.

He'd managed to forget, when he was far away, how much the breach between his father and the rest of the family bothered him. And he'd managed to ignore the fact that taking up his partnership at the paper was bound to bring on a new set of problems. Of course, if he'd had a choice, he wouldn't have come back.

But he hadn't had a choice.
You'll take a leave of absence,
his boss had said.
Six months at least. That's the best I can do. When you're over this and ready to come back, I'll find a place for you if I can. Meanwhile, try to forget.

The trouble was, he couldn't forget. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw himself running toward the mission station. He heard the blast, saw the walls collapsing inward, felt the concussion throw him to the ground. He'd struggled to his feet, knowing he had to help get the children out, knowing James was in there someplace.

James had been. They'd found him under a collapsed wall.

How could You let that happen, God? How? James was serving You, and You let him die.

He yanked the reins, and Eagle tossed his head in protest. “Sorry, boy.” He patted the horse's neck. “Sorry.”

He'd nearly broken down on the air. That was the unforgivable thing, as far as the network was concerned. He couldn't go back, not until he knew that wouldn't happen again.

Matt slowed the horse to a gentle jog. Running the newspaper would help him get himself together. It would prove to him that he was himself again—the detached journalist who didn't let personal feelings get in the way of a story. So that meant he and Sarah had to find a way of working together that satisfied both of them.

And he'd have a chance to talk to her about it, sooner than either of them had expected, probably. A small group walked along the edge of the surf ahead of him, and the morning sunlight picked out gold highlights in Sarah's light brown hair. Sarah and her kids.

Good. They could start over and have a simple, businesslike conversation. There was absolutely no reason for the unexpected wave of pleasure he felt at the sight of her.

He slowed Eagle to a walk as they approached. Sarah looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand. He couldn't see her expression.

“Sarah.” He stopped and slid from Eagle's back. “Hi, kids.”

“Is he yours?” Andi's eyes were huge. “Is that horse yours?”

He had to smile at her excitement. “Yes, he's mine. I don't get much chance to ride him anymore, but he's mine.”

The child took a step closer, and he realized she was quivering with excitement. “What's his name?”

“Eagle. Because he can run like the wind when he wants to.” He caught a sudden movement from the corner of his eye and saw Ethan dart toward Eagle's haunches. He shot his hand out to grab the boy's shirt. “Don't do that!”

He sensed Sarah's instant flare of resentment at his tone and felt an answering irritation. He was only trying to keep her kid safe. But Ethan looked scared, and he patted the boy's shoulder.

“You don't want to run up to the horse's hindquarters when he doesn't see you.” He ruffled the boy's hair. “He might think you're a horsefly and kick at you.”

“I'm lots bigger than a horsefly.” Skepticism filled the kid's eyes.

“Well, you still don't want to startle him.” Matt took out the bag of carrots he'd stuffed in his jacket pocket. “If you do just what I say, I'll let the three of you feed him a treat.”

“Me first.” Ethan jumped up and down.

Matt smiled at Andi. “I think Andi's first, if she wants to be.”

She nodded, apparently speechless, and held out her hand.

“Keep your hand flat and let him eat the carrot,” he cautioned. “You don't want him to mistake your finger for something to eat.” He half expected Sarah to object, but when he looked at her, she was smiling, almost as if she approved of him.

Andi stood very straight, holding her palm out. Joy filled her small face as Eagle's lips moved against her hand. “It tickles,” she breathed. “I think he likes me.”

“I think he does,” Matt said gently.

He looked over the child's head at Sarah. Her smile lingered, and she had a dimple in her cheek in the same place Andi did. She looked gentle. Vulnerable.

Something twisted inside him. That was what came of having a family. It made you vulnerable, put demands on you to keep them safe in an unsafe world.

He wouldn't put himself in that position—he'd figured that out somewhere in the middle of reporting an endless stream of tragedy. He wouldn't take on the responsibility of a wife or kids.

But in a way, he'd let himself in for a share of responsibility for Sarah and her little family. He didn't like the idea, but he couldn't escape it. Somehow he and Sarah had to make this work.

 

Sarah watched Matt. When she'd seen him riding toward them, her first instinct had been to hurry the kids up the path. Somehow she'd been caught, mesmerized by his effortless control of the huge animal. It was as if he and the horse were one.

Now he was so easily making one of Andi's dreams come true. She should say something, thank him for this….

Amy, clutching her mother's skirt for balance, toddled a few wobbly steps carrying her sand pail. She sat down abruptly on a well-padded bottom and emptied the sand over Matt's polished boots.

Would she ever have an encounter with this man when something embarrassing didn't happen? She bent to scoop the baby up, but Matt reached her first.

“Hey, little girl.” His smile looked strained, but his voice was gentle as he handed her back the bucket. “Why don't you dig some more?”

“So she can empty it on you?”

Matt rose, shaking the sand from his boots. “No problem,” he said easily.

“Can I give the horse a carrot now? Please?” Ethan tugged at Matt's sleeve.

Jeffrey hovered a step behind his brother. “Me, too. Me, too.”

Sarah put her hands on Jeffrey's shoulders. “That's his favorite phrase, I'm afraid.”

“I had a big brother, too, you know.” Matt shook carrots out of the bag for each boy. “I probably said that a lot.”

He smoothed Ethan's hand out. “Remember what I told Andi. Keep your palm flat.”

“I remember.” Ethan smiled up at him with a sudden display of trust that startled Sarah. “So he doesn't eat my finger. I'm not scared.”

“Good. You shouldn't be scared of Eagle, just cautious. He wouldn't want to hurt you, but he's a big animal.”

She didn't seem to be needed in this activity. Sarah sat down on the sand next to Amy, watching as Matt let her kids feed and pet the horse. He probably hadn't been around children much—he seemed to talk to them as if they were small adults—but his gentleness surprised her.
Gentle
wasn't a term she'd necessarily associate with the hard-driving reporter she knew he must be.

Finally Matt led the animal a few feet away and dropped the reins on the ground. “Eagle is ground-tied.” His firm gaze touched each of the children. “He won't go anywhere unless someone startles him, so you need to stay away.”

The three of them nodded soberly.

“Why don't you see if you can find any shells to add to our collection?” Sarah suggested. She'd feel more confident they'd obey if they were occupied.

The children scattered toward the edge of the water. Matt crossed to her, standing like a dark shadow between her and the sun. Then he dropped to the sand next to her.

“That was nice of you. I'm afraid Andi is horse-mad,” Sarah said.

“I figured that out.” His gaze was on the children, and his smile lingered.

Talking about Andi was certainly easier than discussing their business relationship. “She reads every horse book she can find, even the ones I think are too hard for her. You've just made her day.”

“My niece, Jennifer, is the same.”

She nodded. “Jennifer's in the same Sunday school class as Andi. She's such a pretty child.”

Humor flickered in his eyes. “My brother's planning to have a nervous breakdown when she hits her teen years.”

“Is that why you decided to come back? I mean, because of your family?” She was getting dangerously personal, but if she were ever to understand what made him tick, she'd have to.

“In part.” His expression closed abruptly, as if he had no intention of letting her in. “Gran thinks Caldwells always come back to Caldwell Island. She says they can't ignore their roots. I'm not sure I buy that.”

Since she'd never had any roots, she could hardly offer an opinion. It was what she hoped to find for her children in Caldwell Cove.

“Don't you find it a little dull here after what you've experienced?”

She'd thought his expression couldn't get any tauter, but it hardened to an unreadable mask.

“I found I needed to get out of the conflict zone.”

Why? She knew she couldn't ask outright.

“So you're giving up network television for a small-town weekly?”