Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (21 page)

“I don't know what you mean.” She was probably blushing again.

“I think you know perfectly well.” He frowned, the momentary ease between them gone.

She recognized the reason for the frown. Matt had a passion for truth. She'd only known him for a couple of days, but she'd already seen glimpses of that quality. Here was a man who didn't recognize the polite little fictions most people accepted just to get through the day.

Well, she did. Sometimes perfect truth was unnecessary, even hurtful, whether Matt realized it or not. “When did I pull a bait-and-switch on you?”

“When you gave in on the bell to distract me from other things.”

Other things, like cutting down on the time she spent talking to people. She took a breath, trying to phrase her concern in a way he'd understand. Trying not to sound annoyed.

“Maybe that's true. If it is, I'm sorry. I just don't know how to change the way I relate to people. And I'm not sure I'm ready to try.”

She expected him to take up that challenge. Instead, he studied her for a long moment. His determined gaze almost seemed to touch her skin.

“Fair enough,” he said, surprising her. “We can fight about it if we have to. Just don't try to manipulate me, even if you think it's for my own good.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Nothing but honesty?”

“Nothing but.”

For some reason she thought of Peter, with his smiling charm, telling people what they wanted to hear. Matt Caldwell would certainly never be guilty of that. He was far more likely to tell you bluntly the last thing you wanted to hear.

She put the thought away for later consideration. “All right. I promise I won't try to manipulate you, even if you need it. Satisfied?”

The slightest hint of a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “For the moment.”

He retreated to his desk, and she sank down in her chair. Her heart pounded as if she'd been running a race. Maybe she had. If so, she'd probably lost.

The image brought Saint Paul's words to mind. “Casting aside all that hinders me, I run the race that is set before me.” That passage never failed to spark her determination.

I know the race I have to run, Father. I have to love and protect and provide for the children You've given me. Please show me the way through any obstacles caused by this partnership with Matt.

Slowly her heartbeat returned to normal. She could do this. No matter how difficult, she'd find a way to make this partnership work, because her children's future depended upon it.

For the next hour she and Matt worked in the same room, the quiet only disrupted by the two trips she made back to the apartment to solve disputes among the children. Amy fell asleep in her play yard. Slowly Sarah began to relax. This wasn't so bad, was it?

“Hey, Sarah. You're looking lovely today. What happened to your bell?”

Jason Sanders stood gazing at the doorframe, as if searching for the missing bell.

“We decided to take it down.” She carefully avoided looking at Matt, although surely he wouldn't object to her chatting with Sanders. The man owned the only real-estate agency on the island, and he was a big advertiser. “What can I do for you?”

“I really just stopped in to welcome Matt back home.” He advanced on Matt, hand outstretched. “It's great to have the famous correspondent back among us.”

Matt stood, facing him, and she thought she'd never seen two men so opposite. Jason was the original glad-hander: quick with a smile, a handshake, a compliment. It was only after she'd known him for a while that she'd realized how facile that smile was, how trite the compliment. He seemed to have a stock of them that he rotated routinely.

As for Matt—nothing facile or charming about him, that was for sure. She studied him while the men exchanged small talk. He was always guarded, but he seemed even more so with Sanders. He stood stiffly, fists planted on his desk, expression shielded.

What did Matt have against Sanders? When the man finally waved his way back out the door, spreading a few more compliments along the way, she suspected she was about to find out.

Matt swung toward her, his stare inimical. “What was he doing here?”

“You heard him. He came to welcome you home.”

He snorted. “The day Jason Sanders welcomes me anywhere is the day it snows in July.”

“I take it you don't like him.” That appeared to be putting it mildly. “But it must be years since you've had anything to do with him.”

“Sanders was always a bully. I don't suppose his nature has changed all that much, even though he's got a better facade now.”

She blinked. He'd put his finger on exactly what bothered her most about Sanders—the sense that underneath his charming manner lurked someone who always got what he wanted, no matter what it did to others.

“He's a big advertiser,” she pointed out.

Matt closed the gap that separated them, planted his fists on her desk and leaned toward her. “Is that all that counts?”

Her pulse jumped. He was too close—so close she could count the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, almost feel the pulse that beat at his temple, almost touch the corded muscles of his forearms.

“N-no. Of course not.” She took a steadying breath and tried to pretend he was someone else—old Elton Hastings, for example.

“Well, then, why do we have to put up with him?”

Pretending Matt was a bald seventy-year-old didn't seem to be working.

“We put up with him because our job is producing a newspaper,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “It's not our job to pass judgment on our readers or our advertisers. Not unless we're running a tabloid instead of a newspaper.”

She saw that hit home.

“Are you saying I'm letting my personal feelings get in the way of my professionalism?” His reluctant smile was even more disturbing than his glare had been.

Speaking of personal feelings, her own seemed to be running amok. “You told me to tell you the truth.”

He winced. “Touché. That'll teach me.” He squeezed her shoulder, his hand firm and warm. “Thanks, partner.”

The warmth from his hand traveled all the way to her throat, trapping her voice. She swallowed. “Anytime.”

Anytime now would be the time to get over this, she lectured herself. Like now, for instance.

Unfortunately, she suspected it would take more than a lecture to neutralize the effect Matt Caldwell had on her.

H
e didn't have any excuse for being at Sarah's apartment a few nights later. Matt paused outside the back entrance to the newspaper building, the one that led to Sarah's home, not the office. What exactly was he doing here?

He shifted the folder he was carrying. Of course he had a reason to be here—a business reason. He'd compiled a list of suggestions he wanted to talk to Sarah about, and the endless interruptions during the day made that impossible. It had nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to see her again.

Repeating that to himself, he knocked on the door. He frowned, then knocked again. Noises from inside assured him someone was home.

He glimpsed movement through the small pane at the top of the door, and finally the door swung open. Sarah stood there, her sky-blue shirt speckled with darker spots of water. Her brown hair, also damp, curled wildly around her face.

Amy, wrapped in a towel, was equally wet. At the sight of him, she babbled something incomprehensible and lunged for him.

Sarah caught her in midlunge with the ease of long practice. “No, Amy, no. He doesn't want to hold you. You're as wet and slippery as a dolphin.”

“And as pretty.” Relax, he told himself. Relax. He smiled at the baby, getting an enchanting grin in return. “I'm sorry. I guess I've come at a bad time.”

Sarah blew a soft brown curl out of her face. “I've never figured out how getting a baby clean can make Mommy such a mess. But, no, it's not any worse than any other time. What can I do for you?” Her tone made it clear office hours were over.

“Sorry,” he repeated, feeling irrationally annoyed that he was getting off on the wrong foot with her. Again. “I thought we might be able to talk about some ideas I have for the
Gazette.
I forgot you'd be busy with the children. I can come back later.”

“It's bedtime,” she pointed out, probably thinking any idiot would know that. “But if you care to wait, we can talk once I get the children settled.”

He suspected only courtesy had compelled that offer, but decided he'd take it at face value. It might be the only way he'd achieve his objective.

“That's fine.” He stepped into the small living room. “I'll wait.”

He thought Sarah suppressed a sigh as she closed the door. She nodded toward the sofa.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Before he could sit down, she'd whisked out of sight, trailing the pink bath towel.

Matt turned toward the sofa. Three pairs of blue eyes surveyed him. Andi was curled up in a shabby armchair with a book. The two boys had blocks and toy cars spread across the carpet. They all looked at him.

Loosen up,
his brother's voice echoed in his mind. Adam had been amused when he'd told him about being left with Sarah's kids one afternoon.
They're little kids, not the enemy. Just relax with them.

He'd try, because this seemed the only route to the discussion he wanted to have with Sarah. He squatted down on the rug next to Ethan.

“Building a racetrack?”

The boy nodded. “It's going to be the longest one ever. Want to help?”

He tossed his folder onto the coffee table and sat on the floor. The carpet felt thin beneath him. “Hand me a couple of blocks.”

Their track led across the floor, under the side table, around the armchair. Ethan kept up a constant stream of chatter, most of it telling Jeffrey what to do.

Matt had to smile. His memory provided a picture of himself and Adam at about the same age, relating in the same way. Adam had always acted the big brother.

Andi looked up from her book now and then to watch them, and from somewhere in the back he could hear Sarah singing to the baby. This should have felt uncomfortable, but it didn't. Maybe he was getting the hang of relating to kids.

“Look out, here comes my race car.” Ethan grabbed a car and sent it speeding along the track. It hit an unevenly placed block and flew off, crashing.

Matt picked up the car. “Went off track that time. Why don't you give it another try?”

“It hit a culvert,” Ethan said firmly. “It's wrecked too bad to try again.”

Almost before he had a chance to think it odd that Ethan knew the word
culvert,
Andi slammed her book down. “Don't say that!” she shouted. “Don't you say that!”

“Will if I want to!” Ethan shouted back.

The peaceful little playtime had disintegrated before his eyes. So much for his idea that he could relate to Sarah's children—not that he wanted to anyway. But he could hardly keep a safe distance when he was right in the middle of the battle.

“Hey, take it easy. It's okay.” He touched Andi's arm, but she jerked away from him.

The tears streaking down her cheeks shocked him. Then he realized what was going on. It wasn't okay. The cars, the wreck, the culvert—that was how their father died. It hit Matt like a fist in the stomach.

He wanted nothing so much as to get up and walk right out the door. This wasn't his concern. It was Sarah's problem. It was everything he'd come home to avoid.

But no matter how he justified it, he couldn't get up and walk away.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, holding out his hand to Andi. “Ethan didn't mean it.”

He looked at Ethan. For a moment the boy stared back rebelliously, but then he nodded. “I didn't mean it, Andi-pandy. I'm sorry.”

Andi scrubbed the tears from her face with both hands. “Daddy's in heaven now,” she said with a little quaver in her voice. She looked at Matt. “Did you know that?”

He suppressed the doubts that haunted his dreams. This wasn't the place to let them out. “Yes.” His stomach twisted. “I'm sure he is.”

“Time to put the racetrack away, boys.” Sarah stood in the doorway. Her voice sounded calm, but he could tell by the strain around her eyes that she'd heard some of the conversation.

Perhaps cowed by their sister's tears, the two boys made no argument. Matt slid into a chair and tried to be inconspicuous while they hustled around, throwing cars and blocks into a plastic bin. In a few minutes the room had been cleared of toys.

“Good job.” Sarah managed a smile for her kids. “I'll just be another few minutes,” she informed Matt. She didn't even try to smile at him. She shepherded the children toward their rooms, leaving him alone to try and regain control of whatever was left of his mission.

The minutes ticked by. He heard soft voices from the bedrooms, realized Sarah was hearing their prayers. The gentle murmur was oddly soothing, as was the shabby room. It had a warmth that the Caldwell mansion had never achieved.

By the time he heard Sarah's step in the hall, he knew he had to address the situation with the kids before he could possibly bring up business.

“I'm sorry,” he said before she could speak. “I don't know if that was my fault or not, but I'm sorry.”

Sarah shook her head, sinking down into the chair Andi had vacated. “It wasn't your fault. The children come out with something about Peter's death every once in a while, usually when I'm least expecting it.”

“That must be hard.” He leaned toward her, wanting to say something soothing, but not knowing what it could be.

She nodded, resting her head against the chair, lids flickering closed. For the first time he noted the smudged violet shadows under her eyes, saw the lines of tiredness that she usually concealed.

She'd lost her husband less than a year ago, he reminded himself. She was raising four children all alone, and as far as he could tell, she didn't have any family to help or support her. He thought briefly of his own sprawling clan. Whether he wanted them to be or not, they were always there.

Sarah opened her eyes, straightening as if that momentary lapse had been a failure. “We do all right,” she said with a firmness that had to be assumed.

“I'd forgotten.”

Her blue gaze darted to his face. “Forgotten what?”

“That tragedy and loss aren't confined to war zones.” His mouth twisted. “They even happen here in Caldwell Cove.”

The words were out before he realized how they'd sound. For a moment he thought he'd hurt her. Then she nodded slowly.

“True enough.” She got up. “I think we could both use a cup of coffee before we talk business.”

He started to protest that he didn't need any coffee, then realized she probably needed an excuse to have a moment alone. The way she hurried toward the kitchen and swung the door shut behind her confirmed that.

He took a deep breath, trying to relax taut muscles. How exactly had this happened? He'd come here tonight to talk business with Sarah. Instead he'd seen deeper into her heart than he had any right to. And he'd exposed more of himself than he'd ever intended.

 

Sarah leaned against the kitchen counter, staring absently at the coffeepot, seeing only Matt's tense face and the battle in his dark eyes over that flare-up of emotion with Andi. Something was wrong with him. She didn't know how she knew it, but she did. Something had happened to put the strain in his eyes.

Something on the job? She ran up against a blank wall of ignorance. She'd never really thought about how they did their jobs, those people she saw on the news every night. Had Matt run into some problem out there in his other life that had carved those deep lines in his face, that had put up the barricades that screamed
Don't touch me?

Her hands felt cold as she mechanically filled the pot with water and put coffee into the filter. Something—what had he said?
Tragedy and loss.
Had he lost someone he cared about? Was that what had brought him home?

She didn't want to know. She didn't have a right to know. But he was hurting, and she couldn't just ignore that.

Show me what to do, Lord. Is this a burden I'm supposed to pick up?

One thing was clear. Knowing why he'd come back could help her understand how long he intended to stay. From a purely selfish point of view, she wanted to know that.

I'm sorry, Lord. I don't mean to be selfish. I just can't help thinking about how Matt's actions affect my children's future. It's not wrong to worry about that, is it?

She didn't have an answer by the time the coffee was ready. She arranged cups on a wooden tray, straightened her shoulders and went back to the living room.

Matt sat on the sofa where she'd left him. The folder he'd carried in with him lay, apparently forgotten, on the side table.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked as she placed the tray on the coffee table.

“Black, please.”

The routine of pouring out the coffee and handing it to him soothed her. She glanced at his face, still brooding, and knew she had to try and understand what drove this enigmatic partner of hers.

She stared down at her own cup, as if it might hold an answer. Maybe there was no way to do this but to dive right in.

“Was that why you came back?” She suspected she didn't need to explain. His words probably still hovered in his mind as they did in hers. “Because you'd seen too much tragedy?”

His long fingers curved around the cup, as if seeking heat in spite of the warm summer evening. “That was part of it.” His guarded tone warned her off.

“I suppose…” She felt her way carefully. “I suppose correspondents in dangerous places have to be like doctors. They have to stay detached in order to do their jobs.”

He clutched the cup so tightly she thought it would shatter. “That's what's supposed to happen. Sometimes it doesn't work that way. When you're in the middle of a fight, innocent bystanders can get hurt.”

Her gaze flew to his face. “Were you injured?”

“Not physically.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only sign of the iron control he must be exercising. “Let's say I lost my detachment for a while. I started to burn out.”

“So you decided to come home.” To heal? That was what she suspected, but she thought he'd reject the idea. She also suspected he wasn't telling her all of it. Why should he? They were virtual strangers, linked together by circumstance.

“I decided—we decided, my boss and I—that I needed a break. I took a leave of absence.”

“A leave of absence? That means you intend to go back. You didn't tell me that.”

He set the cup down with a little clatter, and his eyes met hers. “No, I didn't tell you. I guess I should have.”

“I thought you meant to stay for good.” She grappled to get her mind around this new idea. He'd never intended to stay at the
Gazette
for the long haul. Knowing that to begin with could have saved her some agonizing. “What happened to partners telling each other the truth?”

That might have been a shade of embarrassment in his expression. “All right, you've got me. Maybe I'm a little too used to answering only to myself. I should have been up-front about my plans.”