Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (25 page)

 

“We shouldn't.” Sarah breathed the words. Her hand moved against his chest to push him away, but then she clutched his shirt instead, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the smooth cotton.

“I know, I know.” He held her close within the protective circle of his arm. He took a deep breath, as if he'd been without oxygen for too long. “This isn't a good idea.”

“We're partners.” She sought for all the rational arguments she knew were there, somewhere, if only she could find them.

“We have a business relationship.” She thought there might be a thread of amusement under his agreement, but she didn't know if it was at her or himself. “We shouldn't mix that up with something personal.”

“No, we shouldn't.” She straightened her spine, pulling free of the comfort of his strong arm around her. She didn't need to lean on anyone, she reminded herself. Certainly not Matt Caldwell.

“I'll be leaving soon.” He said it with certainty. He moved, withdrawing his arm, putting another inch or two between them. “You know I can't deny I'm attracted to you, Sarah. But it would be a mistake to start something that has to end. Especially where your children are concerned.”

The children. She fixed her mind on them, trying to ignore the way her heart continued to flutter at Matt's nearness.

“We agree, then. It would be too hard on the children to let them think—well, think there was something between us that's not going to be.”

There, she'd put things in perspective. Matt would understand that. Now she just had to convince her own heart, which was showing a surprisingly rebellious streak at the idea.

“We're partners,” Matt said again. “Friends.”

She nodded. “Friends. That's all. Just friends.”

He clasped her hand briefly, then released it. “You helped me tonight, Sarah. I didn't know how much I needed to talk about James until you forced me into it.”

She tried to smile. “You make it sound as if I used a baseball bat.”

“No. Just a persistence and determination that would do credit to a reporter on the trail of a hot story.”

She sensed his relief that they had moved into less emotional territory. She wanted to stay there, too. It was safer. But something nagged at her, something that had to be said.

“Matt, if we are friends, will you let me give you some friendly advice?”

He nodded, but she thought he stiffened.

“When Peter died, I was angry with God.” She picked the words carefully. “I thought He had let me down, leaving me alone with four kids to raise.”

Matt didn't respond. Maybe he knew where she was going and didn't want to hear it. But he had to. She had to say it, because no one else would. He hadn't opened up to anyone else, so this was her responsibility.

“Eventually I realized God hadn't gone anywhere. He was right there with me, helping me every step of the way.” Her voice choked in spite of her effort to keep it calm. “I wouldn't have made it without Him.”

Matt nodded stiffly. “I'm glad for you, Sarah. But I—”

“You're angry with God,” she said quickly, before he could finish. “You think God let you down. Let your friend down.”

He swung on her then. “Didn't He? How else would you explain it? Or do you have some nice little platitude that will make the pain go away?”

His words hit her like stones, and she tried not to flinch. “No platitudes,” she said softly. “Just my own experience. God was big enough to handle my anger and grief and bring me through to the other side. He's big enough to handle yours, too.”

Matt got up, setting the swing rocking. He stood looking down at her, as remote as a stranger.

“I appreciate what you're trying to do, Sarah. But I'm going to have to handle this my own way.”

“Are you handling it?”

“Yes.” He bit off the word. “I'm handling it fine on my own.”

He wasn't, but he wouldn't admit that, not yet.

“I guess there's nothing else to say but good-night, then.”

Something seemed to soften his stern expression. “I didn't mean—” He stopped, shook his head. “Thank you, Sarah. I'll walk you to your car.”

Their heels clicked as they walked the length of the veranda. Matt held the car door for her, then stood for a moment looking at her. He was going to say—

“Good night, Sarah.” He turned away.

He didn't want God's help, didn't want her help. She started the car, and shells spun under her wheels as she pulled through the white pillars that marked the gate.

Well, Matt might not want her help, but he needed it. She'd have to go on trying. Despite whatever they felt or didn't feel for each other, she couldn't let him wall his soul off and not try to help him.

And if she succeeded? She tried to look at that steadily as she drove down the narrow street. If she helped Matt heal, she knew what would happen then. He'd go away, taking her heart with him.

H
e didn't know why he was so nervous about this. Matt glanced across the office at Sarah a few days later, wondering at himself. He had a simple suggestion to make, one that Sarah should welcome. So why was he acting like a teenager about to ask a girl on a first date?

The kiss, that's why, the small voice of truth murmured in his heart. You kissed her, and you haven't figured out how to deal with that.

He had dealt with it, he argued. They both had. They'd agreed that anything other than friendship between them would be a mistake. They both knew that, and they'd go on from there.

He watched the tiny lines that formed between Sarah's brows as she looked over something on her desk. That attention to detail was part of her. She brought the need to do things right to everything she touched, including her kids. Maybe that was why he hesitated to approach her on this.

No perfect words appeared in his mind. He'd better just do it.

“Sarah.” He approached her desk. She glanced up and a soft brown curl caressed her cheek, momentarily distracting him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. In fact, I have an idea that might be very helpful.” He marshaled his arguments in his mind. “How would you feel about your kids spending afternoons at the house with Jenny and her baby-sitter?”

“The house?” She looked blank.

“My house. My brother thinks it's a great idea.”

Distress crossed her face. “You're bothered by having the children around. I know this isn't a conventional way to run an office, but—”

“No, that's not it at all.” He should have realized she'd jump to that conclusion. “You must know by now that I like your kids.”

As soon as he said the words he realized how true they were. He hadn't intended this to happen—it certainly wasn't part of the detachment he'd been cultivating. But her children had worked their way into his heart when he wasn't looking.

“Then why are you trying to get rid of them?” Sarah pushed her chair back, her face guarded, as if preparing for a fight.

“Look, I think we could deal with two problems at the same time here. Jenny needs playmates—there are no young families close enough to the house to make that easy. And you need a few hours a day when you're free to concentrate on the paper, instead of always wondering if the current baby-sitter is up to par.”

“There's nothing wrong with my baby-sitters.” She was quickly defensive. “They may be young, but—”

“But all the older kids have other summer jobs. I know. I remember what it's like.” He sat on the edge of her desk, trying a smile, hoping to relax the conversation. “Every teenager on the island who wants to work can find a summer job, and baby-sitting comes at the bottom of the list.”

Sarah didn't relax. “Even if that's true, I don't expect you to come to my rescue. Providing childcare is not one of your partnership responsibilities.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you always this prickly when someone wants to do something for you?”

“I don't like to take charity.” Her clear blue eyes clouded. “I remember—” She stopped.

“You remember what?” He leaned forward, suddenly wanting to know what brought that distress to the surface. “This isn't charity, but never mind that for now. What do you remember?”

He saw the struggle in her face. She wanted to tell him; she didn't want to tell him. “Come on, Sarah. I've leveled with you. Don't I deserve the same?”

Her smile flickered briefly. “It's nothing very important.”

“Then there's no reason not to tell me why that's such a hot button for you.”

She shrugged. “Have it your way. My father was career army. He was posted all over the world, and since my mother died when I was a baby, I went with him.”

“I didn't know that.” Maybe that explained why Caldwell Cove was so important to her. She wanted a stable home for her own kids.

“I wasn't much older than Andi when we lived in Germany.” She frowned. “I don't know why money was so tight, but it was. I had to have uniforms for the school there, but Dad couldn't afford them. So the headmistress called me in, and they had this big box of cast-off uniforms. The teacher went rooting through them, trying to find something that would fit. Nothing did, and Dad certainly didn't know how to alter anything.” She looked down, as if seeing a too-big school uniform. “I went through that whole school year looking like a raga-muffin.” She grimaced. “Silly, I know. But it made me a little touchy where accepting charity is concerned.”

She'd ended on a light note, but his throat was ridiculously tight. He kept seeing the little girl she'd been, with blond pigtails like Andi's, feeling hurt and ashamed that she wasn't like the other kids.

“As I said, this isn't charity.” He tried to keep his tone brisk. “At least, not for you. We want to provide a job for Miz Becky's niece, so she can earn next year's college tuition. She keeps insisting watching Jenny isn't enough work.”

She smiled. “And you think watching my crew would be enough to justify hazard pay.”

He smiled back, relieved that they seemed to have moved out of emotional territory. “Something like that. You can consider it helping a deserving young woman get her education. So, will you do it?”

Sarah held his gaze for a long moment, as if probing his intent. Finally she gave a hesitant nod. “I guess we can try it for a day or two.”

“Fine.” He got up quickly, before she could change her mind. “We'll start this afternoon.”

She looked startled. “Wouldn't it be better to wait until a few days? We should give Jenny's sitter a chance to prepare.”

“Wanda's ready now. And Jenny can't wait to have them there to play. We'll run them over around one. You mentioned your sitter has to leave then, so this will work out perfectly. All right?” He could feel the resistance in her.

“We'll try it,” she said again. “If it's too much for the sitter—”

“It won't be,” he said, inordinately pleased that he'd pulled this off. Sarah would accept his help. She'd undoubtedly give him an argument about who paid Wanda, but he'd deal with that when it happened.

The important thing was that he could help her and, in a way, make the paper run more smoothly. He silenced the little voice whispering in his mind that this was another giant step into each other's lives.

 

How had she let herself be talked into this? Sarah got out of the van, looking nervously up at the pillared veranda as she took Amy out of the car seat. She couldn't feel at home in a place like this. Her kids didn't belong here. What if they broke something?

“We're ready.” Matt shooed the kids toward the veranda. “Let's go find Wanda and Jenny.”

At least the children didn't seem to sense her nervousness. Andi skipped along at Matt's side, perfectly confident, while the boys peppered him with questions.

Sarah tried not to let her gaze slip sideways to the swing where they'd sat Wednesday night. Where they'd kissed.

Matt held the door open, and the kids scurried inside. He gestured for her to enter.

She should have stuck with her initial no. Working with Matt every day was bad enough. Having her children in his house was worse.

There was only one solution—she'd have to find some reasonable excuse to get out of this. Clutching Amy, she crossed the threshold into the Caldwell mansion.

She stood in the wide center hallway, getting her bearings, noticing things she'd been too preoccupied to see on Wednesday night. To her right was the formal dining room, with its crystal chandelier and mahogany table and chairs carved in the rice design that was typical of the sea islands. To the left, a ceiling fan circled lazily above elegant Queen Anne furniture placed on what seemed an acre of Oriental carpet.

Ahead of her a circular staircase soared upward, looking as if Scarlett O'Hara would descend at any moment. But that wasn't Scarlett coming toward her down the steps. It was Matt's father.

Jefferson Caldwell approached with cool assurance, holding out his hand. “Ms. Reed. Welcome to Twin Oaks.”

“Thank you.” She shook hands, trying to assess her impressions as Caldwell turned to his son with a question.
Distinguished
—that was probably the word. That leonine mane of white hair, those piercing eyes—Jefferson Caldwell looked like a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

She glanced from him to Matt, wondering. Coolness tainted the air between them. She couldn't help but see it.

Was this because of Matt's partnership in the newspaper? If his father disapproved of that, she could hardly imagine that he'd want her children cluttering up his house.

Jefferson turned to her, looking as if his mind had already moved past her to something more important. “Miz Becky is waiting for you in the kitchen, and I expect the others are there, too. Y'all go on back. Make yourselves at home.”

“Thank you.” She relaxed marginally. At least Caldwell Sr. didn't seem actively opposed to their presence. But if he had been, that would have given her the perfect excuse to call this whole thing off.

“This way.” Matt shepherded them through a swinging door at the end of the hallway, his step quickening.

Suddenly they were in a different world—one with linoleum underfoot, geraniums blossoming on the windowsills and a ginger cat weaving around the legs of the woman who turned to greet them.

“'Bout time you were getting back here with them, boy.” Miz Becky buffeted Matt with an affectionate blow to his shoulder, but her eyes were on the children. “Y'all are welcome in my kitchen, y'heah? Andi, Ethan, Jeffrey.” She greeted each of them with a gentle touch to head or cheek. “And this little darlin' is Amy.”

She scooped the baby from Sarah's arms, murmuring to her softly in Gullah, the language of sea island natives. Sarah could only look on in amazement as Miz Becky charmed her children.

Matt had said she'd taken care of him and Adam after raising her own children, so Miz Becky had to be sixty, at least. But she was as proudly erect as any queen, and the glossy black hair that wrapped around her head in a kind of coronet showed not a trace of gray.

This part of the house looked different, smelled different, felt different. Where the front was all cool elegance, Miz Becky's kitchen felt warmly loving.

The biggest change was in Matt. The tension she'd sensed when he was with his father had disappeared entirely. He teased the children gently in Gullah as he helped Miz Becky carry a pitcher of lemonade and platter of molasses cookies to the back porch.

Sarah followed, wondering. What kind of home was it, when the son of the house felt more at home in the kitchen with the housekeeper?

“This is my niece, Wanda.”

The tall young woman who'd been playing a game with Jenny at the porch table rose to shake her hand. “It's nice to meet you, Ms. Reed.” She smiled. “And the children. Andi, Ethan, Jeffrey.” Like her aunt, Wanda called them by name, but her language didn't have as much of the slurred Gullah accent. “I see Aunt Becky has already laid claim to the baby. I'll be lucky ever to get my hands on her.”

“But—” Sarah looked at the woman who cradled Amy against her cheek. “I don't want to impose on you. I'm sure you already have plenty to do running a big house like this.”

“Sugar, you couldn't make me happier if you tried.” She rocked Amy gently, and the baby's eyes started to close. “I've been longin' for another baby to love around here, and it started to look like that wouldn't happen.”

Matt held up his hands in defense. “Hey, I've brought you Amy. You can't ask for more.”

His quick words jolted her heart. No one could ask for more from Matt. She'd known that since their talk Wednesday night. His experiences had convinced him the only safe life was a detached one, and that undoubtedly extended to having a family of his own.

That was his decision. The twinge in her heart was totally uncalled for.

She still wasn't convinced that the Caldwell housekeeper should be watching her baby. Had anyone bothered to consult Jefferson Caldwell about that?

“Miz Becky, I'm just not sure—”

“Hush, child.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen door. “Come in and see what we've fixed up for this little one.”

Matt had joined the children and Wanda at the round table on the porch and was pouring out lemonade. She followed Miz Becky into the cool kitchen and then to a small room that adjoined it.

Becky's gesture encompassed it. “This used to be a maid's room, but nobody lives in it anymore. Matt helped me get it ready.”

Sunlight slanted through the window and lay in patches on the wide plank floor. The room had been turned into a nursery, with a crib, changing table and a box of baby toys.

“You've gone to so much trouble.”