Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (28 page)

He smiled at her, chocolate eyes crinkling as if he read her mind. “Don't look so scared. They're just people.”

“Not the kind of people I'm used to being around.” She touched her dress. “And I'm more comfortable in jeans and sneakers.”

He put his hand back on her waist, and she felt his warmth through the thin silk. “You look beautiful,” he whispered against her ear. “Every man in this room is thinking that.”

His breath stirred her hair, and she made a firm effort to slow the racing of her heart. Business, she reminded herself. She couldn't let herself give in to the feeling that Matt's attentiveness meant anything. This was business.

“Maybe we'd better circulate.” She drew another inch away from him. “We have to report on this event, remember?”

He lifted the camera he had slung over his shoulder. “How could I forget, when you made me bring this thing along?” He nodded toward the small dance floor and lifted his eyebrow in the way that made her stomach flutter. “Sure you wouldn't rather dance?”

“Business first,” she said as firmly as she could, given the fact that butterflies seemed to have taken up residence under her rib cage.

“So after we get our story, you'll dance with me?” He smiled at his advantage, as pleased as one of the kids at a promised treat.

She took an answer from her parenting mode. “We'll see.”

“Matt.” His father appeared before Matt could argue the point. “Ms. Reed. Glad you could come.” His gaze darted around the room while he spoke, as if he counted heads. “Everyone's here. Be sure you get a photo of the bigwigs from Dalton Resorts, now.”

“I'll do that.”

Did his father recognize the stiffness in Matt's reply? Apparently not, because he gave them an automatic smile and moved on to another group. She wished she understood—

“Hey, Matt, you're here. Hi, Sarah. Quite a splashy do, isn't it?” The woman who hugged Matt had a glow about her that said here was someone who'd found everything she wanted in life. Chloe Caldwell Hunter, Miranda's sister, had recently married and settled on the island. Sarah didn't know her as well as she knew Miranda, but she liked her.

“Mr. Dalton wants to make a good first impression.” Luke Hunter smiled, holding out his hand to Matt, then put his arm around his new bride. “Looks like he and your father outdid themselves. Half the island is here.”

“I haven't seen Miranda or your parents.” Sarah glanced around, hoping to spot Miranda's bronze hair somewhere in the crowd. “I'd like—” She stopped, suddenly aware of an awkward silence.

“No.” Color brightened Chloe's cheeks. “They won't be here. I'm sure the only reason we were invited was that Luke used to work for Dalton.”

Sarah bit her lip. She'd obviously put her foot in something. A sudden flare of anger in Matt's eyes matched Chloe's embarrassment. What had she said?

“I'm sorry, Chloe.” Matt bit off the words.

Chloe shrugged. “Not your fault, sugar.”

“Come on, woman.” Luke swung his wife toward the dance floor. “Let's enjoy the music.”

“I'm sorry.” Sarah spoke as soon as they were out of earshot. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. “I said something wrong, but I don't know what.” She hadn't been here ten minutes, and already she'd managed to make a mess of things.

“It's not your fault.” Matt clipped off the words. “Let's go out on the terrace and get some air.”

She followed the pressure of his hand across the polished floor and out the French doors to the terrace. The door swung shut behind them, cutting off the buzz of conversation and music. Matt crossed to the rail, as if he wanted to get a little farther from it.

“I'm sorry,” she said again. She went to lean against the railing next to him, looking out over the salt marsh. Spartina grass waved in the soft breeze, like ripples on a golden ocean, and the moon was a crescent sliver.

“I forgot you wouldn't know.” Matt's voice had lost its edge. “It's one of those things that everyone on the island knows but nobody talks about.”

“Except an outsider like me.” This was the sort of inadvertent error that made her think she'd never belong here.

Matt's arm pressed against hers where their elbows were propped on the railing, and she felt the strength of his shoulder against hers—a strong shoulder, one a woman could put her head on and feel protected. His hand closed over hers.

“You're not an outsider. You just didn't know about it. No big deal.”

The grip of his hand encouraged her to ask. “Why wasn't Chloe's family invited?”

His face was very close, close enough that she could see the muscle twitching at his jaw. “That would be my father's doing. He didn't want Clayton here. If he had a choice, he wouldn't speak to his brother at all.”

“But—” Her mind raced, trying to understand. “They were both at your grandmother's picnic. And you seem close to your cousins.”

“My father and his brother both try to put a good front on it where Gran is concerned. Guess we have to be thankful their feud hasn't extended to the rest of the family.”

“But why? What happened?”

He shrugged. “Nobody knows the whole story but them. Something happened when they were teenagers to drive a wedge between them. Besides which, they're as different as they can be. Uncle Clayton's content to be what Caldwells have always been and live the way Caldwells always have.”

He stopped then, and she wanted to nudge him. “And your father?”

“My father—well, you've seen what he's like. Success means everything to him.”

He almost spit out the last few words. Obviously he had an emotional stake in the whole thing.

“Brothers can be different without being enemies,” she ventured.

“Not those two.” His mouth twisted. “My father tends to use words like
shiftless
and
lazy
when it comes to his brother. And Uncle Clayton—” He stopped.

“What does your uncle say?” She murmured the words, wondering if he'd answer.

His grasp on her hand tightened painfully. “He says my father traded his honor for success.”

“Is that what you think?” She couldn't believe she'd asked the question. He wouldn't answer. He'd tell her, politely of course, to mind her own business.

“He's my father.” He ground out the words.

She put her other hand over his where it clasped hers, willing him not to close her out. “He's your father. But you're an adult. Sometimes it's hard to start looking at our parents with adult eyes.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience speaking.” He turned the comment back on her.

“I guess I had trouble with that one,” she admitted. “For a long time I was angry with my father for putting the army first after my mother died. I felt as if I always came in second. I resented being dragged all over the world. If he loved me, why wouldn't he settle down and give me a home?”

“You still feel that way?”

She took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent aroma of the marsh. “After I had children of my own, I looked at it a little differently. I think Dad just didn't know what to do with me after Mom died. He tried. It can't have been easy for him, either, but he thought it was right to keep me with him.” She shook her head, knowing her voice sounded choked. “I just wish I'd come to that understanding before he died. He knew I loved him, but I'd like to have cleared the air with him.”

He turned so that they faced each other, very close, their hands still clasped between them. “That's why belonging here in Caldwell Cove is so important to you, isn't it?”

“Building a stable home for my kids is the most important thing in the world to me. We need to belong here.” She tried to smile. “But maybe you were right. It takes a couple of generations.”

“No.” He said it so quickly she knew he heard the fear in her voice. “I didn't mean that. Of course you belong here. So what if you don't know every little thing that's happened?”

“Seems to me your family feud is a pretty big thing.” She looked up at him. She couldn't see him distinctly in the darkness, but that didn't really matter. His features were clear in her heart.

“Trivia,” he said firmly. “You know the important stuff, and you're learning more every day. Don't you think people notice the love and care you put into every story, whether it's the charity drive or the middle school science fair? It shows, Sarah.”

“I'd like to believe that.” She could hear the longing in her voice.

“You can believe it.” As if he didn't know how else to reassure her, he drew her into his arms. “You belong here,” he whispered against her hair.

His cheek was warm against hers. She put her hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
You belong here,
he'd said. He'd meant she belonged in Caldwell Cove.

Unfortunately where she wanted to belong was in his arms…forever.

W
hat was she going to do with this information? Sarah sat at her desk several days later, staring with dismay and consternation at the notebook she'd unearthed from Pastor Wells's box of church history. How could she possibly tell Matt that his father had been suspected of the theft of the carved dolphin from the Caldwell Cove church?

She leafed through the pages of cramped handwriting by the then-pastor of St. Andrews. This appeared to be a kind of personal journal he'd made during his years on the island. Pastor Wells couldn't have known about it; he'd never have given so inflammatory a document to Matt knowingly.

The notebook had been stuffed inside a church register. It seemed far more likely Pastor Wells had just dumped everything he thought might be interesting into the box, never realizing the notebook existed.

Her eyes were drawn unwillingly back to the pertinent page. After expressing the grief and shock that accompanied the discovery that the carved dolphin was missing from the sanctuary, he added his conclusions.

His notes cut off there, as if he'd been reluctant to put anything else into words. But what he'd said was enough to make his suspicions clear.

Her hands clenched the notebook. She could bury it back in the bottom of the box. Matt would never look. He'd made it clear he didn't want to be involved with the church story.

She seemed to see him, standing on the terrace in the moonlight, talking about his mixed feelings for his father. If she showed him this, it would simply cause more trouble between them. But did she have the right to hide it?

Please, show me what to do. I don't know what's right. Please.

“Sarah? Is something wrong?”

She jerked, pressing her hands down on the telltale notebook pages, and looked up at Matt. “You startled me. I didn't hear you come in.”

“Maybe we should put the bell back,” he said. He crossed to her, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry. “What were you so intent on that you didn't hear the door open?”

“It's nothing.” The evasion came out before she considered, and she was appalled at her instinctive wish to conceal it from him. Memories flashed through her mind—Matt telling her not to manipulate him, even for his own good; the things they'd told each other that night on the terrace; the way she'd felt when he'd held her protectively in his arms.

He leaned against the desk, regarding her with a serious expression. “You don't look as if it's nothing. Level with me, Sarah.”

She'd asked God to show her what to do with this knowledge. Was He giving her an answer? She stared for a moment at the rain-swept street outside, then made up her mind.

Slowly she held out the notebook to him. “I found this stuffed in with the materials Pastor Wells sent over. I'm sure he didn't know it was there. I think you'd better look at it.”

Watching his face as he read the journal was like watching flesh turn to stone. He went through it twice, then flipped slowly through the succeeding pages, obviously looking for more.

She'd already done that. She knew there was nothing else, except for the pastor's mournful conclusion that they'd probably never know the truth.

“I'm sorry,” she said at last, when it seemed he'd never speak again. “I didn't want to show you, but—” She faltered then, unable to go on.

“You had to show me.” He closed the notebook carefully, but his strong hands twitched as if he'd like to rip it into pieces. He looked at her, his face shuttered. “I suppose you think I should talk to my father about this.”

She folded her hands in silent prayer.
Please.
“I'm not much of an expert on father/child relationships, am I? But, yes, I think you have to talk to him. Otherwise you'll just go on suspecting him, when maybe there's some explanation.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” He tossed the notebook on her desk. “Maybe the smartest thing to do is to bury that thing wherever it's been for the last forty years.”

She looked at him, sensing the pain under the mask he wore. Did he really believe he could do that?

“Your grandmother wants you to find the truth.”

His hands clenched. “I think my grandmother already knows, or at least suspects.”

That could be the undercurrent she'd thought she noted when Matt and his grandmother talked about the dolphin. “What makes you think so?”

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense. And every cell in her body seemed aware of that. For a long moment she thought he'd launch himself off her desk, stride out of the office, running away from the thing he didn't want to face. Finally he shook his head, as if telling himself that wasn't an option.

“I heard them once—my grandmother and grandfather. I was just a kid, playing cowboys and Indians in the garden, trying to creep up on them without letting them know I was there.” His mouth twisted. “Worked better than I expected. They didn't hear me, but I heard them. They were talking about my father.”

Her heart was breaking for him. “I'm sorry.”

He shook off her sympathy with a brief shake of his head. “You never knew my grandfather. Even as a kid, I recognized what he was—a man of integrity, all the way through. Maybe he never had more than two dimes to rub together, but every person on the island respected him, like they do my uncle Clayton.”

What could she say, when she feared he was right? “Did they say something about the dolphin?”

“My grandfather thought my father had been involved. Said he'd tried to talk to him, straight out, and my father denied it. Grandpa didn't believe him.”

She saw the truth then, so clearly, and wondered if he'd ever admitted it to himself. “That's why you left, isn't it?”

He flinched as if she'd struck him, and she thought he'd deny it. After a long moment he shook his head. “I don't know, Sarah. I wanted to make a name for myself out there. But how much of that had to do with my feelings about my father—I just don't know.”

“You never talked to him about it, did you?”

He gave her a wry smile. “You're a good journalist, Sarah. You know all the right questions. No, I never talked to him about it, not even when I was a teenager and butted heads with him at every turn. I could never say that his values disappointed me.”

She sent up another frantic silent prayer.
Please don't let me make a mistake.

“Maybe it's time you resolved that.”

Anger flashed briefly in his eyes. “Like you resolved things with your father?”

She looked back at him steadily. “I don't want you to wait until it's too late, like I did.”

He stood, staring down at her, the anger fading slowly from his face. She sensed the instant in which he made a decision. He picked up the notebook.

“Maybe talking to him about this will be a step in that direction.”

Her throat was so tight she could only nod. He was right. Confronting his father about the dolphin was a step to resolving his feelings about him.

It was probably also another step toward Matt being ready to leave Caldwell Cove for good.

 

Hours later, Sarah's head jerked up at the sound of the door. Her nerves were strung as fine as fishing line, waiting for Matt's return. But it wasn't Matt; it was his grandmother. She came in, shaking rain from her umbrella.

“Mrs. Caldwell.” She hoped she didn't sound disappointed. “How nice to see you. I'm afraid Matt's not here right now.”

“Don't reckon that matters.” She marched, erect as a woman half her age, to the counter. “I found some old pictures of the church I thought maybe you could use, if you want them.”

“That's wonderful.” She took the rumpled, used envelope. A sheaf of faded, black-and-white photos spilled out onto the counter. “Pastor Wells gave us a box of things, but there weren't many photos in it.” She cringed inwardly at the memory of what it had contained.

Mrs. Caldwell seemed to hear something she didn't say. “Where did you say Matt was?”

“He—he went back to the house. He wanted to talk to his father about something.” She couldn't say any more, couldn't give Matt's secrets away, even to someone who loved him as much as his grandmother did.

“I see.” Naomi Caldwell's wise old eyes probed, as if she looked right through Sarah's face and into her soul. “'Bout time that boy had things out with his father. He keeps too much inside himself. And takes on too much responsibility, like he has to save the whole world. Always has been like that.”

Sarah thought about the little boy who'd taken on the schoolyard bullies to defend the smaller children, about the man who couldn't compromise the truth, even when it hurt him.

“Maybe he has. That's not a bad thing. The world needs—” she hesitated, searching for the right word “—warriors.”

Matt's grandmother nodded, as if something satisfied her. “Reckon you're right at that. Trouble is, sometimes he's so busy righting wrongs, he doesn't stop to see that God can even bring good out of terrible things.”

“That's the verse you gave him, isn't it?

“And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”

“He told you that, did he?” His grandmother smiled. “Someday Matt will see the truth of that. I just hope—” She paused, looking at Sarah searchingly. “You know, that boy has a powerful lot of love dammed up inside him to give someone.”

Sarah felt as if the wise old woman had just lifted a lid and looked into her heart. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt.

“It might take someone very special to help him release that love.” And I'm afraid it's not me, however much I might want that.

“Reckon that's in God's hands, if Matt will let it be.”

“Yes,” she said softly. It was in God's hands, not hers.

Mrs. Caldwell patted the pictures. “Well, guess that's all I came in for.” She turned to go, then paused. “You know, ever since Matt was a boy, if he was upset about somethin', he'd be out riding that horse of his on the beach. I guess, if someone wanted to find him, that's where he'd be.”

There didn't seem to be much left in Sarah's heart that Naomi Caldwell's wise old eyes hadn't seen. And someone did want to find him.

 

For the first time Matt could remember, this wasn't working. He slowed Eagle to a trot, patting the horse's damp mane. The rain had stopped, to be replaced by a gray fog that closed in around him, making him feel as isolated as if he were the only man left on earth.

Cantering along the hard-packed sand still made him feel as if he were flying, but it didn't erase his father's words from his mind. The beach didn't take him far enough away to do that.

Sarah's insight echoed in his heart.
Had
he gone away because of the clash between his father's values and his own? He'd had plenty of good reasons to leave Caldwell Island, but he'd never admitted the one she'd seen.

Her clear view into his heart dismayed him. Made him want to run, just like talking to his father had made him want to run—to go back out into that other world and find other dragons to fight.

He glanced ahead, seeing a figure silhouetted dark against the mist, waiting where the path went up through the dunes toward the house. He didn't have to see any better to know who it was. Sarah waited for him.

He slowed Eagle to a walk, patting the horse's neck. Eagle snorted, as if asking to continue their run.

“No,” he said aloud, as if the horse had asked. “I guess I can't avoid this.”

Sarah put up her hand to hold back the tangle of brown locks that curled wildly from the damp air. She got up from the sea-whitened log she'd been sitting on. How had she known he'd be here? Maybe the bigger question was, how did she know so much about him?

In a few short weeks, Sarah had found her way into the inner recesses of his heart. Worse, she and her little family had made him start dreaming again of things he'd made up his mind he'd never have.

Couldn't he? a treacherous little voice asked inside his mind. Couldn't he have a life like a normal person?

The answer he pledged himself to sprang out quickly. He couldn't. He'd seen too much, done too much. He wasn't the innocent he'd been when he left Caldwell Cove, and he couldn't be that person again. Sarah and her kids didn't need an embittered cynic in their lives. They deserved better.

“Sarah.” Eagle stopped automatically when they reached her, as if Matt's body language had already told him that this was a person they didn't pass by.