Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (23 page)

He expected the moment to be shattered by his nightmare images of wounded, hungry children, but it wasn't. He could only feel…what? He sought for the word.
Blessed,
that was it. He could only feel blessed to share this peace.

Andi tiptoed into the room, clutching a book, and inspected the sleeping baby. “You can put her in the crib now,” she whispered. “She's asleep.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I'm afraid she'll wake up if I move.”

“Just hold her close against you.” Andi adjusted his hands. “And then put her right down. That's what Mommy does.”

“If it's good enough for Mommy, I guess it's good enough for me.”
Please don't let me wake her.

It was only after he'd put the baby safely into the crib that he realized that was the first time he'd prayed without anger for a long time.

He and Andi tiptoed back out of the nursery. “Thanks, Andi. You were a big help.” He noticed the cover of her book. “That looks like a good horse story.”

She nodded. “I wanted to ask you something.” She opened the book to the place she'd been holding with one small finger. “See what it says here? About using a pick to clean the horse's foot?” Her blue eyes were anxious. “Doesn't that hurt the horse?”

“Not at all.” He put his hand on her shoulder, surprised by the fragility of her small bones. “The horse doesn't have feeling in that part of his hoof. But if a stone got caught under there and he walked on it, that would hurt.”

He could almost see her process that. “It's like my fingernails,” she said.

“Exactly.” He felt an irrational pride at her swift intelligence. “Maybe you can come over to my house one day, and I'll show you how to do it.”

Andi's breath caught, and she clutched the book against her chest. She looked as if he'd promised her the moon. “Could I really?”

He was probably offering something he'd later regret, but at the moment it seemed worth it. “Sure.” He squeezed her shoulder. “We'll do that.”

She skipped out to the living room, probably to tell Ethan about the promised treat. He followed more slowly, wondering at himself. He wasn't going to get involved with Sarah and her kids—wasn't that what he'd told himself? He didn't seem able to keep that promise, and he wasn't quite sure why.

 

By the time Matt heard Sarah at the door, he'd finished a rough draft of his editorial and played three games of Chutes and Ladders with Andi and Ethan.

“How's Jeffrey?” Matt got up to close the door for her as she carried him in.

“Feeling better, I think. The doctor says it's a virus that's going around. I just hope everyone doesn't catch it.”

He couldn't help but notice the tired shadows under Sarah's eyes as she stroked Jeffrey's silky hair, and he felt a surprising, unwelcome wave of protectiveness. He wanted to wipe her exhausted look away, but he couldn't.

“Do you want me to carry him to bed?”

“I'll just let him rest on the sofa for now.” She lowered the child to the corner of the sofa and tucked an afghan around him. “Okay?”

Jeffrey nodded, his eyes drifting shut.

She turned to Andi and Ethan. “Why don't you go outside and play for a bit, okay? I'll call you when Jeffrey wakes up.”

When they'd gone, she smiled at the game board spread out on the coffee table. “I hope they weren't boring you to tears with that game.”

“Actually, I learned quite a lot this afternoon.” He started to put the pieces back in the box, but found he was watching Sarah instead. “I learned the rules of Chutes and Ladders, I learned I really do remember all the verses to ‘Hush, Little Baby' and I learned that Andi is the most responsible little girl I've ever met.”

“Too responsible, I'm afraid.”

Sarah sat and leaned back in a chair, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He could almost feel the silkiness of it against his own fingers.

“Was she always that way?” He didn't want to bring up her husband's death, but he wondered.

“She was a caretaker from the moment she was born, I think.”

“Like her mother.”

She looked at him with faint surprise. “Is that how you see me?”

“Definitely.” He might not understand everything about Sarah, but that he knew. “You're like Miranda—always taking care of everyone.”

She smiled. “Whether they want it or not.” Faint worry lines showed between her brows. “Andi's been worse since her daddy died. I wish I could convince her she can just be a little girl.”

He thought of his niece. Jennifer was nearly a year older than Andi, but in some ways she seemed younger—certainly more carefree. Well, why wouldn't she? She'd lost her mother, but she had family who'd take care of her no matter what.

“Too bad I can't give you a little of my excess family.”

Sarah looked startled for a moment, and then she seemed to follow his train of thought. “I guess my children are a little lacking in that department. No cousins, no aunts and uncles…”

“No grandparents?” He ventured the question.

Sorrow touched her face. “I'm afraid they just have me.”

“I'm sorry.”

She nodded in recognition of his sympathy, then seemed to turn away from it. “What about Ethan? Did you learn anything about him this afternoon?”

He thought he detected wariness in the question. “I learned he doesn't like to lose at Chutes and Ladders.” He wasn't about to say that he'd caught the child in a clumsy attempt to cheat.

“Yes.” The shadow in her eyes told him she understood what he didn't say. “Ethan does like to win. Well, most children are like that at his age. He's just very competitive.” Defensiveness threaded her voice.

“He has a lot of charm.” He put the lid on the box. “Reminds me of your husband.”

Her mouth tightened. “Peter was always charming.” She said it as if he'd implied an insult.

“Nothing wrong with that.” What was going on behind those big blue eyes? Was there something about Peter Reed he should know?

“No, there's not.” She stood up abruptly and held out her hand. “Thank you, Matt. I appreciate your help today. It was very kind of you.”

Apparently he was expected to leave. Well, that was what he wanted, wasn't it?

He took her hand, feeling the warmth that seemed to flow from her every touch. “It was a pleasure,” he said formally. “I like your kids, Sarah.” To his surprise, he realized it was true.

And something else was true, something he wasn't about to say. He liked Sarah Reed, too. Maybe a little bit too much.

“L
ooks pretty good, doesn't it?” Matt unfolded the fresh issue of the
Gazette
on Friday morning, feeling a ridiculous surge of pride. He leaned against Sarah's desk, willing her to agree with him that the first issue he'd had much input on had turned out well.

Sarah nodded. “Not bad for a small-town weekly. And there's your name on the masthead.”

“So it is.” He couldn't seem to prevent a smile.

She tilted back in her swivel chair. The blue shirt she wore made her eyes even bluer. “Come on now. You've been featured on the television news. You're not going to tell me the
Caldwell Cove Gazette
holds a candle to that.”

“Well, I have to confess it's the first time I've covered the important story of the garden club's annual awards night.”

“Not big enough?” Her voice was gently teasing. “It's important to people in Caldwell Cove. They want to know who won the award for the best roses. Oh, let me see.” She pretended to consult the story. “That happens to be your grandmother.”

“I told you no one could grow better roses than Gran.” The smile lingered on his mouth. A couple of things surprised him about this day. One was the pride he felt in his first issue of the paper. The other was the pleasure his new relationship with Sarah engendered.

He looked cautiously at that. Things had changed between them during the last week. It wasn't just the fact that he'd helped on Sunday when she'd needed it.

They'd grown closer to each other. He hadn't intended that, but it had happened.

You're just getting used to having her around, he told himself. That's all. There's nothing more to it than that.

Used to having her around, used to having the kids around. He glanced over at Amy, contentedly chewing on a teething ring in her play yard. The little imp had been steadily working her way into his heart, and he couldn't seem to prevent it.

The other kids were back in the apartment, watched by yet another in the string of teenage baby-sitters Sarah had to rely on. Jeffrey seemed to have recovered from his bug. Matt could hear his voice raised in protest about something.

Sarah was reading through the front page, frowning a little. Looking for errors, he supposed. He'd learned, getting this issue of the
Gazette
out, that she was a perfectionist.

He'd learned a few other things, too. His gaze traced the soft line of her cheek, her straight nose, her stubborn chin. In just over a week he'd discovered Sarah's particular combination of strength and nurturing.

The warmth that made her reach out to every person who came through the door no longer seemed annoying, as it had that first day. It was as much a part of her as her attention to detail and her swift intelligence.

If he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he couldn't ignore the attraction he felt for her. He'd sensed it the day they met, and being around her every day had made it grow stronger. He didn't intend to act on it, of course. That would be unthinkable.

Except that he was thinking about it, especially at moments like this, when he stood close enough to smell the light, flowery scent she wore, close enough to see the smallest change in her expression.

As if in response to his thought, her expression did change. A slight frown creased her brows, and he knew she was reading the story he'd done on Jason Sanders.

“You still don't like it, do you?” He didn't need to explain what he meant. She'd know.

“It's not a question of like.” She seemed to pick the words out carefully. “You did a good job of reporting the story.”

Her caution annoyed him. Or maybe he was more annoyed at the fact that she questioned his judgment.

“You still think I made a mistake in running it.”

“I'm just worried about repercussions.” She shook her head, forcing a smile. “Forget it. I worry too much. I'd better start setting up the ads for next week's issue.”

She turned to her desk, as if dismissing the question. The trouble was, he knew she hadn't dismissed it, not entirely.

She'd gone along with his decision to run the story. That was the important thing. There was no point in beating the subject to death.

Returning to his desk, he opened the file of projected feature stories. Maybe he ought to take on something a bit less controversial for next week's issue.

He was mulling over the possibilities when the phone rang. He heard Sarah's cheerful answer, then heard the way the happiness drained from her voice.

He swung to look at her. She pressed the receiver to her ear, and a wave of brown hair flowed over it.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Her tone was carefully contained. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind about this decision?”

She paused, listening. He found he was listening, too, as if he could hear the voice on the other end of the line.

“No, I'm afraid we can't. I'm sorry you feel that way about it.”

Sarah winced, as if the caller had slammed the phone down in her ear. She returned the receiver gently to the cradle.

“What is it?” He was afraid he knew.

“Jason Sanders.” She looked at him, her face expressionless. “He's just withdrawn all his advertising from the
Gazette.
”

He stood. What was there to say? “You warned me this might happen.”

She grimaced. “Oddly enough, I'm not taking too much pleasure in being right.”

“Look, Sarah, this isn't so bad. We can do without Sanders's advertising. It won't make or break us.”

Sarah pushed her hair back from her forehead, as if it had gotten heavy. “Maybe not,” she said noncommittally.

“Running the story was the right thing to do. We can't pick and choose our stories based on our advertisers.” He hated the fact that he sounded defensive. “We're going to be all right. You'll see. We'll pick up more readers.”

“Readers don't pay the bills. Subscribers and advertisers do. That's the reality of a weekly paper.”

“Then we'll get more advertisers.” Was he trying to convince her or himself?

“I hope so.” She pressed her hands flat against the desk, as if to ground herself. “Whether we do or not—” Her expression seemed to harden. “I agreed to this partnership. I'll take the consequences.”

He wanted to argue, wanted to protest that he was right in this. He didn't doubt that. He was right.

Unfortunately he wasn't the one with the most to lose from this decision. Sarah was.

 

She was beginning to read Matt too well. Sarah bent over the folder of community calendar events, but her gaze was on Matt. He'd been quiet since that morning's call, but she could almost sense what he was thinking.

He felt regret, she was sure of that—regret that he'd caused problems for her by his actions. But he didn't regret writing the story. It wasn't in him to turn back from doing what he thought was right.

She suppressed a sigh. That might be a very admirable quality, but it wasn't an easy one to live with.

Not that she ever anticipated doing such a thing, she assured herself hurriedly. But she had to work closely with him, and the result was the same.

She studied Matt's face, straight dark brows drawn down over his eyes as he worked. He gripped a pencil with his right hand, turning it over and over in his fingers.

She had to push down the warmth that resulted every time she looked at him too closely. She had some regrets of her own over this situation. She regretted the loss of the comradeship she'd begun to feel with him since Sunday. But she certainly wasn't foolish enough to think there ever could be anything else.

Amy began to fuss, shaking the rail of the play yard. Sarah started to get up, but Matt beat her to it.

“I'll get her.” He jerked a nod toward the folder he'd been looking through. “I'm not making much progress anyway.”

He lifted the baby, holding her close against his cheek for a moment, and Sarah's heart lurched. Did Matt even realize how much he'd bonded with Amy since Sunday? And if he did, would it make a difference?

She already knew the answer to that question. Nothing would turn him back from doing what he thought was right. She could only hope he wouldn't find any other advertisers to antagonize.

“She's really close to walking.” He bent over, putting her down on her feet, holding Amy's tiny hands in his large ones, and she toddled a few proud steps.

“Amy's a little later at that than the others were.” She'd much rather talk with him about Amy than about business. “I think it's because she's always been such a placid baby. She didn't feel the need to get going as soon as they did. Andi in particular.” She smiled reminiscently. “She was only ten months when she took her first step. I remember Peter said—” She stopped abruptly.

“What did he say?” Matt prompted.

She didn't talk much about Peter, but this was a happy memory. “He thought she'd end up being a track star because she moved so fast.”

“Maybe she will. Caldwell Cove High could certainly use one.”

“Maybe.” If they were still here when Andi was ready for high school. If the paper survived, so that she could afford to stay here. If—too many ifs.

I want to stay, Lord. I want to put down roots here for my children. Please show me the way to make that happen.

Was that a selfish prayer? She should probably be asking God to show her the right path, instead of being so sure she already knew it. But surely He wouldn't have given her such a strong need to make her home here unless it was in His plan.

Matt chuckled. Amy had let go with one hand and stood wobbling, trying to reach out to the rung of his chair with the other.

“Take it easy, little girl. I don't think you're quite ready for that yet.” His voice was gentle, his face as relaxed as Sarah had ever seen it.

If he ever looked at her that way—Sarah stopped that thought before it could go any further. She wasn't looking for romance, and certainly not with a man whose idea of settling down was six months in one place. She had the children, and that was all she could handle in her life just now.

A wail sounded from the apartment, followed by the sound of Wendy, the new sitter, calling her name.

“I'm sorry.” She sent Matt an apologetic look as she started for the door. “Do you mind keeping an eye on Amy for a moment?”

“We're fine.” He waved her off.

She scurried back to the apartment and settled a quarrel that a competent sitter should have been able to handle on her own. If she could only find someone really reliable to watch the children, this would be so much easier. Matt must be bothered by the constant intrusion of her family life into work, even though he didn't say anything about it.

She was on her way to the office when she heard a thump, followed by a cry from Amy and a muffled exclamation from Matt. She raced back through the door, heart pounding.

Matt clutched Amy against him, and blood dotted his shirt. His face was so white she thought him the injured one, but then she saw the cut on the baby's lip.

“She's hurt.” He sounded almost frantic. “We've got to get her to the doctor.”

She reached him then, taking the baby in her arms, automatically searching for other injuries as she soothed her. “Hush, sweetheart, hush. Let Mommy see.” She grabbed a clean diaper and pressed it against Amy's quivering lip as she sank down into the chair. “It's okay.”

“It's my fault. I should have been watching her more closely.” Matt pulled out his keys. “I'll drive you to the clinic.”

“I don't think that's necessary.” She cradled Amy against her. The piercing wails turned into muted sobs. “It's not a deep cut.”

“But the blood—” He sounded so shaken that she looked up at him. His face was still white, his eyes filled with grief and remorse.

“Facial cuts bleed.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Believe me, I've rushed to the doctor more times than I care to count. This isn't bad. Look, it's nearly stopped already.” She stroked Amy's cheek. “She bit it with one of those new teeth of hers. It happens.”

“It was my fault,” he said again.

Why was he overreacting to this? “Matt, it wasn't anybody's fault. Babies fall. She'd have fallen if I'd been watching her.” She smiled, reaching out to him with one hand. “Honestly, you didn't do anything wrong.”

Matt shook his head, his mouth tight. Then, before she could say anything else, he turned away. In a moment he'd gone, and she was left staring at the closed door, wondering what on earth had just happened.

She searched Amy's little face. “You okay, darling?”

Amy responded with a smile and a babble of baby talk. Sarah hugged her close.