Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (27 page)

He stopped that thought, shocked at it. Sarah didn't love him. He didn't want her to love him. He couldn't. He'd decided, in the midst of tragedy and horror, that he wouldn't take on the responsibility of a family. Nothing had happened to change that.

Besides, in a few months he'd be gone. His life lay out there, beyond the horizon. Sarah's lay here, where she was so determined to put down roots for her family. That was the way it should be.

He wouldn't let himself feel anything for Sarah. He couldn't.

 

Sarah pressed her cheek against the baby's soft hair, trying to suppress the dismay that filled her. How could she have done that? How could she have confided in Matt that way? It wasn't any of his business what Peter had or hadn't done.

Her cheeks went hot with shame. She owed Peter her loyalty, and telling Matt something negative about him was a betrayal. She'd always been so careful to tell the children nothing but good things about their father. She didn't want them ever to know, ever to think—

Maybe it was best not to finish that thought. She went into the kitchen, carrying Amy. With any luck, the boys had finished their planting by now. She'd gather her children and go home before anything else happened.

And would they come back the next day? She hesitated, wondering if Matt still sat in the swing. She didn't want to discuss the question with him again. She'd have to think about it, preferably well away from his disturbing presence.

She reached the screen door and stopped. Matt wasn't on the swing any longer. He sat on the top step of the porch, and Andi sat next to him. She was looking up at him with a solemn expression on her face.

“…they're my little brothers. Shouldn't I take care of them?”

Sarah held her breath. Should she go out and interrupt this conversation? Or should she stay out of it? Andi was her daughter, one part of her mind argued. She should be the one Andi came to with questions.

But she hadn't. Andi had come to Matt with this one. It would be wrong to try and prevent him from answering it.

“Well, you love them, right?” Matt didn't have any hesitation about dealing with this.

Andi sat up very straight. “I love them. Even when they tease me or get into my stuff.”

Matt brushed the fringe of bangs back from Andi's eyes, his big hand very gentle. “It must be hard to love them when they do things like that.”

“I'm the oldest,” Andi said, as if that were an irrefutable answer. “It's my job.”

The lump in Sarah's throat would have kept her from speaking if she wanted to. Andi shouldn't have to feel so responsible. She was just a little girl herself.

“Sure it is.” Matt's voice sounded gruff, as if he'd been affected by her daughter's answer, as well. “If you love somebody, then you want what's best for them, don't you?”

Andi nodded. “That's why I said I did it. So they wouldn't get in trouble.” She leaned close to Matt, reaching up to tug his sleeve and bring him a little closer. “Ethan's afraid of Mr. Johnson,” she whispered. “'Cause he has such a loud voice. But you can't tell. It's a secret.”

Matt nodded solemnly. “I won't tell. But maybe it wouldn't be the best thing for Ethan if you took the blame.” He pointed. “See? Ethan looks pretty happy, working with Mr. Johnson. I think he got over being afraid of him.”

Andi looked as if she were puzzling over the moral dilemma. “Mommy says it's better to tell the truth. Do you think it's always better, even if it gets somebody you love in trouble?”

“Sugar, I think Mommy's right about this one. You can't cover up for people you love. It just makes things worse, for them and for you.”

His words hit Sarah's heart like arrows. That was what she'd been doing with Peter. That was why she felt disloyal for letting it slip about the insurance. She'd been covering up for Peter, just as Andi tried to cover up for Ethan.

Oh, Lord, is that why she does it? Did Andi learn this from me?

The thought was a weight on her heart.

If I needed to learn this, maybe that's why You brought Matt into my life. So I'd see what was happening before it was too late.

“Mommy?”

Andi had glanced back, had seen her. Sarah struggled to compose her face as she stepped onto the porch. “Are you about ready to go, sweetie?”

Andi shook her head. “Matt says—”

“I heard.” She tried to smile. “It sounds as if Matt was giving you good advice.”

“Oh.” Andi got up. “Well, I'll try to tell the truth all the time. But I'll bet Ethan isn't going to like it.”

That surprised a laugh from her. “I think he'll learn to deal with it. You go get your stuff together now, okay?”

Andi skipped down the steps. “I'm going to leave my paper dolls here ‘cause Jenny and me want to play with them again tomorrow. Wanda said she'll show us how to make new clothes for them. Okay?”

Was she doing the right thing? She could only hope so. “Yes, that's okay.”

Her daughter ran off. Matt stood, the movement bringing him closer to her. “Does that mean you'll let the kids come again?”

“Yes.” She had to force herself to look up at him, and when she did she seemed to get lost in his eyes. “Thank you, Matt.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“For what?” He took a step closer, and her breath caught. Being this close to him wasn't safe, not even in the middle of the afternoon with the children playing on the lawn.

“For what you said to Andi.” She struggled to find the words. “You helped her in a way I hadn't been able to. Maybe you helped me, too. I'm grateful.”

He took her hand in his, putting his other hand on the baby. His clasp was warm and strong. Protective. It had been a long time since she'd felt that anyone was protecting her.

“You're helping me,” he said softly. “It seems like the least I can do.”

“I hope I am,” she said. She tried to mean it. She tried not to let herself think of what her life would be like when he was gone.

She'd told herself that she had her children, and that was enough. But every day she spent with Matt, he became dearer to her. Maybe just being a mother wasn't going to be enough for her anymore.

M
att balanced the box of church history materials on one knee as he fumbled with the key to the newspaper office. The sun was just disappearing over the mainland, casting an orange glow that reflected from the windows of the closed office. Sarah would probably be tucking the children into bed about now, and he didn't want to disturb her.

The door opened, and he lugged the box Pastor Wells had given him inside and set it on the worn wooden counter. He was tempted to put it on Sarah's desk, but he had yet to convince her that this was one story she should handle.

He frowned down at the box. If he told her—

“Who's there?” Sarah's voice came sharply through the closed door to her apartment.

“It's Matt.” He should have realized she'd hear him and might be alarmed. “Don't call the cops.”

The door swung open, and Sarah stood there, barefoot, in jeans and a soft T-shirt. The light from the apartment turned her tumble of brown curls into a halo surrounding her face.

“You're lucky I didn't call them first.” She stepped into the office and stopped, seeming to realize she didn't have shoes on. Then she shrugged and crossed to the counter opposite him. “I didn't know you planned to work late.”

“I don't.” He put a hand on the box. “I just wanted to drop this off. It's the materials Pastor Wells offered us.”

“Great.” She pulled at the box lid, blue eyes lit with excitement as if it contained buried treasure. He resisted the impulse to touch her cheek and helped her open the box instead.

Her enthusiasm didn't move him, he assured himself. He was just pleased, because that made it more likely she'd relieve him of the project.

“Since you're so interested in the church story, I hoped—”

Sarah looked up at him, and for a moment he lost his train of thought. He gave himself a mental shake. When had just looking at her started giving him this need to touch her? It was irrational.

“You hoped?” she prompted.

Back to business, Matt. “I thought you might like to take on this story.”

She smiled, and he saw the dimple that was just like her daughter's. “And why did you think that? I was under the impression we were doing it together.”

“Well…” His father had told him once that anyone who started a proposal with that word was in a poor negotiating position. His father was probably right. “I'm putting in a lot of hours on the real-estate investigation.”

“Which might or might not turn into a story.”

“You have a blunt way of putting things, you know that?” He leaned on the box, bringing his face closer to hers. “Can't we just say the church story isn't my cup of tea?”

“We could if we had a staff to pick up slack when one of us didn't want to do something.” She pretended to look around the office. “Let me see…Where are they? Oh, that's right. It's just the two of us.”

If she didn't look so appealing in her jeans and bare feet, he might be able to come up with something stronger in the way of argument. “All right, Madame Editor. What will it take to get you to do this story?”

Her face sobered. “You tell me the real reason you don't want to be involved, and I might consider it.”

“That is the real reason.”

She just lifted an eyebrow.

“All right.” He heard the edge in his voice and tried to suppress it. He seemed to have become transparent where Sarah was concerned. “It would bring me too close to too many memories. I don't think the paper will benefit from having a cynic who's angry with God doing a story like this. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Matt…” Her face got that troubled look it wore when one of her kids had done something wrong. He understood what it meant. She was worried about him.

His throat tightened. “It's okay,” he muttered. “Just don't push me on this one, all right?”

“All right.” The frown lingered between her brows. “I'll do the story, on one condition.”

“What's that?”

“You go with me to the interviews.” She held up a hand to stop his protest. “You know as well as I do that we have to talk with some of the older church members if the articles are to have any life at all. They know you. They'll talk if you're there.” She grimaced. “Nearly five years here, but I'm still a newcomer in their eyes. How long does it take to belong?”

“Couple generations,” he said lightly, then wished he hadn't. Sarah, with her longing to establish her family here, didn't need to hear that. “Just kidding,” he said quickly. “Okay, you have a deal. I'll go along on the interviews, but you're writing the articles. Agreed?” He held out his hand.

“Agreed.” She put her hand in his, smiling. But as his hand closed around hers, the smile faltered. Her eyes darkened.

Longing swept over him. He took a long breath, then lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed her wrist, feeling the rhythm of her pulse, knowing his own was beating just as fast.

“Sarah.” He spoke her name, lips moving against her skin. It was a good thing the wooden counter stood between them, or he'd take her in his arms. For an instant he let himself visualize that, almost able to feel her softness against him. Then he shook his head. “You know this is driving me crazy.”

“It—it's not doing me too much good, either.” Her laugh trembled, and her lips looked very soft. “Maybe we should avoid tête-à-têtes in the future.”

He dropped another kiss on the tender spot at the inside of her wrist, then let her go reluctantly. “A little hard, when we work together every day.”

She took a step back. “That's business,” she said. “We just have to remember that. It doesn't make sense for us to be anything more than partners. You'll be leaving, and—” She stopped, something shadowing her face. Regret, maybe?

“Yes. I'll be leaving.” Surely he wasn't feeling regret, too, was he? Getting back to his real life was all he wanted. “But that doesn't mean we can't be friends, at least, as well as partners.”

The office had grown dim with the setting of the sun. He reached out to switch on the desk lamp, wanting to see her face.

But she turned away, straightening, as if facing up to something. “Friends. Of course we're friends.” She looked back at him, her smile a little stiff. “I'll say good-night. I need to check on the children.”

He stopped her with a touch on her arm, suddenly unwilling to let her go. “One thing. My father reminded me that the kick-off reception for the new resort hotel that's being built is Friday night at the yacht club. He wants his sons there, since he sold the land for the hotel.”

She nodded. Of course she'd know about the Dalton Resorts Hotel that would be going up soon near the yacht club. “I suppose we should cover the reception. The new hotel is the biggest event on the island in a long time. Since you're going, you can do that.”

“We should both be there. As you said, it's the biggest thing to come along in years. I want you to go with me, as my guest.”

She gave him a level look. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Didn't we just decide—”

“This is business.” He didn't know why it was so important to him; he just knew he wanted Sarah by his side that night. “And I agreed to do the church interviews with you, remember?”

He could sense the mixed feelings in her—the caution she wore as an armor against him battled with her anticipation. How long had it been since Sarah had had an evening out without her kids? Longer ago than she could remember, probably.

“Business,” she repeated. “I guess as long as it's business, it's okay.”

“Strictly business.” He clasped her hand once, quickly, then turned to go. “Good night, Sarah. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He'd better get out now, before she changed her mind about going with him. Irrational as it was, he wanted one lovely evening with Sarah before their time together was over. One lovely evening to remember.

 

“Now you sit right down there and make yourself comfortable.” Matt's grandmother led Sarah to a padded rocker, then perched, upright and bright-eyed as a sparrow, on a straight chair. “Matt says y'all want to talk to me about the church.”

Sarah glanced toward Matt. He'd done his best to efface himself, it seemed to her, choosing the chair that was farthest in the corner and leaning back as if this interview were no business of his.

“Matt and I are interviewing longtime church members for a series of stories on the church's bicentennial,” she said, stressing his name a little. His gaze flickered toward her with a slightly amused look, as if he caught the point but didn't intend to cooperate.

Well, whether Matt cooperated or not, he was here. If listening to the faith stories of people he cared about didn't reawaken his own spiritual side, she didn't know what would.

Is this the right thing, Lord? I want to help him turn to You, and this was the only thing I could think of that might help.

“Stories about the church?” Mrs. Caldwell's eyes lit with pleasure. “I ‘spect you won't find anyone who knows more about it than I do. I've been going St. Andrews to worship for eighty years and counting. Now let me see…”

Sarah switched on the tape recorder and settled back to become lost in Naomi Caldwell's stories of when Caldwell Cove was young, life was harsh and all the islanders had to count on was faith and family.

Several stories later she glanced at Matt again. His gaze rested on his grandmother with a love that touched Sarah's heart. His face was relaxed, the tension and wariness gone from it.

“And then there's the dolphin,” his grandmother said. “You've heard the story, a'course.”

Sarah nodded. “Matt told me the legend—about the first Caldwell on the island and how he carved the dolphin for his bride as a symbol of their love. I'm sure we'll want to include that.”

Some of the light went out of Naomi Caldwell's expression. “You'll have to tell about how it disappeared, too.”

“There's no ending to that story.” Matt spoke for the first time since he'd greeted his grandmother. “It's an unsolved mystery, forty years old.”

“If we look into it for the article, something new might come to light,” Sarah suggested.

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” Matt's voice had gone flat, and the guarded expression was back on his face.

“Might be, at that.” His grandmother looked at Matt, and Sarah almost imagined a challenge in her gaze. “Caldwells are s'posed to be married under that dolphin. That's what's meant.”

“That's just an old wives'tale, Gran,” Matt said quickly. “You know that. Cousin Chloe and her Luke seem happy enough, even without the dolphin there for their wedding.”

“Things won't be put right ‘til the dolphin's back where he belongs,” his grandmother said stubbornly. “Maybe God means for the dolphin to be found again now, if y'all start looking.”

Matt's jaw clenched. He didn't argue, but it was clear he didn't agree.

Just what was going on here? Matt and his grandmother seemed somehow at odds over the dolphin. It was almost as if they knew or suspected something about its disappearance.

Whatever the problem was, it had brought the familiar tension back to Matt's face. Sarah tried not to feel disappointed.

Reaching Matt wouldn't be done in a day. She just had to remind herself that God was at work in him, whether Matt knew it or not.

 

This evening is business, Sarah told herself firmly. Business, nothing else. Unfortunately it was a little hard to convince herself of that with Matt's hand warm against her back as he guided her toward the yacht club entrance Friday night.

“I've lived here nearly five years, and this is my first time at the yacht club.” She was probably babbling, but that was better than concentrating on the protective strength of his arm against her. “It's lovely.”

White lights glittered from the long building, draping in graceful swags along the docks and reflecting in the dark water of the sound. She just hoped she didn't sound like an impressionable teenager on her first date.

“I don't exactly spend much time here myself.” Matt took her hand as they went up the three steps to the porch that wrapped around the building. “My father does a lot of business here, though.” He pulled open the door. “Well, thanks to him, it's our night to shine.”

Piano music drifted on the air, mingling with the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices. The room was filled with the fragrance of expensive perfume, imported wine and old money.

Sarah smoothed her hand anxiously down the coral silk of the only dress in her closet that had been remotely suitable for a dressy event. It had looked fine in her bedroom, but it didn't look so appropriate next to the designer models that studded the floor.

She looked at Matt, and her breath caught again at the sight of him. He looked entirely too handsome in that expensively tailored dark suit, his white shirt contrasting with his rich tan. He looked as if he belonged here. She didn't, she reminded herself.