Family Matters (8 page)

“Matt, the pier is safe. You heard Carl this morning.”

“You're going to take his word for it?”

“That and his forty-eight years of experience.”

They approached the park entrance, a wooden archway with the words
Rainbow's End
outlined in faded lettering overhead.

He looked up, shaking his head.

“What?” She frowned.

“This place is supposed to be someone's idea of a pot of gold? That's what you find at the end of the rainbow, isn't it?”

“I never have,” she admitted. “But, yes, so the story goes.”

“Well, that's appropriate. It matches the rest of the fairy tales being told around here.”

“It's more of an Irish legend, I believe,” she said coolly. She came to a stop and turned to him. “Matt, it's obvious you don't want to step foot on that pier. So what are you really doing here right now, anyway?”

“I told you, lending a hand.”

She raised her brows.

He laughed. “All right, then, let's say I like to be where the action is. And you seem to be the center of most of it.”

“No, the action's out there on that pier. That
safe
pier.”

To prove her point, she passed beneath the arch and strode across the weathered planks toward the small wooden ticket booth inside the entryway.

When she heard him following closely at her heels, she
stopped and turned back. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, deliberately fluttering her eyelashes. “Aren't you afraid your weight will plunge us into the lake?”

“Very funny.” He grinned. “It might, but at least when it happens, I'll be close enough to rescue you.”

“I can do that for myself, thanks. But it won't be necessary. And I'm not going any farther than this today.” She pulled her clipboard from under her arm and scanned the top—blank—page. Anything to avoid seeing the way Matt's grin lit up his entire face.

She braced the board against the ticket booth's front counter and pulled a pencil from her hair. “It's too late in the day to start anything out here. I'm only going to make a few rough sketches.”

“Didn't MacBride get hold of the engineering plans for the property?” Matt asked in surprise.

“Not that I'm aware of,” she said shortly, knowing Uncle Bren should have investigated that angle. But when she'd questioned him about it earlier that morning, he'd been clueless. “Besides,” she said, hoping to distract Matt from another rant about her uncle's shortcomings, “I want the drawings for me. The visuals will be more helpful in pointing out what has to be done now.”

“I can see that for myself already,” he said, his face twisted into a scowl.

And how did she know what he looked like, when she was supposed to be focusing on the task in front of her?

“What is it your uncle does for a living?” he asked suddenly.

“Why?” she asked, tightening her grip on her pencil.

“You work in visuals. I rely on words. I'm just trying to get a handle on the man. Maybe the more I know about him, the more I'll understand how his mind works.”

“I don't know about that. He's…he's a bit of a different breed.”

“Now,
that's
an understatement.”

“And I'm afraid that's all you're going to get from me about Uncle Bren. Why are you shining this light on him, anyway?”

He smiled. “Would you rather I shine it on you?”

That stopped her.

“You're probably twice as interesting as he is.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Want to share your deep dark secrets with me?”

“Right now, Counselor,” she said unsteadily, “I don't even want to be sharing this conversation with you. Why don't you go for a short walk?”

He chuckled. “I think you mean, ‘Take a long walk off a short pier.' And the outcome, on
this
pier, wouldn't be a surprise. I'd probably stumble over a broken board and fall into the lake before I got to the Ferris wheel.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, turning her back to him. “Why don't you give it a try?” To her immense relief, she heard him walk away.

Staring at Matt Lawrence wouldn't get her work done. Unfortunately, he was worth a second look. But she needed to stop indulging her fantasies. No matter how attracted she was to him—and he was a
definite
attraction—they wouldn't stand a chance together.

She and her family were a package deal. Take one, take them all. And despite her loyalty for the MacBride clan, they did come up a few branches short on their family tree. Which made her absolutely the wrong woman for a straitlaced, by-the-book lawyer like Matt Lawrence.

Sighing, she tried to focus on her clipboard and found it too small for a decent outline of anything. Next time, she'd bring her sketchpad.

She looked down the length of the pier in the gathering dusk. There was something about this place that she wanted to get down on paper, then onto canvas. Something in this scene that spoke to her, though she wasn't quite sure yet what it was.

Maybe the feeling came from the simplicity of the wooden buildings with their colorful strips of peeling paint.

Or maybe, she thought with a shiver of unease, the park gave a distorted impression of innocence half-hidden under many layers of deceit.

Not unlike this fiasco of a situation she and Matt found themselves in.

“What's that supposed to be?” Matt asked from behind her.

She shrieked and whirled around, sagging back against the ticket counter. “Why do you keep sneaking up on me?”

“I didn't. How could I, with my boots on these wooden planks?” He demonstrated by rapping his heel on the pier. “You could have asked me to pose, you know.”

“What?”
She stared at him.

“For the picture.”

He tugged on the clipboard, still clasped against her. She looked down at the top sheet in dismay. Most people doodled when they had paper in front of them and nothing else to do. She always used that time to create the first stages of a new piece of art, letting her mind and her hand wander across her sketchpad, tapping into both conscious and subconscious for guidance, inspiration and truth. She would have to control that impulse around Matt.

While her thoughts had wandered to him now, her hands had taken over. On the paper she had sketched his face, including the faint shadow of that tiny scar beneath his brow.

She swallowed hard. “Oh, that,” she said, forcing a grin.
“I saw the dartboard in the game room and thought whoever used it next might like a new target.”

“Very funny, Kerry Anne.” He tried to glare, but the sudden slight curve of his mouth gave him away. “That would have to work both ways, you know.”

He leaned closer, smiling, and she pressed back against the counter behind her, hoping it would keep her shaking knees from collapsing. “Wh-what do you mean, work both ways?”

“If you make me a target, I get to set my sights on you.”

“Oh.” Her laugh sounded as breathless as she felt. “I thought you already had.”

“Very observant. And now we've come to an understanding…” He moved in even closer.

Her chin went up in a reflexive response. To argue with him, of course. To set her jaw and announce just what she thought about him—

Oh, no. In view of what she'd been thinking about him only moments ago, that would be dangerous. Her sketch proved that.

But she didn't have time to worry about what to say.

As her chin went up, his came down. His mouth met hers, his lips warm and firm and supple. At first, he brushed his mouth lightly against hers, as if waiting to see if she would draw away. Instead, she lifted herself slightly on her toes, still comfortably braced by the counter behind her.

He gently tugged her toward him, unknowingly taking her away from that steadying surface and, just for a second, leaving her wobbling in midair—a sensation oddly matched by the sudden fluttery beat of her heart. Then his arms went around her, holding her close.

Shivering with pleasure, she realized she'd wanted to be with him like this almost since the first moment she'd seen
him, so dark-eyed, tall and handsome. Could it have been only two days ago? It seemed like so much longer.

She told herself—yet again—she needed to keep away from him. He was all wrong for her. He was out to get Uncle Bren. Instead of giving in to attraction, she had to see him as the enemy.

But when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, she stopped thinking about all that. She stopped thinking about everything.

Except this man and this moment.

The kiss was over almost before it began. With a look of horror, Kerry turned away and busied herself with a fresh sheet of paper on her clipboard, plainly avoiding his eye.

The only way to keep
his
eye on this project, Matt had decided, was to keep in close contact with Kerry.

Her uncle might have instigated this entire problem, but without a doubt, Kerry was the one who would bring things to a close. Whether that would happen fast enough to suit him or not, he didn't know, but while he had the time, he intended to stick around and move things along.

He hadn't planned on taking things as far as he had.

What had made him crazy enough to kiss her? He blamed that picture she'd drawn of him on her clipboard.

Obviously, the woman had been thinking about him…as much as he'd been thinking about her. He liked teasing Kerry, sharing the mild flirtation. He'd enjoyed their kiss—maybe more than he should have. But it was a one-time deal. He had no desire to hook up with her….

Okay. That wasn't entirely true. Desire played a part in his thoughts about her, a big part. He wanted a wife and family someday. But right now, there was no place for a woman in his life. Not in that regard.

And when it came to the amusement park plan, no way was he going to let himself get trapped by this softhearted
woman. Softhearted with everyone but him, that is. She was motivated by emotions, and that never went down well with him. He was definitely a straight-out facts and figures man.

Though there were other types of figures….

He leaned back against one of the shacks and eyed hers.

The sun was beginning to lower toward the horizon, but nothing could hide her curves or dull the shine of her hair and its several shades of red.

Footsteps echoed on the boardwalk behind them. Matt turned and saw a portly, sandy-haired man approaching. He wore a dress shirt, slacks and a tie settled high enough at the neck to give him a second chin. Lakeside Village's manager, no doubt.

The minute he opened his mouth, he confirmed Matt's surmise.

“Ms. MacBride, I'm told your uncle's somewhere on the premises, but I can't seem to find him anywhere at the Village.”

“No sense looking for him here, either,” Matt said.

After shooting him a warning look, Kerry turned to the other man. “It's okay, Don, I'm actually the person you should be talking to now.”

“Ah. Well. We can't have residents taking it upon themselves to appropriate space in the recreation center—or anywhere else on the property, for that matter.”

“Yes, I realize that. I'm working on it. Uncle Bren hadn't known what else to do with the supplies he'd ordered and—”

“What?” The manager frowned at her in clear suspicion. “I thought you just said
you
were responsible for the items left in the game room.”

“Excuse me—” Matt began.

Kerry eased toward him, her elbow colliding softly with his ribs. “No, I'm in charge of the renovations over here at
the park. The supplies were left there before I came on board and—”

“Well, something has to be done about them. They can't stay where they are.”

“Yes, I understand, but—”

“No buts.”

“Excuse me,” Matt said again, putting his hand lightly on Kerry's arm. Two could play the body-block game.

The man looked over at him and wrinkled his brow, as if trying to decide whether or not he knew Matt. He didn't, and Matt preferred it that way.

“I believe,” he began, “that Ms. MacBride is attempting both to explain the situation and to resolve the matter. But we won't know for sure if she's not allowed to finish a sentence.”

For a long moment, Don looked down his nose at Matt. Quite a feat, as the man stood no taller than Kerry. Finally, he turned to her. “And what arrangements are you making to move that—that mess from the game room?”

She grimaced. “Actually, I was hoping we could leave it there—temporarily—until we see whether we have a safe storage place somewhere here on the pier.”

“Out of the question.” He snapped the words so briskly his second chin wobbled. “The room has to be accessible to the residents.”

“Excuse me,” Matt said for the third time. And the last time. He was done with pulling punches. The man was nothing but a controlling, power-mad…manager who had no right to be so rude to Kerry. “First of all, when were you last in the game room?”

Don blinked. “Late yesterday afternoon.”

“Then I think you'll find things are considerably less of a mess now than they were then.”

“That doesn't—”

“And,” he added smoothly, “you'll also find that those supplies are jointly owned by most of the residents of your community. I can't imagine how they'll feel about having all their property taken from the safety of the Village's clubhouse and relocated out here to the pier before we've had a chance to make sure the area is secure.”

“That isn't my problem,” Don barked.

“It could be.” Matt crossed his arms and stared down at him. He was on shaky ground here. Hell, legally, he didn't have any ground to stand on. But he wasn't about to let this guy keep pushing Kerry around.

“What are you saying?” Don demanded. “They would sue? But
this
property has nothing to do with Lakeside Village's owners.”

“Don,” Kerry broke in, “I'm sure that's
not
what Matt meant at all. Matt—” she half turned her back to the manager so she could stare up at
him,
her eyebrows nearly knitted together in a scowl, her eyes zeroing in on him like twin gun barrels “—you don't need to say another word. I'll take care of this.”

He nodded, holding back a smile. There was just something about her, even when she got riled up. Maybe especially when she got riled up.

He watched as she set her expression into softer lines again before turning back to the other man. Now, why couldn't she look at
him
that way, with that lack of animosity, and mean it? Why was she being nicer to this creep in the choker collar than she'd ever been to
him?

Over Kerry's head, Matt stared at Don, raised his brows and did what he could to give an impression of innocence. If his acting skills weren't strong, and if Don instead read the expression as confirmation of his own fear about a lawsuit—hey, there wasn't a whole lot Matt could do about it. Kerry had requested that he bow out of the conversation, hadn't she?

The other man frowned. “All right. I'll give you until Monday evening. Then that pile of…supplies goes elsewhere.”

“That's fine,” Kerry said. “Thanks, Don.”

He nodded shortly, eyed Matt without saying a word, then turned and left them alone. Not nearly soon enough.

Kerry gave a huge sigh that ruffled the hair around her face. “I could have handled him, you know.”

He fingered one of her curls. “I'm sure you could have. But I didn't like hearing how he spoke to you.”

She stared at him for a long minute, her blue eyes softer now, but her mouth turned down in a frown.

“What?” he asked.

“Matt…” She sighed again. “It wasn't any worse than the way you talk to me, at times.” Before he could react, before he could pick his jaw up again, she began to turn away.

“Hey,” he finally managed to say, “wait a minute.”

She looked up at him, and he would swear tears had sprung to her eyes. The sight hit him like a punch to his stomach. Then she tilted her head slightly, and he realized he'd been mistaken.

But the idea he had upset her lingered.

And the fact he couldn't shake the thought upset him.

“I've come on strong a few times,” he admitted. “But you have to agree I had valid reasons.”

She gave a half shrug, half nod he found somehow endearing.

“You also have to admit,” he persisted, “you've given back as good as you've gotten.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let you walk all over me?”

“That sure never happened.”

She was feisty when it came to sticking up for herself, fero
cious when she needed to protect her relatives. How could he blame her for that?

“I'm the only girl in the family,” she said, as if by way of apology.

“That explains it, then. Survival of the fittest?”

Her lips quirked up at the corners. “I prefer to think, survival of the smartest. But don't tell my brothers that. And,” she added, “I either had to give back or give up—and there
was
no chance of survival if I'd chosen that alternative. So I learned to outsmart them.”

“When you were about nine?”

She shook her head. “Six.”

They both laughed.

Crossing her arms, Kerry headed toward the park entrance. He fell into step beside her.

“Well,” she said, “it's going to be dark out here before long. The supplies will have to wait.” Her lips twisted wryly.

Grimace, grin, smile—it didn't seem to matter what she did with that mouth. He liked it.

He stumbled over his own feet as that thought hit him, then almost fell off the pier as another followed.

He wanted to lean down and kiss her again.

 

K
ERRY TOOK A DEEP BREATH
and tried to ignore the man beside her. Carefully, she walked up the slope outside the clubhouse, not wanting to risk another slip on the thick grass and having Matt reach out to help her again.

The
last
time he'd touched her, he'd kissed her. And her response had told her just how much she needed to stay away from him.

At the top of the slope, the sound of a familiar, tinny ringing brought her to a halt.

Gran pulled her trike to a stop in front of them, barely missing Matt's toes.

Under her lashes, Kerry watched as he took in the sight of Gran in her jogging suit astride her tricycle. She sat in the front seat with a tandem seat for a second rider behind. The trike also sported a passenger car. On the side of the car, a metal sign demanded If You Can't be Irish, at Least be Green.

Matt looked dazed.

“We're meeting up for dinner at Bill's,” Gran announced. Bill's Griddle and Grill was their family's favorite restaurant. “You and Olivia, too,” she told Matt.

He nodded but said nothing. He just began to wander in the direction of the parking lot.

Kerry would blame his reaction on the sight of Gran's trike, except for the fact that he'd been unusually quiet on their way back from the pier.

“What did you do to him, love?”

“What did
I…?
” Kerry stopped short, recognizing the gleam in her grandmother's eye. “This was your idea, wasn't it? Inviting the Lawrences to eat with us?”

“It was my turn,” Gran said, shrugging.

Maybe she simply meant her turn to play hostess. But why did the words sound so ominous? “What do you mean?”

Gran's face twisted in exasperation. “Well, who do you think got Matt out of the way this morning so you could present the proposal in peace?”

“Who…?” Kerry gasped as the suspicion hit her. “Not
Olivia?
” Good heavens, it wasn't bad enough that Uncle Bren had made Kerry guilty by association. Now, her family had corrupted Matt's mother, too.

Gran grinned wickedly and turned away. “Yoo-hoo, Matt!”

He turned back to them.

“You won't mind taking Kerry Anne along with you, will you?”

“Gran,”
she muttered. Was there no end to the MacBride clan and their schemes?

“I thought I'd pick up my mother—”

“Olivia's all taken care of, and the car's full.”

Matt looked pointedly at the trike.

Gran looked back at him. “Laddie, you can't be expecting an old lady like me to haul another body on this vehicle.”

Right.
As if Gran didn't give Colin and Brody rides to school on that trike on a regular basis. At least, until the boys protested that they'd much rather walk.

She could have argued the point, but she wanted to be with Matt. Alone with Matt—before he had to face the dubious pleasure of dinner with her brothers.

“Well, I'll see you both there,” Gran added brightly. “Supper should be a real fun time.”

Kerry swallowed her groan.

 

B
ITING HER LIP,
K
ERRY
hovered next to Matt at the edge of the concrete walkway leading to the restaurant, waiting for their families to arrive.

The squat, square unpretentious building they stood outside didn't look like much, but Bill's Griddle and Grill constituted one of Lakeside's landmarks—and the place to see and be seen on a Saturday night.

The smell of burgers and onions wafted toward them on the light breeze, and she realized how hungry she was. But how would she ever survive dinner, let alone enjoy it, with Uncle Bren and this man at the same table? With Colin and Brody there, too? She couldn't confirm that
any
of her family—including Uncle Bren and Gran—would be on their best behavior.

Come to think of it, she couldn't speak for Matt, either.

And Gran expected to have a fun time!

“Interesting,” Matt said, as he noticed Uncle Bren and crew
exiting the car in the parking lot. “Your uncle brought in reinforcements.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she told him. “They're my brothers.”

“Exactly how many of your generation
are
there in the MacBride family?”

“Five.”

“I see two there, and you make three. Then we can expect the rest of the cavalry to show up at any time?”

She shook her head. “Not unless they had a sudden urge to saddle up and ride in to town.”

“They've moved away?”

“My oldest brother, Sean, moved to New York after graduation. The next oldest, Patrick, lives here in town. He's traveling on business right now.”