Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (20 page)

“For the present.” He didn't look as if the thought gave him much pleasure. “If you're thinking I'll take off again tomorrow and leave you in the lurch, I don't intend to.”

“I see.” So much for her idea that he'd quickly tire of this and go away. But he might not know himself as well as he thought he did.

“Look, Sarah.” Matt spoke slowly, watching the children scamper along the waves. “I know we didn't get off to a good start. I know this has been an unpleasant surprise to you. Can't we find some way of working together without clashing?”

At least he seemed more conciliatory about the whole situation. “What did you have in mind?” she asked cautiously.

He lifted an eyebrow, as if wondering how she'd react. “Suppose I become the publisher, and you continue as editor.”

“Meaning you make all the decisions? I don't think so.” If she gave in to him that much, she'd never have a say in where the
Gazette
went. She had too much of herself invested in the paper to agree to that.

“Well, what would satisfy you?” He looked as if, for once, he were really willing to listen to an answer.

It would satisfy me if you went back to your hotshot television job and let me run the paper.

No, she couldn't say that. But really, in spite of his protestations, how long was Matt likely to enjoy the quiet life in Caldwell Cove? He might think it was what he wanted now, but he'd soon be longing for the excitement he'd lived on for years.

If she could just hold on long enough, he'd go away. Things could go back to the way they'd been, and she wouldn't have Matt Caldwell messing up her life.

She took a deep breath. “Copublishers, coeditors.”

She expected an argument. She didn't get it.

“Done,” he said firmly, and held out his hand.

She blinked, hardly believing he'd agree without more argument. “Done,” she agreed, her voice shaking a little on the word.

His fingers wrapped firmly around hers, and their warmth seemed to travel across her skin. Her gaze met his, almost involuntarily.

Matt's dark eyes seemed to grow even darker, and her breath caught. She couldn't breathe, let alone speak. It was as if they really looked at each other for the first time, without the lens of disagreement clouding their vision. Looked. Liked what they saw.

Oh, no. This couldn't be. She fought down a wave of panic. It was bad enough to be forced into an unwilling partnership with this man. Letting herself be attracted to him—worse, letting him know she was attracted to him—that was more than difficult.

It was just plain crazy.

T
he bell over the office door rang for what seemed the hundredth time later that day, and Matt's jaw ached from gritting his teeth. That had to be the most annoying sound in the world.

Elton Hastings ambled to the counter, shoving his ball cap back on his balding head. He smiled at Sarah. “Hey, Miz Reed.”

Matt lowered his gaze to his computer. He didn't have to watch or listen to know what happened next. He'd already seen it a dozen times or more since they'd arrived at the office from the beach.

Sarah would embark on an extended conversation, as she did with everyone who walked through the door. It didn't seem to matter whether they wanted to place an ad, complain about a story or stop a subscription—they'd end up telling Sarah Reed their life story.

He peered cautiously around the computer monitor. Sarah leaned forward, her brown hair swinging against her shoulder as she listened with apparently rapt attention to Elton recount his gallbladder woes. He'd known the pace of a small-town weekly would be different, but this was ridiculous.

It was past time the
Caldwell Cove Gazette
became a professional operation. He'd decided that the moment he walked into the office, and he hadn't changed his mind.

But he'd agreed that he and Sarah would be coeditors and copublishers. Looking back on that conversation, he wasn't sure why he'd agreed so easily. If he'd pushed, he might have been able to secure a stronger position for himself. In a similar situation, his father would have negotiated a better deal—he felt sure of that. He also felt sure that he didn't want to follow his father's example when it came to running a business.

He'd have to talk this over with Sarah. They were partners—she'd realize that meant a little give and take. He'd explain to her how much more efficiently the office would run if she didn't waste time chatting with every person who came in the door.

She said something that made Elton laugh, the sound almost rusty, as if the old man hadn't laughed in a while. Matt studied her face from behind the shield of his monitor. There was strength in the line of her jaw, balanced by the vulnerability of her mouth and the soft warmth that seemed to radiate from her face. Everything about her shouted that here was a woman both capable and willing to take care of others.

Everyone responded to Sarah's warmth, even a crusty old coot like Elton. Nothing wrong with that, except that this was a place of business, not a church social. Warmth and chatter were inappropriate here, along with the tinkling bell and the plate of homemade cookies on the counter.

One of those cookies had mysteriously migrated to his desk. He took a bite, tasting oatmeal, chocolate and peanut butter. Giving out homemade cookies was definitely not what he expected in a newspaper office. Still, as long as he'd started the cookie, he might as well finish it.

Elton finally sauntered out the door, standing a bit taller than he had when he'd come in. Matt frowned at the tinkling bell, then turned to Sarah.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What's wrong?”

“What makes you think something's wrong?”

The eyebrow arched a little higher. “Well, it might be the way you stared at me the whole time I talked to a customer.”

“Was that what he was, a customer?” He feigned surprise. “The way he confided in you, I thought he was a long-lost cousin.”

She swung her swivel chair around so that she faced him more fully. “You don't want me to be pleasant to the people who come in?” She made it a question.

“I think this operation could be a little more professional, that's all.” It was probably inappropriate to take her to task for unprofessional behavior when he had chocolate smeared on one hand from the cookie he'd polished off. He wiped his hand. “This is a business.”

He expected her to flare up at that—to remind him that she'd been running the paper without his help for some time. Instead, she tipped her head to one side, as if considering.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

You could stop being so appealing. No, that wasn't what he meant. He'd mention the cookies, but eating one himself had undercut that argument.

“Listening to people's life stories. You didn't need to spend the last fifteen minutes hearing about Elton's gallbladder, did you?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “It wasn't the most scintillating conversation I've ever had. But maybe Elton needed to talk.”

“Then let him get a friend. Or a dog.” He shoved out of his chair, too restless to sit still any longer. “And another thing—that bell.”

She sent a startled glance toward the door. “What about the bell?”

“It makes this sound like a candy shop instead of a newspaper office.” Two steps took him to the counter. He leaned against it, looking down into blue eyes that held a spark of amusement instead of the anger he half expected.

“You wouldn't say that if you were back in the copy room and nearly missed a paying customer because you didn't hear her.”

“That would only happen if you were alone. You have a partner now, remember?”

Her wide eyes narrowed. “I'm finding it impossible to forget.”

“It's not that bad, is it?” He realized he was leaning toward her, just as he'd seen Elton do, and he stiffened. He wasn't going to get drawn in by a pair of big blue eyes and a vulnerable mouth. “I think with a little effort, we can bring the
Gazette
into the twenty-first century.”

She got up suddenly, the movement bringing her even closer. He caught a whiff of some light, flowery scent, and for a moment he was in a meadow instead of an office.

“Fine. You stay here and bring the paper into the twenty-first century by taking the bell off the door. I have a story to cover.”

“Story? What story?”

She slung the strap of the camera bag over her shoulder. “Elton mentioned that Minnie Walters is celebrating her hundredth birthday today. That's worth a picture, don't you think?”

“It's not a step toward world peace.” She probably wanted him to admit that her conversation with Elton had been worthwhile, and he wasn't about to do that.

“No, and we're not the
New York Times.
Our readers want to know when their neighbor hits the century mark.” She turned toward the door, then swung back, holding out the camera. “Of course if you'd like to do it…”

“No, thanks.” Clearly it would take more than one conversation to win this battle with Sarah. “You go ahead. I'm sure you'll get more out of Minnie than I would.”

Her smile flashed, and it was like a burst of sunshine on a chilly day. “I don't know about that. She might be thrilled to have a man come calling.”

“Not this man,” he said firmly. “In our division of responsibilities, little old ladies who hit their hundredth birthdays are definitely your department.”

Sarah's laughter mingled with the tinkle of the bell as she went out the door.

Well. The office seemed oddly empty without her. He wasn't sure who'd won that round, but at least she'd agreed he could remove the bell.

Fifteen minutes later he'd taken down the bell and begun leafing through a file of story ideas. The door from Sarah's apartment swung open, and her children surged through. The teenage baby-sitter he'd met earlier followed them, carrying the baby on her hip.

“Tammy has to go,” Andi announced importantly. “Where's our mommy?”

“Go where?” He turned to the teenager, hoping he didn't sound panic-stricken. “Their mother had to go out. They can't stay here.”

“I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Caldwell.” She dumped the baby unceremoniously into his unwilling arms. “But my mama called, and she needs me to go home ‘cause she has to work late.”

“But the kids…”

She was already at the door. “They'll be fine ‘til Miz Reed gets back. Just watch out for the baby—she's teething.”

Watch out for the baby? She made the kid sound like a ticking bomb. “I can't. You'll have to stay.”

He was talking to a closed door. He'd been left alone with Sarah's kids.

This was definitely not the way he'd planned to run this office. He looked at the tot in his arms, and she stared back at him, round blue eyes full of innocence.

He sat, balancing her on his knee, and turned to the other three. They looked a bit more doubtful about the situation than the baby did.

What on earth did he know about watching kids? How could Sarah let him get stuck like this?

“Well.” He cleared his throat. He'd interviewed the leaders of angry mobs, questioned arrogant tyrants. He could surely talk to little kids. Just treat them as if they were responsible adults, and they'd respond that way. “Your mother will be back soon. Maybe you can amuse yourselves until she gets back.”

“What can we do?” Andi asked.

“I want to play with the computer,” Ethan said.

Jeffrey's face clouded up, and he looked as if tears were imminent. “I want Mommy.”

Matt glanced at the baby, to discover that she was chewing on the strap of his wristwatch. When he tried to disengage her teeth, she started to wail.

Sarah, where are you?

 

Sarah hurried down the street toward the office, the camera bag bouncing against her hip. She'd been longer than she'd intended, but the elderly woman had been so thrilled with the whole idea of being in the paper that Sarah hadn't had the heart to cut the interview short. Besides, Minnie's tales of Caldwell Island in the early years of the century, before there'd even been a bridge to the mainland, were just what the
Caldwell Cove Gazette
readers loved.

Matt probably wouldn't agree. His determined face formed in her mind's eye, dark eyes serious, chiseled mouth firm. Her pulse gave an erratic little flutter. Maybe she needed another lecture to herself.

Matt clearly intended to keep their relationship businesslike. She must, too. He'd stay detached; she'd stay detached. She'd wait him out, and before long he'd grow tired of Caldwell Cove and the
Gazette
and take his disturbing self right out of her life.

She pushed the office door open. The first thing she noticed was that the bell was missing. The second was her children, busy enveloping Matt's desk in a sheet of newsprint.

“What—what's going on here?”

Matt straightened. He held Amy in one arm, and she was chewing on a plastic tape dispenser. “What does it look like? We're building a fort.”

She was almost afraid to ask why. “But where's Tammy?”

“Gone. Something about her mother having to work late.” His look was accusing. Clearly he thought she should have anticipated that and made other arrangements. Well, he was right. She should have.

Matt shifted Amy to his other arm, and the side of the fort he'd been holding collapsed, leading to a muffled shriek from Andi.

“You have to hold it.” Andi peeked out from under the desk. “Or I can't stick the tape on right.”

“Never mind that.” Sarah hustled to the desk, hauling children out from beneath it. “You shouldn't be in here bothering Mr. Caldwell.”

“We weren't bothering him,” Andi protested.

“He was watching us,” Ethan said.

Watching them. Their first day of working together and already she owed him a major apology.

“He doesn't need to watch you now. I'm home.” She headed the three of them toward the door. “Andi, you take your brothers to the kitchen and get their snack. I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

“But, Mommy…”

“No buts.” She marched them to the door. “Go on, now.”

When they'd gone, she turned to apologize, only to realize that Matt still held the baby.

“I'm sorry.” She scooped Amy into her arms, sure her cheeks must be fiery. “This shouldn't have happened. I don't know how to apologize.”

Relieved of the baby, he brushed his sleeves back into place. “We seem to have survived,” he said dryly. “But I hope this isn't going to become a habit.”

“Of course not.” Apparently he couldn't accept her apology without lecturing.

“You need adequate child care if you're going to run the paper.”

She suppressed the urge to tell him she'd been running the paper and her family quite nicely without advice from him. “I have adequate child care. I just should have talked to Tammy about what to do if she had to leave.”

She plopped Amy into the play yard, removing the tape dispenser and substituting a squeaky toy before the baby could cry at being deprived of it.

“Bait and switch,” Matt said.

She blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward the toy Amy had just stuffed into her mouth, and she grinned at him around it. “I tried to take the tape dispenser away, but she wouldn't give it up. You did a nice move substituting that toy.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Come to think of it, that's what you did with me.”