Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (22 page)

Yes, you should have. “Why don't you start now? How long is this leave of absence of yours supposed to last?”

“Six months.” He said it as if it were something to cling to. “Six months of peace and quiet. Then I go back.”

“What if you're not ready in six months?”

Anger flared for an instant. “I'll be ready. I'll go back.”

Her own anger sparked. “So working at the
Gazette
was just something to amuse you while you're on leave.”

“I'm not looking for amusement,” he snapped. He shook his hand then, held up his hand as if to stop whatever she might say to that. “I'm sorry. I realize this doesn't make much sense to you.”

“Explain it to me. You walk into our lives and turn them upside down, and then you tell me it's just temporary? You're right, it doesn't make much sense to me.”

Whatever had been conciliatory in his expression fled. “I own a half share in the paper, remember? If I want to help run it for six days or six weeks or six months, I can.”

She felt suddenly tired. He was right. He could do whatever he wanted, and she couldn't stop him.

“Sarah, this doesn't have to be a problem. Being a part of running the paper will let me keep my hand in my profession while I'm off. What would you expect me to do? Help my grandmother prune her roses for six months?”

Her mouth curved in a reluctant smile. “No, somehow I don't see you as the rose-pruning type.”

His face relaxed a fraction. “You must see that this was the obvious solution for me. And it can be a break for you, too.”

“What do you mean? I can't take six months off.”

“No. But you could take a few hours a day off, with my help. You can't tell me you wouldn't welcome that.”

“You mean I can work twelve-hour days, instead of fourteen?” She said it lightly, but somehow it didn't come out that way. If she ever admitted how tired she was, she might collapse and never get up again.

“Something like that.” His gaze searched her face. “We share the work for six months, right? We both gain. At the end of that time, when I go back, we can look for some extra help for you.”

She wanted to protest that they couldn't afford extra help, but maybe that was an argument better saved for another day. She'd wanted to know what brought Matt home, wanted to know how long he'd stay. Now she had both of those answers. It should make her happy.

It did make her happy, she assured herself. She had to put up with Matt's interference at the paper for six months, and then he'd be gone. She could go back to handling things the way she wanted to. Surely she could deal with anything for six months.

“Well, I guess that's settled, then.”

“I guess it is.” Matt glanced around, as if he were searching for something he'd forgotten. Maybe he just wanted something to get them away from the dangerously personal ground they'd been treading.

He reached for the folder he'd brought with him.

“Your plan of action?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Suggestions,” he said firmly. “Ideas I have for the paper.” He held it out to her. “Take a look and tell me what you think.”

She took the folder gingerly.

“It won't bite.” His mouth curved in a smile.

Won't it? She opened the manila cover with a sense of inevitability. Whatever Matt proposed, it meant change, and none of the changes she'd endured recently had been pleasant.

She read through the pages, schooling her face to impassivity. She hadn't quite finished when Matt put his hand impatiently on hers, making her pulse jump.

“Well, what do you think?”

“You have some interesting ideas,” she said carefully. “But I'm not convinced some of these will work for
Gazette
readers.”

“Why not?” He shot the question at her.

She suspected the brief interlude of peace between them was over. “You have to realize people want different things from a small-town paper than they do from a television news program.”

He was already shaking his head. “Oh, I know you have to do the local stuff. People expect that. But there's no reason why the
Gazette
can't cover more important issues, as well. After all, things that happen at the state and national level affect all of us.”

“But, Matt…”

His hands clasped both of her wrists, sending their warmth straight to her heart. For the first time, she saw his face as it must have looked before stress and tragedy had left their mark on him—alive with passion and enthusiasm. “There are stories waiting to be told here in Caldwell Cove, Sarah. Let's take a crack at telling them, all right?”

She knew he wasn't really asking for her permission. He'd found the road he wanted to travel, and no one would deter him, least of all her.

She swallowed hard, trying to slow the race of her pulses. Matt would only be in her life for the next six months. But in six months, he could do irreparable damage to the newspaper.

And if she weren't careful to guard against it, he could also do irreparable damage to her heart.

“H
ow are you surviving with your new partner?”

The question fit so exactly into Sarah's thoughts that it startled her. She turned to smile at Miranda Caldwell, letting a tidal wave of Sunday school children scurry past them to the tables in the churchyard. The church coffee hour had been moved out under the trees on this beautiful June Sabbath.

“Fine, I think.” She suppressed all the worries she couldn't express to anyone, and especially not to Matt's cousin. “Maybe you should ask him that question.”

Miranda's smile broadened. “I did. And he said, ‘Fine, I think,' just like you did, sugar. Seems the two of you think alike.”

Sarah's gaze rested on Matt's tall figure as he stood beneath a tree, balancing a coffee cup and talking to his brother. “I don't think I'd say that, exactly.”

“Then what?” Miranda nudged her arm, her green eyes alight with mischief. “You can tell me. We're family, Matt and I.”

And that was just why she couldn't. Did Matt's family recognize the strain implicit in the stiffness of his shoulders? Did they see the despair she sometimes glimpsed in his eyes? Or was she imagining the whole thing?

She had to respond to Miranda in some way. “Let's just say Matt takes more of a world view toward a small-town paper than I do.”

“Crusading, is he?”

Sarah thought of the stories Matt had proposed over the course of the last week. “Yes, I guess you could say that. He has good ideas. Just maybe not sensible for us to tackle.”

“That's Matthew. He's always been a crusader.” Miranda smiled in reminiscence. “I remember when we were kids. He was always the one who took on the schoolyard bully. Never to defend himself—always to defend somebody smaller or weaker. That's our Matt.”

She hadn't viewed Matt that way, but it fit. “The
Gazette
isn't exactly the schoolyard.” And Jason Sanders, even now handshaking his way around the coffee hour, wasn't the bully Matt apparently remembered.

“Maybe you need to tell him that,” Miranda said. She nodded. “Seems like you're about to have the chance.”

Sarah looked up to see Matt bearing down on them, moving with the determined stride that said he had important things to do.

“See you later,” Miranda murmured, and slipped away before Sarah could suggest that she stay.

It wasn't that she needed a barrier against her new partner. It was just that Matt was sure to ask what she thought of the article he'd written about Jason Sanders's acquisition of small parcels of land from some elderly island natives. And if she told him what she thought, it would lead to a quarrel she didn't want to have, at least not on Sunday morning.

“Good morning, Sarah. Nice service, wasn't it?”

“Very nice.” Did he really think that? He hadn't been in church the previous Sunday, and she thought she'd detected an extra measure of tension when her gaze had strayed toward him during the service. Maybe he'd been looking at the empty bracket where the Caldwell dolphin had once stood. Caldwells must be reminded of the story and the missing dolphin each time they went into St. Andrews.

“Gran got after me for sleeping in last Sunday.” Matt seemed to be reading her mind. “She doesn't accept excuses for missing worship.”

“If you're looking for sympathy, you've come to the wrong person,” she said firmly. “I have four kids to get ready, and I still managed to get everyone here for Sunday school.”

His face relaxed in a smile, and he held up both hands as if to fend her off. “Okay, I surrender. No sympathy here.” He glanced toward the group of children playing tag under the trees, while three teenagers corralled the nursery toddlers on a blanket. “At least you get a break once you bring them here.”

“The nursery helpers are good with the children. I just wish I could find someone reliable to watch them during the week when I'm working. Tammy's good with them, but she's not available often enough.”

That was a constant concern, and she hadn't been able to take seriously Matt's contention that she could take time off now that he was working with her. Getting the paper out provided more than enough work for both of them. Matt was a fast learner, but he came in knowing little of the everyday mechanics of getting the paper out.

So far, Matt hadn't complained about her children playing hide-and-seek under his desk, but she suspected that was just a matter of time.

“Speaking of work, what did you think of the article I asked you to read?”

It had taken even less time than she'd expected for him to bring up the prickly subject.

“I thought it was interesting. Well written.”

His eyes narrowed. “That means you didn't like it.”

“I didn't say that. It just raised some concerns in my mind, that's all.” Such as whether they'd lose their biggest advertiser if Matt printed that story.

“I went over the piece with a microscope,” he said stiffly. “I can assure you there's nothing in it but the truth. He's been pressuring people to sell who don't know the potential value of their property.”

“But it's the truth told as bluntly as possible.” They were at war again, this time at a church coffee hour, of all places. “You could have softened it. But maybe you didn't want to. Maybe you were fighting the schoolyard bully again.”

“You've been talking to Miranda.” His gaze shot sparks, but his voice was soft.

She met his look defiantly. “How can you be sure you're not letting your history with him affect your decision?”

“I don't know, Sarah. How can you be sure you're not letting his advertising dollars affect yours?”

Anger stiffened her spine. “Advertising is what keeps a weekly paper alive. I have to be concerned about that. You don't.”

He looked surprised by the direct attack. “What do you mean? I'm just as interested in the paper's success as you are.”

The worries she'd bottled up all week seemed to be spilling out in a most inappropriate place. “You can't be,” she said flatly. “To you, the paper is just something to keep you busy for the next six months, until you go back to your real life.”

“I care about the
Gazette.
Maybe you think I'm not committed—”

“Committed? Tell me something, Matt. Where's your passport?”

It didn't take the betraying movement of his hand toward his jacket pocket to tell her what she'd already guessed. He wouldn't put that passport away, because it was a lifeline to the world he wanted.

“This is just a temporary aberration in your life. But for me, for my family—”

“Miz Reed?”

She blinked, so intent on making Matt see that for an instant she couldn't refocus. Then she saw the girl leading Jeffrey by the hand.

She was on her knees next to him immediately. “Sweetheart, what is it?” She brushed fine blond hair back from his flushed face. “Don't you feel okay?”

He shook his head, leaning against her. “My head hurts, Mommy. And my tummy doesn't feel too good.”

She picked him up, straightening. “We'll go home right away.” She glanced at Matt, but he was looking at Jeffrey.

“That's too bad, buddy.” He put his hand on Jeffrey's forehead.

It was the simplest gesture, one she'd made herself more times than she could count. But the sight of the man's strong hand, gentle on her son's head, made her heart clench.

She pushed the feeling away. She'd analyze it later. “I'd better round up the other kids.”

“Let me.” Matt frowned. “Better yet, let me bring the older kids home later. They're happy playing for now. That way you can get the little ones settled.”

“I can't impose—”

“It's not an imposition.” His smile wiped away all trace of their quarrel. He took Jeffrey from her. “I'll carry him to the car while you get the baby and settle the other two.”

She should be annoyed at his assumption of responsibility. She'd been handling her family on her own for quite some time. But it felt so tempting to let Matt bear a little of the burden, just for now.

She shouldn't give in to that feeling. Matt would be gone soon. She shouldn't let him become so entangled with her family. But she couldn't seem to help it.

 

“Here we are, kids.” Matt pulled up at Sarah's door. He'd been relieved to finally leave the church with them. He'd found it hard, as long as he was at St. Andrews, to keep his eyes from straying toward the stained-glass window of Jesus blessing the children. He didn't want to look at it, but for some reason it tugged at him.

He opened the car door for Andi and Ethan, wondering if he could just dump them and make his escape. Unfortunately, being back on the island seemed to reactivate all the Southern manners that had been drilled into him since birth. The answer was no, he couldn't. He had to go in and speak to Sarah, at least.

He would have knocked, but Andi already had the door open when he reached it. He was surprised to see Sarah apparently ready to go out.

“What's going on?”

She looked harried. “I can't get Jeffrey's fever down. I'm going to run him over to the clinic.” She managed a distracted smile. “Thanks for your help. Andi and Ethan, let's get in the car.”

“But, Mommy—”

“No arguments, please.” She had Jeffrey in one arm and Amy in the other. “Just bring my bag, Andi.”

“I'll watch them.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, and part of him stood back and watched, appalled, as he reached out to take the baby from her.

“I can manage.” Sarah clutched Amy.

She was clearly just as reluctant to let him as he was to do it. Somehow that made him more determined.

“Don't be silly.” He pried the baby out of her arms. “You need to concentrate on taking care of Jeffrey.”

An image of the children he hadn't been able to help flickered through his mind, and he buried it. He wouldn't let Sarah's kids remind him of that.

“If you're sure—”

“I'm sure.” He pushed her gently toward the car. “We'll be fine until you get back. If there's anything I need to know about the baby, Andi will tell me.”

Jeffrey gave a little sob and burrowed his head into Sarah's neck. She stroked his hair gently.

“It's all right, sweetheart. The doctor will make you better.” Her gaze met Matt's. “Thank you,” she said softly.

The door closed behind her. Amy wailed and lunged toward it. With a convulsive movement, Matt caught her before she lunged right out of his arms. His heart pounding erratically, he set her down. She'd be safer on the floor. If she got hurt while he was watching her…The images came again, and this time it took more effort to oust them.

Amy wailed for another moment, then grasped the chair and pulled herself up to stand, holding on, wobbling a little. Apparently her storm was over.

He looked at Andi and Ethan. “You have to tell me, guys. What are we supposed to do now?”

“Watch television,” Ethan began. “And then—”

“We change out of our church clothes first,” Andi said firmly. “Then we have peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, and we play quietly while Amy takes a nap.”

Looked as if Andi was the one to count on. “Okay, let's do that.” This shouldn't be too difficult. Anyone could make peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and put a baby down for a nap.

An hour later he decided he'd been overly optimistic. The sandwiches had gone fine, although Andi pointed out that Mommy always cut them in triangles, not rectangles. And Andi and Ethan were, indeed, playing relatively quietly. But Amy didn't want to take a nap.

Frustrated and helpless at her wails, he lifted her back out of the crib and sat down in the cushioned rocker next to it. He could picture Sarah in the sunny nursery, rocking and singing.

“Come on, little girl.” He patted Amy's back, and her cries reverberated in his head. “Give me a break.”

He tried to think. What would Miz Becky, the Gullah woman who'd raised him and Adam after their mother died, have done in a situation like this?

A fragment of memory slipped through his mind. He seemed to feel warm, comforting arms rocking him back and forth while a rich Southern voice sang.

He may as well give it a try. Nothing else seemed to work. He rocked. “'Hush, little baby, don't say a word—'”

What came next? He couldn't remember, but then it came back to him. He hummed the bits he didn't remember, rocking in time to the song. Amy's wails diminished, then ceased. It became a game, trying to remember the verses, hearing Miz Becky's voice in his mind. It seemed to comfort him as much as it did the child.

By the time he'd remembered all the words to all the verses, Amy was asleep on his shoulder. He watched her, feeling a kind of wonderment. She was so relaxed and trusting, deep into slumber. He could see the fine tracing of blue veins under rose-petal skin, the soft crescents formed by her eyelashes against her cheeks.