Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish (29 page)

For a moment something in him resisted. He didn't want to talk to Sarah now—didn't want to talk to anyone. This was his problem, and he'd handle it his own way. But even before he'd finished the argument in his mind, he'd dismounted.

“I was worried about you.” She reached up to pat Eagle's neck, but her eyes were on Matt. “You didn't come back.”

“I needed to get it out of my system. Riding does that for me.”

The worry in her face was diluted with a slight smile. “That's what your grandmother said. She came to the office.”

“You didn't tell her—” Alarm ran along his nerves like a warning signal.

“No. I didn't tell her.” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “But I'm not sure I fooled her at all. She just seems to know things.”

A few pointed memories flickered through his mind, almost making him smile. “Yes, she does, doesn't she?”

Sarah straightened, and he saw her throat work as she swallowed. “How did it go?”

How could he tell her? How could he not? She was the one who'd found it, after all.

She shook her head quickly. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm not asking you to confide in me.”

“Aren't you?”

“No,” she said firmly, in much the same way she responded to Amy's attempts to touch something hot. “But you have to talk to someone, Matt. What about your brother?”

You already know more about me than anyone else, maybe including Adam.

“I've never talked to Adam about my father. If I were guessing, I'd say he knows how I feel. But Adam—well, Adam's made his own separate peace with who Dad is.”

That was true—he realized as he said it. No one ever doubted his brother's integrity, but Adam apparently didn't feel the need to confront their father over it.

A bitter taste filled his mouth, and he turned away so she wouldn't see what he felt. He stroked Eagle's strong neck, feeling the moisture on the silky skin from the gallop that hadn't taken him far enough away. Somewhere out in the mist a foghorn sounded, deep and lonely.

Sarah covered his hand with hers, stilling its restless movement. Hers was small but strong, just like the woman herself. Sarah was strong enough to bear his bitterness. It scared him how much he wanted to tell her, wanted to feel her sympathy, like salve on a wound.

“I talked to him.” The words came out in a rush, as if they couldn't be spoken fast enough. “I showed him the notebook.”

Her fingers curled around his. She was close enough that he could smell the faint flowery scent she wore, close enough that he could feel the intake of her breath. They stood inside a circle of fog that encompassed them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

“He denied it, of course.” His voice was flat. “Said the minister had it in for him, said none of it was true.”

“You didn't believe him.” Her voice was as soft as the mist that touched her hair with moisture.

“No.” He hadn't believed his father. He'd seen the spurt of panic before the lie that came so easily. “I almost walked away, then.” He wasn't proud of that.

“But you didn't.”

“I pushed him. And finally he came out with the story.”

She didn't say anything. Just waited. But he could feel her warmth surrounding him, diluting the bitterness that came with the memory of his father's words. He knew he was going to tell her.

“He and my uncle were teenagers that summer. There was a girl—a daughter of one of the summer visitors, the yacht club crowd. Usually they didn't mix with islanders, but he said Emily Brandeis was different. Emily wanted to be with them. And it sounds like both of them were in love with her.”

“She wanted the dolphin.” Sarah seemed to have the same ability to read between the lines that his grandmother did.

“He said she teased them about getting the dolphin figure for her, so she'd have a memento of their summer.”

Eagle tossed his head, chasing the mist, his movement the only thing that stirred. Sarah was so still, she might have been carved from wood herself.

“He didn't say so, but I'd guess this Emily favored my uncle. So one night, when a group of young people were having a picnic out on Angel Isle, he slipped the dolphin out of the chapel. He says he just wanted to show it to her, I guess to impress her.”

He stopped, reliving the anguish he'd felt at those words on his father's lips. Sarah's fingers tightened on his. He could feel the warmth flowing from her. It was like a balm, coming from her gentle spirit straight to his troubled soul.

“There was some trouble—he wasn't very specific about that part of it. The party was raided by a bunch of yacht club parents. In all the confusion, he lost sight of the dolphin.” He shook his head. “I'm not sure whether I believe that or not. He says he went back the next day, after things calmed down, but the dolphin wasn't there. And when he went to ask Emily, she and her family had left the island. My father claims he never saw it again.”

“Do you believe him?”

He shrugged. “I'm not sure what I believe. And even if I were, what would I do with it? I certainly can't tell my grandmother that her son was responsible. It would be different if I could get the dolphin back for her, but I can't.”

Sarah reached up to touch his face then, turning it so he was looking at her. He didn't know what he expected to see in her face, but all he found there was caring and sympathy. “Maybe it's not too late. If we pursued this Emily, we might find something.”

“That's assuming there's any truth to what my father said.”

“Perhaps you should assume that, unless it's proved otherwise.”

He managed a smile. “I hate to point this out, but that's the exact opposite of what any good investigative reporter would do.”

“In this case, you're a son first, a reporter second.” Her touch took any criticism out of her words. “I think we need to try at least.”

He put his hand over hers, pressing her palm against his cheek, feeling her generous heart speaking to him. “What makes you such a wise woman, Sarah Reed?”

Warm color surged under her skin. “I'm not so wise. But I do know you have to go on loving someone, even when he's disappointed you.”

“Who are we talking about, Sarah?” he asked softly. “My father? Yours? Or Peter?”

He saw that hit home and knew she had been thinking, in some way, of her late husband.

“That doesn't matter,” she said. “If someone you love does something wrong—well, love wouldn't be love if it stopped then.” She gave him a ghost of a smile. “God doesn't stop loving me, even though I know how often I disappoint Him.”

She was so serious, so intent on mending him. He didn't want to disappoint her.

He put a kiss on her palm, then closed her fingers around it and moved a careful inch away, so he wouldn't be tempted to do more. “All right,” he said. “We'll assume the best and try to find out the truth. I just hope we're not disappointed.”

A smile blossomed on her face, and he knew what he was really thinking. I don't want to disappoint you, Sarah. I don't ever want to disappoint you.

S
arah stared absently at her computer screen the next morning, trying to concentrate on the day's work and knowing she couldn't. She couldn't get Matt off her mind.

There couldn't be a future for them. They both knew that. Admitting their mutual attraction should make dealing with it easier, but somehow it hadn't.

Well, attracted or not, God had laid a burden on her heart. She had to help Matt heal, and one of the big pieces of that healing must be his relationship with his father. Until he'd managed that, he'd probably not be ready to resolve things with his Heavenly Father.

Finding out what had happened to Emily Brandeis and the church's dolphin carving might go a long way toward that, but that search was proving unexpectedly difficult. She frowned at the records she'd called up on the computer, trying to see them instead of the pain in Matt's eyes when he'd talked about his father.

She heard the door and glanced up to see Matt's tall figure silhouetted against the June sunshine. He stepped into the office, and she saw that he was smiling.

“You're looking pleased. Has something happened?”

He crossed the office to perch on the corner of her desk. “I found out something interesting.”

Her mind leaped to her own search. “About Emily?”

For an instant he looked blank. “Emily? No. About Jason Sanders.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Would it surprise you to learn that every person for whom Sanders negotiated a purchase down on the south end was a friend or relative of his?”

“Well.” She paused to assimilate that. “That's not illegal.”

“No, but it is odd.” Matt's smile had an edge to it. This must be how he looked when he tracked down an important story. A chill touched her. He looked different from the Matt she'd grown to know.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have some feelers out for information. Someone knows what's going on. Something will come in,” he said confidently. “If Sanders is up to something dishonest, everyone's going to read about it on the front page of the
Gazette.
”

She knew what else he was thinking—that breaking a big story would go a long way toward showing his bosses he was ready to go back to work. She tried to ignore the ball of lead in her stomach at the thought.

“Now, what's this about Emily?” Matt seemed to shift gears.

“Nothing, unfortunately.” She flung out her hand toward the computer screen. “I thought it would be fairly easy to find out what happened to her when she left the island, and for a time it was. Did you know that her father wasn't quite the success people seemed to believe?”

He leaned closer, his attention caught. “All I know is what my father said, and that's not much. I certainly got the impression Emily was one of the yacht club crowd.”

“Brandeis's business apparently crashed not long after their visit to the island that summer. But Emily married well—a Savannah society type. Unfortunately it didn't last. There was a divorce, then a remarriage. She was on the fringes of Savannah society for a while. Then—nothing.” She smacked her hand on the desk in frustration. “She vanishes from public record.”

He stood up abruptly, startling her. “Let's go to Savannah.”

“What?” She looked up into smiling brown eyes and felt a betraying weakness flow through her. “When?”

“Now.” He held out his hand.

“We can't just take off for Savannah.” She scrambled for a good reason why she couldn't go with him. Alone. For the day.

“Why not?” He caught her hand, drawing her to her feet. Seeing his investigation into Sanders bearing fruit seemed to have given him confidence. “The kids are fine at the house.”

“If we go into Savannah, we probably won't be back at the time I usually pick them up. I can't leave them there.”

“Why not?” he said again. “Wanda would be happy to watch them, and Jenny'd be delighted to have Andi stay for supper.”

“It's an imposition.” She let the pressure of his hand pull her a step closer, trying to find the will to resist the attraction.

His smile said he knew exactly what she was doing. “Come on, Sarah. I thought you wanted to help me solve this mystery for my grandmother.”

I want to help solve it for you, she thought. “How do you know we'll find anything there? Emily could have left Savannah ages ago.”

“Possibly,” he conceded. “But I'm betting she didn't. If there's one thing I know about old-time Savannahians, it's that they tend to stay put. I believe Emily Brandeis wouldn't stray too far, if she had a choice.”

She felt herself weakening. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt. I should call and talk with Wanda first.”

“We'll do better than that.” His fingers tightened compellingly on hers. “We'll stop by the house on our way off-island. Come on, Sarah. It'll do us good to chase down this shadow together.”

Together. How many more things would they be likely to do together? Matt would leave. She had no doubts about that. Couldn't she have one more memory to savor when he was halfway around the world?

“All right.” She picked up her bag, knowing she was rationalizing this. “We'll go.” Because she wanted to be with him, even knowing there was no future in this. She just wanted to be with him while she could.

 

“Pretty depressing looking.” Matt looked from the run-down boardinghouse in a seedy Savannah neighborhood to Sarah's face. It reflected just what he was thinking. Emily Brandeis's life had gone steadily downhill after that summer she spent on the island.

“This is a far cry from the mansion over on Bull Street, isn't it?” Sarah said.

He nodded. “One bad marriage after another, apparently. Funny. The way Dad described her, she was the kind of golden girl who had the world at her feet.”

“Maybe that's how she seemed, to him,” Sarah said gently. “He was young, and it sounds as if she was his first love.”

Something tightened inside him. “She married for money and position.” Just as his father had. If it hadn't been for his wife's money, Jefferson Caldwell's life, and hence his sons' lives, might have been very different. Or would he have found another way to the success and status he craved? Maybe things would have turned out the same in any event.

Luckily Sarah couldn't know what he was thinking. She glanced again at the boardinghouse, and distress was evident in her eyes. “Aren't we going in? If she's there, she might be willing to talk.”

He shouldn't have brought her. She was more affected than he'd guessed she would be by this old story. He hadn't really believed, when he'd suggested this little expedition, that they'd find anything useful. He might as well admit it. He'd just wanted to spend the time with her.

“We've come this far.” He took Sarah's arm. “I guess we may as well go through with it.”

They started up curving stairs whose wrought iron railing had probably been beautiful before years of neglect.

“You were right about one thing.” Sarah stepped over a paper bag blown by the wind against the rail.

“What's that?” He lifted the knocker and let it fall.

“Savannahians don't go far from home.”

“No.” Somehow being right didn't give him much pleasure at the moment. “She might not be in the Bull Street mansion any longer, but she's still in the city.”

“Yeah, what?” The woman who flung the door open wore a St. Patrick's Day celebration T-shirt that stretched over her ample frame and argued with the garish orange of her hair. “You want something?”

“We're looking for Emily Watson.” He used the last married name they'd found for her. “I understand she lives here.”

“You relatives?” She looked them up and down. “You don't look like you belong in this part of town. Always said she come from money, but I never saw none of it.”

“No, we're—” What were they? He suspected she wouldn't be forthcoming to reporters unless there was something in it for her.

“Friends of the family,” Sarah said. “May we see her?”

The woman let out a short burst of laughter. “Reckon you'll have to go to Bonaventure Cemetery if you want to do that. She died three months ago.”

The depth of his disappointment shocked him. He hadn't realized until that moment how much he wanted to resolve this situation—to find the missing dolphin, to heal the family feud, to bring his father back into the Caldwell clan.

“I'm so sorry to hear that, Mrs.—?” Sarah's voice was soft, sympathetic. “You must have become friends while she lived here. I'm sure it was a loss.”

He was almost equally surprised to see the woman assume the air of a mourner at Sarah's words.

“Mrs. Willie, Gina Willie. I guess you could say that. I was probably her only friend.”

“She didn't have any family?” Sarah asked.

“Well, she had a daughter,” the woman admitted grudgingly. “Lived up north someplace though. Didn't come here much, ‘til her mama got sick.”

“I suppose she took care of all the arrangements after her mother's death—disposing of her belongings and so forth?” Matt held his breath. Were they actually likely to find some trace of the dolphin at this late date?

“The daughter packed up what she wanted. Left some clothes for me to give away. Emily didn't have much.”

“I don't suppose you ever saw a wooden figure of a dolphin, about so high.” He measured with his hands.

“Somethin' valuable, was it?” The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Just something that belonged to the family.” His family. “Did her daughter take it?”

But she was already shaking her head. “Never saw nothing like that.”

He thought of his grandmother, mourning the loss of the dolphin even as she kept the story alive for each generation. He wanted to make this better for her.

“Do you have the daughter's address?” he asked abruptly.

The woman took a step back, her suspicion flaring again. He could sense Sarah's tension, as if she wanted this just as much as he did.

“If you're family friends, guess you'd know that yourself.” The woman snapped the door closed in their faces.

Frustrated, he lifted his fist, ready to hammer until she opened up again, but Sarah caught his arm.

“Better leave it, before she decides to call the police.”

He glared at the closed door. “I don't like dead ends.”

“At least we found out what happened to Emily. Now that we know the daughter exists, we can find her.”

“I wanted to come home with answers.”

“You did a good thing today, Matt.” Her voice was warmly encouraging. “Don't beat yourself up because you couldn't solve a forty-year-old problem in a day.”

He had to smile, because that was exactly what he was doing. He took her arm to pilot her back down the narrow stairs, enjoying the feel of her softness against him.

“How did you get to know me so well, Sarah?”

“Just a lucky guess.” She seemed to try for lightness, but he heard the undertone of emotion in her voice. Worse, he knew that his own had grown husky when he asked the question.

What's going on with us, Sarah? This isn't supposed to happen.

But it was.

 

“Sure you didn't want dessert?” Matt looked down at her as they left the restaurant overlooking the harbor, and she suppressed the familiar flutter of her pulse at his nearness. “They make a Key lime pie that's out of this world.”

Sarah shook her head firmly. “I'd burst if I ate another bite. The dinner was fantastic.” Also very elegant. She'd protested that she wasn't dressed for a fancy restaurant, but Matt had insisted she looked fine and had whisked her inside anyway.

He'd probably wanted to remove the taste of sadness, for both of them. And it was sad. Lovely Emily, the golden girl, had ended up poor and alone, with all her bright promise gone.

Sarah glanced again at Matt's face as they crossed the cobblestone street along the waterfront. He steered her carefully around a clutch of tourists, intent on seeing every shop in the renovated cotton warehouses, and onto the brick plaza. The lampposts created circles of light in the gathering gloom.

He hadn't said much about their day's search—he'd talked Savannah history all through dinner. But the frown lines between his brows told her he still thought about it.

They stopped, leaning against the wall and looking out over the water. A white paddle-wheeler moved slowly past them, white lights outlining its wrought iron railings, a calliope playing. Through lighted windows, she could see dinner being served.

“Nice way to spend an evening.”

“The
Georgia Queen,
” he said. “Going for an evening dinner cruise.”