by Marta Perry
“No one knows what happened to it?”
“No.”
“Sounds like the sort of story a reporter might have tried to investigate in his younger days.”
He frowned, as if he hadn’t considered that. “I suppose I might have, but I never did. I guess I looked farther from home for my stories.”
“Maybe you were born to be a wanderer.” She held her breath, wondering what he’d say to that.
“Maybe so.” Again she had the sense that this wasn’t something he’d talk about with her.
Their steps had taken them around the corner of the house. Matt gestured to the flower beds that ran along the sheltered side of the building. “Gran’s roses. Nobody on the island has any to compare.”
“They’re beautiful.” Sarah touched a pale yellow rose with an apricot center, inhaling its rich perfume. “What’s her secret?”
“No one knows.”
His hand encircled hers, touching the rose. She felt a jolt that traveled up her arm, warming her skin. Her breath caught, and she snatched her hand away, feeling as if her cheeks were on fire.
That hadn’t happened. It hadn’t. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to anyone. That part of her life had ended with her husband’s death. She had her children, and that was enough of a life for her.
And if she were going to be attracted to someone, it certainly couldn’t be Matt Caldwell, of all people.
Sarah Reed had to be the most frustrating woman he’d ever met. Matt rode along the beach early Monday morning. He’d expected to be at the office first thing, but Sarah had said that since she always worked late getting the paper out on Friday, she didn’t start until ten on Mondays.
So he’d decided on an early-morning ride, hoping the horse’s pounding hooves and the sea breeze in his face would clear his mind and let him approach the situation with Sarah rationally.
That didn’t seem to be working. Instead of hard beige sand and blue water, he saw Sarah’s face when they’d stood talking by the roses. One minute they’d been communicating, and he’d begun to believe they’d find a way of working together that would satisfy both of them. The next minute she’d turned away, gathered her kids together and left.
The pounding of Eagle’s hooves echoed the pounding in his head. Nothing about his return was going as smoothly as he’d anticipated.
He’d managed to forget, when he was far away, how much the breach between his father and the rest of the family bothered him. And he’d managed to ignore the fact that taking up his partnership at the paper was bound to bring on a new set of problems. Of course, if he’d had a choice, he wouldn’t have come back.
But he hadn’t had a choice. You’ll take a leave of absence, his boss had said. Six months at least. That’s the best I can do. When you’re over this and ready to come back, I’ll find a place for you if I can. Meanwhile, try to forget.
The trouble was, he couldn’t forget. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw himself running toward the mission station. He heard the blast, saw the walls collapsing inward, felt the concussion throw him to the ground. He’d struggled to his feet, knowing he had to help get the children out, knowing James was in there someplace.
James had been. They’d found him under a collapsed wall.
How could You let that happen, God? How? James was serving You, and You let him die.
He yanked the reins, and Eagle tossed his head in protest. “Sorry, boy.” He patted the horse’s neck. “Sorry.”
He’d nearly broken down on the air. That was the unforgivable thing, as far as the network was concerned. He couldn’t go back, not until he knew that wouldn’t happen again.
Matt slowed the horse to a gentle jog. Running the newspaper would help him get himself together. It would prove to him that he was himself again—the detached journalist who didn’t let personal feelings get in the way of a story. So that meant he and Sarah had to find a way of working together that satisfied both of them.
And he’d have a chance to talk to her about it, sooner than either of them had expected, probably. A small group walked along the edge of the surf ahead of him, and the morning sunlight picked out gold highlights in Sarah’s light brown hair. Sarah and her kids.
Good. They could start over and have a simple, businesslike conversation. There was absolutely no reason for the unexpected wave of pleasure he felt at the sight of her.
He slowed Eagle to a walk as they approached. Sarah looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand. He couldn’t see her expression.
“Sarah.” He stopped and slid from Eagle’s back. “Hi, kids.”
“Is he yours?” Andi’s eyes were huge. “Is that horse yours?”
He had to smile at her excitement. “Yes, he’s mine. I don’t get much chance to ride him anymore, but he’s mine.”
The child took a step closer, and he realized she was quivering with excitement. “What’s his name?”
“Eagle. Because he can run like the wind when he wants to.” He caught a sudden movement from the corner of his eye and saw Ethan dart toward Eagle’s haunches. He shot his hand out to grab the boy’s shirt. “Don’t do that!”
He sensed Sarah’s instant flare of resentment at his tone and felt an answering irritation. He was only trying to keep her kid safe. But Ethan looked scared, and he patted the boy’s shoulder.
“You don’t want to run up to the horse’s hindquarters when he doesn’t see you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “He might think you’re a horsefly and kick at you.”
“I’m lots bigger than a horsefly.” Skepticism filled the kid’s eyes.
“Well, you still don’t want to startle him.” Matt took out the bag of carrots he’d stuffed in his jacket pocket. “If you do just what I say, I’ll let the three of you feed him a treat.”
“Me first.” Ethan jumped up and down.
Matt smiled at Andi. “I think Andi’s first, if she wants to be.”
She nodded, apparently speechless, and held out her hand.
“Keep your hand flat and let him eat the carrot,” he cautioned. “You don’t want him to mistake your finger for something to eat.” He half expected Sarah to object, but when he looked at her, she was smiling, almost as if she approved of him.
Andi stood very straight, holding her palm out. Joy filled her small face as Eagle’s lips moved against her hand. “It tickles,” she breathed. “I think he likes me.”
“I think he does,” Matt said gently.
He looked over the child’s head at Sarah. Her smile lingered, and she had a dimple in her cheek in the same place Andi did. She looked gentle. Vulnerable.
Something twisted inside him. That was what came of having a family. It made you vulnerable, put demands on you to keep them safe in an unsafe world.
He wouldn’t put himself in that position—he’d figured that out somewhere in the middle of reporting an endless stream of tragedy. He wouldn’t take on the responsibility of a wife or kids.
But in a way, he’d let himself in for a share of responsibility for Sarah and her little family. He didn’t like the idea, but he couldn’t escape it. Somehow he and Sarah had to make this work.
Sarah watched Matt. When she’d seen him riding toward them, her first instinct had been to hurry the kids up the path. Somehow she’d been caught, mesmerized by his effortless control of the huge animal. It was as if he and the horse were one.
Now he was so easily making one of Andi’s dreams come true. She should say something, thank him for this….
Amy, clutching her mother’s skirt for balance, toddled a few wobbly steps carrying her sand pail. She sat down abruptly on a well-padded bottom and emptied the sand over Matt’s polished boots.
Would she ever have an encounter with this man when something embarrassing didn’t happen? She bent to scoop the baby up, but Matt reached her first.
“Hey, little girl.” His smile looked strained, but his voice was gentle as he handed her back the bucket. “Why don’t you dig some more
?”
“So she can empty it on you?”
Matt rose, shaking the sand from his boots. “No problem,” he said easily.
“Can I give the horse a carrot now? Please?” Ethan tugged at Matt’s sleeve.
Jeffrey hovered a step behind his brother. “Me, too. Me, too.”
Sarah put her hands on Jeffrey’s shoulders. “That’s his favorite phrase, I’m afraid.”
“I had a big brother, too, you know.” Matt shook carrots out of the bag for each boy. “I probably said that a lot.”
He smoothed Ethan’s hand out. “Remember what I told Andi. Keep your palm flat.”
“I remember.” Ethan smiled up at him with a sudden display of trust that startled Sarah. “So he doesn’t eat my finger. I’m not scared.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be scared of Eagle, just cautious. He wouldn’t want to hurt you, but he’s a big animal.”
She didn’t seem to be needed in this activity. Sarah sat down on the sand next to Amy, watching as Matt let her kids feed and pet the horse. He probably hadn’t been around children much—he seemed to talk to them as if they were small adults—but his gentleness surprised her. Gentle wasn’t a term she’d necessarily associate with the hard-driving reporter she knew he must be.
Finally Matt led the animal a few feet away and dropped the reins on the ground. “Eagle is ground-tied.” His firm gaze touched each of the children. “He won’t go anywhere unless someone startles him, so you need to stay away.”
The three of them nodded soberly.
“Why don’t you see if you can find any shells to add to our collection?” Sarah suggested. She’d feel more confident they’d obey if they were occupied.
The children scattered toward the edge of the water. Matt crossed to her, standing like a dark shadow between her and the sun. Then he dropped to the sand next to her.
“That was nice of you. I’m afraid Andi is horse-mad,” Sarah said.
“I figured that out.” His gaze was on the children, and his smile lingered.
Talking about Andi was certainly easier than discussing their business relationship. “She reads every horse book she can find, even the ones I think are too hard for her. You’ve just made her day.”
“My niece, Jennifer, is the same.”
She nodded. “Jennifer’s in the same Sunday school class as Andi. She’s such a pretty child.”
Humor flickered in his eyes. “My brother’s planning to have a nervous breakdown when she hits her teen years.”
“Is that why you decided to come back? I mean, because of your family?” She was getting dangerously personal, but if she were ever to understand what made him tick, she’d have to.
“In part.” His expression closed abruptly, as if he had no intention of letting her in. “Gran thinks Caldwells always come back to Caldwell Island. She says they can’t ignore their roots. I’m not sure I buy that.”
Since she’d never had any roots, she could hardly offer an opinion. It was what she hoped to find for her children in Caldwell Cove.
“Don’t you find it a little dull here after what you’ve experienced?”
She’d thought his expression couldn’t get any tauter, but it hardened to an unreadable mask.
“I found I needed to get out of the conflict zone.”
Why? She knew she couldn’t ask outright.
“So you’re giving up network television for a small-town weekly?”
“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.
Chapter Four
The 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?”