Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish

by Marta Perry

  Loosen up, his brother’s voice echoed in his mind. Adam had been amused when he’d told him about being left with Sarah’s kids one afternoon. They’re little kids, not the enemy. Just relax with them.

  He’d try, because this seemed the only route to the discussion he wanted to have with Sarah. He squatted down on the rug next to Ethan.

  “Building a racetrack?”

  The boy nodded. “It’s going to be the longest one ever. Want to help?”

  He tossed his folder onto the coffee table and sat on the floor. The carpet felt thin beneath him. “Hand me a couple of blocks.”

  Their track led across the floor, under the side table, around the armchair. Ethan kept up a constant stream of chatter, most of it telling Jeffrey what to do.

  Matt had to smile. His memory provided a picture of himself and Adam at about the same age, relating in the same way. Adam had always acted the big brother.

  Andi looked up from her book now and then to watch them, and from somewhere in the back he could hear Sarah singing to the baby. This should have felt uncomfortable, but it didn’t. Maybe he was getting the hang of relating to kids.

  “Look out, here comes my race car.” Ethan grabbed a car and sent it speeding along the track. It hit an unevenly placed block and flew off, crashing.

  Matt picked up the car. “Went off track that time. Why don’t you give it another try?”

  “It hit a culvert,” Ethan said firmly. “It’s wrecked too bad to try again.”

  Almost before he had a chance to think it odd that Ethan knew the word culvert, Andi slammed her book down. “Don’t say that!” she shouted. “Don’t you say that!”

  “Will if I want to!” Ethan shouted back.

  The peaceful little playtime had disintegrated before his eyes. So much for his idea that he could relate to Sarah’s children—not that he wanted to anyway. But he could hardly keep a safe distance when he was right in the middle of the battle.

  “Hey, take it easy. It’s okay.” He touched Andi’s arm, but she jerked away from him.

  The tears streaking down her cheeks shocked him. Then he realized what was going on. It wasn’t okay. The cars, the wreck, the culvert—that was how their father died. It hit Matt like a fist in the stomach.

  He wanted nothing so much as to get up and walk right out the door. This wasn’t his concern. It was Sarah’s problem. It was everything he’d come home to avoid.

  But no matter how he justified it, he couldn’t get up and walk away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, holding out his hand to Andi. “Ethan didn’t mean it.”

  He looked at Ethan. For a moment the boy stared back rebelliously, but then he nodded. “I didn’t mean it, Andi-pandy. I’m sorry.”

  Andi scrubbed the tears from her face with both hands. “Daddy’s in heaven now,” she said with a little quaver in her voice. She looked at Matt. “Did you know that?”

  He suppressed the doubts that haunted his dreams. This wasn’t the place to let them out. “Yes.” His stomach twisted. “I’m sure he is.”

  “Time to put the racetrack away, boys.” Sarah stood in the doorway. Her voice sounded calm, but he could tell by the strain around her eyes that she’d heard some of the conversation.

  Perhaps cowed by their sister’s tears, the two boys made no argument. Matt slid into a chair and tried to be inconspicuous while they hustled around, throwing cars and blocks into a plastic bin. In a few minutes the room had been cleared of toys.

  “Good job.” Sarah managed a smile for her kids. “I’ll just be another few minutes,” she informed Matt. She didn’t even try to smile at him. She shepherded the children toward their rooms, leaving him alone to try and regain control of whatever was left of his mission.

  The minutes ticked by. He heard soft voices from the bedrooms, realized Sarah was hearing their prayers. The gentle murmur was oddly soothing, as was the shabby room. It had a warmth that the Caldwell mansion had never achieved.

  By the time he heard Sarah’s step in the hall, he knew he had to address the situation with the kids before he could possibly bring up business.

  “I’m sorry,” he said before she could speak. “I don’t know if that was my fault or not, but I’m sorry.”

  Sarah shook her head, sinking down into the chair Andi had vacated. “It wasn’t your fault. The children come out with something about Peter’s death every once in a while, usually when I’m least expecting it.”

  “That must be hard.” He leaned toward her, wanting to say something soothing, but not knowing what it could be.

  She nodded, resting her head against the chair, lids flickering closed. For the first time he noted the smudged violet shadows under her eyes, saw the lines of tiredness that she usually concealed.

  She’d lost her husband less than a year ago, he reminded himself. She was raising four children all alone, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t have any family to help or support her. He thought briefly of his own sprawling clan. Whether he wanted them to be or not, they were always there.

  Sarah opened her eyes, straightening as if that momentary lapse had been a failure. “We do all right,” she said with a firmness that had to be assumed.

  “I’d forgotten.”

  Her blue gaze darted to his face. “Forgotten what?”

  “That tragedy and loss aren’t confined to war zones.” His mouth twisted. “They even happen here in Caldwell Cove.”

  The words were out before he realized how they’d sound. For a moment he thought he’d hurt her. Then she nodded slowly.

  “True enough.” She got up. “I think we could both use a cup of coffee before we talk business.”

  He started to protest that he didn’t need any coffee, then realized she probably needed an excuse to have a moment alone. The way she hurried toward the kitchen and swung the door shut behind her confirmed that.

  He took a deep breath, trying to relax taut muscles. How exactly had this happened? He’d come here tonight to talk business with Sarah. Instead he’d seen deeper into her heart than he had any right to. And he’d exposed more of himself than he’d ever intended.

  Sarah leaned against the kitchen counter, staring absently at the coffeepot, seeing only Matt’s tense face and the battle in his dark eyes over that flare-up of emotion with Andi. Something was wrong with him. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. Something had happened to put the strain in his eyes.

  Something on the job? She ran up against a blank wall of ignorance. She’d never really thought about how they did their jobs, those people she saw on the news every night. Had Matt run into some problem out there in his other life that had carved those deep lines in his face, that had put up the barricades that screamed Don’t touch me?

  Her hands felt cold as she mechanically filled the pot with water and put coffee into the filter. Something—what had he said? Tragedy and loss. Had he lost someone he cared about? Was that what had brought him home?

  She didn’t want to know. She didn’t have a right to know. But he was hurting, and she couldn’t just ignore that.

  Show me what to do, Lord. Is this a burden I’m supposed to pick up?

  One thing was clear. Knowing why he’d come back could help her understand how long he intended to stay. From a purely selfish point of view, she wanted to know that.

  I’m sorry, Lord. I don’t mean to be selfish. I just can’t help thinking about how Matt’s actions affect my children’s future. It’s not wrong to worry about that, is it?

  She didn’t have an answer by the time the coffee was ready. She arranged cups on a wooden tray, straightened her shoulders and went back to the living room.

  Matt sat on the sofa where she’d left him. The folder he’d carried in with him lay, apparently forgotten, on the side table.

  “Cream or sugar?” she asked as she placed the tray on the coffee table.

  “Black, please.”

  The routine of pouring out the coffee and handing it to him soothed her.
She glanced at his face, still brooding, and knew she had to try and understand what drove this enigmatic partner of hers.

  She stared down at her own cup, as if it might hold an answer. Maybe there was no way to do this but to dive right in.

  “Was that why you came back?” She suspected she didn’t need to explain. His words probably still hovered in his mind as they did in hers. “Because you’d seen too much tragedy?”

  His long fingers curved around the cup, as if seeking heat in spite of the warm summer evening. “That was part of it.” His guarded tone warned her off.

  “I suppose…” She felt her way carefully. “I suppose correspondents in dangerous places have to be like doctors. They have to stay detached in order to do their jobs.”

  He clutched the cup so tightly she thought it would shatter. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. Sometimes it doesn’t work that way. When you’re in the middle of a fight, innocent bystanders can get hurt.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. “Were you injured?”

  “Not physically.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only sign of the iron control he must be exercising. “Let’s say I lost my detachment for a while. I started to burn out.”

  “So you decided to come home.” To heal? That was what she suspected, but she thought he’d reject the idea. She also suspected he wasn’t telling her all of it. Why should he? They were virtual strangers, linked together by circumstance.

  “I decided—we decided, my boss and I—that I needed a break. I took a leave of absence.”

  “A leave of absence? That means you intend to go back. You didn’t tell me that.”

  He set the cup down with a little clatter, and his eyes met hers. “No, I didn’t tell you. I guess I should have.”

  “I thought you meant to stay for good.” She grappled to get her mind around this new idea. He’d never intended to stay at the Gazette for the long haul. Knowing that to begin with could have saved her some agonizing. “What happened to partners telling each other the truth?”

  That might have been a shade of embarrassment in his expression. “All right, you’ve got me. Maybe I’m a little too used to answering only to myself. I should have been up-front about my plans.”

  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.

  Chapter Six

  “How 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.