by Marta Perry
“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.
He expected the moment to be shattered by his nightmare images of wounded, hungry children, but it wasn’t. He could only feel…what? He sought for the word. Blessed, that was it. He could only feel blessed to share this peace.
Andi tiptoed into the room, clutching a book, and inspected the sleeping baby. “You can put her in the crib now,” she whispered. “She’s asleep.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I’m afraid she’ll wake up if I move.”
“Just hold her close against you.” Andi adjusted his hands. “And then put her right down. That’s what Mommy does.”
“If it’s good enough for Mommy, I guess it’s good enough for me.” Please don’t let me wake her.
It was only after he’d put the baby safely into the crib that he realized that was the first time he’d prayed without anger for a long time.
He and Andi tiptoed back out of the nursery. “Thanks, Andi. You were a big help.” He noticed the cover of her book. “That looks like a good horse story.”
She nodded. “I wanted to ask you something.” She opened the book to the place she’d been holding with one small finger. “See what it says here? About using a pick to clean the horse’s foot?” Her blue eyes were anxious. “Doesn’t that hurt the horse?”
“Not at all.” He put his hand on her shoulder, surprised by the fragility of her small bones. “The horse doesn’t have feeling in that part of his hoof. But if a stone got caught under there and he walked on it, that would hurt.”
He could almost see her process that. “It’s like my fingernails,” she said.
“Exactly.” He felt an irrational pride at her swift intelligence. “Maybe you can come over to my house one day, and I’ll show you how to do it.”
Andi’s breath caught, and she clutched the book against her chest. She looked as if he’d promised her the moon. “Could I really?”
He was probably offering something he’d later regret, but at the moment it seemed worth it. “Sure.” He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll do that.”
She skipped out to the living room, probably to tell Ethan about the promised treat. He followed more slowly, wondering at himself. He wasn’t going to get involved with Sarah and her kids—wasn’t that what he’d told himself? He didn’t seem able to keep that promise, and he wasn’t quite sure why.
By the time Matt heard Sarah at the door, he’d finished a rough draft of his editorial and played three games of Chutes and Ladders with Andi and Ethan.
“How’s Jeffrey?” Matt got up to close the door for her as she carried him in.
“Feeling better, I think. The doctor says it’s a virus that’s going around. I just hope everyone doesn’t catch it.”
He couldn’t help but notice the tired shadows under Sarah’s eyes as she stroked Jeffrey’s silky hair, and he felt a surprising, unwelcome wave of protectiveness. He wanted to wipe her exhausted look away, but he couldn’t.
“Do you want me to carry him to bed?”
“I’ll just let him rest on the sofa for now.” She lowered the child to the corner of the sofa and tucked an afghan around him. “Okay?”
Jeffrey nodded, his eyes drifting shut.
She turned to Andi and Ethan. “Why don’t you go outside and play for a bit, okay? I’ll call you when Jeffrey wakes up.”
When they’d gone, she smiled at the game board spread out on the coffee table. “I hope they weren’t boring you to tears with that game.”
“Actually, I learned quite a lot this afternoon.” He started to put the pieces back in the box, but found he was watching Sarah instead. “I learned the rules of Chutes and Ladders, I learned I really do remember all the verses to ‘Hush, Little Baby’ and I learned that Andi is the most responsible little girl I’ve ever met.”
“Too responsible, I’m afraid.”
Sarah sat and leaned back in a chair, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He could almost feel the silkiness of it against his own fingers.
“Was she always that way?” He didn’t want to bring up her husband’s death, but he wondered.
“She was a caretaker from the moment she was born, I think.”
“Like her mother.”
She looked at him with faint surprise. “Is that how you see me?”
“Definitely.” He might not understand everything about Sarah, but that he knew. “You’re like Miranda—always taking care of everyone.”
She smiled. “Whether they want it or not.” Faint worry lines showed between her brows. “Andi’s been worse since her daddy died. I wish I could convince her she can just be a little girl.”
He thought of his niece. Jennifer was nearly a year older than Andi, but in some ways she seemed younger—certainly more carefree. Well, why wouldn’t she? She’d lost her mother, but she had family who’d take care of her no matter what.
“Too bad I can’t give you a little of my excess family.”
Sarah looked startled for a moment, and then she seemed to follow his train of thought. “I guess my children are a little lacking in that department. No cousins, no aunts and uncles…”
“No grandparents?” He ventured the question.
Sorrow touched her face. “I’m afraid they just have me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded in recognition of his sympathy, then seemed to turn away from it. “What about Ethan? Did you learn anything about him this afternoon?”
He thought he detected wariness in the question. “I learned he doesn’t like to lose at Chutes and Ladders.” He wasn’t about to say that he’d caught the child in a clumsy attempt to cheat.
“Yes.” The shadow in her eyes told him she understood what he didn’t say. “Ethan does like to win. Well, most children are like that at his age. He’s just very competitive.” Defensiveness threaded her voice.
“He has a lot of charm.” He put the lid on the box. “Reminds me of your husband.”
Her mouth tightened. “Peter was always charming.” She said it as if he’d implied an insult.
“Nothing wrong with that.” What was
going on behind those big blue eyes? Was there something about Peter Reed he should know?
“No, there’s not.” She stood up abruptly and held out her hand. “Thank you, Matt. I appreciate your help today. It was very kind of you.”
Apparently he was expected to leave. Well, that was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
He took her hand, feeling the warmth that seemed to flow from her every touch. “It was a pleasure,” he said formally. “I like your kids, Sarah.” To his surprise, he realized it was true.
And something else was true, something he wasn’t about to say. He liked Sarah Reed, too. Maybe a little bit too much.
Chapter Seven
“Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” Matt unfolded the fresh issue of the Gazette on Friday morning, feeling a ridiculous surge of pride. He leaned against Sarah’s desk, willing her to agree with him that the first issue he’d had much input on had turned out well.
Sarah nodded. “Not bad for a small-town weekly. And there’s your name on the masthead.”
“So it is.” He couldn’t seem to prevent a smile.
She tilted back in her swivel chair. The blue shirt she wore made her eyes even bluer. “Come on now. You’ve been featured on the television news. You’re not going to tell me the Caldwell Cove Gazette holds a candle to that.”
“Well, I have to confess it’s the first time I’ve covered the important story of the garden club’s annual awards night.”
“Not big enough?” Her voice was gently teasing. “It’s important to people in Caldwell Cove. They want to know who won the award for the best roses. Oh, let me see.” She pretended to consult the story. “That happens to be your grandmother.”
“I told you no one could grow better roses than Gran.” The smile lingered on his mouth. A couple of things surprised him about this day. One was the pride he felt in his first issue of the paper. The other was the pleasure his new relationship with Sarah engendered.