Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish

by Marta Perry

  He looked cautiously at that. Things had changed between them during the last week. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d helped on Sunday when she’d needed it.

  They’d grown closer to each other. He hadn’t intended that, but it had happened.

  You’re just getting used to having her around, he told himself. That’s all. There’s nothing more to it than that.

  Used to having her around, used to having the kids around. He glanced over at Amy, contentedly chewing on a teething ring in her play yard. The little imp had been steadily working her way into his heart, and he couldn’t seem to prevent it.

  The other kids were back in the apartment, watched by yet another in the string of teenage baby-sitters Sarah had to rely on. Jeffrey seemed to have recovered from his bug. Matt could hear his voice raised in protest about something.

  Sarah was reading through the front page, frowning a little. Looking for errors, he supposed. He’d learned, getting this issue of the Gazette out, that she was a perfectionist.

  He’d learned a few other things, too. His gaze traced the soft line of her cheek, her straight nose, her stubborn chin. In just over a week he’d discovered Sarah’s particular combination of strength and nurturing.

  The warmth that made her reach out to every person who came through the door no longer seemed annoying, as it had that first day. It was as much a part of her as her attention to detail and her swift intelligence.

  If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he couldn’t ignore the attraction he felt for her. He’d sensed it the day they met, and being around her every day had made it grow stronger. He didn’t intend to act on it, of course. That would be unthinkable.

  Except that he was thinking about it, especially at moments like this, when he stood close enough to smell the light, flowery scent she wore, close enough to see the smallest change in her expression.

  As if in response to his thought, her expression did change. A slight frown creased her brows, and he knew she was reading the story he’d done on Jason Sanders.

  “You still don’t like it, do you?” He didn’t need to explain what he meant. She’d know.

  “It’s not a question of like.” She seemed to pick the words out carefully. “You did a good job of reporting the story.”

  Her caution annoyed him. Or maybe he was more annoyed at the fact that she questioned his judgment.

  “You still think I made a mistake in running it.”

  “I’m just worried about repercussions.” She shook her head, forcing a smile. “Forget it. I worry too much. I’d better start setting up the ads for next week’s issue.”

  She turned to her desk, as if dismissing the question. The trouble was, he knew she hadn’t dismissed it, not entirely.

  She’d gone along with his decision to run the story. That was the important thing. There was no point in beating the subject to death.

  Returning to his desk, he opened the file of projected feature stories. Maybe he ought to take on something a bit less controversial for next week’s issue.

  He was mulling over the possibilities when the phone rang. He heard Sarah’s cheerful answer, then heard the way the happiness drained from her voice.

  He swung to look at her. She pressed the receiver to her ear, and a wave of brown hair flowed over it.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her tone was carefully contained. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind about this decision?”

  She paused, listening. He found he was listening, too, as if he could hear the voice on the other end of the line.

  “No, I’m afraid we can’t. I’m sorry you feel that way about it.”

  Sarah winced, as if the caller had slammed the phone down in her ear. She returned the receiver gently to the cradle.

  “What is it?” He was afraid he knew.

  “Jason Sanders.” She looked at him, her face expressionless. “He’s just withdrawn all his advertising from the Gazette.”

  He stood. What was there to say? “You warned me this might happen.”

  She grimaced. “Oddly enough, I’m not taking too much pleasure in being right.”

  “Look, Sarah, this isn’t so bad. We can do without Sanders’s advertising. It won’t make or break us.”

  Sarah pushed her hair back from her forehead, as if it had gotten heavy. “Maybe not,” she said noncommittally.

  “Running the story was the right thing to do. We can’t pick and choose our stories based on our advertisers.” He hated the fact that he sounded defensive. “We’re going to be all right. You’ll see. We’ll pick up more readers.”

  “Readers don’t pay the bills. Subscribers and advertisers do. That’s the reality of a weekly paper.”

  “Then we’ll get more advertisers.” Was he trying to convince her or himself?

  “I hope so.” She pressed her hands flat against the desk, as if to ground herself. “Whether we do or not—” Her expression seemed to harden. “I agreed to this partnership. I’ll take the consequences.”

  He wanted to argue, wanted to protest that he was right in this. He didn’t doubt that. He was right.

  Unfortunately he wasn’t the one with the most to lose from this decision. Sarah was.

  She was beginning to read Matt too well. Sarah bent over the folder of community calendar events, but her gaze was on Matt. He’d been quiet since that morning’s call, but she could almost sense what he was thinking.

  He felt regret, she was sure of that—regret that he’d caused problems for her by his actions. But he didn’t regret writing the story. It wasn’t in him to turn back from doing what he thought was right.

  She suppressed a sigh. That might be a very admirable quality, but it wasn’t an easy one to live with.

  Not that she ever anticipated doing such a thing, she assured herself hurriedly. But she had to work closely with him, and the result was the same.

  She studied Matt’s face, straight dark brows drawn down over his eyes as he worked. He gripped a pencil with his right hand, turning it over and over in his fingers.

  She had to push down the warmth that resulted every time she looked at him too closely. She had some regrets of her own over this situation. She regretted the loss of the comradeship she’d begun to feel with him since Sunday. But she certainly wasn’t foolish enough to think there ever could be anything else.

  Amy began to fuss, shaking the rail of the play yard. Sarah started to get up, but Matt beat her to it.

  “I’ll get her.” He jerked a nod toward the folder he’d been looking through. “I’m not making much progress anyway.”

  He lifted the baby, holding her close against his cheek for a moment, and Sarah’s heart lurched. Did Matt even realize how much he’d bonded with Amy since Sunday? And if he did, would it make a difference?

  She already knew the answer to that question. Nothing would turn him back from doing what he thought was right. She could only hope he wouldn’t find any other advertisers to antagonize.

  “She’s really close to walking.” He bent over, putting her down on her feet, holding Amy’s tiny hands in his large ones, and she toddled a few proud steps.

  “Amy’s a little later at that than the others were.” She’d much rather talk with him about Amy than about business. “I think it’s because she’s always been such a placid baby. She didn’t feel the need to get going as soon as they did. Andi in particular.” She smiled reminiscently. “She was only ten months when she took her first step. I remember Peter said—” She stopped abruptly.

  “What did he say?” Matt prompted.

  She didn’t talk much about Peter, but this was a happy memory. “He thought she’d end up being a track star because she moved so fast.”

  “Maybe she will. Caldwell Cove High could certainly use one.”

  “Maybe.” If they were still here when Andi was ready for high school. If the paper survived, so that she could afford to stay here. If—too many ifs.

  I want to stay, Lord. I want to put
down roots here for my children. Please show me the way to make that happen.

  Was that a selfish prayer? She should probably be asking God to show her the right path, instead of being so sure she already knew it. But surely He wouldn’t have given her such a strong need to make her home here unless it was in His plan.

  Matt chuckled. Amy had let go with one hand and stood wobbling, trying to reach out to the rung of his chair with the other.

  “Take it easy, little girl. I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet.” His voice was gentle, his face as relaxed as Sarah had ever seen it.

  If he ever looked at her that way—Sarah stopped that thought before it could go any further. She wasn’t looking for romance, and certainly not with a man whose idea of settling down was six months in one place. She had the children, and that was all she could handle in her life just now.

  A wail sounded from the apartment, followed by the sound of Wendy, the new sitter, calling her name.

  “I’m sorry.” She sent Matt an apologetic look as she started for the door. “Do you mind keeping an eye on Amy for a moment?”

  “We’re fine.” He waved her off.

  She scurried back to the apartment and settled a quarrel that a competent sitter should have been able to handle on her own. If she could only find someone really reliable to watch the children, this would be so much easier. Matt must be bothered by the constant intrusion of her family life into work, even though he didn’t say anything about it.

  She was on her way to the office when she heard a thump, followed by a cry from Amy and a muffled exclamation from Matt. She raced back through the door, heart pounding.

  Matt clutched Amy against him, and blood dotted his shirt. His face was so white she thought him the injured one, but then she saw the cut on the baby’s lip.

  “She’s hurt.” He sounded almost frantic. “We’ve got to get her to the doctor.”

  She reached him then, taking the baby in her arms, automatically searching for other injuries as she soothed her. “Hush, sweetheart, hush. Let Mommy see.” She grabbed a clean diaper and pressed it against Amy’s quivering lip as she sank down into the chair. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s my fault. I should have been watching her more closely.” Matt pulled out his keys. “I’ll drive you to the clinic.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” She cradled Amy against her. The piercing wails turned into muted sobs. “It’s not a deep cut.”

  “But the blood—” He sounded so shaken that she looked up at him. His face was still white, his eyes filled with grief and remorse.

  “Facial cuts bleed.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Believe me, I’ve rushed to the doctor more times than I care to count. This isn’t bad. Look, it’s nearly stopped already.” She stroked Amy’s cheek. “She bit it with one of those new teeth of hers. It happens.”

  “It was my fault,” he said again.

  Why was he overreacting to this? “Matt, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Babies fall. She’d have fallen if I’d been watching her.” She smiled, reaching out to him with one hand. “Honestly, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Matt shook his head, his mouth tight. Then, before she could say anything else, he turned away. In a moment he’d gone, and she was left staring at the closed door, wondering what on earth had just happened.

  She searched Amy’s little face. “You okay, darling?”

  Amy responded with a smile and a babble of baby talk. Sarah hugged her close.

  “Sure you are.” She frowned at the door. “But Matt’s not.”

  She didn’t know why, but the small incident with Amy had upset him way out of proportion to the cause. She’d thought she was beginning to know him, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she didn’t understand him at all.

  He’d let himself be responsible, and a child had gotten hurt. Matt stared at his reflection in the baroque mirror that graced the center hallway of the Caldwell mansion. Guilt seemed to look back at him.

  The nightmares he’d hoped were gone would be back tonight. He could be sure of that.

  The doorbell chimed, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. Nearly nine. They weren’t expecting anyone tonight, as far as he knew.

  He pulled the door open. Sarah stood there.

  For a moment he just looked at her, caught by the way the fanlight put gold highlights in her hair. Then reality hit.

  “What’s wrong? Is it Amy? Was it worse than you thought?” A dozen frightening possibilities chased each other through his mind.

  “Amy’s fine.” Sarah reached toward him with that warm reassurance he’d seen her extend to the children. “Matt, she’s okay, really. Just a bit of a fat lip to show for her tumble.” She shook her head. “It probably won’t be the last one, unfortunately.”

  Relief flooded him. “Then what?” He realized how brusque that sounded. “Please, come in. I’m just surprised to see you.”

  She stepped into the hallway, her sandals clicking on the black-and-white-tile floor. She’d traded the slacks she’d worn earlier for a skirt of some soft material that moved when she did. She looked around with frank curiosity.

  “So this is how the other half lives.”

  He grimaced. “Just a tad ostentatious, isn’t it?”

  Before she could make what would have to be an awkward reply to that, Jennifer came bouncing down the steps.

  “Hey, Miz Sarah. Is Andi with you?”

  “Andi’s home getting ready for bed.” Sarah smiled at his niece.

  Jennifer pouted. “I wish you’d brought her with you. We could have played. I want to show her my new dollhouse.”

  “I’m sure she’d like that,” Sarah said gently. “Another time.”

  An idea tickled his mind, and he put it away to be considered later. “Mrs. Reed and I have to talk, Jenny-girl. I’ll see you later.”

  When Jenny looked mutinous at being dismissed, he took Sarah’s arm. “Let’s go out to the veranda. It’ll be quiet there.”

  She nodded, letting him guide her through the door. She probably thought he didn’t want her in his home. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

  The reality was that nothing about the mansion felt like home to him any longer, if it ever had. And he had no desire to discuss business with Sarah while they chanced being interrupted by his father.

  Business must have brought her here, since Amy was all right. His father already thought him crazy to have bought into such a poor investment as the Caldwell Cove Gazette. He’d undoubtedly have some caustic advice about holding on to advertisers, if he knew about Jason Sanders.

  They walked to the end of the veranda and sat in the wicker swing, piled high with cushions, that had always been his favorite spot for thinking. Sarah’s skirt draped over the print pillows as she settled.

  Her gaze seemed to trace the length of the veranda, and he wondered what she thought of it all. Did she see the showplace his father wanted it to be?

  “Jenny’s a sweet child.” Her comment, when it came, surprised him. “It was nice of her to invite Andi over.”

  “She’s quite a little person. I feel as if I’ve just finally gotten to know her.”

  “Maybe you were never here long enough.” Sarah tilted her head to look at him, and moonlight touched her face, turning it silver.

  “Maybe not.” Maybe he shouldn’t be here now. He didn’t seem to belong after all this time. “Jenny really warms up this cold house.” He gestured toward the Tara-like mansion that loomed over them.

  “Cold?”

  He couldn’t see her eyes clearly in the moonlight, but he could hear the caring in her voice. He shrugged.

  “Sounds like I’m whining, doesn’t it? But this house has always been more showplace than home. After our mother died, the only really comfortable spot was the kitchen. Miz Becky always made sure we had plenty of loving.”

  “Who was Miz Becky?” Her voice was so soft it prompted the feelings he’d
often thought but seldom expressed.

  “Is, not was. Miz Becky takes care of us all. She raised four kids of her own, then took on the two motherless Caldwell boys. I’m not sure what we’d have done without her.” He took a deep breath, clenching his fist on his knee. “Okay, enough small talk. You can let me have it.”

  A frown wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “You must be unhappy to go to the trouble of hiring a sitter so you could come here tonight. I figure that means you want to speak your mind about the paper without anyone around to overhear. I caused you enough trouble today. The least I can do is take the heat.”

  She shook her head, her hair moving like silk. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  He resisted the impulse to touch her. “Why then?”

  “Because I’m worried about you.” The caring in her voice seemed to cross the inches between them and wrap around his heart. “You really overreacted to Amy’s little mishap today.” She put her hand on his. “Please, Matt. Tell me. What happened to you?”

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah held her breath, waiting for Matt’s anger to spike, waiting for him to tell her to mind her own business. Or, worse, waiting for him to laugh at her presumption.

  He didn’t seem to be laughing. A shaft of moonlight cast his face in light and shadow—all bone and muscle without daytime’s color to soften the effect. It was a study in determination, a warrior’s face.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He said the words stiffly, without any emphasis at all. “If that’s why you’ve come, I’m afraid you’ve wasted a perfectly good baby-sitter.”

  She wouldn’t be put off. She’d spent too much energy arguing with God about coming at all, and she’d lost.

  “I don’t think so.” She chose her words carefully, trying to find the ones that would unlock the riddle that was Matthew Caldwell. “I saw your face this morning when Amy was hurt.”

  He shrugged, but the attempt at casualness wasn’t convincing. “I’m sure there are plenty of men who get queasy when they see a baby bleeding.”