The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  That wasn’t all. The magazines on the large pine coffee table were fanned out at perfect one-inch intervals, just like a showroom. In the large, spacious kitchen, he could see a cupboard with dish towels stacked neatly by color and folded identically so that they were all of uniform size. Dishes, cups, even salt and pepper shakers were also perfectly placed according to size and color. The stainless steel appliances were gleaming, as if they had never been touched. The wood floor was spotless. It was as if some deranged Williams-Sonoma floor crew had attacked this kitchen.

  “She’s down there on the dock,” Jo Lynn said, pointing through the kitchen window. “Want me to hold those?” she asked, pointing at his enormous bouquet.

  “No thanks.”

  “Can I go?” Grayson asked, still at his side, still clutching his hand.

  “Tell you what, Gray. Let me talk to your mom for a few minutes, and then you and I will talk. Okay?”

  “But what if you don’t come back?” he asked, his little fingers squeezing tighter.

  “Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming back. I promise, kid. So let go, okay? I promise I’ll come back.”

  Grayson didn’t look as if he appreciated Matt’s promise all that much, and Matt couldn’t blame him, given what the little guy had seen and heard from him. But Jo Lynn seemed to understand that this was important, and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, reminded him of his ice cream, and he reluctantly let go. “Just right on out there,” she said.

  Matt stepped through a screen door onto the back porch. He continued on with his canine honor guard, down the steps to the grassy lawn below, past a stone barbecue pit beneath live oaks, past the padded lounge chairs beneath the willow tree, and onward, to the dock, which ended in a big square where boats could be tied around the sides. On the square end of the dock, three big white Adirondack chairs sat facing the river. Strung between the four corners were Chinese lanterns and tiki torches. Giant potted ferns and a small cabinet gave the dock a little class.

  It was a perfect place for a beautiful alien to land. Speaking of beautiful aliens, where was she?

  Not on the dock, as Jo Lynn had suggested. Matt stopped at the edge of the dock; his helpful companions all laid down in the shade of a cottonwood, their tongues hanging out as if they had run a marathon. Matt looked downriver, saw nothing, not a person or even a boat. He turned, noticed an old barn or shed, thought it was possible she was doing something in there, and started in that direction.

  Only the door to the barn was shut tight, the windows were caked with dirt so he couldn’t see inside. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years, so Matt circled around the other side of it just to be sure she wasn’t back there planting watermelons or building a do-it-yourself doghouse.

  As he picked his way around the backside of the barn, he caught sight of her . . . and stopped dead in his tracks.

  She had been swimming, that was why he hadn’t seen her. She’d climbed up on the dock, where she was shaking the water from her ears. Standing there, one slender leg slung out, her head tilted to the side, a towel hung from her hand and her long black hair streaked in soft, thick waves down her back. She was wearing a two-piece bathing suit, one that covered just enough and at the same time left just enough to his exploding imagination. Matt was so entranced by the vision that he did not realize he was moving, did not realize he was groping his way around the side of the barn toward her until one of the dogs suddenly barked. At which point, the vision of beauty before him looked over her shoulder and shrieked bloody murder.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Friends will respect your personal boundaries. Lovers will try to make your boundaries their own . . .

  FRIENDS AND LOVERS AND HOW TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE

  Naturally, Rebecca’s first thought was that a stranger was spying on her. But in the next instant she realized it was Matt and a huge bouquet of roses sneaking around the old barn, and her brief, heart-stopping fear turned to nuclear fury.

  In fact, her fury was so nuclear, she could hardly get her clothes on, and was hopping around the dock on one leg like a crazy loon as she tried to stuff the other leg into her shorts without tumbling right back into the river. All the while, Matt was striding toward her, waving his hand and the flowers, saying something she couldn’t hear because she was so desperate to clothe herself.

  The moment he stepped onto the dock (with her traitor dogs behind him, howdoyoudo), she yelled, “Don’t you dare come near me!” And proceeded to get tangled up in the T-shirt she was so frantically trying to pull over her head.

  “Rebecca, please just give me a minute!” she heard him say as she managed to get her head through.

  With one arm caught in the fabric, she pointed with her free arm. “Stop right there!”

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said, holding out the roses as some sort of peace offering. “Really. I was looking for you—”

  “I don’t care,” she snapped as she managed to punch her arm free of the T-shirt, pull it down, then dig her hair out of the neck. “You can turn right around and crawl back to the rock you’ve been living under.”

  “Okay, I will. Just let me just say a couple of things,” he tried again, and stood there, holding the flowers upside down now, looking so goddamn good and completely repentant.

  But no, oh nonono—he had sorely underestimated the strength of her fury, and her mouth was moving before she could think. “You want to say a couple of things?” she seethed. “Like you haven’t already said enough? What did you forget? Between I’m a bad mother and I’m trying to stab you in the back, what could there possibly be left to say?” Just speaking those transgressions aloud infuriated her even more, and without really knowing what she was doing, Rebecca gave into her furious anger as she abruptly picked up the soda can Jo Lynn or Grayson had left behind and threw it at him.

  Matt easily ducked it, but looked at her like she was deranged. She threw the core of Grayson’s apple at him before he could say a single, solitary word. “Hey!” he shouted as the core bounced off his boot, which caused Frank to rise from lounging in the shade and trot over and have a look.

  “Get out!” she shouted, madly looking around for something else to throw. “I told you I never wanted to see you again, and believe me, I’ve heard everything I ever want to hear from you, you . . . you—”

  “Go ahead and say it, because whatever it is, I deserve it and then some,” he offered.

  “Dickhead!” she obliged him.

  “Ouch,” Matt said with a wince. “Good one. I was sort of hoping for your run-of-the-mill asshole, but okay. So now that you’ve got that off your chest, may I please try and apologize?” he asked, holding up the flowers again.

  “Don’t you dare make light of it!”

  “I’m not, baby, I swear I’m not. I’m just trying—”

  “You don’t get it, Matt! I don’t want to hear your apology,” Rebecca said. “I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t want your constant judgment, or your bizarre paranoia, or the arrogance you take everywhere you go.”

  “All right. Okay,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair as he helplessly looked around the dock. “You’re so right, Rebecca. I’ve been very arrogant. I feel a hundred times worse, so will you please let me talk?”

  “No, no, no. You are such an asshole.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Matt said, putting one hand on his waist. “A dickhead and an asshole? I mean, I was wrong and all that, but aren’t you sort of stretching it a little?”

  Arrogant, impudent backwater asshole—Rebecca heaved a cheap synthetic rubber thong at him, which floated close enough to hit him in the chest before wafting down to the ground. Matt looked down at her thong, then slowly lifted his head with a look that made her heart skip a beat. “That’s not helping,” he said low, “so stop it. I am trying to tell you something.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to hear it,” she said, and picked up the other thong. Matt instantly pointed a long and
menacing bouquet at her. “If you throw that, you better be prepared for the consequences, missy!”

  “Missy?” She couldn’t help herself; she gave a shout of maniacal laughter. “What are you going to do, throw me in the river?”

  “Of course I’m not going to throw you in the river.”

  “Then what? Remind me of how empty I am?” she said, and instantly caught a sob in her throat that surprised the hell out of her—surprised her so much that she lost track of what she was saying and put a hand to her throat, swallowing that lousy sob down as she stumbled back a step. It took a moment before she could look at him again, and when she did, she could see, even across the distance between them, the remorseful sorrow in his gray eyes, and quickly closed her eyes before she let his remorse seep in, desperately reminding herself that she didn’t want his stinking apology. She was done with him! She was done.

  “That,” he said hoarsely, “was a horrible, inexcusable thing for me to have said. And even more importantly, it was a lie. I have no excuse, other than to say I was really angry that afternoon, and I . . . unfortunately, I took it out on you.”

  “That’s not exactly news,” she said miserably, looking down at the thong she still clutched in her hand. “Do you always take your anger out on others?”

  He shook his head, looked at the flowers for a moment. “No. But I guess I’m like most losers in that regard—I didn’t take my anger out on someone I didn’t care about, someone like Tom. I took it out on someone who really matters to me. I’m sorry, Rebecca. More than I can say. I was so . . . wrong.”

  Even though she could hear the contrition in his voice, she couldn’t let it be that easily tucked away. “Give me a break,” she said, waving the thong dismissively at him. “You don’t care about me. You care about your career and how you come off to the world. And if you and I get along in the meantime, that’s great, another notch in your bedpost. You’re just like all the rest.”

  “Hey, what I did was wrong, and you have every right to be angry, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with all the rest of the sorry dogs you’ve known.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You act just like all of the sorry dogs I’ve known!”

  He pressed his lips together, then blew out a hot breath. “Yeah, well, while we’re at it, you can act like a stuck-up beauty queen. One minute you leave me with a promise, and the next moment I’m twisting in the wind.”

  “That may be your perception, but I never said it was anything more than what it was—a little fun.”

  “A little fun?” he all but choked. “I felt something more than a little fun when I looked at you and when I kissed you, Rebecca. You did, too.”

  “I didn’t.”

  His gaze narrowed. He shook his head. “Christ, you know I love you, but you’re too chickenshit to admit that maybe you feel something, too. You’re too afraid to let yourself just be—”

  He struck a nerve in her so raw that she reacted without thinking and hurled the other thong at him.

  Matt dodged it, lowered his head. “That does it,” he said, and started toward her, gripping the bouquet like a weapon.

  Rebecca instantly backed up, bumping into Adirondack chairs. He came striding forward while her worthless mutts rested in the shade, watching complacently instead of protecting her. She tried to dodge him, but he was too quick for her; his fingers closed around her wrist. She tried to wrench free, knocking the bouquet of roses from his hand; they scattered across the dock, some falling to the river below as she struggled to free her arm. But Matt pulled her roughly into his chest, his arms circled around her like a vice, and his mouth crushed down on hers, kissing her with as much fury as she felt, his tongue sweeping deep inside as he curled his fist into her wet hair to hold her head back so that he could kiss her like that, kiss her so she couldn’t breathe, kiss her until she couldn’t feel anything but him, his body hard against hers, his arms locking her to him, his lips brutally soft, and the tendrils of the emotion in his words twining around her heart, holding it captive.

  She had never been kissed with such fierce passion, and Rebecca melted, just like in the movies, right into his arms, clinging to him, and if she could have crawled inside him, she would have. Her hands sought his face, his shoulders, his arms, the broad sweep of his chest. She could feel him hard and lean all the way down to her toes, and she remembered, oh God, she remembered that night on his couch, remembered his mouth, his hands, all his painstaking, patient efforts to free her from the four-year curse, and felt the river of desire flowing through her again.

  And when she thought she’d simply melt into a puddle on the dock, Matt lifted his head. His gray eyes were swimming with emotion. He traced the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, kissed her tenderly once more. “You are going to get cleaned up, and I am going to spend some time with Grayson. And then we are all going to get a burger—you, me, Gray, Jo Lynn, the whole damn town of Ruby Falls if you want. Then I am going to teach Grayson how to be a boy and hunt some goddamn frogs. And then, Rebecca . . . you and I are going to talk. Not shout, not throw things, not compete. Talk. You and me. You know we have to do it.”

  Rebecca touched a finger to his lip. “What if I say no?”

  “Then you’ll just have to shoot me,” he said, flashing that fabulous George Clooney grin, “because I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Okay,” she said weakly. “Your gun or mine?”

  Matt chuckled, wrapped her tightly in his arms for a long moment, hugging the living daylights out of her.

  And Rebecca felt her neck go all prickly and warm.

  Matt walked Rebecca back to the house, their arms looped around each other’s waists, with a full coterie of dogs to flank them. They said good-bye to Jo Lynn, who had a knowing smile on her face. Probably because Matt was smiling like a madhouse idiot as she jumped on her golf cart and drove away. When she had disappeared into the woods, Matt followed Rebecca and Grayson inside, still smiling that fool’s smile as Rebecca washed Grayson’s hands and face.

  “Why are you laughing, Mom?” Grayson asked, looking at her face, reaching up to touch the wet tail of hair falling over her shoulder. Matt had the incredible urge to touch it, too.

  “I don’t know, honey,” she said, her smile broadening. “Okay, you’re all clean and I’m going to grab a shower. Will you be all right with Matt?”

  “Yes!” he shouted.

  She laughed, tousled his hair, then looked shyly at Matt. “Okay?”

  Was she kidding? “More than okay,” he said, winking at his young partner in crime. “Come on, pal. Let’s go out and see what those ugly dogs are up to.”

  “Come on!” Grayson cried, already pulling Matt outside. Reluctantly, Matt looked at Rebecca, who was still standing there, smiling like a silly little girl, a wistful expression in her eyes that stirred the man in him. But Grayson yanked hard on his hand, wanting his attention all to himself, and the two of them burst out onto the back porch, where the four dogs came to instant and rapt attention. Only then did Grayson let go of Matt so he could point out his best friends—Tater (his favorite); Tot, the three-legged beagle; Frank, the big brown dog with the John Wayne swagger; and last but not least, Bean. “Mom says he’s not very smart,” Grayson said. “Plus, he’s blind in one eye. And he might not hear, either, but the doctor isn’t sure because he’s really dumb.”

  And Bean looked really dumb, poor bastard. “I know how he feels,” Matt remarked, which drew a curious look from Grayson.

  “Do you have a blind eye?” Grayson asked, letting go of Tater.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Matt said, to which Grayson screwed his face up with confusion. “The thing is,” Matt said, motioning to the tables and chairs that were perfectly arranged, of course, at the end of the porch, “sometimes I get mad and say things I shouldn’t. Like that night we were in the garage of the Four Seasons, and I was shouting at your mom,” he said, taking a seat.

  Grayson followed his lead, scooching up on o
ne of the wicker seats until his feet were a half foot off the ground. He gave Matt his somber attention, was doing that little man thing, and Matt leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees. “You ever run off at the mouth and wish you hadn’t?” he asked earnestly.

  “I dunno.”

  “Man, I have. I don’t do it very often, but when I lose it, I definitely let it fly. Like that night—I wasn’t very nice, and now I’m trying to make it up to your mom. You know, tell her how sorry I am.”

  Grayson nodded.

  “I want to say I am sorry to you, too, pal. That wasn’t cool, all that yelling.”

  “Mom cried.”

  The kid may as well have stuck a knife in Matt’s gut. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no excuse for that, ever.”

  “Okay,” Grayson said somberly.

  “But you know how it is, you just get some idea in your head and the next thing you know, you’re thinking all kinds of crap that isn’t right. And the thing is, I really like your mom, so it was really stupid. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m really sorry, Grayson.”

  “It’s okay,” Grayson said cheerfully.

  “So I was thinking,” Matt said, “that when she gets out of the shower, we’d all hang out together a little while, then go get a burger. You and me and your mom. After that, if it’s okay with your mom, you and I can go hunt some frogs, because dude, you have to hunt frogs at night. And when we catch a couple—”

  “Yeah!”

  “—and put them in a box, then maybe you and the dogs can go to bed so I can talk to your mom and tell her how sorry I am, just like I’m telling you I’m sorry. What do you think?”