The Only Man for Her

by Kristi Gold

  “Guess that means I should probably nix wearing a tux.”

  “Look, if you called simply to tease me, let’s end this conversation now and go to bed.”

  She’d strolled right into that snake pit. “My bed or yours?”

  “If you don’t behave, I’m hanging up.”

  That was the last thing he wanted. “Okay. I called to tell you I might be there to pick you up an hour or so later than planned. I have to grab a few groceries for Dad before we take off.”

  “He can’t do it himself?”

  “He could, but he won’t.”

  She released a frustrated sigh. “When are you going to stop enabling him, Matt?”

  His internal defense mechanism kicked into gear. “When you stop making excuses for your father after he puts someone out of their home because they’re late on a loan.”

  “That’s different. At least my father doesn’t rely on me for every move he makes.”

  His anger began to brew. “Do you really think I enjoy this? I’ve been parenting him since I was thirteen, and frankly, I’m damn sick of it. For once I’d like to wake up in the morning knowing I’m only responsible for myself.”

  The sudden silence told him he’d dug himself a deep hole and fallen into it, mouth-first. “I’m not talking about you, Rachel.”

  “I’m a big girl, Matt. You’re not responsible for me.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

  This wasn’t the way he’d planned to begin their time together, with more animosity hanging over them. “Sorry. I’m just tired and spouting off. You still haven’t said why you were calling me.”

  “It’s really not important.”

  “At this late hour, it had to be important.”

  “It can wait. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She hung up without saying goodbye, but at least she hadn’t backed out on him. Not yet.

  He placed the cordless phone on the receiver and eyed the drink. If he finished off the vodka, he’d probably be drunk. If he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t sleep worth a damn. What the heck. If he couldn’t have his wife beside him tonight, he’d have to settle for demon liquor as his companion.

  He’d picked up the cup and brought it halfway to his mouth when one thought hit him full force. If he kept going, he’d be no better than his father. He risked becoming his father.

  On that thought, he went to the kitchen and dumped the vodka from the cup and the bottle down the drain. A sleepless night was preferable to traveling down the road to hell with no way out and no wife at all.

  * * *

  POSITIVE.

  Rachel had repeated the word to herself several times since she’d taken the tests last night—all three of them—at the urging of the Pregnancy Patrol in the form of Jess and Savannah. Even after seeing confirmation in triplicate, she was still consumed with disbelief, caught somewhere between absolute elation and abject terror.

  All her fears had come home to roost. Fear of losing another baby. Fear of raising a baby alone. Those fears had led her to the decision to call Matt and tell him. But after he’d voiced his desire to shirk responsibility for everyone but himself, she’d reconsidered. On one hand, she understood his frustration. On the other, she recognized that his admission could be the driving force behind his reluctance to be a father.

  At least he’d been open with her about his feelings, not that she felt any better for it. And that presented a huge dilemma—exactly when she would tell him about the baby. Of course, he would need to know eventually, but she didn’t have to decide right now when to make the revelation. She did have to get through the weekend without blurting the truth at the wrong time. She just hoped he didn’t make it his goal to push her buttons.

  When she heard the truck and trailer coming up the road, Rachel grabbed her bag and hurried out to meet Matt before he asked to come inside. She didn’t quite understand the strong sense of anticipation, even excitement, when he exited the cab and approached her, his clear blue eyes fixed on hers. He certainly didn’t look to be at his best. His hair was still shower damp, his jaw shaded with whiskers, and the faded navy T-shirt, scuffed boots and jeans had seen better days. But he wore dishevelment as a king wore a crown, more than worthy of female worship.

  How in the world would she be able to ignore him while cooped up in a cabin for three days? She couldn’t, but she didn’t have to subject herself to his charms on the drive. “I’ve decided to take my car,” she announced the minute he reached the porch.

  He scowled. “We’ve already discussed this. No need to waste fuel, not to mention I’m not up to driving, so you’re going to have to do it.”

  He tossed her the keys, which she barely caught with one hand. “Excuse me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never allowed me to drive your precious truck with the trailer attached.”

  “You can handle it, as long as you don’t have to back up any distance.”

  True, she did suck when it came to maneuvering the trailer in Reverse. “Do you mind telling me why the change of heart?”

  He swept a palm over his jaw. “Because I might fall asleep at the wheel before we reach the Tennessee state line.”

  As if she’d had all that much sleep the night before. “I was up as late as you were.” Then something occurred to her, a logical assumption if past history prevailed. “Are you hungover?”

  “I slept on a sofa that’s about as comfortable as landing in a briar patch,” he said in a defensive tone. “Then I ran into Pearl Allworth at the store and had to endure a ten-minute conversation about her inability to housebreak Buttons, her poodle. Can you top that?”

  Oh, yes. She’d learned she was going to have a baby, a discovery she chose to withhold for the time being. “Fine. Since you had to tolerate Pearl’s ramblings, I’ll drive.” Besides, if he snoozed the whole way, she wouldn’t have to worry he’d try to lay on the he-man act and distract her.

  “If you get too sleepy, we can always pull over and take a nap,” he said. “Or whatever.”

  The suggestion sufficiently served to resurrect one particular memory involving a rest stop and the backseat of the extended-cab pickup. “Let’s get one thing straight, Matthew. There will be no whatever.”

  Clearly he wasn’t too tired to grin. “Whatever.”

  Rachel picked up her bag, tossed it to him and strode to the truck without looking back. After she slid onto the seat and closed the door, she waited for Matt to settle in on the passenger side. For some bizarre reason, her gaze landed right below the seat belt he’d just secured and lingered there for a few seconds. She looked up in time to catch his knowing smile and immediately turned her attention back to the ignition. But before she could start the truck, Matt unsnapped the belt and leaned over her to rummage around in the driver’s door side pocket.

  She froze like a human ice sculpture against the leather seat. He radiated heat at every point his body touched hers, and heavens, he smelled so good, like the clean cotton scent of his preferred soap. “What are you doing?” Aside from making her entirely too hot and bothered.

  “Just making sure I have the new proof-of-insurance card, and here it is.” He finally straightened, giving her some breathing room, but not before the damage to her resolve had been done.

  She shot him a dirty look. “It didn’t occur to you to ask me to look for it instead of climbing all over me?”

  He put the card in the glove box and worked the seat belt closed again. “Sweetheart, I have a feeling you’d like for me to climb all over you.”

  She made two attempts before she finally had the truck started. “You’re imagining things.”

  “I wasn’t imagining you checking out my fly a minute ago and most likely fondly remembering what’s behind it. And by the way, do you remember how to work my gearshift?”

  If she had half a mind, which she obviously didn’t, she’d get out and go back inside. “If you value your gearshift, you’ll stay on your side of t
he truck.”

  He released a low, grainy laugh. “You’re kind of scary when you’re sleep deprived.”

  And he was entirely too sexy for this earth. “Go to sleep, Matthew.”

  He reclined the seat, tipped his head back, closed his eyes and folded his arms across his broad chest. “Wake me up if you want me to take over in a few hours.”

  She had no intention of doing that, but they would have to make a couple of fuel stops and bathroom breaks. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us there in one piece.”

  She depressed the clutch, put the truck in gear, then lurched forward, stalling the diesel engine. She prepared for a patent Matt Boyd snide remark, but she glanced to her right to find he was already asleep.

  Good. Now, if he only stayed that way. But if her reaction to his blatant innuendo was any indication, she didn’t stand a chance when he was fully awake. And he’d have to wake up eventually.

  She drove down the driveway without incident, feeling much more secure in her ability to maneuver the truck and trailer. After she went through the automatic gate, she had to stop at the main road and wait for a slow four-tractor parade. That allowed a few moments for her to study Matt while he slept. His lashes fanned below his closed eyes, and his gorgeous mouth twitched slightly, as if he might smile. He looked so innocent, she saw in him the boy she’d loved for so long, submerged beneath the man with the wicked grin and the wounded soul.

  People had always told them they’d make pretty babies, and that thought prompted Rachel to touch her belly. She decided right then and there that she’d do what she could to salvage her marriage this weekend. She wasn’t naive enough to believe they could solve all their problems in a matter of two days. It would require stripping away her resentment, total honesty and Matt’s cooperation. But it could be a start. A new start. They owed it to their unborn child.

  Granted, things could get worse before they got better. She only hoped better won out. If not, she’d have to continue with her plans, even if that meant raising her child alone.

  * * *

  “BETTER WAKE UP, sleepyhead. We’re here.”

  Matt opened his eyes to a canopy of tall trees overhead, the rustic cabin looming before the truck and Rachel staring at him from the driver’s side. He powered the seat up from the reclining position, every muscle in his body protesting his lack of activity for the past few hours. “I thought you were going to let me take over after we stopped for fuel the last time.”

  She pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them to him. “I was, until you crawled back into the truck and immediately fell asleep again.”

  Man, his fatigue had really caught up with him. “I’m wide-awake now, so let’s go.”

  Keys gripped in his left hand, Matt reached back with his right and grabbed both their bags from the backseat. He stepped out onto the gravel drive, thankful to finally stretch his legs and to be back in a place that had been a cornerstone of their marriage from the beginning. Rachel followed him up the steps and lagged behind as he unlocked and opened the door.

  He moved aside to let her enter first, but she hung back and surveyed the area. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I want to take it all in for a second, in case this might be our last visit here.”

  Not if he could help it. But at least she’d said “might.” That gave him some cause to hope. “Fine. I’ll see you inside.”

  He walked into the cabin and did a little looking around, too. Everything seemed in order, just as he’d requested that morning before they’d set out on the journey. The shutters surrounding the partially open windows had been pulled back throughout the den, allowing a good view of the woodlands that sloped down into the valley. But the best view could be found on the balcony at the back of the house, accessed by the kitchen and the bedrooms. A person could see for miles from that vantage point, and he’d taken in the scenery more than once with his wife. They’d done some major fooling around on the double outdoor chaise a time or two, as well. Too bad he couldn’t count on that happening during this trip.

  With that in mind he set the bags on the sofa, since he wasn’t sure how the sleeping arrangements would go. If he had his way, they’d spend the next three nights in the same heavy pine, four-poster king bed where they’d made love the very first time. But he couldn’t afford to pressure Rachel. Subtly encourage her, yes. Push her, no way. Not unless he wanted to find himself locked out of his own vacation home.

  After he heard the screen door open, he turned to see Rachel standing there, frowning. “Did we forget to put the dust covers on the furniture the last time we were here?” she asked.

  “Nope. Helen took them off. I called her this morning and let her know we’d be in today. She opened the place up for us.”

  “That was so nice of her,” Rachel said. “And thoughtful of you.”

  Damn. She’d actually thrown him a bone. “Helen’s a great lady.” And the wife of Judge Jack, the man who’d officiated at their wedding. He could only imagine how disappointed the couple would be if they knew the current state of his and Rachel’s marriage.

  “It looks like she left us a note.” Rachel strode into the kitchen, removed the paper attached to the refrigerator by a magnet, turned and began to read. “‘Dear Rachel and Matt. Welcome back. I put fresh sheets on the bed, and I also brought you a few staples in case you can’t get to the market for supplies until morning. I’d love to see you both soon. Hugs, Helen.’”

  When she took on a seriously concerned look, Matt worried she’d left something out of the note. “What else does it say?”

  She folded the paper and set it on the black granite countertop. “That’s it.”

  “Then why do you look like you just got bad news?”

  “Because she said I’d love to see you, not we. Do you think something’s happened to the judge?”

  His wife had a habit of finding trouble where trouble didn’t exist. “He’s fine. I heard him in the background when I talked to her this morning. I’m sure he’s still overseeing the weddings of at least half the couples of eastern Tennessee.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” She opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “Looks like she left us some milk and eggs and cheese. And a few drinks.”

  He walked up behind her and looked over her shoulder—not because he was all that interested in the fridge’s contents. He just wanted an excuse to be close to her. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat.” She began to close the door, forcing him to take a step back.

  “So could I,” he said as she faced him. “Those cheese crackers wore off about three hours ago.”

  She took a quick check of her watch. “Since the café’s about to close, I guess we’ll have to make do with what’s here. I’ll scramble some eggs.”

  When she bent and opened a cabinet, Matt realized he had the means to impress her. Every little bit helped. “I’ll make us omelets.”

  She glanced back over one shoulder. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.”

  She straightened, pan in hand and genuine surprise in her expression. “Since when do you know how to make an omelet?”

  “Since I was ten years old.” He instinctively wanted to leave it at that, clam up, avoid the truth. But she’d complained that he’d never shared enough of his past with her. This would be a start, but the emotional cost could be high. “My mother taught me to cook quite a few things.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He took the pan from her grip, put it on the stove and gestured toward the island. “Take a seat.”

  Still looking a little shell-shocked, Rachel washed and dried her hands, rounded the island and pulled up a bar stool. After he washed up as well, Matt turned his back to her and retrieved what he needed from the refrigerator. Then he went to work cracking eggs into a bowl, adding milk along with salt and pepper, and whipping the mixture probably a little more than necessary. He turned on the burner beneath the nonstick pan and waited for
it to heat to the correct temperature, all the while wondering what his wife was thinking.

  “What else can you cook?” she asked.

  “Good old Southern fare.” He poured the eggs into the pan and opened the package of grated cheddar. “Fried chicken and gravy, corn bread from scratch, shepherd’s pie. And collard greens, but I can’t stand them.”

  “How is it after all these years you never told me this?”

  Explaining could take all night, so he settled for the abbreviated version. “Cooking is tied to a lot of memories of her.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Both, but mostly good, I guess.” He took a plate from the cabinet, slid the omelet onto it and turned to Rachel.

  She supported her cheek on a palm, questions in her eyes. “It seems to me if you have good memories of cooking with her, you’d want to relive them.”

  He set the plate, napkins and utensils in front of her. “That depends. Sometimes the good memories are just as painful as the bad if they remind you of what you’ve lost.”

  She reached across the bar and touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Most people would welcome the comforting gesture, but not him. His inability to accept any kind of sympathy caused him to pull away. The return trip to the refrigerator had as much to do with avoidance as forgetting to give her something to drink. “Do you want water? Or there’s a bottle of your favorite wine in here.” Along with a six-pack of his favorite beer. It took all his strength not to grab a can and guzzle it.

  “No wine, but I’ll take some milk.”

  Apparently she’d decided to surprise him, too. He poured her a glass and took it to her. “I’ve never known you to turn down chardonnay for milk.”

  She smiled in that angelic way that he’d missed a lot over the past few months. “Maybe we still have a lot to learn about each other after all.”

  “Maybe so.”

  And maybe those discoveries—and a few rediscoveries—would make a difference in their marriage. Maybe by the time the weekend was over, everything would be settled, once and for all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN