Honor Redeemed

by Loree Lough

  Matt remembered the big blowup he’d caused, asking that very question while Faith was pregnant. He’d fallen back on the “Choose your battles well” adage his dad had drummed into his head, and, near as he could figure, his rational demeanor made her feel unreasonable by comparison, inspiring a compromise. “The boys’ middle names are Carter and David, after my grandfathers.”

  “Carter. Nice. Might just have to borrow that if Mercy and I have kids.”

  If, Matt noted, not when. A subject for another day. Maybe. “So how are the wedding plans coming?”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. The only family Mercy has is a half-brother who lives in England, and you know my sad story.”

  Matt remembered only too well that Austin’s dad had been shot during a convenience store robbery, and not long after, he lost his twin brother in the North Tower on 9/11, Austin’s mom died of cancer … pancreatic, same kind that killed his own mother.

  “So she wants a small wedding on the boat. The minister, the reception, the whole shebang.”

  “That’s surprising.”

  “The small wedding? Nah. She isn’t the ‘drag a poufy dress down the aisle’ type. If you knew her better, you’d know—”

  “Finley, you named that old bucket of bolts you call home ‘One Regret.’ ” Matt laughed. “I can believe she’s anti-poufy dress, but starting married life on a note like that?” He laughed again.

  “Oh, you definitely have to look into a career in comedy, pal. You’re a real cutup.” His smile dimmed when he said “So, anyway, no tuxedo required.”

  “Not even for you?” Just thinking of the stiff monkey suit Faith had insisted he wear at their wedding was enough to make Matt run a finger under his sweatshirt collar. “Man, I hope you know how lucky you are.”

  “Would I be doing this if I didn’t?”

  “Guess not. You are pushin’ forty …”

  “Bite me,” Austin said, smirking.

  “When’s the big day?”

  “I’m trying to talk her out of it, but Mercy’s got her heart set on New Year’s Eve.”

  “You mean, ‘I do’ as the ball drops in Times Square?”

  Austin nodded. ” ‘Fraid so.”

  “Well, look at the bright side.”

  “Bright side? You are one cold dude, dude.” Then, “Okay. I’ll take the bait. What is the bright side?”

  “You’ll never get the cold shoulder for forgetting your anniversary.”

  “Good point. You bringing Honor?”

  “Hadn’t thought that far ahead. Not in ‘who I’ll escort to your wedding’ terms, anyway.”

  Austin’s raised brows and narrowed eyes implied “What kind of ‘way’, then?” But “Have the boys met her yet?” is what he said.

  “Nope.”

  “What’s the plan, there?”

  “Don’t have one.” It wasn’t the truth, but then, it wasn’t exactly a lie, either. Matt pictured Honor, all green-eyed, standoffish, hundred-something pounds of her. Would that mass of shiny red curls feel as soft as it looked?

  “She could do worse.”

  He might have agreed, if Austin hadn’t nodded at the computer screen. “Poor kid already did. Couple of times.”

  Matt must have bumped the mouse with his elbow, waking the hibernating machine. His gaze went straight to the headline on the article he’d been reading when Austin came in: “Female Firefighter Quits Amid Promotions Controversy.” He thought back to what Austin had said earlier. “What really happened, between Honor and the lieutenant, I mean?”

  “You know Wyatt, always rooting for the underdog. Well, he saw that she was struggling, mostly with concentration, so he took her under his wing. I’ll bet he clocked a couple weeks’ worth of off-duty time, making sure she could pass the written and endurance tests. I remember once, while we were all loading up after a fire, he pointed at her. Said he’d never seen anybody more dedicated and determined, man or woman.” Austin shrugged. “I took it to mean he thought she was good for the department.”

  “Too bad everybody else didn’t take it that way.”

  “You got that right.” Austin stood, put the chair back where he’d found it. “So what are you and the boys doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Same as always. I’ll throw a turkey in the oven, overcook it, and we’ll all pretend to love it.”

  “Mercy’s got a big dinner planned at her place. Her brother Leo can’t make it, so she asked the Sullivans and—hey, why don’t you guys join us?”

  “Okay if I bring Harriet?”

  “The more, the merrier, I always say.”

  The men walked side by side into the foyer, and as he opened the door, Matt said, “You know it’s bad luck to leave a building by a different door than the one you came in.”

  Austin stepped onto the porch. “Then I’m safe as a babe in his mama’s arms. I didn’t come in through a door, remember?” Halfway into his pickup, he said, “I’ll call you in a day or two, once Mercy’s got the time nailed down.”

  “Find out what I can bring while you’re at it.”

  “Why don’t you bring Honor? Two birds with one stone,” he said, and slammed the driver’s door.

  Meaning, introduce her to the twins, and rack up a few “getting to know you” hours at the same time.

  He powered down the computer and walked into the kitchen to slap together some lunch for Harriet and the boys. On the way out the front door, he stopped in the living room. Sure enough, black streaks provided all the evidence he needed that Austin hadn’t been the only one who’d slipped into the house by way of the window. He slid the lock into place, then remembered how, last year, the boys had forgotten their keys. They’d gone next door to borrow Harriet’s, and when she couldn’t find it in her mess of a kitchen, they’d called him. In the middle of a story, at the height of rush hour. The open window, he surmised, guaranteed they’d never have to sit through another “be more careful” lecture that lasted all through supper.

  Grinning, Matt unlocked the window and grabbed the cooler. Steve and Warner weren’t little boys any more. All too soon, they’d be grown and gone, and he’d be staring at heel marks on a windowsill and Matchbox car scrapes on the hardwood, wondering why he felt so alone.

  Tonight, once the last of Harriet’s basement dust had gurgled down the bathtub drain, he’d call Honor. They had more in common than she was willing to admit. She understood the pain of loss, for starters, and hopefully, in time, she’d see that, too. For now, he had two solid excuses to call … to ask her advice about getting the boys and their Scout troop involved with perimeter searches, then to extend Austin’s invitation to join them for Thanksgiving dinner.

  But first, he’d do something he hadn’t done in a long, long time: pray.

  Because something told him if she said no to either appeal, he’d need all the strength he could get.

  8

  Guess you’re wondering how I got your number.”

  It was good to hear his voice, which confused her almost as much as the fact that he’d called at all. “Not really. I’m in the book.”

  “How’s the car?”

  “Got it back a few days ago, and it’s running fine.”

  “See? Told you Manny would take good care of you.”

  “Yes, you did. And I appreciate it.”

  “No thanks necessary. The car isn’t really why I called.”

  And here it comes, she thought. He must have heard the stories about her and decided to put her purity—or lack of it—to the test. The only question, really, was how he’d approach it.

  “The twins were watching some sort of rescue on TV, and got the bright idea that they could maybe earn a Scout badge if they learned how to help with a search.”

  Well, this was a new one. Not even the sleaziest guys had used their kids to get to her.

  “I thought your boys were only ten.”

  “They are.”

  “A lot of the adults I teach think that SAR is basically a w
alk in the park. They don’t realize what an investment of time and money is required, just to get started. It’s physically demanding because the search terrain is almost never flat, and the weather can be downright miserable. There are snakes and bugs and poisonous plants, stagnant water and brush so thick and thorny that not even a rabbit would go through it. And that’s all before they even find a victim.”

  “Uh, wow.”

  “Wow? You were at the crash site and saw for yourself how many different conditions we find people in—from bloody and unconscious, to dismembered or worse—and if they’ve been dead a while?” Honor harrumphed. “You’d better have a strong stomach. It’s enough to give grown men nightmares, so it’s probably not the best idea for your boys to—what about you?”

  “Me? In a search and rescue course?” Then, “Well, maybe I could train the dog.”

  “Cash? How old is he?”

  “Five. Six, since June.”

  “It takes a year, sometimes more, to teach a rescue dog the basics. Then another two, maybe three additional years of steady field training before they’re ready for the real stuff. Rigorous, test-their-limits stuff that’s a whole lot harder than what we go through because we ask them to go places we can’t go, do things we can’t do. And their bodies weren’t built for most of it. And poor Cash has been abused enough.”

  “You’re right.”

  “But you could start from scratch. The boys could get involved by helping train a rescue dog. I know a couple who own two goldens, and the female is pregnant. She’s a rescue dog, and so’s the father, so those pups will be—”

  “I dunno, Honor. With my wacky schedule and two rowdy boys? Wouldn’t be fair to anyone, least of all, the puppy.”

  His rejection had come so quickly, it almost seemed rehearsed. Evidence that Matt was commitment-phobic? Not that it mattered, because even if she’d been in a position to commit, what made her think he’d want a relationship with her? She’d been tough on him, right from the get-go, for no reason other than he shared a gender with other men who’d hurt her. “At least you have the good sense to admit your failings before anybody gets hurt.”

  Matt whistled as she winced. Lighten up, girl, she told herself.

  “Ouch,” he said, chuckling. “Truth is, I think I was just looking to hear an expert put into words what I already knew. It’ll be tough, explaining it all, especially now that they’ve spent their allowance on how-to books.” He muttered something, then added, “Guess this is another of those ‘put it in God’s hands’ things.”

  Translation: Not only had she underscored the reasons Matt needed to shoot down his boys’ idea, she’d given him the ammunition to do it, too. Guilt nagged at her. Just because she had her guard up all the time didn’t mean everybody else did, and Honor felt bad about playing a part in disappointing his kids. If only she could make it easier, for him and his boys. “You could always take a page from my mom’s parenting manual.”

  “Parenting manual?” Matt laughed, and she so enjoyed the rich, robust sound of it that she wished she hadn’t lost her sense of humor, along with her reputation, so she could crack jokes and spew puns to inspire more of it. A whole lot more. “When you asked why she wouldn’t let you do something, you mean?”

  “Or have something, or go somewhere, or hang around with this kid or that one.” Honor felt the stirrings of fond memories, and it made her miss her mom a little. “I used to think she looked for excuses to say ‘Because I said so, that’s why.’ “

  “Here I was, fixin’ to ask you out, sorta. Can’t do it now, though.”

  Honor didn’t know how to react to that. Shortly before the fiasco, she’d gone out with an accountant, ten, maybe eleven times. Ray had one flaw: He wasn’t John. Once she acknowledged that, Honor knew it wouldn’t be fair to keep seeing him. Then came a man—to use the term loosely—who resorted to name-calling when she said “I don’t believe in kissing on a first date.” And the one who’d behaved like a perfect gentleman when she delivered the same line … and made so many prank calls in the next weeks that she’d been forced to change her phone number. Worst of all were the firefighters, guys who were supposed to be brothers at arms, who let their buddies believe she was everything they’d heard, and then some. “Okay, I’ll bite: Why can’t you ask me out … now?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Not even slightly!

  “By some weird twist of science, we must have had the same mother. And she must have liked you best because when she used that line on me, she always added ‘and that’s final!’ So, see? I can’t very well go out on a date with my sister, now can I?”

  Half a dozen clichés zipped through her mind because never in a million years, not if her life depended on it, even if they held a gun to her head, would she have guessed he’d say that!

  “The other reason I’m calling is to find out what you’re doing on Thanksgiving.”

  She’d feel pathetic, just saying “nothing,” so Honor explained how she spent every holiday with her sister’s family and that this year, because the entire Gray clan had enjoyed their Disney cruise so much last Christmas, they’d booked the shorter Thanksgiving weekend trip.

  “Why aren’t you going?”

  She could handle a few hours in the warmth of family love. Longer than that only emphasized how alone she’d been since the debacle. Times like these, it was hard not to be mad at God, for making her a do-the-right-thing person, even when it hurt. “Because I can only take so much whining and complaining and bickering.” She paused to ask God’s forgiveness for the lie. “And then there’s the stuff the kids do. I’d probably jump overboard on day two!”

  “Does that mean you’ll join the boys and me at Austin and Mercy’s?”

  “Maybe. Why not? Whatever …”

  “Can you take a little constructive criticism?”

  “I guess. Depends. About what?”

  “You might consider ratcheting your enthusiasm down a notch or two. Y’know, just so’s I don’t get a swelled head or anything.”

  Laughing, Honor said, “Okay.”

  “Okay, you’ll curb the overeager ‘I can’t wait to spend time with Matt Phillips’ gusto? Or okay, you’ll come with us?”

  “Both.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt playful. Or flirty. It felt so good that Honor was almost tempted not to rein it in.

  Almost.

  “Did Mercy happen to mention if she needs me to bring anything?” Honor loved to cook, but with no one to do it for, the whole process seemed pointless.

  “Aw, now, don’t get me all involved in your women-in-thekitchen stuff. I’ll give you her phone number—hold on a sec, it’s on the back of an envelope, right here in this stack of mail, at least I think it is, yeah, got it—and the two of you can talk yourselves blue about side dishes and desserts and appetizers.” He rattled off the number, then said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea …”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Chuckling, Matt said, “Just to clarify … I said ratchet the gusto down a tad, not take a hatchet to it.”

  “Sorry.” She heard herself giggle, something else she hadn’t done in a long time. “My mistake.”

  “Don’t give it another thought.” He paused. “Until the next time you’re tempted to come at me with a pin.”

  To pop his swelled head? she wondered, laughing. “Sorry,” she repeated. “You were saying?”

  “How ‘bout if we pick you up? Your place is right on the way to Mercy’s house. That way, you and the boys and Harriet can get acquainted during the drove over. Why, I’ll just bet that by the time we get there, you’ll all be best buds and I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.”

  “Harriet?”

  “The woman next door. Sweet ol’ gal jumps at any opportunity to spend time with the twins.”

  “I’m sure that’s because they’re great kids.”

  “Yeah, they are, if I do say so myself.”

  Which was scary. Because if they were anything
like their dad, she was sure to go nuts over them, too.

  Too? Where had that come from! “So what time’s dinner?”

  “Never thought to ask. Here’s an idea: you finesse the info outta Mercy when you’re asking if she prefers cheesecake or fudge, and let me know.”

  “Subtle, Phillips. Real subtle.”

  “Hey, a guy whose dessert-making talents fall into two categories—unwrap and thaw or thaw and unwrap—can’t afford to be subtle.”

  “Which is your favorite?”

  “Is there such a thing as fudge cheesecake?” He smacked his lips.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  He did a fair-to-middlin’ Irish accent. “Ah, Honor, m’love, where’ve you been all m’life?”

  Hiding in the shadows of lies. The admission made her wonder what was wrong with him. The longer she knew him, the more apparent it became that he liked her. If he truly was the sane and rational man he appeared to be, why would he pursue a more-than-friends relationship with a woman who had more baggage than a luggage carousel at BWI?

  “So you’ll call me tomorrow, then?”

  “Sure. If I can get hold of Mercy.”

  “Well, a guy can hope.”

  No one since John had made her heart pound like a parade drum. She’d blame the reaction on that third cup of coffee … if it hadn’t been decaf.

  “Sweet dreams, Honor.”

  “You, too.” Matt might have heard her, if she’d said it a tick sooner. Just as well, because he probably would have sensed that she didn’t believe in sweet dreams. Not after Brady Shaw’s news story hit the airwaves, anyway, when the nightmares began, sometimes two or three a night that shook her awake, gasping for breath and sweating. It took more than a year to figure out that if she ever hoped to sleep again, she needed to push herself, so long and so hard that she’d fall into bed, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

  Which was perfect, really, since she’d never been a sweetdreams kind of girl.

  Honor wasn’t a bubble bath-and-candles kind, either, but that didn’t stop her from popping her favorite Eagles CD into the stereo and lighting everything and anything with a wick while she waited for the tub to fill. By the time she’d hung her robe on the doorknob, the sparkly white foam was nearly thick enough to float a bar of soap. Eyes closed, she sunk into it, replaying every warm and friendly word exchanged with Matt. If that didn’t relax her enough to conjure a sweet dream or two, what would?