Honor Redeemed

by Loree Lough

  “You okay over there?”

  She lay a hand over her heart and willed it to stop beating like a tom-tom. “I’m fine. How’re you?”

  “Haven’t heard from you since Thanksgiving. I thought you were coming over to share some popcorn on movie night.”

  “I promised to try.”

  “Do or do not,” he said, “there is no ‘try.’ “

  “Good quote. Who said it?”

  “I was afraid you’d ask that. C’mon over. Steve and Warner will know.”

  “I have lesson plans and handouts to prepare.”

  “Oh yeah. Class is in session, isn’t it?”

  She grinned. “Seems to me you said you’d try to audit the session.”

  “Touché, mademoiselle, touché.”

  “How many imitations can you do?”

  “Imitations? I vill haff you know dat I’m the genuine article!”

  “English, Irish, French … now German …”

  “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that I’m so crazy that I have no idea when I’m slipping into a foreign accent. But-t-t … choo kahn’t evade der kvest-shun so eeez-ily, dollink.”

  “What was that … Zsa Zsa Gabor?”

  “Of course not. It was Mister Gabor. But you still haven’t answered the question.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I’ve lost track. What question?”

  “C’mon over and join us for pizza-and-a-movie Friday.”

  “I’m no Pulitzer-winning writer, but even I know that isn’t a question.”

  “Touché, mademoiselle, touché.” Then, “Stop me. Please. Not even I have the patience to go through all that again.”

  Matt laughed, then said, “So … ?”

  She wanted to see him and the twins again, but—

  “Make it easy on yourself.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Just say yes.”

  She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “All right. But I have to be home by ten.”

  “Eleven. It’s a two-hour movie, and the kids like to take a break in the middle. Bathroom and junk food intermission, they call it.”

  “All right, eleven. What can I bring? Brownies? Ice cream? Both?”

  “Just your gorgeous self.” He rattled off directions. “You have a GPS, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “As a Pulitzer-winning writer, I have some finely-honed skills, but being able to see through the phone isn’t one of them.”

  She laughed. Again. “Sorry.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. There isn’t a single—”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. How soon can you be here? So I’ll know when to nuke the popcorn.”

  She glanced at the clock. There wasn’t time to shower and change. Not without disappointing the twins. “Half an hour?”

  “Perfect. Like everything else about—”

  “Sorry?”

  “Wear gloves. And boots. And a hat. Does that baby SUV of yours have 4-wheel drive?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Good, ‘cause they’re predicting snow.”

  “Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t—”

  “Yes. You should.”

  “But—”

  “Honor?”

  “Matt …”

  “The sooner you say goodbye, the sooner you can leave.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Remember, gloves, hat, boots.”

  “Yes, dad.”

  “See you in a few, then.”

  “Right.”

  “Bye.”

  “Matt?”

  “Honor …”

  “If you don’t hang up, I can’t leave.”

  “Good point,” he said, laughing as he hung up.

  She stood staring at the now-silent receiver. Something told her tonight would be a lot of things … but boring wouldn’t be one of them.

  12

  Honor had visited John’s apartment enough times to know that a house without a woman’s touch might not be less than clean, and she made up her mind to roll up her sleeves and dig in if it appeared that Matt and his boys were living in unsanitary squalor. So it surprised her to find he’d adopted an everything-in-its-place home that felt as relaxed and cozy as any she’d seen. She’d have to get to know him better to know whether his Marine background could be credited with his gift for order and organization, or if it was part of his DNA.

  “The twins have been running around like headless chickens,” he said, leading her to the family room, “to get things ready for you.”

  They’d arranged paper plates, napkins, and cans of decaffeinated soda on the big oak coffee table. In its center, the biggest potholder she’d ever seen, and around the edges, one soapstone coaster per person. “They did a great job,” she said, perching on the nearest sofa arm. “Where are they?”

  “Upstairs, brushing their teeth and combing their hair.”

  “For me?”

  “Isn’t every day a gorgeous redhead joins us for movie night.”

  A rumble sounded overhead. Matt looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I’ll bet I tell them not to run in the house a couple dozen times a day.”

  “Boys will be boys, eh?”

  “If you say so. So you found the place okay?”

  “Your directions were great.”

  “Good. How was traffic?”

  “Not bad.” Small talk again. It made her yearn for the easy banter they’d shared on the phone earlier.

  “So what’s playing tonight?”

  “Open Range.”

  “Really. I expected action-adventure or sci-fi, or a comedy, even.”

  “Steve remembered you saying on Thanksgiving that you’re a Robert Duvall fan.”

  “That’s just … that’s so sweet. Fresh breath, combed hair, and a western? I’m flattered. And touched.”

  She’d been right. Tonight would be a lot of things, but boring wasn’t one of them. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nope. Everything’s all set. Soon as the boys get down here, we’ll put toppings on the pizza. Ten minutes after that, you can yell ‘Action!’ “

  The thunder of sneakered feet spilled down the stairs. Side by side they stood, freckled faces beaming as they shook her hand. “Good to see you again, Miz Mackenzie,” they said in perfect unison.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” She winked. “I wonder … will you tell me a secret?”

  Their voices harmonized on the word “Depends …”

  “How do you say the exact same things at the exact same time?”

  Steve gave a nonchalant wave. “Oh, it’s—”

  “—a twins thing,” Warner finished.

  “They’ve been doing it since they were babies,” Matt said. The quiet reminder that he’d raised them, single-handedly, made Honor want to reach out and squeeze his hand, tell him what a great job he’d done. She didn’t imagine it would have been an easy undertaking for a mother and father to share. But a man alone? Just one more reason to admire him.

  “Let’s get those pizzas decorated,” Matt said, starting for the kitchen.

  The boys walked down the hall, one on either side of her. “Do you like mushrooms, Miz Mackenzie?”

  “Yes, Steve, I do. And please, call me Honor. Or Mack.”

  “Mack,” Warner said. “But that’s a guy’s name.”

  “Usually,” she agreed. “But in my case, it’s a nickname. You know, short for Mackenzie.”

  “I like it,” he said, nodding. “But … which name do you like best?”

  For the kids’ sake, she pretended to give it a moment’s thought. “Honor,” she said, “because it’s unusual.”

  The boys knelt on two of the four tall stools surrounding the center island. “We haven’t touched anything since brushing our teeth,” Steve said. “Do we need to wash our hands again?”

  “Nah. You’re fine.” To Honor, he said, “Make yourself at home.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, “your pizza ain’t gonna d
ecorate itself.”

  “Isn’t,” Warner corrected.

  Laughing, Honor slid the nearest plate-sized pizza closer.

  “Don’t be shy,” Warner instructed. “Just dig in.”

  “If your hands are clean, that is,” his brother said.

  When she stepped up to the sink, Steve said, “So I hear you have two dogs.”

  “That’s right,” she said, grabbing a paper towel. “Golden retrievers named Rowdy and Rerun.” After pitching the towel into the trash can, she looked around her. “Where’s Cash?”

  “Oh, he’s around. He’s always skittish when people first get here.”

  “That’s ‘cause we don’t hardly ever have people over.”

  ” ‘Specially not women.”

  She looked up in time to see Matt scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sheesh,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You must be some kinda kisser …”

  Steve hollered, “Warner, no way you just said that!”

  “Well why else would Dad have brung her here? He never—”

  “Brought, not brung, and you don’t go around talkin’ about how good a girl kisses. ‘Specially not with her standin’. Right. There.”

  “Don’t you mean how well she kisses?”

  Warner’s smug grin made Honor laugh. “Since you shared a secret with me, I think it only fair to share one with you.”

  The boys exchanged a puzzled glance … and their dad hid behind one hand.

  “There haven’t been any kisses.”

  Steve’s brow crinkled. “None?”

  “None.”

  The twins stopped layering their pizzas with toppings and stared at Matt, who looked like a taller version of his boys as he blinked and blushed and stammered.

  “Well, why not?” Warner blurted.

  “I, ah, well, um …”

  “We haven’t known each other very long,” she said, rescuing him, “so there really hasn’t been time.” Shut up, Honor. Just stop talking before you dig this hole even deeper!

  “Me ‘n’ Steve could go to bed early.”

  “Warner,” Matt said, “you know better.”

  What she’d told the boys was true. But she’d known Matt exactly long enough to realize that right now, he couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. The halfway-between result was almost as funny as Warner’s original question.

  Somehow, they finished topping their pizzas, and as he slid them into the oven, Matt told the boys to take Cash out. “Run him around a little and make sure he does his business. That way, he won’t interrupt us during the movie.” Then he set the timer and waited for the back door to bang shut.

  “Look,” he said, leaning his backside against the counter, “I’m sorry as I can be about all that … that … you know.”

  “Don’t give it another thought.” She shrugged. “I’d love to see the rest of your place.”

  He grabbed the timer and dropped it into his shirt pocket and took her from room to room, pointing out the boys’ art projects and deals he’d found at flea markets and garage sales. He was particularly proud of the old spinet he’d found in a consignment shop and refinished to match the mahogany living room tables.

  Honor plinked a few keys. “Does anyone play?”

  “Faith did.”

  She picked up the silver-framed photograph on the piano’s back. “She was beautiful, Matt.” Returning it to its proper place, Honor wondered how hard it had been for Matt, looking into the little face that was a daily reminder of his late wife. “Steve looks so much like her.”

  “Everybody says that.” He used his thumb to nudge the picture a hair to the right. “Frankly, I don’t see it.”

  But he was blond and blue-eyed, slender and tiny, just like Faith.

  Matt pointed at a picture that hung on the wall across the room. “My folks,” he said. “If you ask me, he more closely resembles my mom than his.”

  Honor crossed the room to get a closer look. She didn’t expect to agree, but because he seemed to need validation of his opinion, she prepared to do just that. Only … the boy was the spitting image of his grandmother.

  “Isn’t that amazing,” she said, facing him.

  “What is?”

  “Science. Genetics. Heredity. Whatever you want to call it.” She was happy for him, and for Steve, too, because it meant he wasn’t forced to think of Faith every time he looked at his son.

  She tapped a tree ornament and started it bobbing. “The place looks so … so homey. I’ll admit, I’m a little—”

  His timer beeped, and he headed for the kitchen. “Would you mind calling the boys while I slice the pizzas?”

  “Not at all.” Smiling, she stepped onto the back deck and rubbed her upper arms. “Holy cow, it’s freezing out here,” she said, trying to hide her surprise at finding them seated at the patio table instead of racing around in the yard. She stooped to pet Cash. “Aren’t you a pretty boy,” she said, kissing the top of his head.

  Their mischievous grins reminded her of the Cheshire cat. And that can’t be good, she thought, grinning herself. Crossing both arms over her chest, Honor tapped the toe of one booted foot. “Okay. Spit it out. What’s going on?”

  Warner stood. “We just thought you two could use a little, ah, privacy.”

  “Yeah, for, you know …”

  She slid an arm around each boy’s shoulders and drew them into a sideways hug. “I’ll make a deal with you. You stop talking about … you know … and if it happens, you’ll be the first people I tell.”

  Warner jerked open the screen door. “Well, okay. But it’s when it happens, not if.”

  She would have given anything to ask them how they could be so sure. And then Steve said, “He never brought a lady home before. Ever. So yeah, when.” He hung his coat in the cubby across from the washing machine. “You wanna know what I think?”

  “Not really,” Warner teased, tucking his in beside it. “But I know you. Only way we’re gonna keep you from tellin’ us is with duck tape.”

  “Duct tape,” Steve droned, “with a T not a K. And what I think is, if Honor isn’t doing something else for Christmas, she should come over here and fix dinner for Dad and us. If she can cook, she’s a shoo-in.”

  Nodding, Warner sauntered into the kitchen. “Y’know, I like the way you think, bro … sometimes.”

  They were in the doorway, smiling, when Matt turned to face them. One brow rose, and he narrowed both eyes. “All right, out with it. What’re you three stooges up to?”

  The twins sing-songed “Nothing” as Honor shrugged.

  Shoulders slumped, he hung his head and chuckled quietly. “Oh man, oh man, oh man,” he chanted, “something tells me I’m in bi-i-ig trouble.”

  Warner whispered into a cupped hand, “If he thinks he’s in trouble now, just wait until when happens.”

  Matt’s head jerked up, and before he had a chance to ask what it meant, Honor said, “So when does the movie start?”

  13

  He’d never seen Cash take to a person the way he took to Honor. Never knew the boys to attach so quickly to someone new, either. Sitting close and flinging an arm over her shoulders would have required moving the contented ten-year-olds who’d settled on either side of Honor, supposedly because she was holding the popcorn bowl. Matt could have said, “What about me?”

  Instead, he propped his feet on the coffee table, more than content to watch her. Honor was a whole lot more interesting than the movie, anyway, flinching with every gunshot, frowning when the bad guys beat up the sidekick … misting up when the big guy died. Yeah, he’d made a good call, inviting her here. The only real mistake he’d made since meeting her was that he hadn’t kissed her.

  But he would.

  Tonight, if she’d let him.

  It was pitch dark outside when the kids decided it was time for a bathroom break. “Let Cash out, boys,” he told them, “and this time, make sure he goes, will ya?”

  A moment later, the back door slam
med twice, telling him they’d both gone outside with the dog. Something about skulking around in the dark had appealed to him as a boy, too, but never more than when the safety of home was within easy reach. When the door slammed again, they’d run into the room, pink-cheeked and breathless, to report that Cash really had gone this time, putting their unwritten “no hugging in front of company” to the test. “So what do you think?”

  She’d just stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth, and her jaw froze at his question. “About … ?”

  “Those monsters of mine. Are they driving you crazy yet?”

  “Hardly! I think they’re wonderful.”

  “Not too bratty?”

  “Not bratty at all.”

  “Or too loud and rambunctious?”

  “No, not even …”

  She stopped talking so fast that he thought a kernel had gotten stuck in her throat. He leaped up, reciting the Heimlich steps in his head, but only made it as far as the curve of the sectional before she said, “I get it. You’re referring to that stupid crack I made about my sister’s kids and her nieces and nephews.”

  Relief that she wasn’t choking collided with disappointment. Well, there goes a perfect chance to put the boys’ suggestion to the test. The ridiculous thought inspired a smirk as he realized mouth-to-mouth wasn’t one of the steps. Then he realized she’d figured out what he meant, despite the vagueness of his question, and remembered that extraordinary moment on Thanksgiving, when she’d known what he’d been thinking, just by locking those gorgeous eyes on him.

  “I only said that so you wouldn’t feel sorry for me, spending a major family holiday, all alone. The truth is, I love kids, and every yelling, screaming, running, jumping thing about them. And your boys …” She hugged the popcorn bowl a little tighter, as if it was a kid. “Your boys just couldn’t be sweeter. You’ve done an incredible job with them.”

  “Thanks.” Relief of a different kind swirled in his head, because if she didn’t like them, well, it was over before it started. “And speaking of not spending holidays alone, what’s this stuff the boys were babbling about? Something about you coming over here to cook Christmas dinner?”