by Debra Webb
“That’s nice,” Abby managed politely. And to her credit, without staring at Martha’s lacquered-to-the-max, tornado-proof do. Hair that black just couldn’t be natural, Abby thought as she flexed her jaw just to be sure it still worked properly. And those matching lashes. She struggled not to look. Too long and thick—they couldn’t be real either.
Glancing covertly from right to left, Martha leaned in cheek-to-cheek with Abby. “You can tell me, dearie.” Martha checked once more to make sure no one was listening. “Are those coppery curls natural?”
Before Abby could respond, she quickly added, “Richard down at the Clips and Curls in an absolute master colorist. He could touch up those roots in a flash.”
Roots? Abby’s hair had been this color since birth! Still, she manufactured a patient smile. “I’ll—ah—keep that in mind,” she promised, as she backed up first one step and then another, only to bump into yet another invitee to Jenny’s Sunday dinner. “Oh, excuse me.” Abby whirled to face the victim of her latest hasty retreat.
“So, you’re staying with Matthew for a few days.”
From the Bible clutched in this man’s right hand to the fire and brimstone in his dark eyes, Abby knew she was in trouble. “Yes. Yes I am.”
“I didn’t see you in church this morning, missy.”
Dread welled in Abby’s throat. She had the sudden urge to flee or at the very least to cross herself. Memories of the semester she’d spent at the Virgin Mary’s School for Girls flooded her mind. “I... we...”
“Don’t folks in New York City go to meeting on Sunday morning? It’s no wonder they have so much crime up there. Why, this very morning our service focused on the evils that thrive in the big cities of our great country. Greed and lust.” Between his thunderous baritone and the accusation in his gaze, Abby knew she was about to receive her own personal rendition of the morning sermon.
She nodded dumbly. “That’s nice.” How many times had she said that in the last twenty minutes? Where the hell had Matthew disappeared to? Why had he abandoned her to...to these people? Abby was vaguely aware of the reverend dramatically replaying his Sunday morning sermon.
“Hell’s bells, Reverend, cut the girl some slack.”
Abby whipped around and found herself face to face with an older, but every bit as handsome, version of Matthew.
“That sermon bored me stiff the first time I heard it thirty years ago.” Her rescuer winked, then pulled Abby into one of those enthusiastic hugs. Behind her, she heard the reverend’s indignant protests.
“I’m Matt Hugh.” The elder Stone drew back and gave Abby a once over. “Matt was right, you are a mighty pretty lady. Hope that boy’s treating you right.”
Abby was speechless for a long moment. Matthew thought she was pretty? A soft, warm glow heated her insides. “He’s treating me just fine, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stone.”
He grinned. A devilish, heart-stopping kind, just like his son’s. “Call me Matt Hugh, honey, everybody does.”
Charmed, Abby smiled.
“Come on, Abby, let’s find that errant son of mine. He can’t have gotten far.” Matt Hugh draped Abby’s arm over his own. “I know I raised that boy better than to neglect a pretty young thing like you.”
Mercy, Abby pressed a hand to her chest, the man was Rhett Butler incarnate. All she needed was a hoopskirt to complete the time warp she’d entered.
“I built this house with my very own hands almost fifty years ago,” Matt Hugh explained as they walked slowly down the long hall that cut straight through the middle of the first floor. “My Virginia, God rest her soul, loved this house. But when she passed on, I found myself lost in this big old rambling place. Built that vacation place down by the lake Virginia and I always talked about.” He smiled as if remembering something special. “Jenny and her brood are filling this old house with laughter again.”
A lifetime of memories twinkled in his faded blue eyes. Abby’s lips eased into a genuine smile. “It’s lovely.”
At the end of the hall above a fragile antique table, a framed charcoal drawing of the twins caught Abby’s eye. Matt Hugh didn’t slow long enough for her to admire it fully, but even the brief look she’d gotten sparked her interest. She’d have to take a better look later.
They found Matthew in the kitchen, having what appeared to be an intense conversation with his sister. Matthew’s gaze connected with Abby’s in a way that made her heart lurch. There was just something about the man. It wasn’t the way his crisp white shirt enhanced the deep tan of his skin, or the fact that faded denim encased his muscular thighs so sinfully. It wasn’t even those amazing blue eyes or that masterfully chiseled face. It was something beyond all that, something Abby couldn’t put her finger on. Something that shook her more than anything the good reverend could have ever said.
Something basic, primal, and totally beyond her power to reason or control.
“Matthew, stop dilly-dallying in this kitchen and show Abby here around. She didn’t come all this way to hobnob with your Aunt Martha and the like.”
A smile as charming as his father’s slid into place. Matthew extended his hand. “Come on then, I’ll show you around.”
“The drawing of the children,” Abby began, hesitant to take the hand he offered. She turned her attention to Jenny. “It’s a very good portrait. Did you draw it?”
“Ah...no.” Jenny’s gaze shifted quickly to her father, then to Matthew. “Not me. I can’t draw a square without screwing it up. It...ah...”
“I’d best give Ed a hand in the parlor.” Matt Hugh disappeared practically before he finished his sentence.
Bewildered, Abby didn’t miss the pointed look Matthew shot in Jenny’s direction.
“Well,” Abby broke the tense standoff, “it’s a beautiful drawing, whoever the artist.”
“You still want that tour?” Matthew’s smile had dimmed measurably, but the offer of his hand came again.
Abby reluctantly accepted the strong hand he’d extended. Her heart leapt at the roughened feel of his calloused palm. And when those long fingers closed around hers, Abby felt lightheaded.
For one fleeting second, she considered opting for the reverend’s sermon as she found herself being led away from the crowd, away from the pleasant aromas of the safe kitchen and into Matthew Stone’s past.
~*~
“So you were the captain of the football team.” Abby fingered one of the old football trophies collecting dust on Matthew’s childhood armoire.
He leaned back in the window seat, trying not to show his discomfort at talking about himself. “That’s a fact. I don’t know why Jenny doesn’t get rid of all this old stuff.”
He looked around at the room he’d grown up in and tried to see it from her eyes. It was a typical boy’s retreat. Heavy wood furniture, blue plaid bedspread and draperies. Banners, trophies, football and baseball memorabilia filled every nook and corner. The house had five bedrooms, and as long as she had room, Jenny adamantly refused to dismantle her big brother’s old room.
He watched as Abby made another slow circle of the space. Desire hit him low in the gut. He’d already admitted to himself that she was one hell of a good-looking woman, but in that dress she looked amazing. The way the clingy jade-colored material caressed her gorgeous form, there ought to be a law against looking that good. How in the hell was he ever going to survive spending a whole week in this woman’s presence without making a total fool of himself?
Why had he ever agreed to this anyway? Allowing her to observe him at work for that long was above and beyond the call of duty, but he’d said yes.
He simply couldn’t imagine saying no to the woman—not now. Not after seeing her, spending time with her.
Abby almost sat down on the bed, then quickly changed her mind and joined him in the window seat. He wondered if maybe she felt uncomfortable being alone in a bedroom with him. After all, the twins had been in the room with them the night before. Her soft, sweet scent hi
t his nostrils and Matthew almost flinched. She couldn’t possibly be any more uncomfortable than he was, he decided, as his jeans became too tight in the wrong place.
“Tell me about the fire,” she suggested as she withdrew that tiny tape recorder he’d instantly loathed from her purse.
He let go a breath and dredged up the memories he’d just as soon forget. But he had to do this, didn’t he? The image of Jenny suddenly reminded him of his promise to her. Yeah, he had to do this. He loved his sister and he wanted to make her happy.
“It was a Memorial Day weekend and a lot of the guys were out of town visiting relatives,” he began, images and sensations flickering too quickly and too real in his mind’s eye. “The call came in at two in the morning. Five of us rolled within minutes of the call, but the fire was”—he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat—“raging. Roger called for back-up as the rest of us went in.”
“There were six children in the house?” Abby prodded when he hesitated too long.
He nodded. “And Miss Corine, their foster mother. We found her first. The fire had started in the kitchen where a stove burner had been accidentally left on. The smoke detector roused Miss Corine, but when she came back down the stairs and saw the fire she suffered a heart attack. It took her a while, but she finally managed to drag herself close enough to reach the telephone and call for help.
“When we got there she was in full cardiac arrest. Roger and Tom carried her outside and began CPR. Ray started spraying the place down, but saving the house didn’t appear likely. After checking the two other rooms downstairs, Luke and I rushed upstairs to find the children,” The memory of the heat, the sound of shattering glass and the deadly pall of smoke assaulted Matthew with the same overwhelming force as it had that night.
“What happened next?”
He studied Abby’s face for a moment or two before continuing. Her green eyes were wide with empathy. He liked her eyes. “When we reached the second-story landing we separated. I went left and Luke went right. We couldn’t find the children anywhere.” Matthew shook his head. “It was like they’d vanished. The smoke was getting thicker and the floor would’ve burned our feet if we hadn’t been wearing protective gear. We knew we didn’t have much time. Then I heard a crash.
“A wall had collapsed and Luke was down. He was conscious, but he couldn’t walk. His legs were broken. I got him down the stairs and outside. The second floor above the kitchen started to give way and I knew we were out of time. If Roger and Tom had stopped the CPR, Miss Corine would’ve died. Ray had to keep trying to put the damned flames out... and somebody had to go back inside and find those kids.” Matthew’s throat felt dry even now, and his voice sounded husky to his own ears.
“So you went back inside.”
“Yeah.” He wouldn’t tell her about the fear that had nearly paralyzed him. The fear that he wouldn’t be able to find the children... the fear that if he did they’d be dead already or he wouldn’t be able to get them out. The fear of dying himself.
“I finally found them hiding in a hall closet.” He shook his head, barely restraining the tears of joy even now. “Between the roar of the fire and the sirens, they couldn’t hear me calling for them. Two were only toddlers and one of the older ones couldn’t walk.” Matthew moistened his lips. “Deciding which ones to carry out first was the hardest thing I’d ever done.”
Abby blinked. “What did you do?”
“I grabbed up the two toddlers, then knelt and ordered the child who couldn’t walk to climb on my back and hang on.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and continued, “I turned the kids over to Roger and Tom, who already had their hands full with Miss Corine and Luke. Then I went back inside.
“Before I could get the other three to safety, the middle portion of the staircase collapsed. I had to find another way out. Fast. Belvidere’s fire truck had arrived and help was out there. I just needed to figure out a way to connect with them. Everything on the east end of the house was fully involved by then. I was sharing my oxygen with the kids, but we were running out of time and options. We made our way through the smoke to the room farthest from the flames and escaped through a window. The fireman who had just arrived had already headed to that end of the house with a ladder.”
“Did you once ask yourself why you were risking your life?”
“No,” Matthew answered without hesitation.
“Were you afraid?”
He wanted to say no to that as well, but he’d be lying. “Yes,” he murmured. “I didn’t want those kids to die... and I didn’t want to die either.”
She touched him, those soft fingertips traced the line of his jaw. “You didn’t die and neither did the children,” she whispered. She blinked, seemed to realize what she’d done and started to draw her hand back.
He grabbed her hand and tugged it to his mouth. Gently, he kissed her palm. The little catch in her breathing sent a barb of desire twisting through him. “That’s right, everybody made it,” he finished. He watched the startled expression form on her sweet face as his lips brushed a sensitive place on the inside of her wrist.
“And that... that makes you the hero of the moment,” she said on a tiny gasp.
Matthew pressed her hand against his chest, pulling her closer. “No. That makes me a guy doing what he had to do.”
“And you always do what you have to do,” Abby said astutely, as if he were an open book and she’d just read him from cover to cover.
“Always,” he murmured, mesmerized by the absolute perfection of her cherry red lips. He had never seen a more inviting mouth. “And right now I have to kiss you.”
Abby’s lips parted, whether in protest or acceptance he didn’t know, but he took her mouth just the same. The sweet tang of lemonade and the lust-arousing warmth of her filled him. Her lips were so soft that the thought of kissing her the way he longed to scared the hell out of him. He wanted to crush her against him and ravage her mouth with the passion pounding inside him. But he held back for fear of startling her with the intensity of the kind of need he hadn’t felt in years.
Her fingers splayed over his chest, trailed up his throat and then traced his jaw. Matthew threaded his fingers into all those silky curls and deepened the kiss. Her answering moan set him on fire. His heart stumbled in his chest when she opened wider, inviting him inside her luscious mouth. Desire arrowed straight to his loins and all sense of self-control shattered.
Matthew leaned her against the window and thrust his tongue deep inside her waiting mouth. Her arms went instantly around his neck, drawing him closer, urging him to take her the way he longed to. Her breasts flattened beneath his chest and the decision was made right then and there.
Matthew wanted to make love to Abby.
Right now.
With Jenny and her family, his father and other relatives—including the righteous reverend—right downstairs. He didn’t care. He wanted her... wanted her bad.
Right now.
Somehow his hand found her soft inner thigh and Matthew groaned loudly into her mouth. “Christ, I want you,” he mumbled against her lips.
Abby tugged his mouth back to hers. “Don’t talk,” she murmured as she took control of the kiss.
“Matthew!” The door burst open. “Dinner’s—”
He snapped his gaze toward the intrusion, as did Abby.
His sister.
Damn.
“Ready,” Jenny finished, astonishment written all over her face.
Startled, Abby bolted from his arms. “Thank you,” she said shakily.
Matthew took a little longer to compose himself and get to his feet. Some things just couldn’t be rushed. Like the raging arousal a few minutes alone with Abby Wade had left him with. Another minute or so and Jenny would have walked in on...
Matthew almost groaned out loud. What the hell was wrong with him? Jenny’s kids could be anywhere in the house. He passed a hand over his face and exhaled his frustration.
He watched in self
-disgust as Abby gathered her purse and tape recorder and disappeared with his well-meaning sister.
Jenny was already suspicious where he and Abby were concerned. How on earth would he explain this to her?
Better yet, how on earth was he ever going to keep his hands off Abby?
~*~
How humiliating.
Abby had done a bang-up job so far of redeeming herself in Jenny’s eyes. She cringed at being caught making out with Matthew. Had Jenny not interrupted... God, Abby didn’t even want to consider the possibility.
She scanned the faces around the long dining table. What would these people think if they knew? Her eyes widened in horror. What if they did know? When the reverend eyed her suspiciously, Abby had to suppress the urge to touch her forehead and see if the word “fornicator” had somehow formed there.
How had this happened to her?
She had never behaved with such a lack of professionalism in her entire adult life. Hell, she hadn’t even acted that way as a child. Dalton Wade had reared his only offspring to have impeccable manners, classic taste, and absolute discipline. Wanton definitely wasn’t a word that could be applied to her.
Until now.
Her father would be appalled at her behavior. Dear God, she was practically throwing herself at a man she’d met only forty-eight hours ago. And on assignment, no less. Abby shuddered inwardly. She had likely corroborated every deplorable thing these fine small town folks had heard about big city women.
“Abby.”
She jolted back to the present. All eyes were on her. Had she spoken those thoughts aloud? Why not? Her humiliation was complete now. What would one more faux pas matter?
“I thought maybe after dinner you’d like to take a tour of the offices of the Sentinel,” Jenny suggested.
Relieved, Abby smiled. “That would be very nice.”
Maybe if she gave Jenny that interview she wanted so badly she’d forget all about that little scene in Matthew’s old bedroom.
But the concerned look in Jenny’s eyes gave Abby the uneasy feeling that it was going to take more than an interview to undo the damage.