Belonging

by Samantha James

  In the batter's box one young girl continually swung her bat after the softball had been caught snugly in the catcher's mitt and tossed back to the pitcher's mound. Another chased a base hit halfway around the outfield before she finally scooped it up in her hands, only to drop it at least three times before she sent a determined lob that landed no more than three feet away.

  Bill was also right about Kim. She hit a double and a home run, and made several good fielding plays at second base. As young as she was, she handled both ball and bat with a deftness that surprised Matt. After the game he went up to her.

  "Good game, Kim," he congratulated her. Tilting his head, he peered at the number emblazoned on the royal-blue jersey. "Fourteen, huh? Just like Ernie Banks."

  He'd been about to lay a hand on her shoulder, but the sudden stiffness in her small body stopped him. He smiled encouragingly instead. "Do you know who Ernie Banks is?"

  She shook her head. The movement was barely perceptible.

  "He played for the Chicago Cubs when I was, oh, not much older than you." He stopped, hoping she would say something. Instead, she just stared up at him, her hands still clutching her baseball glove. Something about her reticence reminded him of Angie, but at least she hadn't shied away from him as she had with another father who came up and clapped her on the shoulder.

  "He was quite a home-run hitter, Ernie was." His smile widened. "Just like you."

  A spark blazed in the wide brown eyes that stared up at him before a hint of wariness replaced it. "I better go back to my mom," she hedged, then ran off to where Angie was still surrounded by parents and children.

  Angie had watched the incident from a distance. Kim looking a man straight in the eye was rare; in fact, she couldn't remember the last time it had happened. Usually she hung her head shyly. It surprised her that the child hadn't flown away like a trapped bird that had been set free. She was pleased at Kim's response, small though it was, yet it vaguely disturbed her that it had happened with Matt Richardson.

  It wasn't like her to be so petty, and it occurred to her that she was trying very hard not to like Matt. She wasn't, she decided, being fair. She owed him a chance, that much at least. Just don't let him get too close.

  "So what'd you think of our game?" Janice's cheerful voice came to her ears. Angie saw that Matt had walked up beside her, and it was him that Janice addressed. Most of the other parents and children had dispersed to their cars. The dusty field was almost deserted.

  Matt raised his eyebrows, as if considering. "It was quite an experience," he finally told her smoothly. "One I'm sure I won't soon forget."

  "A guy with tact!" Janice exclaimed. "All I ever hear from Bill is that the two of us should have been cheerleaders instead of coaches." She nudged Angie playfully. "Where'd you ever find this guy?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that she hadn't found him at all; rather, it was the other way around. Only the glimmer of amusement in Matt's eyes stopped her. It irritated her that Janice seemed so intent on pairing her with Matt.

  And Matt certainly wasn't helping matters any, she reiterated darkly an hour later. It had been his suggestion that all of them go for pizza afterward, and Janice and Bill had enthusiastically agreed.

  The parlor, decorated in a Gay Nineties motif, was alive with the sounds of laughter and music from a player piano in the corner. Matt seemed perfectly at home with her friends, and both Janice and Bill were all ears as he talked about his days on the Chicago police force.

  "What's the best excuse anyone ever gave you for speeding?" Bill asked.

  Matt thought for a moment, then smiled. "A woman once told me she was in a hurry to get home so the ice cream she'd just bought wouldn't melt."

  "Sounds good to me." Janice's eyes gleamed. "Did it work?"

  A bushy eyebrow lifted. "Are you kidding? It was January, and the temperature had to be at least fifteen degrees below zero!"

  Janice looked so forlorn that Angie hid a smile in her napkin. Ice cream was one of Janice's weaknesses. She was one of those people who perpetually claim to be on a diet, but late-night trips to the freezer were probably the main reason that she never lost the ten pounds she'd gained over the past few years.

  To her amazement, Angie discovered that she enjoyed listening to Matt as he recounted several more humorous tales. But she was wise enough to realize that there were two sides to every coin. A man in his line of work would also be exposed to the seamier side of life, undoubtedly on a daily basis in a city as large as Chicago. The stress, the pressures, were nothing to scoff at, and she found herself thinking of him with new respect. She also wondered what was behind the decision to turn his back on his home and his career. Seventeen years of job security was not something to be taken lightly.

  In fact, Angie could have relaxed completely if it hadn't been for the man sitting next to her. They'd had to crowd the chairs around the table to accommodate all of them, and again she found herself next to him. Wedged tightly between him and the girls, she couldn't ignore the slight pressure of his knee riding gently against her own. The contact was casual but unavoidable.

  Angie breathed a sigh of relief when everyone rose to leave a short time later. Janice looked up at her as she bundled the baby into a sweater. "You sure you don't want a ride home with us, Angie?"

  Her tone was bland, a little too innocent, but before Angie had a chance to open her mouth, Matt offered, "I'll take her and the girls home. It would be too crowded in your car." He patted his stomach and grinned. "Especially after that pizza."

  It was all she could do not to strangle both Matt and Janice. Angie loved her friend dearly, but she could live without the matchmaking efforts. If she hadn't known for certain that the two of them hadn't met before today, she'd have suspected a little conspiracy between them.

  "I hate to make you go out of your way," she told him.

  "It's really no bother." Matt's tone was as warm as hers was cool. He opened the restaurant door for her.

  Angie brushed by him, flanked by her two small daughters. Her slender shoulders were held proudly.

  The sky had darkened to a bluish-purple haze that heralded the coming of night. The sun was a vivid ball of orange as it prepared to plunge beneath the horizon.

  Matt's eyes lingered on the western sky as he pulled the car door shut behind him. He sat for a moment, one hand draped carelessly over the steering wheel, absorbed by the sight. "You don't see sunsets like that at home," he remarked quietly.

  In spite of herself Angie softened. "Home?" she echoed. "Is this your way of telling me you're resigning after all and going back to Chicago?" she asked teasingly.

  Not a chance, Matt thought fervently. He shrugged, his expression rather sheepish. "Habit, I guess." There was a thoughtful pause. "It's hard to think of Westridge as home yet," he admitted. Starting the car, he pulled onto the street.

  A few minutes later he pointed out a white frame house as his. Even through the darkness she could see that it was large, the fenced yard neatly cropped. "Looks like a big house for only one person," she commented. A half smile touched her lips as she remembered what he'd told her only that afternoon. "I had you pegged as a cliff dweller."

  Matt grinned. "I asked for that, didn't I?" It occurred to him that they both seemed to harbor a few misconceptions about each other. But at least she wasn't without a sense of humor. He liked that. In fact, he was finding that there wasn't much about Angie that he didn't like.

  They had pulled into her driveway by now. Matt cut the engine, then turned to Angie.

  There was an intent look on his face that sent a prickly feeling up her spine. Angie glanced over her shoulder at Kim and Casey, huddled together in the back seat. Both were sound asleep.

  "I'd better get the girls inside," she said quickly, fumbling for the door handle. "They've had a long day."

  "Here, let me take Casey." A strong pair of arms reached in and lifted the child before Angie had even climbed out of the car. She woke Kim, then dug i
n her purse for her house key while Matt stood patiently on the porch.

  Inside, she escorted a sleepy Kim up the stairs while Matt trailed along behind her. She couldn't suppress a faint twinge of annoyance at how Casey's small blond head nestled cozily against his broad shoulder before his gentle hands lowered the still-slumbering child to the double bed. Angie shooed Kim off to the bathroom with her toothbrush and nightgown.

  Matt stepped into the hallway and tactfully closed the door. Angie heard his footsteps treading the stairs while she pulled Casey's shirt over her head. She roused slightly but was fast asleep once more by the time Angie tucked the blankets around her two daughters.

  Matt rose from the chair he'd been sitting on when she entered the living room. "You're still here." She tried to sound surprised, hoping he would pick up on her cue. The presence of a man in her house was something she wasn't used to.

  He smiled. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

  A vaguely unsettling feeling came over her. Angie wasn't sure she wanted to put an interpretation on that statement. "I'm finding that out, aren't I?" she said smoothly.

  "You're not still angry about this afternoon, are you?"

  A slender brow arched. "Now why should I be angry?" A slight edge crept into her voice. "Just because you—"

  "Horned in on your day."

  Angie's mouth closed, and she studied him openly. He was smiling, his eyes reflected only amusement, yet she sensed he was perfectly serious. "Well," she said grudgingly, "Janice did invite you." And hadn't there been a few times during the day when she hadn't really minded his being along? Though not, she reminded herself, when he was making her nervous—as he was right now.

  "No," she said finally and realized she meant it. "I'm not angry."

  "But you'd rather I stayed the hell out of your territory."

  Her eyes narrowed at his mild tone. What was he after? "You're very blunt," she said slowly.

  "I like to know where I stand, Angie." A small silence spun out between them. Matt didn't pretend to be a mind reader, though he had learned to read a great deal into a person's expression. But Angie... She didn't flinch from eye contact, and she betrayed little of her thoughts. She was tense, however; Matt could see it in the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

  "We're not enemies, you know. In fact, I'd like to think we're on the same side."

  His voice was disarmingly gentle, so much so that it caught her off guard for a moment. What manner of man was Matt Richardson—really? The worn, faded jeans that embraced the taut male thighs, the thin cotton shirt that hugged broad, muscular shoulders, the harshly carved features that gave him a tough, rugged look... The image sent an unexpected quiver of awareness through her stomach. But she knew so little about the man himself.

  She made an attempt at lightness. To her dismay, she sounded breathless. "I suppose we are, as long as we're not discussing the city's budget."

  Matt suppressed a smile. The budget? It was the last thing on his mind. "Can we talk for a minute?" He inclined his head toward the sofa, then held out his hand. "Though not," he added, "about the budget."

  His eyes flickered over her, and there was both warmth and an undeniable male appreciation in those silver depths. The glance, as well as his words, should have served as a warning. Yet strangely, Angie wasn't obliged to listen. It occurred to her with a sudden flash of humor that, if she couldn't trust the chief of police, she couldn't trust anyone.

  Shyly, rather hesitantly, she accepted the hand he offered. His skin was warm, the fingertips faintly callused. His hand fell away the moment they were seated on the sofa, and Angie wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  Matt was silent for a few seconds. "I have a confession to make, Angie." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "When we first met, I told myself, Matt, there's a woman with everything. She's smart, savvy, dresses well, looks even better. And she drives a Mercedes."

  Angie found herself falling in with his mood. "What happened to the part about being a cliff dweller?"

  "That, too," he said smoothly.

  Her ponytail had come loose hours ago, and a heavy wave of hair swung over her shoulder as she laughed, that carefree sound that never failed to stir him. The light from the nearby lamp transformed the long silken strands of her mane into silver and gold. Matt fought the urge to reach out and run his fingers through her hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

  "Well?" She was looking at him expectantly. "What did you think of this woman who has everything?"

  A hand came up to absently finger his jaw. For the first time he wondered what had possessed him to bring up the subject. "To tell you the truth, I thought you were just another wealthy snob who enjoyed looking down her nose at everyone else."

  "Just another wealthy snob," she found herself teasing. "A species you're familiar with?"

  "Thanks to my ex-wife, yes." The words were emphasized by a lift of his brows. "Not a species I particularly care for."

  Oddly, Angie wasn't offended. Todd had told her much the same thing once. But the people she cared about and who cared about her knew differently. And it was somehow important that Matt know, too.

  "I have a confession to make," she told him, her eyes sparkling humorously. "Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a wealthy woman. Comfortably well- off, I'll admit, thanks to a rather timely investment in oil futures—"

  "Just as I thought. Bright. Very bright."

  "Lucky," she put in dryly. Then the smile on her lips blossomed further. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You won't tell anyone my Mercedes is ten years old, will you? And that I bought it used?"

  "Scout's honor," he promised, and held up his hand.

  "What Boy Scout troop did you belong to, Matt Richardson?" Dubiously she eyed the two fingers so proudly displayed.

  Matt grinned and answered her question with one of his own. "Has anyone ever told you you'd make a great detective, Ms Mayor?" He dropped the hand he'd been holding up and settled it along the back of the couch. His gaze drifted over the soft curve of her cheek, the fragile line of her throat, then coasted up to settle on the loose waves that fell over her shoulder.

  "I like your hair down," he said suddenly.

  Her hand automatically reached for the curls that skimmed her collarbone. "Thank you," she returned breathlessly. She felt more like a self-conscious teenager than a thirty-two-year-old woman.

  "It makes you look more relaxed. And I don't feel like you're about to bite my head off—" a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth "—the way you did last Monday in your office. And last night," he added.

  Her own smile was hesitant. "I...you put me on the spot Monday. And I think you were making a pass last night."

  No, he countered silently. He was about to make one now.

  "It wasn't a criminal transgression the last time I checked." He was teasing her, but this time she didn't respond. Instead, she lowered her eyes, pretending a fascinated interest in the knee patch on his jeans.

  A gentle finger raised her chin. "I'm glad I was wrong about you, Angie." Eyes like beaten silver settled with disturbing accuracy on the curve of her mouth. "Because I'd like to get to know you. The real you." His voice dropped further. "The woman no one else sees—warm, vibrant and alive."

  There was no denying the underlying seriousness of his words, whisper soft in the sudden stillness of the room, just as there was no denying his intent. He wanted to know her as a man knows a woman. Intimately. And hadn't she sensed all along that Matt Richardson was not a man who would be easily dissuaded?

  Angie wished with all her soul that she could summon the icy disdain that he disliked so much. She couldn't risk letting him exchange their roles for anything that even resembled a male-female relationship. What he wanted was impossible. She felt suddenly inadequate. Wholly inadequate in a way she hadn't felt since Evan was alive.

  She didn't realize she had risen and moved away from him until she felt the coolness of the windowp
ane beneath her fingertips.

  Outside, the world was still and dark. The midnight canopy high above displayed a brilliant cluster of stars. A night breeze sighed through the trees, then fell silent.

  On the wall beside the rich wooden frame of the window, a shadow suddenly loomed. Every muscle in her body tightened, heightened to an almost painful awareness. Slowly she turned.

  The impressive width of Matt's shoulders blocked out the light, and she could see nothing of his features, only a dark, menacing form. There was strength coiled in those lean, ridged muscles. He seemed so big; the nuance of power and force was suddenly frightening. She fought the surge of panic that clawed its way up into her throat when hands, large, strong and so very, very male, reached for her.

  She shook her head and flinched when he would have touched her. "Don't, Matt. Don't!"

  His hands immediately dropped to his sides. There was a heartbeat of silence while they stared at each other, one watching, the other waiting.

  "Angie?" The voice was low, questioning. The utter calm of his tone had an inexplicably soothing effect on her.

  "Matt, please." Hair like corn silk whispered over the fragile bones of her shoulders as Angie took a deep, steadying breath, a little ashamed of her reaction. "What you're asking... well, I'm—I'm just not—"

  "I know. Not interested." He gave an odd little smile. His voice was almost unbearably gentle. The flicker of fear in her heart vanished as quickly as it had come. "I'm going to have to change that," he added softly, so softly she had to strain to hear.

  She felt a wave of something that might have been regret. Even if she wanted to, she wasn't sure she could have accepted what he was offering. Once there was a time she'd had an unswerving faith in her womanhood. But Evan had managed to kill even that.

  "Don't, Matt." She shook her head resignedly. Her smile was a little sad. "Please... don't even try."

  "Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

  Angie was silent, her mind filled with a yawning bleakness. She couldn't have given him many. Instead, she could think of only one. Evan.