Belonging

by Samantha James

  "You sound very sure of yourself," he said into the silence.

  She ignored the question in his tone. Her marriage had ended in a state that could only be called nightmarish. She would discuss it with no one. Least of all another man.

  "I am," she said finally. There could be no mistaking the cold finality of those two simple words.

  "Because of Todd?"

  She straightened her shoulders. Matt had moved back a step. She no longer felt trapped. "Todd is the city manager," she told him clearly. "And we're friends, no more, no less."

  Matt stared at her so long she began to grow uneasy once more. "Then Todd," he finally said very quietly, "is a fool."

  "Matt, please." She gestured vaguely with one hand. "Let's just drop it."

  "Not until I find out why I don't have more than a snowball's chance in hell with you."

  Angie's lids closed wearily. Stubborn. Lord, but this man was stubborn!

  "Is it because of your ex-husband?"

  Angie's eyes snapped open. For one paralyzing second she was afraid she had given herself away with her stupid maidenly response to him earlier.

  Matt had mistaken her silence for concurrence. He hesitated, not certain what he could say if she was still carrying a torch for her ex.

  "I'm sorry," he began quietly. "I know how painful a divorce can be." He paused. "But there's no point in pining away for—"

  Pining away! She had thanked God for the day that Evan had been removed from her life! And still she hated herself for it, even while she fought the irrationality of her feelings.

  Drawing herself up to her full height, she lifted her chin and stared across at him. Her voice cut across his like the sudden crack of a bullet. "My husband is dead, Matt. I'm a widow."

  CHAPTER SIX

  The shock of that statement still hadn't worn off when Matt let himself through the front door of his house less than fifteen minutes later.

  For the second night in a row, he sat alone in the darkness. Only this time his thoughts lacked the self- satisfaction of the previous night. And this time there was a tall glass of amber liquid locked tightly in his hand.

  He leaned his head back wearily. All along he had thought the worst of Angie. Even when his assumptions weren't borne out, he realized that deep inside he'd suspected she'd been milking an ex-husband for all he was worth. Her clothes, the Mercedes, the antiques...

  His retreat had been hasty and clumsy. He didn't doubt that Angie was glad to see him leave. He'd had no idea what to say or what to do. And it didn't help that Angie had retreated into cool silence.

  The mistake had been an understandable one, and Angie herself had done nothing that might have avoided it.

  "Who are you kidding, old man?" he chided himself grimly. "She all but told you to mind your own business."

  But if nothing else, he had learned several important things. It was hard to look at a woman as stun

  ning as she was and not think of a word like seduction. Yet his attraction to her wasn't something fleeting; he wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in a long, long time. For a moment, a mere fraction of a second, he'd thought she was afraid of him. But it was gone so quickly that he decided it was only his imagination. Still, there was no arguing that she was a woman who was very—no, extremely—careful around the opposite sex.

  Not the type of woman to allow a man many mistakes.

  ***

  The weekend left Angie feeling strangely restless. The usual peace she felt when enjoying herself with the girls had been diminished by a tall, gray-eyed man whose image she couldn't seem to banish from her mind, no matter how hard she tried. Sunday seemed to drag endlessly.

  Angie wasn't normally a moody person, but she was unusually short with the girls on Monday morning and she snapped at Georgia for an oversight in marking her calendar for a luncheon Friday afternoon. The recommendations that the task force had put together on the fate of city hall were sitting on her desk, and after reading them through, she had to schedule a meeting with Matt sometime that day in order to prepare for that evening's city council meeting—not a move she relished any more than the council meeting itself.

  Angie's moodiness did not go unnoticed by Georgia, however. It was almost eleven-thirty when her assistant breezed into the office, humming softly. Angie frowned. When was the last time she'd heard the woman humming to herself?

  Georgia walked over and peered into her empty coffee cup. "Looks like you need another morning pick- me-up. Maybe it'll improve your mood."

  "Obviously yours doesn't need improving," Angie muttered.

  "Can't say that it does," the other woman agreed. She tossed the morning edition of the Westridge Bulletin onto Angie's desk. "Have you read that yet?"

  "Are you kidding? It took me an hour to wade through that report on city hall!"

  Her assistant laughed. "Why not do it now?" she suggested. "There's an item in there you might be interested in."

  Angie nodded and began to automatically flip to the section containing area news. Georgia stopped her with a shake of her head. "Not there, boss lady. Check out the social tidbits instead."

  "Social tidbits?" An eyebrow arched mockingly. "I can do without all the local gossip, thank you."

  Georgia laughed. "I don't doubt it. But you might want to read Blair Andrews's column."

  Angie's expression turned even more threatening. "Good Lord," she muttered. "I'm not sure I want to see this."

  Her assistant laughed once more, a sound that migta have been a giggle, coming from anyone else. "Sure you do. I got quite a kick out of it myself."

  Giggling. Humming. Was Blair Andrews's story responsible? It was strange. Very strange. Georgia normally had no more love for Blair than she did.

  Angie had little time to wonder, however, as Georgia had reached for the newspaper once more. Folding it, she thrust it back onto Angie's desk and stabbed a finger at the bold dark print in one corner.

  "Read," she commanded. Feeling distinctly apprehensive, Angie picked up the newspaper. The article was part of a weekly column that touched on a variety of social items—birthday and anniversary parties, school proms and plays, who was off for his latest trip to Europe, and so forth. A people notebook of sorts.

  Topping the list was last Friday night's get-together for Matt Richardson. Angie's eyes were immediately glued to the feature.

  Everyone who is anyone in our fair city was on hand to welcome Matthew Richardson, newly hired chief of police, at a reception in his honor last Friday night at the Sheraton. Particularly welcoming was Mayor Angela Hall. One can't help but wonder about the subject under discussion during their midnight tete-a-tete on the terrace. Could it be that our mayor, normally seen on the arm of City Manager Todd Austin, likes to keep things all in the family? Stay tuned for the latest on Ms Mayor and the Chief.

  Angie's fingers tightened on the edges of the paper before her eyes flashed accusingly upward. "You think this is funny?" she asked Georgia in a gritty tone.

  The answer was obvious in Georgia's delighted cackle. "All I want to know," she responded cheerfully, "is whether it's true or not."

  "Oh, it's true, all right," chimed a masculine voice from the doorway. "Ask her fellow partner in crime."

  Both women looked up at the same time to see Matt Richardson standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb.

  Georgia spoke first. "You mean you really—" she , broke off and turned to Angie "—and you..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Matt once more.

  The sight of unflappable Georgia gaping at Matt would have amused Angie under any other circumstances. But she was too busy fuming at the room's other occupant to notice. -

  "Unfortunately," Matt added, his eyes never leaving Angie's face, "Miss Andrews has a rather vivid imagination. Her speculation is just that—speculation. Mayor Hall and I may have had a melding of minds that night, but certainly not a melding of hearts." Yet, he amended silently.

 
It wasn't, perhaps, the most prudent choice of words. Matt could tell by the way Angie glowered at him. He had a hard time holding back a smile and felt his spirits lift for the first time since Saturday. She wore a powder-blue suit that enhanced the translucent quality of her eyes. Would she have worn it, he wondered, if she knew how utterly feminine it made her look? But the glacial frost that radiated from across the room continued in full force.

  This time he knew better, though. He'd already had a glimpse of the woman beneath the cool exterior, and she wasn't the cold, hard creature she appeared to be— no matter how hard she tried to convince him.

  "Anybody home in there?"

  The cheerful voice came from the outer office. Matt stepped aside to allow Georgia to pass through the doorway. Angie followed when she heard Georgia greet Sam Nelson.

  "Why, Sam, how nice to see you!" Angie's voice was warm, her smile wide when she spotted Matt's predecessor near Georgia's desk. Seeing Matt looking on from the doorway, she quickly introduced the men. While the two exchanged pleasantries, she was very conscious of the dissimilarities between them. She'd always thought of Sam, with his ruddy cheeks, silver- streaked chestnut hair and rotund stomach, as being the teddy-bear type. Next to Matt's imposing height and build, the impression seemed more marked than ever.

  "What brings you back, Sam?" she asked with a laugh. "After a week of retirement, did you decide the easy life wasn't for you after all?" She glanced covertly at Matt. "Don't tell me—you're here to get your job back."

  Sam grinned. "Not much chance of that. No, retirement suits me just fine. Except it gets a little lonesome sometimes." He winked at Georgia. "That's why I came to carry this little lady off to lunch. You don't mind if I keep her out a few minutes late, do you?"

  Angie's eyes widened, then settled on her assistant. "No. No, not at all." Her voice was faint. "Stay as long as you like."

  Sam had already handed Georgia her sweater. For the first time she noticed Georgia's wine-colored dirndl skirt actually complemented the soft rose of her blouse. Georgia wearing clothes that didn't resemble something pulled off a scarecrow... Georgia humming...

  Georgia had a beau, and from the way Sam was smiling at her and she was simpering back as they went out the door, it wasn't something that had sprung up overnight.

  "Is this your usual reaction when someone spirits your secretary off for lunch?" Matt's voice was filled with humor.

  Angie didn't realize her mouth had dropped open until she felt a lean finger beneath her chin urged it gently upward.

  She was a little hurt that Georgia hadn't told her about Sam, but remembering the smile that wreathed Georgia's face at his attentions, she couldn't help but be glad for her, as well. But she was still too stunned by what had happened to be thinking clearly.

  "It's just that Georgia... well, Georgia doesn't like men!" Angie blurted the words before she even realized it.

  "Hmm. Must be something about this office."

  She flushed at the unwelcome reminder. She realized she'd been nursing a half-hearted hope that seeing Matt in a business light, rather than a personal one, would quell the uneasy reaction he always managed to rouse in her. But it appeared that wasn't the case.

  "You wanted to see me about something?" She strived for a polite note.

  "I'm here at your summons. Remember?"

  A sheepish expression flitted across Angie's face and she nodded, then turned to lead the way into her office.

  "It is lunchtime." Matt's reminder came just as she sat down in her chair. "Shall we see to our stomachs first? We could go to that restaurant across the street."

  "No." She shook her head quickly. "I.. .1 really have a lot of work to do." Reaching out, she straightened a stack of papers, as if to lend credence to her words.

  "I thought you might say that," he said dryly. "That's why I came prepared." He disappeared into the outer office. When he returned a few seconds later, he was carrying a small paper sack. "Voila!" He held it up with a smile. "Lunch is served." Pulling out two plastic-wrapped sandwiches, he asked, "Ham or turkey?"

  "Ham." She relented with a faint smile. She couldn't find it in herself to argue with him, especially since the sandwich he handed her looked rather good, and it tasted even better.

  Matt pulled a chair up to her desk. "Well, here we are again," he commented lightly. "Alone at last. Shall we call Blair Andrews to take notes this time?"

  "And ruin a perfectly good lunch? Please, show a little mercy!"

  There it was again. That spark of humor that so entranced him. Matt shared in her amusement then grew more serious. "Did her column this morning really bother you that much?"

  Angie sighed. "It did," she admitted, "but to tell you the truth...well, it doesn't anymore." She paused. "I guess I'm just a little on the sensitive side when it comes to publicity, especially when Blair Andrews is the author," she confided with a soft laugh.

  Matt shrugged and carefully unwrapped the other half of his sandwich. Her statement was more telling than she knew, and he was just beginning to understand that Angie Hall was an intensely private person. Was it because her job sometimes placed her under scrutiny from the public? Somehow he didn't think so.

  There was much that he wanted to discover about her, but he knew that he would have to take things slowly with her. Deliberately he changed the subject.

  "What was it you wanted to see me about?" He pared a slice of tart green apple and offered it to her.

  She took it, munching thoughtfully for a moment. "You're aware of the problem we're having regarding city hall? Whether to rebuild completely or renovate instead?"

  "Rumors abound in these hallowed halls," he remarked dryly. "And I heard you mention it at your press conference last week."

  Angie nodded. The press conference and the ensuing exchange in this very office with this very man weren't something she cared to rehash. She went on quickly, "The committee's recommendation is in, and they feel renovation is the better approach. I tend to agree."

  Matt looked rather puzzled.

  "It's not something that's wholly up to me. The council has to vote on it," she explained. "And while the cost differential between the two is certainly there, I've made a proposal regarding the expenditure of the excess funds."

  "Oh, yes." Matt tipped his head to the side. "Some kind of social program, isn't it?"

  "Partially. We'd also like to expand the transit system." Rising, Angie moved to look out at the small square of lawn below her window. "As for the other, that's where you come in, Matt." His name slipped so easily off her tongue. She went on, "Westridge has a city-operated center for senior citizens, and we cooperate with the county in coordinating programs for juvenile delinquents." Her next words came with far more difficulty. "I was thinking in terms of some type of women's center, something that offers temporary shelter to women who need it, with counseling perhaps for rape victims and..." She faltered and suddenly became aware that her skin was clammy, her hands gripped tightly together.

  "And assault victims, battered wives, that type of thing?"

  Angie's heart gave a betraying lurch, but she swallowed and tried for an even tone. She even managed to turn and face him. "What do you think, Matt? Is there a need here in Westridge for something like that?"

  "It's a crime that there isn't one already. We hear so much about victim's rights and restitution these days that I just assumed..." He looked up at her, his expression grim. "A lot of rapes and cases of abuse are never prosecuted because they're never reported. The ongoing support of a crisis center can sometimes change that." He shook his head disbelievingly. "I don't see how Westridge has managed without one for this long. It's not the type of problem that's confined solely to large metropolitan areas."

  "The idea surfaced several years ago when I was a member of the city council, but nothing ever came of it, despite the fact that Sam Nelson was behind it all the way. Money was tight then, and neither one of us carried enough clout to get it approved." Her tone was somber. "Ev
en now the response has been lukewarm. But if the endorsement for a new city hall comes through and funds are earmarked for that, I'm afraid money will once again be a problem."

  For a moment she was torn between conflicting emotions. Granted, the existence of a women's shelter at the time of her marriage probably wouldn't have changed a thing. But it might have made life a little easier if only she'd had someone to talk to, someone who understood her confusion.

  It was shame that held her back then, and it was shame that held her back now. She despised herself for being so cowardly. Her thoughts grew bitter as her gaze dropped. She stared numbly down at her hands.

  No, it could never be known that Angie Hall, solid citizen, respected mayor of Westridge, had been abused by her husband. She would probably be accused of a private crusade. But wasn't that what this was?

  In a way it was, she acknowledged silently. But not completely. It was a community need, one that Matt recognized, as well.

  Taking a deep breath, she took her place behind her desk once more. "So." Her tone was brisk, and she forced a smile. "You don't mind if I quote you on that, do you?"

  "Not at all," he said firmly. "I think I can even manage to gather a few supporting facts and figures before tonight. I can have Margie bring them by later this afternoon."

  When he stood up, the warmth in her smile and voice were genuine. "Thanks, Chief," she said softly. She gestured at the remains of their lunch stuffed back into the paper bag. "Next time lunch is on me."

  "Bribery, Ms Mayor?" His voice feigned shock, but his eyes were dancing. "Don't worry. I won't tell if you won't."

  Angie found she was still smiling after he left. Oddly enough, the tension between them seemed to have eased, although for the most part she suspected it had been rather one-sided in the first place.

  Her good humor didn't last more than a few minutes after his departure, though. Todd knocked on the door, then stepped inside, shutting it behind him. He was impeccably dressed as usual in a three-piece camel- colored suit, starched white shirt and polished leather shoes. Fastidious to a fault, his brown hair lay neatly on his head, not a single strand out of place.