They kept playing; he’d toss the ball, and one or the other would chase it down. They varied their techniques, sometimes playing the field farther apart from each other, sometimes clumping. Sometimes taking a kick from way out, sometimes racing for the corner of the goal. He made a production of waiting for them, enjoying the taunts and the faces he got in return. He had every intention of letting one of Hanna’s kicks through, but not Linnea’s. She was a big girl.
This time she rushed at him with the ball, making him commit and move to intercept her. At the last minute, a light tap with the side of her foot sent the ball to Hanna, who booted it straight in. They both laughed and met to do a high five.
Matt gave Hanna one, too, pleased to see how delighted with herself she looked. “You’ve got a bigger kick than you used to have, kiddo.”
“I’m bigger!” she told him.
He kicked the ball out of the goal, and they started again.
Maybe it was inevitable. A couple of great stops—if he did say so himself—later Linnea shot the ball for the corner of the net. He had to let it go or dive for it. He dove.
He caught the ball, but paid the price of sliding headlong through the cold mud. Linnea gasped and she hurried to him with her hand out. “Are you okay?”
In the background, Hanna had a fit of giggles.
Making an inarticulate sound, he accepted Linnea’s hand and heaved himself to his feet. He made himself let her hand go and refused to think about how good it had felt in his—how slender and yet surprisingly strong.
His eyes narrowed. “You know, I don’t think I’m the only one who should get dirty.”
Laughing, hands raised in alarm, Linnea began backing away. He turned and feinted at Hanna, who shrieked and ran. They ended up chasing each other around the field until, winded, he stopped and bent over, hands on his thighs. “I give up.”
“Can I get muddy, Aunt Linnie?” Hanna asked. “I could be the goalie.”
They played until all three of them were sweating and filthy. He hadn’t had such a good time in years. Hadn’t laughed like that in years, either, Matt realized as they started toward Linnea’s house.
“You two have clean clothes to change into,” he complained.
“Ugh.” Linnea wrinkled her nose at him. “You don’t?”
“Uh…I’m afraid not.” He looked down at himself. She wasn’t going to want him in the house. So much for lunch, damn it.
“I’ll see what I can find,” she said. “But Hanna and I get dibs on the shower first.” Her face was still alight with laughter. “We’ll leave you standing on the doorstep, like a soggy dog.”
Hanna thought that was funny, too. She all but fell down, she laughed so hard.
At the house, Linnea let him in but insisted they all take off their shoes and socks right inside the door. She sent Hanna off to the bathroom, then directed him to a heat register.
“I think I can at least find a sweatshirt that will be big enough,” she said, appraising him. “I may have you sit on a towel, though.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty disgusting,” he admitted. “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
“It was a fabulous idea,” she said in a quiet voice, her gaze warm. “Hanna was happy. She hasn’t been since…” She swallowed. “I’d better get her some clean clothes and take a quick shower myself before I start lunch.”
“You need it.” His voice came out huskier than usual and he touched a mud streak on her cheek. His fingertips tingled, and it was all he could do to withdraw his hand. It curled into a fist at his side.
She went very still at the fleeting, soft touch. Her eyes darkened as she stared at him. Then, without a word, she turned and hurried toward the rear of the house.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! What was he thinking?
He knew the answer: he wasn’t thinking. Something about her drew him in a way he hadn’t experienced in years, maybe never. Her air of fragility, coupled with a spine of steel. Her gentle voice when she spoke to Hanna, her honesty, the sadness that clung to her like a scent he couldn’t quite identify. Yeah, all that, and her slender, graceful body, her generous breasts, the tiny tendrils of pale hair that curled against her nape. The whole package. He couldn’t understand how he’d been so blind all these years.
Matt wished he was still blind. He and Linnea had been on opposite sides in the conference room last week, and they’d keep being on opposite sides unless he gave up his claim to Hanna.
And that was one thing he couldn’t do.
Maybe, he thought, without a lot of hope, Hanna had relaxed with him enough today that he could start taking her on his own. He could say hi and goodbye to Linnea without making a fool of himself, couldn’t he?
He grimaced. Maybe.
LINNEA REALLY WISHED she hadn’t caught that glimpse of Matt Laughlin without a shirt.
Well, not entirely without one. She had produced a faded blue sweatshirt for him, which he was pulling over his head when she saw him.
The sweatshirt was one she wore sometimes when she was cleaning, the sleeves rolled way up, the hem reaching midthigh. She thought it must have been Finn’s or her dad’s. She couldn’t even remember when she’d latched on to it. It was soft, and had a couple of spots she’d gotten bleach on, and the neck was fraying, but she loved it in the way of clothes you couldn’t make yourself give up.
How could she ever put it on again without picturing Matt in it?
He hadn’t shut the bathroom door. Linnea froze halfway down the hall, unable to remember why she was there and not in the kitchen where she belonged. His muddy shirt was on the floor at his feet. His arms were raised as he worked the sweatshirt over his head.
She stood frozen, staring. He had a powerful chest dusted with dark hair. Below…His stomach was lean, hard. A line of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of jeans that hung low on his hips.
Her mouth went dry and her knees felt weak. She wanted to flatten her hands on that chest, even touch her lips to it.
Panic rose in her, but too late. He tugged the sweatshirt down and saw her. The flicker of awareness in his eyes, the way they narrowed, set her heart to drumming.
“I—” Her voice came out high, unnatural. “Lunch is ready.” Oh, God—why did I come down the hall?
“Should I bring a towel?”
That was it. Thank you, thank you! “I was going to grab an old one from the linen closet.” She did, intensely grateful to be able to open the door and block the sight of him. Linnea snatched the first towel her hand touched, not caring if it was her best for guests or a scruffy old one she used to bathe Spooky. She was very, very careful not to look back when she closed the door and started toward the kitchen.
The meal was horribly awkward. Or maybe that was all in her head. She only knew that she tried not to look at Matt whenever she could avoid it. He must have seen the expression on her face. She hated to think what she’d given away.
And what was wrong with her? She’d never thought of him that way.
Except…Linnea had a niggling feeling that she had. Oh, she’d never acknowledged even to herself—most of all to herself—that she was attracted to him. He was too large, too blatantly male, too impatient. Too much like Finn and Tess: successful, ambitious, worldly in a way Linnea knew she wasn’t. She had deliberately chosen a life that was small in scope. People like them looked down on someone like her. No one had ever made a secret of that.
Matt Laughlin hadn’t been cruel about it, not like Finn was. But he hadn’t been as kind as his sister, either. He’d simply ignored her.
He couldn’t anymore, but she still didn’t understand why now he looked at her with the same awareness she felt. Why he listened to her as if he really wanted to know her. Why, when he touched her cheek, he’d snatched his hand back as if he’d burned his fingertips on her, why she’d seen his hands fisted before she fled.
Why, oh why, couldn’t he keep being cold, distant, disinterested in her? Hostile, even?
Her
eyes closed in despair. No, for Hanna’s sake Linnea couldn’t want that. Today, for a precious hour, Hanna had forgotten that her mommy had died, that her daddy had inexplicably disappeared as completely, that her entire life had changed. She had laughed with open joy, run, flung herself into the mud, chattered.
For Hanna’s sake, Linnea realized wretchedly, she had to keep seeing Matt. Had to keep welcoming him into her home, teasing him so that Hanna would giggle again. Had to encourage her niece, the person she loved most in the world, to trust him.
Had to take the chance that this would not end with her losing Hanna to him.
They had to have a relationship, and she couldn’t bear it if he knew what longing had flooded her at the sight of his bare chest. It was okay to have been startled, even made a little shy. After all, she didn’t know him that well, and she hadn’t expected to see him undressing in her house. She’d simply have to make sure that it never crossed his mind she’d felt anything more than that.
Hanna did, thank goodness, chat somewhat more naturally with Matt over lunch, allowing Linnea’s reserve to pass unnoticed. She hoped. Darn it, if only he wasn’t such a large man. Or if only she had a bigger kitchen, or a real dining room, so that the three of them weren’t cuddled up at a tiny table tucked against the wall so that it had room for only three chairs around it and left all their knees bumping beneath it.
He ate with relish, and even Hanna seemed to have worked up an appetite. Matt talked about buying a car that week, they laughed about an incident at the library when a puppy in training to be a service dog had slipped his leash and galloped and slid around bookshelves, determined to make friends with every single person in the building. Hanna was particularly entranced with that story.
Matt was the one to finally say, “I suppose I should take off.” Linnea wondered if he knew how reluctant he sounded. He stretched and winced. “I’m getting too old to be diving for the ball.”
She suspected he was in excellent physical condition and well able to throw himself into any sport he chose. She smiled, though, as he’d obviously intended her to do, and said, “We had fun. Didn’t we, Hanna?”
Her niece nodded vigorously. “Can I keep the ball?”
“Yep,” he said. “It’s for you. You want to play again later this week?”
She nodded, but a little more hesitantly. Her gaze slid to Linnea. “Can Aunt Linnie play, too?”
“You bet.” He lowered his voice to a rumble. “If she dares.”
She laughed, some of her discomfiture fading. “You’re the one with the aches and pains. Hanna and I are more than a match for you. Aren’t we, kiddo?”
“Yeah!” her niece exclaimed.
He grinned at them both. “I went easy on you today. Just wait.” He carried his dishes to the sink, then grimaced. “My jeans have dried. I can feel them crackling when I move.”
“Why don’t you take the towel?” Linnea suggested. “The rental company might not appreciate dried mud on the upholstery.”
“I’ll bring it back. And the sweatshirt, if that’s okay.”
When Hanna stood, he caught her into a quick hug against his side, releasing her before she could get shy. “See you, Banana.”
“Bye.” She turned a beseeching look on Linnea. “Can I watch Bambi?”
“Sure.”
Hanna whirled away. Linnea watched her go, troubled enough to momentarily forget Matt was there.
“Why the unhappy look?” he asked quietly.
“What? Oh.” She sighed. “It seems like she mostly wants to watch TV. And this is the third time she’s watched Bambi this week alone.”
He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. Isn’t it about cute animals?”
“Bambi’s mom gets shot by hunters early on. It’s my least favorite Disney movie because of that scene. It always made me cry. Hanna gets really quiet.”
“You could say no.”
“But maybe it’s her way of…processing what happened to her mom. Is that necessarily unhealthy?”
His scowl deepened. “No. But I don’t know. She should have counseling,” he said brusquely.
Linnea hesitated. “Finn may not want to pay for it.”
Anger flared in Matt’s gray eyes, reminding her how cold they could be, but he bit back whatever he first wanted to say. After a discernible pause, he said, “If he won’t, I will.”
“Really? It can be awfully expensive. I wish I could help, but—”
“I have plenty of money put away. I’d have been happy to pay child support, but since your brother is presumably helping you with any extra costs—” He stopped. “He is, isn’t he?”
She’d had to ask, which had embarrassed her and made her mad, but at least she could now say, “Yes, of course he is.”
“All right. I don’t know how you find the right person, but it seems to me Hanna ought to have someone neutral to talk to.”
It hurt to think that Hanna didn’t feel she could talk to her, but Linnea had to concede that he was right. Hanna wasn’t doing much talking at all, which wasn’t a good thing. She might not want to admit she was angry or scared or terribly sad. From a child’s perspective, she might fear hurting Linnea’s feelings.
“I’ll call her pediatrician,” she said. “I’ll bet she can recommend someone.” They’d reached the front door. “Are you still at the hotel?”
“No, I’m living at an extended-stay place. Sorry. I meant to give you the contact info.” He dug in a jeans pocket and produced a battered and muddy business card, which she took gingerly. “I backed out on the first rental,” he told her, watching her face with an expression she read as wary. “I’m, uh, looking for one near here. I thought it might be best for Hanna if I was close. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
The idea of him living nearby, even mere blocks away, did unsettle her, maybe because of that unnerving awareness of him she couldn’t seem to shake. But she pasted a smile on her face and said, “Of course not. That makes sense. Do you have furniture and stuff?” she asked.
“Some furniture, left from my parents’. I’ve had it all in storage. I don’t remember what we kept. I might get lucky and find a furnished place. Otherwise…” He gave a careless shrug. “I’ll start with the basics. A bed, a sofa, table and chairs.”
“And pans and dishes and a can opener and silverware and—”
He held up his hand. “Stop. You’re right. Good God, I don’t even know where to start. You know, I haven’t owned any of that stuff since college. We kept what we needed from home before we sold the house, so I’ve never actually bought any household goods.”
“You’re kidding,” she said blankly.
He shook his head. “The places I’ve lived in since always came furnished and outfitted. I haven’t even owned a car since I was in my early twenties.”
“You sound as if you’re really planning to stay.”
He met her eyes, his own steady but…guarded. “I am.”
Did that mean he was still going to try to take custody of Hanna from her? Linnea had let herself feel…safe, and now saw how foolish that had been. Even if he never challenged her for custody again, if he stayed in Seattle he would be over here constantly, not just in the next year, but for the next twelve years. She caught herself inching away, starting to push the door shut.
“Hold on,” he said. “I left my shirt in the bathroom.”
Linnea insisted on getting it while he waited. She brought it to him in a plastic bag. “If I’d had anything else for you to wear, I would have suggested running a load of laundry. I suppose you have to go to a laundromat.”
“I read while I wait.” There was a pause, him standing on her doorstep, her just inside with one hand on the door. “Thanks for today,” he said finally. “Not only lunch, but—”
“This was the happiest I’ve seen Hanna since that night. This was a really good idea of yours.”
“Maybe we can do it again next weekend.”
“I don’t
see why not.” She took a deep breath. “Would you like to come to dinner one night this week?”
His face relaxed. “Can I take the two of you out?”
“That would be fun,” she decided.
They settled on Wednesday. He looked less…lonely as he left. Or maybe that had been in her imagination. Maybe he had a busy week planned. Somehow, though, she doubted it. She thought he was living for this time with Hanna.
And it simply wasn’t in Linnea to deny it to him.
CHAPTER SIX
MATT FOUND A PARKING SPOT in front of Bed Bath & Beyond, a store whose door he’d never darkened. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Linnea he had never had to shop for household stuff. Sure, he’d purchased coffeemakers; rentals never had decent ones. But can openers, pancake turners, towels…He wasn’t picky about any of them.
Funny thing today, though, was that having Hanna and Linnea along meant he was enjoying the idea of shopping for all of the above. He had signed a rental agreement two days ago, and yesterday had moved into a house not much different from Linnea’s, and less than a quarter of a mile from hers. Once Hanna changed schools over midwinter break, she would be able to walk to his house as well as Linnea’s after school. He was determined to furnish the second bedroom so she felt it was hers.
Hanna had been excited about this expedition, Linnea less so but tempted, he thought.
“This would be a good chance for you to spend time with her alone,” she had suggested.
“But neither of us have ever bought a toaster or sheets.” He’d stopped. “The thread-count thing. What does it mean? Is it worth spending more for three hundred thread count instead of two hundred and fifty? I don’t know. I’m hoping you do. Do I really need a doormat? Do I—”
She had laughed and sighed all at the same time. “Okay, okay. I’m convinced. You need my wisdom and guidance. Heaven knows what you and Hanna would pick out on your own.”
“Pink. All pink, if it were up to Hanna.”
Her voice brimmed with amusement. “Oh, come on. She’d throw in a little purple.”
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