Matthew's Choice

by Patricia Bradley

  “Huh?”

  “Ground rules. Like, no talking back. No saying ‘whatever,’ what chores you’ll have, bedtime, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh. Mom always let me stay up as long as I wanted to.”

  “Well, around here, bedtime is nine o’clock, maybe nine-thirty on Friday and Saturday night if you happen to be here instead of with your uncle.”

  “Nine o’clock?” His voice rose to a high pitch.

  “Yes. Which is in thirty minutes.” She tossed him a warm set of pajamas. “So, you better get your teeth brushed and your pajamas on. School starts back in the morning.”

  “Aw, come on, Miss Allie, I’m not sleepy. And what if Uncle Matt calls?”

  “Sorry, bud. Those are the rules around here. Besides, I thought you were mad at him.” He ducked his head and she laughed. “I suppose we can call him.”

  She took out her phone. “Oh, looks like we missed a call from him.” She pressed the call-back button and waited as it rang. “I’ll put it on speaker.”

  “Hello?”

  She didn’t expect his voice to send a shiver through her. “Matt, sorry we missed your call. Peter took us out to eat.”

  A brief silence followed. “How’s Noah?” he asked.

  “Good. But he can talk for himself. We’re on speakerphone.” Say something, she mouthed.

  “’Lo,” Noah mumbled.

  “Hey, how’s my favorite nephew.”

  “Fine.”

  “How’s your mom? And Patches?”

  “They’re good.”

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Say something that’s more than one syllable,” she whispered.

  “I gotta go brush my teeth and go to bed.”

  “This early?”

  “Yeah. ’Bye.” He handed the phone back to Allie and hurried out of the room

  “I’m sorry.” She took it off the speaker. “He hasn’t been real talkative tonight.” Except when he asked questions she had no answers for.

  “That’s okay. I miss you guys.” Wistfulness crept into his voice. “I hope to arrive by six Friday night.”

  “Fine. We’ll see you then.” Her thumb hovered over the end button on her phone.

  “Wait a minute. I need to tell you something,” Matt said.

  Nothing good ever followed those words. “Okay.”

  “I, ah, asked Jessica to marry me tonight. And she said yes.”

  Stunned into silence, she could only grip the phone tighter. She’d known it was coming but so had not expected it tonight.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She remembered her manners. “Congratulations.”

  “Allie, I—”

  “I’ll see you Friday, then?” No way did she want to hear anything else from Matthew Jefferies tonight.

  “Yeah, sure. Goodbye.”

  Allie sat on the sofa, not moving. Not understanding the emptiness in her heart. Their relationship ended years ago when Matt had been so blinded by the kind of person he wanted to be. He believed they broke up because she didn’t want to leave Cedar Grove, but how could she go anywhere with him when he was trying to shed the person she loved for someone she wanted no part of?

  Maybe this would be the closure she needed, and from what she’d gathered, Jessica was the perfect wife for Matt.

  So why did it hurt so much?

  CHAPTER TEN

  AT 10:00 A.M. the next morning, Matt’s cell phone rang and the Bradford Foundation showed on caller ID. He let it ring twice before answering. “Jefferies.”

  “The Matthew Jefferies who is the director of food and beverage for the Winthrop Corporation?” Bradford’s voice held a touch of humor.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then congratulations. The contract is yours.”

  He’d won. Tension leached from Matt’s muscles. Yes! He pumped his fist. “Thank you, sir.”

  “See if you’re still thanking me February fifteenth. Can you drop by the office later today and sign the contract?”

  Matt looked over his to-do list for the morning. Nothing that couldn’t be put off for an hour. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  He ended the call, leaned back in his chair and let the warm glow of satisfaction wash over him. Step one accomplished. He dialed his boss. “Mr. Winthrop,” he said when Jessica’s father answered. “Just wanted to let you know we won the contract for the Valentine’s Day banquet with Bradford.”

  “First time ever to get that scoundrel’s business. Good job, Matthew.”

  “Thank you, sir. I plan on getting the rest of his business, as well.” And if he could accomplish that before his May job evaluation, he stood a good chance of moving up in the Winthrop Corporation, maybe even into consideration for a vice-president position.

  “Good luck. Bradford is a difficult taskmaster. Let me know if you have any problems with the Valentine’s banquet.”

  Not that Matt thought he’d need help, but he assured Winthrop he would do so, if necessary, before hanging up. After all, he hadn’t gotten this far by failing.

  * * *

  “YES?” ALLIE SAID, not looking up from her paperwork. She had eleven new requests from teachers for student literacy evaluations on her desk, and it was only Wednesday.

  “I need you to speak with Mr. Nichols.”

  The trembling in the secretary’s voice brought Allie’s head up, but it was the panic in Betty Marshall’s face that got Allie to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “He wants to take Logan and Lucas out of school. He’s quite insistent.”

  Evidently he made bond for his crystal meth charge. “Where is Mr. Wright?”

  “He’s not here. There’s a principals’ meeting at the district office this morning.”

  Allie had forgotten that. “Call the sheriff.” She hurried to the outer office. Better to err on the side of caution.

  Lenny Nichols was not at all what she expected. He stood at the counter that divided the room. Neatly dressed in a button-down shirt, corduroy coat and khakis, he easily could have passed for a businessman. Except for the eyes and body movements. Dilated pupils, the shifting from one foot to another, the twitchy hands. She stood taller and nodded. “I’m the school counselor. May I help you?” Her voice sounded much calmer than she felt.

  Nichols folded his arms across his chest. “I want to pick up my boys.”

  “Let me see if you’re on the list.” Allie pulled open a file cabinet and pretended to search the records. She knew his name wasn’t listed, but every minute she stalled gave the sheriff time to get there.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Nichols had dropped his arms and now stood with his feet planted apart. “While I’m looking, why don’t you go ahead and sign the checkout sheet. It’s on the counter there.”

  “Where?”

  She closed the file drawer and slid the clipboard toward him. “I’ll need you to sign in, and I’ll need to see some identification first.”

  He glanced at the clipboard then at Allie. “I’m not signing anything. I’m their father, and I have rights. Now get my boys down here.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Nichols. The boys are in class.”

  The image of a rational, everyday businessman disappeared as he lunged over the counter and grabbed Allie’s wrist, jerking her to him. “You can’t keep my boys from me.”

  The secretary screamed just as sirens filled the air.

  For what seemed like an eternity Allie stared into the dilated pupils of Nichols’s eyes, then he shoved her. She stumbled over a stool, landing on the floor. When she scrambled up, Nichols was gone.

  “Hit the button to unlock all the doors so the sheriff can get in,” she yelled to the secretary as she ran into the hall. She feared he might
try to find the twins. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him duck out the back entrance.

  Deputies poured into the front entrance. She wanted to shout that he’d gone out the back way, but every ounce of energy deserted her.

  The sheriff hurried toward her. “Mrs. Russell said you had someone causing trouble.”

  “He left by the back door. You might catch him near the railroad tracks.” Allie wrapped her arms across her stomach and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

  The sheriff barked instructions in his mic. “Are you sure the guy’s gone?”

  She nodded. “But he wants his sons. He may circle around and try to get back into the school.” She turned to the secretary, who had followed her into the hallway. “Lock the doors down again.”

  “How did he get in?”

  “I don’t know. After the eight-thirty tardy bell rings, all entryways are electronically locked from the outside. If anyone wants in, they have to ring the bell at the entrance you came in, and we check the video to see who it is before they are admitted.” Allie caught her breath. “The video cameras. They should show everything.”

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER Allie sat on the sofa in her office with her eyes closed. Her wrist throbbed where Nichols had twisted it. Lenny Nichols had disappeared into thin air. Surveillance video had shown a student opening the back entrance for him to get in—the same place he ran out. A camera on the football field had caught a man running toward the wooded area behind the school. Although the man was too far away to be recognized, it was assumed to be Nichols. Neither was there any sign of a vehicle. But at least the video had provided a clear picture of Nichols, and every law enforcement department within a hundred miles was on the lookout for him.

  “Allie? How are you holding up?”

  She blinked open her eyes. Peter stood in the doorway, his six-one frame filling it, concern etched in his blue eyes. She lifted her shoulder. “Between a headache that the adrenaline triggered and my wrist, I’m not sure. How did you find out about Nichols?”

  “The principal called because it concerns DHS children.” He sat beside her on the couch. “You look beat. Why don’t you go home?”

  She’d already turned down the principal’s offer. “Too much to do, especially with the reports Mr. Nichols’s little visit will require. I took ibuprofen, so it should be easing soon.”

  “I expected to find the school closed for the rest of the day.”

  “If we shut down every time parents came in here and lost their temper, school would be closed at least once a week.” She rolled her shoulders. “Recess has been moved to the gym, though. And the sheriff has deputies scattered around. I’m sure everything will be fine now.”

  “How would you like to have lunch with me?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave right now.”

  “Then I’ll go get something and bring it to you. How about one of Norma Jean’s famous salads? And her apple cinnamon scones.”

  Peter was persistent if nothing else, and having someone to look after her wasn’t bad at all, especially at a time like this

  Peter raised his eyebrows. “What do you say?”

  “I say thank you, I would love that.”

  Allie barely had time to clear off a table and make a pot of coffee before Peter returned with their food. “How did you do that?” she asked as she handed him a cup of coffee. “This time of day it takes forever to get waited on at Norma Jean’s.”

  A grin creased his cheeks as he blew on his fingernails then brushed them against his lapel. “It’s all about connections.”

  Yeah, Peter had connections, all right. She sat across from him at the narrow coffee table where he had spread their food. Everything looked delicious and the cinnamon aroma of the scones made her mouth water. She chuckled as he broke off the corner of one and popped it into his mouth. “You’re eating your dessert first?”

  “Aren’t you? It’s the best part of the meal. And these are delicious, by the way.”

  “They always are, but that’s like flipping to the last page of a book to see how it ends.”

  “And you’ve never done that?”

  “Never.” Allie poured raspberry vinaigrette over her salad and forked a wedge of lettuce. “You’re quite the puzzle, you know.”

  Peter cocked his head. “Why? Because I eat my dessert first?”

  “Not just that. Since New Year’s Day, I’ve been trying to figure you out. With the money your grandfather left you, you don’t even have to work. And yet, here you are in this small town, working for peanuts when you could be rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers in this world.”

  “So you’ve been thinking about me.” His blue eyes twinkled.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I told you at breakfast the other morning, you’re the—”

  “Don’t feed me that line that it’s all because of me.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as he poured creamer in his coffee and stirred it, sloshing a little over the top. With deliberate movements, he used a napkin to blot the liquid. “Everyone always remembers the money, but no one remembers how my parents expected me and my brothers to work, to volunteer in the community. ‘Everyone has a purpose for their lives’—growing up, that was their favorite thing to quote to us.”

  He looked up at her and grinned. “I guess they did too good of a job. I got bored with jetting around and volunteered at a homeless shelter in New York. The men especially, really got to me, some well-educated, had lost their jobs, their families, and many of them, their hope. I’m afraid I burned out pretty quick. So, see, I’m not perfect.”

  She laughed. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think that.”

  He speared a tomato. “You certainly know how to wound a guy.”

  “You’ll probably survive.” She’d never seen this side of Peter. “So what did you do next?”

  His eyes darkened and he became serious again. “Working with those men, seeing them and their families in such pain made me want to do something to help. That’s when I went to work for the Department of Human Services in D.C., which led to me going back for my master’s. Last summer, my dad told me the director of social services in Cedar Grove was retiring, and I remembered a blond-haired girl who challenged me in high school to be more than I was. She wouldn’t give me the time of day back then, but I had to give it one last try. And here I am.”

  Her heartbeat quickened as he held her gaze. For once, words escaped her.

  Peter leaned toward her. “Have dinner with me tonight. We can get a sitter for Noah and go to the new place in town. I’ve heard it’s quite private, and we could get to know each other a little better. How about it?”

  “Dinner? Again tonight?” She almost dropped her fork. He was moving too fast for her. “It’s the middle of the first week after holidays. And what happened this morning has put me so far behind, school will be out before I catch up. And I don’t really want to leave Noah with a sitter.”

  “Okay. No harm in trying to squeeze in another dinner with you before Friday night. Matt is picking Noah up Friday afternoon?”

  Matt. She’d kept thoughts of him at bay since last night, partly because of the charming man sitting across from her. Maybe it was time to shake things up. She picked up a scone and bit into it, savoring the buttery apple-and-cinnamon taste. Peter was right. It was delicious. She licked her fingers. “Yes, he is. And I’m looking forward to going out with you.”

  His eyes widened. “You are?”

  “Yes.” At least she wouldn’t be hanging around the house thinking about Matt.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THURSDAY MORNING, MATT took his coffee into his living room and tried to get comfortable on the damask sofa. An impossible feat. Not to mention, he droppe
d a piece of buttered toast on the white material, which left a faint stain even though he cleaned it right away. He could imagine what the sofa would look like a month after Noah came to stay. He dialed Jessica’s number.

  “’Lo.”

  “I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

  “What time is it?” Sleepiness slurred her words.

  “Eight-thirty. I wanted to ask if you’d have lunch with me and help me pick out a new sofa, one that’s not white.”

  “What? There’s nothing wrong with the sofa you have.”

  That had woken her. “Not for me and you, but it’s not going to wear well with Noah here. I thought I’d get something a little easier to keep clean. Then after he goes back to his mother, we can bring the damask sofa out again.”

  “You may have a point. Noonish? At the furniture store downtown?”

  “Perfect.” That way he wouldn’t lose much time.

  Or so he thought. Jessica found something wrong with every sofa he picked out. It was either the wrong color or the wrong style.

  “You keep choosing the same kind.” Jessica waved her hands, the diamond on her left ring finger catching the light. “And it doesn’t go with the rest of your furniture.”

  “But it won’t be for that long.” He glanced at the last sofa he’d chosen. It was similar to the one in Allie’s house, with soft cushions and big arms. “It’s leather, so it’ll go with the chairs.”

  “But it’s too bulky.” She turned and pointed to an alternate. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  Everything. It was thin and hard and a light fabric. He wanted something he could sink back in, something comfortable, something he didn’t have to worry about Noah spilling chocolate milk on. What he thought must have shown on his face.

  “You don’t like my tastes, do you?” She blinked rapidly. “I bet you hate all of your furniture.”

  “Nooo.” He took her hands. “I love my apartment, but as long as Noah is going to be there, we need to think about something practical. I don’t want to be on him every minute about furniture.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Well, so far, he isn’t even here.”