Belonging (18 page)

There was such concern, such tender
consideration in his voice that Angie closed her eyes. "I'm sorry,
Matt," she apologized in a low voice. "I'm fine.

Really. It's just that... well, it's been a
very long day. The council had a special meeting tonight."

"On the city hall issue?"

"Yes." Laying the hairbrush on the night
table, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to massage the
slight ache in the middle of her forehead. "Would you believe John
Curtis brought in sketches of a new building? You should see it!"
she said disgustedly. "It's all concrete and clutter. It would be
as out of place in Westridge as the Empire State Building."

Matt had trouble holding back a laugh.
Sentimental Angie. Still, he knew how much this meant to her. "How
did the vote go?"

"Exactly the way I expected," she said
glumly. "Split right down the middle. Fireworks before and
after—and naturally Blair Andrews was there with her photographer
in tow."

"Something tells me I'll be in for a treat
when I see the morning newspaper."

"Undoubtedly." She echoed his dry tone. "I
expect to be featured on the front page, nose-to-nose with John
Curtis. Damn that man," she continued hotly. "He certainly isn't
looking for a taste of humble pie, that much I do know!" She had
expressed the same sentiment to Todd right after the meeting.

"Really pushing for a new building, isn't
he?" Matt murmured.

"I'll say. I'm beginning to think this entire
issue will still be unresolved by the time the next mayor takes
office." She leaned against the headboard wearily, absently
running her finger down the lapel of her robe. "I'm sorry, Matt. I
really didn't mean to unload on you like this, but Anna Goodwin and
I have talked till we're blue in the face trying to get Steve
Jackson and

Mike Matthews to see our point of view. And
so far it hasn't done any good. If we end up with a new building
instead of renovating, we'll never get a women's shelter. It's so..
.so frustrating!"

Frustrating. It was a word he was rather
familiar with himself, but he didn't say so. He knew he wasn't the
only one who felt the invisible bond growing between them, yet she
still held so much of herself apart from him.

Hell! Who was he trying to kid? It was
Angie's husband that still stood between them, and for the life of
him, Matt didn't know what to do about it. Their relationship was
in limbo, and he wasn't sure he dared trespass the perimeter that
she had silently drawn. He sensed they were at a crucial point, but
he was afraid if he pushed too hard, he would lose her.

Yet he couldn't deny that she was far more
comfortable with him than she'd been at first. They talked freely,
easily, about everything except two things—their relationship and
her husband. Angie clammed up whenever he attempted to veer in
either direction.

Maybe she wasn't living in the past, but she
was holding on to the memory of her husband. She'd been married for
ten years, he reminded himself grimly, and the marriage had
produced two children. He couldn't expect her to forget about a man
she'd loved all that time as if he were no more than a casual
acquaintance. But he didn't expect it to take forever, either.

With a mental sigh he picked up the threads
of their conversation once more. "If things don't turn out the way
you'd like, you might consider private funding to start a women's
shelter," he said slowly. "A lot of them are funded by private
donations."

"And what happens when the donations stop
coming in?" She shook her head. "No, I'd rather see a city- funded
center. Then at least there would be some measure of stability."
She mulled a second longer. "Though if worse comes to worst, that
may be the only solution. It would be better than what we have now,
or maybe I should say what we don't have."

"That reminds me," Matt said thoughtfully.
"Have you ever been in one?"

Angie's heart lurched. Surely he didn't know!
"N- no," she replied cautiously.

"Would you like to visit one? I could
probably arrange it. Sam was telling me just yesterday about a
shelter near Seattle. In fact, I was thinking about asking you and
the girls to a Mariners' home game on Saturday. Maybe the Crawfords
would like to come, too. If you think Kim and Casey wouldn't mind
going with me, you could tour the shelter and see how it operates
while we're at the game. Unless you'd rather I came along,
too?"

"No. There's no need," she said quickly,
perhaps too quickly. But when Matt said nothing, her heartbeat
returned to normal. "That's a great idea," she murmured
thoughtfully, then smiled. "Kim's never been to a major league
game. I think she'd love it." It suddenly occurred to her that Kim
might not feel comfortable being alone with Matt, but if Janice
and Nancy were along, as well... "How about if I let you know
tomorrow?"

A warm feeling was flowing through Angie as
she hung up the phone a few minutes later. But when she crawled
into bed, the too-familiar feeling of loneliness assailed her. She
closed her eyes against the yearning ache in her belly, an ache
borne of images in the dark--sharp, sensual images of strong male
hands lingering over her body, a long, muscled body poised above
hers.

Turning over, she clutched her pillow tightly
against her breasts, her entire body now seized with a near-painful
heat. A silent litany played over and over in her mind before she
finally fell asleep a long time later.
Together
.

If only she could believe...

***

"Are we there yet?"

It must have been the tenth time Kim had
posed the question in the last hour. Angie's worries had been for
nothing. Kim had expressed only the slightest reticence at going
with Matt to the baseball stadium, but by this morning it was gone.
She had been awake since six-thirty, anxiously waiting for Matt to
pick them up shortly before lunch.

"Almost," Angie assured her. Bill and Janice
trailed several cars behind, and the freeway ribboned out ahead of
them. She half turned in her seat to point out a large sign at the
side of the road. "See? We're only ten miles from Seattle."

"We were lucky to get such good seats," Matt
remarked. When he'd called the stadium earlier in the week, a
group of seven had exchanged their seats that day for a game later
in the month. "At Wrigley Field box seats are usually impossible to
get unless you buy them weeks ahead."

"Box seats!" Casey sounded horrified. "I
don't want to sit on boxes!"

"You don't sit on a box, silly." Kim frowned
at her little sister. "Box seats are closer to the field. Right,
Matt?"

"Right, Kim." Matt's lips quirked at Kim's
self- important tone. Glancing over at Angie, he saw her fighting
to hold back a smile, as well. She was wearing a lacy blouse with a
high Victorian collar tucked into pleated slate-gray slacks. Her
hair had been pulled back into its usual austere twist, and she
appeared as calm and collected as ever. She kept toying with the
strap of her purse, though, and he wondered if she was a little
nervous about visiting the shelter.

"By the way," he said casually in an attempt
to get her mind off whatever was bothering her, "I saw Sam pick up
Georgia after work last night. They seem to have something hot and
heavy going. Any wedding bells in the offing?"

"Not that I know of. Although I must admit
the whole thing between those two came as something of a surprise.
To tell you the truth, Sam is the first man she's gone out with in
the four years I've known her."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she has and
you just haven't known about it—" He stopped when Angie
emphatically shook her head. "Don't tell me," he surmised dryly.
"She's the spinsterish schoolteacher type."

"Not exactly," she admitted. "Georgia—" She
hesitated. "Georgia just hasn't had much use for men in her
life."

"I see." Matt's tone was grave, but his eyes
held a faint light. "Condition of employment, was it?"

She knew he was thinking of the night she'd
told him she didn't want another man in her life, and she smiled
self-consciously. "Georgia's mother died when she was very young,"
she began to explain. "She had to raise several younger brothers
and sisters."

"Where was her father?"

Angie checked to make sure the two girls in
the back seat weren't listening before she spoke again. "Her
father left when she wasn't much older than ten. He simply went to
work one day and never came back."

Matt's fingers tightened around the steering
wheel. It was the only visible sign that her words affected him.
"So that's why she decided to steer clear of men?" he asked
finally.

"That might be part of it, but that's not
all."

"That's not all?" His surprise seemed
genuine.

"Unfortunately, no. Georgia had always wanted
to go to college, but she didn't have the money. She's smart
though, and she was able to get a good job with an accounting
firm." Angie took a deep breath. She felt a bit uncomfortable
telling Matt this. "It was the first time she'd ever really been
out on her own, and she was relatively inexperienced when it came
to men. And then—"

"She fell in love with her boss," he guessed
astutely.

"Her married boss," she confirmed grimly.
"She didn't know until it was too late. And even then he continued
to string her along, promising that he would divorce his wife."

"But he never did."

"That's right."

Matt shook his head. "So Georgia is a woman
with a past," he mused dryly. "I'd never have guessed it." He
chuckled as her eyes began to widen. "Oh, don't worry. I won't tell
a soul. I can keep a secret as well as the next person."

Angie detected no reproach, no reproof in his
tone, but it did betray a hint of disappointment, and that affected
her far more strongly. Angie's throat tightened oddly. Matt had
paved the way for her to talk about Evan many times this past week.
She knew, deep inside, that he would understand, yet she couldn't
remember Evan without feeling hurt, and degraded, and ashamed. How
could she ever bear to talk about it openly and honestly when it
was so sordid and ugly? she thought on a panicky note. She had
never even been able to tell Janice or Georgia of Evan's abuse.

Her thoughts couldn't have chosen a worse
path to follow. They had exited the freeway and were driving along
a tree-lined boulevard. Matt turned off onto a side street and
stopped the car. For a few seconds Angie stared at the two-story
stone building before her, demons from the past chasing through her
mind.

"I won't go in with you." Matt spoke in a low
voice and inclined his head toward the two children in the back
seat.

Angie took a deep breath and forced her mind
back to the present. "Marilyn Winters, right?"

He nodded, his eyes focused sharply on her
face for a second. "We'll pick you up after the game," he said,
then turned to the girls. "Say goodbye to your mom, kids."

Summoning a smile that was as much for her
own benefit as that of Matt and the girls, she leaned back for hugs
and kisses. Then she stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the
door. Kim and Casey turned around and waved as the car moved away
from the curb. Angie stared after it for a long moment before she
finally squared her shoulders and headed toward the doorway.

Inside, a tall woman with a cap of jet-black
curls was seated behind a desk. Angie placed her age at somewhere
near her own. "Hi, there. Can I help you?" the woman asked in
greeting.

She glanced around the sparsely furnished
room before her gaze returned to the woman. A tentative smile
creased her mouth. "I'm Angie Hall," she began. "I'm here to see
Marilyn—"

She got no further. The woman had already
rounded the desk and clasped her hand in a firm handshake. "I'm
Marilyn, and you must be the mayor of Westridge." Sparkling dark
eyes looked her up and down. "You're not exactly what I
expected."

She suspected this woman had a talent for
making one feel warm and welcome, and, as Marilyn led her through
the shelter, she soon discovered she was right.

The first floor consisted mainly of a small
reception area, which doubled as an office, a supply area, a small
kitchen, a living room and a counseling area. The upstairs had
been turned into bedrooms.

Angie shivered in spite of the day's warmth
when they returned downstairs. The center was sparsely furnished
with only the bare essentials. Only the fact that the worn
furniture looked comfortable kept the atmosphere from being
downright Spartan. Even the box of toys in the corner of the living
room looked as if it had seen better days.

"Not the best home away from home, is it?"
Marilyn sounded grim as she watched Angie scan the room. She
handed her a cup of coffee, then sat down behind the desk again.
"Most of what we have here has been donated. We do what we can,
though, and hope it's enough."

Angie curled her fingers around the cup,
absorbing some of the warmth from the hot liquid. "How long have
you been in operation?"

"Three years now." Marilyn grimaced. "Give or
take a few months that we shut down because of lack of funds."

"Most of your staff are volunteers?"

Marilyn nodded. "A lot of our budget goes for
paying the psychologist who consults with the counselors. Some of
the rape and abuse cases we've had have been pretty traumatic, and
sessions have lasted for months." She shook her head. "Like I said,
it's not much, but it beats having nowhere else to go."

Something in her quiet tone brought Angie's
eyes to hers in a flash. The other woman's face reflected a great
deal of compassion and silent understanding. A disquieting thought
sped through Angie's mind—if Marilyn knew, did Matt? The finger
that traced a path around the cracked edge of the cup wasn't
entirely steady.