Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) (7 page)

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called pretty before.” Did he have to look so damn adorable?

Grace slammed the door. “Actually that was a bad word choice on my part, wasn’t it?” She leaned on the fridge. “What about, arrogant? That’s a good one.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

“Bastard?”

“Pretty sure that’s been used a time or two.”

“Dick—“

“Yeah, okay I get it,” he interrupted.

Grace’s heart was suddenly pounding so hard, she felt it like drum inside her chest. “I don’t think that you do though, Matt. I don’t think you have the slightest clue.” Was she really going to do this right now? Tell him exactly what she was feeling? Even knowing that he could reject her yet again? “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

Guess she was.

“I knew the moment I laid eyes on you at my brother’s wedding, you were special.”

“You’re wrong.” His mouth was tight and he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes, oh those incredible dark eyes, were unreadable. He looked so damn closed off.

“No I’m not.” She shook her head. “I felt something then. I
still
feel something now. Even after Nashville. Even after you made me feel so small. It’s more than a physical connection, Matt. It has to be to make me this crazy. And I know you feel it too. So why are you pushing me away? Why are you so intent on killing something before it has a chance to grow?”

“Because you and I could never work.”

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. “How do you know that? You got a crystal ball or something? Tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. Look me in the eye right now and tell me that you feel nothing.”

He swore. Said a few choice words that would have made a nun’s toes curl. But Grace was riding a train that wouldn’t stop and she ignored him, inhaling a big gulp of air and plunging forward.

“Tell me that the kiss we shared nearly two years ago isn’t something you think about all the time like I do. Tell me that our night in Nashville was just sex. That you didn’t feel the connection that I did. That you didn’t almost
cry
because you’ve never felt that connected to another human being.
Ever.
Tell me that and I’ll leave you alone.”

Matt was silent, but he was angry. She felt his anger roll off him and fill the space between them. Those damn tears wouldn’t go away and she sniffled, trying like hell to get her emotions in check. This train was going off the rails and she was about to crash.

Had she got it so wrong?

Suddenly humiliated, Grace whirled around, her only thought to leave. She would have bolted too—ran through the blizzard just to get away from him—but he stopped her cold.

“I can’t,” he said roughly. Two simple words. But they were enough.

8

M
att spent the day avoiding Grace. It was easy to do. The storm had dumped a ton of snow overnight and he spent several hours clearing his driveway, in and around the barn out back, as well as the path up to his house. He’d have to do it again—that was a given—but it kept him busy and he needed to be away from Grace so that he could think.

Not that it had done him a lot of good. In fact, the only conclusion he’d come to was that he was a stupid son-of-a-bitch for letting his guard down with this girl. He knew that he was no good for her—that was the undeniable truth. Because eventually the demons from his past would come back to haunt him—they always did. And when that happened, everything would go to shit. He wasn’t so sure Grace Simon could survive the shrapnel that came with it, and he sure as hell knew she didn’t deserve it.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

“Dumbass,” he muttered to himself.

It was barely four in the afternoon and what little daylight the storm had allowed was fast disappearing. The wind still blew and the snow still fell, so if it wasn’t for the fact that his neighbor Dory McCallum had called in a panic, he would never have made the trek out to her place. The elderly woman was supposed to be on a plane to Florida, however the storm had not only managed to ground her flight, it had done a number on Dory’s generator.

Matt slid from his snowmobile and waded through snow as high as his waist. He frowned, more than a little annoyed that neither one of Dory’s kids had come for her before things had gotten this bad. He’d have something to say to Luke McCallum the next time he saw him.

He was just about to knock when the door opened and he was greeted by the one woman on this planet (other than Betty) who held a special place in his heart. Dory McCallum was on the wrong side of eighty, barely reached his chest, and though she looked as frail as a woman on the wrong side of eighty would be, nothing could be further from the truth. She was a tough little thing, with a wry wit that made him laugh, and a habit of poking her nose in his business that drove him crazy. She was a straight shooter and he’d always appreciated her honesty. Even when it meant she was being brutally honest with him.

“Mathew. Bless your soul for coming out in this mess of a storm but I didn’t know who else to call.”

Matt headed to the basement where the generator was located and after tinkering with it for nearly twenty minutes, he knew there was nothing he could do. It was an older model and deader than a doornail.

He headed back upstairs and had a look around. Unlike his home the fireplace in the living room was gas, but with no electricity to run the fan the heat was minimal.

Dory had candles lit, which he wasn’t exactly keen on. She had a habit of falling asleep at the drop of a hat, and unattended candles coupled with an old clapboard home wasn’t exactly a safe scenario.

“Well, Mathew?” she asked, pulling food from her fridge.

“Sorry, Dory. It’s not good.”

“Not surprised,” she muttered. “They don’t build anything to last anymore.” She nodded toward the table. “Have a seat. I don’t have much, but I’ll see if I can whip up something for you to eat.”

“Dory, we don’t have time for dinner. I need you to come with me.”

“Don’t be silly, Mathew. Why on earth would I want to head out into this storm when I am perfectly fine here on my own.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“It’s out of the question. I’ll be fine.”

The little lady was fiercely independent, and he knew it was going to take some convincing to get her to come home with him.

“Shoot, Dory. I don’t let just any woman ride on my sled.”

Dory peered over the rims of her small reading glasses. “Your flirting will get you nowhere young man.” She frowned. “I have cold chicken. Or cold ham. Take your pick.”

He moved toward her. “Why don’t we go back to my place. I’ve got heat.”

“So do I.”

“That gas fireplace is hardly doing anything and you know it.” He glanced at her feet. “How many pairs of socks you wearing anyway?”

“Don’t get uppity with me, young man.” She glanced down at her feet. “I just so happen to like wearing three pairs of socks.”

She turned back to her fridge. “So which is it? chicken or ham?”

“I’ve got newborn puppies.” He smiled and winked. “Rosie had her litter last night.”

She shook her head and sighed. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Bullshit. You’re allergic to cats.”

“Language, Mathew.” She leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised imperiously. Faint tinges of red still ran through her hair and he knew she must have been something else when she was younger.

“Dory,” he said coaxingly—he knew he was going to have to pull out a big gun. “I’ve got a friend over and I should get back.”

“A friend?” Dory paused, suddenly interested. “A lady friend?”

Matt shrugged. “Guess you won’t know unless you come back with me.”

“I’m too old for games, Mathew. Just exactly who is it you’ve got hidden away at your place? And it better not be that Sasha woman I heard you’ve been keeping company with.”

Matt should have known that juicy little piece of gossip would find its way back to Dory. It was a hazard of living in a small town. Everyone knew everybody else’s business and most of ‘em sure liked discussing his.

“You don’t have to worry about, Sasha.” Hell, he hadn’t slept with her yet and after the nasty voicemail she’d left the night before, he was pretty damn sure there was no chance of that happening.
Ever.

“Well that’s a relief, Mathew. I told Petra Binter that there was no way you would be interested in a woman like Sasha Armstrong.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “And what kind of woman would that be?”

Dory didn’t pull any punches. “The loose kind. The trashy kind. The kind that is nothing but trouble.”

“There are a lot of folks in this town who would put those same labels on me.”

“Well they don’t know you the way I do, Mathew.” She paused. “So just who is this friend of yours? Anyone I know?”

He glanced out the kitchen window just as another gust of wind slammed snow and ice against it. “Let’s get you bundled up and you can find out for yourself.”

Dory tapped her toe against the tiled floor. She glanced back to her fridge. She rearranged a few things and then with a sigh, slammed the door shut. “You got food?”

“Only the best damn chili in the state of Michigan.”

Lips pursed, she pushed past him. “We’ll see about that. Grab some buns from the bin on the counter while I gather a few things.”

Ten minutes later Matt had Dory bundled up on the back of his snowmobile and they headed into the darkness. He’d wrapped her up but good, glad to see she had sensible, heavy duty boots and snow gear.

The going was a bit rough. First off it was dark as hell. And with the blowing snow and biting wind, it made finding the trail through the bush difficult. Luckily, he’d run this particular one many times over and he was able to get them back to his place in just under thirty minutes. Even so, by the time he helped Dory off of his sled, his hands were half frozen and he was feeling a bit lightheaded from lack of food.

He helped her up the steps to his porch, surprised to see that the small drifts he’d noticed before he left had been cleared. Grace had been asleep on the sofa and he hadn’t bothered to wake her, but she must have been outside in the last hour or so.

Matt took one step closer and was just about to reach for the door handle when it flew open and slammed back against the wall. Somewhere, something inside his house crashed to the floor—he just hoped it wasn’t the Shane Gallagher painting. Damn thing had cost him a small fortune.

Grace stood there, cheeks rosy, hair all over the place, and a temper lighting up her eyes that was something to see. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her hands were fisted at her sides.

She was pissed.

“Where the hell have you been?” she snapped, taking a step forward.

He opened his mouth to answer but she didn’t give him a chance. She took another step forward, out into the elements no less, and thumped him in the chest. It appeared to be her MO when she was upset, and he was damn lucky there was no ice underfoot or he would have ended up on his ass.

“I’ve been alone in this house, looking after your dog and her puppies all day. Do you know how hard it is to carry a full-grown animal outside so that she can you know, do her duty?”

“Her duty?”

“Her duties, Matt! She had to pee, and yes, had a poop as well.”

He tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. She looked so damn adorable.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, taking a step back. “I had no idea where you were. It’s like the freaking end of the world out here and you just left me.”

Okay. He felt bad about that. “I…you were sleeping and…”

“Seriously? I was sleeping? What are you? Like five? Real adults have real conversations, and when one of the adults decides to take off for parts unknown, in a freaking blizzard no less, letting the other adult know is usually the responsible thing to do. You left nearly two hours ago.”

“Grace.”

“
Two hours
Matt.” Her chin trembled and her fists balled again.

He braced himself, pretty sure she was going to hit him again.

“For all I knew, you could have gotten lost or been in an accident or...”

The look in her eyes made him feel like crap. “I’m sorry Grace. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Damn right you weren’t thinking. I should lock you out of your own house or make you sleep in the shed. Who does that?”

“A young man in need of manners is who.” Dory cleared her throat and stepped out from behind him. “But maybe we can discuss this inside? It’s a little cold out here, dear.”

To say that Grace was surprised to see the little woman pop out from behind him would be an understatement.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh,” she stammered, taking a step back into the house. “I didn’t see you there.”

Dory smiled. “I’m glad that you didn’t. I quite enjoyed the show. Been a while since someone has put Mathew in his place.” She turned to Matt and winked. “I like this one.”

Dory sailed past him and when he attempted to speak to Grace, she held up her hand—actually put it in his face—and shook her head. She stomped off after Dory and disappeared down the hall.

Slowly Matt undid the laces on his boots and shrugged out of his winter gear. Outside the wind still howled, and the snow still fell. It was going to be a long night, he thought, making his way to the back of his house.

Grace was bent over the pen, the smallest pup in her hands, while Dory cooed over Rosie and her babies.

Matt should have been pissed off that his home,
his sanctuary,
had been invaded. He was a guy who liked solitude. He liked quiet and easy, and Grace Simon was neither one of those things.

And yet it wasn’t anger that coursed through him as he poked about in the kitchen—lit a few more candles and got the chili ready for dinner. He paused, eyes drawn to the other side of the room and something inside him shifted. Grace sat on the sofa beside Dory, listening attentively to whatever it was the older woman was saying. As if she knew, Grace looked up. Their eyes caught and held.

Nope. He wasn’t angry or annoyed or anything like that. For the first time in a long time, Matt Hawkins was content.