Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) (8 page)

Maybe Grace had been right. Maybe this was the end of the world. Or at least, it was the end of the world as he knew it.

9

M
att could charm the panties off a nun. Seriously. There was no question. Dory was clearly under his spell and from what little Grace had seen, the woman was no pushover. Heck, it hadn’t taken him more than an hour to crack through Grace’s cold exterior—all her resolve to remain aloof and uncaring slowly slipped away. She couldn’t help herself. When the man’s guard was down his smile was a thing of beauty, and by the time dinner was over, Grace was craving not only his smile, but a whole lot more.

She watched him, from her perch on the sofa, as he chatted with Dory. They were discussing his award-winning chili (apparently he’d taken first prize at the local fall fair) and Dory was trying to figure out his ‘secret’ ingredient. Gosh. A man who could cook. A man who took in injured dogs. And a man who cared enough about an old woman who lived down the road that he would head out into a blizzard in order to make sure she was all right.

Matt Hawkins was a man of contradictions. He pushed as hard as he pulled and Grace wondered if he’d ever let anyone see what was buried inside him. The things he hinted at. The dark things. The things she wanted to know.

You are in trouble girl.

Her cell phone rang and she fingered the device. It was her mother. With her battery running low and no way to charge it, Grace knew she’d run out of time. Eden DuRocher Simon was going to give her hell. No way around it. She hit the accept button, pressed speaker phone by mistake and was still fiddling with the damn thing when her mother’s voice rang out.

“Grace Bluebell Simon.”

Good Lord. The full name had been used. Bluebell was only pulled out when there was hell to pay. This was not going to be good. Grace sprang to her feet and bolted past Matt and Dory to the front hall where hopefully she would have some bit of privacy.

“Mom.”

“Grace, do you love your mother?”

Wonderful. Her mom was going with the guilt thing.

“Mom, please. Let me ex—“

“Because I certainly love all my children even when they make it hard. That is a mother’s cross to bear. Remember when Beau’s appendix burst?”

“What does Beau’s appendix have to do with me?”

“Beau’s appendix has nothing to do with you.”

“Mom have you been drinking?”

“Lord knows you kids could drive anyone to drink, but in answer to your question Grace, no, I haven’t been drinking. I’ve been waiting by the phone for most of the day. Waiting for my daughter to call and let me know that she’s okay. That in fact, even though she’s stuck in the middle of a major blizzard that’s pretty much shut down the entire state of Michigan, she’s doing all right.”

“Mom, I was going to call you. I swear.”

“Let’s get back to Beau’s appendix, shall we?”

Groaning, Grace pressed a hand to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother wasn’t letting up and nothing short of a miracle would stop her.

“Your father and I were in the South of France when that happened, enjoying the Côte d'Azur, soaking up the sun, drinking entirely too much wine and eating too many pastries. It was lovely. And it wasn’t until we were getting ready to fly home that I found out my son had been in the hospital and that not only had his appendix burst, but it was serious. He could have died.”

“Mom,” Grace interrupted. Her phone was going to die and she didn’t need a rehash of Beau’s burst appendix. “He didn’t bite the bullet. He was fine.”

“You’re not listening. He could have died. Very easily. It happens all the time.”

“Mom, I really don’t understand—“

“You obviously don’t understand or you would have called me as soon as you could and put my mind at ease. But you didn’t for the same reason that Beau didn’t call me. He knew I’d ask questions and he wasn’t prepared to answer them.”

Here we go, Grace thought.

“Do you know where Beau was when his appendix burst?”

Grace shook her head wearily. “No, Mom, I don’t. I was what, fifteen? I think?”

Eden’s voice rose a tad. “Your brother was spending the weekend with a woman, Grace. A woman who was quite a bit older than him, if you get my meaning. A woman who happened to be the mother of one of his teammates. It was highly inappropriate.”

Oh.
This was news to Grace.

“Do you see where I’m headed with this?”

“Um, not really.”

“You’re not staying at the hotel.”

Grace stared at the phone. She wished it was dead.

“No. I’m not staying at the hotel. I’m at a friend’s place.”

“You don’t have any friends in New Waterford, Grace. At least no friends I’ve ever met.”

“Mom, it’s not what you think.”

“You don’t know what I think because you haven’t asked. But here’s what I know. This Matt Hawkins is a troubled young man and you’ve got a history of trying to save troubled young men. I know he was in Nashville.”

“How do you know that?” Honestly, what the hell?

“Betty told me he was in Nashville.”

Okay, Grace was getting fed up. Her private life was private. She didn’t need attitude from her brother. She didn’t need her sister-in-law messing in her business. And she sure as hell didn’t need grief from her mother.

“Look, you don’t know anything about Matt.”

“I know enough. I’ve met the man at several family functions. Beau’s wedding being the first. I remember how infatuated you were with him.”

“Infatuated! I’m not infatuated with him.”

Her mother paused and her voice softened. “He’s a handsome devil, I’ll give him that. And I totally understand why women are attracted to the dark and dangerous type. But Grace, men like that are not always redeemable. Sometimes men like that are damaged for life. You need to know what you’re dealing with. I’ve heard things...and I can’t help but worry about any involvement you might have with the man.”

Grace leaned against the wall, staring out into the dark. “You only know what you’ve heard. You only know what he let’s you know. There’s so much more to Matt. So much that he doesn’t let anyone see.”

“Grace. I’m speaking from experience. I know things, because I’ve lived. That man has been broken—“

“Oh my God, mother. Why would you say something like that?”

“Look into his eyes, Grace. Really look. And you’ll see what I see. I’m telling you this because you’re my child, my daughter, and I don’t want to see you hurt. That man will break your heart if you let him. Please don’t do anything stupid. Please think things through before you act.”

For several long moments the only sound Grace heard was the wind blowing across the porch. It was eerie and haunting. She gave her head a shake, wanting to get rid of the feelings washing over her. “My phone’s going to die. I don’t want you to worry about me, Mom, okay? I’m good.”

Her mother started to speak but then her phone went dark and that was that. Pocketing her cell Grace slowly walked back to the kitchen. The fire was stoked something fierce and Matt was seated at the low table across from Dory, the runt of the litter in his arms.

Grace’s heart swelled at the sight.

He glanced up just then, his face a wonder of shadows—dark and light. “Bluebell?” he asked, flashing a smile that made her heart constrict.

Grace slid onto the sofa beside Dory and nodded. “Bluebell.”

“That’s some kind of handle,” he chuckled, though his laughter slowly died as their gazes locked. There was heat there—and it was intense.

“It is,” she managed to say. “It was my great-great-grandmother’s name. What’s yours?”

His mouth thinned a bit, that beautiful smile fading as his gaze slid from hers. “Benjamin.”

“Oh,” she replied. “Were you named after someone as well?”

He gave a quick nod and got to his feet, placing the puppy back with Rosie. “I’ve got some stuff to do,” he said gruffly, and left without another word. Just like that, all the warmth in the room was sucked away and Grace shivered.

She looked at Dory, noting concern in the woman’s eyes. “Who was Benjamin?”

Dory picked at the edge of her sleeve and settled back on the sofa, shaking her head slowly. She didn’t speak until they both heard the front door slam shut, and then she whispered. “Benjamin is Matt’s father.”

Grace couldn’t help but wonder. “Is he still alive?”

“As far as I know, he is.”

She was going to take a stab in the dark. “I take it they don’t get along?”

Dory was silent for a few seconds. “Matt’s story is for him to tell and I have a feeling few people know the details. Hopefully he comes around and shares it with you, because if anyone needs a connection, it’s that young man.” Dory shook her head, her face resigned. “But please don’t think less of him if he doesn’t. Some things are just too hard.”

The older woman didn’t offer up any more information and with a sigh, Grace reached for a board game on the table beside her. “Scrabble?” she asked lightly.

It was going to be a long night.

10

T
he storm finally let up sometime in the night. Matt had spent most of it nursing a bottle of Jack, while freezing his ass off in the barn. Stupid really. After all this time the mere mention of his name,
Benjamin,
could take him back to a place he didn’t want to think about.

It took a lot to make him forget, most of the bottle judging by what was left, and by the time Matt made his way back to the house, it was pushing three in the morning. He was tired as hell and more than just a little drunk. In fact, if he wasn’t such a big guy, he probably would have passed out hours ago.

As it was, he stumbled through the dark to check on Rosie and her pups. He was about to flop his ass onto the sofa, when something made him look twice and he noticed Dory. She’d fallen asleep there and he scooped another blanket off the pile on the floor and draped it over the older woman.

Electricity had returned a few hours ago, and he made sure the fire was out before heading up to his room. All he could think about was his bed, his pillow, and finally getting some shut eye. Damn Jack. His buddy never failed to knock him on his ass.

He kicked off his boots, not caring that he’d just tracked snow all over the place, and then tossed his jeans, plaid shirt, and his boxers. The cold felt good against his heated skin and Matt stumbled in the dark to his bed, managing to stub his toe on the bedpost.

“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely and yanked the covers back. He slid between them, immediately turning on his side and reaching for the other pillow.

But it wasn’t his pillow he found. His large hands slid across something soft—there was no denying that—and it sure as hell wasn’t cotton.

Grace?

Matt didn’t think. His brain had shut off a long time ago and he was on auto-pilot. He moved toward the warmth, and sank his nose into soft, silky hair that smelled like the honeysuckle his grandmother used to grow along her back porch.

He groaned and moved his hands around to the front of her body, but the very things he sought were covered. And impatient, he pushed aside clothing, fingers eagerly inching toward soft breasts and smooth, taut skin. Matt moved so that he pressed into her, his groin settled against her butt.

“Damn, but you feel good.” His brain was jumbled, his veins full of Jack, and at the moment Matt was content with the weight and warmth of another body in the night. He relaxed, snuggled into the curve of her back and as he listened to her even breathing, he eventually fell asleep.

I
T WASN’T EXACTLY DARK
out when Matt woke, but it wasn’t bright either. He was in that place somewhere between dawn and full-on morning. He’d never bothered with blinds and could see the faintest traces of light coming through the window into his room. Normally he’d jump straight out of bed as soon as he could, but at the moment he wasn’t that guy.

At the moment he was content to stay right where he was. In bed—no, in
his
bed—with Grace Simon. His eyes adjusted and he had no problems seeing her.

She’d turned in her sleep, and her face was inches from his, that cute little nose scrunched a bit, her forehead furrowed. Maybe she was dreaming, or maybe her mind was already racing ahead, but whatever it was, with her hair a wild halo, and her mouth slightly parted, she was without a doubt, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

And she was fully clothed. Imagine that.

He eased himself back an inch or two for a couple of reasons. One, he could see her better. And two, he had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit and any relief he could garner was welcome. It was torture being this close to her—being this horny—and not being inside her.

She inhaled sharply and he froze, smiling a bit as she began to mumble. Again. The girl talked in her sleep. Constantly. And though he tried, he couldn’t understand a word, or at least anything that made sense. What the hell did an appendix have to do with anything?

So for the next twenty minutes or so Grace mumbled, moving restlessly against the pillows—occasionally getting too close and making him shudder at her touch. He watched her, tracing the lines of her cheek, the dip at her neck, and the shape of her mouth, with his eyes.

Damn, that mouth.

He leaned a little closer, thought maybe he’d steal a kiss, but her eyes fluttered open and he froze as her gaze settled on him. Luminous and still full of sleep, he felt those eyes like a physical touch and as she slowly became aware, he saw the questions that lingered in their depths.

Yet he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. And long moments ticked by—long moments filled with nothing but their breathing, and the pounding of their hearts.

Her lids lowered a bit and she whispered, voice a little hoarse, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he managed to say.

She blew out a soft breath and glanced back up at him. Were her eyes always this shade of blue? They reminded him of the deepest end of the swimming hole out near the lake he used to visit when he was a kid.

What was it about this woman that made him think of the past? A past he’d been running from for years?