Hard Habit to Break (3 page)

Maybe she was reading more into his words than anyone else might. After all, she was nervous and on edge with him, she reasoned.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she shifted her gaze over Matt’s shoulder. Georgina’s and Mavis’s eyes were popping, and if they leaned over the counter any farther, they’d slide right down to the floor.

“Dammit!” Liz muttered, looking around for a mousehole to crawl into.

“What?” Matt asked with a blank look.

Suddenly she was furious with him, the nosy tellers, and a job that practically required her to walk on water. But she resisted the urge to vent her frustration. Her job was important to her, not only for income but also for her self-esteem. Granted walking on water wasn’t a listed job requirement, but she’d do it if she had to. And everybody in a small town took an interest in everybody else. That was only human nature.

And that’s the way it is, she told herself. Walter Cronkite really knew how to turn a phrase.

She gave a very saccharine smile, first to Matt and then to the tellers. “I don’t like black coffee either, so I was glad to lend you the sugar. Now I assume you’re not here to return what you borrowed and want to open an account with the bank.”

Matt chuckled. “Ah … a mind reader.”

“Lucky guess. Please have a seat.” She glared at Georgina and Mavis, who suddenly began shuffling papers.

Still chuckling, Matt sat down in one of the two chrome and vinyl chairs on the other side of her desk. “Actually I do want to transfer some of my money up here for a household account.”

Sitting back down in her chair, Liz pulled a new-accounts application and money transfer form from a drawer and laid it on the desk. Picking up a pen, she gazed expectantly at Matt with what she hoped was a businesslike expression. Now that she wasn’t concerned with the tellers, her glands were beginning to work overtime again.

“I’ll need to ask a few questions for our records and call your bank to confirm your account. The money should take no longer than twenty-four hours to be transferred here. But there won’t be any problem if you need to cash a check today.” Liz congratulated herself for not betraying her internal state with her voice.

“I can wait,” Matt replied, his green eyes focused unwaveringly on her face. “Go ahead with the questions, Liz. I know I’m in good hands.”

His words provoked an unwanted but very vivid
picture in Liz’s mind. She instantly suppressed it and sternly told herself, Just get the interview over with, and get him out of here!

He answered her questions easily until she asked about his occupation.

“Retired,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

Surprised, she stared at him. Retired? He couldn’t be in his mid-thirties yet. Then a thought occurred to her. Vermont was a haven for executive types who were tired of the cities and wanted a change of lifestyles. Most were would-be writers, or artists, or gentleman farmers. Maybe Matt was one of those.

“I mean your occupation now.”

“Watching you.”

She blinked, not believing she’d heard him correctly. She wondered briefly if she would always have a hearing problem around him.

“Do you have a source of income?” she asked.

“If I’m lucky. By the way, I mowed your lawn this morning.”

“You what!”

“Well, I was mowing mine, and noticed yours needed a haircut too. Think of it as repayment for the cup of sugar you lent me.”

“You mowed my lawn.” She closed her eyes, vowing to run over him with her car. Mowing her lawn sounded so damn intimate to her image-sensitive ears. Matt Callahan was driving her crazy.

“Here, let me do that,” he said, and he gently pulled the papers and pen from her frozen hands.

She opened her eyes and, with helpless fatalism, watched as he quickly filled out the rest of the two forms. He slid them back to her.

Glancing down at the papers, she noted with a wry smile that
Retired
filled the occupation blank. Her eyes widened slightly when she read his current accounts were with a prestigious international New York bank. But her mouth dropped open, when she read the amount being transferred. Matt Callahan, who was rapidly becoming her personal nemesis, was about to become her largest private depositor.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

The figure had to be wrong. It was the only coherent thought running through her panic-stricken brain. She might have to watch her image among the townspeople, but the very
last
person a banker could offend was her largest depositor.

Finally Liz managed to find her voice. “I think you made a mistake here.”

She pointed to the figure in question, and Matt leaned forward across the desk until his head almost touched hers. His clean male scent filled her nostrils, and she suddenly felt light-headed.

He returned to the chair. “Do you think I’ll need more?”

“
More?
” She cleared her throat. “No, it’s fine. It’s just that …”

Good Lord! She’d almost told him that his was the largest account. He might think the bank couldn’t handle it.

“It’s fine,” she said more firmly. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

He grinned. “You’ve got great hands, Liz.”

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“I’ll let you get back to work now.” He stood up and thrust out a hand.

She hastily rose to her feet. Although she was reluctant even to touch his hand, she knew she had to. She steeled herself as the warmth he generated now enveloped her fingers and shot like fire up her arm. Someone had great hands, and it wasn’t her.

“Don’t forget dinner tomorrow night,” he said with a pirate’s grin.

“I’ll bring the wine,” she replied in a dull voice.

Might as well, she thought resignedly. She couldn’t afford to have him angry with her now; he might pull the account. And the size of it far outweighed any ensuing gossip to the bank’s central office.

She might as well get a horse too. Riding naked across the common was looking better and better by the moment.

“Is it true a farmer can get a government subsidy for a one-hundred-thousand-dollar tractor and never have to pay it back?” Matt asked, leaning his elbows on the kitchen table.

Liz chuckled. “I’ll bet none of the local farmers told you that.”

“Hank Krenshaw, the editor of the
Hopewell Bugle
, told me,” Matt replied. “Is it true?”

“I see you’re getting around town.” Restlessly shifting under his stare, Liz finally nodded. “Yes, it’s true. On the surface, at least. But Hank probably didn’t bother to add that every local farmer is
already in debt for not less than a quarter of a million dollars.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. “That much?”

“That much. Your average farmer doesn’t know the meaning of ‘breaking even.’ But everyone loves to gossip about everyone else. That’s rural life, Matt.”

Liz knew she wasn’t giving away any bank secrets by telling Matt the realities of farming. While Hopewell was a small town about fifteen miles from the city of Swanton near the Canadian border, its big dairy processing plant made it a gathering place for all the surrounding farms and hamlets. Naturally farm debt, milk production, the weather, and government subsidies were the main topics of local conversation. If people didn’t have anything else to talk about.

She smiled, more to herself than to him. The dinner had gone very well, and she even admitted she’d enjoyed herself, although her stomach seemed to drop into a black hole every time Matt had looked at her. And he’d looked at her a lot.

It was his eyes, she decided. Those green eyes darkened whenever they focused on her. In fact, they were darkening right now.

Her smile faltering, she swallowed back a lump of what she hoped wasn’t fear. It had been a lovely evening, but it was time to go. Besides, if Matt kept staring at her much longer, she’d probably turn to melted butter.

Pushing back her chair and rising to her feet, she straightened the jacket of her cream-colored
suit, then plastered another smile on her face. “I’ve enjoyed myself, but I don’t want to keep you.”

Vaguely she waved a hand toward the boxes still lining the wall in the big wood-beamed, brick country kitchen.

Not moving, Matt grinned. “Sit down, Liz. You’re forgetting I’m retired now, and I can unpack anytime. Besides, it isn’t even nine o’clock yet.”

She involuntarily glanced at the clock radio on the counter to confirm his words, then silently cursed her nervous reaction. She didn’t intend to allow the early hour to sway her from leaving.

“I do have a few things to do at home before I go to bed … sleep.” She edged toward the living room. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner. The shish kebab was delicious.”

Matt suddenly blocked her path. His hands touched her shoulders. “Liz, why so early? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” she assured him breathlessly. “I really can’t stay long, Matt.”

“But you can stay a little longer. I haven’t even shown you through the house yet.”

“Okay, but only a little longer,” she said, hating herself for being so wishy-washy. One quick tour wouldn’t hurt, she thought. But that was it! Matt had been a gracious and gentlemanly host, but she had to be seen leaving his house at an early hour. “I really do have to get home.”

“Great.”

He removed his hands from her shoulders and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow to lead her into the living room.

Before dinner she had seen the downstairs
briefly—and noted that Matt was still in the process of unpacking. It was evident that he liked modern paintings, as several cubist prints and strange shapes on canvas were already hanging on the paneled walls.

Staring at a small screaming-yellow and lime-green blob on an enormous white canvas, Liz asked, “What’s this supposed to be?”

“What’s it look like?” Matt asked in an amused voice.

“Like a chihuahua got sick,” she murmured, tilting her head to see if it looked better from another perspective.

Matt roared with laughter, and she grinned, liking the sound of that laugh. Finally he calmed enough to say, “It’s supposed to represent man’s fight for survival.”

“I think man is losing.”

Leaving Matt to his second burst of laughter, Liz wandered over to a small unframed painting. She lifted it off the wall to admire it.

“This is a Picasso, isn’t it?” she asked, delicately touching the rough surface with a forefinger. “I didn’t know they could make a reproduction look and
feel
like the original.”

Coming up behind her, Matt answered, “So far as I know, they can’t. That’s a real Picasso.”

With suddenly shaking hands Liz carefully rehung the painting.

“Are all of them originals?” she asked in a small voice as she turned to face him. An original Picasso! And she touched it. He really ought to put signs on them or something.

He was grinning at her nervousness. “No. That’s
the only one. Actually, it’s not as expensive as you’re probably thinking. Picasso was a very prolific painter, and you’d be surprised where and for how little you can find his stuff sometimes. I found this one in a tiny Portuguese tourist shop of all places.”

She gave a little gasp of surprise. “You’re kidding!”

He shook his head. “Nope. I thought it was just a copy. But a friend who knows art made me take it to an art gallery. The man who appraised it for me said that while I got a bargain, it wasn’t done during one of Picasso’s best periods. Frankly I wouldn’t have cared if it was only worth ten bucks. There’s something about a square donkey with four noses that appeals to me.”

Liz giggled. She couldn’t help it. “He looks elegant. Give or take a nose.”

As Matt gazed down at her, a slight smile played across his mobile lips. He was so damn sexy, she thought, with his green eyes and dark beard. And the jeans and pink western shirt he wore casually and yet so confidently made him look even more masculine. She felt her body zing and tighten yet again. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the constant flip-flopping inside her any longer.

Frantically she reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Their lips touched, and she forgot her own shocked amazement at what she was doing. Curving his arms around her, Matt instantly took over the kiss, and it was everything she’d unconsciously hoped for. His mouth slanted across hers and dominated it, yet demanded a like response. And she gave it greedily, her tongue swirling with his in an age-old dance. He lifted
her on tiptoe and nestled her body tightly against his. His hands stroked their way down her back until they kneaded the soft flesh of her buttocks through her skirt. Then she was pulled even tighter against his hard arousal.

A gentle shock wave rocked her once. It began to grow into a yearning ache, warning her of the explosion that could be with him. Her head spun dizzily. Everything felt so right and so special that she couldn’t imagine herself being anywhere else but in his arms.…

In his arms?

“Liz?”

Lost in the kiss, it had taken Matt a moment to realize Liz was struggling in his embrace. Involuntarily his arms loosened, and she slipped out of them. Her eyes not meeting his, she straightened her jacket.