Jeannie Watt (10 page)

It had almost killed him.

Well, Matt thought as he put the letter in his suitcase, he wasn’t going to let this exam get to him. It was meant to be a slap in the face and it was, but for the past few days he’d been feeling better, sleeping better, and he planned on continuing that way—at least for as long as he was in Night Sky.

Focusing on Tara’s problems had helped him shove aside his own, temporarily at least.

Matt’s leave was running out, but the house was progressing on schedule and Luke had finally been able to pitch in. His new medication was working better than the old and the inflammation in his joints had diminished to the point that he was able to put in a few hours a day in the gardens. The shift in his attitude had been tremendous and he’d left Tara’s early that day to have his reaction to the new medication checked. If it was acceptable, then he’d finally be allowed to give up iced tea in favor of his preferred beverage. Matt was supposed to meet him for dinner that night and either celebrate or commiserate.

When Matt headed out his back door to the Owl, the curtain moved in the kitchen window of the house next door and his neighbor, an elderly lady he’d never met, gave him a little wave and then disappeared. It was a common occurrence, one Matt had found disconcerting at first, but was finally getting used to. Sometimes he even waved back.

As he opened his gate, he saw Luke walking stiffly down the alley toward the casino from his own house.

“You all right?” Matt asked when Luke got closer. The tubby cat had followed Matt across the yard and now he rubbed his head on Matt’s jeans. Matt absently leaned down and scratched the animal’s ears before he realized what he was doing and straightened back up. The cat rumbled with pleasure.

“Other than going all to hell, I’m fine.”

“How’s the new miracle drug?” Matt fell in step with Luke.

Luke grinned. “I’m going to try it out tonight. It’s called Budweiser.”

A few minutes later, Matt opened the door of the casino and let the older man precede him in. A group of men trooped out at the same time, shoving and jostling one another, knocking the door out of Matt’s hand and Matt suddenly found himself eye-to-bloodshot-eye with Eddie Johnson.

Eddie paused for only a second, his lip curling, but as he moved on, he bumped Matt with his shoulder, hard enough to make Matt take a step backward. Eddie gave a satisfied snort.

Matt reined in the gut impulse to teach Eddie some manners, knowing there were other things to consider. Like legalities. A pack of nasty-looking friends. The FFD letter tucked away in his suitcase.

He had a temper, but he wasn’t stupid.

Matt shook his head and pulled the door open again, entering the dimly lit casino just as Luke was heading back out, a concerned frown on his face.

“It’s fine,” Matt said as he let the door swing shut behind him. Luke shook his head and expressed his opinion of Eddie and his friends in one succinct plural noun. Matt grinned.

They settled at the bar and Matt watched the action surrounding the pool tables while Luke ordered two Buds with an air of deep satisfaction.

The twenty-to-thirty-something crowd was there, laughing and drinking, doing all of the things that a twenty-to-thirty-something crowd was supposed to be doing. Front and center was Ryan Somers, shooting a pretty good game of pool and flashing a smile that would have made Tom Cruise proud. Just watching him made Matt’s blood pressure rise. His mouth tightened as he realized that if this had been the first time he’d seen Ryan, he would have read him wrong. And he was good at reading people. He didn’t think Ryan would have fooled him for long, but now he understood how cautious Tara might have fallen for him. The guy was a hell of an actor.

“Well, well,” Luke muttered, turning to see who Matt was frowning at, “if it isn’t golden boy.”

“Don’t think much of him?” Matt asked with interest.

“He’s two-faced,” Luke said as he turned back around in the booth.

Matt raised his beer to his lips and drank. “He seems to have a lot of friends.”

“He’s good at being two-faced. I arrested him once while I was working weekend auxiliary here for the sheriff’s. Nothing too serious, but he was one snotty, petulant kid after he couldn’t charm his way out of the situation. Downright ugly when crossed. Daddy rescued him, though, so he never learned a damned thing. You know the story.”

Oh, yeah.
Matt nodded. He knew the story. Knew it well.

“I think he’s been bothering Tara lately.”

“How?”

“He was at her place a few days ago. Tara wasn’t happy about it. Since then I’ve seen him drive by a time or two.”

Luke thought for a moment and then shook his head. “My read on this kid is that he’s a petulant bastard, but he’s not dangerous. I don’t think he has a lot of follow-through.”

“You sure?”

“Not one hundred percent, but he spends more than he makes and if he wants Daddy to keep giving him extra cash, he has to keep up the public image. Daddy wouldn’t like him to do anything that would hurt the Somers name. Neither would his betrothed.”

“He’s engaged?”

“Oh, yeah, just recently and to quite a catch. She’ll inherit the biggest land company in the valley someday. She’s usually here with him. She must be busy with reunion stuff.”

Another group, wearing matching fluorescent orange shirts, headed for the tables.

“Is there a pool tournament or something tonight?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Jack keeps trying things to get a Monday night crowd in here. I think this is tag-team pool or something. This is one of his saner ideas.”

“What else has he tried?” Matt asked as Ginny slid two more beers across the counter, compliments of Jack. The older man picked up his bottle, saluting Jack before he looked Matt in the eye.

“Trust me, son, you’re better off not knowing.”

U
SUALLY WHILE
T
ARA
worked, she was figuring strategies to finance Nicky’s education and pay off her loan, but today she found herself wondering just what was eating at Matt.

They worked on the second floor for most of the day, Tara painting first the bathrooms and then the long hallway while Matt reinstalled the stripped and refinished molding, and wired the antique-looking light fixtures that had just arrived.

He moved from room to room, brushing past her in the narrow hall, focused as ever on his work, except today he was almost too focused on his work. At one point she had stepped backward, inadvertently treading on his foot as he went by and he’d caught her by the waist in a sturdy grip, sending sparks of awareness through her body before he released her and continued on to the end bedroom to finish the wiring there.

Matt installed all of the fixtures at about the same time Tara started her second and final coat on the hall. He paused to survey her handiwork.

“Got another roller?” he asked after taking a look at the long stretch of wall ahead of her.

“Yes.” She pushed loose strands of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand and then she saw a hint of amusement light Matt’s eyes for the first time all day.

“Let me guess,” Tara said. “I have paint on my face.”

“A little,” Matt replied, tilting his head and studying her.

Tara refused to give in to the impulse to check her reflection in one of the bathroom mirrors. “Yes, I have extra rollers. They’re down in the mudroom, next to the paint.”

Matt was back a few minutes later with a roller and tray and an extra gallon of paint. Tara kept working, oh-so-aware of him as he opened the top of the gallon can and slowly stirred the contents.

He started painting on the wall opposite her, moving down the long passageway, rolling paint at approximately the same speed as she was. They continued to paint, back to back, with rock music playing softly in the background. At times they bumped up against each other in the narrow space, but neither of them broke the silence.

They hit the end of their respective walls at the same time and stood side by side, rollers in hand, facing the last six-foot panel that ended the hall and connected the freshly painted surfaces.

“If you want—” they started at the same time and then Matt looked down at her and smiled. Finally.

“We’ll do it together,” Tara said, impulsively slopping a line roughly down the center with the end of her roller. “Race you.”

And then she dipped her roller and began to paint her side with short, swift strokes. “Loser cooks,” she said, dipping the roller again.

Matt frowned at her as if she were a nut, and then took the challenge.

He had the height advantage and was able to roll all the way up to the six-inch swath Tara had painted below the molding before she started rolling. Tara had to jump to reach the top, but she got the job done with only minimal damage to the ceiling. She crouched low then, painting the section closest to the floor and when Matt crouched beside her, she purposely bumped him hard with her shoulder, throwing him off balance.

“Wait a minute…” he protested with a surprised laugh.

She ignored him as she dipped her roller again, about to finish her last section. But Matt reached out and took hold of her wrist, firmly guiding her roller over his side of the line and across his last swatch of wall. Tara pulled her arm free and twisted to face him.

“No fair!”

“You started it,” Matt pointed out.

“So?” Tara responded, her eyes locked on his.

“Maybe—” Matt touched the end of his roller on the tip of her nose, leaving a little eggshell-colored dot “—we should call it a draw before one of us gets hurt.”

“I wouldn’t want to send you home injured,” Tara agreed. His expression was still hard, but he was forcing it now. And dear heaven, but he was a handsome man. His face was all planes and angles and hollows, his rounded wire-rimmed glasses the perfect foil to the angles. Dark hair spilled down onto his forehead, as it tended to do when he wasn’t wearing a ball cap, and she had the urge to reach out and brush it back.

“That’s a danger,” he said sardonically.

She grinned then and lifted her roller to put a tiny corresponding dot on the end of his nose. Matt shook his head and let out a breath edged with exasperation before he finished Tara’s half of the wall with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Thanks for the help,” Tara said as she hammered lids back onto cans.

“No problem. Oh, and by the way…”

She glanced up at him, pushing her braid back over her shoulder.

“I won.”

W
HAT WAS IT ABOUT
a beautiful woman with a smudge of paint on her face?

Matt glanced over at Tara as she dumped the rollers and brushes into the kitchen sink.

Yeah. Smudges of paint in the right places were definitely sexy—sexy enough to pull his mind away from the FFD that he was not going to think about.

Tara dampened a cloth and raised it to his face, holding his gaze as she wiped off the daub of paint.

“Your turn,” she said, raising her chin and closing her eyes as she gave him the cloth.

“Hold still,” he said unnecessarily as he gently rubbed the paint off her nose and then her forehead. He resisted the impulse to pass the pad of his thumb over the softness of her full lower lip and instead turned toward the sink.

“I’m thinking I’ll pass on dinner tonight,” he said as he rinsed the cloth and spread it to dry.

“All right.” She glanced down at the floor. “Would you like a beer or something before you go?”

He thought it would be best if he got out of there, but he made the mistake of looking at her and changed his mind. It was obvious she wanted him to stay. Maybe she was lonely. Tired of kicking around in this huge old house alone. He understood lonely.

“Maybe one,” he said.

“The flooring guys are coming on Monday,” Tara said, as she moved to the fridge and opened the door. “I’ll need help moving the appliances out of the kitchen.”

“No problem,” he answered, taking the longneck she handed him and twisting the cap off. He looked for a place to put it and then noticed the pieces of silver in the ornamental key basket. He picked one up and turned it over in his hand.

“You wore this the night you faced down that guy in the parking lot.”

“Eddie.”

“Yeah.”

Color rose in her cheeks. “I’m surprised you remember.”

He smiled. “Oh, I remember a lot about that night.” Having a beautiful woman calmly tell you that she didn’t need your help with a six-foot-three drunk did tend to stick in one’s mind, as did her apology later. He watched with some fascination as she blushed deeper. Very un-Tara-like. He turned the silver conchos over. They were heavy, ornate. “You should have this fixed.”

“I will. I just…I’ve had other things on my mind.” A silence followed and then Tara said, “How much longer will you be in Night Sky?”

“Another few weeks.”

“And then you go back to work?”

He nodded. What else did she think he’d be doing? Heading off to the asylum maybe? He had no idea what Sanchez told her.

“Are you ready to go back to work?”

Now he understood why she’d wanted him to stay. She wasn’t lonely. She was worried about him because of the way he’d been acting today.

He pulled in a breath, formed an explanation for his behavior.

“I know I was a little rugged today, Tara. I apologize. I’ve got some things I’ve been thinking about.”

“Must be some serious stuff.”

“The job. Going back.”

“Do you like your job?”

“I did,” he answered truthfully.

She had questions. He could see them in her eyes, but she didn’t ask.

“So you’ll be here for the reunion?” She gave him a break, shifted the subject.

“I’ll probably have to leave before that. I’m due back at work around then.” Matt took another drink, feeling the tension start to ease. “Where’s your beer?” he asked curiously, looking at her empty hands.

“I’m more of the dry red wine type.”

“That’s funny,” Matt said, “I had you pegged as a margarita type.”

“Too much work. I prefer to uncork.” She glanced sideways at him. “Sometimes I don’t even bother with the glass.”

Matt grinned at her confession and after a tiny hesitation, Tara smiled that smile that always made his gut do a long, slow somersault. He forced his mind along another path, one he figured would put a halt to this cozy feeling growing between them.

“What did Sanchez tell you about me?”

Tara didn’t seem surprised by the sudden question. She frowned thoughtfully before she answered. “He told me you were a police officer, which I already knew. He also told me you were involved in some incident.”

“That’s all?”

“Is there more?” she asked candidly.

“No. I just wondered if he’d warned you about me.” He wanted her to be cautious, to keep her distance from him.

“In what way?”

“Sometimes people aren’t exactly themselves after a critical situation.”

“Are you yourself?”

“Close,” Matt said, but he didn’t smile.

Tara remained serious, matter-of-fact. “I don’t know what you were like before, but you seem pretty decent now.”

Nice opening, but Matt didn’t feel up to discussing what he was like before. “Thanks.”

Tara took the hint. She fiddled with the barrette for a moment and then redirected the conversation to the house. They talked about that safe subject while Matt finished his beer, and he made an effort to hold up his end. He did pretty good, too, he thought, because when Tara walked him to the door twenty minutes later, she looked as if she were feeling better. Surprisingly, he was feeling better, too. But as he headed to his truck, he wondered how long it would last.

Damned FFD.

T
ARA SPENT LONGER
than she wanted pushing a cart through the nearly empty aisles of the grocery store, trying to remember everything on the list she’d forgotten on the kitchen table that morning.

And to make matters worse, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she found her thoughts drifting back to Matt.

She wanted to find out what had happened. Find out what was bothering him.

“Good morning, Tara.”

Tara nearly dropped a bottle of balsamic vinegar. She turned to see Lydie Manzo strolling toward her.

“Hi, Mrs. Manzo.” It was the first time the woman had ever addressed her by name and Tara tried very hard not to look suspicious.

“Lydie,” the woman corrected automatically. “Dottie told me about the flat a few nights ago. That was very kind of you.”

“No big deal.”

Lydie gave her a look. “Yes. It was. Especially after Dottie’s past behavior, but that’s water under the bridge. It was nice of you.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s one more thing….”

“What’s that?”

“Well, Ginny said she’d be working for you on a temporary basis.”

“Yes,” Tara replied slowly. They had just firmed up the final arrangements the previous afternoon over the phone.

“Do you need any more help for the reunion?”

“Maybe…” Tara hedged, wondering what was coming.

“My granddaughter, Hailey… She just left her husband and, well, between you and me, it’s about time. He’s a real
bastard
.” Lydie leaned close and whispered the last word. “She’s working at the shop and trying to put her life back together.”

“Sure,” Tara said, feeling as if she’d been backed into a corner. She did need help, but she didn’t know this granddaughter of Lydie Manzo. “I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“She likes old houses and Ginny was raving about yours. If you needed any help
before
the reunion, I’m sure she would be available. And she’s real artistic.”

“Have her call me.”

Lydie reached out and grabbed Tara’s hand with both of hers. “Thank you.”

Tara left the store in a bit of a daze. Lydie Manzo had asked her for a favor.

It almost made up for her having to face her dress again.

“T
HIS PLACE IS GREAT
!”

Hailey Manzo was a pretty woman. Blond hair, green eyes, vivacious personality, but there was something watchful about her…and the way she held herself sent Matt’s sixth sense into gear. A survivor, he thought.

She’d showed up late in the afternoon, driving a small station wagon with a magnetic sign advertising a beauty parlor called the Hair Affaire. Tara hadn’t known the girl’s full name—had simply introduced her as Hailey after she brought her upstairs to see the work on the almost completed second floor. Hailey had then provided her own last name, stumbling over it, as though she wasn’t used to using it. Newly married or newly divorced, probably, and the watchful eyes made Matt think newly divorced. He would have checked for a ring, but she had her hands shoved into her back pants pockets.

Well, whoever she was, and whatever her past, Tara was hiring her to help around the place. It would no longer be just he and Tara working alone in the big old house anymore.

And that, he thought, might just be a good thing.

“I
LOVE THIS PLACE
,” Hailey repeated, her eyes skimming over the kitchen fixtures as she took the glass of iced tea Tara offered. “You’re lucky to have it.”

“I guess I am,” Tara agreed.

“Did Grandma tell you about my—” she quirked a corner of her pretty mouth “—situation?”

“Not much.”
Let’s see. Newly divorced. Ex-husband is a bastard.

“Well, in a nutshell, I married too young and the guy I married turned out to be a jerk. I wasted, oh, about five years of my life.”

“I see,” Tara said slowly.

“I just figured you should know.”

“Why?” Tara could not help but ask.

“I work in a
beauty parlor,
” Hailey explained. “Gossip central. I know what this town is like. Frankly, I prefer to tell my own story rather than let someone else do it for me.”