The Wedding Tree (34 page)

matt

I
had to leave Friday just as Miss Addie was ending her story—the children came home, then I had to take them to a friend's birthday party at a skating rink in Hammond. On Saturday morning I had to go to my office in Baton Rouge for a deposition, so I didn't get a chance to see Hope again until the next afternoon.

I called her on the way back to Wedding Tree, and she met me at her grandmother's backyard swing while Miss Addie took a nap.

“Where are the girls?”she asked, handing me a glass of iced tea.

“Jillian took them to the Global Wildlife Preserve.” I put my arm around her shoulders and set the swing in motion. “So I've been dying to know—what happened with your grandfather after the accident?”

“He could never walk again. My mother and Uncle Eddie grew up with a father in a wheelchair.”

“Wow. That had to be pretty limiting back then.”

“It was, but Gran built a ramp on the back of the house and added the downstairs bedroom. The lumberyard built a ramp, too, and as soon as he was able, Granddad went to the store every day.”

“What about the store in Mississippi?”

“It was sold before it even opened.” Hope took a sip of tea. “When Mom and Uncle Eddie started school, Gran began taking photographs professionally. She started with a friend's wedding,
then her reputation spread. Without really trying, she had more business than she could handle.”

“What about their marriage?” I was wondering if they still had sex. After the accident, could Charlie even get it up? And even if he physically could, would he want to, after finding out she secretly despised him? But those were guy questions, too crass to ask—and none of them were my business anyway. Which didn't keep me from being curious as hell.

“Mom said they had separate bedrooms.” Hope tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “She said a woman from the next town came in to give Granddad a massage once or twice a week. Mom once said she always suspected something more was going on between Charlie and the masseuse.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah.” The swing creaked in silence for a moment. “Here's the weird part: Gran hired her.”

“No kidding?”

“That's what Mom told me. It was someone they'd known in high school.”

I rubbed her arm and pondered that. It was a little shocking, but at the same time, it was actually very kind and compassionate. Loving, even, under the circumstances.

A strand of Hope's hair blew across my cheek, and the memory of her hair on my face when we were lying in the garden shed hit me straight in the groin.

“How 'bout I give
you
a massage?”

“Now?”

“Jillian texted five minutes ago and they're still at Global Wildlife. No one will be at my house for at least an hour.”

“And Gran's sound asleep.” Hope put her feet on the ground, stopping the swing, and gave me a sexy smile. “What are we waiting for?”

hope

I
had an idea where we were going, but it wasn't until we hit the top of the stairs and he turned left that I knew for sure. “Are you sure it's okay for me to be in here?” I asked as he pulled me into his bedroom, where soft afternoon light filtered through the windows. “There's that spare room down the hall, or . . .”

“This is fine,” he said, closing the door and locking it before drawing me into an embrace.

“You were pretty upset the first time I was in here.”

“I overreacted.”

“To what, exactly?” I'd been thinking and thinking about it, and I'd wondered if he'd been upset that I'd somehow defiled Christine's memory. He headed to the bed and pulled down the comforter. Was this the bed that he'd shared with Christine? The thought creeped me out a little.

“To the fact I was attracted to you.”

My heart lifted like a butterfly. “You were?”

“From the moment I saw you.” He sat down on the white sheets. “But I have to say, I thought you were a little . . . odd.”

“Is that a polite term for cray-cray?”

“Well, you
were
wearing a fairy costume.”

“It was my grandmother's nightgown.”

He lifted a teasing eyebrow. “Like that's completely normal?”

I laughed and sat down beside him.

He lifted a strand of my hair. “I just thought you were, as Zoey would say, in'propriate. And when the girls came home, I had a mental image of them telling their preschool teacher that they'd seen the pretty neighbor lady in Daddy's bedroom, and having it turn into this whole small-town gossip thing.” He pulled me down until we were lying side by side. “And the thing is, I wanted it to be true.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. But I didn't want to want you.”

“But you couldn't help yourself, because I'm so amazingly irresistible . . . even though you thought I was deranged.”

“That's it, exactly.” His eyes were tender and amused.

“I have to ask . . . is this the bed where you and Christine . . . ?”

He closed his eyes. “Conceived Zoey and Sophie? No. I got a new bed after she died in that one.”

“Oh!” My heart lurched. “Oh, I'm so sorry! Oh, wow . . .” I put my hands over my face. What was wrong with me, asking a question like that? “Oh, Matt—I feel terrible. That was completely tactless and thoughtless. I don't know what I was thinking! I wasn't thinking, that's the problem, and now I've gone and spoiled the moment, and you probably wish . . . I bet you want me to just leave.” I started to stand up.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me back on the bed. “What I want, Hope, is for you to shut up and kiss me.” He grinned at me. “Did I mention you're a bit odd?”

The terrible tightness in my gut unfurled. I grinned back and let him pull me down, and suddenly his lips were covering mine, and my motormouth-itis came to an abrupt halt, because I was too busy getting thoroughly kissed.

The kiss moved to my neck, then Matt pulled off my shirt, and then my bra.

His finger traced a circle around one nipple, then his mouth followed. Heat shot right to my groin.

“I want to see you naked,” he whispered close to my ear.

“Me, too. I mean, I want to see
you
that way—not myself. I see myself naked all the time,” I babbled.

He smiled. “Lucky you.”

He stood up, stripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, then pulled off his pants and underwear in a single move. My breath hitched. I'd felt his six-pack the night in the shed, but seeing it was a whole other thing. It was hard to keep my eyes above his waist, though, because he was massively aroused.

The mattress dipped beneath me as he sank down on it, pulled off my skirt, then wrangled my panties down my legs.

“Oh, man—you're so beautiful.”

I started to protest that no, my breasts were too small and I hadn't gone to a gym in ages, but those thoughts were cut off by the smoky heat in his eyes. He obviously liked what he was seeing—and I was so turned on by everything about him that my lady parts felt like they were melting.

He stretched over me and kissed me. I was so aroused I nearly forgot to breathe, but breathing didn't seem like a necessity. All that seemed absolutely essential was the continued touch of his hands on my body, the feel of his naked skin against mine, the heat of his erection pressing hard against my belly. He kissed a trail down my stomach, lower and lower until he reached the part of me that throbbed for his touch. His fingers and his tongue worked magic.

“Now,” I gasped at length. “I need you
now
.”

He raised up and pulled a foil packet out of the bedside drawer. A moment later, he hovered over me, taking his time, the thick tip of him easing in, then pulling out until I ached with wanting, with longing, with raw needy need.

And then he drove home, filling me completely. I came on that first thrust, I was so ready—and then it started to build all over again, that delicious pulsating desire, spiraling higher and higher. This time he came with me.

When I finally regained the ability to think, I realized I was crying.

He brushed my cheek with his thumb. “Hey—are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just relieved. Or maybe I mean released. Or both.”

“Me, too.” He grinned down at me. “In fact, I probably should be bawling like a baby.”

I smiled up. “Please don't.”

“Okay,” he said, and kissed me instead.

matt

T
he girls burst through the front door a little after five o'clock. “Daddy! Daddy! We had the bestest day ever!”

Hope had left just ten minutes earlier. The day rated pretty high on my great-day scale, too. I came out of the kitchen, where I had just grabbed a beer.

“I got to feed the animals!” Zoey said.

“Me, too,” said Sophie, not about to be outdone.

I knelt, scooped them both up in my arms, and carried them to the sofa. They were getting to be more than an armful, I thought wistfully.

The girls fought for space on my lap. Jillian stood in the doorway, smiling.

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“Well, first, we drove and drove and drove,” Zoey related. She had a habit of giving factual timeline narratives. “And then we got out, and there were all these ducks.”

“And geese,” Sophie added.

“And other birds. And we bought some food, and fed them.”

“And one of the geese tried to bite me!”

“And then we all got into a covered wagon with an engine with some other families, and we went on a ride.”

“A safari!”

“Yeah. There were all kinds of animals.”

“An' some of them are dangerous.”

Zoey looked down her nose at her little sister. “You mean endangered. They weren't dangerous.”

“'Cept for the zebras. They're mean, so you can't feed them or ride them,” Sophie announced.

“They had camels, and a baby giraffe who ate right out of my bucket!” Sophie said. “I got to pet his head! He has the softest lips.”

“Yeah.” Zoey nodded. “Like Mommy's used to be.”

A dagger went right through my heart. Could she even remember her mother? I wondered.

“And like Aunt Jillian's,” Zoey quickly added. “She's just like Mommy, 'cause they have the same genes.”

I avoided looking at Jillian.

“But she doesn't wear them,” Sophie said. “'Cause Mommy was skinnier.”

Jillian's face turned scarlet.

“Not those kind of jeans, dumbo,” Zoey said.

“Don't call your sister names,” I said. “When you were her age, you didn't know one type of jean from the other, either.”

“Zoey, can you explain the difference?” Jillian asked.

“Well, one kind is what you wear, and the other is something inside you, like blood.”

Sophie screwed up her face. “How does it get inside you?”

“Every living thing has a set of instructions for what it's going to look like, and these instructions are called genes,” Jillian explained. “But they're spelled differently from the pant kind.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Sophie, and the conversation returned to the animals. The girls ran upstairs to get their stuffed animals and reenact the Global Wildlife experience.

I felt strangely awkward alone with Jillian. “Sounds like you had a great time. I hope they weren't too much of a handful.”

“Not at all. You know I love spending time with the girls.” She paused. “It's a shame you couldn't go with us.”

“Yeah, well . . . I had to catch up on some work from taking yesterday off.”

“I heard you helped Miss Adelaide find some information she needed.”

“Yes.”

She cocked her head and looked at me, apparently expecting me to give her more information. When I didn't, she gave a forced-looking smile. “Well, it was nice of you to help out.”

“And it was good of you to take the girls to Global Wildlife.” This conversation was weirdly formal. I'd felt increasingly uncomfortable around her lately.

“The girls asked if I'd make dinner for them tonight,” Jillian said. “They wanted carrot salad and broccoli—probably the result of watching the animals eat. It's rare when they're willing to eat such healthy food, so I told them I'd fix it.”

Ah, hell. I'd planned to just order a pizza and chill with the girls—Hope was going to work on the mural at the coffee shop tonight—but now it seemed I was stuck with Jillian.

I looked at her, and she skittishly cut her eyes away in a way that made me think of a domestic abuse victim. It made me feel horrible.

“Great,” I forced myself to say.

A smile bloomed on her face. For just a second she resembled Christine, and then the similarity was gone. “Well, then, I guess I'll get started. We picked up groceries on the way home.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I should offer to help. I'm sure that's what she wanted, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. “I, uh, want to spend some time with the girls, so I'm going upstairs.”

“Sure.” She smiled brightly. I noticed she was wearing freshly applied lipstick. “I'll call you when it's ready.”

The girls invited Jillian to stay for dinner, and I saw no way out of it without being flat-out rude. I focused on the girls and talked almost exclusively to them throughout the meal. Jillian sat at the end of the table, where Christine used to sit. I don't know if it was
because of Hope or what, but I felt even more awkward than usual and couldn't wait for her to leave.

After dinner, I pushed back my chair. “I'll handle cleanup,” I told Jillian. “You've pulled more than enough aunt duty today.”

Just then Zoey sidled up, holding her stomach. “I want go to bed,” she said in a thin voice. “Can you tuck me in, Aunt Jillian?”

Jillian felt her forehead. “Oh, dear—I hope you're not coming down with something. There's a terrible stomach bug going around.”

“Can you stay the night?” Zoey asked.

My stomach suddenly wasn't feeling so hot, either, but it wasn't because of a bug.

“I'd be happy to, but . . .” Jillian darted a glance at me. “It's up to your father.”

“Pleeease, Daddy,” Zoey pleaded. Her eyes filled with tears. “I miss my mommy, and I'd feel better if Aunt Jillian were here.”

Boy, she really knew where to hit me. “I can take care of you, honey.”

“I know, but you're not a lady. When I'm sick, I like soft hands like Mommy's.”

Hell. I hated to have Jillian stay, but I couldn't find a way of denying the request that didn't leave me feeling like a monster.

“Well, if Jillian doesn't mind—okay.”

“I don't mind,” Jillian said. “I don't mind a bit.”