A Question Of Love
Elizabeth Sinclair
A Love To Last a Lifetime…Seven years ago, Honey Kingston and Matt Logan had a passionate affair that ended abruptly when he left town to join the rodeo. And though the strong-willed beauty tried to forget Matt's warm gaze, she couldn't help but remember their love…each time she looked into her little boy's blue eyes. So when the former rodeo daredevil returned to town, Honey found herself engulfed in a whirlwind of deep-rooted emotions, unable to distance herself from the father her son so deserved. Would too many memories send Honey running–or could they rekindle a flame that once burned so brightly?
“Matt, we need to talk.”
“What good will talking do? Will it change the past?”
“No. We can’t change the past. But it could help you build a future.”
“Leave it alone, Honey.” He turned to leave.
Suddenly afraid that if she let him go, she’d never see him again, Honey dashed across the room and grabbed his arm. If she couldn’t make him understand with words that love didn’t have to hurt, maybe she could show him.
Pressing her lips against his, she said a silent prayer that she still had enough power to prove that he was wrong, that love only hurt when it wasn’t returned.
Dear Reader,
March roars in like a lion this month with Harlequin American Romance’s four guaranteed-to-please reads.
We start with a bang by introducing you to a new in-line continuity series, THE CARRADIGNES: AMERICAN ROYALTY. The search for a royal heir leads to some scandalous surprises for three princesses, beginning with The Improperly Pregnant Princess by Jacqueline Diamond. CeCe Carradigne is set to become queen of a wealthy European country, until she winds up pregnant by her uncommonly handsome business rival. Talk about a shotgun wedding of royal proportions! Watch for more royals next month.
Karen Toller Whittenburgh’s series, BILLION-DOLLAR BRADDOCKS, continues this month with The Playboy’s Office Romance as middle brother Bryce Braddock meets his match in his feisty new employee. Also back this month is another installment of Charlotte Maclay’s popular series, MEN OF STATION SIX. Things are heating up between a sexy firefighter and a very pregnant single lady from his past—don’t miss the igniting passion in With Courage and Commitment. And rounding out the month is A Question of Love by Elizabeth Sinclair, a warm and wonderful reunion story.
Here’s hoping you enjoy all that Harlequin American Romance has to offer you—this month, and all the months to come!
Best,
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin American Romance
A Question of Love
Elizabeth Sinclair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Kim Kozlowski for the inspiration for this story and her enduring friendship. To Pattie Steele-Perkins for her faith, her hard work and her friendship. And, as always, to my personal hero and the love of my life, my husband, Bob.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Sinclair was born and raised in the scenic Hudson Valley of New York State. In 1988 she and her husband moved to their present home in St. Augustine, Florida, where she began pursuing her writing career in earnest. Her first novel reached #2 on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and won a 1995 Georgia Romance Writers’ Maggie Award for Excellence. As a proud member of five RWA affiliated chapters, Elizabeth has taught creative writing and given seminars and workshops at both local and national conferences on romance writing, how to get published, promotion and writing a love scene and the dreaded synopsis.
Books by Elizabeth Sinclair
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
677—EIGHT MEN AND A LADY
787—THE OVERNIGHT GROOM
827—THE PREGNANCY CLAUSE
916—A QUESTION OF LOVE
Tess’s Special Oatmeal Cookies
Set oven at 350°F.
Sift together:
11/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
Stir in:
1 egg, well beaten
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup melted butter
1/2 cup melted lard or other shortening
1 tbsp molasses
1/4 cup milk
13/4 cups oatmeal
1 cup seeded raisins and 1 cup of broken nut meats
Arrange by teaspoonfuls on buttered cookie sheet. Bake until the edges are brown (about 12 minutes). Makes about 75.
Contents
Chapter One (#u8c156030-6808-543a-833b-fdaa060f74e5)
Chapter Two (#u5edb7a4c-b196-5108-9120-0781fd48378f)
Chapter Three (#u2bc27c2f-a69d-547e-9c48-860043ed8c77)
Chapter Four (#ucfd2eeb9-b463-5fa6-abb5-3b7fcf2ac091)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Honey Logan dropped like a rock onto the Victorian settee and stared in horror at her mother-in-law. From the placid expression on Amanda Logan’s aged, but still lovely face, she seemed to have no idea that she’d just announced the impending end of Honey’s world.
“Now, dear,” Amanda said, tapping Honey’s hand lightly with the tips of her well-manicured nails, “this shouldn’t take too long. A few weeks at the very most.”
“A few weeks?” Amanda might as well have been suggesting a few centuries. Honey tried, without too much success, to erase the desperation from her voice. “Isn’t there anywhere else he can go?”
“I was so hoping that you would agree to this.” Amanda leaned back in her wheelchair and sighed. “I’m afraid there is nowhere else. His house hasn’t been lived in for over two years, and it needs cleaning and fixing.” She smiled at Honey. “He is my nephew, dear. Family. I couldn’t very well turn him away, now, could I?”
Yes, you could have, Honey wanted to yell. You could have told him to get a motel room in the next town, the next state, another country, anywhere but here.
Regretfully, she knew she couldn’t make that kind of demand. No matter how much she loved Amanda and Amanda loved her, her mother-in-law owned the house. Honey resided there purely as a guest. Despite her efforts to make Honey think of it as her home, she lived here at her mother-in-law’s pleasure, as her home-care nurse. As such, Honey felt she had no more say in what went on here than the gardener or the housekeeper. Her mother-in-law’s innate consideration for everyone in the house was the only reason they were even having this conversation.
“Of course you couldn’t,” Honey finally managed to murmur.
“I knew you’d see the sense of this.” Amanda squeezed Honey’s hand reassuringly. “It’ll work out for the best. You’ll see.” Heaving a tired sigh, she settled back in her wheelchair. The light from the Tiffany chandelier overhead played in the facets of the diamond rings adorning two of her fingers. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go to bed early. I hate to bother her at this late hour, but would you mind finding Tess and asking her to get the spare room ready? I’m afraid Matt will be here first thing tomorrow morning.”
Seeing that the conversation had overtaxed Amanda, Honey didn’t try to prolong it. Besides, she couldn’t come up with an argument that wouldn’t sound frantic and interfering. “Would you like some help getting back to your room?”
The older woman shook her head, then raised her chin in a way Honey knew indicated pure stubbornness. “No. I’ll manage on my own.” The curve of her lips and the love in her eyes softened the crisp words.
Smiling inwardly at her mother-in-law’s refusal to give in to the infirmities of old age, Honey nodded. She had a tendency to be overprotective of those she loved, but Amanda always found a way to gently remind Honey that she wasn’t quite ready for a nursing home.
Honey followed the electric wheelchair into the hall. The soft hum of the motor grated on her frazzled nerves. She saw Amanda safely seated in the chairlift that would carry her to the second floor, then stowed the wheelchair in a nook beneath the stairs. After making sure Amanda reached the top safely, where her walker waited. Honey headed down the hall in search of Tess, Amanda’s long-time friend and housekeeper, to tell her of the arrival of their visitor tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning.
A sense of doom washed over Honey. In a few hours the secure life she’d made for herself would crumble around her.
She’d spent years forgetting the touch of Matt Logan’s lips, the caress of his hands, the way his smile warmed her soul, the afterglow of his tender love-making. But most of all, she’d fought hard to forget the pain she’d endured when he’d left town without a word to her.
Now, after seven years of silence, he planned to stroll back into her life as if he’d never left. To make matters worse, he’d be staying with them.
Matt under the same roof with her…and Danny. Oh, glory, she’d forgotten about her son. With concentrated effort, she tamped down the panic that followed on the heels of that thought, and fought for stability. She straightened her spine, forcing courage to the surface, courage she didn’t really feel.
You’ll deal with it, she told herself. You’ll deal with it just like you dealt with your father and your brother, Jesse.
But Matt, for all his flaws, had in no way resembled either her domineering father or her silent, brooding brother. Matt had been warm and understanding, and though he hadn’t known it, her emotional bulwark against her father. Matt had been…everything, or so she’d thought.
Suddenly, she felt like she had when her father had forced her to marry Stan Logan, Amanda’s spoiled son—as if her world had spun out of control, leaving her helpless and vulnerable. And with that vulnerability came dread.
She stepped into Tess Martin’s domain and found it deserted. Honey’s gaze darted to the kitchen wall phone. Emily. She’d call her sister. After all, not long ago, Emily had had to contend with having a man she’d once cared about walk back into her life. Maybe she’d know what Honey could do. In any case, talking to someone might help her regain her focus, and right now, she desperately needed focus. Focus and a plan.
Picking up the receiver, she held it to her ear with shaking hands and dialed Emily’s number. Emily’s mother-in-law answered.
“Rose, I know Emily is probably busy putting the twins to bed, but can you ask her to come over as soon as she’s finished? I need to talk to her. Danny’s father is coming home.”
Before Rose could answer, Tess came into the kitchen. As if she’d been doing something wrong, Honey abruptly hung up. Bad enough that she felt like a complete fool for allowing the sudden reappearance of Matt Logan to throw her for a loop. She didn’t have to broadcast it to one and all.
Tess grinned at her. The housekeeper’s apple cheeks dented into deep-set dimples. Honey had always felt apple-cheeked women were a product of children’s literature, until she met Tess. But then, a lot of kid resided in Amanda’s Irish cook.
“Secret admirer?” Tess asked with the familiarity acquired over the twenty-plus years she’d been with Amanda. The housekeeper had long ago adopted the entire Logan clan as her own, and treated them accordingly, including Amanda. Going to the sink, she began rinsing the cups Honey and Amanda had used for tea earlier.
“No. Just talking to my sister. She’s coming over.” Honey suddenly had too many hands and nowhere to put any of them. “I’ll make some coffee.”
As she started the mindless task of assembling a pot of coffee, she could sense Tess watching her. Knowing how possessively Tess ruled her kitchen, when she finally spoke, it shocked Honey that her words held no reprimand. “Something wrong, dear?”
Honey jumped at the unexpected question. “Huh? Oh, no, what makes you ask?”
Gently, Tess removed the pot from the coffee-maker, then swung the basket open. “Even though she makes coffee strong enough for a mouse to trot across, Miss Emily prefers it on the weak side. But I’m thinkin’ this might be just a wee bit too weak even for her.” They both stared down at the empty filter. “You sure there’s nothing wrong?”
Shaking her head, Honey stepped aside and allowed Tess to add coffee grounds to the basket. “I’m fine, just a little distracted.”
That had to be the understatement of the century. Distracted didn’t come close to describing her confused mind, her rolling stomach, her throbbing temples and the need to run anywhere as far and as fast as she could, as long as it was away from here, away from Matt.
“Miss Amanda wants you to freshen the spare room. Her nephew is coming to stay for a while. He’ll be here tomorrow morning.” Was that really her voice sounding so calm and in control?
“Matthew? Coming here?”
Honey nodded.
Tess huffed impatiently. “Why didn’t she wait until morning to be tellin’ me? Nothing like giving a body notice.”
“We just found out a few hours ago.”
“Oh, well.” Tess’s frown turned into a grin. When she spoke again, her lyrical Irish accent became even more pronounced. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised. Never could figure out what that lad was up to. He hasn’t changed a jot. Sure and it’ll be lovely to have him home again.”
Delving under the sink for the basket with all her cleaning aids in it, Tess extracted it, hooked it over her arm, then grabbed her broom and headed out the door. As she passed into the hall, she continued a discourse on Matt’s virtues.
Honey didn’t hear what she said, nor did she care that Amanda’s housekeeper proclaimed Matt to be the greatest thing since bottled water, or that everyone else in the house took immense delight in his unexpected visit. Honey had her own opinion of Matthew Logan, and it didn’t come anywhere close to being charitable or delighted.
When she thought about the mess he’d left her to untangle, her anger began to rise to the top of her thoughts like cream in a milk bottle. The angrier she got, the less shaky she felt, so she gave her temper full rein, enjoying being back in control. By the time Emily walked through the door, Honey had summoned up a full head of steam. All of it aimed at Matt Logan.
MATT STEERED HIS BLACK pickup truck to the side of the road, right next to the sign that read Welcome to Bristol, New York, Population 3,000 & Growing. He grinned at the optimism of the town fathers. Unless things had changed drastically, Bristol had remained relatively the same size for over thirty years. With the exception of when the town fathers allocated funds for an occasional spring touch-up, the sign had also remained unchanged.
He took in the familiar mountain skyline, sighed contentedly, then did a quick check of the motorcycle tied down in the back of the truck. His hometown felt good, right, familiar. He planned on proving to all those naysayers that you could return to your roots, even if it meant doing battle with demons from the past. Maybe that bull had done him a favor when it gored his leg and forced him to take early retirement.
Memories crowded into the interior of the truck. For a long minute he just sat there, staring out the windshield at the town from which he’d fled. He hadn’t come back, not once, not even for Stan’s funeral a year ago or his father’s funeral two years before that.
He sincerely regretted not being there for his aunt when Stan had died, but coming would have meant seeing Honey again, and he hoped to avoid that for as long as possible. Besides, he’d been in Australia with the rodeo, and by the time he got back, it would have been all over. When he’d spoken to Aunt Amanda a few days ago, he’d expressed his regret, and she’d assured him that under the circumstances, she’d understood his absence. But it didn’t erase the guilt from his conscience. Stan had been his best friend, and despite what he’d done, and the fact that Matt hadn’t forgiven him, Matt should have made the effort to attend for his aunt’s sake.
His father’s funeral was a different matter. He’d stayed away intentionally. What good would it have done to be there? The old man wouldn’t have cared one way or the other. Matt’s existence had never been of any great importance to Kevin Logan during his life. Why would it be any different at his death?
Matt stirred restlessly, then stretched his right leg over the seat. The long ride straight through from Texas had cramped the muscle in his injured limb. As he gingerly massaged the cramped calf muscle, he recalled the doctor warning him that this would happen for a while. The ache finally eased.
A full moon, hanging like a large ripe lemon in the sky, turned the treetops behind Osgood’s Market to silver. Funny, but that moon never quite looked the same from anywhere else.
Suddenly anxious to once more become a part of the slow-paced, sleepy hamlet, Matt pulled back onto the road and steered his truck toward The Diner. He knew it would be the one place in town open at this hour, the one place that served the best cup of coffee and the biggest burgers in four counties. Once he’d filled his rumbling stomach, he’d head to Aunt Amanda’s and then, in the morning, he’d go to the town hall and pay up the overdue taxes on his father’s house.
No. Pushing the past out and moving in new memories, happy memories, meant starting to think of it as his house.
Jim, a fellow rodeo rider, had warned Matt that he would need to settle up with the past before he could start a future. Matt didn’t believe that. If he just concentrated on redecorating and stopped thinking about the unhappiness he’d known in that house, the memories would soon fade away. Besides, how do you settle up with a man who’s dead and buried?
“SO, WHAT DO YOU PLAN on doing?”
Honey avoided Emily’s gaze and her question. The silence in the kitchen grew louder. She occupied her hands by stirring her cold coffee. Her shield of anger had dissolved as quickly as it had materialized. Uncertainty had returned with a vengeance.
“Honey?”
She gave an abrupt shake of her head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I hate to be the one to point this out, but you don’t have a whole lot of time to decide.” Emily stopped Honey’s nervous movements by placing a hand on her arm. “He’ll be here in the morning.”
“I know that,” Honey snapped. Immediately contrite about her sharp tone, she flashed a weak smile at her sister. “I know,” she repeated more softly. The role of the one needing advice did not sit well with her.
She stood, walked to the sink, then poured out the cold coffee. Turning, she grabbed the coffeepot and refilled her cup. “What right does he have to come back here and intrude in my life?”
“The same right my husband had to come back. Like Kat, this was Matt’s home, the town where he grew up.”
Knowing her statement had been totally unreasonable, Honey refrained from replying. Slowly, she shifted her gaze from the dark liquid in her cup to her sister’s worried face. “Do you think he’ll notice—about Danny, I mean?”
“Unless he’s gone blind in the last seven years, I’d say the odds are very good that he’ll catch on. You better prepare for it.”
Honey nodded, unable to speak past the knot that Emily’s warning brought to her throat.
Emily glanced at Honey, then at her cup, then back to Honey. She played absently with the end of her long, brown braid. “There’s something that always bothered me, but you never wanted to talk about Matt, so I never asked. Why didn’t you tell him?”
Honey sighed, then took her seat across from Emily. She stole thinking time by carefully arranging the base of Danny’s superhero mug to fit inside a group of green gingham squares on the place mat. She smiled sadly. Even Danny had heroes, but in all her life, she could not ever recall having one herself. Shaking away the unusual wave of self-pity, she directed her thoughts to Emily’s question.
“Dad told me not to tell anyone. Said it would just make matters worse.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that they could have gotten much worse. I tried to tell Matt, anyway.” She plucked nervously at a loose thread in the place mat. “Problem was, no one in town knew where to find him. He’d just vanished.” She held her palms up and hunched her shoulders. “After a few years went by, I just felt it would be better not to disrupt anyone’s life. What was the sense?” She almost added, Would it have brought Matt home?, but thought better of it.
“What about Matt’s dad? Did you tell him?”
She shook her head. “Mr. Logan never took much of an interest in Matt.” She stared off into a mental world devoid of any memories of Matt and his dad interacting. “I never saw any sign of affection between them. Sometimes I got the feeling that Matt didn’t exist for his father. After Matt left, Mr. Logan became more unapproachable than ever. I went there a couple of times, but he wouldn’t answer the door, so I gave up. I sent him a letter, but since he never acknowledged it, I don’t even know if he read it.”
“What about Matt’s mother?” Emily shifted to a more comfortable position in her chair, then crossed her denim clad legs. “I was too young to remember her. Did she leave them or what?”
“She died suddenly when Matt was ten.” Honey sipped her coffee and made a face. Cold again. She set the cup down and pushed it away, then looked at her sister. “All this reminiscing is not solving my immediate problem, Em. How did you handle Kat showing up? I know you were so angry at him you wanted to beat him to within an inch of his life, then you ended up marrying him and having his twin daughters, but what did you—”
“Whoops. Wait a minute.” Emily held up her hand. “The circumstances were a bit different.”
“Sure, you wanted him to father your child so you could fulfill the conditions of a crazy old man’s will and keep your home.” Honey smiled for the first time that evening, then shook her head. “You never did anything simply. Leave it to you to go overboard and have twins. Dad would be very happy.”
At the mention of her twin daughters, a beautiful smile transformed Emily’s face. “Best bargain I ever made. I got a man I adore and two delightful children. And don’t forget Rose. My best friend turned out to be my mother-in-law. Not bad for a girl who was ready to hit the panic button when she found out about the codicil to Dad’s will.”
“Ready to hit it? To my recollection, you slammed your fist into it.”
Both women laughed. The laughter died slowly, but when it did, Honey still had not found a solution to her dilemma. How did she contend with Matt coming back into her life?
“So, what’s my answer?” she said, looking at Emily.
Emily checked her watch, then stood, slipped her purse strap over her shoulder and smiled weakly at Honey. “I don’t know that there is an answer, at least not one you can turn into a concrete plan. I’d say play it by ear. Go with your gut.” She started to turn toward the door, then paused. “Better yet, go with your heart.”
Honey frowned.
MATT STOOD ON THE FRONT porch of his aunt’s house. He glanced at his watch: 1:00 a.m. He should have left The Diner sooner, but he’d enjoyed talking with friends he hadn’t seen in years, remembering old times, rehashing the trouble he and his cousin Stan had gotten into as kids. He’d missed that while wandering from place to place. That friendliness, that familiarity was what he’d come home to recapture. Certainly that would chase the unhappy ghost from the corners of his house and his life.
He glanced at Amanda’s front door and reached for the knocker, then hesitated. He knew a dynamite blast wouldn’t wake Tess, but his aunt had always been a very light sleeper. He hated to wake her just to let him in. However, the one other place he could hope to find a soft bed for the night happened to be located in a motel thirty miles away. After driving for hours, he didn’t want to even think of getting on the road again. They’d find him in the morning wrapped around a pole somewhere, his injured leg swollen to the size of a small tree trunk.
He continued to stare at the door, trying to work through his problem, then an idea came to him. He stepped back to inspect the rose trellis on the side of the house. It had frequently provided him and Stan with late night access to Stan’s bedroom during their senior year in high school. Should he? He’d probably be arrested for breaking and entering and get thrown in the Bristol jail. Oh, hell, at least he’d have a warm bed to sleep in until he could make bail.
Quietly, he limped to the side of the house and grabbed the first set of slats on the trellis. Pulling himself up, he bounced experimentally, testing the strength of the makeshift ladder and his leg. He had gained a few pounds since his senior year and wasn’t sure that time hadn’t rotted out the trellis.
Though it creaked a bit and his leg throbbed slightly, he decided that both would support his weight for the short climb. Slowly, he inched his way up, cursing softly at the bite of an occasional thorn piercing his skin, then boosted himself over the balcony of Stan’s old room. The French doors stood open. Tess had no doubt been airing the room for his arrival.
NEXT DOOR, Amanda Logan had heard the telltale creak of the rose trellis, a noise she’d grown familiar with when Stan and Matt had used it as an emergency entrance after their twelve o’clock curfew had come and gone. She’d recognized her nephew’s voice cursing the rose thorns, just as he had years before. Just to make sure she wasn’t wrong about the identity of their midnight visitor, she slipped from her bed and, with the aid of her walker, shuffled to the window.
Just as she pushed the curtain aside, Matt launched himself over the balcony rail. For a moment, she waited for Stan to follow on Matt’s heels, as he would have years ago. Back then, she’d have stood here watching the two teenagers scale the balcony railing, all the while thinking they’d pulled the wool over her eyes.
But Stan didn’t appear. Stan never would appear again.
Tears threatened. Though a year had passed since Stan had been killed in his race car, the pain sometimes felt very raw, the emptiness overwhelming.
She shook the tears and the poignant memories away, then maneuvered herself back to the bed. No time now for sorrow. Now was the time for new memories, new adventures, new loves.
She lay back against the pillows, quietly picturing the scene in the next room.
Tomorrow, thanks to fate and her slight intervention, this dreary old house would bear witness to an old wrong being set right, and perhaps, in the process, a new beginning.
MATT STEPPED OVER the threshold of his cousin’s old room and stopped dead in his tracks.
There, spread out over the discarded bedcovers, lay a woman clad only in a T-shirt and bikini panties. One long, shapely leg stretched out across the white sheet. The other, bent at the knee, helped to expose a good portion of her naked bottom.
He crept closer, then moved to the side to allow the moonlight to bathe her supine body. He felt like a voyeur, but he couldn’t help himself. Something about her called out to him, something familiar. When he stood at the foot of the bed, he knew why.
Honey Kingston lay deep in sleep, her hand cupping her cheek, her glorious honey-blond hair splayed over the pillow in loose tangles.
Despite the shock of seeing the one woman he’d hoped to avoid, he had to admit that she still had the power to take his breath away—and to provoke that churning fear that had sent him running from her years earlier.
He could not recall ever seeing a woman who equaled Honey’s beauty, and he’d seen many on his travels. His stomach felt bottomless. His heart threatened to implode. Old emotions rushed forward. Emotions Matt had tried to kill in every way he could for over seven years. Emotions he’d been certain he had dealt with—until now.
As if it were yesterday, memories of her soft flesh sliding over his buffeted him. Almost unconsciously, he moved to the bedside. Something drove him, something he couldn’t seem to control. He touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb and ran it slowly and gently over her creamy skin. She moaned and stirred in her sleep. He pulled back, half from fear of waking her, but more from that old sensual magnetism that spelled trouble and gave life to that gut-wrenching need stirring deep within him.
Despite his fear, emotions he’d thought never to experience again where Honey was concerned ran rampant through him. His groin tightened. He wanted to climb into bed with her and kiss her to wakefulness, hear the little noises she used to make when he made love to her, feel his heartbeat join hers.
He jumped back as if scalded. He had to stop this—now. Damn her! What was there about this woman that stole his common sense, his shield of protection, his pride? Even if he could get past his base inclinations, the fact remained that she’d married his cousin before Matt’s trail dust had had time to settle. Pain sliced through him, as sharp and agonizing as it had when he’d first gotten word of her betrayal.
The clipping that announced the wedding had come in a plain white envelope with no return address. Only a postmark stamped Bristol, NY, and the date. He’d recognized the handwriting as his father’s, the only one who knew where he was. Matt still didn’t know why he’d contacted his father and sent him the post office box address. Maybe he’d hoped the old man would change. Maybe…
He whirled and headed for the door. He shouldn’t have come here. Could those naysayers he’d scoffed at known what they were talking about, after all? Perhaps you couldn’t come home again. Perhaps the ghosts of his childhood were much stronger than any human’s resolve to banish them. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten over Honey Kingston and, God help him, maybe he never would.
Chapter Two
Wide awake, Honey lay staring at the dark bedroom ceiling. Her heart beat a heavy rhythm in her chest. At first, when she’d heard the scuffle of footsteps on the balcony, she had feared an intruder had scaled the rose trellis. But when the shaft of moonlight illuminated Matt Logan’s face, she knew a totally different kind of fear, the kind that made her heart ache with bitter loss, even when she’d declared her heart empty.
Recalling how, when Matt had stood over her a few minutes earlier, she’d managed to remain stone still, she congratulated herself. Then she remembered suppressing a groan of pure passion when he touched her, and the trembling inside returned. Aftershocks, she told herself.
With her skin still tingling where he’d smoothed her cheek, and her insides tangled into knots of dread, it surprised her that she could be flippant. But flippancy helped her contend with the concentrated effort she had to exert to keep from touching the spot his fingers had caressed. Somehow, she felt that if she gave in on this one small urge concerning Matt Logan, she would cave in on the important stuff, too, and she couldn’t afford to.
She rolled to her side and stared into the darkness. Dear heavens, how would she get through the next few weeks and survive? How could she stand being in the same house with him, when she wanted to feed his carcass to the turkey buzzards that populated the woods behind Amanda’s house?
Impelled by her lack of anger at the man, she bolted upright. Had she totally lost her mind? One touch and she’d been charmed again. Why had fate deemed that she should have men in her life that only knew how to hurt? Other women had heroes. So far, all Honey had were the throwaways. Well, she swore for the thousandth time, Danny would not turn out to be one of them.
To reinforce her anger, she rattled off a mental laundry list of all the reasons she had to detest Matt Logan. Because of Matt, she’d had to stand alone against her father’s wrath. Because of Matt, she’d been too heartbroken to fight her father and had ended up enduring six years of hell as Stan Logan’s wife, just so Frank Kingston could hold his head up in town. Because of Matt, Jesse’s rage with their father had forced her half brother to storm from their house, and she’d lost another faux hero. Because of Matt, she’d had to struggle to raise her son as a decent human being, with values and a sense of responsibility. Because of Matt her heart lay dead in her chest.
And as if he hadn’t done enough to make her life miserable, Matt’s return to Bristol had aroused the memories of a self-centered, uncaring father who had run his family with a tyrannical hand.
She sniffed the air experimentally. At times like this, when the pain of what her father had done to her returned, raw and burning, she imagined she could smell cigarette smoke. Since no one in Amanda’s house smoked, Honey knew it wasn’t real, just her pain manifesting itself in her imagination. But even knowing it was not real, fear of opening her eyes and finding herself back in her father’s house and under his rule, seeped through her.
The smell brought with it other things: memories of the night she’d found her father sitting alone in a dark room, smoking, while his wife—her and Emily’s mother—lay in bed waiting. His silent presence had seemed to fill the big house. The red glow on the tip of his cigarette was the only visible sign that he was there in body, if not in mind.
For a long time Honey had stood there, just outside the door, wondering where his thoughts had taken him, willing him to allow her to reach beyond the icy barrier around his heart. When she couldn’t, she’d credited her failure to being less than adequate in his eyes. She’d cried herself to sleep that night and innumerable nights after.
It took years for her to understand that her father’s hell was of his own making. That neither she nor Emily nor their mother had caused it. But they’d all paid for it with his lack of understanding and his angry silences.
She recalled how alone she’d felt back then. When Jesse, her half brother, had come to live with them after his mother’s death, they’d hit it off quite well. They hadn’t been terribly close, just intuitive about each other’s needs. Honey had thought she’d finally found a champion, but she’d soon realized that the sullen child felt about as much at home in the Kingston house as she did. Then Jesse walked out in a rage, and another of her heroes donned the tarnished armor of a fallen knight.
But despite the disappointments she’d suffered in those around her—her father’s iron fist, Jesse’s self-absorption, Matt’s desertion, Stan’s immaturity—Honey had emerged a stronger person. She came to realize that she and she alone controlled her happiness, and that heroes existed only in movies and novels.
She shook away the memories and lay back against the pillows. Being a pragmatic person, she couldn’t go on fooling herself. She knew what had robbed her of a night’s sleep, and it wasn’t only the ghosts from her past. She’d learned to live with them long ago. Neither was it seeing Matt again. After years of practice, she’d become an expert at handling the residual feelings around Matt that surfaced from time to time.
Deep in her soul, she knew that her apprehension stemmed from more than the tiny spark of excitement that seemed to grow at the very idea of coming face-to-face with the man she’d once loved. The source of her growing fear generated far more serious consequences than merely meeting an old flame after seven years.
“MATT’S HERE, you know.”
At Amanda’s words Honey’s hands stilled. Carefully, before she dropped it, she placed the glass of water Amanda had used to take her morning medication on the night table. Should she tell Amanda she knew? That he’d been in her bedroom last night?
Amanda chuckled from her bed and saved Honey the trouble of coming to a decision. “I heard him crawling up the rose trellis last night, just as if he were back in high school.” She looked pointedly at Honey. “He came right through your room. Didn’t you hear him?”
As if she hadn’t heard the question, Honey quickly carried the pill bottles into the bathroom before Amanda detected the truth in her expression. She placed the bottles in the medicine cabinet, then leaned on the sink for support.
Lifting her face, she stared at her white complexion in the mirror. She had to stop this right now. Matt was here. Matt would be here for an indeterminate length of time. She had to pull herself together before she went downstairs and came face-to-face with him. She turned on the faucet, scooped up a handful of cold water and splashed it on her face. She could do this.
Determination in place, spine ramrod straight, she patted the water from her skin with one of Amanda’s fluffy towels, then returned to the bedroom. “Are you ready to get dressed for breakfast?”
Pulling the lilac, quilted coverlet higher on her body, Amanda shook her head. “I’m still a bit tired. I think I’ll be decadent this morning and steal a few more hours sleep. Six-thirty is an obscenely indecent hour to ask anyone to get out of bed.”
“But what about Matt?”
“I’m sure you can entertain him for me, dear. Just make my apologies and tell him I’ll see him at lunch.”
The idea of entertaining Matt in any way sent butterflies careening around Honey’s stomach, but concern for her mother-in-law helped her ignore them. Amanda was traditionally an early riser. Honey had never heard her complain about the early hour before. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine, just a bit tired.” Amanda waved her hand at Honey, then snuggled down and closed her eyes. “You go ahead. Danny will be up soon and wanting you to have breakfast with him.”
Danny!
Honey had totally forgotten that Danny would be going down for breakfast soon. She moved quickly to the doorway, turned off the light, then closed the door behind her. Hurrying down the hallway, she passed the spare room, noting the still-closed door. Thank goodness. Maybe Matt had decided to sleep in as well.
ENJOYING THE SILENCE of the early morning hours, Matt sipped his coffee and stared out the large dining room windows overlooking the vast expanse of lawn fronting his aunt’s house. A mangy orange cat wandered aimlessly across the grass. Matt wondered if the animal had a home or, like him, just wandered from house to house looking for the next meal. But that had changed for Matt as soon as he’d arrived at Aunt Amanda’s.
He had always felt at home here. When things had gotten beyond bearing at his house, Aunt Amanda had opened her arms to him and filled the void left by a mother who’d died when he was a small child and a father who found so much lacking in his small son. Matt had found love here with Amanda and Tess. Love and family and continuity. Things that had been painfully missing in his own home.
He smiled. Was it any wonder that when he decided to come home, he’d called Amanda? From all reports at The Diner last night, his father had done little to keep the place up after Matt left. It didn’t surprise him. His father had mourned the loss of his wife and Matt’s older brother deeply, and had waited many years for the release of death. For Kevin Logan, the house that should have been a home had become nothing more than a way station on that journey.
Matt shook off his dismal memories and instead turned his thoughts to the woman he’d found in bed last night, the woman who had married his cousin and best friend two weeks after Matt left town.
Like an old companion, he welcomed the familiar swell of anger inside him that inevitably came with the reminder of how quickly Honey had forgotten him. That alone confirmed that he’d done the right thing by leaving before she broke his heart. His anger cleansed him, burning away the ghosts of yesterday, making room for the promise of tomorrows that didn’t include his father or Honey Logan.
A sound from behind him stopped his musings.
He lifted his gaze to the reflection in the window. Honey stood just inside the door, her glorious hair cascading over shoulders left bare by the spaghetti straps of a cornflower-blue sundress, her face devoid of makeup. Some women had to be groomed to the teeth to be classified as beautiful. Not Honey. She’d been blessed with natural beauty. In Matt’s view, even though she had a heart as black as the night, no other woman could compare to her.
An image of her in bed last night flashed through his mind. His body stirred in response. To his utter annoyance, an overwhelming urge to touch her again, feel her silky flesh under his callused fingertips, burned through him.
“Hello, Matt.” Her voice seemed to come from a distance, but the sound danced up his spine. She glanced quickly around the room. “You’re alone?”
He took a fortifying sip of his coffee to wash down the knot that clogged his throat, while stalling for time to get his traitorous body back in line. Then he slowly turned to face her. “Honey, seems you and I are the only early risers around here. Oh, and of course, Tess. But then you always were up and out with the birds.”
Honey felt the barb of his words bite deep. She knew he referred to the nights they’d spent making love and the mornings she’d dressed and dashed home before her father awoke.
Not ready to exchange unpleasantries with Matt, she went to the mahogany sideboard, poured herself a cup of strong, black coffee, then took a seat at the opposite end of the table, as far from him as she could get without moving into the kitchen.
“Amanda sends her apologies. She’s feeling tired this morning and wanted to sleep a bit longer. Normally, she’d be down here before anyone.”
He sat a bit straighter, his eyes showing his concern. “She’s not sick or anything, is she?”
Honey shook her head, the sound of his voice doing strange things to her ability to speak. Beneath the table, she placed her palms firmly on her legs to stop them from shaking. Despite all her pep talks to prepare herself, the sight of Matt by daylight had a stronger effect on her than she’d anticipated. But that unguarded moment had passed, and now she had her control back…or so she thought until she looked at him again.
Basically, he looked the same, but his work-toughened, solid biceps straining at the short sleeves of his blue shirt were not those of the twenty-seven-year-old who had held her close. Nor had his skin been quite that shade of warm, golden brown back then. His eyes drew her attention. While still strikingly blue, they contained a sadness, an emptiness that she’d never seen in them before.
As if aware of her discovery, he blinked, then turned back to the window, effectively dismissing her presence and hiding his feelings behind a blank wall. Nothing new there. In all the time they’d been together, Honey knew surprisingly little of Matt. Obviously, he planned on keeping it that way. And that was fine by her.
She adroitly avoided thinking about the hours they’d spent making love and saying little.
A puddle of sunlight bathed him, glinting in blue-black flames off his ebony hair. She swallowed hard and clenched her fists to still the itch that had invaded her fingers. She’d once taken great pleasure in caressing the silky strands and teasing him about being blessed with such beautiful hair, when so many women would have killed for it.
The sound of pots clattering in the kitchen brought her out of her sensual haze. She straightened and picked up her coffee to give her something to do with her hands. “Amanda tells me you’re going to be living in your father’s place.”
“My place,” he corrected crisply. Without even glancing her way, he stood, walked to the sideboard and refilled his coffee cup from the silver pot.
As he headed back to his chair, the scent of his musky aftershave wafted to Honey. She held her breath until he was reseated. This simple act provided her with a distraction that kept her gaze from wandering to his tight posterior.
Finally, she could force words past her trembling lips. “Excuse me?”
“I said, it’s my place.”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware of a distinction.”
Ignoring her, he turned his attention beyond the windows again.
Honey glanced toward the stairs, then checked her watch. The tingle on the back of her neck told her exactly when his attention swung back to her.
“Am I keeping you from something important?”
She looked at him, but before she could answer, he turned away again, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
Miffed at being ignored, she met his sarcasm head-on. She glared at him, relieved at the appearance of an emotion she could count on, could control. “No. My son’s bus will—”
His dark gaze snapped to her. “Son? You and Stan had a son?”
She frowned. “You didn’t know?” She’d been so certain someone would have told him. Why hadn’t Amanda mentioned her beloved grandson? She had never been reticent before about expounding on his virtues to anyone she could corner into listening. Why not Matt?
He turned toward her, his expression interested and definitely accusing. “No. Apparently no one thought it important enough to mention to me.”
His words bit deep into her conscience, making her react defensively. “Maybe because no one knew where you were.” She could have bitten off her tongue. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to spar with you, Matt.”
He set his coffee cup forcefully on the table, rose and strode to her side. She had barely enough time to notice his slight limp. Placing both palms on the mahogany tabletop, he leaned down till their eyes were level.
“Oh yes, you damned well do, lady. You want to demand answers and rip my head off. Well, I have my own list of questions, Honey. Like why did you marry Stan before I’d passed the town limits?”
She drew in a deep breath and stared into his cold, angry eyes. Why did he care? Determinedly, she vowed that nothing would make her fall apart now, not even his intimidating tactics. She stood, pushing her chair back so roughly that it nearly tumbled over. Her hand shot out to catch it. “That didn’t concern you seven years ago, and it’s none of your business now.”
She started to walk away, but he grabbed her upper arms and swung her around to face him. “I think it is my business.”
She struggled to free herself, not because he held her too tightly, but because his touch drained her energy to fight him. And she needed to fight him with all of the inner strength she had. That became more apparent with each passing moment. If she wanted to survive this, she had to fight. “Well, think again.”
Then she made the mistake of making eye contact with him. The old magnetism that had drawn her to him to begin with reared its ugly head, holding her paralyzed in Matt’s gaze. All rational thought vanished.
Matt could feel the heat of her skin burning into his palms. Touching her had been a stupid move. But he couldn’t let go. No matter how hard he willed himself to do it, he could not let Honey go. For what seemed like hours they just stood there, eyes burning, chests heaving. In anger or in renewal of an old passion? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
What he did know was that if he didn’t let her go in the next ten seconds, he’d press his lips against that sugar-sweet mouth of hers and kiss her to within an inch of her life.
That realization made him abruptly release her.
For a moment more she stood there staring at him, as if trying to find her center of balance. Then she took an unsteady step backward, one hand reaching blindly for her discarded chair, the other clutching her throat. Her chest rose and fell quickly, pressing her breasts against the thin fabric of her sundress.
“M-M-Mom?”
In unison they turned toward the doorway. Honey heard the catch in Matt’s breath. She forced her lips to curve in a smile and made her feet move to stand beside her son. “Danny, this is your dad’s cousin, your…Uncle Matt.” The control in her voice astounded her.
She waited, her breath imprisoned in her burning lungs. She watched as Matt’s gaze traveled slowly over features so like his own, and nothing like hers or Stan’s blond hair and fair skin. Did he recognize his son? Except for a twitch on the right side of his lips, he kept his emotions hidden behind an enigmatic mask.
“Shake Uncle Matt’s hand,” she forced herself to say.
“How d-d-do you d-d-do?” Danny extended his small hand.
Matt took it, his gaze never leaving the child’s face. When Matt smiled, she finally exhaled the trapped air.
“How do you do? I’m so glad to meet you.”
“W-w-why?” Danny let go of Matt’s hand.
Matt’s eyes widened, as if he was shocked by Danny’s question. He squatted down to be on the boy’s level. “Well, because your…dad and I were great friends, and I hope we can be, too.” His gaze shifted to Honey with a burning look so intense, she knew she’d counted herself safe too soon. He knew.
She looked away. “Danny, you need to get your breakfast, sweetie. The school bus will be here in a few minutes. You don’t want to be late for school on the first day of rehearsal.”
Matt stood. “Rehearsal?”
“For my s-s-school play.” Danny explained. “M-M-Mom wants m-m-me to be in it, b-b-but I—”
“Don’t tell me you don’t want to.” Matt raised his eyebrows, as if in surprise. Before Honey could do it, Matt poured milk on the bowl of oat cereal dotted with tiny technicolor marshmallow stars and moons, then carried it to Danny’s place.
Danny lowered his gaze to the table. “The k-k-kids will l-l-laugh at me.”
Matt took his seat and centered his full attention on Danny. “Why would they do that?”
Honey couldn’t believe he’d asked such a question. Wasn’t it obvious Danny had a problem? Why underline it by making him explain? She stepped forward to intercede for her son.
“Because I t-t-talk funny.”
Frowning, Matt leaned back in his chair. “Do you? I hadn’t noticed. What’s funny about the way you talk?”
“That’s enough, Matt!” Honey couldn’t stand to see Danny put through this.
“It’s okay, M-M-Mom. I can tell h-h-him.”
For a moment, Honey hesitated. Then she saw Danny smile at Matt. He usually didn’t talk to strangers. This was a first. “If it’s okay with you. But you don’t have to explain to anyone,” she stated.
The boy glanced at her. “I kn-kn-know.” The empty spot left by the tooth he’d lost last week winked up at her. Then he looked back to Matt. “I stutter.”
Matt’s brows dipped deeper. “Hmm. You didn’t stutter just then. Are you sure you stutter?”
Danny laughed out loud. Honey hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d heard her son’s unbridled laughter. He took a big spoonful of cereal and chewed. Milk dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. He caught it with his fist, then went back to eating his cereal.
“Use your napkin, Danny.” She handed him the white linen square.
“So, tell me about this play. What’s your part?”
Danny swallowed. “A t-t-tomato.”
As Danny expanded on his debut into the world of “Farmer Jones’s Vegetable Garden,” Matt listened raptly to every word.
Honey suddenly felt invisible. And she wasn’t at all sure she liked that feeling. In fact, she knew she didn’t.
Danny had just finished relating the play’s grand climax, describing how all the vegetables came on stage for their final bow, when a horn sounded out front.
“Danny, the bus is here. You can tell Uncle Matt more later.”
Jumping up, Danny grabbed his knapsack and turned back to Matt. “You’ll be h-h-here when I g-g-get home?”
“Right here,” Matt assured him, then smiled a smile that Honey hadn’t seen in over seven years.
Danny beamed from ear to ear, first at Matt, then at his mother. It was like looking at a smaller version of Matt. For the second time that morning, she needed the chair for stability.
Glad for an excuse to escape Matt and his smothering charm, she walked Danny to the door and down the front steps of the house. She leaned down and straightened his collar while offering her cheek for a goodbye kiss. With a sigh and rolling eyes, he obliged, leaving a milk smear on her skin. As she straightened and wiped it off, she noted Danny waving to the dining room windows. Turning, she found Matt, curtain pulled back, watching Danny climb aboard the yellow-and-black bus.
MATT NEVER TOOK HIS EYES off the bus as it moved down the driveway, the sound of exuberant children’s voices spilling from the open windows.
“My son.” The words slipped from his lips experimentally.
Suddenly, a gut-wrenching ache seized him. The pain nearly doubled him over. He’d missed six years of Danny’s life. She’d stolen it from him, and he could never, ever get it back. He curled his hands into fists and drove one against the window frame to still the agony that sliced through his chest and ate deep into his heart.
He wanted to go after Honey and demand to know why she’d never told him, but he was afraid of what he’d do. Instead, he took deep breaths until the ache eased and he could stand upright again. Through the curtain, he could see Honey, her back to him, her gazed centered on the spot where the bus carrying their son had last been visible through the line of red oaks bordering the drive.
How could a woman he remembered as being sweet and sensitive have done something so cruel? Then he recalled how, seven years ago, she’d professed to love him, then barely waited for him to clear the town line before she’d married his best friend and cousin. Sweet and sensitive hardly fit Honey Kingston.
His mouth set in a grim line of determination, Matt strode from the room, determined to learn the truth. His angry steps ate up the distance between him and the woman who had betrayed him, not once, but twice, and in the cruelest way possible.
Careful not to alarm her of his approach, he walked up behind her, then laid his hand on her shoulder. When she seemed to ignore him, he spun her to face him.
“Come inside. We need to talk…about our son.”
Chapter Three
Honey looked around Amanda’s large, Victorian living room. Almost two years ago, this room had held her sister, Emily, Honey’s soon-to-be brother-in-law, Kat, and all their wedding guests. Now the same room suddenly seemed much too small to hold just Honey, an irate Matt and all the unanswered questions hanging in the air about the small boy who’d just climbed on the school bus.
Honey glanced cautiously at Matt. Though she’d known that she’d have to deal with this issue from the moment Amanda had announced that Matt would be coming to live with them, she’d fought against it. Now she couldn’t sidestep it any longer. Oddly, the idea of finally letting go of her secrets almost came as a relief. She’d only held on to them to protect Danny and his grandmother from heartache.
Logically, despite the fact that Matt had walked out on her, he had not walked out on their son, since he had no knowledge of his existence. Although her personal opinion of Matt Logan wouldn’t win him any awards, deep down, she knew he would not have deserted Danny had he been given the choice. And Danny should not be deprived of his father’s love because she and Matt had their problems, problems that in no way involved Danny. However, even after she divulged all that Matt would demand he be told, there was one more stumbling block that she knew Matt wasn’t going to be happy about.
Whether she liked it or not, the time had come to do what she’d tried to do seven years ago, and whether or not Matt would believe she’d made that attempt remained to be seen.
Squaring her shoulders, she faced him. “What do you want to know?” Her voice quivered. Damn! She hadn’t wanted to let her apprehension show. She cleared her throat, hoping that he’d read the crack in her voice as physical, rather than emotional.
“Everything. Start at the beginning.” Matt stood just inside the closed door, waiting, one hand on the door frame above his head, the other thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, pulling the denim tight across the lower front of his body.
Tearing her gaze away from temptation, Honey took a deep breath and swallowed. The trembling in her legs made the need to sit apparent, but she stood, refusing to give him even that much of an edge. She cleared her throat. “You’re right. Danny is yours, not Stan’s.”
Matt cursed softly and covered the space separating them in three long strides. “I hardly needed that confirmed. I have school pictures of me that could easily have been taken of Danny. The kid’s a miniature of me. How long did you expect to keep me in the dark?”
“I didn’t expect any such thing.” She glared at him. This was hard enough without his sarcasm. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
Taking a seat on an overstuffed chair, Matt leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands tightly in front of him, as if by immobilizing them he could harness the anger tightening his shoulder muscles and blazing from his eyes. “Go on. I’m anxious to hear your excuses for keeping my son’s existence from me for almost seven years.”
Grateful for the support of a sturdy piece of furniture, she dropped onto the sofa. “You have no right to judge me on this, Matt. You walked out, not me. I would have told you, if you’d been here.”
Matt leaned back. He couldn’t fight her on that score. Neither could he tell her why he’d walked out. How could he tell her that he’d run like a frightened rabbit because his father thought him a poor excuse for a son, and that loving her scared the hell out of him? Even if he told her, what would it change? She hadn’t cared enough even to wait and see if he’d come back. She’d married Stan and cheated Matt out of his son.
The bottom line was that, unless he wanted to get into the whole thing about his father, something he’d never told anyone, he had no choice but to allow her to think what she would about him. But that didn’t explain why she’d never told him about Danny.
“Did you even try to find me, or did you just figure that you’d trick the first guy with heavy pockets who came along into marrying you, and let him think the kid was his?” Even as the words left his mouth, Matt could have kicked himself for giving his frustration a voice. He knew Honey well enough to know that, if he pushed too hard, she’d close up tighter than a clam.
Bolting to her feet, Honey glared at him. Her hands twisted together, as if she was putting forth a superhuman effort not to slap him. Her furious words confirmed it. “How dare you imply that I tricked Stan or that I married him for money?”
To his utter annoyance, her marriage to Stan infuriated Matt. Dangerous territory, but he couldn’t resist asking the question that had burned itself into his mind all those years ago. “So why did you marry him?”
Honey turned away. “That’s none of your business. We’re discussing Danny, not my reasons for marrying Stan.”
Matt strongly disagreed with her reasoning. The two were so tightly entwined that he couldn’t have pried them apart with a crowbar. But he let that go—for now. Insulting Honey wouldn’t encourage her to tell him about his son and why Matt had been robbed of the first six years of the boy’s life. As hard as it might be, he had to hold back his anger and let Honey talk.
Shaking his head, he stood. “Listen, we’re not going to accomplish anything with a war of accusations about things that can’t be changed.” He motioned to the sofa. “Sit down and tell me what happened.”
For a long moment, Honey glared mutinously at him. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to continue. His remarks had been far from civil, and if he’d been in her shoes, he’d have walked out. To her credit, she hadn’t, telling him without putting it into words that she wanted to get the air cleared as much as he did. “Please.”
She backed away from him and sat, acutely aware that he hadn’t apologized for his words. Let him believe what he would. Matt Logan’s opinion of her didn’t matter at all, she told herself, but her anger simmered beneath her surface calm.
Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at him. “I never tricked Stan into anything. He knew up front that Danny wasn’t his, but it never made a difference to him. He loved him just as much as if he had fathered him naturally.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you try to find me? I had a right to know I had a son.”
The edge in his voice acted on her conscience like a finely honed rapier. Honey smoothed the material on the arm of the sofa, trying to find the words to tell him that she had tried, that she’d asked everyone in town if they knew where he’d gone. But just the thought brought memories pouring back—painful, agonizing memories of drowning in the desperation of being absolutely alone, of having no one to turn to, nowhere to go. Maybe that was why she’d welcomed Stan’s friendship, and later, with her father goading her on, his proposal. Then again, maybe after Matt left, she just hadn’t cared enough about anything to fight either of them.
In the end, she settled for the simplest explanation. “I did try. But no one knew where you’d gone.”
He stood and loomed over her. “Not good enough. My father knew where to contact me, Honey. Why didn’t you just ask him?”
She felt the tiny fissure in her heart—the last evidence of her long healing process—split wide-open. If only Mr. Logan had answered the door. If only…
How could she explain? How did she tell Matt that his father had become a sick, sullen old man, a virtual hermit who’d shut himself away from her and the rest of the world? “I tried to speak to your father, but I didn’t think—”
“Didn’t think? You didn’t think what? That I’d want my own kid?” Matt strode across the room to the window and shoved back the lace curtain. His face in profile concealed the grim line of his mouth and the rage flashing in his eyes, but the stiffness in his broad shoulders broadcasted his feelings.
Matt saw nothing beyond the window. Instead his sight had turned inward, to the memory of a small boy standing outside the door waiting for his father’s notice. He saw a teenager proudly presenting a handmade tie rack to his father, and the man simply glancing at it and nodding. He saw a young adult offering his love to a lonely old man, hoping to fill the void left by the loss of a young wife and a son, and having that love brushed aside. He heard the words You’ll never be what your brother was echoing through his mind.
But Honey knew nothing of that, and Matt wasn’t about to tell her, not even to prove he wouldn’t have walked out on his son. He would have loved Danny with every fiber of his being—because he knew too well what it was like to be deprived of that love. Those very memories were the ghost he’d come home to exorcize, and talking about them would only grant them life. And granting them life would put him through the rigors of hell again, and he would never go back there, not even for Honey. Not even for Danny.
Slowly and methodically, as he’d trained himself to do for so long, he tucked the memories back into the far reaches of his mind, safely hidden from him and everyone else.
“So, where do we go from here? Do we tell Danny I’m his father?”
Honey sprang from the sofa. “No. No, we can’t tell him, at least not yet. Danny’s stutter is a manifestation of his grief over losing his…over losing Stan. Dr. Thomas says that any more emotional upheaval could make it a permanent condition. As long as we don’t push, he can overcome this.”
Although Matt understood what Danny was up against much better than she thought he did, he had hoped that he could claim his son. Considering Danny’s problem, Matt had no choice but to wait until the boy could emotionally withstand the news that he was his father.
“Dr. Thomas? Isn’t he the old GP who had an office on Main Street?”
She nodded.
“What does he know about this kind of problem?” Matt glanced at Honey.
“Enough that I have the utmost faith in his diagnosis.”
Matt disagreed, but kept his opinions to himself. They had other fish to fry. “How long will this take?”
She shifted her gaze away from his and began fussing with some flowers in a vase on a nearby table. “We don’t know. Maybe months, maybe years.”
“And in the meantime?”
She turned fully toward him. “In the meantime, we wait and try to keep him on an emotionally even keel.”
“Which means not telling him about me.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Matt stared at her for a long time. Something in her eyes caught his attention, something like pity. No, not pity. Compassion.
“Matt, I know this isn’t easy for you.”
Before he could respond, she turned away and headed for the door. With her hand on the knob, she stopped. “I wish…”
He waited for her to finish, but she didn’t. “What?”
She looked at him for another moment, shook her head, then left the room.
HONEY STOOD IN THE LARGE front hall, her back against the living room door. What had she wished? That those seven years had never happened, that she’d never met Matt Logan, that he could have been around for all those wonderful years of Danny growing up, that a bitter old man had reached out and opened the door for her? That Matt had loved her as much as she’d loved him?
She shook her thoughts away. She had no more power to alter the past than she’d had to make Matt stay all those years ago. The past had to remain as it was—unchanged. Right now, she had more important things to worry about. How would she tell Amanda that her beloved grandson was not really her grandson? Amanda had centered her world around Danny after Stan died. How would she take the news?
Honey had been right to dread Matt’s homecoming. Life had been so simple before his reappearance. He’d been here for less than a day and nothing was the same anymore.
She sighed, pushed herself away from the door, then started for the kitchen. The soft whirr of Amanda’s chair-lift stopped her. Waiting until the elderly woman reached the bottom of the stairs, Honey hurried to pull the wheelchair from its nook, then position it for her mother-in-law.
“Amanda, you should have called me to help you dress.”
“Why? So you could avoid the unavoidable?” Amanda levered herself out of the chair-lift and into the wheelchair. As she adjusted the throw over her legs, she studied Honey with a knowing look. “Come into the dining room and have a cup of coffee while I eat breakfast.”
Amanda’s wheelchair moved smoothly over the polished, wide pine boards. With a skill born of spending the last five years in the chair, Amanda maneuvered it through the double dining room doors to the spot left vacant at the table. Silently, Honey went about filling a plate for her mother-in-law from the chafing dishes on the sideboard. When she returned to Amanda’s side with her usual breakfast of fruit and toast, the older woman’s fingers closed around Honey’s free hand.
“Did you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“About Danny.”
Honey sighed. “I told him Danny’s stutter—”
“No, not that. Did you tell him Danny is his son?”
Only with concentrated effort did Honey manage to set the plate on the table and not drop it on the floor. Shock waves ebbed through her. She sat heavily in the chair that was, thank goodness, right behind her, and stared at Amanda. “How…”
Amanda chuckled, released Honey’s hand, then spread a napkin over her lap. “My dear, I’ve suspected for some time. The older the child got, the more he looked like Matt as a boy. I knew you’d been seeing Matt before he left town, and the rest was just a simple matter of deduction as to why my son had gone from best friend to groom in a very short period of time.”
Honey couldn’t believe her ears. She’d spent the last six years walking on eggs to make sure no one, especially Amanda, knew that Matt was Danny’s father. She’d been holding on to a secret that hadn’t been a secret at all.
“How many other people know?”
Amanda spread orange marmalade on her toast. “I’m sure no one but me and maybe Tess, although she hasn’t said anything one way or the other. As for anyone else, you can bet if they’d guessed, it would be all over town by now, and it isn’t. So it’s safe to say none of them picked up on the resemblance as being anything more than family genes. After all, I used to have black hair myself when I was younger.”
Honey was relieved that she hadn’t become the talk of the town and that the likelihood of anyone pointing out Danny’s heritage to him was slim. But it didn’t assuage the guilt she harbored because she hadn’t told Amanda. Not that she hadn’t wanted to tell her from the start. Stan had insisted that they keep it a secret from his mother. It had taken a few years for Honey to realize that his request had little do with concern for his mother’s feelings and a lot to do with his male ego.
“Why didn’t you tell Matt?” Honey asked.
Amanda sighed the sigh of a mother who had done everything she could to make her son happy, including turning a blind eye to a little boy’s true father. “Selfish reasons. Besides, it wasn’t my place to tell him about something I only suspected was true, even if I had known where to contact him. Was it?”
“I guess not. I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you, though. Stan never wanted you to know, and after he died, I didn’t see the point in telling you. You’d already gone through enough pain, and I didn’t want to have to tell you that you’d lost a grandson as well as a son.”
Laying her fork down, Amanda turned squarely to face Honey. “I will never lose my grandson. That child has his own special place in my heart. He’s as close to me as if Stan had fathered him.” Tears welled in her eyes.
Honey’s heart swelled. “That’s the one thing I can safely say that I think Matt and I would agree on. Danny will be your grandson as long as both of you want it that way.” She kissed Amanda’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“Posh!” Amanda waved her off. “Go see if Tess has made fresh coffee.”
Knowing Amanda hated sappy scenes, Honey headed for the kitchen, but not without wondering what she’d done to deserve such a wonderful woman in her life.
MATT RAN THE CLOTH over the shiny black fender of his motorcycle. Other than a sizable bank account, a game leg and this bike, he had little to show for his years on the rodeo circuit. But then, that seemed to be the pattern of his life—he’d had nothing to show for anything until today. Now he had Danny.
He stopped rubbing the fender and allowed his fantasies to take over. He pictured himself patiently teaching Danny to ride a horse, to pitch a baseball, to handle this bike. All the things that every father had ever dreamed of teaching his son—except Kevin Logan. Matt’s father had dreamed of nothing except the woman he’d lost to breast cancer, the son he’d lost in a plane crash, and how he could turn Matt into his brother, Jamie.
But Matt’s perfect visions of life as Danny’s dad contained a flaw he couldn’t seem to erase. In the background of every fantasy, Honey appeared, smiling, laughing, her love for both of them shining in her eyes.
He shook away the disquieting family pictures. Neither Honey nor any other woman could ever be a part of his life. Hadn’t he decided that when he left here? A woman in his life would mean he’d have to love her, and he would never surrender to that weakness again—for anyone. Never. Nor would he ever try to live up to someone else’s expectations, or leave himself open to the disappointment that would inevitably come to both of them.
He just wished he didn’t have to wait to hear Danny call him Dad. But he understood why Honey had asked him not to tell his son just yet. Matt knew all about stuttering. He’d stuttered himself after his mother died.
Thanks to a very special speech teacher, he’d managed to overcome it. Danny would, too. And Matt would help him all he could, whether Honey liked it or not.
FROM HER WHEELCHAIR, Amanda held Matt’s big hands and smiled up into his face. “Lord, how I’ve missed you, Matthew.”
He reminded her in many ways of Stan, with his large, broad-shouldered frame, in his strong hands and gentle grip. But in many ways, he was Stan’s opposite. She’d often thought of them as night and day. Stan’s shock of blond hair and sparkling blue eyes reminded her of sunshine and bright blue skies, while Matt’s dark good looks and brooding mouth had always brought to mind the night sky, where secrets could hide. Stan had always been quick to smile and tease, while Matt had been quiet and thoughtful.
Matt had grown into a fine young man. Stan had continued to be a boy, and his little-boy attitude had killed him…. At the thought, Amanda felt tears threaten. Shuffling the memories aside, she concentrated on the man who had been more to her than merely her brother-in-law’s son.
Part of the reason she’d been able to accept Danny as her grandson, even though she’d suspected differently, was because she’d always regarded Matt as her second son, loved him and wanted his happiness as much as she did Stan’s.
When Matt had left without a word, it had hurt her deeply, but she knew too well what he lived with in Kevin Logan’s house. What did surprise her was that it had taken so long.
“Amanda, I’m so sorry I didn’t—”
She placed her fingers over his lips. “I told you before, no regrets, Matt. I knew why you didn’t come back for the funeral, and I don’t blame you one bit.”
He kissed her cheek, then backed away to sit across from her wheelchair. Where did he start, in telling her about the events of the morning? “I know about Danny.”
She smiled. “Honey told me about your little chat this morning. I’m glad the air is cleared.”
“Amanda…why did Honey marry Stan? Was it just because of Danny?”
Amanda straightened the throw over her legs, then centered all her attention on him. “No, but that’s all I’ll say on the subject. This is between you and Honey. I have no right telling her story.”
Impatient, Matt frowned at her. “You had no problem inviting me to stay here when you knew I’d find out about my son.”
She shook her head, her mane of perfectly coiffed, snowy hair turning golden in the afternoon sunlight coming through the sitting room windows. “Ah, but that was just some innocent maneuvering to get two stubborn people to face their problems. I’m an old woman who is not above a little meddling, Matthew Logan. However, I will not divulge confidences.”
It irked him that Honey would trust Amanda enough to tell her why and not him. Honey didn’t trust him. He should have guessed. Still, the realization brought with it an almost physical pain. “Then she told you?”
“Not everything.”
“Then—”
“I’m old, not stupid. I did figure some of this tangle out for myself. Then Honey filled in the blanks this morning after she spoke with you.” A serious expression transformed her face from the gentle woman who had held his hand, to the woman he had faced as a teenager after sneaking into the house after curfew. “Just remember, Matt, you’re not the only person in this world with problems.”
Now, what did that mean? Before he could ask, she went on. “So, what are you going to do about your son?”
Matt had spent the better part of the day thinking about Danny. He would not turn his back on his son. He wanted to be part of his child’s life. “I’m not sure, but one thing I do know, I won’t walk out of Danny’s life, no matter what. Honey be damned.” He sighed heavily and stood, then bent to kiss Amanda’s cheek. “In the meantime, I guess I’d better check on the house and see what needs to be done. See you at dinner.”
Amanda, noting the pain in his expression, watched Matt leave, then shook her head. She never doubted that Matt would want to be a part of his son’s life. But did he realize that he’d have to learn to love himself before he could love the child—and quite possibly the child’s mother?
Through the window, she watched as he shooed the stray orange cat off the hood of the truck, then climbed in and drove away. For the first time since she’d agreed to Matt’s coming here, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. Had she given those she loved an opportunity to heal old wounds or had her interference paved the way for new ones?
Chapter Four
The rumble of his truck’s motor filled Matt’s ears, but the noise couldn’t block out the childhood memories tripping through his mind. Memories that had begun buffeting him the minute he’d pulled into the driveway of his former home. Gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, he stared at the weathered building that had haunted him for seven years.
The ghosts had assembled like a ghoulish welcoming party. The dogwood tree he and his mother had planted on his fifth birthday. The porch swing where he’d presented that handmade tie rack to his father, who had merely grunted and set it aside, reaching for the Giants tickets Matt’s older brother, Jamie, had given him.
Matt managed to combat most of them, but one persisted. Before him, as if projected on the landscape by an invisible camera, his father and he stood on the lawn. His father threw a baseball, and Matt strained to catch it in the oversize mitt. He missed.
“Put your glove in front of you. Remember the way Jamie taught you? You can do it,” his father had instructed in a gruff and impatient voice.
“I’m trying,” Matt had replied.
“You’re not trying hard enough. Don’t be afraid of the ball.”
Holding the glove exactly as he remembered Jamie had instructed him, he waited for his father’s pitch and put every ounce of effort he had into catching the ball. Again he missed. He could still hear his father’s words as he’d thrown his mitt to the ground, glared at his young son and then stalked off in disgust. “You’re not even trying. You’re never going to be able to do it if you don’t concentrate.”
What Matt heard was You’ll never be your brother.
No one had to tell him he’d never take the place of the older brother he’d loved and admired, sometimes hated and envied, and missed to this day. In an effort to fill the gaping, empty spot in Kevin Logan’s heart, Matt had lived through a repetition of that day, trying against all odds to live up to his father’s expectations. But Matt had been fighting a losing battle. No matter how much he wanted to please his father, he would never be his brother. Finally, he’d just stopped trying.
With a heavy sigh, Matt reminded himself of his vow not to let the past ruin his homecoming. He climbed down from the truck, then headed toward the one place that had brought him the small measure of true happiness he’d known as a kid—his mother’s greenhouse. As he made his way toward the back of the house, tall weeds snagged at his jean legs, leaving dried burrs clinging to the material. A rabbit scurrying from the recesses of the vine-covered woodpile startled Matt, then hurried out of his way.
As he neared the rear of the house, the annoying racket of a machine coughing and sputtering to life shattered the silence. Curious, Matt slowed his pace and peeked around the corner. The back lawn spread out before him, mowed and neatly trimmed. A portly man in bib overalls guided a gas-powered weed-whacker around the foundation of the small greenhouse, its recently cleaned glass glittering in the morning sun.
Matt studied the man’s stooped body. When he’d paid the back taxes, not an hour ago, the clerk had told him the house belonged to him. So who was this guy?
Just as Matt opened his mouth to call to the man, the weed-whacker went silent. The man turned. His ruddy face, half hidden beneath a Yankees baseball cap, broke into a broad grin. Matt immediately recognized Sam Thatcher, his neighbor and old friend.
“Matt, my boy. When they told me you was comin’ home, I couldn’t believe it. I figured I’d be dead and buried before you showed your face around here again.” He propped the weed-whacker against the side of the house, then extended his thick hand. His smile melting into a serious expression, he stared deep into Matt’s eyes. “How you been, boy?”
Matt grinned and took the offered hand, gripped it firmly, then shook it. “I’m fine, Sam, but what on earth are you doing?” He gestured around at the mowed lawn.
The older man adjusted the cap on his bald head. “Oh, you know Alma. Soon as she heard from Mildred Henderson that you was back, she insisted I come over and start gettin’ the place tidied up for you.” He glanced around at his handiwork. “Even though I had my doubts, Alma always said your roots were here and, when you got the itch outta your shoes, you’d make for home.” He removed the cap, scratched his bald spot, shook his head, then set the cap back in place. “In over forty-six years, she’s never been wrong. Makes a man damned uncomfortable to live with a woman who’s right all the time.”
He grinned, telling Matt what he already knew: Sam loved his wife and wouldn’t change a hair on her head. A pang of envy coursed through Matt, then disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Content to let Sam talk, Matt allowed pleasant memories to wash over him, memories of sitting in Alma’s fragrant kitchen on a cold day, drinking hot chocolate and eating her oatmeal cookies. Memories of the Thatchers’ good-natured bickering. Memories of the love they shared with every glance.
The Thatchers had never had children and had more or less adopted every kid they came in contact with, no matter who. A couple of cookies and a glass of milk or a cup of hot chocolate had always been readily available at the Thatcher house. While the kid enjoyed the repast, Alma had handed out large doses of her wisdom and love.
Matt had spent a lot of hours at their kitchen table, wondering what his life would have been like if he’d been born to these gentle, loving people instead of to Lois and Kevin Logan. Now he wondered if he’d ever know the love and happiness the Thatchers shared.
“Greenhouse needs some glass replaced, but for the most part, it’s just like your mama left it.” Sam’s voice cut through Matt’s musings. “What do you plan on doin’ with it?”
Matt’s gaze drifted to the greenhouse. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a couple of ideas, but nothing definite yet.”
Sam patted his arm. “Well, whatever it is, the missus and I are behind you all the way, and we just know you’ll do good.”
Rather than making him feel good, Sam’s confidence in Matt served to underline once more how little faith his own father had had in him.
“Matthew Logan! Bless my soul. Is that you?”
A woman’s excited, high-pitched voice drew their attention. Hurrying through the overgrown grass separating Matt’s house from the Thatchers’, a woman in a pale pink dress and a matching pillbox hat headed toward them. He didn’t need to see her face to know it was Alma Thatcher. She drew close, then stopped. Clutching her hands to her heaving breast, she stared up at Matt.
“My word, Matthew, but you did grow up nice.” Then, before Matt could respond, she launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. Tears gathered in her sparkling blue eyes. “Good to have you home. This house has been empty far too long. It needs a family in it.” She stepped back a little and glanced around, as if looking for that family.
Grinning, Matt squeezed her hands. “Well, the family part is going to have to wait a bit.” Suddenly, an image of Honey and Danny filled his mind. He shook it away.
“Everything in good time.” She turned to her husband. “Sam, your lunch is ready, and I’m late for my book club meeting. You best get yourself over to the house before the cat eats your tuna sandwich.”
“No need nagging, woman, I’m going.” Sam tempered his words with a kiss to his wife’s rosy cheek, then turned to Matt. “Nice to have you back, boy. Now, don’t forget to drop in on us, when you got the time. I’ll be back later to finish up this yard for you.”
Knowing it wouldn’t do any good to protest Sam’s offer, Matt merely nodded. “I’ll do that, Sam, and thanks for doing the lawn.”
“Pshaw!” Without turning back, Sam acknowledged Matt’s words with a wave of his hand, then started across the yard, dragging the weed-whacker behind him.
“I’ll be along in a minute, Sam,” Alma called after him, then turned back to Matt and studied him for a moment.
Matt avoided the questions he saw in her face by moving his gaze back to the greenhouse. Alma came to stand beside him. The scent of Roses in May perfume drifted up to him on a soft breeze. He’d bought her a bottle of it for her birthday the year he’d left Bristol. The scent anchored him to this place more than anything else could have.
The silence stretched out, then Alma laid her hand on his arm. “Anger’s like a weed in a garden. If you let it grow, pretty soon it chokes out the love. If you’re going to be settling here and you plan on being happy, Matthew, you must let go of the anger and the hurt.”
Frowning in confusion, he let his gaze rest for a few moments more on his mother’s greenhouse. He turned to ask Alma what she meant, but her surprisingly quick step had already carried her across the lawn and out of earshot.
HONEY FOUND HERSELF driving down Thatcher Lane. That wasn’t what the county maps called it, but everyone had known it as Thatcher Lane for so long, she wasn’t sure anyone remembered the real name. She hadn’t been in this part of town for a long time and, truth be known, she wasn’t sure why she was here now.
Then she saw Matt’s black truck parked in the driveway of his old house. Had she come here intentionally hoping to see him? She shook her head and started to push harder on the accelerator, determined to pass the house and head for home. But seemingly of its own free will, her foot hit the brake, slowing the car, allowing it to veer off the paved road and into the gravel drive, stopping within inches of Matt’s back bumper.
Now, what?
Playing for time, she stared at Matt’s house. Rundown and badly in need of some TLC, it hadn’t really changed much. Nor had its effect on her. The warm feeling she’d known as a young girl came rushing back. For reasons she could never explain, the house had always called to her, beckoning with a warmth her own home had never offered.
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