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“No problem.” He tipped his hat, a polite gesture. “Well, I better get going. Don’t want to be late for my first committee meeting.”
“You’re on the planning committee?”
“My mom talked me into it this morning. She extorted me, is more like it.” A wry grin touched his mouth as he took a step toward the open door. “She’s taking care of my sons, so I’m in a bind and she knows it. It’s a shame when you can’t trust your own mother.”
“Or grandmother.” Hope hated that she had to follow him toward the gaping door. A bad feeling settled hard in her stomach, the kind that foretold disaster.
“What does that mean?” he asked. Sunlight brushed him with a golden glow, highlighting the wary slant to his eyes. The wry grin faded from his mouth. “You don’t think my mom and your grandmother—”
“I sure hope not, but at this point do we give them the benefit of the doubt?”
“I don’t know, my mom’s been kind of sneaky lately.” Matthew shook his head. “And obviously off her rocker. She knows you’re only visiting. Maybe it’s coincidence.”
“Let’s hope so, or my grandmother is in big trouble, and I don’t care how fragile she is.”
“Somehow, I doubt she’s in much danger.” Matthew caught the edge of the open door and gestured for Hope to go first.
“You haven’t seen my temper.” Laughing, she breezed by him.
The wind caught her long curls and brushed the silken tips against the inside of his wrist. His grip on the door faltered, but she didn’t seem to notice that the bell overhead jingled furiously. She smelled like spring, like new sunshine and fresh flowers.
“Isn’t it marvelous that Hope has agreed to take my place on the committee?” Nora Greenley’s voice rang like a merry bell above the clash of conversation in the homey little café. “Matthew, that means the two of you will be working side by side. Doesn’t that sound terrific?”
“Nanna!” Shock paled Hope’s face. “But—”
“You know I’m not well, dear, and the doctor wants me to get as much rest as possible.”
“Yeah, but—” A fall of black hair cascaded across Hope’s face, hiding her profile as she leaned her grandmother’s crutches against the wall. Embarrassment stained her creamy complexion. She looked at him helplessly.
“It’s all right, Hope. I’m getting used to the manipulative behavior of old women with nothing else to do but interfere in my business.” He gave Nora a wink so she’d know he wasn’t mad. Well, not too mad.
“Watch who you’re calling old, young man.” But Nora’s eyes were laughing at him, as if she were enjoying this far too much. “Helen is calling the meeting to order. She’s about to announce Hope is taking over my position. I can’t tell you what a relief it is. Hope, dear, come sit down here between me and Matthew—”
It was too late to escape. Helen’s voice rose above the sound of the coffee grinder at the counter. And only two unoccupied chairs remained close by. If he wanted to escape, he would have to excuse himself through half of the crowded café.
Hope shot him an apologetic look as she took one of the two remaining chairs. Her hair, unbound and rich, tumbled across her shoulders, catching the sprinkle of sunlight through the curtained window. Her curls shone like polished ebony.
“Now, if Nora is settled,” Helen said as the room silenced. “I’ll let her tell about how her wonderful granddaughter, whom we haven’t seen in quite a few years, has agreed to take her position on our committee. Nora—”
“I didn’t agree to anything,” Hope leaned close to whisper. “Just so you know.”
“Oh, I know.” He did. He knew how his mother thought. Mom figured that enough time had passed since losing Kathy and that he ought to get on with his life. The boys needed more than a housekeeper—they needed a mother to love them. And he needed a wife.
But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t accept, was that Kathy had been his whole heart.
Regret tightened in his chest until Nora’s words and the sounds of the café faded. His parents’ marriage had been based on respect, but not true love. Not like his and Kathy’s. Mom couldn’t understand.
Pain cut like a newly sharpened knife straight through the center of his chest. Mom didn’t realize she was hurting him, but she was. Her matchmaking attempts stirred up old memories and grief.
Applause ripped through the café, tearing into his thoughts. The meeting continued, and the sun flirting with the curtains grew warm on his back. Karen McKaslin arrived with coffee and tea for everyone.
Matthew leaned across the table, stretching for the packets of sugar. Hope scooted the little ceramic holder closer, so it was within his reach. She avoided his gaze and maybe it was because she was a woman, soft and pretty, but it made him feel keenly alone.
He remembered a verse from John, one he’d relied on heavily these last difficult years. “Here on this earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.”
Matthew stirred sugar into his tea and clung to those treasured words.
Chapter Three
Hope snapped open the kitchen cupboards. “You embarrassed the poor man.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Go ahead, play innocent. But I’m not fooled and neither is Matthew.” She slammed the cans of food onto the shelves. “It wasn’t fair to volunteer me like that. You could have asked me. I would have been happy to do anything for you. Don’t you know that? But this—”
“Don’t you see? It’s for your own good, Hope.” Nanna didn’t sound quite as confident. “Time is slipping away from me, and I want to know my beloved granddaughter is happy and cared for.”
“I can take care of myself.” Hope slammed two more cans onto the wooden shelf. “Besides, I’m perfectly happy.”
“Sure, but you could be happier.” Nanna sighed. “Don’t be mad at me, Hope. With this injury I can’t serve on the committee, and your spending time with poor widowed Matthew Sheridan can’t hurt.”
“It’s your intentions that bother me. You know how I feel about marriage. And you know why.” Hope kept out a box of crackers and folded up the paper grocery sack. “I’m not going to marry anyone. Ever. I’m never going to go through what my parents did.”
“Just because your mom and dad couldn’t get along doesn’t mean that you can’t have a fulfilling marriage.”
“That’s exactly what it means.” Hope grabbed the bright yellow box and set it on the table in front of her grandmother. Her chest ached. Old wounds beat within her heart, and she didn’t want to be angry with Nanna. “Stop trying to change my life, okay? I like it just the way it is. And no, I don’t want a husband. I don’t miss having a family.”
“But, Hope—”
“Please, just drop it, Nanna. I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m the result of a bad marriage, remember?” The memories of her parents always fighting, always hurting each other tore through her. Memories she wanted to forget. The wind teased the chimes outside the open window, and Hope spun away, determined to keep control of her emotions.
The past was gone. There was no sense letting it hurt her now. She watched the light in Nanna’s eyes fade and she hated that, but she couldn’t back down. Marriage was not—and never would be—for her. No matter what. And if she felt lonely in the evenings cooking for one, well, that was a small price to pay for a life without hurt, blame and endless battles.
“What you haven’t seen,” Nanna continued above the musical jingle of the chimes, “is that some marriages can be a great blessing. Filled with joy and enduring love.”
“Sure, I’ve seen the movies. I’ve read the books. Notice how they’re all fiction?” Hope grabbed the tea-kettle from the stove and carried it to the sink. “I don’t want to hear any more about this, Nanna. Isn’t there a passage somewhere in the Bible about minding your own business?”
“Well, Thessalonians. ‘This should be your ambition: to live a quiet life, minding your own business—’” Nanna broke into a chuckle. “All right, fine, you’ve won. I’ll stop trying to match you up with handsome, kind, marriageable men even if it is for your own good.”
“Finally! You’ve come to your senses.” Hope grabbed hold of the cold water faucet.
“I’ll have you know there are many young women in this town who would appreciate my efforts.”
“Then maybe you should try matchmaking for them.” Hope gave the faucet a twist and felt the old metal handle give.
A blast of cold water slammed against her right cheekbone and across the front of her neck. She jumped back. Water sluiced down her face and dripped off her chin. Her shirt was wet through and plastered to her skin.
She could only stare at the geyser shooting water everywhere—straight up at the ceiling and sideways in every direction.
When Nanna had asked her to talk to Matthew, there really was a problem with the plumbing. She set the broken cold water handle on the counter and swiped more drops from her eyes.
“Kirby, quick, call Matthew.” Nanna’s voice rang high with distress above the sounds of the cascading waterfall. “Ever since Ethan Brisbane left town, we don’t have a decent plumber. Hope, quick, can you make it stop?”
“I’m trying.” Her sneakers slid on the wet surface as she tugged open the cabinet doors. She scrunched down and peered under the sink.
The old pipes groaned. Droplets plinked against her forehead. She knew next to nothing about plumbing, but she did own a small condo. She’d had her share of homeowner disasters. “I don’t see any shutoff valves. Nanna, how old are these pipes?”
“Who knows? Seventy years or more?”
“Maybe it’s time to replace ’em.” There was no way to stop the water, not here at the sink. “There must be a shutoff in the basement. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hurry, dear, my knickknacks—”
Hope spun toward the sink. The pretty porcelain figurines on the corner shelves above the sink were taking a direct hit.
She stepped into the force of cold water, wincing as it struck like a thousand icy pinpricks. “Kirby, could you help me out here?”
“Sure thing.” The young nurse abandoned the phone and hurried across the growing puddle on the floor to carry the rescued figurines to the table. “Mr. Sheridan wasn’t in. I got his pager.”
“We’re going to need someone right away.” Hope curled her fingers around the last wet porcelain child. “And it would be better—” she fixed a warning gaze on her grandmother “—if it wasn’t Matthew Sheridan.”
“Don’t worry, Hope.” Nanna spoke up. “I’m a defeated old woman resigned to live without a single great grandchild.”
“Sure. Make me feel guilty.” Hope handed Kirby the last figurine and stood, dripping wet, in the middle of the kitchen. Water crept in an ever-widening puddle across the ancient flooring. As far as she could tell, puddles and crutches didn’t look like they would mix. “C’mon, Nanna, let’s get you to safer ground.”
“I’ll take her into the living room,” Kirby volunteered, the crutches already in hand. “And I’ll try to find someone—anyone—to come right away.”
“Thanks, Kirby.” Hope caught Nanna’s elbow as she wobbled, a little unsteady on her feet. “I’m going to see what I can do downstairs.”
“Now be careful of those narrow steps,” Nanna warned.
Hope resisted the urge to remind her grandmother that she was no longer a child. The warmth in her chest doubled knowing someone worried over her—that someone still cared.
The water was still spewing like Old Faithful, so Hope ran for the basement door.
No light greeted her when she hit the switch. She guessed Nanna hadn’t been down here in a while. She found a flashlight on a hook by the door and searched the lengths of wrapped pipes visible overhead. They ended by the hot water tank in the back corner, where huge cobwebs warned of even bigger spiders.
“No way am I going in there.” She shivered, her skin crawling just at the sight of those thick, dust-coated gossamer strands.
Then a dark object slinked across the cement floor toward her sneaker. She screamed in midair, already jumping back. The flashlight slipped from her grip. It hit the ground with a crash and rolled, the light eerily aimed at the ceiling. The shadowy spider skidded to a stop, waiting—like he was preparing to launch an all-out assault on her ankle.
“Chances are it’s more scared of you.” A rich masculine voice rumbled like low valley thunder through the dark. Then boots clipped on the concrete. “He’s looking up at you and thinking, boy, that giant sure looks dangerous. I hope she doesn’t attack me.”
“Matthew Sheridan.” She took another cautious step back, her pulse fast, her limbs shaky. “You scared me to death.”
“Didn’t hear me come down the stairs, huh? I guess you were too busy screaming at this poor defenseless spider.” He strode closer, his presence like a fire in the darkness, radiating heat without light. A heat she felt.
“How did you get here so fast?”
“Kirby left a desperate message so I came over. I was next door at the Joneses’.” He flashed her a grin in the eerie mix of shadows and knelt down, unafraid. “If you shoo him off, he’ll go hide and leave you alone.”
“Sure. I feel so much safer knowing he’s in the shadows watching and waiting for the right moment to take a bite.” Hope tripped back, away from the narrow hallway, not sure which was affecting her more—the spider or the man. “I was trying to find the shutoff.”
“Let me take it from here. After all, I’m the professional.” He held up a big wrench and stepped into the light. Lemony rays brushed across his face, accenting the fine cut of his profile and the curve of his lopsided grin. “Tell Nora not to worry. I’m on the job.”
“Oh, that’s a comfort.” Why was she feeling like this? The last thing she wanted was to feel attracted to a man. Especially Matthew Sheridan.
She remembered how he’d looked in the coffee shop with sadness so huge in his eyes. How he’d leaned slightly away from her in his chair, placed right beside hers, so that their shoulders wouldn’t brush. As if he wanted to make it clear just how much distance he wanted.
Well, he was in luck. She wanted distance, too. And yet, she felt sorry for him. Sorry because beneath his easy grin lurked a great grief, one so obvious how could Nanna even think he’d want to remarry?
Not knowing what to say, Hope backed away, leaving the flashlight on the floor in case Matthew needed it, finding her way through the dark by touch and by memory.
Matthew listened to her light step against the stairs, tapping away into silence. Hope had looked at him like a deer blinded by headlights. Maybe it was the spider or the way he refused to look at her at the meeting today.
Either way, he knew he had to make things right. Since he couldn’t back out of his obligation to the committee, it looked like he’d be seeing Hope a lot during the preparations for the Founder’s Days dance. He didn’t want any strain or bruised feelings confusing things. As soon as he turned off the water and fixed Nora’s sink, he’d pull Hope aside and talk with her.
Unfortunately, the old valve was rusted wide open, and he had to use every bit of his strength to turn it. The old metal groaned, and he whispered a prayer for the ancient pipes to hold. They did, and the rush of water faded into silence.
Overhead he heard the soft tap of shoes—probably Hope’s. He tried not to think about that as he brushed the cobwebs off his shirt and retrieved the fallen flashlight. He hadn’t looked at a woman since he’d fallen in love with Kathy, and it bothered him. He didn’t know what to make of it as he headed upstairs.
Hope was in the kitchen, guiding a mop across the floor. Sunlight spilled through the back door, highlighting the sheen of her dark hair and the agile grace in her slender arms.
She knelt, wrung water from the mop into a bucket, then straightened. “You came to the rescue. Again.”
“That I did. I even survived the spider.” He couldn’t get over the sight of Hope Ashton handling a mop. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.
“You’re a braver person than I am.” She bent to work, swiping with practice. “Sharing dark cramped spaces with arachnids isn’t high on my list.”
He knew she was from a wealthy family—she probably had her own housekeeper and cook, a chauffeur and gardener—but here she was in simple blue jeans and a light yellow T-shirt cleaning her grandmother’s floor with a steady competence. As if she mopped floors all the time.
Not that Hope’s lifestyle was any of his business, he reminded himself and he forced his gaze away. But as he crossed the kitchen with water slick against his work boots, he could hear the stroke of Hope’s mop back and forth.
“I’m going to have to replace this entire setup.” He checked under the sink to make sure. “Either that, or chances are this kitchen will end up flooded again.”
“Then we’ll just have you fix it right.” Hope swiped her forearm across her brow. “Kirby took Nanna outside for some fresh air. I think she’s more upset than she’s letting on.”
“She’s lived here, what, fifty years? It’s hard to see something you love damaged.” He eased onto his back and adjusted his pipe wrench, determined to concentrate on his job and not on Hope mopping the floor. “I’m going to take out the sink and all these pipes. Put in proper shutoff valves. She’ll even get a new faucet out of the deal. Lucky for you, I have a faucet in the carpenter boxes in the back of my truck—I get these emergencies often enough. It’s a nice white European one.”
“Oh, boy. I can’t remember the last time a handsome man gave me a new faucet.”
She was kidding—he knew that. But why did his pulse perk up? Did she really think he was handsome? He couldn’t see it—he doubted anyone else did, either. That was the thing that made him wary about women like Hope—easy flattery, a drop of kindness, it was superficial and not always innocent. He ought to remember that the next time he couldn’t stop looking at her.
Disgusted with himself, he gave his wrench a hard twist, and the old pipe came loose from the wall. “So, you’ll be staying in town through Founder’s Days?”
“If Nanna needs me that long.” Hope knelt to wring the mop. Water splashed into the bucket. “I’m sorry about the committee meeting. She’s just trying to throw us together. I hope you know I had nothing to do with that.”
“I figured it out easy enough.” He slid out from beneath the sink and caught sight of Hope hefting the full bucket toward the back door, so at odds with what he expected from her. Maybe that’s why his gaze kept finding her in the room. “I believe you. Remember, my mom blackmailed me.”
