Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish

by Marta Perry

  “Matt, that wasn’t queasiness. Believe me, I’ve seen enough sick kids to know the difference.”

  “Fine, have it your way. Whatever you think you saw in me—”

  He started to get up, and the swing lurched beneath her. In a moment he’d be gone.

  “Grief,” she said. “Overwhelming grief and remorse, just because the baby fell.”

  He turned toward her, the swing’s chains creaking in protest at the abrupt movement. Now the anger she’d been expecting flared in his face. “All right, have it your way. I overreacted. That’s all. I overreacted.”

  “Because of something that happened to you while you were overseas.” She didn’t know why she was so sure. She simply knew.

  Matt’s face hardened to a bleak mask. “What happened is none of your business.”

  At least he’d admitted that there was something. “Matt, it doesn’t help to keep things bottled up inside. You need to talk about it.”

  His hands moved, as if pushing that away. “Trust me, Sarah. If I felt the need to unburden myself to someone, I have plenty of family to choose from.”

  Yes, he did. She had none, except the kids, so she couldn’t understand what that was like.

  “I know you do. Have you talked to any of them?”

  “No.” He bit off the word.

  Please, Lord. You put this burden on my heart for him. You made me see I had to come here tonight. Please show me the words that will help him.

  “Matt—” She couldn’t tell him she’d begun to care. She didn’t want to admit that even to herself. “I realize we haven’t known each other very long. But we’re partners. If something affects you, it affects me.”

  “Does it?” He almost sounded as if he wanted to believe that.

  “Yes.” She spoke firmly. He’d never know that she had feelings for him, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was hurting, and she wanted to help. “Please. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “You won’t like hearing it, Sarah. You might not be strong enough to hear it.”

  She sensed the longing beneath his bitterness. He wanted someone to listen and to care. He couldn’t ask, but he wanted that. She reached out to clasp both his hands in hers.

  “Tell me.” The words came out a little breathlessly, but not because she was afraid he’d turn back now. She could feel the current running between them through their clasped hands. They were linked in a way she didn’t quite understand, as if they’d known each other a long time ago and had just come together again.

  Hearing what was burdening his heart would bring them even closer, and that closeness would eventually bring her more hurt. But Matt needed her right now, probably more than he realized. She couldn’t let him down.

  “I haven’t talked to anyone about this since I got home.”

  She could hear something rustle out in the marsh beyond the veranda, but Matt’s need kept her attention pinned to him.

  “They haven’t asked?” She gripped his hands more tightly, as if she could send comfort through them. Hadn’t his family seen the pain in his eyes?

  He shrugged. “I think my grandmother knows something’s wrong. That’s why she keeps reminding me of my verse.”

  “Your verse?”

  His mouth twisted in what might have been an attempt at a smile. “It’s another one of those Caldwell family traditions, like the dolphin. We all have a Bible verse we were given when we were baptized. Gran picked them for each of her grandchildren, the way her mother and grandmother did before her.”

  “A family tradition.” It sounded like a good, comforting thing, like the swing rocking gently under them. “What is your verse?”

  “Romans 8, 28.” He stopped there, as if he didn’t want to say the words.

  But she knew them. “’And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.’”

  “That’s the one.”

  “It’s a good promise to live by,” she said softly.

  “That’s what James used to say.” His voice roughened.

  He looked down at their clasped hands, and the lines in his face seemed to deepen, as if she saw him growing older right in front of her.

  “James?”

  “James Whitman. He ran a mission station in Indonesia. I’d known him in college, so I looked him up when I was sent there to report on the Timorese situation.”

  Scattered memories flickered through her mind—images of bombed streets, frightened civilians, gangs of soldiers and militia. “That was a dangerous place to be.”

  “James used to laugh about that. It had been so quiet since he’d arrived it was almost boring, he said. Then the political situation changed, and nothing was quiet anymore.” He shook his head. “That didn’t stop him. He went right on doing his job, running his school, feeding anyone who came to his door in need, even if they turned around and robbed him.”

  “He sounds like a good person.”

  “He was.”

  Matt’s grip tightened on her hands until it was painful, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

  “I wanted to do a story on him, to showcase the good he was doing in the middle of chaos. He said no, but I kept after him. Finally he agreed. He should have kicked me out the first time I mentioned it.”

  “It didn’t go well?” This had to be worse than a botched story.

  “Actually the interview went very well. James was articulate, the kids were photogenic, everyone at the network was pleased.”

  A night bird cried somewhere out in the marsh, and Matt jerked as if it had been a shot. She tried to soothe him with the firm clasp of her hands.

  “What went wrong?”

  He grimaced, as if in pain. “Unfortunately it hadn’t occurred to us that the terrorists watched television, too. The night after my report aired, I heard a rumor they planned to attack the mission station. I tried to get there to warn James and the others. I was running toward the gate when the bomb went off.”

  She made an inarticulate sound of grief. His hands jerked spasmodically. He might want to stop, but he wouldn’t be able to now.

  “We found James and a co-worker in the rubble. Dead.” The words rolled out inexorably. “Seven of the children were seriously injured. We had to dig them out. I can still hear them crying.”

  Her throat was so tight it seemed impossible to speak, but she had to. “Matt, it wasn’t your fault. It was a terrible thing, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Tell that to the people who died.” His mouth twisted bitterly.

  “You couldn’t have known. James must have been more familiar with the situation than you were, and he didn’t suspect that would happen.”

  “That doesn’t make me any less guilty.” He sounded as if he were passing judgment on himself.

  “The people at the network didn’t blame you, did they?”

  “Blame me? No. I’m sure they regretted the bombing, but it certainly made quite a story for my next broadcast.” His bitterness ran so bone-deep that she didn’t know how it ever could be relieved.

  “They didn’t expect you to—”

  “Report my friend’s death?” His tone mocked her. “Of course they expected it.”

  Her heart seemed to be crying. “How could you possibly do that?”

  “Not very well. I nearly broke down on the air. Funny, but that’s the one thing they couldn’t forgive. That’s why I’m in exile. Not because I did an interview that led to a good man’s death, but because I nearly broke down on the air.”

  Sarah felt as if she hadn’t breathed in a long time. She took a breath, steadying herself. “So you decided to take a leave of absence to get over it.”

  “I didn’t decide. My bosses decided. ‘Get a grip on yourself, Caldwell. You’re no good to us like this. Go back to your island until you learn to cope out here in the real world.’”

  She struggled to get her mind around that. She’d assumed that this
leave of absence was his idea. Now it turned out it hadn’t been. He was here under protest, trying to put himself back together.

  “So you’ll go back, once you’ve come to terms with this. Your job will be waiting for you.”

  She tried to sound reassuring. He’d go back. Odd, that his presence could have come to mean so much to her in such a short period of time.

  “That’s my life. Ugly as it can be, it’s my life. I want it back.” His voice roughened. “When I get it back, believe me, there won’t be a repeat performance. I won’t ever let myself get that close to anyone again.”

  Matt couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth. Shock rippled through him. How could he be saying these things to anyone, especially to Sarah?

  He’d told her things he hadn’t told anyone else. Not even his brother knew the whole story behind his return. And he’d just spilled it all to a woman he’d only known a couple of weeks.

  “Matt—” Sarah’s voice was troubled. “You can’t live detached. No one can.”

  “I can try.” He wanted to pull his hands free of hers, wanted to cut this short and walk away.

  But he couldn’t. Talking to Sarah, feeling her caring, had begun to melt something that had been frozen inside him. Like thawing cold hands, it hurt, but he knew it was doing him good.

  “Is that really what you want for yourself?” She shifted a little, and the swing moved beneath them as she turned toward him more fully.

  He wanted to say something light, something that set them at a safe distance. But Sarah was looking at him with her generous caring heart shining in her eyes, and he couldn’t do that.

  “Want?” He should let go of her hands. He should get up and walk away. “I don’t know that want is the right word. It’s what I need to survive out there.” He jerked his head toward the mainland. She’d know he meant everything out there, beyond Caldwell Island.

  “Maybe you don’t belong out there any longer.” Her voice was so soft, he leaned closer to hear it. “Maybe your life is meant to be here.”

  “No. My life is waiting for me.” He tried to sound sure of that. He was sure of that.

  But the moonlight tangled in Sarah’s hair, etching it with silver, and the soft lowcountry night closed around them, cradling them in its warmth. Warm—almost as warm as Sarah, leaning toward him, longing to make him better.

  “Sarah Reed.” He touched her hair, feeling the springy curls wind around his fingers. “Sympathy her specialty, given to anyone and everyone, regardless of whether they deserve it or not.”

  “It’s not a question of deserving.”

  “No?” He said it softly, prolonging the moment.

  Her eyes, soft in the moonlight, met his. Her lips parted, as if she were about to say something, and then she seemed to forget whatever it was. He heard the soft sound of her breath, felt her hand tremble under his.

  “Sarah.” Her name was gentle on his lips, as gentle as she was, with her combination of softness and strength. She’d gotten under his guard in a way he’d never expected anyone would, ever again.

  “Matt, I—”

  He touched her cheek, smooth and sweet as the skin of a fresh peach. Stroked the line of her jaw. Cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face toward his. Found her mouth with his.

  Longing surfaced within him. He drew her closer, feeling her respond as if she, too, had been waiting for this moment. As if this kiss had been predetermined from the first time they saw each other.

  Maybe it had. He held her close. Maybe it had.

  Sarah drew back, too soon, with a small sound that might have been protest. He trailed a line of gentle kisses across her cheek. Sarah was everything he needed now—warmth, caring, peace. This might be a mistake, but he couldn’t let her go.

  “We shouldn’t.” Sarah breathed the words. Her hand moved against his chest to push him away, but then she clutched his shirt instead, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the smooth cotton.

  “I know, I know.” He held her close within the protective circle of his arm. He took a deep breath, as if he’d been without oxygen for too long. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “We’re partners.” She sought for all the rational arguments she knew were there, somewhere, if only she could find them.

  “We have a business relationship.” She thought there might be a thread of amusement under his agreement, but she didn’t know if it was at her or himself. “We shouldn’t mix that up with something personal.”

  “No, we shouldn’t.” She straightened her spine, pulling free of the comfort of his strong arm around her. She didn’t need to lean on anyone, she reminded herself. Certainly not Matt Caldwell.

  “I’ll be leaving soon.” He said it with certainty. He moved, withdrawing his arm, putting another inch or two between them. “You know I can’t deny I’m attracted to you, Sarah. But it would be a mistake to start something that has to end. Especially where your children are concerned.”

  The children. She fixed her mind on them, trying to ignore the way her heart continued to flutter at Matt’s nearness.

  “We agree, then. It would be too hard on the children to let them think—well, think there was something between us that’s not going to be.”

  There, she’d put things in perspective. Matt would understand that. Now she just had to convince her own heart, which was showing a surprisingly rebellious streak at the idea.

  “We’re partners,” Matt said again. “Friends.”

  She nodded. “Friends. That’s all. Just friends.”

  He clasped her hand briefly, then released it. “You helped me tonight, Sarah. I didn’t know how much I needed to talk about James until you forced me into it.”

  She tried to smile. “You make it sound as if I used a baseball bat.”

  “No. Just a persistence and determination that would do credit to a reporter on the trail of a hot story.”

  She sensed his relief that they had moved into less emotional territory. She wanted to stay there, too. It was safer. But something nagged at her, something that had to be said.

  “Matt, if we are friends, will you let me give you some friendly advice?”

  He nodded, but she thought he stiffened.

  “When Peter died, I was angry with God.” She picked the words carefully. “I thought He had let me down, leaving me alone with four kids to raise.”

  Matt didn’t respond. Maybe he knew where she was going and didn’t want to hear it. But he had to. She had to say it, because no one else would. He hadn’t opened up to anyone else, so this was her responsibility.

  “Eventually I realized God hadn’t gone anywhere. He was right there with me, helping me every step of the way.” Her voice choked in spite of her effort to keep it calm. “I wouldn’t have made it without Him.”

  Matt nodded stiffly. “I’m glad for you, Sarah. But I—”

  “You’re angry with God,” she said quickly, before he could finish. “You think God let you down. Let your friend down.”

  He swung on her then. “Didn’t He? How else would you explain it? Or do you have some nice little platitude that will make the pain go away?”

  His words hit her like stones, and she tried not to flinch. “No platitudes,” she said softly. “Just my own experience. God was big enough to handle my anger and grief and bring me through to the other side. He’s big enough to handle yours, too.”

  Matt got up, setting the swing rocking. He stood looking down at her, as remote as a stranger.

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Sarah. But I’m going to have to handle this my own way.”

  “Are you handling it?”

  “Yes.” He bit off the word. “I’m handling it fine on my own.”

  He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t admit that, not yet.

  “I guess there’s nothing else to say but good-night, then.”

  Something seemed to soften his stern expression. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped, shook his head. “Thank you, S
arah. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Their heels clicked as they walked the length of the veranda. Matt held the car door for her, then stood for a moment looking at her. He was going to say—

  “Good night, Sarah.” He turned away.

  He didn’t want God’s help, didn’t want her help. She started the car, and shells spun under her wheels as she pulled through the white pillars that marked the gate.

  Well, Matt might not want her help, but he needed it. She’d have to go on trying. Despite whatever they felt or didn’t feel for each other, she couldn’t let him wall his soul off and not try to help him.

  And if she succeeded? She tried to look at that steadily as she drove down the narrow street. If she helped Matt heal, she knew what would happen then. He’d go away, taking her heart with him.

  Chapter Nine

  He didn’t know why he was so nervous about this. Matt glanced across the office at Sarah a few days later, wondering at himself. He had a simple suggestion to make, one that Sarah should welcome. So why was he acting like a teenager about to ask a girl on a first date?

  The kiss, that’s why, the small voice of truth murmured in his heart. You kissed her, and you haven’t figured out how to deal with that.

  He had dealt with it, he argued. They both had. They’d agreed that anything other than friendship between them would be a mistake. They both knew that, and they’d go on from there.

  He watched the tiny lines that formed between Sarah’s brows as she looked over something on her desk. That attention to detail was part of her. She brought the need to do things right to everything she touched, including her kids. Maybe that was why he hesitated to approach her on this.

  No perfect words appeared in his mind. He’d better just do it.

  “Sarah.” He approached her desk. She glanced up and a soft brown curl caressed her cheek, momentarily distracting him.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing. In fact, I have an idea that might be very helpful.” He marshaled his arguments in his mind. “How would you feel about your kids spending afternoons at the house with Jenny and her baby-sitter?”