Just Around the Corner

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  She’d feel much better about their association if she could somehow help him find a measure of happiness, too. Help him come to terms with whatever was haunting him.

  “I was just on my way down to the diner for chicken enchiladas,” she said casually. “Want to join me?”

  He took too long to answer her. She knew that whatever answer he gave her wasn’t going to be the one he wanted to give.

  She wished she hadn’t asked.

  “No,” he finally said, standing. “I should get home and chlorinate the pool.”

  Phyllis wondered if that was a man’s version of having to “wash my hair.” But she didn’t mind. He really wanted to go with her.

  Which meant that, for both their sakes, he’d answered her invitation correctly.

  “Sounds fun,” she said, standing up beside him. “See ya.”

  In control once again, she went back inside for her keys. Maybe she’d pick up dessert for Ben and Tory and Alex while she was at the diner. Tory had been craving apple cobbler throughout her entire pregnancy.

  And no one made apple cobbler like the Valley Diner.

  She waited until Matt had driven away before she locked up and headed out herself. She was glad he was gone.

  But she wondered, as she drove downtown, if there was anything Matt Sheffield craved.

  And she wondered why finding out suddenly mattered so much.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WAS AN AMAZING WOMAN. An amazing person. Somehow Phyllis Langford had taken a situation he could in no way be proud of—an unplanned, illegitimate pregnancy—and made it a good thing. Made him feel like he’d scaled a mountain. How could he completely hate himself for getting her pregnant when it turned out she wanted the baby so badly?

  Instead of ruining her life, he’d somehow bettered it.

  Matt walked across campus Thursday afternoon, the collar of his maroon leather jacket lifted up around his neck to ward off the unusual chill. The temperature would be back in the seventies the next day. As soon as the sun came out again. In the meantime, he, like probably the majority of Arizonans, was enjoying the rare cool day.

  If he didn’t hurry, he was going to miss her. Phyllis only had another fifteen minutes of her office hour. And he wanted to assure himself that she was okay. Needed to assure himself.

  She wanted this baby. And suddenly he was filled with a forceful determination to do everything in his power to see that she had it. He intended to reestablish the tentative truce he’d made with himself in Shelter Valley.

  He’d see her through the pregnancy and in doing so, provide a way to slip back into the life he’d built before he met her. No harm done.

  Her door was open. A student just leaving.

  “Thanks, Dr. Langford.”

  “Anytime, Steve.” She sounded as though she was smiling.

  Matt felt a little like smiling, too.

  “Hey, teach, how you doing?” he asked, appearing in her doorway as soon as the student was a couple of doors down the hall. He didn’t give her time to get involved in anything he’d have to interrupt.

  “Matt?” She was frowning, looking up from a typed paper, red pen in her hand. “What’s up?”

  Casual visits aren’t in our agreement, Matt translated. He was a bit relieved by the message. He wanted to give her every ounce of his strength to bring a healthy baby into the world, but he didn’t want to give her any false ideas.

  He closed the door behind him, noting the wary look in her eyes. “Have you had any more bleeding?” he asked softly, moving closer to her desk.

  Her gaze cleared and she put down the pen. “No,” she told him, open now. “I’ve been nervous all day, but there’s nothing. Thank God.”

  Apparently talk about the baby was okay with her. They both understood that they were on a common mission that had everything to do with this baby and nothing to do with the two of them.

  “How about morning sickness? Is that gone, too?”

  “I didn’t get that lucky,” she said with a grimace.

  “But you’re getting enough fluids like Dr. Mac said?”

  “Yes, sir.” She was smiling at him. And then she frowned again. “Why do you care so much all of a sudden?” she asked sharply. “You aren’t getting ideas about this baby, are you?”

  “Of course not.” He set her mind at rest immediately. “Not for myself, if that’s what you mean.”

  Phyllis sat back, her forearms resting casually on the sides of her padded leather executive desk chair—identical to the one his butt spent so much time in at the Performing Arts Center. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I can’t believe how often I’m flying off in crazy directions these days. I’ll sure be glad when this phase of the pregnancy passes.”

  “Just to set the record straight—” he placed his hands on her desk, met her gaze head-on “—you have nothing to fear from me. My life is exactly how I want it. I have no interest in close personal relationships, nor am I ever going to foist myself on a kid who, as I know firsthand, would be better off without me.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  He nodded. “I mean it.”

  “Why?”

  The question hit him between the eyes. He’d lowered his guard, left himself unprotected without even knowing it. Open to the kinds of questions he didn’t allow people to ask.

  “I told you before. I have a past.”

  “Hate to break this to you, Matt, but everyone who’s lived for more than about a second has a past.”

  He backed up, didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, well, mine wouldn’t sit well with a kid.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because I made you pregnant,” he said, leaning on the desk again. “I have a proposition of sorts to run by you.”

  “What?” She picked up her pen,

  “We both need something.”

  “We do.” It wasn’t a question, and yet the words were filled with challenge.

  “You need that baby.”

  “Yeeaahhh.”

  “And I need to feel like I’m doing something to take responsibility, to be accountable, for my part in this whole thing.”

  “Okay.” The word was far too hesitant to be the agreement it implied.

  “So I propose that we team up, just for the duration of the pregnancy. I’ll be your assistant—be there to do things for you. Not just the heavy things, but whatever needs to be done so you don’t get worn-out to the point of needing hospitalization. Dr. Mac said this morning sickness might continue throughout the pregnancy, you work full-time—something’s got to give.”

  “But I’m—”

  “Most woman have a man at home to step in and tend to the little things while they’re pregnant.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So, you let me do that—do my part—and in the end, you get the healthy baby you want so badly.”

  “And what makes you think we can have an arrangement like this without getting involved in each other’s lives?”

  “Because neither of us wants involvement. We’re immune.”

  She frowned. “I’m a psychologist, Matt. Things don’t work that way.”

  “Okay, try this, Doc. Because I’m incapable of involvement.”

  It shouldn’t have hurt when she nodded. Her agreement was exactly what he wanted. And yet, in a small sense, it did hurt. So a woman trained to know about people, their minds and emotions, believed him when he said he was incapable of having a close relationship. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already known.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, “but I’m agreeing to your proposition.”

  “Good.”

  “There are going to be problems here, I just know it.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “There will be.”

  “So why are you agreeing to it?”

  “Because it’s the best option. No one but Cassie knows I’m pregnant, and I think I want to keep it that way for as long as I can. At least
until I’m sure everything’s really okay with this bleeding. It’ll just be easier not to have everyone worrying over me. I’m doing enough of that myself.”

  “I’m not a worrier,” he said with a half grin, trying to reassure her the best he could.

  “Somehow I knew that about you.” She grinned back, her head lowered slightly as she looked at him.

  “Anyway, without anyone else knowing, it’d be a little hard at this point to ask for help and not have them wondering what’s going on.”

  “I can see that.”

  “So—” She stood up, dropping her pen again “—we’re a team, we keep this between ourselves for now, we know the ground rules.”

  “Right.”

  “Great.”

  “Good.”

  “Well…” She stood there watching him as if waiting for something.

  “Yeah, well, see ya,” he said, turned and left.

  He was glad that was done.

  “AUNT PHYLLIS? Do macaronis grow in the ground?”

  Phyllis looked across her kitchen table at the sweet little girl, Tory and Ben’s adopted daughter, sitting there shoveling homemade macaroni-and-cheese into her mouth.

  “No, Alex,” she said, hiding a smile behind her full fork. “They’re man-made, but from wheat that grows in the ground.”

  Her short blond hair giving her an elfin look, Alex stared at the macaroni currently stuck to the end of her fork, her face screwed up in a frown. “What about the cheese part?”

  “It’s made from milk, which comes from—”

  “Cows!” Alex burst out.

  “That’s right,” Phyllis said just as a knock sounded on her back door. She was smiling as she rose to answer it, remembering not so long ago when little Alex had first come to them, a tough little girl who’d been hurt badly. The curious, precocious child sitting at her table now bore little resemblance to the abused and frightened child she’d been less than a year ago. Ben—who’d raised Alex from birth and then lost her to her biological father on his release from prison—had brought her home from California with the approval of state authorities. Ben was her true father, and under his care and Tory’s, Alex had regained her confidence.

  Until Matt walked into the kitchen. The little blond dynamo froze in her chair, eyes glued on Matt. She stared only until he looked at her and then her eyes dropped. As did her chin. And her fork.

  “Come here, munchkin,” Phyllis said, sitting down at the table again and pulling Alex out of her chair and onto her lap. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Matt. Matt, this is Alex.”

  The two eyed each other, and Phyllis, watching them, could see wariness in both faces.

  “Hi, Alex,” Matt said, his voice friendly, giving no indication of the hesitation Phyllis had just read in his expression.

  Alex said nothing. Just continued to stare.

  “Alex is Ben and Tory’s daughter,” Phyllis said.

  Matt nodded.

  “She’s having dinner with me tonight while Ben and Tory attend Lamaze class.”

  “Well, your dinner sure looks good,” he said, his tone obviously meant to put the little girl at ease.

  As Matt crouched by the cupboard that held her cleaning supplies, Alex wrapped her arms around Phyllis’s neck, drawing her head down.

  “He’s a good guy?” she whispered, her face only an inch from Phyllis’s, her look intent.

  “He’s a good guy,” Phyllis whispered back, sending an apologetic glance toward Matt. She’d told him about Tory’s past. But hadn’t told him about the special, intimate bond Tory shared with her new daughter, the bond of abuse the two of them had suffered. Both had been damaged by those given the charge of keeping them safe. “I wouldn’t let anyone near you who wasn’t a good guy, don’t you know that?” Phyllis continued softly, giving the child a hug.

  After a moment of thought, Alex nodded, slid off Phyllis’s lap, and climbed onto her own chair to finish her dinner. Life was normal again.

  Phyllis wished it was always that easy.

  “I teach at Montford. And I work on plays there.” Matt told the child, stopping on his way out of the kitchen, a bottle of drain cleaner in his hand. “Maybe you can see one sometime.”

  “Where Mommy and Daddy go to school?” Alex asked him. She didn’t bother to look up from her dinner.

  “Yep.”

  “Cool.”

  On that vote of approval, Matt turned to Phyllis. “I noticed the drain in your guest bathroom sink was running a little slow. I’ll take care of that and check the other ones, as well. You shouldn’t be inhaling this stuff.”

  “Thanks,” Phyllis said. She was talking to his back. He’d already left the room.

  “Aunt Phyllis? When Mommy has the baby, will it hurt?” Alex was asking when Matt walked back into the kitchen several minutes later.

  “Just for a little while,” Phyllis answered, trying to keep her mind on the conversation and off the man who’d just entered the room. Time with Alex was filled with a barrage of unexpected questions that could only come from an introspective seven-year-old. She required full attention.

  “Then how come Daddy’s letting her have one? He told us he’d never let anything hurt us again.”

  Matt coughed.

  “Because the baby will make your mommy so happy she won’t care about a little bit of pain.”

  “How come babies can’t be born without hurting their moms?” Alex asked around a mouthful of macaroni. She’d never noticed before what an inordinately slow eater the child was. Alex hadn’t even started on her carrots and peas.

  Sending her a commiserating grin behind the girl’s back, Matt excused himself to check a sprinkler head. He claimed it had been spraying straight up when he’d pulled into the drive.

  Chicken, Phyllis called silently after him.

  AFTER HE’D REPLACED the sprinkler valve, Matt carried Phyllis’s laundry in from the bedroom and was ready to go.

  “Won’t you have some dinner?” Phyllis asked. “It’s only macaroni-and-cheese with vegetables, but there’s plenty of it.”

  “Aunt Phyllis makes the not-from-a-box kind,” Alex told him importantly. Phyllis was astonished to see how quickly the little girl had relaxed around him. With just the brief exchange they’d shared earlier, she appeared to be as unconcerned about him as she was with Sam or Will or any other of “her” people in Shelter Valley.

  Was it a sign of the healing power of love that was found in Shelter Valley in such abundance? Or something Matt himself had done?

  Matt ruffled the little girl’s hair. “If I hadn’t already eaten, I’d take you up on that,” he said. “Tasty, isn’t it?”

  “It’s the best,” Alex told him. “Just like Aunt Phyllis.”

  Meeting her eyes over the little girl’s head, Matt’s eyes were suddenly serious. “You’re right about that.”

  WHEN MATT CAME OVER on Friday after work, Phyllis wasn’t even surprised to see him.

  Tonight he was wearing a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees and an old T-shirt with writing so faded she couldn’t make out what it said. It was fifty degrees outside and he didn’t even have a coat on.

  “I really don’t need anything tonight,” she said, following him out to the kitchen. “I’ve got a pan of frozen lasagna in the oven for dinner, which is light enough for me to lift out myself after it’s cooked another hour, and then I’m going to soak in the tub and go to bed and read.”

  He nodded. “I won’t get in your way.”

  Hadn’t he heard her? He wasn’t needed here. It was Friday night and Phyllis was planning to spoil herself, think about her baby—and enjoy not having to struggle through the traditional Friday-night blues as everyone else went home to families and she faced another batch of weekend chores alone. She wasn’t alone anymore. She’d be doing her Saturday cleaning for two. And grocery-shopping, too. Especially grocery-shopping, since Dr. Mac had her on a special high protein and glucose diet.

  Matt got
cleaning supplies from the cupboard under the sink.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You told me that night in the hospital that you clean on Saturday mornings. I have to be at the theater in the morning.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m doing it tonight, instead.” He stopped. “Unless you have someone coming over to soak in that tub with you…?”

  “Of course not!” She felt her entire body turning red at the thought. She was pregnant, for God’s sake.

  And with his child, no less.

  “Then I’d best get started,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I know I’m probably not going to do things exactly as you’re used to.” He sprayed some furniture polish on a rag and headed into the living room.

  Phyllis followed him.

  “But you don’t have to worry,” he continued as he carefully removed everything from her coffee table. “I don’t like dirt, and since I live alone, I’ve learned how to handle a pretty mean rag.”

  As he spoke, he wiped not only the top of the coffee table, but the legs and sides, then returned everything to its original place. If the man ever lost his job at the university, he could open a cleaning service.

  Because she was practically speechless—and because she enjoyed watching him efficiently and thoroughly move his gorgeous body around her living room—Phyllis just stood there for the next few minutes. He polished all the furniture, including the sofa legs. And the picture frames on the mantel.

  “I can dust,” she finally said when he’d almost finished the room. She figured she should do something. It was her house, after all.

  “We agreed—”

  “That you’d help me,” she said, finding the will to assert herself. “Not that you’d turn me into an invalid. I’ll dust, you vacuum and we can be done with this by the time the lasagna’s done.”

  “You dust, I’ll vacuum and scrub the bathrooms—”

  “While I do the kitchen sink and countertops.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Agreed,” he eventually said, “on the condition that you leave mopping the kitchen floor to me and that you stop as soon as you start to feel tired.”