Allan smiled tightly at Matt. “She’s doing just fine.” He turned his attention toward Rachel, his smile softening. “I have to say, my large home on seven acres of land does get rather lonely on my own, though.”
Matt curbed the urge to roll his eyes and crossed his arms over his broad chest. He was a good six inches taller than Allan, and he kept his gaze trained on the smaller man, who eyed him in annoyance.
“So, what do you do for a living, Rachel?” Allan asked, refocusing his attention on Rachel.
“I’ll be teaching fourth grade at Broxton Park,” she replied.
“Broxton Park?” Allan arched an eyebrow in Matt’s direction. “Tragic fire there.”
Matt’s expression froze. That crossed a line.
“Yes.” Rachel’s sweet smile slipped and she eyed Allan with momentary distaste. “But that was in the past, and this is now. I’m sure everything is safe and up to code.”
Allan cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to imply—” He shrugged apologetically. “You’ll be very safe, I’m sure. In fact, if you wanted someone to show you around, as a real-estate agent—”
“Are you looking to buy right now?” Matt interrupted, looking toward Rachel with exaggerated innocence.
“No,” she replied with a shake of her head, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “I’m happy with where we are at the moment.”
“Even if you aren’t looking to buy—” Allan began.
“Isn’t that your ex-wife?” Matt looked toward the house, where a woman was coming out onto the deck. She was heavily pregnant and had a two-year-old in tow. She was remarried already, and the expected baby belonged to her new husband. Matt felt slightly bad for pulling such a cheap shot, and Allan glared at Matt balefully.
“Hey, it’s really good to see you, Allan,” Matt said with a smile. “Rachel, I wanted to introduce you to someone.”
Matt put a hand on her elbow and steered her away from the fuming Allan. Allan stomped off in the opposite direction, staying well clear of his ex-wife. Matt stifled the laugh that rose up inside him and angled her back toward the table of food.
“Who did you want to introduce me to?” Rachel asked, and Matt looked down at her in surprise.
“Anyone, really,” he admitted ruefully. “But first, I thought you could probably use something to eat.”
“I’ll forgive you because you’ve brought me to the dessert table,” she conceded, “but I have the distinct impression that you and Allan aren’t friends.”
“He’s a toad,” Matt said. “And he’s got a bit of a reputation.”
“For being a flirt and a womanizer?” Rachel asked, plucking a cupcake out of an arrangement and depositing it on her plate.
“Exactly. How did you know?”
“I’m not a naive girl,” she replied with a low laugh. “I’m a grown woman. I’ve been married. I’ve met his type before, you know.”
Of course, she was completely capable of taking care of herself. She’d already been married, and she probably knew more about relationships than he did. Heat rose in his neck and he shrugged apologetically.
“Sorry. I got a bit protective there. So, should I make good on my offer and introduce you to some people with decent reputations?”
She shook her head. “No, but you can pass me one of those brownies.”
She pointed to a plate of thick, dark squares, and he took a napkin and nabbed the biggest brownie on top of the pile, placing it on her plate.
“Hungry?” he asked with a smile.
She shook her head. “Chris’s favorite.”
And with those words, the moment sagged. Of course, none of this changed the reality of the situation, and they both knew it. He looked in the direction of the kids, and he noticed the boy standing off by himself, his eyes sad and dull. Chris’s blond hair ruffled in the warm breeze, and he looked idly over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, ignoring the other children who were playing in a flower bed.
Rachel flashed him a quick smile and angled in her son’s direction. Matt stood back and watched as she bent down and revealed the treat on her paper plate. Chris perked up a little at the sight of the brownie, but even with his mother at his side, he looked alone.
Poor kid, Matt thought. He’s been through a lot.
The one thing Matt was certain of was that if you wanted to protect a child, you had to protect the mother. And even though Rachel didn’t seem inclined toward being protected, Matt wasn’t going to let anyone take advantage of her on his watch.
“Looks like you lost out, too.”
Matt looked over in surprise to find Allan at his elbow. Allan crossed his arms over his chest, standing a few inches into Matt’s personal space—an obvious challenge. The smaller man’s eyes were trained on Rachel, too, irritation still etched over his features.
“Yeah,” Matt admitted with a wry grin, nodding toward the boy. “But this time it was to the better man.”
Allan narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “All right. I’ll give you that. He looks like a cute kid. I could get used to him.”
“Leave her alone.” Matt dropped the smile, his tone low and steely.
Allan shot him an incredulous look. “Why? You have no claim on her.”
“Because I care.” Matt eyed him grimly. “I care about her and I care about that little boy. If I hear that you’ve messed with her the way you’ve done other women in this town, you’ll have me to deal with. Personally.”
Allan swallowed and took a step back. “Are you threatening me?”
“Hardly. Just telling it like it is. Leave her alone.”
“Fine.” Allan muttered something under his breath and walked away in the opposite direction. Matt watched him go. He had a feeling Rachel wouldn’t approve of his Neanderthal methods, but he thought he could live with that. He might not be able to do much more for her, but he could keep one creep away from her, and that was something.
* * *
The next day, Matt flicked off the Saturday morning news and sauntered into his kitchen. He stared into the fridge for a minute, then shut it without taking anything out. He normally relished a quiet day to himself since they were so few and far between, but today his mind kept wandering back to Rachel. He felt mildly foolish for getting protective of her the day before. She was obviously capable of taking care of herself, but that hadn’t completely quelled his urge to put Allan in his place.
Matt leaned against the counter and picked up a cup of warm coffee. He downed it in two gulps.
One question nagged at him: If it had been some other guy chatting up Rachel, would it have made a difference? He liked to think it might have, but if he had to be completely honest with himself, it wouldn’t. Not really. What he’d felt was a protective instinct watered down with a big dose of jealousy.
He’d been planning on calling her this morning, but he hadn’t quite built up his courage yet. He was going to do a community fire-safety presentation at a church in a few days. He’d been told that it was being put on by the youth group, so that meant that the majority of the audience would be young, and he figured it would be a good opportunity for him to put some of Rachel’s tips into action—and for her to coach him, if she was willing. Except he was slightly embarrassed now that he’d gotten all protective of her, and he was afraid she’d think he was asking for something more.
His phone rang and Matt pulled it out of his pocket, recognizing Rachel’s number. He breathed a sigh of relief that she’d called first, and he picked up.
“Hi there,” he said, a smile warm in his voice.
“Hi, Matt.” Something clattered in the background, and Rachel’s voice became muffled for a moment, and then she came back. “I’m sorry. What a morning over here! I was just calling to see if you know of a good plumber.”
�
��That’s not a good sign.”
“No, not really,” she agreed. “The only bathtub in the house is plugged right up, and I need to get someone in here to fix it.”
“Just a plugged drain?” Matt asked. “Nothing more complicated than that?”
“You wouldn’t say ‘just a plugged drain’ if you saw it,” she retorted. “It’s a mess!”
“I can fix that for you this morning.”
“Do you moonlight as a plumber?”
“No, but I’ve fixed it in my own home enough times. It’s not that complicated. Just takes a few tools. But if you don’t trust me, I’ll give you my uncle Sid’s number.”
Rachel laughed. “To vouch for you?”
“No, he’s the best plumber in Haggerston, but I’ve got an advantage over him.”
“Which is?”
“I’m free.”
“You make a compelling case. You said you can come today?”
“For sure. Today is my day off, so I can be there in about an hour, if that works.”
“Thank you, Matt.” Something clattered in the background again. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll see you soon.”
Three-quarters of an hour later, Matt pulled up in front of Rachel’s house. A curtain fluttered out an open window on the upper level, and from deep inside the house, the tinny jangle of a radio sang out a country tune. Chris sat alone on the front steps, a cracked, empty flowerpot in front of him and a stick in one hand. He glanced up as Matt parked the truck, and dropped his gaze again.
Matt hopped out of the truck, slamming the door with a bang. He’d brought some of the notes Rachel had given him about presentations along with him, just in case, and he folded the page lengthwise and shoved it into his back pocket.
“Hi, buddy,” Matt said as he ambled up the path.
Chris didn’t answer. Matt stood next to him for a long moment, undecided, then dropped his tool belt onto the wooden steps with a clunk and sank down next to him. The boy didn’t want to talk, and Matt didn’t feel the need to change that. Instead he picked up a pebble and tossed it toward the flowerpot. He missed.
Chris picked up another pebble and tossed it. It rattled into the ceramic pot, and Chris shot him a victorious grin.
“Nice shot,” Matt muttered.
Matt tossed another pebble, this time landing it perfectly. He couldn’t be beaten by a seven-year-old. His adult ego just couldn’t take it.
Chris grabbed another little rock and the game was on. They tossed stones, each mentally keeping score, the only sounds that of the click of pebble hitting ceramic. Chris’s small shoulders relaxed and the brooding look in his eyes slowly seeped away, leaving the determined glint of a boy who wanted to win. Sometimes a guy needed to compete in order to hammer out his conflicting feelings, and little boys were no different from their full-grown counterparts.
The day after the Broxton Park Elementary fire, Matt had played basketball with his brother, not stopping until they both were slick with sweat and breathing hard. He’d slammed basket after basket, ramming his own pain and frustration through the hoop with the ball. He’d beaten out his grief with his shoes against pavement until he had no more strength to give.
The fix wasn’t permanent, but it was therapeutic.
Craig was the kind of brother who could play basketball with you and never say a word about the elephant in the room. Sometimes a man just needed to stare down his elephant alone. It looked as though a kid needed that luxury, too. At least today.
Chris threw another pebble and landed it perfectly.
“Nice,” Matt said and stuck out a foot, pushing the pot farther back. “Let’s try that.”
Chris shot Matt a grin. The challenge was accepted.
Chapter Five
Rachel stood in the open doorway, her hand on the screen door. Matt sat on the steps with Chris, their backs to her. Matt’s strong, muscular back made Chris’s slender form seem all the smaller in comparison, yet they both sat in a similar stance, hunched over in concentration as they tossed pebbles at a cracked flowerpot. In a wash of summer sunlight, sitting on the sagging front steps, they were just two guys throwing rocks. She was about to push the door open but didn’t have the heart to interrupt them.
She’d spent the morning planning Chris’s birthday party for the next week. When she’d told Chris about Aunt Louise’s idea, he’d been initially excited and then uncertain.
“But who will come?” he’d asked.
“Everyone. Aunt Louise, Uncle Herb, Uncle Chet, Aunt Joanne—”
“I don’t know Uncle Chet.”
“Yes, you do. You met him at Aunt Louise’s house. He’s the one with the motorcycle.”
“Oh, yeah.” He’d brightened at the mention of the motorcycle.
“Everyone wants to get to know us better,” she’d explained. “And a kid only turns seven once.”
She felt desperately hopeful about this party. A day of balloons and cake couldn’t fix everything, but she hoped that it would be the start of a few roots in his young life—a memory he could look back on when he was grown and could say Remember that party we had in Grandma Rose’s old house?
On the front step, Chris’s pebble dropped into the center of the pot, and Rachel found herself beaming in spite of herself. It was a good shot. Matt glanced over at Chris and gave him a nod of respect.
The floor squeaked as Rachel shifted her weight, and Matt turned, his blue eyes meeting hers with a smile.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Sorry, I got caught up in a very serious competition here.”
“I noticed.” She chuckled.
“I lost,” he admitted ruefully.
“By three,” Chris added helpfully, and Rachel smothered a laugh.
“Actually by four, I think,” Matt said. “Good game, Chris.”
Matt lifted a tool belt from the step beside him and rose to his feet. Chris bounced up next to him, and Rachel felt a wave of relief at her son’s enthusiasm. Lately, anything that made him happy made her hope that they were turning a corner.
“Upstairs?” Matt paused and looked down into her face. His clear eyes held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary before she answered.
“Yes, upstairs, first door on the left.”
A smile flickered at the corners of his lips. “Let’s see if I can fix this.”
Rachel dropped her gaze and jogged up the stairs in front of him, leading the way to the malfunctioning tub.
The bathroom was nothing extraordinary—a sink, a beveled mirror and a tub. Rachel remembered rinsing mud from her face and hair in this very bathroom after a mud fight with a cousin twenty years earlier. She’d had a good cry in that bathroom when she felt homesick for her parents but didn’t want Grandma to know about it. She’d lounged in that tub as a girl, wondering what it would be like to be a “grown-up lady.” That bathroom hadn’t changed—not even the cracked tile beside the tub.
“It drains very, very slowly,” she explained. “I’ve tried those liquid drain cleaners, and nothing seems to work.”
Matt dropped his tools onto the floor and squatted next to the tub. He grabbed a wrench and set to work dismantling the drain. As his hands moved, his muscles flexing as he strained against the stubborn plumbing, he shot her a boyish grin. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have gotten all Neanderthal on you.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” she assured him. “I actually got a call from Allan this morning.”
She hadn’t been entirely thrilled to hear from him, especially since she wasn’t sure how he’d gotten her number. When she’d asked him about it, he’d said that he’d overheard her give her number to one of the teachers, something she hadn’t liked. It seemed creepy.
“Oh?” Matt’s gaze flickered up toward her, the
n back down to his work.
“He asked me out to dinner,” she admitted.
Matt pulled up the inside of the drain, the whole piece, including the dripping clog, coming up together in a greasy, slimy mess.
“Ew.” Rachel peered over his shoulder, wincing in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I feel like I should be politely hiding that from you. That’s nasty.”
“It was formed well before you arrived,” Matt said. “Got a garbage?” Matt shook the clog into the garbage and glanced up at Rachel speculatively. “And?”
“And what?” she asked.
“Are you going out with him?”
Rachel felt the smile tickle at her lips. “No.”
Matt nodded, and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. He cared—that much was clear. He didn’t want her to go out with Allan, and while she could see that Allan was most definitely a cad, she found Matt’s protectiveness endearing.
“See?” Matt said. “Clog fixed. Easy peasy.”
“You are pretty handy after all,” she said.
“You sound surprised.” He shot her a grin.
“Well, a girl can never be too sure. To listen to Allan, he’s a war hero and a business genius. Sometimes guys exaggerate their abilities,” she teased.
“Do they, now?” Matt began reassembling the drain, fitting the pieces back together. “Not me. If I say I can do it, I can.” He arched an eyebrow at her teasingly. “And if I say I’m terrible at something, you can trust that, too.”
“And what are you terrible at?” she asked.
He thought for a moment as he tightened the last part, then rinsed off his hands. “I’m a terrible singer.”
“Oh, you can’t be that bad.” She grinned.
“Sure can.” He laughed. “And apparently I’m not good at warning women away from Allan with any measure of grace or dignity.”
Rachel rewarded him with a spontaneous laugh. “I actually appreciate it. I’m used to taking care of everyone else. It’s nice to have someone looking out for me for a change.”
Love Inspired May 2015 #2 Page 47
