by Robin Wells
He said a silent prayer as he turned into Ali’s subdivision, then felt his heart plummet to the floorboard as he saw the first house, roofless and battered. It was the Johnson place, one of the first homes he and Robert had built. Thank goodness the Johnsons had been transferred to Chicago and the house was vacant. Matt realized he should feel something at seeing his handiwork in such a state, should have some sense of loss, but all of his emotions were focused on the terrifying fact that a tornado had indeed passed this way.
Ali’s home was around the next curve. He gunned the engine, his mouth dry, his pulse pounding in his throat. He tried to tell himself that tornadoes were fickle, that they could hit a house and leave the one next to it standing, but what he saw confirmed his worst fears.
“Oh, God, no,” he whispered.
The house was leveled, a mangled mess of boards and shingles and pipes and wire. Three walls of one interior room were all that remained upright. The rest of the building was a chaotic heap, as if a giant hand had picked it up, crushed it like a potato chip and tossed it into the air.
Matt jerked the truck into “park” and jumped out before it had even stopped rolling.
“Ali!” he called. Despair weighted his chest. She could be lying injured or—God forbid!—dead under any of the piles of rubbish. Where should he even begin?
He stood in the downpour, wet to the skin, straining to see a clue or hear a sign, silently willing her to somehow beckon him.
“Ali!”
Was that a whimper he heard, or just the rain echoing off the wreckage? His head jerked in the direction he thought it came from and called again. “Ali! Where are you, honey?”
There it was again! It sounded like it was coming from the center of the ruins, near the area where the three walls still stood. A spark of hope lit Matt’s heart and propelled him into the wreckage.
His peripheral vision caught sight of something dangling above him. He glanced up to see wires trailing from a power line.
Careful—the electric lines are down. The thought brought an impatient curse. He was forced to slow his steps, to cautiously pick his way through the rubble as if it were a mine field.
“Ali, honey, I’m coming. Tell me where you are,” he called.
An eerie wail drifted back to him, causing his adrenaline to surge. Matt sent a another silent petition to God and forged ahead, dreading what he might find, fearing he might get there too late.
He finally stepped over a large section of roof and into what had been her bathroom. He stared at the counter, where a wicker basket of potpourri, a perfume bottle and a crystal soap dish bizarrely stood in perfect order, the only testimony to the maelstrom they’d endured the tiny shards of broken mirror that covered them like prisms from a chandelier.
Turning, Matt saw the enormous tub—and inside it, a very wet, very frightened, black and white dog.
Flipper let out a mournful whine and tried to scramble up the slick marble.
“It was you making the noise,” Matt muttered, bending to scoop up the animal with one hand. He tucked the shivering little dog inside his shirt and fought a sickening wave of disappointment. “Where is she, boy?”
The little dog wriggled and tried to lick his face. Matt pushed him lower in his shirt. “If ever you needed to know a trick, this is it, boy,” Matt told the mutt grimly. He waded back to his truck, tossed the little dog on the seat and slammed the door.
Turning, Matt cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ali!” he bellowed. Only the wind and the rain responded.
Where the hell was she? If she’d run for cover, surely she would have taken the dog with her. He should have found them together.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t here after all. A glimmer of hope resuscitated in Matt’s soul.
Her car. I’ll look for her car. Ali always parked in the garage.
Matt maneuvered toward the heap that had once been her garage and dug like crazy, channeling his anxiety into raw physical energy until he’d cleared away enough rubble to know that her car was not there.
Not here. She’s not here. Matt felt a tremendous lightening, an enormous sense of relief—then his heart plunged again with his very next thought.
Then where the hell was she? He stood in the pelting rain, his mouth creased into a grim frown.
The Victorian Village. If Ali had known the storm was coming, he was certain she’d go there to keep an eye on the borrowed furnishings.
He bounded toward the truck, flung open the door and was greeted by a frantic Flipper, who did a back flip on the seat. “Hang on, fella,” Matt muttered as he screeched around the corner. “You’re in for a ride.”
Ali perched on the living room window seat inside the turreted house and stared out at the driving rain, watching it bend the branches of a tall oak. The downpour seemed to be letting up a little. Thank heavens the worst of the storm had bypassed the Victorian Village.
She hoped it had bypassed everyone she cared about, as well—Lauren, Justin, Hattie, Matt…
Matt. The thought of him stirred a familiar pang in her chest. She tried to block him from her thoughts, to steer her mind away from him, but his memory was as stubborn as the man himself, drawing her like a sore tooth draws the tongue.
She’d been miserable ever since their argument, unable to eat or sleep or find pleasure in anything. Even completing the interiors of the homes had brought her little satisfaction.
Just three more days and her goal would be accomplished. Just three more days and she’d move back to Dallas to start her own interior design firm. Just three more days and she’d never see Matt again.
She gave a deep sigh and rose to her feet. She should feel relief or anticipation or something—something, anything but this vast, aching emptiness.
She paced the room, inventorying all the reasons she’d been right to end things with him. He was bossy, he was intolerant, he didn’t trust her judgment and he’d made it clear he never intended to marry again.
So what if he was also kind and thoughtful and funny and smart and sexy as all get-out? He was the wrong man for her. She knew that on an intellectual level.
Why couldn’t her foolish heart get the message?
A noise in the back of the house made her start. One of the workmen must have returned, she thought, hurrying toward the sound, wondering who it was and what would have brought him out in this downpour.
She stopped abruptly as she rounded the kitchen doorway and clutched a hand to her chest. “Matt!”
He was dripping wet, so wet a puddle pooled at his feet. A rivulet of water ran from his hair down the back of his neck.
“Thank God, you’re all right, Ali.” His voice was rough and urgent, his eyes dark and intense. He crossed the room and clasped her in a bear hug, drenching her, damply imprinting himself on her T-shirt and jeans. He smelled like rain and wet denim. She was too shocked to protest; instead, she swayed against him, soaking up the feel of his long, hard length pressed against her, of his warm skin radiating through his soggy clothes, of his heart thrumming next to her own.
Something inside of her loosened and blossomed. Dear Lord, how she’d missed him! Not seeing him, not talking to him, had been like not being alive.
The thought raised a mental red flag. She’d avoided him for a reason, she reminded herself. A good reason—her own self-preservation. She’d do well to remember that fact.
She stiffened and pulled back, straightening her damp shirt. “What were you doing out in the storm?”
“Looking for you.”
Did he think she was so addlebrained she needed a keeper? She lifted her chin. “This may come as a surprise to you, Matt, but I happen to have the sense to come in out of the rain.” Her gaze swept him from head to toe. “Unlike someone I could mention.”
He ran a hand through his hair, spraying out drops of water, and regarded her somberly. “Ali, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
His quiet, grim tone alarmed her. “What is it?”
“The storm did a lot of damage to your house, honey.”
She stared at him, trying to understand.
“I’ve got Flipper in my truck,” he continued. “He’s fine. But, Ali, honey—everything else is a mess.”
“How bad?”
He took her hands. “Bad,” he said softly. “The house is leveled, honey. Everything’s gone.”
Her head swam. I must be in shock, she thought. That was the only explanation—because the only part of all he’d just said that had any meaning at all was a single word, a word that had no relation to the news he’d just broken.
Honey. He called me honey.
It was what he’d called her when he’d kissed her, when he’d sent her senses spinning and her heart singing, and hearing it now nearly undid what little composure she had left.
Ali shook her head, trying to clear it, and seized upon another incongruous fact.
“You went to my house and got Flipper?”
Matt nodded.
Don’t read anything into it, she told herself sternly. She couldn’t afford to let the hope budding inside her take root and grow.
His hands slid up her shoulders. “Ali, when I saw your house, I went crazy. If anything had happened to you…”
Why, oh, why did he have to trot out his kind, caring side? It was killing her, seeing this part of him that she loved, knowing he felt nothing but a sense of responsibility toward her because she was his late partner’s sister.
She turned away and tried to hide her aching heart under a show of bravado. “It’s a shame about the house, but it could be worse, Matt. It’s fully insured. Besides, I’m moving back to Dallas.”
Matt grasped her arms and turned her back toward him. “Ali, I don’t want you to go.”
Her heart caught in her throat. She stared at him, not daring to breathe, not daring to think.
“I came by earlier and saw what you’d done with the interiors. They look great. Better than great. In fact, they look so good they made me realize what a fool I’ve been.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a document she recognized as the buy-out agreement she’d signed yesterday. As she watched in astonishment, he ripped it in two.
He’d just destroyed the papers that gave him sole ownership of the firm—the one thing he’d wanted more than anything in the world! She stared in amazement as he tossed the torn pages on the floor and stepped toward her, again taking her hands.
It vaguely registered in her mind that it was completely unlike Matt to ever throw anything on the floor. She gazed up at him in bewilderment.
“I want you to stay on as my partner,” he said softly. “You did a hell of a job on the interiors—not just on the design, but on budgeting the project, managing the subcontractors and overseeing the work. You’re a real asset to the company.”
Ali gaped at him, trying to absorb his meaning, her pulse pounding. If he wanted her as his partner, it meant he had confidence in her. If he had confidence in her, it meant he valued her opinion, felt she had something to contribute, wanted her input.
It meant he trusted her. Her heart fluttered and unfolded like the wings of a bird.
“Your brother would have been so pleased and proud.” His voice was low and husky. “I know I am.”
Ali stood stock-still, letting the words pour over her, absorbing their sweetness but afraid to take them to heart. She couldn’t have spoken a word even if she could have thought of anything to say.
His eyes glittered in the storm-darkened dusk as he stepped toward her. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“I owe you an apology,” he continued. “I’ve been unreasonable and out of line and stubborn. I hope you can forgive me.”
Ali wasn’t sure if the drumming in her ears was caused by the rain on the roof or her own pounding heart. He took another step toward her and placed his hands on her arms, making her pulse skip and skitter.
“You were right about everything, Ali. Including the fact I need to change.”
Her heart soared as high and fast as a guided missile. Her voice came out breathless, as if there weren’t enough oxygen in the air. “What sort of changes are you thinking of making?”
“For starters, I’m through trying to control everything.” His fingers slid up her arms. “This storm made me face some hard truths, and one of them is, I can’t control anything or anyone but myself.” He pulled her closer, his gaze direct and earnest. “I used to think I could avoid disappointment by planning everything out and avoiding surprises. But life is about surprises, and not all of them are bad. So I’ve decided to try to follow your advice. From here on out, I’m going to try to loosen up and enjoy life as it comes.”
His eyes were the color of old whiskey, and the look he gave her was just as intoxicating. “There’s another change I’d like to make.” He hesitated, his fingers tightening on her upper arms. “I’d like to change my marital status. That is, if you’ll have me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She gazed up at him, barely daring to breathe.
“I love you, Ali.”
The words fell on her ears like music. She stared into his eyes, spellbound, as her heart danced and sang within.
“I’ve fallen for you hook, line and fishing lure. And I want to marry you.” His voice was soft and sure. So were his hands as they moved to her back. His eyes held a warm, tender light as he gazed down at her. “Do you think you could learn to love a stubborn old cuss like me?”
Joy flooded her chest, filling the hollow spot in her heart, overflowing into her soul. “Oh, Matt. Don’t you know I already do?”
She flung her arms around his neck so suddenly and with such force that he stepped back to get his balance, then slipped on the wet tile. They both toppled to the floor, landing in a soggy heap.
He pulled her on top of him and gave a soft chuckle into her hair. “You keep me off balance, Ali. You knock me off my feet, you bowl me over, you make the earth move.” He wrapped his arms around her and gazed into her eyes, his lips curving into a grin that promised to become a kiss at any moment. “What more could any man want?”
“Maybe he could want this,” she whispered, lowering her lips to his and smothering him with a kiss as warm and loving and wild as their lifetime together promised to be.
Epilogue
Ali opened the antique locket dangling around her neck and glanced at the watch inside. “Quitting time,” she announced, crossing the room to take down the Open House sign taped to the front door. “It went well, don’t you think?”
Lauren pulled up the voluminous skirt of her yellow Victorian gown and plopped down on a velvet love seat. “Are you kidding? You’ve had hundreds of people through here—not to mention three TV crews and photographers from newspapers in Hillsboro, Tulsa and Oklahoma City. Everyone raved about the houses and thought the period costumes were pure genius.”
Ali smiled and sat down beside her. “More importantly, we’ve gotten offers on all three houses and dozens of prospective buyers for the others.”
Lauren placed her hand on Ali’s arm. “You’ve done a fantastic job, Ali. Robert would have been so pleased.”
The thought warmed Ali’s heart. “His designs will be famous when the August issue of American Homelife comes out. Matt thinks his blueprints will sell like crazy.” She grinned at her friend. “Thanks for your help, Lauren. And thanks for agreeing to be my matron of honor.”
“My pleasure.”
The door opened and Hattie bustled in, looking for all the world like a schoolmarm in her old-fashioned skirt and shawl. She grinned broadly at Ali. “Matt wants you to join him next door. Lauren and I will lock up here.”
As always, the thought of Matt made her heart pound. She’d been so busy she’d barely had a chance to see him all day. “Thanks, Hattie.”
She hurried to the house with the turret and found Matt in the master bedroom, leaning against a post of the enormous mahogany bed. She stopped in the doorway, her pulse quickening at the sight
of him in this frankly sensuous room—a room draped in lush fabrics in shades of cream and soft green, with a thick Aubusson rug on the floor and candles everywhere. He’d been on her mind when she’d decorated it and seeing him in it made her stomach tighten.
He gave her a slow, devastating smile as his gaze traveled the length of her, gliding over her long lace dress. “You look beautiful. Like an old-fashioned Gibson Girl.”
Her fingers flew self-consciously to her loosely upswept hair.
“Dressed in pink with your hair like that, you remind me of how you looked when I first kissed you at that wedding.” Matt gave an amused shake of his head. “I should have known then my single days were numbered.”
Ali grinned. “You’ll get to kiss me at another wedding in just a few months.”
“I can hardly wait. Maybe we should practice.” He crossed the room, pulled her into his arms and kissed her until her knees felt like melted butter.
Ali gazed up at him, her arms still around his neck. “We need to decide on a location. I’ve always dreamed of a garden wedding, but knowing my luck, it’ll rain and our guests will get drenched.”
“Knowing your luck, they’re just as likely to get drenched indoors by a fire sprinkler system.” He gave a wry grin and ran a caressing finger across her cheek. “On some matters, honey, you’ve just got to follow your heart. If you want a garden wedding, that’s what we’ll have.”
“I can’t believe how you’ve mellowed,” she said softly.
“I can’t believe how I underestimated you.” His gaze was filled with love and pride. “Today was terrific. We’ve got more buyers than houses, and it’s all due to you.”
The look in his eyes stole the breath from her lungs. “I don’t deserve all the credit. Robert designed the houses and you built them.”
“Yes, but we only created houses. You made them into homes. And you came up with an ingenious way of marketing them.” His hands slid down her lace sleeves. “We aren’t the only ones that profited from it. The Suds ’n Duds sisters racked up orders right and left, and the old geezer who owns the antique store said he made more sales today than he normally does in a month. Even the starving artist did well—although her nose ring didn’t exactly go with the decor.”
