Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  “What happened to your lip?” she asked as she got glasses down from the cupboard.

  “I got beat up by a girl. Taylor,” he explained with a smile. “I woke her up from a bad dream and she let me have it.”

  Allison frowned in concern. “She has nightmares?”

  “Be a wonder if she didn’t,” Matt said. “With everything she’s been through the past couple of months.”

  “This must be a difficult time for her, especially with her father gone.”

  “We’re handling it.”

  His tone didn’t encourage questions. But if she were going to share herself with him, she needed more from him than physical intimacy. She studied his face. Maybe he needed more, too.

  She tried again. “Of course, your family has experience coping with deployments. Your father is an ex-Marine.”

  “No such thing. Once a Marine, always a Marine. So yeah, we’re used to it. But this is the kid’s first time.”

  “Didn’t her mother tell her when her father went overseas?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow.” Carefully, she poured milk into the glasses. “So this is a big adjustment for all of you.”

  “That’s one word for it.” Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Until Dawn died, Luke didn’t even know he had a daughter.”

  Allison’s jaw jarred as her image of the Fletcher’s picture-perfect family splintered and shifted like the pieces of a kaleidoscope. “How did he get custody then?”

  “Dawn—Taylor’s mom—named Luke as guardian in her will. Her parents are contesting it.”

  Allison put away the milk in the fridge. “Oh, no. How can they? I mean, if Luke is Taylor’s father…”

  “Doesn’t matter. Not if some judge decides Taylor is better off with Dawn’s folks. The Simpsons are saying the kid shouldn’t have to live with strangers.”

  She wanted to take his side. But fairness made her say, “You can’t blame them. Taylor is all they have left of their daughter.”

  Allison winced. She sounded like her mother.

  Matt leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Their daughter didn’t want them to have her.”

  She turned to face him. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like she talked to me. I haven’t seen Dawn since she was in high school.”

  Allison wiped her hands on the thighs of her jeans. She could understand why a young single mother would want her daughter raised among the rock-solid, loving Fletchers. But with Luke serving in Afghanistan…

  “Doesn’t that strike you as a little, well, odd? All those years, Dawn never even told Luke they had a daughter together. So why give him custody now?”

  Matt’s big shoulders moved in a shrug. “Maybe she felt guilty.”

  “Maybe.” Allison frowned, her mind still rattling and spinning like a hamster wheel in a third-grade classroom. “Is it possible something, you know, happened? Something that would convince Dawn that Taylor was better off with your family than her own?”

  His eyes were grave. Unwavering. “Like what?”

  Allison floundered as all the ugly home-life issues teachers dealt with every day crowded in on her. Estrangement. Alcoholism. Abuse. Behavioral problems. “I just wondered…If Taylor’s having problems sleeping…”

  “The kid has nightmares,” Matt said. “So did you, you said. So did I, when my dad went overseas. You don’t have to search for reasons when they’re staring you in the face. Her mother died. Her dad’s deployed. Before Luke left, he told me to take care of her. Which is what I’ve been doing for the past two hours.”

  “That’s why you’re late. You were putting her to bed.”

  “Yeah.”

  Allison’s misgivings dissolved in a little glow. Taylor was safe and cared for. She wished every child she’d taught could claim the same.

  Cupping Matt’s face in her hands, she laid her lips on his.

  His hands settled warmly at her waist. “What was that for?” he asked when she leaned back.

  “Because you’re such a nice guy.”

  He smiled at her with his broken lip. “Uh-oh. Usually when a woman says that, she’s moving you to the Friend Zone.”

  “We are friends,” Allison said. He’d come to her as a friend. Confided in her like a friend. The realization warmed her.

  The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened. “More than friends.”

  The glow grew brighter.

  You have the right to expect that I’ll call, he’d said. That I’ll see you as often as I can.

  It was easy to imagine that he had feelings for her. Tempting to believe that they had a real relationship. A future.

  But that wasn’t part of their deal. One perfect moment was all she’d asked for, all she’d promised.

  Was it reneging to wish for…Well, more?

  Allison shook her head. That was her parents’ way, to constantly raise the bar until they were never satisfied, until whatever she did was never enough. She’d sworn never to do that to anybody.

  She was not going to do that to Matt.

  Carrying the milk into the living room, she cleared a section of the couch so he could sit.

  He frowned at the stack of papers on the floor. “I interrupted your grading.”

  “No, I was done.” Almost. She patted the cushion next to her, pleased that he’d spared a thought for her work. “It’s a small class. American Literature. Speaking of which, Josh really surprised me.”

  Matt lowered himself onto the couch and opened the bag of snickerdoodles. “Because he turned in his homework?”

  “Because his essay was so good.” She accepted a cookie.

  “You must have inspired him.”

  The compliment felt good. “I thought maybe you threatened him.”

  Matt smiled. “Nope.”

  She nibbled her cookie, which was delicious. Maybe she could learn how to cook. “Well, he totally exceeded my expectations. He wrote his paper in…” She broke off as Matt lifted her bare feet from the floor and swung them into his lap. “What are you doing?”

  Matt’s big, warm hands engulfed her feet. “Rubbing your feet.”

  She tried to pull them back. She’d never had a man massage her feet before. She was used to doing for others, not having others do things for her. To her. She felt oddly exposed and vulnerable. “You don’t have to do that.”

  His grip tightened on her ankles. “Tell me about Josh.”

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I assigned the class a five-hundred-word character sketch on The Scarlet Letter. Josh wrote his in the first person, as if he actually were Dimmesdale. Which wasn’t the assignment, but it was creative and…” She shut her eyes. “Oh, God, that feels good.”

  “Glad to hear it. He’s okay with us, by the way.”

  She opened her eyes. “What?”

  “Josh.”

  “You discussed us with Josh?” Her voice squeaked embarrassingly.

  Matt’s hand moved up her calf, under her jeans, and gave a little squeeze. “I didn’t give details. But he’s bright enough to figure out the broad outlines on his own.”

  Good for Josh. Maybe when he figured it out, he could fill her in.

  But it was hard to think, to worry, with Matt’s broad hands reducing her to putty. His thumbs found a sensitive spot on the ball of her foot, and she groaned with pleasure. He tugged on her legs until she was half lying along the couch, her head against the armrest.

  She shifted against the cushions, guilt seeping through her satisfaction. “I should…do something.”

  He stroked her legs. The muscles in her thighs went lax. “Why?”

  “Because…” Her brain blurred as he scraped a fingernail over her zipper. “Well, because I…Because you…I don’t expect to just lie back while you take care of everything.”

  “You don’t expect much.” He massaged her slowly, tiny circles through her jeans. Her legs eased open. “Makes me feel like I have something to prove.�
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  She stirred, damp and restless. “If you don’t expect things…” She inhaled as he pressed. “You can’t be disappointed.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes gleamed. He tugged at her jeans, pulled down her panties. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

  She swallowed, lifting her hips to help him. Not that he seemed to require much assistance. Obviously he knew what he was doing, she thought as he kissed a trail down her stomach. Which was a relief, except that with all that practice he must be used to partners who actually…

  He nuzzled her, his beard growth delicately abrading her skin, his mouth hot and seeking.

  She gulped. Partners who participated.

  She ought to reciprocate, she thought hazily as he learned her. She ought to reach for him. But Matt didn’t seem to find anything lacking in her response, and after a while she stopped thinking, stopped caring. There was something deliciously decadent, sinful, self-indulgent about giving herself up to him, no straining, no striving, no wondering does he like this or should I do that, only Matt’s mouth and Matt’s hands and the way they made her feel.

  Her body coiled tighter and tighter. He lifted her, his big hands bracing her buttocks, her legs on his shoulders, his head between her thighs as he sucked, flicked, licked inside her. The lamp burned her eyes, everything hot and wet and golden, searing behind her closed lids. She touched him, her fingers in his hair, until even that effort was too much, until her hands slid away and her arms rose and fell, beating at nothing like a gull trying to fly. He thrust a finger inside her, then two, his mouth hot, insistent, there, and a tether snapped inside her, and she soared.

  He raised his head, his breathing heavy. She felt him shifting, reaching, heard the sounds of him putting on a condom while she lay there, doing nothing, too satisfied to move, and then he was back, warm and heavy on top of her, hard and sure between her thighs, moving on her and into her with blunt strength, and she let him, let him do everything, no work, no worry, no responsibility.

  Only Matt.

  She cried out and came, again and again.

  When it was over, she settled slowly back to earth, her mind drifting, her body floating with pleasure.

  He levered himself on one elbow. “It’s getting late.”

  Cold reality trickled back.

  Here it comes, she thought. Gee, honey, look at the time. I better get back to my place. Life. Houseplants.

  Matt kissed her forehead. “Mind if I crash here for a couple of hours?”

  She opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her, his blue eyes lazy and warm. Her heart turned over in her chest.

  “I don’t mind at all,” she said and twined her arms around his neck.

  “CAN I TALK to you a minute?” Allison asked Josh the next morning as her fourth period class broke up.

  Which of course set off another round of the curious looks and snickers that made their conversation necessary.

  She sighed.

  Josh ambled to her desk, books on his hip, sun-streaked hair in his eyes.

  Allison waited until most of the other students had departed before she said, simply, “I’m sorry.”

  Pink still tinged his cheekbones, but he said, “’S okay.”

  “I didn’t realize that asking you to read your assignment out loud would get that kind of reaction from your classmates.”

  “They’ll get over it.” He offered her his father’s sweet, crooked smile. “I am.”

  Nice kid.

  “The thing is…” Gail had warned her against showing favoritism in class. But Josh’s work was too good to be ignored. Wasn’t it partiality to withhold recognition where it was deserved? “You did an excellent job with the assignment. Very creative. I want you to understand that my calling on you had nothing to do with…”

  Me sleeping with your father. She cleared her throat.

  Josh shrugged. “Hey, at least it got some laughs.”

  Thalia looked up from the back table, where she was sorting through the student newspaper’s files. “Because it was funny.”

  “Thanks,” he said dryly.

  She rolled her eyes. “Not Miss Carter calling on you. Your essay, the way you made Dimmesdale sound like this horny poseur. That was funny.”

  “You’re a good writer,” Allison added.

  “Thanks,” Josh repeated, more warmly this time.

  Thalia cocked her head. “You ever think about writing for the school paper?”

  “Hell, no.”

  She flushed to the roots of her red hair. “Right.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Allison said, backing her up. “We need more writers. Particularly since we’ve added the blog.”

  “I have work after school. And basketball’s starting up soon.”

  “In November,” Allison said.

  His eyes gleamed through his thick lashes. “We have conditioning before that.”

  “See, that would be interesting to know about,” Thalia said gamely. “You could do a guest blog. Or a series. Kind of an insider’s view of the team.”

  “I don’t know if Coach would go for that.”

  “You could ask,” Allison said. “I could talk to him, if you like.”

  “I guess I could think about it,” Josh said and escaped.

  Thalia grinned. “Thanks, Miss Carter.”

  “He hasn’t said yes,” Allison cautioned.

  “He didn’t say no, either. At least now I’ve got a shot at spending time with him outside of class.”

  “There’s a big difference between spending time with someone and a commitment,” Allison said.

  Listen to yourself, she thought.

  “Aren’t you always telling us to be open to new experiences? Maybe the paper is Josh’s new experience.” Thalia flashed another grin. “And maybe Josh is mine.”

  Allison bit her lip, not sure if she should be encouraging this kind of experience among her students. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Thalia shrugged. “Even that would be an experience. I’m tired of being smart and alone. Better to have loved and lost and all that, right?”

  Allison looked at her bright, expectant face and didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Maybe Thalia was right and everything would work out the way she hoped.

  And maybe the girl was setting herself up for heartbreak. Maybe this whole love-and-loss business was one experience she’d be better off without.

  It was too soon to tell.

  For either of them.

  Thirteen

  HE NEEDED MORE sleep.

  Matt set his purchases on the counter of Evans Tackle Store: hooks for trolling baitfish and two large coffees to go for him and Tom.

  Two weeks of getting up in the middle of the night to change beds was getting old.

  Especially when he had to be up at five in the morning.

  The tourist section of the store was still dark, the bright T-shirts hanging like shrouds, the key chains and shot glasses glinting in the shadows. In mismatched chairs on the other side, men in waders and sweatshirts talked about their neighbors, their trucks, the latest restrictions on commercial catches, and the current NOAA weather report. The air was thick with the tang of oil and tobacco, the hum of the lights and refrigerator, the drip and gurgle of the coffeepots.

  “You listen to every damn weather advisory, you’ll starve,” Randy Johnson, a commercial fisherman, complained.

  “And if you ignore them, you’ll drown,” quipped George Evans from behind the register. He rang Matt up. “Hey, Matt. Haven’t seen you in here lately.”

  “Matt’s got other fish to fry in the mornings,” put in one of the men around the table.

  “Hear he’s hooked on the new teacher,” Randy Johnson said.

  “Couple of weeks now, isn’t it? Must be a record.”

  “He’s so pretty with that gaff in his mouth, we ought to string him up and take his picture.”

  Matt shrugged off the ribbing and paid for the coffees. Let them h
ave their fun. He and Allison were fine. He and Allison were great. He didn’t have to make promises, she didn’t make demands.

  “I’d buy you a drink,” Sam Grady said behind him. “But you already have coffee.”

  Matt turned. “Sam.” Surprise lightened his voice. He didn’t usually see Sam here. “Just fueling up. Got a party of two going out for king mackerel today. You can come along if you want to crew.”

  “Wish I could. But I only dropped in to say good-bye. Driving to a work site in Cary today.”

  “Trouble on the job?”

  Sam grinned, quick and sharp. “You could say that. Ever since the old man checked himself out of the hospital, all he can do is bitch about every decision I made while he was laid up. I’ve got my own business to run. I can’t stick around and drive up his blood pressure. Maybe he’ll relax when I’m gone.”

  Sam’s dad was a dick. Time and illness hadn’t changed that. Absence wouldn’t either. But pointing that out wouldn’t help Sam.

  “Give me a call when you get back,” Matt said instead. “We’ll get us some blues, some brews.”

  “That’d be good. If you can spare the time from Hot Teacher.”

  Matt eyed his oldest friend. “You know my rule. Never let a woman interfere with fishing.”

  “Bullshit. Jenny Vaughan, sophomore year,” Sam said promptly. “You blew off pier fishing for a pair of breasts.”

  Matt grinned. “Hey, they were my first breasts.” His first everything, he remembered. Pretty, fun-loving Jenny. “Anyway, she’s married now. Two kids and another on the way.”

  “And so it goes.” Sam shook his head. “Watch yourself, pal. Heard you were thinking of taking the plunge again yourself.”

  Hot coffee burned Matt’s mouth as he gulped. “What?”

  “You and Hot Teacher.”

  Matt felt a spurt of something like panic. “No.”

  Sam raised his brows. “Okay.”

  Matt swallowed again to relieve the sudden dryness in his mouth. “We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of weeks.”

  “Nobody else, though, right?”

  “So? That’s only because there’s no one else I want to be with.”

  “Sure,” Sam said lightly. “Let me know when you’ve moved on. Maybe I’ll come back and cheer her up.”