Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  His gaze dipped. She flushed as he took her with his eyes, making her feel beautiful. Desired.

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to. I should hit the road.”

  Alone? she thought.

  “I’ll see you later, then,” she said brightly. She was not going to indulge in hurt feelings. Matt had a lot on his mind. A lot on his plate. This wasn’t about her. “I probably should drive my own car, anyway.”

  “I mean, you don’t have to come over tonight.”

  A chill chased over her. “What are you talking about?”

  He pocketed his keys and wallet. “Like you said, you need to get back to your routines.”

  Her mouth gaped. “I wasn’t talking about me!”

  “Yeah?” He shot her a dark, unreadable look. “What was all that talk about needing your own space?”

  “That wasn’t…I didn’t…What just happened here?”

  He scooped his jacket off the floor. Shrugged into it. “I had a good time. I thought you did, too. We both needed the break. But break time’s over, and I’ve got a pile of shit to deal with at home.”

  He might as well have slapped money on the dresser.

  She grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her, feeling suddenly exposed and angry. Hurt, too. “I am not just a good time. I am not somebody you sleep with when you need a fucking break.”

  He scowled. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you don’t have to spend every spare minute taking care of me and the kids.”

  “What else should I do with my time? I’m not one of your summer flings. I’m not here because I need you to show me a good time. I’m here. I’m staying. Don’t make this out to be less than what it is. Don’t make me out to be less than what I am.”

  His face darkened with frustration. “Damn it, Allison, I’m not taking advantage of you. Not more than I already have.”

  “I’m offering to help.”

  “How much help? For how long? You don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his thick, sun-streaked hair. “Hell, I don’t know. It could be weeks before Mom gets out of rehab. It could be months before things get back to normal. You could be in for way more than you bargained for.”

  “And you think my help comes with an expiration date? You think I’m suddenly going to turn on you and say, ‘Oh, sorry, Matt, I can’t do this anymore, it’s too much’ ?”

  His eyes flickered. His face set.

  He did, she thought, her heart twisting. That’s exactly what he thought. What he was afraid of.

  But he said, “No, I don’t. You’ve been great. You’ve done everything anybody could ask. Hell, you’ve done things I didn’t even know needed doing.” His eyes were dark and level. “But I won’t let you shortchange yourself or your work because of me.”

  Her breath deserted her. Her anger died. He was such a good guy, she thought.

  Such a dear, good, pigheaded guy.

  “So, what, you’re going to do it all yourself? Take care of your parents and the kids, run the inn and the boat business by yourself?”

  His jaw set, mule stubborn. “If I have to.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t have to. You need help.”

  “Then I’ll hire somebody to cover at the inn. Part time, on the weekends.”

  She crossed her arms over the sheet. “That’s not enough, and you know it. I’m not going to shortchange my students. But I’m not going to stand by and do nothing while you work and worry yourself to death.”

  He glared, clearly frustrated. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to accept my help!”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes!” she snapped. Their gazes locked, both of them breathing harder. After a long moment, she looked away, muttering, “Well, and it wouldn’t kill you to say thank you.”

  He crossed the room to her. She felt his heat. Stared at his shoes.

  His arms came around her gently as he gathered her close, fitting her against him, breast and belly and thighs, two halves of one whole. He pressed a kiss to her hair.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  With one finger under her chin, he urged her head up. His eyes were deep and turbulent as the sea. He inhaled once, sharply, and then laid his lips on hers, his kiss gentle, seeking, hungry, taking and giving in equal measure, and she opened her mouth and kissed him back, promising everything, giving him everything.

  When he raised his head, she was trembling.

  The smallest smile indented one corner of his mouth. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her voice shook. She cleared her throat. “What are friends for?”

  Not the words she longed to say. She was in love with him, the idiot. It would have been nice to tell him so.

  But if a simple offer of help made him jumpy, a confession of love would send him running screaming for the hills.

  At least he wasn’t shutting her out of his life.

  At least he hadn’t said no.

  For a guy as stubbornly independent as Matt Fletcher, she thought hopefully, it was a step in the right direction. A very small step, but a step forward, all the same.

  NOW THAT ALLISON had wrung an admission from Matt that he needed her help, she was determined to deliver.

  She finished making up the bed in the Anne Bonney room, bundling the dirty sheets into the hall. Most of the inn’s guests wouldn’t arrive until the next day, Friday. But because of their school schedules, she and Josh had to turn the rooms tonight.

  The drone of the vacuum cleaner penetrated the hall. She poked her head into the next room where Josh was working to the beat of his iPod. “I’m done in Bonney.”

  He pulled out his earbuds. “What?”

  “You can do Anne Bonney next.”

  He flashed her a grin. “She’s not really my type.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, funny man.”

  She moved along to the second floor landing, where the paneled and upholstered window seat provided a view of the water. An old wardrobe housed the coffee and tea service for the upstairs bedrooms.

  Allison cushioned two used mugs on top of the dirty laundry, tucked in the depleted thermoses of milk and half-and-half along the sides. As she hefted the basket, the doorbell chimed.

  “Josh?”

  No answer. He probably couldn’t hear over his music and the vacuum. Allison clomped downstairs with her load.

  “I’ve got it!” Taylor dashed through the hall.

  Allison rounded the banister as Taylor tugged open the front door. “I’ll be right with you,” she called over the laundry piled in her arms. “Welcome to Pirates’ Rest.”

  “Allison?” The word vibrated with appalled disbelief.

  Her stomach sank. She lowered her basket.

  Two people stood on the worn William Morris carpet in the hall, the woman champagne blond and petite, the man tall and handsome with heavy brows and a beak like the Muppets’ Sam the Eagle.

  Her parents.

  Seventeen

  “SO I SAID to your father, if Mahatma won’t come to the mountain, the mountain simply has to come to Mahatma,” Marilyn Carter said to Allison as they entered the restaurant for dinner.

  “Mohammed,” Allison said. “Not Gandhi.”

  “What?”

  “The mountain comes to Mohammed.”

  “Don’t correct your mother,” Richard said.

  “Sorry. It was really…sweet of you to come.”

  Marilyn pursed her lips. Coral, to match her dress. “We wanted to surprise you.”

  Allison smiled feebly. “Well, you certainly did that.”

  “Your table is ready, Mr. Carter,” the black-clad host announced.

  Allison had made eight o’clock reservations at Brunswick, the one fine dining establishment on the island. The chef was a local celebrity with two cookbooks and a guest appearance on Iron Chef to his credit. The dining room was white linen and exposed brick and lots of glass th
at opened on lovely vistas of the harbor and garden. It was hard to tell which at night. Discreet candles glinted off massed wineglasses and precisely ordered flatware.

  Allison hoped her parents would be…not impressed by her choice. They were never impressed by her choices. But placated, maybe, by the familiar trappings.

  She hoped Matt wouldn’t hate it.

  “How did you know where to find me?” she asked after the waiter had left with their drink orders.

  “We didn’t,” Marilyn said. “That is, we had your address, but Daddy and I were going to check into our hotel before we called you.”

  “Full up,” Richard said with displeasure. “The desk clerk suggested we try the inn. It’s not the kind of place we would normally consider staying. Certainly not the kind of place we would expect to find our daughter employed as a maid.”

  “I’m not employed there, Dad. I’m helping out while Matt’s mother is in the hospital.”

  “Speaking of Matt, when is your young man joining us?” Marilyn asked. “Although I suppose I can’t really call him that, can I?”

  “Mine?” Allison asked before she thought.

  Marilyn’s smile sharpened. “Young.”

  Oh, boy.

  Allison wiped her damp palms on her napkin. This evening was not going to be fun. She should have told her parents that Matt couldn’t come, he was busy, he was sick, he was out of the country…

  “He had to put Taylor to bed,” she explained. “I’m sure we’ll see him soon.”

  She saw him crossing the dining room, broad and solid in khaki slacks and a perfectly appropriate navy blazer, and felt like a lost crash survivor spotting a rescue plane.

  He nodded to her mother, shook hands with her father, smiled into Allison’s eyes. “Nice dress.”

  She looked down at her scoop-necked blue silk dress, chosen, like her earrings and the restaurant, to appease her parents. “Thank you.”

  He leaned in as he sat down, murmuring, “Remind me to take it off you later.”

  She grinned at him, suddenly feeling better about everything.

  THE DINING ROOM was cool, the atmosphere around the table icy. Matt was glad he’d worn his jacket.

  The waiter appeared with the Carters’ drink orders. Allison, Matt noticed, stuck to water.

  If his parents were like the Carters, he’d want to keep a clear head around them, too. That, or he’d get blind, staggering drunk.

  “Hey, Matt. Carolina Pale Ale?”

  Matt nodded. “Thanks, Greg.”

  “I thought I’d order wine for the table,” Richard Carter said. “Unless you’d prefer your beer.”

  Matt let his gaze dip briefly to Richard’s Scotch. He was used to rich assholes. As long as they were paying for his boat and his time, he could deal. Since Allison’s dad was picking up the tab for this dinner, Matt could deal with him, too.

  “Wine is fine,” he said.

  “We’ll start with a bottle of the Cab,” Richard said.

  He ordered filet, Marilyn fish. Matt scanned the prices and got the pasta.

  “You probably eat fish all the time,” Marilyn said to Matt. “You must tell me how you get that smell off your hands.”

  “Mother,” Allison said.

  “It’s okay.” Matt smiled at Marilyn. “Actually, I have a trick I learned from my grandfather. You cut a lemon and rub your hands with the lemon and some sugar. Takes the smell right out.”

  “Interesting,” Marilyn said.

  A silent busboy deposited hard white rolls on each plate with the seriousness of a priest distributing communion. Until he got to Allison.

  He grinned. “Looking good, Miss Carter.”

  Her death grip on her napkin eased. “Thanks, Miguel.”

  Richard frowned. “You know this young man, Allison?”

  “Miguel is in one of my classes. How’s the paper coming?” she asked.

  The kid shrugged. “Well, you know…”

  “Due Monday,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “We need more water here, I think,” Richard said.

  Marilyn leaned forward as Miguel returned with the pitcher. “His English is very good,” she whispered loudly.

  Allison flushed. “Of course it’s good, Mom. His family lives here.”

  Matt squeezed her leg under the table. She clutched his hand like a lifeline.

  Their appetizers appeared from the kitchen, shrimp cocktail for Richard and three salads. Matt sat back as Allison’s father ran the conversation like a pool hall hustler, small talk cracking and ricocheting around the table. Aim, shoot, sink.

  When their entrees arrived, the game got serious.

  “So, Matt, tell us what it is that you do, exactly,” Richard said.

  Matt knew the drill. He’d been through it before, with Kimberly’s parents. “I’m a fourth-generation fisherman on the island. I inherited one boat from my grandfather, added another a couple of years back. We concentrate on charter sport fishing, with a little commercial fishing in the off-season.”

  “And that’s enough to provide you with a living,” Richard said.

  “Me and my family,” Matt said steadily. “Yes.”

  “Ah, yes, your family.” Richard sipped his wine. “Allison tells us you have a son.”

  Allison sat up straighter. “Joshua. You met him at check-in, Dad.”

  “Big boy. He’s what, eighteen?”

  “Sixteen.” Matt drank his water, any appetite he’d had gone. If this was typical Carter mealtime conversation, no wonder Allison hated Sunday dinners.

  On the other hand, her parents were only grilling him because they cared about her. Meg had been just as obnoxious.

  “So you must be around forty,” Richard said.

  “Thirty-six,” Matt said politely.

  “Eleven years older than Allison,” Marilyn said.

  Allison glared. “Are we going around the table revealing everybody’s age, Mom? Because you haven’t mentioned yours.”

  “That’s enough,” Richard said.

  “It certainly is,” said Allison.

  Marilyn pouted. Well, it could have been the collagen in her lips, but Matt thought she was pouting. “I simply remarked on your age difference, dear. It is rather a lot.”

  “Really? How old is Johnny Pearson?” Allison asked.

  “Doctors are different,” Marilyn said. “All that schooling…They’re really not ready for marriage until they’re forty.”

  “Which explains why he left his wife,” Allison said.

  “Where did you get your degree, Matt?” Richard asked.

  “Matt attended NC State,” Allison said.

  “But I didn’t get my degree,” Matt said. “I left my sophomore year to support my family.”

  “Don’t you think that was rather shortsighted?”

  “It was the right choice for me and Josh at the time.”

  “Too bad your parents didn’t help you stay in school.” Richard waved his knife. “Marilyn and I have always felt it’s the parents’ responsibility to protect their children from the consequences of poor choices.”

  Matt set his jaw. “Actually, Mr. Carter…”

  “Call me Richard.”

  How about Dick? “Actually, Richard, my parents helped us out quite a lot until I got on my feet.”

  “So then that’s kind of a pattern for you,” Richard said. “People helping you out. Your parents. Allison.”

  “Dad…”

  “Allison has been more than generous,” Matt said.

  “For crying out loud,” Allison said. “It’s not like I’m giving you money out of my trust fund.”

  “But he’s not paying you either, is he?” Richard asked.

  “I don’t want him to pay me!”

  “Our little girl has always liked to volunteer her time,” Richard said to Matt. “Of course, she never sticks with any one project for very long.”

  Matt’s head throbbed. He could swallow the implicat
ion that he was a loser. A charity project. But Richard’s dismissal of Allison stuck in Matt’s craw.

  “Allison is a great teacher. But she’ll be successful at anything she does. She has a big heart and strong principles. She sees what needs doing and she rolls up her sleeves and gets it done.”

  Marilyn laughed lightly. “Well, we certainly saw her rolling up her sleeves this afternoon.”

  Allison closed her eyes. In embarrassment, Matt guessed, or pain, and he didn’t know which one was worse.

  Because he’d been here before. With Kimberly.

  The thought was like a dull knife in his chest. He didn’t want to be that guy, the guy who wasn’t good enough for her family, the guy who screwed up her life.

  He’d spent the past sixteen years making sure he wouldn’t be that guy again.

  Richard reached for his wineglass. “I agree with you. Our little girl has a bright future ahead of her.”

  “Yes,” Matt said.

  “But not here,” Richard said decisively. “She won’t stay here.”

  Allison sat stiff beside him, her mouth tight. Because she agreed with her father? The knife twisted. Or because she didn’t want to get into a fight?

  He could make her stay, Matt thought.

  He wouldn’t even have to knock her up.

  All he had to do was appeal to that big heart of hers, take advantage of her need to be needed, and she would stay. For him.

  He met Richard’s dark, knowing eyes.

  “I won’t hold her back,” Matt said.

  “GEE, THAT WAS fun,” Allison said as Matt walked her to her car. “Let’s not do it again.”

  Matt didn’t laugh, the way she hoped he would.

  “Not a chance. I’m pretty sure your parents will be happy never to see me again,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his forearm, rigid with muscle. “They were awful.”

  “No, they weren’t. They were being parents.”

  She sighed, relieved that he was so understanding. “I guess they mean well. They just…”

  “Want what’s best for you,” he finished for her. He stopped and faced her under the lights of the parking lot, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “And they know I’m not it.”

  Uh-oh. He looked serious. Her heart slammed into her rib cage.