"Well, I certainly am popular today." Her welcoming smile faded as she caught sight of his handsome features drawn into a tight-lipped expression. "You just got back from vacation," she chided gently. "You're supposed to be all smiles and full of news about the fun you had—"
"News? I'm full of news, all right. About you and our new police chief." His tone, for all its quietness, held a bitter note. "He moves rather quickly, wouldn't you say?" He halted directly in front of her, placed his palms flat on her desktop and glared at her. "I think I deserve an explanation."
Angie felt her temper rise at his flat demand but kept her voice calm. "If Blair was anxious to start a fire, she certainly succeeded, didn't she?"
Todd's eyes narrowed. "Dammit, Angie, you know that you and I—"
"I know that you and I are friends, nothing more," she stressed tightly. "That's the way it's been, and that's the way it's going to stay." "Because of our new police chief?" "Matt Richardson has nothing to do with this, Todd. And even if he did, it wouldn't really be any of your business," she informed him coolly.
He stared at her for a long time, then straightened abruptly. "You know how I feel about you," he said in a low voice. "You and I—"
Angie shook her head wearily. "Please don't, Todd. We've gone over this before." The last time had been only a few weeks earlier. Todd had attempted to kiss her, something he'd done a few times in the past year, but she'd always managed to gently discourage him.
"I don't like the thought of you with another man."
Her eyes met his squarely. "I haven't been with another man, Todd. And despite what Blair Andrews seems to think, I'm really not interested in Matt Richardson." Her heart speeded up, as if to belie her words. She might not be interested in him, but she was certainly aware of him in a way that had nothing to do with either her job or his.
Some of Todd's tension seemed to ease, but his tone was still accusing. "You won't even give us a chance, Angie."
Angie was silent. Todd was nice. A pleasant companion. Good-looking, charming, intelligent. But even if her marriage hadn't been the disaster it was, she knew that he wouldn't have kindled an answering spark of feeling inside her—that special emotion she'd once felt with Evan.
"I value our friendship, Todd," she told him carefully. "But I'm happy with my life as it is... and I won't change my mind," she finished in a low voice.
He wasn't satisfied with her response. She could see it in his turbulent expression. But he must have sensed her conviction as he paced around the room. Finally he halted before the window, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers.
"What did you think of the task force's report on city hall?" he asked abruptly.
"I tend to agree with their findings, and I certainly respect their opinion." The task force included two of the council's eight members, plus an architect and an engineer. "This building may be old," she added, "but it's solidly constructed."
Todd's eyebrows lifted. "Let me guess," he said. "They don't build 'em like they used to, right?"
Angie regarded him quietly. "Whichever way we go, it's a publicly financed project. We can't afford not to be conservative."
"Meaning we're under the taxpayers' thumb."
"In a way, yes," she affirmed.
He shook his head, grimacing as he walked toward the door. "If you ask me, it's about time this city did something innovative for a change. It seems all we ever do is drag our heels."
In a way Todd was right, she reflected after he'd gone. The city's residents had always been on the conservative side and rather resistant to change. There were no sprawling shopping malls, no brand-new condominiums cropping up on the outskirts. In many of the neighborhoods, it was as if time had stood still. Cupolaed Victorian houses were the rule rather than the exception. In Angie's eyes it was all part of the city's pervasive appeal.
Yet that same reluctance to embrace new challenges and ways was also responsible for the lack of a women's shelter. It was altogether possible—no, probable—that she would have one heck of a battle on her hands. And tonight was the perfect opportunity to launch the offensive.
She'd been right to think of the meeting as a battlefield. The task force recommendation that city hall be renovated roused both passionate praise and stinging criticism. Angie's patience was sorely tried at least a dozen times when the heated exchange between John Curtis and Anna Goodwin threatened to erupt into a shouting match.
John Curtis was young, in his mid-thirties, an attorney whose views were just a little too radical for Angie's tastes. Bold and brash, he made it no secret that he maintained a few political aspirations of his own.
On the other hand, Anna was a local businesswoman whose family had lived in Westridge for generations. Fair-minded and thorough, there could be no doubt that she had the city's best interests at heart.
If indeed the council was made up along party lines, these two were the leaders of the opposing factions.
By the time the three-hour meeting finally broke up, tempers were short and nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Todd, who was usually rather vocal in his support of Angie, was surprisingly quiet.
But perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all. He was polite but subdued. Angie guessed he was still angry about the scene in her office that afternoon. She meant to have a word with him after the meeting, but he left before she had the chance.
She was the last one to leave the council chambers, and it was after ten o'clock before she shoved a mountain of papers back into her satchel. Closing the door behind her, she sagged against it for a moment. Her lids fluttered shut as she let the blessed quiet of the darkened hallway seep into her senses.
"How'd it go?"
Her eyes flew open in time to see a dark form detach itself from the shadows a few feet away and come toward her. She relaxed as she belatedly recognized the voice as Matt's.
She blew a wispy strand of gold off her forehead and grimaced. "Sometimes I have the feeling all we ever do is agree to disagree."
"The city hall issue didn't go the way you hoped?"
Angie shook her head. "We thought it best to delay the vote a little longer. Maybe by then I'll be able to muster enough support for the renovation project to pass. As it stands right now, we're divided right down the middle." She added that her own vote was used only in the event of a split decision by the eight-member council, but that was something she tried to avoid.
Matt nodded. "What about the shelter?"
Her shoulders sagged. "Until the other issue is decided and we know the funds will be available, we really can't commit to it. I barely scratched the surface."
He reached for her satchel. "I think what you need is a shoulder to cry on."
"You've lightened my burden already." She was a little amazed at how easily the gentle teasing sprang from her lips, especially after the past few hours. Her feet fell into line with his as they started down the hallway, their footsteps echoing hollowly on the cold marble floor.
The hazy light from a streetlamp shone down on the two figures that descended the broad stone steps. Once they were on the sidewalk, Angie stopped to look back at the building. Dozens of glittering stars lay scattered across the night-darkened sky, but her attention was captured by what lay below. Her eyes lingered on the dense green ivy trailing alongside her office window, the portico entrance that lent the structure a clock tower charm.
"I hate to think of bulldozers and wrecking cranes tearing this place apart." It filled her with a sense of sadness, but even as she spoke, a picture of yellowed ceiling tiles flashed into her mind. She even imagined she heard the radiator in her office hissing and clanking the way it had done nearly every day last winter.
Matt looked at her rather oddly. "You're really rather sentimental, aren't you?" There was a note of wonder in his voice.
"I guess I am, at that," she admitted. Her gaze shifted to his face. The silver light of the moon softened the starkly masculine planes and angles of his features. "Why are you so
surprised?" she asked softly.
A sheepish smile lit his face. "I guess I shouldn't be. Not after seeing your house and all the antiques inside it."
Angie laughed and started toward her car. "That's something I come by naturally. My mother likes to drag my father off to garage sales and antique shops. He shouldn't complain, though. She's always the one who does all the stripping and refinishing."
"Your parents live here in Westridge?"
"Not anymore. They decided they'd had enough of rainy winters about three years ago and migrated to the Sunbelt. They live in Arizona now." They stopped some twenty feet from where her car was parked. Without quite being aware of it, she reached out and touched his arm. "Matt, I... I'd like to thank you for all the extra effort you put out today."
"Fruitless though it was."
"Fruitless though it was," she agreed with a rueful laugh. "Round two is coming up, though."
Matt's lips edged up a notch. "Does that mean you no longer want to fire me?"
She liked his slow smile. Strong white teeth were revealed, made whiter still by the contrast with his dark skin. A fine network of laugh lines radiated outward from his eyes. There was much to like about Matt Richardson, she told herself. Perhaps too much.
"I never did want to fire you, Matt." Her brows arched reprovingly.
"No," he said dryly. "You just didn't want to hire me. Besides, you heard Sam Nelson say just this afternoon that he wasn't about to come back."
Angie couldn't quite stop herself from trying to look stern. "I thought we had ceased hostilities. Frankly, I think it's an improvement."
Amen to that, Matt echoed in fervent silence. "Angie?"
Her delicate features etched in moonlight, she looked almost ethereal. Ethereal and untouchable.
"Yes?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling as awkward as a kid on his first date. "You, uh, you wouldn't want to grab a cup of coffee before you head home, would you?"
For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer. And it irritated the hell out of him that she didn't look at him when she finally spoke.
A fleeting look of distress crossed her face, then she slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Matt. Maybe another time. The meeting lasted longer than I expected, and I really should be heading home."
The silence stretched out while she fumbled in her purse for her keys. When, he asked himself harshly, was he going to get the message? How many times did she have to tell him she wasn't interested?
"Sure," he muttered finally. Even to his own ears his voice sounded strained. He leaned against his car as he watched her walk the short distance to her car.
Suddenly he straightened with a frown. "Wait a minute. You're not going anywhere." His tone was grim as he pointed to her car. "Your tires have been slashed."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"You don't have to do this, you know. I could have called Janice. Or Mrs. Johnson."
Matt sighed. Angie had just climbed into his car and now sat as close as possible to the other door. He'd sensed the invisible barrier she put up between them the minute he suggested coffee, a barrier that widened by miles when he offered her a ride home.
"Mrs. Johnson?" His tone was polite, but he felt like being anything but polite. Many women found him attractive, and it wasn't ego but fact that told him so. But Angie made him feel just a little like a toad spawned from the gates of hell.
"A neighbor," she supplied. "She's staying with the girls tonight."
Deliberately he pushed the key into the ignition, aware of the blue eyes trained intently on his every movement. Women's lib! he thought disgustedly. It struck a deep blow to a man prepared to offer some old-fashioned generosity.
"Then it would be a shame to drag the three of them out at this hour, wouldn't it?" He couldn't quite keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Especially when you already have a ride home."
There was a lengthy silence. He finally heard a stiffly muttered, "I suppose you're right."
Matt glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Was it his imagination, or had she pushed back even further against the door? She had no need to fear him. Didn't she know that? Yet suddenly he had the strangest sensation that it wasn't pride or anything remotely connected with it that triggered her reaction. The realization slammed a lid on the slow rise of his temper.
"You know you're not doing wonders for my male ego." He got no response; he really hadn't expected one. He paused, then asked quietly, "Are you afraid of me, of being alone with me?"
Angie couldn't prevent the sudden tensing of her fingers on the strap of her purse. She had to force herself to face him.
What she found there was oddly encouraging. His eyes were questioning, a little puzzled. His expression was incredibly gentle, and his roughly chiseled features seemed softer.
"No," she breathed slowly, then smiled as she realized it was true. Matt made her feel strange and fluttery inside, but she wasn't afraid of him.
"Good." Matt caught his breath at her radiant smile, and he found his own lips responding likewise.
He started the car, and this time when silence reigned, it was a far more comfortable one. It was Angie who finally broke it a few minutes later.
"Matt." Frowning, she reached up and tucked a swirl of gold behind her ear. "Who do you think could have slashed my tires?"
It had been a flagrant act of vandalism. All four had been neatly sliced and punctured. But before Matt had a chance to respond, she found herself speculating aloud. "Do you think it might have been—" Abruptly she checked herself, turning the idea over in her mind.
"Who?" He glanced over at her.
Angie hesitated. "We had a few fireworks at the meeting tonight, and I couldn't help but wonder..." She stopped, realizing how she must sound to him. Paranoid. That's exactly how she was acting.
"It was probably just a couple of kids hell-bent on a little destruction—at someone else's expense."
She considered his statement. "You're probably right," she said finally, then added glumly, "With the kind of day I've had, I should have expected something like this."
A short time later he angled the car into her drive. Angie fought against the sudden stiffening of her body when he switched off the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. Would he want to come in? Of course he will, she chastised herself fiercely. He hadn't exactly bothered to hide his interest in her. Her mind groped for excuses. The girls. Mrs. Johnson. They both had to work tomorrow.
When she glanced over at him, she discovered his eyes upon her, dark and unreadable in the moonlight. "Thanks for the ride," she said, reaching for the door handle.
"I'll walk you to the door," he told her and dropped his keys into his pocket.
She flushed at the faint note of censure in his voice. Matt was right behind her as she stepped onto the sidewalk, and it occurred to her that despite their rocky beginning Matt had been nothing but a perfect gentleman.
In spite of the apprehensive tingle she felt in his presence, she realized her behavior had been petty and a little waspish. In fact, there were a few times she'd been rather rude. No, she definitely wasn't proud of herself.
The porch light had flashed on at the sound of the car doors slamming, and Mrs. Johnson now stood in the doorway.
"Hi," Angie greeted. "How were the girls?"
"Oh, just fine." A pair of bright eyes, startlingly blue beneath her snowy white hair, twinkled at Angie. "They've been in bed since eight-thirty."
Angie nodded and stepped inside. She turned toward Matt, still standing on the porch. She quickly introduced him to the elderly woman, then smiled tentatively at him. "Would you mind walking Mrs. Johnson home? Then, if you'd like, you can stop back in for coffee."
Mrs. Johnson waved aside her request and bundled her ample form into a sweater. "Oh, there's no need for that. I can see myself home."
"I wouldn't dream of it." The smile Matt directed at the older woman would have melted the polar ice cap. Mrs. Johnson, a widow for the past
twenty years, seemed utterly susceptible. She was absolutely beaming as Matt offered her his arm.
Angie was still chuckling about it when she came down the stairs from checking on the girls a few minutes later. Hearing footsteps on the porch, she opened the front door. Matt stood on the threshold.
"Is your offer still open?" he asked. "Or was it just for Mrs. Johnson's benefit?" The mild amusement in his voice took the sting out of his words.
Angie opened the door wider, and he stepped inside. "Speaking of Mrs. Johnson," she commented dryly, "you seem to have added one more to the list."
"The list?" He looked totally blank as he followed her into the kitchen.
She pulled two stoneware mugs from a rack on the wall. "Mrs. Johnson. Janice. Georgia," she said over her shoulder. "Quite a fan club, I'd say."
"Georgia?" He sounded incredulous. "Your secretary, Georgia?"
"Believe it or not, one and the same." She filled a cup and handed it to him. "She's not half as scary as she looks--and acts."
Matt was feeling rather pleased with himself. "Must be all that Chicago charm," he murmured. "Think there's a chance some of it might rub off on you?"
She was amused by the little-boy hopefulness in his eyes. It was far less threatening than the ruggedly male aura he possessed; so far tonight she'd done a commendable job of ignoring it. Mentally she crossed her fingers, the words echoing silently in her head. So far...
Her cup in one hand, she gestured to the living room. "Why don't we go in there?" she suggested.
She knew it was a mistake the minute they sat down. Not that Matt was sitting too close. She had the feeling he deliberately chose the far end of the sofa, and oddly, it set her nerves aflutter. And with the lamp glowing dimly in the corner, the house silent around them, the clock on the mantel ticking peacefully away, it was a potent—and unwelcome—reminder that the two of them were alone together in what might be considered a rather intimate setting.
Angie couldn't help it. She switched on the lamp sitting on the end table nearest her. Their eyes met briefly, and she knew for certain that he was aware of her sudden unease.
Belonging Page 9
