by Peggy Webb
“Lucy wants time to plan a big shindig,” Ben said, and Lucy leaned over and kissed him on the lips.
“The kind we should have had in the first place,” she told him.
“I’m taking your mother to Paris next week. Sort of a honeymoon before the wedding.”
Lucy kissed him again. “Darling, all our times together will be honeymoons.”
Matt was happy for them, he really was. Then why did he feel so miserable?
“Sandi’s mother lives in Paris, doesn’t she?” Lucy said.
“I think so.”
“Maybe Ben and I will look her up, stop by to say hello.” Lucy got that determined look on her face like a woman set to meddle.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mother.”
“I don’t know why not. I’d like to tell that woman a thing or two about what a wonderful daughter she has.”
Ben chuckled. “I see I’m going to have my hands full.”
“You can count on it, darling.”
This time it was Ben who initiated the kissing. Matt figured this was going to be the longest evening of his life.
“According to the ultrasound, I’d put your due date as February eighth.”
The doctor’s name was Samuel Jacobs, and he’d come highly recommended by two of C.J.’s classmates who were going back to school after having their families.
“Does that sound about right to you, Mrs. Wentworth?”
A sail at sunset. Oranges, key lime pie and Matt. Sandi got tears in her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The attending nurse handed her a tissue, then patted her arm.
“And it’s Miss,” Sandi said. No sense pretending. She was having this baby all by herself.
“Will anyone be attending the birth with you?” Dr. Jacobs asked, not unkindly.
“Yes. My best friend, C.J. Crystal Jean,” she added so there would be no mistaken ideas of the absent father coming to the rescue at the last minute.
“You’re the picture of health, I see no reason why you shouldn’t deliver a fine, healthy baby.”
Sandi gazed at the monitor, seeing the heartbeat of her unborn child. The only thing that would make the moment perfect would be having Matt to share the joy.
She put on her new maternity dress then went to tell C.J. and Clint the news. Her baby was going to be a lively, artistic, off-the-wall Aquarian.
Matt waited until after dinner to call Sandi. He’d stopped by to pick up a real man’s meal of steak in order to provide himself an edge when he made the call. He tried never to go into a courtroom hungry or tired. A full stomach and a contented frame of mind could make the difference in how he presented his case.
He even waited thirty minutes after his meal to give his food time to digest. He’d meant to wait an hour but finally he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello.” She sounded breathless and excited, like a little girl at Christmas.
Matt took that as a good sign. “Sandi, how are you?”
No plunging full speed ahead this time. Make small talk, plant the seeds, prepare the way. That was the ticket.
“Great. How are you?”
“Good. Keeping busy.”
His mind went blank. He stood there listening to the sound of Sandi’s breathing and feeling foolish.
“How’s Lucy?” she asked.
“She’s very happy these days. She’s in Paris with the man she loved before she met my father. Dr. Ben Appleton. They’re going to get married.”
“In Paris?”
“No, I expect the wedding to be at O’Banyon Manor. Sometime next year. Or, knowing Mother, it could be longer. She loves ostentation and fanfare.”
Sandi’s laugh delighted him. It made him think of a little girl in a tree swing on a summer’s day, lighthearted and full of childlike joy.
Suddenly he realized that was one of the things that drew him to Sandi. She exuded the zest for life that had always eluded him.
“I’m so happy for her,” Sandi said. “Your mother’s a terrific woman and deserves nothing but the best.”
“Thank you. I think she’s getting it this time.”
They both went silent. Listening to the soft sound of her breathing, he pictured her sitting in her den with her puppies curled in her lap. Probably wearing jeans and a T-shirt, or maybe something artsy, a swingy skirt that showed off her shapely legs and a pretty white blouse cut low and sliding off one beautiful shoulder.
“Sandi, do you like blues?”
“Oh, it’s my favorite kind of music. So soulful and true.”
“There’s a blues festival and barbecue cook-off next weekend in Jackson, Tennessee. Friday and Saturday. Lots of blues greats will be there, including Blind Bobby Walker.”
“Oh, I love him. He’s a fantastic bluesman, absolutely my favorite.”
Matt smiled. Things were looking up. He’d made a good choice.
“I’m going, and I’d like it very much if you would go with me, Sandi.”
“Matt, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Can’t or won’t?
There was something in her voice that told him it was the latter.
“So am I.”
He said goodbye quickly because he didn’t trust himself to linger on the phone after she’d turned him down. He might have gone into his lawyerly mode, asked a lot of questions that would not have advanced his cause one iota. He might even have lost control entirely and said, “Look, I’m coming up there to find out what this is all about.”
He made himself a stiff drink and put on a good James Cotton CD then settled down on his big lonely sofa.
So what was another defeat? He’d lost another battle, not the war.
In times like this his mother was fond of quoting Scarlett O’Hara. “Tomorrow is another day.”
For the first time in his life, the statement made sense to Matt. He’d call Sandi again, but not tomorrow. Maybe she had personal problems that had nothing to do with him. He’d give her some time to work them out. Give her some time to miss him.
The way he was missing her. Like losing an arm. Or a heart.
It was a Saturday night, which a song on one of his new CDs described as the lonesomest night of the week, and Matt couldn’t stand being apart from Sandi a moment longer.
“To hell with the plan,” he said.
He threw a few things into a bag, grabbed his shaving kit and his new travel case of CDs then headed out to Starkville, never mind that it was eight o’clock in the evening and by the time he got there it would too late to drop by unannounced.
And he certainly didn’t plan to call ahead. He knew exactly where that would get him. Nowhere.
Mindful of the habit of highway patrolmen to lurk around after dark, Matt obeyed the speed limit—mostly—and passed the time by whistling along to his CDs. He was happy to say that he could now whistle every single tune.
As he clipped off the miles, he came to the startling conclusion that he would take up needlepoint if it would win him a place in Sandi Wentworth’s heart. She had turned him into a bona fide romantic.
He stopped at a gas station forty miles from Starkville and called a Holiday Inn to make reservations. He’d check in, then be fresh and rested when he went to see Sandi early the next morning.
By the time he got to the outskirts of the city, he knew he wasn’t going to check into a hotel without first driving by her apartment. At least to see if she was home. She could be out of town at an art showing or on a photographic assignment.
Her apartment was dark, her car gone. Matt couldn’t believe it. Where was luck when he needed it most?
On the other hand, her deserted place proved that he was right about judicious planning. It beat dumb luck every time.
Maybe she’d be back tomorrow. That’s what he told himself, but as he was getting ready to back out of her driveway some instinct stopped him.
Sandi was nearby. He cou
ld feel her prickling along the back of his neck and making his heart race.
A good lawyer never ignores his instincts. Matt parked his car then walked around the back of the apartment building to see what he could see. The landlords had spent a lot of money making the entrance to their building inviting, but they’d done practically nothing to the back. A few scruffy crepe myrtle trees grew in an uneven line along the back, their leaves burnt orange by late September’s chill, and a couple of tenants had set lawn chairs on the four-by-four-foot slabs of concrete that passed as patios.
By counting, Matt guessed the two tenants to be Sandi and her friend, C.J., who had the apartment right next door. There were lights and music drifting from C.J.’s apartment, but Sandi’s remained dark.
Matt still couldn’t believe it. Her presence was so close he could almost smell her perfume.
He stood perfectly still, hoping that no one would see him lurking in the shadow of the trees and mistake him for a burglar. Five more minutes. That’s how long he would give himself.
Time crept by and he was just about to leave, when a light came on in Sandi’s apartment. Silhouetted through the shades, she looked like a madonna with her long hair, graceful neck and the simple clothes she wore. Slacks and some sort of large shirt, probably an artist’s smock.
He imagined it white and so pristine it made her skin glow. He imagined little flecks of paint spattered on the sleeve and one or two on her cheek.
“She’s home,” he said. That’s all he needed to know.
As he was turning to go, he saw Sandi’s shirt slide down her shoulders. Riveted, he watched it descend. There were her breasts, lush and fuller than he remembered, the slender rib cage hardly bigger than the span of his hands, and then…
Matt lost his breath as Sandi placed her hands over her abdomen and began to massage.
“She’s pregnant….”
Every cell in his body ached with the beauty of Sandi’s hands caressing the womb that held his child. Wonder sliced him like a knife blade. He couldn’t have moved if fifteen cops were coming toward him with shackles. Wouldn’t have moved.
There was a tenderness in the way she touched herself, a reverence that brought tears to Matt’s eyes. Her hair swung like a curtain as she reached for more massage cream. He pictured it in the soft lamplight, a golden nimbus around her glorious face.
With every fiber in his body he longed to be in that room with her, touching her tenderly, rubbing the cream over her body.
Now he understood everything. How hopeless she must have felt when he’d talked about a three-year courtship. How her pride would have kept her from telling him, especially after that asinine offer he’d made to provide financial support for any unforeseen developments.
God, how could he have been so arrogant? So blind?
The child in her womb was real, it was wonderful, it was his. How could he ever have believed that he would consider it otherwise?
Sandi stood with her head bowed and her hands cupping her ripened womb. He imagined her talking softly to their child, perhaps singing. And standing in the dark alone, he felt deprived, like a castaway without food or water or hope.
The wise words of John Donne came to him: No man is an island. And yet Matt had tried to make an island of himself. He’d dug a moat and pulled up the drawbridge then dared anybody to cross.
But Sandi had braved his defenses and toppled them. And in his hubris he’d cast her off the island.
Now he wanted her back. Wanted her with a desperation that tasted like brine.
And not just because of the child. He loved the woman at the window. With the perfect hindsight that has been the cause of countless broken hearts, Matt realized that he had loved Sandi from the moment he saw her hat sail into his mother’s swimming pool.
Why else would she have had the power to turn his life upside down?
The awesome beauty of it all was that Matt wanted the glorious upheaval of love. He welcomed it the way a lonely, sweaty traveler welcomes a stiff ocean breeze and a beachful of people yelling, “Come join the party.”
He stood in the shadows until long after Sandi’s window went dark, stood there paralyzed with wonder.
Chapter Fourteen
Sandi was putting the finishing touches on a commissioned portrait when her doorbell rang. She put down her brush and wiped the sweat off her face. Lord, she must look a mess. Who could that be?
Probably C.J. She’d said she was going to drop by after her morning class, but maybe she’d decided to drop by before.
The doorbell pinged again and she called, “Coming.” She had almost opened the door but decided there was no sense taking chances. Putting her eye to the peephole she identified her visitor.
It was Matt Coltrane, bigger than she remembered, more handsome, more virile, more powerful. Sandi put her hand over her mouth to choke back a sound.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t let him see her like this. She couldn’t let him know.
“Sandi. Are you in there?”
Had he heard her call? Probably. Matt Coltrane never missed a trick.
He pounded on the door. “Open up, Sandi. I know you’re in there.”
“Just a minute,” she said. What on earth was she going to say to him? “I’m not dressed yet.”
She raced to the bedroom and threw a robe over her capris and shirt. The bare feet were fine. They’d give credence to her lie.
She reached up and mussed up her hair, then went to face him.
“Why, Matt,” she said. “What a surprise.”
She didn’t invite him in but stood halfway behind the door.
“I would have called except I knew you’d refuse to see me.”
“I do have a lot of work, Matt. I have to finish a portrait today after I wake up.” She gave a fake yawn, congratulating herself on that authentic touch.
“I see.” Now, why the devil was he looking so amused? “Maybe we could have breakfast together then. I was thinking of a large feast with sausages and eggs and buttered grits, everything fried and greasy the way we do it down here in the South.”
The thought of it all made her stomach roll in protest. She felt all the color drain from her face and actually had to catch the door frame to hold herself upright.
“No, thank you,” she finally managed to say.
“We’ll skip breakfast then and get right to the talking. May I come in?”
“I’m not dressed, as you can see…”
If Matthew Coltrane was anything, he was a gentleman. Surely he would not persist.
“Yes, Sandi, I can see.” His eyes raked over her and the heat of his gaze warmed her all the way to her bones. “I see your capris beneath that robe and the paint smudges on your cheeks.”
He smiled, which was not at all what she’d expected. It wasn’t just a polite smile, either. It was the kind that made her want to sit on the front-porch swing, if she’d had a swing, and hum romantic songs from the thirties, those terrific old songs that talked about red sails in the sunset and the glory of love.
“Let me in, Sandi, please.”
His voice was deep and tender, and his face was so close and so dear. How could she possibly refuse?
She swung open the door and Matt walked in and stood there studying her as if he might never stop.
Nervous, she swiped at her cheek. He caught her hand and kissed her palm, then gently wiped the smudge from her cheek with the tips of his fingers.
“It’s there.” He smiled down at her. “And it’s excessively charming.”
“Oh…”
Closing her eyes, she put both hands over her mouth. Don’t let this be a dream, she prayed.
“I was up early, painting.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean to lie to you. It’s just that—”
“Sandi, it’s okay.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
She heaved a sigh of relief, then realized she wasn’t out of trouble yet. Even
with the robe, her condition was still obvious to the trained eye.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she said. Maybe she could hide her bulging belly behind a serving tray.
“No, thank you. Let’s just sit down, shall we?”
“All right.”
She didn’t sit on the sofa because the cushions were worn soft, and with her added bulk she felt like a beached whale when she tried to get back up. Instead, she took the wing chair with wide arms that would help hide her pregnancy.
“You look wonderful, Sandi. How do you feel?”
Did he know? He couldn’t possibly. C.J. would never betray her.
“I feel great,” she said. “But then I always do. I’m just a naturally healthy woman.”
He was studying her again in a fiercely tender way that unsettled her. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and he smiled.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. “More than I could ever have imagined.”
Her heart flew home to nestle next to his, and it was all she could do to keep her body from following suit.
I must keep a level head, she told herself. There was too much at stake to make a hasty and unwise decision.
“Thank you,” was all she said.
She sounded prim and distant, not at all like her usual exuberant, greet-the-world-with-arms-wide-open self. How could she possibly maintain this aloof pose with Matt so close he took up all the air in the room, with memories so sweet they took up all the space in her brain? Thinking straight was impossible.
All she could see was him. All she could think about was the handsome squared-off set of his jaw, how scratchy it felt against her cheek in the early morning as they lay in his family’s four-poster bed, and how wonderful. As if it were yesterday, she recalled the strength and beauty of his legs, the feel of them between her thighs, the power of them as they held him suspended over her.
The air was electric between them as they held each other in steady regard, not speaking, barely breathing. Suddenly Matt was on his feet, striding across the room, a gorgeous and powerful male animal stalking his mate.
Her breath caught high in her throat and she couldn’t seem to get it loose. She was going to faint. Right there in his arms.
