“Rumors about Alexandra Wyndham?” Hannah laughed at the very idea. “Did she do something socially scandalous, like wear white shoes after Labor Day? Frankly, I can’t imagine a Wyndham doing anything improper.”
Lydia leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice, though there was nobody else around but the two of them to hear. “There were rumors that she had a wild streak and caused her parents much pain. And now, perhaps she fears her daughter might make a similar mistake.”
“Alexandra Wyndham with a wild streak?” Hannah grinned. “You must’ve heard wrong, Grandmother. The wildest that woman gets is wearing a hot-pink golf skirt on the links. Oh, and I heard she ventured into Clarke’s Steak House once and actually ordered chocolate cheesecake for dessert. Shocking!”
“You forget that Alexandra was once as young as you are, my dear. She wasn’t always an uptight, middle-aged paragon of etiquette.”
Hannah’s eyes danced. “Next you’ll be telling me that Mother was wild until Daddy’s stabilizing influence molded her into a proper wife!”
Lydia sighed. “I would love to tell such a story but it would be a blatant untruth. Your mother has been correct and proper since emerging from the womb.” She glanced at her watch. “Gracious, it is getting late. As much as I hate to take Baylor’s advice, we really ought to get ourselves to bed, child.”
“I guess so.” Hannah stood up and walked to the window. It was still raining, and the sight and sound of the storm reminded her of Matthew. His fury when the roof over his room was leaking. The way he’d picked her up and carried her out to his van while the rain swirled around them. His mouth on hers.
Hannah gulped as tempestuous memories of those hot kisses on the dance floor and in his van assailed her. She felt restless, her body throbbing. She knew she wasn’t going to sleep very well tonight. When she turned, she found her grandmother watching her.
“Will you see him tomorrow, Hannah?”
Hannah didn’t bother to feign ignorance. “I don’t know. I hope not,” she added fiercely.
“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’” Lydia quoted cheerfully.
“That’s what he said!” Hannah scowled.
“He quotes Shakespeare?” Her grandmother was delighted. “Now I am definitely intrigued. You will bring him by to visit, won’t you, dear?”
And give him an opportunity to case the place? Hannah shook her head vigorously. “I intend to stay far away from Matthew Granger, Grandmother. And with any luck, he’ll quickly grow bored here in Clover and go prowl somewhere else.”
* * *
The sky was gray and overcast the next morning when Hannah drove into town after spending the restless night she’d anticipated, tossing and turning, too wired to sleep until nearly dawn. It was raining again, a steady drizzle without the sound-and-light show provided by yesterday night’s thunderstorm. According to virtually every forecast, the rainy weather was socked in, with showers predicted not to end until evening. That meant those vacationers who’s hoped to spend their time on the beach and/or swimming in the Atlantic would be forced to find other things to do instead. One of those things would be shopping. It promised to be a banner day for Clover merchants.
As Hannah let herself into her shop, Yesterdays, she noticed that most of the other shops along Clover Street were opening a bit earlier than usual this morning, too. Yawning, she turned on the inside lights.
A soft glow lit the long narrow room crammed with pieces of antique furniture and bric-a-brac. An adjoining room held more, including a charming assortment of antique dolls arranged in wicker doll carriages and small carved chairs. Vintage tin toys and painted-metal toy soldiers were strategically placed for browsing, and the male customers who came into the shop were inevitably drawn to them.
The collectibles, which she had carried on a trial basis and recently expanded to greater numbers when they’d proved immensely popular, were farther in the back. The collectibles did not qualify as bona fide antiques because of their age. She had some baseball memorabilia, jelly-jar glasses with cartoon and TV characters from the fifties and a whimsical collection of ceramic cookie jars, among other things she’d found while canvassing flea markets and yard sales.
Hannah checked her inventory, made sure the items were dust free and invitingly positioned, then returned to the counter. She was about to start up the computerized cash register when her stomach growled, protesting its emptiness. She’d skipped breakfast at home—she couldn’t bear to listen to Bay boasting of his Wyndham coup yet again—but she needed sustenance now. Not to mention a bolstering jolt of caffeine to counteract this sluggish, groggy feeling enveloping her.
She thought longingly of Peg’s Diner. The coffee there was the best—dark, rich and strong—and the homemade muffins, baked daily, were indescribably scrumptious.
Yesterdays wasn’t open for business yet, Hannah decided. There were no potential customers in immediate sight anyway. The lure of the coffee and muffins at the diner drew her like a siren’s song. Grabbing her still-damp umbrella, she hurried down Clover Street to Peg’s Diner.
The place was filled to capacity with locals and tourists crowded into booths and onto the round stools that lined the long counter. Waitresses, balancing plates halfway up their arms and proffering pots of hot coffee for cups that required constant refilling, bustled back and forth between their customers and the kitchen.
Hannah decided that a take-out order would be faster and more convenient than waiting around for a place to sit down. A hand-lettered sign beside the cash register served as the take-out checkpoint. Peg Jones, Katie’s aunt, a matronly, handsome woman with short blond curly hair and pale blue eyes commanded both stations.
“Good morning, Hannah,” Peg greeted her. “Don’t you look pretty today! Violet is definitely your color.”
Hannah smoothed the flared skirt of her violet sundress with its shirred bodice and spaghetti straps. The dress was simple and cool, though her sisters and brother had disapproved of the short length. There were very few items in her wardrobe that met with full Farley approval, a fact which troubled Hannah not at all.
She thanked Peg for the compliment.
“You just missed Katie,” Peg continued chattily. “She was here to help with the first breakfast shift, but she had to go back to the boardinghouse to meet with a roofer for an estimate. She told me about the party last night. Even though Abby and Ben weren’t surprised, it sounds like it was a wonderful success.” Peg beamed. She adored her niece and enjoyed talking about anything involving her.
“Oh, yes, it was, Peg. Katie is a natural hostess and the boardinghouse has such a marvelously homey atmosphere. It’s just the right place for a special party,” Hannah affirmed, her social smile and manner gracious and warm and firmly in place. “Everybody had a lovely time.”
“I didn’t.”
Hannah froze. She didn’t have to turn around to know who’d uttered that cryptic remark. She’d heard that voice—his voice—echoing in her ears during most of last night as she had thrashed around in bed and tried desperately not to think of Matthew Granger.
She kept her eyes straight ahead, fixed to the rainbow-lettered take-out sign, even as she felt him come to stand behind her. Very closely behind her. She could feel his breath against her hair, and though he was not touching her, his body heat seemed to burn her.
Hannah steeled herself against him. “Just ignore him Peg,” she said trenchantly. “He’s a chronic complainer. He doesn’t like water. He doesn’t like music. He claims that he prefers the company of insects to people, so his opinion of the party hardly counts.”
But Peg was smiling fondly at Matthew. “I heard all about poor Matthew’s evening at the boardinghouse from Katie, and I think he’s been wonderfully good-natured about everything.”
“Poor Matthew?” Hannah echoed incredulously. Peg felt sorry for him?
Hannah whirled around and saw Matthew grinning at her, his dark eyes agleam. He was dressed in well-worn
jeans and a charcoal gray polo shirt, faded from many washings, and he looked as rugged and virile as he had last night—in person and in her restless dreams. Her stomach took a dive as if she’d just plunged down a seventy-five-foot drop on a roller coaster. She quickly dragged her gaze away from him.
“Katie and I both feel terrible at the inconvenience Matthew had to suffer. Imagine being rained on in your own room!” Peg was clearly appalled by the episode. “As Katie told you, breakfast this morning is on the house, Matthew. I do hope you enjoyed your blueberry pancakes?”
“They were fantastic,” Matthew said sincerely. “And I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that your coffee is the best I’ve ever tasted. I could write accolades about it.”
“I thought you wrote exclusively about bugs,” Hannah muttered. “Wouldn’t an accolade for cockroaches be more your style?”
“Irritable this morning, aren’t you, princess?” taunted Matthew. “Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe you’re all black-and-blue from that pea under your stack of mattresses. You blue-blooded aristocrats are extremely sensitive, so I’ve been told.”
Hannah decided to ignore him. She lifted her chin and focused her attention on Peg. “I’d like to order a large black coffee and a muffin to go, please.”
Peg chuckled softly. Katie had told her everything about the party last night, including Hannah Farley’s and Matthew Granger’s instant, volatile fascination with each other. But she merely said benignly, “We have blueberry or banana nut muffins today, honey. Which would you prefer?”
“Give her one of each,” Matthew spoke up, handing Peg a twenty-dollar bill at the same time. “It’s on me, and keep the change.”
Peg thanked him effusively and gave Hannah’s order to the counter waitress. A customer approached the register with his check and money in hand, and Hannah and Matthew automatically stepped aside while Peg busied herself with the transaction.
“There’s no need for you to buy me breakfast,” Hannah told Matthew. She was completely floored by the gesture. Unlike his gibes or his anger, his rather renegade gallant streak—driving her to her car last night in the rain, buying her breakfast this morning—threw her off-balance.
“I wanted to.” Matthew shrugged. “And it gives me a credible way to pay for my own breakfast. Both Peg and Katie insisted it was on the house but I don’t feel comfortable with all this free stuff.”
“So you’re sort of like Robin Hood,” Hannah blurted out. “You don’t like to take from the poor but you—” Just in time, she caught herself before she’d finished her thought and uttered the incriminating phrase “rob the rich.” “Not that Katie and Peg are poor,” she amended hastily. Her face felt hot; she was sure she was as red as the strawberries featured at the annual festival. Why couldn’t she keep control of her tongue around this man?
“No, not poor, but hardworking,” Matthew agreed. “The opposite of the Polks, who are both poor and lazy, among other things, according to the good citizens of Clover.”
There was something in his tone that drew her attention immediately. Hannah stared at him. His expression was bland and blank, totally unreadable. And though she’d known him a very short while, one absolute she’d discerned about him was that there was nothing bland or blank about Matthew Granger. His current expression was as much a mask as anything worn at Halloween.
“Last night at the party, people were talking abut the Polks,” she said carefully, wondering why on earth she was discussing the Polks with Matthew Granger. But he’d introduced the subject, not her.
Matthew nodded. “There was another lively discussion about them last night after the party at Fitzgerald’s Bar and Grill.” He grimaced wryly. “Everyone had a Polk-related tale to tell. Maureen had dozens.”
“You went to Fitzgerald’s after the party?” Hannah was pleased to have injected just the right note of insouciance into her voice. She sounded cool and indifferent to the news of the impromptu party-after-the-party.
But indifferent she was not. She visualized pretty red-haired Maureen Fitzgerald chatting cozily with Matthew at the bar into the wee hours of the morning. Maureen, who’d been so smiley and friendly to Matthew yesterday at the party, even though he’d almost decked her cousin Sean! Hannah felt a sickening surge of jealousy and was horrified by it.
“A group of us went. Blaine and Judy, Emma and Ken, and Susan and Sean and Maureen and I,” Matthew said. ”Don’t ask me last names. I didn’t get any of them.”
Hannah felt acutely left out, and she hated the feeling. Even worse was this irrational streak of possessiveness she seemed to have developed concerning Matthew. She found herself mentally reviewing the women in the group who’d gone to Fitzgerald’s last night. Judy was dating Blaine, and Emma was dating Ken; they would have little interest pursuing a fling with a newcomer in town. But Susan, an attractive brown-eyed blonde who’d recently been divorced, was very available, and Maureen was single and fun and had never lacked for admirers.
Hannah pictured Susan and Maureen vying for Matthew’s attention, trying to win his favor in a feminine charm-off. And all the while, he was probably smiling that too-confident, all-knowing smile of his, accepting the competition for him as his due.
Hannah was outraged. Well, she refused to participate in such demeaning games! Let the others pander to the man. She was not going to chase after a disreputable cat burglar—or worse!
“The waitress just handed Peg my order,” Hannah told him with icy dismissal. “I insist on reimbursing you. I’ll send the money to you today via Katie.” She flounced off, without a backward glance at him.
Moments later, huddling under the small overhang in front of the diner to keep out of the rain, Hannah clutched the paper bag containing her breakfast with one hand and tried to push open her stubborn umbrella with the other.
“Does it ever stop raining here?” Matthew said wryly as he took the umbrella from her and opened it easily. “I’m starting to wonder if an ark would be more useful than my van in this town.” Hooking one hand firmly around her waist, while holding the umbrella above their heads with the other, he walked her out into the rain. “Which way, right or left?”
“I’m going left to my shop. I don’t know where you’re going,” Hannah said coolly. She reached for the handle of her umbrella, but Matthew didn’t cede it. Instead, he placed his hand firmly on top of hers, covering it.
“I’m going wherever you are, honey. I feel like doing some shopping in your store this morning.”
“You don’t even know what kind of store I have.”
“Yes, I do. Antiques. And some collectible stuff.”
She shot him a wary glance. “How do you know that?”
“I asked Katie,” he admitted. He wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist, bringing her back against his chest. The closeness of their bodies made the umbrella’s protection quite effective. “Now neither of us will get rained on,” he added huskily.
He had asked Katie about her. While Hannah was pondering that, she felt a warm flush suffuse her body. The back of her head was touching the hollow of his shoulder and her bottom nestled against the powerful strength of his thighs. His arm lay like an iron band across her waist, radiating heat to her belly and lower limbs. Hannah restrained the urge to lean back into him, to turn her head and lift her lips to his....
“I—I feel dizzy,” she said breathlessly. “It must be low blood sugar. I haven’t had anything to eat today.”
“Do you want me to carry you? I don’t mind, short stuff. You’re not any heavier than a kid.”
It was hardly a romantic offer. The heroes in the historical romances she enjoyed did not make reference to the heroine’s height or weight.
“Short stuff?” Hannah was truly galled. And no longer dizzied by sensuality. “If you only knew how sick I am of being accused of being short! Forced to stand in the front row of every single class or group picture by insensitive photographers who discriminate by arranging people accord
ing to height and—”
“Whew, I guess I really hit a nerve!” Matthew laughed. “But you have to admit, you’re a lot shorter today than you were yesterday. By about four or five inches?”
Hannah decided never to wear flat-heeled shoes again. Her head held high, she started walking along the sidewalk toward her store.
Matthew, still holding her and the umbrella, allowed her to set the pace. “I take it you don’t want me to carry you, then?” he drawled.
“What I want is for you to leave me alone!”
“I would, if I thought you really meant it, little girl.”
“I do!” she snapped. “What else do I have to say to convince you?”
“It’s not what you say, it’s what you do. Actions speak louder than words, remember? And you act as if you want me around.”
“I do not!”
“I saw the way your eyes lit up when you first saw me in the diner this morning. I also watched you practically turn green with jealousy when I mentioned I’d gone out after the party. And last but not least, you’ve been snuggling back against me the whole time we’ve been walking. Oh, you want me around, honey. I don’t have a single doubt about that.”
Hannah was speechless. He read her so clearly! That was a first for her. She’d always been the perceptive one, skillfully assessing and interpreting the signs and signals of the opposite sex while carefully concealing her own. But she was like an open book to Matthew. He looked at her and seemed to divine all her secrets, her thoughts and her desires. It was unnerving; it was infuriating!
She was too shaken to look where she was going, and she stumbled a little over a tree root growing up through a crack in the sidewalk. Matthew tightened his grip on her, steadying her, then drew her under the ornate portico of the Clover Street Hotel. He set the umbrella on the ground. The usual busy entrance to the hotel was deserted. Obviously the hotel guests were not eager to venture out early on this gray, rainy morning. Hannah and Matthew stood face-to-face, toe-to-toe, their eyes locked.
The Engagement Party Page 8
