20

 

I hate to admit it, but if I hadn't given Mercy my word, I'd stay home tonight."

"I guess that's understandable." Rowdy had only been gone three days, and as far as he knew, Honor hadn't left Rerun's side for a moment. "But it'll do you good to get out, take your mind off all the sadness for just a little while, focus on something joyful."

"You're right. I know that. I just feel weird, leaving him alone so soon after losing his lifelong pal."

If Matt was there with her, instead of on the phone, he'd give her a hug because boy, she sure sounded like she could use one. "He'll be fine, and so will you."

"So what did Harriet say when you dragged yourself in after sunup yesterday morning."

He had to laugh. His helpful neighbor had gone to bed after the 11:00 news, as usual. The minute he walked in the door, he heard her up there in the guest room, snoring like a chain saw when he rolled in at dawn. How the boys managed to sleep through the racket, he didn't know, but it sure made him yearn to be ten years old again. "She said I was a thoughtful and considerate young man for getting up early—without waking her or the kids—to get breakfast started."

"You mean you cook, too?" Honor sighed. "What did you make?"

Why the extra emphasis on the word too? he wondered. "Not so much what I made," Matt said, "as what I did. I set out bowls, spoons, napkins, and the kids' favorite cold cereal. I was sitting at the table, drinking coffee, and reading the paper when she came downstairs, and she never even asked what time I got in."

"Not to be disrespectful, but it really isn't any of her business."

"I guess."

"And she's right, you know."

"About . . . ?"

"You are thoughtful and considerate. I can't believe you sat there all those hours under my bulk."

"Bulk. Don't make me laugh." Although memory of the way his left arm had gone completely numb was enough to make him flex his fingers. At one point, an hour or so into her nap, Matt considered the possibility that he'd suffered permanent nerve damage, and how ridiculous he'd look, trying to explain to his doctor how it happened.

"I still don't get it. Why didn't you wake me up?"

Because it felt good, knowing you trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms. Too soon to admit something like that? Matt groaned because he'd never known a woman who roused more emotions in his heart or more questions in his head. "I dozed off myself, that's why." And he had . . . for a second here, and a second there.

"Is Harriet staying with the boys again tonight?"

"No. They're invited. Austin says he can't get hitched if his two favorite kids aren't there."

"Oh, I'm so glad. It'll be good to spend time with them again."

"Yeah. They're looking forward to it. It's their first wedding."

"I can't wait to see them in coats and ties."

"Better look fast, then, because I have a feeling that stuff will go flying before the preacher says 'You may kiss the bride.' "

Honor laughed—not quite the lyrical sound he'd grown to love, but close. "So we'll pick you up at three."

"I'll be ready and waiting. But really, wouldn't it be easier if I just met you there?"

"For you?"

"Of course not, silly. For you. If I drive myself, it'll save you coming all the way over here and—"

"Whoa. Ten whole minutes out of my way. Careful. With gas prices where they are, I might be tempted to charge you for the extra mileage."

"Matt . . ."

Laughing, he said, "Honor, . . . we're not gonna start this again, are we?"

He heard her sigh but pretended he didn't. "Be there in two hours," he said and hung up. He understood why she'd been hovering over Rerun, but she needed a break from the whole Rowdy incident. Besides, the forty-five-minute drive there and back gave her and the boys an additional hour and a half together—important if this Matt-and-Honor thing was going where he hoped it would.

It took longer than expected to get the boys into their suits, which made him glad he'd started getting them ready an hour ago. Matt couldn't decide which was the bigger challenge, keeping them still long enough to make a Windsor knot in their matching blue-striped ties or flattening their stubborn cowlicks. Well, he thought, grinning into the rearview mirror, at least the ties look good . . . for now.

"What do you bet she'll be on the front porch when we get there?" Steve said.

But Warner disagreed. "Maybe if Rowdy hadn't got runned over, but—"

"Hadn't been run over," his twin corrected.

"What. Did you write the dictionary or something?"

"The rules of grammar are not in the dictionary." Steve tapped his temple. "Some things, you just know."

"Then what are those little slanty letters for, huh, genius? Dad says they tell you what part of speech the words are. Like . . . like the n is for noun and v means it's a verb." He frowned, then met Matt's eyes in the mirror. "What's a verb, Dad?"

Steve exhaled a sigh of frustration. "It's an action word, dummy."

Matt watched Warner's eyes narrow.

"Oh, you mean like, when I say, 'I'm gonna punch your lights out,' punch is the action that makes it a verb?"

Now Steve was frowning, too. Some days, Matt thought it best to let them work things like this out on their own. This wasn't one of those days. "Knock it off, you two. And I don't want to hear any of that nonsense at the wedding, either, you hear?"

Warner leaned closer to Steve and whispered into a cupped hand, "Then I guess I'll have to make sure Dad doesn't hear it when I call you a stupid-head."

"Warner, don't make me stop this car." As he braked, Matt nearly laughed out loud when the boy's eyebrows arched. If he hadn't seen Honor's front door open, he probably would have said, "But Dad, you already stopped the car."

Steve pointed at Honor's picture window. "Hey, Dad, is that Rerun?"

"Yeah, but don't say a word about how he's behaving. Honor's still pretty broken up about losing Rowdy. If we pay too much attention to paws-in-the-windowsill Rerun, she might just change her mind and skip the wedding."

"She'd never do that," Warner said.

"How do you know, stupid-head?"

"Da-a-ad, he called me—"

"Steven. Enough." Then, "How do you know Honor would never cancel plans to go to the wedding?"

"Because she's nice. And nice people don't break promises. And she promised Mercy that she'd be there."

Honor was locking the door as Matt thought from the mouths of babes.

"Wow," Steve said, leaning around his twin to get a better look.

Warner pressed his nose to the rear passenger window. "She looks real pretty, doesn't she, Dad?"

He'd seen her hair pulled back into a ponytail and stuffed under a baseball cap, but that glamorous twist was a first. "Sure does." Matt wished Austin and Mercy had decided to wait until summertime to get married because Honor's long black coat hid her dress. She'd look gorgeous in something gauzy and formfitting, but because of the season, Mercy had probably opted for velvet and lace. Who do you think you are all of a sudden, he thought, getting out of the truck, Christian Dior? The closer she got, the more his nerves jangled, and Matt didn't know if he liked feeling like a some snot-nosed boy, come to take his best girl to the senior prom.

As he opened the door, she leaned into the pickup's cab and said "Y'know, I think you're the three most handsome fellas I've ever seen in person."

"What do you mean, in person?"

"Well, you know, the movie and TV stars and—"

"Sorry I asked," he said, laughing as she buckled her seatbelt.

And once he'd done the same, Honor said, "I sure hope this weather will clear up. From what Mercy says, there's barely room in the cabin of Austin's boat for just the two of them."

"How many people will be there, Dad?"

"I think Austin said twelve, Steven, not counting himself and Mercy. And the pastor, of course."

Warner whimpered. "Not the one from Austin's old church I hope, who gives those long, long sermons."

Matt chose to overlook it and immediately wished he hadn't, because it freed Warner up to say, "Are you feeling any better, Honor, about Rowdy dying, or are you still real sad?"

Times like these, Matt almost wished he were a bit more like his dad, who would have reached back and whacked him for making a comment like that. Almost.

"It's pretty tough," she said, "but thankfully, I have Rerun to take my mind off it. Sort of."

"Sort of?" the boys said.

"Well, it's weird, you know? One minute he does something funny or cute, and I totally forget about what happened to Rowdy. And the next minute, I look at him and realize he's all by himself. That's when it's hardest."

"I'd probably cry a couple of buckets if Cash died," Steve admitted.

"Yeah," Warner said. "At least."

If Matt could guarantee all small talk would be as productive as this, he'd never complain about it again, because it was forging a bond between his boys and Honor. Since meeting her, they talked about her every time they saw a pizza commercial. "Hey, Dad, remember how Honor used a pair of scissors to cut the pizza slices in half?" Amusement park ads were followed by, "Can you believe Honor has never been on a roller coaster?" And if they saw a woman with long, curly hair or green eyes, she was immediately held up for comparison to Honor. It told him they liked her enough to miss her, almost as much as he did, when she wasn't around. And that was a very good thing, if—

A cold chill snaked down his spine. She was fond of them. That much was evident in the way she the way she looked at them—especially when they didn't know she was looking. It was clear from that easy, natural way she had of talking with them, too. But what if the affection was surface stuff and nothing more? Matt had convinced himself she'd wanted him to see glimpses of her true self, shining through a carefully woven façade. But what if he'd been dead wrong, and she hadn't let her guard down because she trusted him and the boys?

Heart pounding, Matt's hands began to sweat and his ears grew hot. He'd never introduced them to any of the women he'd dated before, not to see a movie, not even to wolf down a hamburger at the local fast-food joint. They were good, big-hearted kids who gave 100 percent to everything, and he wouldn't risk having them hurt simply because their lonely dad took pity on a brokenhearted woman. He knew Honor needed him . . . for the moment. But the twins were ten and needed him more. Matt gripped the wheel tighter: starting now, he'd be a whole lot more careful about how much they saw of her.

Because much as he cared for her, he cared for his sons more. Lots more.