22

 

I don't get it," Steve said.

"Oh good grief," Warner groaned, rolling his eyes. "What now?"

"Why did Mercy's brother come all the way over here from London for a couple of hours if he was just gonna see her again on the honeymoon?"

"Because he wanted to walk her down the aisle," Honor explained. "Leo is all the family she has in the world."

Steve nodded, a thoughtful frown etching his young brow. "She's got Austin now."

"And when she has kids, she'll have them, too."

"Good point, Warner," she said, ruffling his hair.

"Hey, Dad," the boy said, "why don't we buy the boat?"

Honor looked over at Matt, who'd been quiet in an almostgrumpy sort of way since she got into his car earlier, half expecting him to bite Warner's head off.

"We've been over that ground before, son. There isn't time to give her the TLC she deserves. But more important than that, I'd have to dip into your college fund to pay for her."

"College! I'm ten, Dad. You have a whole . . ." He screwed up his face and did the math in his head. "You have eight years to make more money for that."

"I'd just as soon stick to the tried and true."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Steve said, "that it's better to leave that money right where it is, in case of an emergency." He looked to Matt for confirmation and, getting none, added, "Right, Dad?" Matt had been picking up paper plates and cups, left over from the reception. Without looking up from his work, he said, "Close enough."

Honor couldn't think of a thing she'd said to put him in that gruff, arms-distance mood. Couldn't come up with anything the boys might have done that would explain it, either. It left her with one reason: the wedding reminded of his own and made him miss Faith. Well, either that, or he'd finally figured out that Honor was way too high maintenance for his taste. No surprise, really, because only God in heaven knew what sort of things he'd heard about her. But then, why should that enter into it? As an award-winning journalist, surely he'd checked her out, thoroughly, and whatever he'd dug up hadn't stopped the sweet smiles and looks of longing he'd sent, every single time they'd been together . . . until today.

He'd held her so tenderly that she'd drifted right off to sleep on the night Rowdy died, and in the morning, Matt cooked bacon and eggs that she couldn't eat and cleaned up after himself while she sniffled and blubbered and wondered what to do with the dog's body. Once she'd finally decided that cremation made the most sense, Matt made all the arrangements, then delivered her precious Rowdy's remains to the vet and paid the bill, which included a black velvet sack and polished mahogany box that now sat on her mantle. And it had been

Matt who'd found a silver-framed photo of the vest-wearing, grinning Rowdy to stand beside the container.

With a full-time job, two young boys, and a dog of his own to care for, her neediness had probably scared him. He hadn't known her long enough to figure out that Honor wasn't a wallflower, so how could he know that what seemed like allconsuming, bottomless grief was only a temporary condition?

"Why so quiet?" he wanted to know.

When she looked up, Honor saw him standing in the middle of Austin's tiny galley, holding the big black trash bag that he'd filled with empty foil food containers and Styrofoam cups. "Hard to believe a woman so into 'going green' would use a product that isn't recyclable." There. Proof positive that I'm on the road to recovery!

"Wasn't much she could say about it. Austin put the Sullivans in charge of the reception."

Of course. Now that he mentioned it, Honor did recall Mercy saying something along those lines. She glanced at the brass ship's clock across the room. "Guess they're in the air by now."

"Scary," Warner said. "My friend Timmy went to Ireland for his summer vacation, and he said they flew over the Atlantic Ocean at night, and it was just a bunch of black out the window of the plane."

Steve added a few paper plates to Matt's bag. "Yeah. Scary."

"But once you're on the other side," Honor pointed out, "you're in a whole new place, starting a whole new adventure." Would he see it as more proof that the healing process had begun? Not if that detached expression on his face was any indicator. Honor sighed. Some days, she thought, it just didn't pay to get out of bed.

"So what kind of dog will you get," Steve asked, cutting a cautious glance at Matt, "when you're ready, I mean?"

"It'll depend, I guess, on a lot of things. Like what kind of dogs are having puppies, and whether or not it's a nonaggressive breed."

"Why is that an issue?" Matt asked.

Oh, she thought, so you haven't lost your voice? "Because," she began, "this time around, Rerun will be the alpha dog. I don't want him feeling any pressure to go all macho on me, establishing his turf. He's the man of the house now, y'know?"

"Why not just get a female? I hear they train quicker, anyway."

His tone reminded Honor a little of her own, during those first turbulent weeks after they'd met. She saw no reason to go the tit-for-tat route, but it might be a good idea to curb her enthusiasm an iota or two. "It's certainly within the realm of possibility." Honor shrugged. "It'll depend on first impressions, I guess."

"You mean when you meet the puppies," Steve said. "We never got to pick one, 'cause Cash was already three when we got him."

She remembered only too well the story Matt had told her about how he and the twins had saved the Pointer from years of constant abuse. "A rescue dog of a whole different kind."

"Yeah," Warner said, " 'cause he was rescued instead of being the rescuer."

"So are we done here yet, Dad?"

"Pretty much. Just need to catch the lights and lock up."

"Catch 'em," Warner said, giggling. "I didn't know they were running."

"Ha-ha. I'm raising a comedian."

Well, Honor thought. It's good to know he hasn't forgotten how to smile.

"Where's Harriet?"

"Right here," she called from the galley. "Can't let all this wedding cake go to waste, so I'm wrapping it up for you boys and Honor." She laughed. "And for me, too, of course."

Honor could have kissed the woman for providing a legitimate excuse to leave the cabin. "Need any help?"

"Not unless you know how to keep plastic wrap from sticking to frosting."

"Toothpicks?" She grabbed a few and poked them into the cake as Harriet stood by.

"So what's up with Mr. Happy today?" the woman asked.

"You noticed it, too?" Honor breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought it was just me, being overly sensitive."

"Just between you and me," she whispered, leaning in close, "today, he reminds me of the way he behaved when he and the boys first moved in next door to me." Harriet put down the roll of plastic wrap and hugged herself. "Oh, they were such gorgeous babies. And really, can you believe how different they are? Why, if a person didn't know better, they'd never believe they're even related, let alone twins."

She reminded Honor of her grandmother, happy and helpful . . . and easily distracted.

As often as not, Gran's chocolate chip cookies came out of the oven flat as crepes because she'd forgotten the baking powder, or bitter as bile due to double doses of baking soda. Where Harriet was going with this little side trip was anybody's guess, but Honor didn't have the heart to put her back on track. "Yes, they're adorable."

"Oh, but listen to me, going on and on. Why, if a person didn't know better," she repeated, "they'd think I was a little kid with ADD or something!"

Harriet's warm, robust laughter bounced from every surface in the tiny room, attracting two curious boys . . . and their cranky father. "Goodness gracious sakes alive, Matthew," she said, "you look as though you've swallowed a cupful of lemon juice. Mixed with vinegar no less! What is your problem today, Mr. Grumpy?"

The twins giggled as Matt's brows rose slightly. "I don't have a problem."

But that quick glance at Honor said otherwise. She wondered, not for the first time, what she might have done to offend him. And—not for the first time—came up empty. She busied herself, wrapping the cake. Anything to keep from looking at him.

The boys entertained Harriet with rapid-fire knock-knock jokes while Honor rearranged the contents of Austin's tiny fridge. Any day now, an agent would start bringing potential buyers onboard the boat, and the scent of spoiled food surely wouldn't seal any deals. A perfect place, she thought, moving eggs, milk, and lunchmeats to a cooler, to hide from Matt's chilly, distant looks . . . and the painful, exasperating truth:

Sometime between those sweet moments when she'd slept in his arms and when he picked her up today, he'd heard or read something about her. Or Elton or even her former boss, Buzz, had told him about the whole Uncle Mike mess. She wasn't so naïve as to believe he hadn't researched every facet of the scandal that toppled her career—he was an award-winning reporter, with friends in high places and access to information the average Joe didn't have—so maybe that tidbit had been the proverbial last straw. She'd allowed herself to believe that he was different, that he possessed the backbone and thick skin required to stand up to the onslaught of judgmental, selfrighteous finger-pointing, and name-calling. She believed that now, too. The irony: this man who'd built his career on a foundation of honesty and ethics loved his boys too much to expose them to the ugliness. Talk about your double-edged swords, she thought, because it only made her love him more.

The soft slap of waves against the boat's hull might have been calming and restful, if not for a thought far more disturbing . . . not that he'd leave her, but that he wouldn't.

Matt hadn't so much as hinted at a future with her. Hadn't said that he cared for her. Hadn't even kissed her. But he wanted to. Honor knew it just as she knew that Warner and Steve would continue trying to top each other's knock-knock jokes and that Harriet would laugh at every silly word. It wasn't vanity or arrogance, but Matt's very nature that made her so certain. He was part white knight, part protective dad, part investigative reporter; together, those traits would compel him to dig deep inside himself, until he found the resolve to hang in there, despite the taint that clung to her like moss on a north-facing tree . . . and a way to justify exposing his innocent young boys to it.

He'd do it for no reason other than he believed she needed him to, even though it could destroy his career and subject the boys to all manner of insult and innuendo. Why, even dear sweet Harriet would suffer, watching it unfold, because she cared for them.

No decent person would allow anything hurtful to happen to innocent bystanders, especially those who'd come to mean so much to her. From where she stood, there appeared to be only one way to protect them.

And come morning, she'd orchestrate a plan to get them all out of the line of fire.