Читать книгу Twice the Chance - Darlene Gardner, Darlene Gardner - Страница 11

JAZZ CRACKED THE Crock-Pot lid Saturday afternoon to check on the meatballs, getting a whiff of the pineapple preserves she’d used to make the sauce.

Excellent.

She transferred bite-sized quiche, stuffed mushrooms and mini crab cakes from plastic containers to a tray she could pop in the oven when guests started to arrive.

All of the hors d’oeuvres had passed her taste test. So had the fresh fruit she’d arranged on skewers, purchased earlier today at the local farmer’s market.

“Did you know you’re smiling?”

Jazz looked up from her work to find Matt in the kitchen, leaning against the half wall that led to the rest of the town house. He wore khaki shorts that ended a few inches above the knee and a button-down, short-sleeved cream shirt that contrasted with his thick golden-brown hair. He looked fantastic.

“Nothing’s more satisfying than cooking.” Jazz swept a hand to indicate her surroundings. “Especially in a kitchen like this.”

The rest of his town house was nice, with rich, dark-wood furniture and a color scheme that incorporated shades of navy, forest-greens and burgundy. The kitchen was spectacular. Granite countertops with plenty of space. Top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. Plentiful cabinets with wood inlays. It was a kitchen fit for a gourmet.

“Then you’re glad you took the job?” he asked. “I got the impression something was holding you back.”

The twins, she thought.

“It was you,” she blurted out. Anything to throw him off track. To soften the abruptness of her accusation, she smiled. “I thought the catering thing might be a scam you use on women who refuse to date you.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a pleasant, rumbling sound. “Then how do you explain the goodbye party for my friend?”

“Tell me, does this mysterious friend have a name?” She injected heavy skepticism into her voice.

Matt was still grinning. “His name is Carter Prioleau.”

“A good Charleston name.” She stroked her chin, nodding in approval. “I couldn’t have made up a better one myself. And why, pray tell, is this Charlestonian leaving God’s country?”

Matt’s expression turned serious. “I wish I could make up a story, but the truth is he’s going through a divorce. It’s been pretty hard on him.”

The doorbell chimed. Matt checked his watch. “That’ll be my proof. Carter’s always on time.”

“Can’t wait to meet your alibi,” Jazz said, eager to see his smile again. He didn’t disappoint her.

She was also smiling when she turned the oven to preheat. Flirting with Matt had been fun, especially because she could tell he was a good guy. More of a go-getter than she was used to, perhaps. But he wouldn’t pursue her if she made it clear she wasn’t interested.

Except, didn’t being flirtatious convey the opposite message? She took a deep breath. There she went again, worrying for nothing. She was hardly a beauty. Heaven knew she wasn’t a catch.

A man as charming, good-natured and—she might as well admit it—hot as Matt could have his pick of women. He didn’t have to chase an ex-con who really needed to make it clear that nothing would happen between them.

A giggle that didn’t sound masculine traveled through the town house.

“It’s so nice of you to do this for Carter.” The low-pitched female voice preceded Matt and his guests into the kitchen. Its owner had luxurious long black hair and a bra size Jazz guessed was double D, and she was probably no older than thirty. Her pale pink sundress wasn’t particularly short or tight but showcased her to voluptuous advantage.

She stood inches away from an average-looking man at least twenty years her senior, his thinning hair parted on the side and swept over his bald spot. The man held his chin high, and a smug smile played about his lips.

Matt’s own smile no longer reached his eyes. “Jazz, this is Carter and Kelly.”

“Her name’s Callie,” Carter corrected.

“Spelled with a C.” The woman formed a semicircle with her thumb and index finger.

“Sorry,” Matt said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll answer to anything, even, ‘Hey, you!’” Callie laughed again. She was nervous, Jazz realized. She was also pretty definitely not Carter’s estranged wife. “I really like your name, Jazz.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said. Matt stood stiffly, saying nothing. “I’m the caterer,” Jazz added.

Matt found his voice. “A friend who happens to be a caterer.”

Was that how Matt thought of her when they’d only known each other a little more than a month? In the three years she’d been out of prison, Jazz had made a number of acquaintances but nobody she’d call a friend, except possibly Sadie.

“A caterer, huh?” Carter released a low whistle and slapped Matt lightly on the back. “I didn’t know I rated that high.”

“Are you kidding? I owe you.” Matt sounded more like his normal self.

“For what?” Carter retorted.

“The job recommendation.”

Carter snorted. “Bull. You’ll be named A.D. even if I didn’t lobby for you.”

“A.D.? Isn’t that short for athletic director?” Jazz had intended to fade into the anonymity of the catering job but couldn’t let the comment pass. “I thought Matt was the high school soccer coach.”

“He is in the spring. And he’s doing wonderful things with the program,” Carter said. “But Matt’s destined for greater things. Right now he’s the interim A.D. but he’s the favorite for the top job.”

“I learned from the best,” Matt said, turning his head to address Jazz. “Carter just resigned as A.D.”

“I’m leaving the athletic program in good hands.” Carter gave Matt a hearty slap on the back. “Matt’s a golden boy who gets things done. He probably even managed to talk some people into showing up today for my party.”

An uneasy current ran beneath the smooth words. Callie fidgeted, appearing even more uncomfortable. Jazz wondered what was going on.

“Of course people will come,” Matt said.

“People from my golf league,” Carter countered. “Good thinking inviting them.”

“No problem,” Matt said. “If I ever want to join, I’ll have an in.”

“The league doesn’t play in the summer, buddy,” Carter said. “If you get the A.D. job, that’s the only season you’ll have time to breathe.”

“Excuse me.” Jazz didn’t need to stick around and listen to more evidence that Matt was a responsible person. “These hors d’ouevres have to go in the oven.”

That was the truth. Once the guests started arriving, her plan was to provide a steady supply of warm appetizers.

“Hey, Matt. Before I forget, can you show me that new putter you got?” Carter asked. “I’m planning to play a lot of golf in Florida.”

“Sure,” Matt said. “My golf bag’s in the shed out back.”

“I’ll come with you.” Carter turned to Callie. “Honey, will you be okay for a few minutes without me?”

“I guess,” Callie said.

Carter kissed Callie on the lips before heading with Matt for the French doors that led to the backyard. The town house was situated perfectly for a party, with a deck overlooking a good-sized yard flanked by evergreens. The temperature was in the low seventies and the sun was shining; ideal outdoor weather. Yet Callie stayed in the kitchen with Jazz.

“The food looks great,” Callie said in her soft voice when the men were gone. “But if I don’t watch, my butt blows up like a hot-air balloon.”

Jazz laughed. “I doubt that. But there’s fruit, if you want it.”

“Not my thing. Unless the fruit’s covered in chocolate.” Callie sat down on one of the tall stools beside the breakfast bar and Jazz got a whiff of perfume. Callie remained quiet for long moments before drawing an audible breath. “Can I ask you something, Jazz?”

The way Callie phrased the question made Jazz long to say no. She hesitated. “Go ahead.”

“Did it seem like Matt didn’t know about me?”

Oh, yeah.

Jazz lowered the oven temperature. She wanted the food warm, not overdone. “Why do you ask?”

“Carter’s the best boyfriend I ever had.” Callie rolled her eyes. “I mean, moving to Florida’s not costing me a dime. But I had to fuss up a storm before he’d agree to bring me today.”

The doorbell rang again, a timely interruption.

Callie rose from the stool. “I’ll get it.”

Jazz wasn’t about to fight her for the honor. She opened the oven door and removed the cookie sheet. Using a wide spatula, she transferred the food onto the pretty serving trays she’d found at a yard sale, the way she’d acquired most of her better kitchen supplies.

She heard voices, some belonging to children. Brooke and Robbie? Don’t panic, she told herself. The party was for Matt’s friends, not his family. One of the guys from Carter’s golf league probably had children.

“Uncle Matt! Look what Dad bought me!” Robbie dashed into the kitchen carrying a soccer ball draped with netting.

Jazz’s heart thudded so hard she felt nauseous. Inside the house, Robbie’s hair didn’t look as red as it had in the sun but his skin appeared more pale, his eyes greener. His coloring reminded Jazz of a photo her grandmother had kept of herself as a child.

The young boy scanned the kitchen. “Where’s Uncle Matt?”

Brooke followed her brother into the kitchen, humming an unrecognizable tune and doubling the visual punch. Jazz braced a hand on the counter to steady herself.

“Your uncle’s out back with Carter.” Callie had reentered the kitchen, although Jazz hadn’t noticed until she spoke.

Brooke stayed in the kitchen, peering at Jazz. “Aren’t you the lady from the park?”

“What lady?” asked a plump brunette who must have been their mother. Her curly brown hair was pulled back from a round, pretty face. She looked nothing like the children in either coloring or stature.

“I remember you,” Robbie said to Jazz. “You’re the lady who fell!”

“Hi, I’m Terry. Matt’s sister.” Terry’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, exactly like her brother’s. “Matt didn’t tell us he was dating anyone.”

“We’re not dating,” Jazz said quickly. “I’m Jazz, the caterer.”

“Then you didn’t meet Matt at the park?” Terry asked.

“Well, yes,” Jazz said.

“After she fell down,” Brooke supplied.

“Is that when you told him you were a caterer?” Terry asked.

“You’re asking too many questions, darlin’.” A man with a wiry build, boyish features and thick blond hair that looked expensively cut joined them. He was dressed in crisp khaki slacks and a shirt with an alligator over the pocket. “I’m Kevin Pinckney, Terry’s husband. I’m sorry she’s freaking you out.”

“I am not,” Terry declared. “Jazz, am I freaking you out?”

Kevin held up a hand, but he was laughing. “Enough. Cut the woman a break, will you, Ter?”

“I’m simply trying to figure it all out,” Terry said. “So, Jazz, are you into my brother or aren’t you?”

Just like that, Callie’s problems took a backseat.

Jazz had enough of her own.

MATT WATCHED Carter line up an imaginary putt and slowly pull back the golf club, stroking through the short blades of grass in the backyard.

“Yep, I could do some damage with this baby.” Carter tossed the club a foot or so into the air and caught it in the middle of the shaft. “I’ll definitely have to get me one.”

“You know it,” Matt said, his mind still on the woman in the kitchen. Not Jazz this time, Callie. How long had Carter been seeing her? The other man had never mentioned her. “But you’re going to do more than golf in Florida. You have a job lined up, right?”

Carter’s face changed, his usually affable expression growing dark. “Yeah. As an assistant A.D. at a private school. I would have taken some time off if the bitch wasn’t being so vindictive.”

“What bitch?” Matt asked.

“Lilly,” Carter growled. “She’s trying to rob me blind.”

Lilly was Carter’s soon-to-be ex-wife, a pleasant woman with a great laugh who’d been married to him for twenty-seven years. Matt had never heard Lilly say an unkind word. Even though the backyard was secluded, Matt looked around to make sure nobody had overheard what Carter had called her.

“That’s pretty strong, Carter,” Matt said.

“Yeah, well, Lilly found out I was seeing Callie before we separated. Except she never uses Callie’s name. She always says that child. She’s jealous, I tell you. Just because I’m fifty doesn’t mean my life is over.”

Matt remembered the good-natured ribbing and gag gifts the coaches at school had given Carter last spring when he’d hit the milestone. The track coach even had a wheelchair waiting in Carter’s office, although Carter hadn’t thought that was funny.

“I almost didn’t bring Callie along today because I know how things get twisted. Look what happened with that teacher.” Carter sounded as though he expected Matt to commiserate with him.

“You never told me the details,” Matt reminded him. “You only said the story wasn’t true.”

“Damn right it’s not true.” A warm wind blew through the yard, wreaking havoc with Carter’s comb-over. “That teacher, who doesn’t even work at Faircrest, came on to me. She emailed me first. Yeah, I emailed back, even met her for a drink. But that was it.”

Matt digested the information, which wasn’t far removed from the gossip. He suddenly had to know the rest of the story. “Everybody’s saying the school board was about to launch an investigation.”

Carter’s hand tightened on the putter. “Only because of the vindictive bitch. Turns out the teacher—her name’s Karen—plays tennis with Lilly. I don’t know exactly how it went down but Lilly must’ve convinced Karen to file a complaint.”

The conversation was moving too fast for Matt. “Why would Lilly do that?”

“Because she found out about Callie!”

“But why would it matter if this Karen filed a complaint if there was no evidence?”

“You’re forgetting the emails.” Carter sounded exasperated. “They came from my work computer. Taken out of context, they don’t look so good.”

The pieces were starting to fit together in a shape Matt didn’t like. “So you did resign because of the investigation?”

“What else could I do?” Carter threw up the hand not holding the putter.

A rabbit dashed across the yard for the woods. Matt wished he could run away too so he didn’t have to hear what Carter would spew next.

“I probably should have gotten a lawyer and fought the whole thing,” Carter said. “That job in Florida is a crap job. I better not have much trouble getting a better one.”

Motion inside the house caught Matt’s eye. He was absurdly grateful to see more guests arriving. Matt had never spent much time with Carter socially. Obviously Matt didn’t know the other man as well as he’d thought he did.

“We should be getting back inside,” Matt suggested.

They walked in silence for a few steps before Carter asked, “You’re not seeing anyone, are you, Matt?”

Matt wondered what that had to do with anything. “Nope.”

“Not even the caterer?”

“Not even her,” Matt said. Yet.

“Then listen up.” Carter sounded like his old self, full of bluster and confidence. “Take a good long look before you leap.”

“Excuse me?”

“Make damn sure you don’t get involved with the wrong woman.”

The French doors opened and Callie stepped out side, the sun shining down on her and highlighting the lines around her eyes. She was older than she’d first appeared, but still substantially younger than Carter.

“Hey, honey.” Carter’s voice softened. “Miss me?”

Tom Dougherty had been on to something at the track the other day, Matt thought. Fair or not, people who dealt with high school students were held to higher standards than others.

Don’t get involved with the wrong woman, Carter had said.

The former A.D. didn’t seem to realize which woman in his life that was.

JAZZ CLOSED HER MOUTH, which meant jaws really must drop. She tried to compose an answer to Matt’s sister’s question about whether she was into Matt.

“Oh, honey. You should see your face.” Terry clapped her hands. “You really just need to tell me to mind my own business. Everybody else does.”

“I can vouch for that,” her husband, Kevin, said.

“My curiosity got the best of me,” Terry said. “I’ve never met one of Matt’s girlfriends before.”

That was an easier topic for Jazz to address than her opinion of Matt.

“You still haven’t. I did meet your brother at the park but I really am the caterer.” Jazz indicated the tray of food. “Here. Try something.”

Terry picked up a stuffed mushroom, took a bite and fluttered her eyelids as though she were in ecstasy. “Okay. You convinced me. These are divine.”

Robbie appeared at his mother’s side and wrinkled his nose. “Mushrooms! Yech!”

“Robbie, mind your manners.” Kevin flashed Jazz a grin. “Sorry about my boy. If it’s not a hot dog or PB and J, he won’t touch it.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Robbie protested. “I like Pop-Tarts and mac and cheese.”

Kevin ruffled his son’s red hair. Callie had left the kitchen but the room seemed much too small for a caterer and a family of four. Especially this family of four.

“I’ll take this tray of food onto the deck,” Jazz said. “I think that’s where Matt wants everybody.”

“That must be where Carter is,” Kevin said. “I don’t care if it is his going-away party, he owes me money.”

Terry made a face. “Why do you guys have to bet on the golf course?”

“Why is the sky blue?” Kevin asked with a grin. “Why do you like to shop?”

“Smart aleck,” Terry said, but her eyes sparkled with humor.

“I’ll take the tray out there for you, Jazz.” Kevin picked it up, but not before Terry snagged another stuffed mushroom. She winked at Jazz, then followed her husband out of the town house, their two children flanking them.

“Uncle Matt! There you are!” Robbie yelled before disappearing outside.

Jazz sank onto one of the kitchen stools, the heat from the oven enveloping her. How had it happened that she was catering a party attended by children who were quite possibly hers biologically?

Matt hadn’t forced her to accept this job. And it was clear Kevin was in the golf league with Carter, but a part of Jazz must have realized Matt might invite family to a going-away party for a friend. Maybe a chance to see the twins again had even been part of the allure. Jazz’s willpower had certainly let her down before.

The French doors opened. Matt entered the kitchen and spotted her sitting down. His brows creased. “Hey, are you okay?”

She got up from the stool so fast she felt light-headed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Kevin—that’s my brother-in-law—just told me about Terry and all her questions. Sorry about that.”

“No problem.”

He tilted his head. His eyes were almost the exact shade of golden-brown as his hair. A golden boy, Carter had called him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Matt asked. “The way Terry goes on sometimes, I think she misses the interrogation room.”

“Excuse me?”

“She used to be a cop until the kids came along. That’s how she met Kevin. He’s a D.A. They’re good people even if Terry can be kind of scary.” He paused just as the doorbell rang. “Excuse me. I need to get that.”

More guests trickled in over the next few hours, a decent turnout. Jazz kept busy supplying a constant stream of hot finger foods, trying not to think about what Matt had said. It didn’t work.

Ironically, the ex-con’s children had quite possibly ended up with a district attorney and a former cop for parents.

The kitchen window provided a panoramic view of the backyard, where Brooke and Robbie played. The soccer ball covered with netting appeared to be a training tool with a boomerang effect. The twins took turns kicking it under the supervision of their father and uncle.

Jazz was careful to stand far enough back from the window not to be seen. Through the screen she could hear snippets of conversation about this morning’s youth soccer games. She watched Robbie run up to his sister, tag her on the arm and backpedal.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” the boy shouted.

“Maybe I don’t want to catch you,” Brooke retorted just as loudly.

“Chicken!” Robbie taunted.

After a long hesitation, Brooke dropped the soccer ball and dashed after him. Robbie ran in a zigzag pattern, his laughter ringing out. Brooke was about to tag him when she stumbled. She fell down, giggling even before she hit the grass.

Robbie raised both arms to the sky in triumph. “Told you that you couldn’t catch me!” he shouted.

“This is scrumptious. What’s in it? I think I taste eggplant.” Terry walked into the kitchen holding up a cracker slathered with dip.

Jazz slid back from the window, feeling unaccountably guilty. She strived for composure. “Eggplant, sunflower oil, onions, garlic and black pepper,” she said. “It’s called vinetta in Hungarian.”

“Sounds like something your mom used to make,” Terry said. “Was she a good cook, too?”

“I’m not sure,” Jazz answered. “I was mostly raised by my grandma.”

“So your grandmother used to make vinetta?”

She hadn’t, although in a backhanded way Grandma had spurred Jazz’s interest in cooking. If Jazz hadn’t learned her way around the kitchen, she’d have eaten many more sandwiches for dinner.

“No,” Jazz said. “My foster mother did.”

“Really, you grew up in foster care? That must have sucked.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” Jazz hadn’t realized there were worse things than being a ward of the state until she was housed in a prison cell.

“If everything your foster mother made was as tasty as this dip, that must’ve helped.” Terry licked her lips. “Thank the Lord I can’t cook like this. I already snack enough with the kids as it is. Since I quit work, I’ve gained twenty pounds. But anything would be worth it to stay home with them.”

Spoken like a happy stay-at-home mom who was raising well-adjusted kids. If the twins were Jazz’s biological children, she couldn’t have hoped for a more ideal situation.

Terry finished off the cracker. “Do you have any children, Jazz?”

Two children, Jazz thought. Except they’d never really been hers. How could she answer without being untruthful?

“I’ve never been married,” Jazz said.

“Matt hasn’t, either.” Terry’s comment seemed out of context. Before Jazz could say so, Terry added, “Listen, would you be interested in another catering job? We’re having a party for the twins next Sunday in the park. I thought we’d grill but it would be great to have a special cake and some kid-friendly desserts. You do bake, right?”

“I do.” Jazz was once again having a hard time keeping up with Terry. The other woman didn’t have the leisurely Southern drawl that was so prevalent in the Lowcountry. Terry spoke so quickly, her sentences seemed to run together.

A party, Terry had said without naming the occasion. With the school year having started only a few weeks ago and no more holidays on the September calendar, the most logical reason for a celebration was a birthday.

Disappointment cut through Jazz, as sharp as it was unexpected. Robbie and Brooke weren’t her biological children, after all.

Terry kept talking, naming a time and a place as though Jazz had already agreed. And why shouldn’t she now that she no longer needed to avoid Terry, the twins or Matt?

“How does all that sound?” Terry asked.

“Fine.” Jazz didn’t let on that she’d hardly heard a word. “But it would be better if you wrote it all down.”

“You got it.” Terry found a pad on top of the microwave and a pen in a holder by the stove.

Matt came into the kitchen, his eyes zeroing in on his sister and narrowing. “You’re not bothering Jazz again, are you, Terry?”

“For your information,” Terry said haughtily, “I just hired Jazz for the party I’m throwing for the twins.”

“Great!” Matt said, his approval out of proportion to the occasion.

“How old will Brooke and Robbie be?” Jazz didn’t even tense in preparation for the answer.

Terry glanced up from what she was writing on the pad. “Oh, it’s not their birthday. We’re having an adoption-day party.”