Читать книгу A Difficult Woman - Jeannie Watt - Страница 9

THE BOSS LADY was hot about something. Matt could see her pacing the porch as he turned his truck into her long gravel driveway. As soon as she heard his engine, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and stalked into the house. He could practically hear the door slam.

This should be fun, he thought as he pulled to a stop. He hadn’t slept much the night before and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Tara in a snit. She reappeared almost immediately with a cell phone, scanning the horizon as she held it to her ear. The boss lady had cleaned up, and rather nicely, too. Instead of baggy jeans, she wore tan denims that did justice to her long legs and a scoop-necked blue shirt that hugged her breasts and flat abdomen. A chain with some kind of a pendant nestled in an interesting hint of cleavage. She looked…different.

She watched him get out of the truck, still holding the phone to her ear. It was fortunate, Matt thought, taking in her killer expression, that he had expertise dealing with people in all kinds of moods.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly as he came to the bottom step.

“Brothers.” She let out an aggravated breath as she lowered the phone, but Matt saw anxiety as well as irritation in her eyes.

“Anything I can do?”

She opened her mouth to answer, and then her expression changed. Matt followed her gaze and saw a plume of dust in the distance. When the vehicle came close enough to identify, Matt shifted his attention to Tara, watching as her face first softened with relief, then tightened again. This did not bode well for the troublesome brother.

Tara stalked down the steps and brushed past Matt as an older silver Dodge pickup pulled in between his truck and a Toyota Camry. A fair-haired kid in his late teens or very early twenties was at the wheel and Matt could tell that he knew he was in trouble.

“You said you’d be home last night,” Tara hissed at her brother, who tried a sheepish grin, then gave up. “I had assumed that meant before the sun came up!”

The brother got out of the truck. “I’m sorry, T. Josh and I got stuck up behind Bounty Peak.” He gestured at the muddy undercarriage of the Dodge. “My cell wouldn’t get service there.”

Tara sucked in a breath and let it out again. “Listen to me. In the future, you call. I don’t care if you have to hike to the top of Bounty Peak to get service, you call.” She pushed a piece of paper into her brother’s hand. “And I’m sure I don’t want to know why you were behind Bounty Peak in the first place. Here’s the list we talked about. Do what you can. I’ve gotta go.”

Matt had seen the same look on his mother’s face more than once during his own turbulent teens—fully justified fear, followed by relief, and then anger at being made to worry unnecessarily. He felt a little sorry for both Tara and the kid.

“I’m late for an appointment,” Tara explained abruptly. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You’re pretty well lined out, aren’t you?”

Matt nodded and Tara gave her brother one more smoldering look before walking swiftly to the Toyota, muttering under her breath. Matt and the brother stood side by side as the car peeled out of the driveway and turned onto the county road.

“She yells at me when I do that.” The blond kid turned to Matt. “I’m Nicky Sullivan.”

“Matt Connors. You worried her,” Matt said as he shook the kid’s hand.

“Yeah. I guess I should have called when we got out of that mud hole,” he admitted, “but I figured I’d be home in an hour.” He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing. “And I think I’m old enough to stay out all night if I want to.”

“Probably not to her.”

“I guess,” the kid agreed. “Hey, you want some breakfast before you get started?”

Matt shook his head. “I had the special at the Owl.”

Nicky grimaced. “Sorry, man.”

Matt smiled in spite of himself. Dinners weren’t bad at the casino, but breakfast had proven to be an adventure. Eggs came in one form. Bouncy. Bacon bordered on scorched. The toast was usually okay, though, and that was what he’d ended up eating that morning after trying all the various components of the special.

“Come on, at least have some coffee. Tara makes great coffee.”

A thermal carafe sat on the counter of the obviously recently renovated kitchen and Nicky shook it. It sloshed reassuringly and he reached for two mugs.

“If I had been any later, she’d have dumped it out,” Nicky reflected as he poured.

“Important appointment?”

“It is for her.” Nicky settled on one of the antique chairs and stretched out his legs. He took a drink of coffee, closed his eyes, took another. “Long night,” he muttered. “Anyway, the local school is celebrating its centennial this year and there’s going to be a big reunion of all graduates. Tara wants a piece of the action.”

“How so?” The coffee smelled great. Matt took a seat on the opposite side of the table and sipped. Star-bucks, move over.

“She wants to use the reunion to help her kick off her bed-and-breakfast business. She’s trying to host a function here.”

“Bed-and-breakfast?” Matt almost dropped his cup. Tara Sullivan was going to deal with the general public? Nicky smiled at him.

“She’s good with paying customers,” the kid said, accurately interpreting Matt’s expression. “We lived in the basement apartment of a bed-and-breakfast for five years while she was going to college. She ended up running the place from time to time for the owners, so she knows what she’s doing. Of course, getting the house ready in time is kind of a challenge.”

“The kitchen’s not bad,” Matt said tactfully. Only the worn linoleum needed replacing. Everything else, from the fancy retro range to the huge fridge, looked new.

“You should see the rest of the place—and I’m only here for ten days. I’ll do what I can, but frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing.” Nicky rolled his shoulders, working the kinks out. “Believe it or not, I’m an engineering student. But I’m a lot better with calculations than I am with a hammer and a saw.”

Matt enjoyed the kid’s candor. “Why doesn’t she just hire a contractor? Money?”

Nicky grew serious. “She has to watch the budget, but the problem is all the local contractors are ‘booked.’” He said the word in a way that caught Matt’s attention.

“What do you mean ‘booked’?”

Nicky’s mouth tightened into a semblance of his sister’s smirk, but it wasn’t nearly as deadly. “She’d kill me for talking about this, but it’s nothing you won’t hear in town. There’s this family that runs an inn nearby. Real successful.”

“Somers Country Inn?”

“That’s the one. They’re ticked off that Tara is opening a competing business.”

Matt frowned. He’d seen the Somers Country Inn when he’d been driving around a few days before, trying to fill the empty hours, trying not to think. It was a few miles away from the Sullivan place—a huge two-story cedar ranch-style building surrounded by picturesque cabins, outbuildings, split-rail fences and giant cottonwood trees. It smacked of luxurious hospitality with a pseudorustic flavor. The kind of exclusive out-of-the-way place where the rich would go to rough it. There was no way that Tara’s little Victorian, even if it were fixed and decorated, could compete with that place.

“Rumor has it, and it’s only a rumor,” Nicky added in a way that made it clear it was anything but a rumor, “old man Somers has fixed it so that nobody wants to work with Tara. I mean, we had no trouble getting help with the roof, the foundation and the kitchen. It wasn’t until the plumbing…”

“What happened with the plumbing?”

“When we changed it over from iron to PVC, she had the guys plumb in a bunch of bathrooms—one for each bedroom, you know. That’s when the community found out she was planning to open a bed-and-breakfast, and suddenly no one was available.”

Matt gave the kid a long look before draining his cup. Nicky filled it again without asking.

“She finally got an electrician to come from Elko, but he was twice as expensive as the local guy. Now all that’s left are the floors, walls and stuff that needs to be fixed like the doors and the porch. Luke tries to do what he can around here, but he gets those arthritis attacks.” Nicky nodded at Matt over his coffee cup. “It’s decent of you to help him out.”

“No problem,” he replied, looking at his watch. “Any idea what time your sister will be back?”

Nicky shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.” He pulled the paper Tara had given him out of his pocket and smoothed it on the table. “But since this list is twice as long as it was the last time I saw it, I think I’d better get busy.”

TARA PUSHED OPEN one of the double doors of the convention room at the community center. She was late for her first meeting of the Night Sky Business Association and she would have to make an entrance instead of slipping in as she’d originally planned.

Almost every chair in the room was filled and all heads turned her way as she started down the aisle between the rows, looking for an empty seat. A few people seemed surprised to see her, but most just stared unsmiling or nodded. She wondered, as she always did, if anyone was sincere in offering the simple greeting. She was, after all, a Sullivan. Daughter of a convicted felon and the latest in a long line of troublemakers.

Her mother’s family had been upstanding citizens, but no one seemed to remember that, and she couldn’t really blame them. Almost everyone here had had some sort of unpleasant run-in with a member of her late father’s family.

Martin Somers was in the front row, dressed in his expensive faux cowboy clothes, his thick gray hair perfectly combed. He, too, nodded as she advanced down the aisle, but it was only for show. He was just like his son—charming and personable until you scratched the surface. Too bad more people didn’t figure that out. Too bad she had to figure it out the hard way.

She scanned the room until she finally connected with one honest-to-goodness friendly face, an ally. Jack Hamish gestured to the empty chair next to him.

“Hey, Tara.”

“Hi, Jack.” Tara nodded at the giant of a man she’d known since he’d been the biggest kid in their kindergarten class. “Thanks for the seat,” she murmured as she sat. “Are these meetings always this crowded?”

“Could I please have your attention?” The microphone whistled before Jack could answer and Tara glanced up to see perfect Stacia Logan adjust the stand, a glittery bracelet sliding up her tanned forearm with the movement.

“I’d like to welcome you to this combined meeting of the Night Sky High School Centennial committee and the Night Sky Business Association.

“A little background for those of you who were unable to attend our first meeting last week. My company, Night Sky Development, has been contracted by the chamber of commerce to ensure the smooth operation of the hundredth reunion of the high school. The chamber and I, in association with various Night Sky high class officers, have been hard at work for almost six months planning this event. We’ve made a lot of headway, but there’s still a lot to do and that’s where you come in.” She paused for emphasis before continuing.

“We have several hundred people coming. I’m certain that a lot of them will be staying with family, but those who aren’t will need rooms. For that reason we’ll be making and sending out brochures listing accommodations along with the schedule of events within the next few days. What we need today is an idea of how many rooms you will have available, price, etcetera, as well as input into where to hold the various functions. We’d also like to hear ideas for activities and promotions we might not have thought of….”

Stacia continued her spiel and, as Tara listened, she calculated what she had to do to have the house completed by June 24.

“Stacia?” Martin’s voice jarred Tara back to the present. “I have a comment. I think that we should have stipulations regarding the accommodations brochure.”

“Stipulations?” Stacia asked with eloquently raised eyebrows, giving Tara the distinct impression that she was delivering a rehearsed line.

“Yes. I think we should require that only accommodations up and running on the day we mail the brochure be included, just in case,” he emphasized the words, “the promised rooms are not available.”

There was only one establishment that he could have been referring to, only one establishment that wasn’t currently operational, and everyone knew it. Tara’s blood pressure jacked up, but she made an effort to control herself as she said in a calm, clear voice, “Are you talking about my place, Martin? Because if you are, I can assure you my accommodations will be done on time.”

Martin scowled at her. “How can you guarantee that?”

“The same way you can guarantee that your establishment will have all of its rooms available. Can you be absolutely certain there won’t be a fire or flood—or some other disaster—at your place before the reunion?”

Tara raised her eyebrows, but before Martin could reply, a snide whisper came from the back of the room. “Gee, who would set fire to Martin’s place?”

A muffled chuckle followed and Tara stifled a groan. Everyone knew Tara’s uncle had once attempted a career in arson insurance fraud. He might have been successful, too, if he hadn’t locked himself into the first old building he’d tried to torch, leading to his subsequent rescue, arrest and prosecution. Surprisingly though, other than her father, he was the only Sullivan who’d spent any significant time in jail. Most of the rest of the family managed to get away with time served.

The laughter grew, but somehow Tara kept from shifting in her chair to face the person who had made the comment. Jack didn’t. He turned and glared.

“Martin has a point,” an elderly woman announced with prim conviction, bringing attention back to the front.

“So does Tara,” came another unidentified voice from across the room.

This time Tara did turn, but she couldn’t identify her surprise defender.

“Look,” she said, wanting to put a stop to the debate, “my rooms will be ready. I wouldn’t put myself on the accommodations list otherwise.” She paused, and then added in a low voice, “So, I’ll tell you what, Martin. You worry about your establishment and I’ll worry about mine. I wouldn’t think my five rooms would be that much of a threat to you.”

Martin’s face reddened slightly as a few low chuckles bounced around the room. Stacia tapped the microphone for quiet and Martin turned abruptly toward the front of the room. Tara suspected she hadn’t heard the last from him.

“So, are you really going to have that monstrosity up and running by the reunion?” Jack asked an hour later as he held the door open for Tara.

“I’ll have at least two floors done,” Tara said as they stepped out into the unseasonable heat. “Maybe three if my carpenter hangs around.”

“I’d help you if I weren’t so damned busy at the casino. Losing the assistant manager really cramped me up hourwise.”

“I’m doing okay,” Tara said in a tone she almost believed. “You know, I didn’t expect to be accepted at these meetings with open arms, but I didn’t expect Martin to launch a public attack, either.”

She stopped at her car and unlocked the door. “I guess I should have been nicer to his son.”

“Or vice versa,” Jack replied evenly.

She smiled, but didn’t reply. She was just glad Ryan Somers hadn’t been at the meeting. Night Sky was small and she had to run into him every now and then, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Well,” Jack said, settling a big hand on her shoulder, “congratulations on surviving your first business association meeting.”

“No thanks to Martin…or Stacia,” Tara added. “I wonder what’s up with her?”

She and Stacia had never been friends, but they’d never been enemies, either. They’d simply traveled in different social circles having little to do with each other.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Honey, if you spent less time in that big old house, you’d know that Stacia and Ryan Somers are a couple.”

“Stacia and Ryan?”

“They’re engaged.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “No.” Jack was right. She had to get out more.

“For over a week, I think.”

“How perfect,” Tara murmured, turning the idea over in her mind. Ryan liked money. Stacia had money. “Perhaps Ryan has spoken of me in an unflattering way.”

“Yes,” Jack agreed in a like tone, “and rumor has it you also spoke poorly of Martin Somers in the bank yesterday. Mrs. Randall told the girls all about it at lunch.”

“Guilty,” Tara admitted without a trace of remorse.

“Stacia mustn’t like having her future father-in-law disrespected,” Jack surmised. “You have to remember, Tara, that it does not pay to cross the prom queen.”

“I was the prom queen,” Tara reminded him in a dark tone. It still made her cringe when she thought about it.

“Yes, but in my heart,” Jack replied solemnly, “Stacia will always be queen.”

“Yours and hers.” Tara grinned before she opened the car door. “I gotta go, Jack.”

“I’ll save you a seat next week.”

“I’m counting on you.”

NICKY WORKED DILIGENTLY around the house, checking tasks off his list and stopping every now and then to talk. He was an earnest, likeable kid and Matt didn’t have the heart to shut him down when he’d asked about Matt’s background. It was the last thing Matt wanted to discuss. He’d made a vague reply and steered the discussion back to Nicky and his college plans.

Nicky accepted Matt’s redirection of the conversation and Matt liked him all the better because of it. Neither of them mentioned Tara, who’d returned home around noon looking tired and not very happy. She’d fixed lunch for the two men before disappearing upstairs without a word. Matt didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but every now and then he wondered what had made her unhappy.

It was nearly six o’clock when Matt finally got into his truck and drove back to town. But he didn’t go home. Instead, he went to the grocery store, bought a sandwich and a Coke, got into his truck and started driving again, following a gravel road out of town.

He didn’t have it in him to go to the Owl for dinner. As much as he appreciated what Luke was trying to do for him, he didn’t feel like talking and he didn’t have the energy to dodge Becky’s come-ons. He didn’t want to spill his guts and he didn’t want to pretend to be normal.

He just wanted to have a little time to himself, alone, and try to think about…nothing.

“HEY, BABE, I HATE to ask, but can you fill in at the bar this evening? Maggie and Becky both called in sick with that damned flu, which leaves me a staff of exactly none.”

Jack’s gravelly voice actually sounded desperate, causing Tara to frown as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and attempted, unsuccessfully, to pound the lid back onto a can of walnut stain. She gave up, put the hammer down and took the phone in one hand as she brushed strands of hair back from her face with the other.

“What time?”

She did not want to fill in at the bar. She had so much to do, and it was Friday. The regulars would be out in rowdy force, but there was no way she could leave Jack in a lurch.

“Six would be okay.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Oh, and babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Check in the mirror for paint smudges before you come.”

Tara smiled as she punched the end button and surveyed the room. So much for getting the trim primed tonight.

FOR A PERSON who avoided crowds, she was spending way too much time surrounded by people, Tara mused as she pushed her way through the mob in the Owl Club, balancing a tray of drinks. Usually when she filled in for Jack, she manned the bar while the other waitresses hauled the orders, but tonight she shared the bar with Jack and delivered drinks whenever a restaurant order came in. In the bar area, people got their own drinks—thank goodness, Tara thought as she squeezed sideways between two large men.

She nearly dropped her tray as some fool, who was either new to town or too drunk to recognize her, firmly pinched her butt. Tara didn’t stop to see who it was—she didn’t have time to deal with the jerk. It was payday at not one, but two of the nearby gold mines, and too many people wanted to celebrate getting their check by spending their check. Tara had never understood that particular philosophy, but she was more than willing to help them achieve their goal.

She delivered the drinks to the table of revelers with a polite smile that faded as soon as she turned and faced the throng of people spilling out of the bar.

“Hey, sweet cheeks, get me another. Okay?” A very drunk Eddie Johnson waggled his glass at her, and she barely restrained herself from shoving it into his leering face. Instead she took the glass without a word and headed for the bar. Eddie would figure out soon enough that she wasn’t coming back. Jack wouldn’t serve him in the condition he was in and she needed the glass, which would certainly have to be washed and reused before the night was over.

And it was going to be a long, long night.

THE LAST THING Matt expected when he went to the Owl Club for dinner was that he’d have to wait for a table. Or so he thought until he finally took his seat and saw Tara Sullivan push through the crowd carrying a tray of drinks. She was wearing Levi’s that weren’t exactly tight, but somehow molded to her in a way that made every male in the room take notice. She also wore a red satin shirt unbuttoned into an enticing V and again the pendant dangled on the chain between her breasts. Matt was suddenly very curious about that pendant. He was also curious why she was playing barmaid after a full day of painting the interior of that monstrous house.

None of your business.

But, man, she did draw the eye.

Even the women watched her. Her dark hair wasn’t braided tonight, but was instead twisted up onto the back of her head and held in place with a big silver clip. Little strands escaped, curling around her temples, giving testimony to both the heat of too many bodies and the number of trips she must’ve made through that crowd. It looked as if everybody there was having hard stuff with dinner. Not him. He didn’t want to be responsible for Tara having to push her way through that mob again.

“If you touch me or call me sweet cheeks again, Eddie, you will be sporting your cojones somewhere in your abdominal cavity.”

Matt’s head whipped up at the tight, angry words, clearly audible over the buzz of the crowd even though Tara was in the bar area, almost out of view. Almost, but not quite. He automatically started to rise at the sight of her facing off with some drunken jerk whose surprise was rapidly becoming belligerence as his friends laughed. The guy opened his mouth to say something that would have probably gotten him into a whole lot more trouble when Jack Hamish, the manager of the Owl and resident giant, suddenly appeared by Tara’s side. Matt forced himself to sink back into his chair and let Jack take care of his employee, which he did by escorting the offending patron outside.

When the door closed behind Mr. Sweet Cheeks, Matt pulled his eyes back to the menu on the table in front of him, but adrenaline still charged through his body and his muscles were taut, ready to react.

He let out a slow breath and closed the menu.

Maybe he’d have that drink after all.

But he’d go to the bar and order it from Jack.

MATT CONNORS was at the bar and Tara wondered why, with a zillion people filling the small space, her eyes zeroed in on him. He ordered Scotch straight up and after Jack finished pouring, Matt raised his gaze and unerringly met hers. Her chin went up as she felt a surprising connection between them. He seemed different here, somehow, and he had caught her staring. Tara’s mouth tightened and she got busy filling the rest of her order. She left the bar without looking up again. But she felt him watching her, dammit. And it made her feel ridiculously self-conscious.

The rest of the evening passed in a long blur of shouted orders, sloshed drinks and loud music. Eddie had sneaked back in and Jack threw him out again. He’d had some time to sober up and had not taken his second ejection well.

And Matt had stayed. He stood for a long time, leaning against the wall under Edgar, the stuffed horned owl, watching the crowd, and occasionally her, unnervingly alert behind those wire-rimmed glasses, before finally moving to a vacated stool at the far end of the bar. He didn’t socialize, although a few of the town belles had given him their best shot, and he had switched to club soda after the one Scotch. Tara hadn’t the slightest idea why she noticed these things on such a busy evening.

“You saved my life tonight, babe.” Jack’s voice rumbled from behind her.

“No problem.” Tara gave the bar a wipe as she spoke. It was close to one o’clock and the crowd was finally thinning…but Matt was still there. Maybe this was what he did at night. Maybe he worked for her during the day and spent his evenings at the bar. Watching. She wondered vaguely why he was in Night Sky in the first place. Maybe waiting to get on at a mine. That’s why most single men came to the small town and hung around. Yeah. That was probably it.

Ginny, the graveyard waitress, had breezed in a few minutes before and came out of the back room tying on her apron. She glanced at the swollen tip jar, raising an eyebrow.

“Maggie and Becky are going to be sorry they got that flu.”

“I hear it’s a rough one.”

“Trust me, you don’t want it. Knocked me off my feet for two whole days, then I staggered for two more.”

“Then I won’t get it,” Tara said. “I’ve too many things to do.”

“How’s that house coming?” Ginny asked. “I’m dying to see it.”

“It’ll be done for the reunion,” Tara replied. Ginny was fairly new in town and she had always been friendly. Tara appreciated that, knowing that the woman must have heard all the talk about the Sullivan family, but had still chosen to make her own judgments.

“Invite me for a tour.”

“All right.” Tara gave Ginny a speculative look. “You know, I was wondering if you might have some time when I hire temporary day help.”

Ginny grinned. “Just call.”

“Right now it would only be during the reunion. I can’t pay all that much, but after I’m more established…”

Ginny’s smile didn’t waver. “Call,” she repeated.

Tara nodded. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

MATT WATCHED as Tara Sullivan neatly folded her apron and headed into the back room, reappearing seconds later with a small purse dangling from one shoulder.

“Wait a minute,” Jack said in gruff voice. He grabbed the purse, unzipped it and stuffed as much of the contents of the tip jar into it as would fit.

“I would have come back tomorrow,” Tara protested.

“No. You’ll get busy on that barn you call a house and forget. This way I know you have at least some of the money.”

Tara gave Jack a tolerant smile. “Thanks. But don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”

“I have subs lined up for the next few days.”

Tara nodded gratefully. “Good.” She surprised Matt then by glancing over at him, as if checking to see if he were still there, before turning and walking out the door.

Mr. Sweet Cheeks’ friends were bellied up to a table near the door and they had watched her exit with enough interest to catch Matt’s attention. He decided to make certain that she got to her vehicle safely.

Old habits, he thought as he pushed the door open and the warm night air hit his face.

He eased sideways into the shadows after the door swung shut behind him, leaning against the building and keeping his eyes on Tara as she crossed the big gravel lot. Someone needed to tell her to park closer to the door. She had her keys out and was nearly to Nicky’s Dodge when she stopped in her tracks.

Mr. Sweet Cheeks.

Matt wasn’t exactly surprised, and as he moved swiftly across the lot, he could see Tara wasn’t surprised, either. After her first startled movement, she took a defiant stance.

“Don’t even think about it, Eddie,” Tara said to the guy who’d sauntered out of the shadow of a pickup. “Just leave me alone.”

“Or…?” he asked in a wicked voice.

“That cojones promise still holds,” Tara said tightly.

The guy laughed and took a step toward her.

“I’m warning you—” She heard the crunch of Matt’s feet on the gravel and sent a quick startled glance his way. Matt ignored her and headed straight for Mr. Sweet Cheeks. The guy also looked startled, then smug. He hadn’t, after all, done anything. Hadn’t even touched her. Matt didn’t let that slow him down for an instant. He hated guys who preyed on women. The next thing Mr. Sweet Cheeks knew he was backed up against the same pickup truck he’d been hiding behind.

“Do…do you got some…some kind of problem, man?” Mr. Sweet Cheeks stuttered.

“No,” Matt answered quietly. “You do.”

Even in the dim light Matt could see the man blanch. Then he got stupid and took a wild roundhouse swing followed by an attempted knee to the groin. Matt automatically blocked both movements, then sent his fist deep into the man’s midsection. The guy doubled over and fell sideways onto the gravel.

Matt watched the man gasp for breath, then glanced over at Tara. The gratitude he expected to see wasn’t there. Instead she looked stunned and irritated.

“What?” he asked.

Tara just shook her head and watched Mr. Sweet Cheeks struggle up to his hands and knees. She grimaced as the guy retched.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

“His private parts are not in his abdominal cavity, so I would say, yes, he’s going to be fine.”

“I guess I should say thanks.”

“I guess you should,” Matt agreed.

Tara’s blue eyes looked silver in the glow of the streetlight. Silver and ungrateful. “Thanks.” The word was clipped, sarcastic.

“I’m overwhelmed,” Matt muttered. Mr. Sweet Cheeks staggered to his feet and away to his waiting friends. He stumbled a few times before he made it to the door.

“I said thanks,” Tara repeated, reading the obvious annoyance in his face.

“And you truly meant it,” he said sarcastically.

Tara didn’t reply, but Matt could see she thought he’d overreacted. Maybe he had, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d helped her out of a dicey situation.

He shook his head and reached to take the keys from her hand. She hadn’t expected it, so he was able to do it. He unlocked the truck door, opened it and stepped back, holding out the keys. Tara took them, her chin up.

“I can understand why you felt the need to…intercede.”

“But…?”

“But that was Eddie Johnson. It’s not the first time I’ve faced him down.”

“And…?” Matt prompted, sensing there was more.

“And I fight my own battles, my own way. I don’t need help,” she stated with an air of finality.

Matt looked down at her from his superior height, wondering why this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He didn’t need this. Not on top of everything else.

“Well, you know what, Miss Sullivan? You can fight your own battles and you can fix your own porch. Good night.”

Matt had the satisfaction of seeing her beautiful mouth pop open before he turned and started back across the lot to the alley that led to his house. But even as he stalked away he listened to hear the reassuring sound of her door finally slamming shut and the engine of her brother’s truck roaring to life.

Old habits…