Читать книгу Heaven Sent and His Hometown Girl: Heaven Sent / His Hometown Girl - Jillian Hart - Страница 9

Hope snapped open the kitchen cupboards. “You embarrassed the poor man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Go ahead, play innocent. But I’m not fooled and neither is Matthew.” She slammed the cans of food onto the shelves. “It wasn’t fair to volunteer me like that. You could have asked me. I would have been happy to do anything for you. Don’t you know that? But this—”

“Don’t you see? It’s for your own good, Hope.” Nanna didn’t sound quite as confident. “Time is slipping away from me, and I want to know my beloved granddaughter is happy and cared for.”

“I can take care of myself.” Hope slammed two more cans onto the wooden shelf. “Besides, I’m perfectly happy.”

“Sure, but you could be happier.” Nanna sighed. “Don’t be mad at me, Hope. With this injury I can’t serve on the committee, and your spending time with poor widowed Matthew Sheridan can’t hurt.”

“It’s your intentions that bother me. You know how I feel about marriage. And you know why.” Hope kept out a box of crackers and folded up the paper grocery sack. “I’m not going to marry anyone. Ever. I’m never going to go through what my parents did.”

“Just because your mom and dad couldn’t get along doesn’t mean that you can’t have a fulfilling marriage.”

“That’s exactly what it means.” Hope grabbed the bright yellow box and set it on the table in front of her grandmother. Her chest ached. Old wounds beat within her heart, and she didn’t want to be angry with Nanna. “Stop trying to change my life, okay? I like it just the way it is. And no, I don’t want a husband. I don’t miss having a family.”

“But, Hope—”

“Please, just drop it, Nanna. I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m the result of a bad marriage, remember?” The memories of her parents always fighting, always hurting each other tore through her. Memories she wanted to forget. The wind teased the chimes outside the open window, and Hope spun away, determined to keep control of her emotions.

The past was gone. There was no sense letting it hurt her now. She watched the light in Nanna’s eyes fade and she hated that, but she couldn’t back down. Marriage was not—and never would be—for her. No matter what. And if she felt lonely in the evenings cooking for one, well, that was a small price to pay for a life without hurt, blame and endless battles.

“What you haven’t seen,” Nanna continued above the musical jingle of the chimes, “is that some marriages can be a great blessing. Filled with joy and enduring love.”

“Sure, I’ve seen the movies. I’ve read the books. Notice how they’re all fiction?” Hope grabbed the tea-kettle from the stove and carried it to the sink. “I don’t want to hear any more about this, Nanna. Isn’t there a passage somewhere in the Bible about minding your own business?”

“Well, Thessalonians. ‘This should be your ambition: to live a quiet life, minding your own business—’” Nanna broke into a chuckle. “All right, fine, you’ve won. I’ll stop trying to match you up with handsome, kind, marriageable men even if it is for your own good.”

“Finally! You’ve come to your senses.” Hope grabbed hold of the cold water faucet.

“I’ll have you know there are many young women in this town who would appreciate my efforts.”

“Then maybe you should try matchmaking for them.” Hope gave the faucet a twist and felt the old metal handle give.

A blast of cold water slammed against her right cheekbone and across the front of her neck. She jumped back. Water sluiced down her face and dripped off her chin. Her shirt was wet through and plastered to her skin.

She could only stare at the geyser shooting water everywhere—straight up at the ceiling and sideways in every direction.

When Nanna had asked her to talk to Matthew, there really was a problem with the plumbing. She set the broken cold water handle on the counter and swiped more drops from her eyes.

“Kirby, quick, call Matthew.” Nanna’s voice rang high with distress above the sounds of the cascading waterfall. “Ever since Ethan Brisbane left town, we don’t have a decent plumber. Hope, quick, can you make it stop?”

“I’m trying.” Her sneakers slid on the wet surface as she tugged open the cabinet doors. She scrunched down and peered under the sink.

The old pipes groaned. Droplets plinked against her forehead. She knew next to nothing about plumbing, but she did own a small condo. She’d had her share of homeowner disasters. “I don’t see any shutoff valves. Nanna, how old are these pipes?”

“Who knows? Seventy years or more?”

“Maybe it’s time to replace ’em.” There was no way to stop the water, not here at the sink. “There must be a shutoff in the basement. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hurry, dear, my knickknacks—”

Hope spun toward the sink. The pretty porcelain figurines on the corner shelves above the sink were taking a direct hit.

She stepped into the force of cold water, wincing as it struck like a thousand icy pinpricks. “Kirby, could you help me out here?”

“Sure thing.” The young nurse abandoned the phone and hurried across the growing puddle on the floor to carry the rescued figurines to the table. “Mr. Sheridan wasn’t in. I got his pager.”

“We’re going to need someone right away.” Hope curled her fingers around the last wet porcelain child. “And it would be better—” she fixed a warning gaze on her grandmother “—if it wasn’t Matthew Sheridan.”

“Don’t worry, Hope.” Nanna spoke up. “I’m a defeated old woman resigned to live without a single great grandchild.”

“Sure. Make me feel guilty.” Hope handed Kirby the last figurine and stood, dripping wet, in the middle of the kitchen. Water crept in an ever-widening puddle across the ancient flooring. As far as she could tell, puddles and crutches didn’t look like they would mix. “C’mon, Nanna, let’s get you to safer ground.”

“I’ll take her into the living room,” Kirby volunteered, the crutches already in hand. “And I’ll try to find someone—anyone—to come right away.”

“Thanks, Kirby.” Hope caught Nanna’s elbow as she wobbled, a little unsteady on her feet. “I’m going to see what I can do downstairs.”

“Now be careful of those narrow steps,” Nanna warned.

Hope resisted the urge to remind her grandmother that she was no longer a child. The warmth in her chest doubled knowing someone worried over her—that someone still cared.

The water was still spewing like Old Faithful, so Hope ran for the basement door.

No light greeted her when she hit the switch. She guessed Nanna hadn’t been down here in a while. She found a flashlight on a hook by the door and searched the lengths of wrapped pipes visible overhead. They ended by the hot water tank in the back corner, where huge cobwebs warned of even bigger spiders.

“No way am I going in there.” She shivered, her skin crawling just at the sight of those thick, dust-coated gossamer strands.

Then a dark object slinked across the cement floor toward her sneaker. She screamed in midair, already jumping back. The flashlight slipped from her grip. It hit the ground with a crash and rolled, the light eerily aimed at the ceiling. The shadowy spider skidded to a stop, waiting—like he was preparing to launch an all-out assault on her ankle.

“Chances are it’s more scared of you.” A rich masculine voice rumbled like low valley thunder through the dark. Then boots clipped on the concrete. “He’s looking up at you and thinking, boy, that giant sure looks dangerous. I hope she doesn’t attack me.”

“Matthew Sheridan.” She took another cautious step back, her pulse fast, her limbs shaky. “You scared me to death.”

“Didn’t hear me come down the stairs, huh? I guess you were too busy screaming at this poor defenseless spider.” He strode closer, his presence like a fire in the darkness, radiating heat without light. A heat she felt.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Kirby left a desperate message so I came over. I was next door at the Joneses’.” He flashed her a grin in the eerie mix of shadows and knelt down, unafraid. “If you shoo him off, he’ll go hide and leave you alone.”

“Sure. I feel so much safer knowing he’s in the shadows watching and waiting for the right moment to take a bite.” Hope tripped back, away from the narrow hallway, not sure which was affecting her more—the spider or the man. “I was trying to find the shutoff.”

“Let me take it from here. After all, I’m the professional.” He held up a big wrench and stepped into the light. Lemony rays brushed across his face, accenting the fine cut of his profile and the curve of his lopsided grin. “Tell Nora not to worry. I’m on the job.”

“Oh, that’s a comfort.” Why was she feeling like this? The last thing she wanted was to feel attracted to a man. Especially Matthew Sheridan.

She remembered how he’d looked in the coffee shop with sadness so huge in his eyes. How he’d leaned slightly away from her in his chair, placed right beside hers, so that their shoulders wouldn’t brush. As if he wanted to make it clear just how much distance he wanted.

Well, he was in luck. She wanted distance, too. And yet, she felt sorry for him. Sorry because beneath his easy grin lurked a great grief, one so obvious how could Nanna even think he’d want to remarry?

Not knowing what to say, Hope backed away, leaving the flashlight on the floor in case Matthew needed it, finding her way through the dark by touch and by memory.

Matthew listened to her light step against the stairs, tapping away into silence. Hope had looked at him like a deer blinded by headlights. Maybe it was the spider or the way he refused to look at her at the meeting today.

Either way, he knew he had to make things right. Since he couldn’t back out of his obligation to the committee, it looked like he’d be seeing Hope a lot during the preparations for the Founder’s Days dance. He didn’t want any strain or bruised feelings confusing things. As soon as he turned off the water and fixed Nora’s sink, he’d pull Hope aside and talk with her.

Unfortunately, the old valve was rusted wide open, and he had to use every bit of his strength to turn it. The old metal groaned, and he whispered a prayer for the ancient pipes to hold. They did, and the rush of water faded into silence.

Overhead he heard the soft tap of shoes—probably Hope’s. He tried not to think about that as he brushed the cobwebs off his shirt and retrieved the fallen flashlight. He hadn’t looked at a woman since he’d fallen in love with Kathy, and it bothered him. He didn’t know what to make of it as he headed upstairs.

Hope was in the kitchen, guiding a mop across the floor. Sunlight spilled through the back door, highlighting the sheen of her dark hair and the agile grace in her slender arms.

She knelt, wrung water from the mop into a bucket, then straightened. “You came to the rescue. Again.”

“That I did. I even survived the spider.” He couldn’t get over the sight of Hope Ashton handling a mop. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.

“You’re a braver person than I am.” She bent to work, swiping with practice. “Sharing dark cramped spaces with arachnids isn’t high on my list.”

He knew she was from a wealthy family—she probably had her own housekeeper and cook, a chauffeur and gardener—but here she was in simple blue jeans and a light yellow T-shirt cleaning her grandmother’s floor with a steady competence. As if she mopped floors all the time.

Not that Hope’s lifestyle was any of his business, he reminded himself and he forced his gaze away. But as he crossed the kitchen with water slick against his work boots, he could hear the stroke of Hope’s mop back and forth.

“I’m going to have to replace this entire setup.” He checked under the sink to make sure. “Either that, or chances are this kitchen will end up flooded again.”

“Then we’ll just have you fix it right.” Hope swiped her forearm across her brow. “Kirby took Nanna outside for some fresh air. I think she’s more upset than she’s letting on.”

“She’s lived here, what, fifty years? It’s hard to see something you love damaged.” He eased onto his back and adjusted his pipe wrench, determined to concentrate on his job and not on Hope mopping the floor. “I’m going to take out the sink and all these pipes. Put in proper shutoff valves. She’ll even get a new faucet out of the deal. Lucky for you, I have a faucet in the carpenter boxes in the back of my truck—I get these emergencies often enough. It’s a nice white European one.”

“Oh, boy. I can’t remember the last time a handsome man gave me a new faucet.”

She was kidding—he knew that. But why did his pulse perk up? Did she really think he was handsome? He couldn’t see it—he doubted anyone else did, either. That was the thing that made him wary about women like Hope—easy flattery, a drop of kindness, it was superficial and not always innocent. He ought to remember that the next time he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Disgusted with himself, he gave his wrench a hard twist, and the old pipe came loose from the wall. “So, you’ll be staying in town through Founder’s Days?”

“If Nanna needs me that long.” Hope knelt to wring the mop. Water splashed into the bucket. “I’m sorry about the committee meeting. She’s just trying to throw us together. I hope you know I had nothing to do with that.”

“I figured it out easy enough.” He slid out from beneath the sink and caught sight of Hope hefting the full bucket toward the back door, so at odds with what he expected from her. Maybe that’s why his gaze kept finding her in the room. “I believe you. Remember, my mom blackmailed me.”

“Your own mother? That’s hard to believe. I remember how sweet she was.” Hope disappeared in the shimmer of the midday sun.

“Sweet? Sure, she once was, I suppose. Then she became a grandmother and started meddling.”

Hope breezed back inside, swinging the empty bucket, and her smile looked genuine enough to make his heart flip. She lifted one delicate brow. “Meddling?”

“Yep. Mom decided she wanted more grandchildren so I needed another wife to provide her with some.” He concentrated on coaxing the broken faucet out from the tiled wall. “It’s a desperate situation.”

“I understand that completely. Poor Nanna won’t be happy until she thinks I’m taken care of.” The mop smacked against the floor. “She isn’t satisfied when I say I can take care of myself. As if any man will do.”

Any man. A common, middle-class working man. Matthew knew it wasn’t a fair way to think, but even though Hope Ashton looked kind and casual and goodhearted and even though she was mopping a floor, she was a millionaire’s daughter. She was a renowned photographer. She wasn’t looking for just any man.

The pipe stuck, and he gave it a hard tug. It split into pieces and tumbled into the sink. “These pipes look as old as the house.”

“I’m sure they are.” Hope swept past him, leaving a lingering trail of sweet, light perfume. “Grandfather was notoriously frugal. Do you think you can get the water at least running today?”

“Sure can.” He shook his head at the rot where the pipes had been leaking for some time. Better to concentrate on his work. “This wall is going to have to be replaced. And this set of cupboards.”

“Nanna is going to be heartbroken. Grandfather made those cabinets for her. They’re custom—”

“I’m not a bad carpenter. I bet I can match them.” He couldn’t help teasing her, she looked so serious, so concerned. “Have a little faith, Hope.”

“I’m trying.” She smiled, soft and sweet, and he noticed the way her dark curls caught the light, shimmering like rare silk.

Heaven help him.

A bell rang, spinning her toward the front door. Long locks flicked over her shoulder, glimmering with such beauty he couldn’t look away. She hustled from his sight, padding across the damp floor and into the dim recesses of the entry hall.

He recognized Helen’s voice and then heard only silence. Hope must have taken her out to see Nora in the flower garden. Matthew headed out the back door to grab what he needed from his truck. He’d put in new pipe, valves and a faucet.

An older lady with a broken leg needed running water. He figured the McKaslin family wouldn’t mind if he was a day late finishing their barn.

“How are you and Matthew getting along?” Nanna asked after she’d greeted, Helen, her lifetime friend. “Did you notice how wide his shoulders are? I just love a man with broad shoulders.”

“Then you flirt with him,” Hope teased as she tucked a cushion in the black metal chair for Helen. “Let me fetch some iced tea. I’ll be right back.”

“She’s hurrying back to him.” Nanna’s loud whisper carried on the sweet breezes.

“To look at his shoulders,” Helen teased.

Okay, so his shoulders were broad. Hope hopped up the back steps and she couldn’t help it—her gaze found and traced the strong line of Matthew’s muscled arms, corded as he worked to set the new pipe in the wall.

“Would you like some iced tea?” She reached into the cupboards for three glasses, determined not to notice his well-honed physique.

“Sounds good.” He didn’t look up from his work. As if he were afraid to make eye contact with her.

Why now? Then she noticed the windows were open, and Nanna’s voice lifted on the breeze through the window. He couldn’t have accidentally overheard what they were talking about, right?

The curtains fluttered with a gust of wind. “Goodness, Hope is so alone. Matthew’s mom and I thought since they were both so lonely, we’d try to toss them together—”

The curtain snapped closed, cutting off the rest of Nanna’s words.

A cold feeling gripped Hope’s stomach. She felt her heart stop as she met Matthew’s gaze.

“I guess that’s as close to a confession as we’re going to get.” He stretched a kink in his neck, flexing the muscles in his left shoulder and arm. “Our own families are working against us.”

“Nanna just promised to stop—” Hope’s knees felt weak. “No, she didn’t exactly say that. She sort of skirted the issue and changed the subject. You heard her. She doesn’t sound one bit sorry.”

“It sure didn’t sound that way.”

Hope set the pitcher on the counter. She remembered how he’d looked in the coffee shop, lost and sad and brokenhearted. “I’m sorry, Matthew. This must be painful for you.”

“I’m used to it.” His words were as warm as spring rain. “This is what I’ve been up against ever since the boys wanted a mother for their third birthday. My mom has been on a nonstop campaign to find me a wife, and now she’s involving her friends in the search.”

“Like any woman will do, right?” It hurt to see the shadows in his eyes, so deep hazel and mingled with pain. She didn’t know what to say. How to comfort him.

He laid a packaged faucet, shiny knobs wrapped in plastic, on the counter. “It sounds to me like these women are pretty determined. Just how do you think we can stop them?”

“It’s going to be a long awkward summer unless we find a way.”

Matthew rubbed the heel of his hand against his brow. He looked tired. He looked as if a world of burden rested on those wide shoulders. Her heart ached for him.

She poured iced tea into the three tumblers, and then inspiration gripped her. “I know! Proverbs. ‘If you set a trap for others, you will get caught in it yourself.’”

“You mean…”

“Have you noticed how your mother and my grandmother have all this time on their hands? Notice how they both live alone.”

“I noticed.” Light began to twinkle in Matthew’s eyes.

“Poor lonely widows. With no one to take care of them.” Hope tugged the curtain aside and caught sight of Nanna in the garden shaded by the tall maple. “Nanna mentioned a certain older gentleman she thought was very attractive. Maybe there’s someone your mother might like….”

“Hope, you’re a genius.” Matthew laughed, relief chasing away the shadows in his eyes and the furrows from his brow. “We turn the tables on them. And why not?”

“That’s right. Why not?” She topped off the last tumbler and handed it to Matthew. “Your mother and my grandmother had no qualms about torturing us.”

“That’s right. We find the two of them husbands, and they’ll be so happy they’ll forget all about us.” Matthew leaned against the counter and sipped his tea. “It’s not deceptive. After all, we’re bid to let love be our highest goal….”

“Like Nanna said, it’s not good to be alone.” Hope felt the sunlight on her face, warm and sustaining. She knew Nanna wasn’t alone, not truly, but she also remembered how years had slipped from Nanna’s face at the thought of Matthew’s handsome grandfather-in-law.

Nanna had spent too many years in this empty house watching for the mailman to slip letters into her box or waiting for the phone to ring. That was about to change. Hope could feel it down deep in her soul.

Maybe that’s why the Lord had brought Matthew to her in the middle of that dangerous storm. And why Matthew stood here now.

If God kept watch over the smallest sparrow, then surely He cared about the loneliness in an old woman’s heart.