Читать книгу Matthew's Choice - Patricia Bradley - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

“NOAH, COME DANCE with me.”

His mom’s voice floated like a feather from the tiny living room to the equally tiny kitchen, where Noah searched the bare pantry for something to eat.

“Not now, Mom.” Bleach from the big pan on the stove made his eyes water. He had to remember to take his socks and stuff out before he went to bed.

“Noah! Get in here this instant!”

His stomach twisted. He closed the pantry door and trudged into the living room, where his mom waltzed around the room to music playing on a CD player, her skinny arms crooked as if she were being held. She had that “look” he’d come to dread. She barely missed the small cedar tree with its paper ornaments and cardboard star on top. Dry needles lay scattered on the tile floor. He’d have to drag it to the street tomorrow. New Year’s Day. His shoulders dropped. Then school would start back again next week.

His mom stopped when she spied him. “There’s my boy. C’mere. You’ll be a teenager before I know it, and you need to know how to dance. Those girls are gonna be knockin’ our door down.”

“Aw, Mom, do I have to? I won’t even be ten until next month.”

“No-ah...”

He sighed and let her lead him around the room as she sang to the music.

“Did you know I could’ve been a famous singer?”

“Yeah, you told me.” Over and over she’d told him that a big producer in Nashville had wanted to sign her, but she’d gotten sick. And he knew what kind of sick. She twirled and then guided him around the room again. At least they didn’t have to worry about bumping into any furniture. Unless a worn-out couch and wooden crates counted.

“You’re gonna be a lady-killer, you know.” She chucked him under the chin.

Finally the waltz ended, and she released him.

“I’m gonna fix you some supper now,” she said.

He frowned. “I don’t think we have anything. Maybe I could go next door to Mrs. Adams. She said anytime we didn’t have anything to eat she’d—”

His mother shook him. “Don’t you dare go beggin’ for food. We don’t ask anyone for anything. And you’d better not forget that.”

Noah broke free and stumbled back.

She caught him and dropped to her knees. “Oh, Noah! I’m so sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her, her bony shoulders sharp against his hands. “It’s okay, Mom. I think I saw a package of ramen noodles. I’ll go fix ’em. Why don’t you rest on the couch?” Her eyes searched his, and he nodded, willing her to do it. “Okay? I’ll bring you a bowl.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re a good boy. You deserve so much better than me.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I don’t know why.”

He stood still as she steadied herself and stood, and then he helped her to the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes drooped and she murmured something he couldn’t understand. He waited a few minutes longer, until he was certain she was asleep. In the kitchen, he turned off the stove. When he returned he’d get his clothes out of the pan and hang them up to dry. Noah shrugged on his thin jacket and eased out the back door. He knew a place to get food without asking for it.

Noah slipped through the dark streets, shivering in the chilly air. At least it wasn’t freezing. It’d been unusually warm for December in Mississippi. Everyone in Cedar Grove said so. It hadn’t seemed like Christmas at all.

He passed the jewelry store where he and his mom had stood Christmas Day, picking out gifts they would give each other if they had the money. She’d picked out a watch for him—he didn’t even know jewelry stores had watches for kids. He’d picked out a pearl necklace, and she’d almost cried. It’d made her sad to leave the ones her mom had given her at Joe’s Pawn Shop last month. But the rent had to be paid, she’d said. He didn’t want to think about this month.

Loud music boomed to the sound of an electric guitar at the bar on the corner, and he crossed to the other side, keeping in the shadows. Two blocks later, the First State Bank sign blinked the time and temperature. Mike’s Café was across the street, dark and shuttered. He groaned. A Closed sign hung on the door.

It’s New Year’s Eve, dummy. The owner had probably left a long time ago, and any food he threw away would be gone already. Noah wasn’t the only one who knew about the food the man threw away. Perfectly good food. He didn’t understand why the guy didn’t just use it the next day. He went behind the building just as the back door scraped open and a man exited with two black bags in his hands.

Noah’s knees almost buckled with relief. He wasn’t too late. The man tossed the bigger bag in the Dumpster then looked straight toward where Noah stood in the shadows. Noah tried to make himself smaller, and it must’ve worked. The man turned back to the bag and set it on a box before returning inside the building.

Noah waited for fifteen minutes, counting the time on the bank sign, shivering in the chilly air. Darting from the shadows, he ran to the box, grabbed the bag and took off. Two blocks later, he leaned against a brick building, panting for breath. As soon as he could breathe again, he untied the bag.

Wow! He’d expected bread or maybe cookies, but not a bag with sliced meat. He pulled out a slice. Just one, and he’d take the rest of it to his mom.

Ham. He loved ham and couldn’t resist another slice. Noah broke off a chunk of bread and crammed it in his mouth, and then he closed the bag. Wait until Mom saw this.

When he reached his house, Noah entered by the back door and ran to the living room. “Mom! Look what I found.”

She didn’t respond, and Noah shook her. Why was she so pale? “Wake up, Mom.”

A throat cleared behind him. “So this is where you live.”

Noah whirled around, and his mouth dropped.

A guy in a cop’s uniform stood in the doorway.

“My mom. You gotta help her.”

* * *

MATTHEW JEFFERIES BUZZED away the five-o’clock shadow then splashed Dior aftershave on his face. Where was Clint with his tuxedo? Matt had exactly one hour to get dressed and pick up his soon-to-be fiancée, and his friend hadn’t made it to Matt’s apartment with his tux. If he were late, Jessica would be furious.

His feet tangled with the black towel he’d dropped on the floor, tossing him off balance until he snagged the sink rim and righted himself. Matt snatched the towel and slipped it back over the chrome bar. Jessica had picked the towel and the other black accessories for his bathroom to go with the black-and-white tile. She’d die if she discovered he’d actually used the towel. They’re only for looks, Matthew. When it came to decorating, or hosting parties for that matter, Jessica had no equal. Not that she wouldn’t be perfect without those talents. They’d make a great couple, and thirty was the perfect age to get married.

At his dresser, he rummaged through an ebony case for the platinum-and-black onyx cuff links she’d given him for Christmas. His gaze caught a small velvet ring box, and he flipped it open, revealing a two-carat diamond engagement ring. The seven square-cut diamonds along the shank were duplicated in the wedding band.

His mother’s voice, weak from the cancer’s toll on her body, echoed through the recesses of his mind. These rings were your Grandmother Rae’s, and they’re all I have to leave you. Choose well. Find someone worthy to wear them. Mom would have liked Jessica.

Tonight he would ask her father for Jessica’s hand in marriage, and tomorrow morning, after he wowed her with his famous eggs Benedict, he’d ask her to marry him. Matt held the solitaire up to the light, and it shimmered like white fire. Jessica would be impressed.

Matt dialed Clint’s number once again. “Come on, answer.” Voice mail picked up, and he pressed End then tapped his fingers against his leg. When Clint got here, he was going to kill him. He never should’ve trusted his friend to get his tux here on time and wouldn’t have if J. Phillip Bradford hadn’t requested an audience an hour before the cleaners closed.

“Probably forgot to charge his phone,” he muttered and took his dress shoes from the closet. Five minutes later, after he’d put the finishing touches to a shoeshine that a soldier would be proud of, his phone rang and he grabbed it. It better be Clint telling him he was parking.

He dropped his head, wanting to bang it on the wall. J. Phillip Bradford again. Matt shook off his frustration and answered. “Yes, sir, Mr. Bradford, what can I do for you?”

Bradford wasted no time on pleasantries. “I need you to drop by tomorrow at nine to go over page five of your proposal.”

“Sir? Tomorrow’s New Year’s Day. I—”

“All the more reason to work—start the New Year off right. You do know Valentine’s is only six weeks away, and while I like your proposal over the other five, if you expect to win the contract Wednesday, I need clarification on page five.”

Matt smothered the sigh trying to get past his lips. It’d been bad enough that he’d had to drop everything today and rush over to Bradford’s office, now he had to change his breakfast plans with Jessica tomorrow. But that was his lot as director of food and beverage for the Winthrop Corporation. The title was a catch-all for everything from securing business to overseeing the chef. Not to mention the budget. With a company that rivaled any of the big high-end chains, it was a significant job.

Matt wanted that contract for the corporation, even though working with J. Phillip would be a royal pain. The old man fired the original event planner after they’d butted heads over the ballroom, the menu and the decorations. If Phillip awarded Matt the contract, he had six weeks to pull the event together. He could do it—he could do anything that helped him climb the Winthrop corporate ladder.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there at nine sharp.”

Bradford broke the connection without ceremony, leaving Matt holding a dead cell phone. He picked up his other shoe, attacking it with a vengeance. Getting the Valentine’s Day contract was only the start. J. Phillip Bradford headed the Bradford Foundation, which was made up of three nonprofits, and each one hosted an extravagant fund-raiser every year. He would convince the old curmudgeon that the Winthrop Hotel was the perfect location for each, and at Matt’s price.

The doorbell chimed, and he fumbled the shoe. That had to be Clint. Shrugging out of the shirt he’d worn to work this morning, he rushed to the door, jerking it open. “Do you know what time it is?”

His breath caught at the shock of seeing Allie Carson, a gray garment bag slung over her shoulder. She blinked and stepped back from the door. The bag did nothing to detract from the way the slinky black gown hugged her curves. Or the way her blond hair fell softly around her shoulders. “A-Allie? Where’s Clint?”

She recovered, rolling her eyes. “Having his car towed from I-240. I told my brother six months ago he needed a new car. May I come in? Or do you want me to just hand you the tux and be on my way?”

“No, no, come in.” He stepped back, catching the light scent of something sweet and exotic as she glided past him. Echoes of late-night dates and study sessions in college ricocheted across his mind. How long had it been since he’d seen her?

“Six years, eight months and twenty-one days,” she said.

Almost seven years? He swallowed. “How did—”

Her lopsided grin teased him. “The question was written all over your face. What I want to know is why in the world you trusted Clint with your tux if you needed it tonight? My brother was late the day he was born.”

Allie chuckled, her laugh throaty, husky, just the way he remembered it. Her blue eyes danced that same mischievous two-step they always had, then flitted from his face to his feet and back. Suddenly conscious of being shirtless, he grabbed the bag and held it in front of him.

“Trust me, he was a last resort.” He didn’t want to tell her Clint was the only friend he had in Memphis, or that he was too busy to get together with him that often. “My fault anyway for waiting until today to pick it up.” Matt shifted his weight. That black dress fit Allie like a glove. She’d lost at least twenty pounds since college. Yeah, she definitely looked good, but she reminded him of everything he’d left behind. “You would’ve thought in all that time we would’ve run in to each other.”

Allie gave him that throaty laugh again. “Well, I rarely come to Memphis, and you never come to Cedar Grove.”

She handed him a smaller bag he hadn’t noticed. “Clint said something about me staying long enough to do your tie, or do you think you can manage it?”

She knew he couldn’t. Clint knew he couldn’t. As far back as when Matt had shared an apartment with Clint, his best friend always made sure Matt’s bow tie was correctly knotted for the once-a-year formal affairs he attended. He grabbed the smaller bag, as well.

“I think I can handle it,” Matt mumbled and headed to his bedroom. “Be out in a minute.”

“Clint told me not to leave until you were properly attired,” she called after him.

After he’d changed into the pants and a pleated tuxedo shirt, he stuck his head out the door. “Sodas are in the fridge.”

“I’m good.”

He left the door open and adjusted the cummerbund, making sure the pleats faced up. “What brings you to Memphis?”

“I came over for Christmas and Clint talked me into staying for this party he’s going to.” Her voice floated through the doorway. “I think they have a ‘friend’ they want to introduce.”

So that’s why she was all dolled up. He glanced down at the ring box, still open. Matt snapped the lid shut. Once he’d thought Allie would be the one wearing his grandmother’s rings. Shrugging the thought off, he slid the tie around his neck, his fingers fumbling with the silk. After a few minutes, he gave up and grabbed his shoes. He’d give the tie one more shot after he donned his Oxfords.

Or maybe he’d search online for instructions first. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? While his laptop booted up, he slipped on his shoes then typed his search words into Google. Oh, good...a video. Matt clicked on the link and leaned over the computer, studying the fat guy meticulously detailing how to knot a bow tie. He paused the video and draped the tie around his neck, making sure one side hung lower than the other.

What was it he said to do next? He clicked Play and stared hard at the computer screen. Do what? Matt backed the video up and played it again. No doubt about it, the guy was talking Greek. He yanked the tie off and headed for his living room.

“I give up! Would you please do this stupid—”

The room was empty. His heart sank. She had to still be here—somebody had to help him. Movement on the balcony caught his eye. He tapped on the sliding door, and when she turned, he dangled the tie. “Help?” he mouthed.

She slid the door open, shivering as she came back into the room. “Sorry, I just had to get some fresh air. It’s chilly out there, but a beautiful night.”

Then she took the tie without even an I-told-you-so glance and smoothed it out before handing it back to him. “Slip it around your neck.”

He did as he was instructed. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No prob...that’s what friends are for. Now, be still.”

He tried not to move, acutely aware of how close she stood to him. Maybe he should’ve tried harder to tie it. He cleared his throat. “You haven’t said anything about the apartment. Do you like it?”

* * *

ALLIE HAD DREADED that question from the minute she’d stepped into the place. She supposed some people like the minimalist look—sparse white walls, chrome and glass tables and a thin, hard sofa that no doubt cost a mint. The room reminded her of a spread in an architectural magazine. And it fit Matthew to a T.

“It’s...” Cold and sterile were the only words that came to mind. Just tell him what he wants to hear. Her gaze locked on the one dash of color, an abstract painting with a flowing crimson line in the center. “It’s nice. I really like the painting. Did your girlfriend pick it out?” Allie nodded toward the silver frame that held a photo of Matt with his arms around a willowy redhead.

“It’s actually her painting, and she put all of this together.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Her name is Jessica Winthrop, and she likes to paint, like you. We...we’re kind of talking about getting married.” He shook his head. “No, we’re not just talking, we’re making plans. She loves big-city living.”

Implying Allie didn’t. But it hadn’t been the move to the big city she’d fought. She forced a thousand-watt smile to her lips. “I’m glad for you.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. She’d known one day he’d get married, and it wouldn’t be to her, but did he have to be the one to tell her? If she hadn’t come to Memphis over the holidays, hadn’t agreed to deliver Matt’s tux, she would’ve found out through the grapevine, which would’ve been bad enough.

And did he have to find someone who was an artist? She glanced at the painting again. Especially one so talented. She stifled a sigh. Focus on the task at hand. Get the tie on his neck and get out of here. Matt shifted his weight as she made a half knot and pulled it against his collar. “Be still so I can get this tied.”

A pregnant pause filled the room as Allie forced her fingers through the mechanics of knotting the tie. Finally she had the black silk material transformed into a presentable bow, and his collar turned back down. The pause grew heavier. “I saw your sister just before the Christmas break,” she said, more to fill the dead air than to pass information.

“What? Where?”

“At school. I double as the reading teacher and elementary school counselor. Her son has been having problems in the classroom.”

“Son?” His brow wrinkled into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“When is the last time you saw Mariah?”

“Ten years ago, when Mother died.” He shrugged. “You were there—she was wasted.”

She definitely remembered Matt’s older sister that day. Allie had held Mariah’s head while she threw up in the commode. But now she understood his confusion—Mariah hadn’t told Matt she was pregnant. The son born to her was in Allie’s third-grade reading class and a frequent visitor to her counselor’s room. “And you haven’t talked to her since?”

“Sometimes. She calls every year or so, and for a while I have a number to reach her on, then it gets disconnected or she changes phones. But she never said anything about a kid.” His cell phone dinged. Matt checked it and winced.

“Your girlfriend?”

He nodded. “Jessica has decided she wants to drive, and she’ll be here in five minutes. Look, could I call you tomorrow to talk about my sister? Maybe we could get together for coffee.”

No way. Ending the year with a visit to Matt Jefferies was one thing. Starting the New Year off having coffee with the only man she’d ever loved and couldn’t have just was not happening. “I’m sorry. I have to go back to Cedar Grove tomorrow. Why don’t you simply call Mariah?”

“Why? So she can lie to me again? Besides, the number I have has been disconnected. Where are my sister and the boy living?”

“His name is Noah.” Allie dropped her gaze. “She works as a waitress at Loco Jim’s.”

Matt waited.

“And they live in a little house on Beaker Street.”

His shoulders sagged. “That’s next to the projects. Why didn’t she tell me? She could’ve stayed in Mom’s house. At least it would’ve been safer.”

“Last time I passed by your mom’s house, someone was living there.”

“I would have helped her find something better than that end of Beaker Street.”

Allie shook her head. “You don’t have a clue, do you? She would never ask you for anything.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“Really?” She grabbed her silk purse. “Look, I don’t think you want me here when your girlfriend arrives, so I’d better go.”

At the door, Allie turned around. “I know you’re mad at Mariah for running off with that Connors kid, and maybe she doesn’t live up to your expectations, but she and Noah need you. Call her tomorrow. Or even better, go back to Cedar Grove and see her, meet Noah.”

From the set of his jaw, she knew that wasn’t happening. “At least call her.”

“Wait,” he said. “Thanks for helping me.”

* * *

THE ELEVATOR DOORS CLOSED, and Allie slumped against the stainless-steel wall as the elevator descended from the penthouse floor to the parking garage. What had possessed her to let Clint talk her into delivering the tux? Thoughts of wowing Matt with her new, slim body? Ha! He hadn’t even noticed.

No doubt about it, Matt Jefferies had succeeded in putting his past behind him. Evidently he’d made his dreams come true. Money, great job, great apartment and definitely way out of her league.

And with that success, he needed a corporate wife. From the looks of that photo, he’d found one in Jessica. Who liked big-city living. Who would probably laugh at Allie’s job in the school system in tiny Cedar Grove. Allie squared her shoulders as the elevator stopped on the ground floor. Why should she even care what this fiancée thought?

Matt was getting married. She’d make it a point to avoid him in the future. No need in getting her heartbeat up again. Besides, she had a party to get to, one where maybe her Prince Charming waited. Or not. With her luck, Clint had fixed her up with one of the old geezers living at the retirement home where his girlfriend worked. The doors opened and she stepped out, almost colliding with a model-thin woman in a flaming red gown that was definitely not off-the-rack.

Allie jerked up short. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

The woman shook her head, her diamond teardrop earrings shimmering with the movement. “Oh, no, it was my fault entirely.”

Whoever said women with red hair shouldn’t wear red had never seen the girl in Matt’s photo. She sighed as the elevator doors closed. Oh, yeah. Matt was definitely out of Allie’s league.

As Allie walked to her car, her cell beeped, and she snagged the phone from the black satin clutch. Clint. Where are you?

Instead of texting, she speed-dialed her brother’s number. “I’m on my way,” she said when he answered.

“Well, we’re waiting on you at the hotel, and your date is here.”

Oh, joy. “I’m not the one who sent me over here, mister. And how did you get there so quick? Last I saw of you, the tow truck was pulling your car off I-240.”

“My date picked me up.”

“Oh. Well, what about my date? Who is this mystery man, anyway?”

“It wouldn’t be a mystery if I told you. Now, get a move on.”

“I need an address.”

“It’s on Main Street at the Winthrop. Put the hotel in your GPS, and when you get here, ask at the desk for the Savannah Room and tell them Jessica Winthrop invited you.”

Clint lost her at the Winthrop. Double joy. Her brother never told Allie she was attending a party hosted by Matt’s girlfriend. Now she’d see her ex-boyfriend twice on New Year’s Eve. Could it get any better?

Twenty-five minutes later, she’d managed to get lost, not once, but twice. When she finally found the Savannah Room, she spied Clint pacing back and forth outside the door, all six feet of him.

He rubbed his jaw. “Where have you been? I was worried sick that you’d had an accident...or worse.”

“I’m sorry, I got turned around.” She glanced left, then right. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Clint winced. “She had to leave right after I talked with you. An emergency at the assisted living where she works. Said she might make it later. For a while, I thought you both were dumping me.”

Allie linked her arm in his, patting it. “I’m here now, so let’s go meet this guy you’ve managed to snooker.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Clint winked at her. “Your date twisted my arm to finagle an evening with you.”

Allie tilted her head toward him. “What? Who is this person?”

“See for yourself. Voilà.” He extended his hand, palm out.

She turned. “Peter?”

What was he doing here?