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He tried to fight back a smile, but her honest admission only made her
that much more likeable. "Then you should definitely learn how to throw
a punch, especially if you want to go running at night. It's easy. I'll
show you."
"This is just a trick to get me to help you with the baby again."
"You are so suspicious. Emily is fast asleep."
Caitlyn walked toward him, until she was standing a foot away. She
studied his face for a long minute. "You hate being alone with her,
don't you?"
"No."
"That little baby has got you freaked."
"I'm perfectly calm. Feel my pulse." He held out his hand to her.
Caitlyn put two fingers on his wrist, and the heat of her touch sent
his pulse on a sprint. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the same
sudden leap and felt a surge of pure male satisfaction, quickly
followed by dismay. He could not be attracted to his neighbor. He could
not have a thing with Caitlyn. No way in hell. The idea was unthinkable.
He never brought his relationships home, and he certainly didn't start
relationships at home.
Jesus! He was already thinking of this as home. Maybe he needed to
throw some punches himself.
Caitlyn dropped his wrist. "I was never very good at finding a pulse,"
she said, pretending that whatever had jumped between them hadn't
happened. "I really should run."
He knew it would be smarter to let her go, but these days being smart
didn't seem to be an option. "Just give the bag a chance. It can be a
great workout. Trust me."
She hesitated. "All right. I guess I could try it."
He ushered her into his apartment. "Emily is in the bedroom. Do you
want to check on her?"
"We should leave well enough alone."
"Okay." He walked over to the hall closet and pulled out two boxing
gloves. "These should work."
Caitlyn looked doubtfully at the enormous gloves. "I don't think those
will fit."
"We're not going for style, just protection. Put 'em on."
Caitlyn took off her jacket to reveal a body-hugging white T-shirt that
had Matt clearing his throat. He'd always liked curves on a woman, and
Caitlyn had some dangerous curves, the kind that made a man
want to
hold on for dear life.
"I feel ridiculous," she said as she slipped on the bulky gloves.
"No one is watching."
"You are," she said pointedly.
Matt forced himself to concentrate as he walked over to the bag and
braced it with his hands. "I'll hold
it steady. You take a swing."
She paused once more, offering him an apologetic glance. "I don't think
I can do this. I've never hit anyone in my life."
"No siblings to fight with?"
"I'm an only child."
"No bully in the third grade?"
"I went to Catholic school. The nuns didn't put up with bullies."
"What about in the neighborhood?"
She shook her head. "My mother screened my play dates."
Good grief! Only child, Catholic school, play dates— if he'd had any
doubts that they came from
different sides of the tracks, they were
gone.
"You must know someone you've wanted to hit. Think about it." He
watched the muscles in her face draw tight. "Maybe starting with the
guy who just left," he ventured. "Bradley, right?"
"Brian. And I don't want to talk about him."
"Did I ask?"
"You were about to."
"Take a swing, Caitlyn."
Caitlyn pulled her arm back, then took a soft feminine punch that
didn't even move the bag. Matt shook his head in disgust, telling
himself he could not possibly be turned on by her completely sissy
punch. But there was something incredibly feminine about her. "You hit
like a girl."
"I am a girl."
Didn't he know it! "Try again. See if you can actually make the bag
move."
"What if I miss the bag and hit your hand?"
"With the force you just used, I think I'll live."
"You're making fun of me, aren't you?"
"Does that make you mad?"
"As a matter of fact.. ." She took a better punch this time and smiled
with satisfaction. "That felt good."
"Do it again."
"Once was probably enough."
This woman had a lot to learn. As far he was concerned, once was never
enough. "You're just getting started. Think about something that makes
you hot under the collar."
"I'm usually even tempered."
"Think about me leaving you with the baby when you were supposed to be
finishing that wedding dress."
"Oh, right." She took a much harder punch, pushing the bag back against
his chest.
"You're a quick study. Now, what about that guy who just left, the one
who thought Emily was yours. How did that make you feel?"
Caitlyn's expression turned to stone. "I told you to mind your own
business."
"You didn't look happy to see him."
"I wasn't."
"So who was he? A boyfriend?"
She hit the bag again, even harder this time. "He was my fiance, if you
must know."
Another punch glanced off the bag, and her expression turned fierce as
she lost herself in a memory.
"He broke up with you?" Matt couldn't quite imagine a guy walking out
on Caitlyn.
"Not exactly," she said, her punches accenting each word. "He had a job
opportunity that took him back east for a year, and I told him to take
it. But I was a little surprised by how fast he got out of there." She
danced around the bag, taking punch after punch until a line of sweat
broke out across her brow.
"Out of where?"
"The hospital," she said breathlessly.
"What is he—a doctor?"
She took another wild punch. "Astrophysicist, Ph.D. He has a genius IQ
and ambition to match. The fellowship at the McClellan Institute
allowed him to study with one of the top men in his field. It was a
once-in-a-lifetime proposition. And he couldn't let anything slow him
down, especially someone who ... who .. ." She stopped, her chest
heaving as she caught her breath.
"Who what?" he prodded.
"Who might not ever be able to walk again," she blurted out.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked in amazement.
"I had an accident—two broken legs, a crushed pelvis, and a couple of
broken ribs. Oh, and did I
mention a severe concussion and twenty-seven
stitches in my scalp? They had to put me back together with pins and
screws. I wasn't a pretty picture."
"And the asshole left you like that?"
"I sent him away. I was damaged, horribly damaged." Her voice caught in
her throat. "If you could have seen me then, you would have thought the
same thing." She shuddered at the memories washing over her.
"I still can't believe your fiance would leave you in the hospital and
take a job on the other side of the country."
"I told you, it was a big deal. And what could Brian do for me anyway?
He could barely stand to look at me. He probably wondered how he could
ever love me again." Her eyes flooded with a sudden onslaught of tears.
Matt dropped the punching bag and took her in his arms. He pressed her
trembling body against his chest, smoothing her hair under his chin as
sobs rocked through her.
"Sh-sh," he whispered.
She struggled to catch her breath, to stop crying. "I'm sorry," she
said with a small hiccup. "I don't know why I'm crying. I haven't cried
in a long time, and now I can't seem to stop," she said with a sniff.
"I'm
as bad as Emily. You're surrounded by crying females."
Normally, he would have shied away from her. He'd never had much
patience with female dramatics, a leftover discomfort from the days
spent with his weepy mother, but Caitlyn's sorrow was so deep, he
felt
only helplessness that he couldn't make it go away. There didn't seem
to be any words he could
offer, none that didn't sound trite and
unsubstantial.
Caitlyn pulled away from him with a self-conscious swipe across her wet
cheeks. "I'm okay, you know. Seeing Brian again brought it all back,
but I'm fine."
"How did you get hurt so badly?"
"We were skiing. Brian is a great skier. He loves the mountains, and we
were on vacation in Sun Valley. He wanted to do this challenging run
with one of the faculty members from UCSD. The professor's wife was
going along and thought it would be fun for the four of us to ski
together. I didn't want to hold Brian back."
"He must have known you couldn't handle it."
She shrugged. "I told him I could."
"And he wanted to impress his friends more than he wanted to keep you
safe."
"I don't think he thought of it that way. Really. It was all just an
accident. It wasn't his fault."
"Right. So then you're lying in the hospital with a dozen broken bones
and he tells you, Hey, honey
I got a great job offer, so see you later."
She frowned. "He didn't say it like that, and I told him to go, so I
can hardly complain that he went,
can I?"
"But you didn't want him to leave."
"I thought he'd argue, offer to stay," she admitted. "But I got what I
asked for. End of story."
Matt shook his head in disbelief. "You were injured. You weren't
thinking clearly. What was his excuse?"
"It was a fabulous opportunity."
"More important than his fiancee?" The question slipped out before Matt
had a chance to consider how badly it might hurt. When Caitlyn's face
turned pale, he realized his mistake. "I'm sorry."
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. "You know, I don't really
want to talk about this." She slipped off the boxing gloves and handed
them back to Matt. "Thanks. That was fun."
"Yeah, next time we have this much fun, I'll bring a bigger box of
Kleenex."
The smile broke across her face like the sun coming out from behind a
cloud. "I probably should have just gone for the run, but my body still
doesn't care much for jogging. Although being told at one point that I
might not be able to walk without a limp made the joy of running a lot
sweeter."
"That was rough, what happened to you."
"I survived. I was lucky."
"Optimist, huh?"
"Most of the time. You probably can't tell that by tonight, but I
usually don't feel this sorry for myself."
"No, you just pretend the bad stuff isn't there, don't you?"
She made a face at him. "You're so smart. You have me completely
figured out, don't you?"
"I doubt that," he said dryly. "Figuring women out is not my forte."
"That's what Brian said. He doesn't understand why women say go when
they want you to stay, or say stay when they want you
to go."
"What did you tell him this time—go or stay?"
She didn't answer, her eyes somewhat guilty.
"You told him to hit the road, right?" he persisted. "You didn't give
him a second chance?"
"Well, I did tell him to go, but—"
Matt groaned. "I knew there was a but."
"It's complicated, Matt."
"You're making it complicated."
"But," she repeated, "I don't think he believed me when I told him to
go."
"Should he?"
"I don't know. I'm confused."
"He left you when you were hurt. What's confusing?"
"I loved him. I said I would marry him. I still have my wedding dress
hanging in the closet. Don't I owe him at least some consideration?"
"No, absolutely not."
"It's not so black and white. Matt, not to me."
Matt started as Emily's abrupt wail rang through the apartment,
reminding him he had a more pressing problem to deal with than
Caitlyn's love life Which didn t concern him anyway. But he was still
fighting the urge to shake some sense into her. From what he'd heard,
Brian didn't deserve a second chance, and Caitlyn was being too soft.
Although he had to admit her softness was one of the things he really
liked about her.
"Emily is awake," she said with a commiserating smile. "Do you want
some help? After crying on your shoulder, I owe you." Caitlyn moved
across the room, pausing at the bedroom door. "By the way,
you're a
good neighbor."
"Yeah, good neighbor," he muttered as she went into the bedroom to
rescue Emily. He wondered why he suddenly wanted to be
so much more than a neighbor. Caitlyn wasn't his type. She was white
lace and promises. He ought to have his head examined. Unfortunately,
at the moment he was not thinking with his head.
doorway on
Seventh Street, just south of Market, in San Francisco's downtown
business district. The Greyhound Bus Station was across the
street. She
could walk over and use her last twenty dollars to buy herself a ticket
somewhere. But what
if she couldn't gel back to Emily? What then?
Maybe Emily would be better off without her, the poor baby. She hadn't
asked to be bom into this
mess, getting a horrible mother, an even
worse father, and nothing much else. Sarah was completely overwhelmed
by her situation. She sank to the ground, the weight of the world
pushing on her shoulders. She was only twenty-two years old, but she
felt like a hundred.
"'Hey, move along," a man told her as he came out the door of the
tobacco shop behind her. "You're scaring away customers." He took a
good look at her face, which she instinctively tried to hide behind a
shield of hair. "Go on, now, find yourself somewhere else to sleep
tonight. If you're here
in the morning, you'll be sorry."
She was already sorry, Sarah thought as she wearily stood up. Sorry
she'd ever been born, sorry the monsters under her bed had turned out
to be real, sorry she'd ever believed in a promise. And sorrier
still
that she'd brought a baby into her life. Maybe that's the way her
mother had felt, like she had no
way out, no chance of making it.
The feeling that she was just like her mother scared Sarah to death.
She didn't want to be that way, yet here she was alone, her baby left
behind with Matt, a brother she hadn't seen in years. What had she done?
The only thing she could do, she reminded herself. Seeing Matt's name
in the newspaper had been a sign. She had wondered about him for years,
dreamed of seeing him again, and then just like that, when she'd needed
him the most, she'd seen his name in the paper. It had been easy to
find his office, and when she'd gone to the library to look him up
through the Internet, his phone number and address had popped right up.
It was almost too easy—as if someone had paved the way for her to find
him.
An angel maybe? The whimsical thought was ridiculous. There were no
angels. A sudden breeze blew against her face; she shivered, and goose
bumps slid clown her arm. Maybe it was being back in San Francisco that
made her feel like she wasn't alone. It was here in this city that
she'd been loved, once,
a long time ago. Coming back had been the right
thing to do.
But now what? What was she supposed to do now? Was seeing the Greyhound
Bus Station a sign that she should leave Emily with Matt? And go where?
Could she really abandon her baby? What kind of mother did that make
her? One like her own mother? The maddening, horrifying refrain went
around
and around in her head. She tried to run
away from it by walking more quickly, but it followed her through the
darkening city streets.
As she walked she wrapped her arms around her waist, trying
instinctively to protect herself from the night and the rest of the
world that couldn't get out of that night. She'd slept outside before,
hidden
away in the shadows, praying for safety, but she hadn't been
able to do that with Emily.
She wondered for the thousandth time if Emily was all right, if Matt
was loving her. She remembered how Matt had taken care of her before
the fire. He was the only father she remembered.
Her real father had died when she was only a few months old. Her mother
had fallen apart after that, but Mattie had been so responsible, always
worrying about her. He'd seemed old at the time, but now she realized
how young he'd really been. It was her fault they'd been separated,
another reason why she hadn't found the courage to talk to him. She
still remembered the look on his face as they'd watched
their apartment
bum. In that moment he'd hated her.
She'd always messed things up. but this—this was the biggest mess of
them all. There had to be a way out. She just had to find it. But she'd
spent all day trying to get a job without any luck. No one wanted
to
hire a woman with a battered face, little education, and no job
references. The familiar feeling of hopelessness enveloped her like a
warm sweater that she couldn't bear to take off.
After a dismal morning of job hunting, she'd speni ihe afternoon in
Union Square, listening to a sidewalk street musician sing the blues,
wondering why she couldn't just get up and go somewhere. But it always
came back to where. She'd almost chosen the liquor store. She'd stood
outside of it for almost ten minutes, looking at that pure gold
liquid in the window, remembering how it had felt sliding down her
throat, making all the bad things disappear.
Oh. how she'd wanted a drink, and how afraid she'd been that one drink
would lead to a bottle, and
she'd never have to be sober again. It was
a tempting thought. She'd spent most of her teenage years in just such
a place. Emily had straightened her out. When Sarah had found out she
was pregnant, she'd
quit drinking, and she hadn't had a drop since. But
now she really wanted a drink, wanted it so bad she could almost taste
it.
No! Taking a deep breath. Sarah reminded herself to think clearly,
think about Emily. But she was scared. It was getting late, and the
people on the streets could be dangerous. She wondered about a shelter.
Maybe if she could sleep, she could decide what to do next. But where
was a shelter? She had
no idea.
She walked and walked and walked, losing track of the streets, not even
sure where she was going until she saw the steeple of the church. It
was the sign that had called to her the night before. As a child she'd
seen that steeple out of their fourth-floor apartment, just two blocks
away. Every Sunday she'd heard
the bells ring and the angels sing, and
they'd given her hope. But last night, while sleeping in the church,
she hadn't felt any hope, nor had she seen any angels, so why had she
come back again?
They'd probably reported the broken window. It wouldn't be easy to get
back inside. Everything would
be locked up tight. Still, Sarah lingered
on the corner, wondering why she couldn't seem to move away. An old
woman came around the corner at the far end of the church wealing a
large straw hat on her
head despite the rising moon and darkening
twilight. She held a watering can in one hand, but instead of walking
toward the strip of flowers
that graced the walkway, she came toward the sidewalk, dousing the
weeds that grew along the curb with water.
Sarah watched her in fascination. There was something about the woman
that seemed familiar, and a memory tugged in the back of her mind. She
found herself moving forward, but the woman walked
away from her,
crossing the street to the other side, muttering something to herself
as she went.
Sarah shivered as a cool evening breeze seemed to blow through her. She
turned to leave and saw him standing there, watching her.
Startled, she wondered for a split second if Gary had come after her.
Then she realized the face belonged to the man she had met in the
church earlier, a man with blue-gray eyes that reminded her of the sky
just after sunset.
"Hello, Sarah," the man said quietly. "I was hoping you'd come back."
"I—I didn't."
"And yet you're here."
Sarah silently kicked herself for being so dumb. Why couldn't she think
of the right thing to say at the right time?
"You remember me, don't you'" he continued. "I'm Jonathan Mitchell, the
minister here.'"
"You don't look like a reverend," she said, taking note of his casual
gray slacks and dark sweater. In
fact, not only did he not dress like a
man of the cloth, his features were too pretty, with his wavy
brown
hair and long, thick eyelashes that any woman would have killed for.
"What's a minister supposed to look like?"
"Old."
He smiled. "I'll get there one of these days, probably sooner than I"d
like. Are you hungry, Sarah?"
"How do you know my name?"
"You told me earlier."
And he remembered? Gary hadn't remembered her name the first few times
she'd slept with him.
"You made quite an impression," he told her.
"Did you call the cops?"
"No"
She stared at him uncertainly. She wanted to believe him, but he had to
be lying. She'd broken into the church, caused damage. Why wouldn't he
call the cops? "I have to go," she said abruptly.
"Don't."
"But—"
"My housekeeper makes a wonderful beef stew. There's more than I can
cat. I hate to see anything
go to waste."
She wondered if he was referring to her. Because there was an
expression on his face, a worry in his eyes, and it scaied her to think
that she wanted to trust him. No one worried about her. He must have
an
ulterior motive. Most people did.
"Do you get points for how many homeless people you get off the street
each night?" she asked brashly,
a tiny spark of her old street courage
coming back to her.
"Are you homeless?"
"No. I live in one of those mansions up on the hill."
"Then I guess I'll have to look elsewhere for my points," he said with
a dry smile.
"I'm fine, you know. And I don't believe in God, so if you think you're
going to save me or have me be born again, you can forget about it."
"It's already forgotten. Look, Sarah, I'd like to help you. I think
you've been hurt and maybe you could use a friend."
"What do you get out of it?"
"Maybe I could use a friend, too."
His kind words stole the toughness away and reminded her of how tired
she was and how much she
really did need a friend. But could she trust
him? He was a stranger. He might still call the cops. Then what would
she do? They'd find out she was a terrible mother and take her baby
away the way they'd taken her away from Mattie.
"I can't." She turned blindly away, the tears already filling her eyes.
He caught her by the arm and held on, a strong, masculine grip that
hurt her already bruised skin. He must have seen the pain in her eyes,
because he immediately let go. "There's a shelter three blocks from
here. The Samaritan House, on Fourteenth and Stringer. They won't ask
you any questions, and you'll have a safe place to sleep."
She nodded, trying not to break down in front of him.
"I want to help you, Sarah."
"Why? I'm nobody to you."
"But you're somebody to someone. Aren't you?"
Sarah thought of Emily and the tears streamed down her cheeks as she
shook her head. "Not anymore."
"'I don't want you to go," Jonathan said, surprising her with the
intensity in his voice
She looked into his eyes and saw more than a minister; she saw a man.
Is this what he wanted, then?
Her body in exchange for his help? She
couldn't even imagine why he would want her body. She hadn't washed in
a couple of days. She looked like a poster girl for abused women. Not
that a man necessarily needed a pretty face; a female body would often
do.
"It's not like that," he said. "I won't hurt you."
"I've heard that before."
"Come back tomorrow. Just to talk. Maybe I can help. Maybe you'll be
able to trust me more in the daylight."
She wanted to say yes, for as she looked at the church, at the familiar
steeple, she felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe it was a sign after all.
that much more likeable. "Then you should definitely learn how to throw
a punch, especially if you want to go running at night. It's easy. I'll
show you."
"This is just a trick to get me to help you with the baby again."
"You are so suspicious. Emily is fast asleep."
Caitlyn walked toward him, until she was standing a foot away. She
studied his face for a long minute. "You hate being alone with her,
don't you?"
"No."
"That little baby has got you freaked."
"I'm perfectly calm. Feel my pulse." He held out his hand to her.
Caitlyn put two fingers on his wrist, and the heat of her touch sent
his pulse on a sprint. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the same
sudden leap and felt a surge of pure male satisfaction, quickly
followed by dismay. He could not be attracted to his neighbor. He could
not have a thing with Caitlyn. No way in hell. The idea was unthinkable.
He never brought his relationships home, and he certainly didn't start
relationships at home.
Jesus! He was already thinking of this as home. Maybe he needed to
throw some punches himself.
Caitlyn dropped his wrist. "I was never very good at finding a pulse,"
she said, pretending that whatever had jumped between them hadn't
happened. "I really should run."
He knew it would be smarter to let her go, but these days being smart
didn't seem to be an option. "Just give the bag a chance. It can be a
great workout. Trust me."
She hesitated. "All right. I guess I could try it."
He ushered her into his apartment. "Emily is in the bedroom. Do you
want to check on her?"
"We should leave well enough alone."
"Okay." He walked over to the hall closet and pulled out two boxing
gloves. "These should work."
Caitlyn looked doubtfully at the enormous gloves. "I don't think those
will fit."
"We're not going for style, just protection. Put 'em on."
Caitlyn took off her jacket to reveal a body-hugging white T-shirt that
had Matt clearing his throat. He'd always liked curves on a woman, and
Caitlyn had some dangerous curves, the kind that made a man
want to
hold on for dear life.
"I feel ridiculous," she said as she slipped on the bulky gloves.
"No one is watching."
"You are," she said pointedly.
Matt forced himself to concentrate as he walked over to the bag and
braced it with his hands. "I'll hold
it steady. You take a swing."
She paused once more, offering him an apologetic glance. "I don't think
I can do this. I've never hit anyone in my life."
"No siblings to fight with?"
"I'm an only child."
"No bully in the third grade?"
"I went to Catholic school. The nuns didn't put up with bullies."
"What about in the neighborhood?"
She shook her head. "My mother screened my play dates."
Good grief! Only child, Catholic school, play dates— if he'd had any
doubts that they came from
different sides of the tracks, they were
gone.
"You must know someone you've wanted to hit. Think about it." He
watched the muscles in her face draw tight. "Maybe starting with the
guy who just left," he ventured. "Bradley, right?"
"Brian. And I don't want to talk about him."
"Did I ask?"
"You were about to."
"Take a swing, Caitlyn."
Caitlyn pulled her arm back, then took a soft feminine punch that
didn't even move the bag. Matt shook his head in disgust, telling
himself he could not possibly be turned on by her completely sissy
punch. But there was something incredibly feminine about her. "You hit
like a girl."
"I am a girl."
Didn't he know it! "Try again. See if you can actually make the bag
move."
"What if I miss the bag and hit your hand?"
"With the force you just used, I think I'll live."
"You're making fun of me, aren't you?"
"Does that make you mad?"
"As a matter of fact.. ." She took a better punch this time and smiled
with satisfaction. "That felt good."
"Do it again."
"Once was probably enough."
This woman had a lot to learn. As far he was concerned, once was never
enough. "You're just getting started. Think about something that makes
you hot under the collar."
"I'm usually even tempered."
"Think about me leaving you with the baby when you were supposed to be
finishing that wedding dress."
"Oh, right." She took a much harder punch, pushing the bag back against
his chest.
"You're a quick study. Now, what about that guy who just left, the one
who thought Emily was yours. How did that make you feel?"
Caitlyn's expression turned to stone. "I told you to mind your own
business."
"You didn't look happy to see him."
"I wasn't."
"So who was he? A boyfriend?"
She hit the bag again, even harder this time. "He was my fiance, if you
must know."
Another punch glanced off the bag, and her expression turned fierce as
she lost herself in a memory.
"He broke up with you?" Matt couldn't quite imagine a guy walking out
on Caitlyn.
"Not exactly," she said, her punches accenting each word. "He had a job
opportunity that took him back east for a year, and I told him to take
it. But I was a little surprised by how fast he got out of there." She
danced around the bag, taking punch after punch until a line of sweat
broke out across her brow.
"Out of where?"
"The hospital," she said breathlessly.
"What is he—a doctor?"
She took another wild punch. "Astrophysicist, Ph.D. He has a genius IQ
and ambition to match. The fellowship at the McClellan Institute
allowed him to study with one of the top men in his field. It was a
once-in-a-lifetime proposition. And he couldn't let anything slow him
down, especially someone who ... who .. ." She stopped, her chest
heaving as she caught her breath.
"Who what?" he prodded.
"Who might not ever be able to walk again," she blurted out.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked in amazement.
"I had an accident—two broken legs, a crushed pelvis, and a couple of
broken ribs. Oh, and did I
mention a severe concussion and twenty-seven
stitches in my scalp? They had to put me back together with pins and
screws. I wasn't a pretty picture."
"And the asshole left you like that?"
"I sent him away. I was damaged, horribly damaged." Her voice caught in
her throat. "If you could have seen me then, you would have thought the
same thing." She shuddered at the memories washing over her.
"I still can't believe your fiance would leave you in the hospital and
take a job on the other side of the country."
"I told you, it was a big deal. And what could Brian do for me anyway?
He could barely stand to look at me. He probably wondered how he could
ever love me again." Her eyes flooded with a sudden onslaught of tears.
Matt dropped the punching bag and took her in his arms. He pressed her
trembling body against his chest, smoothing her hair under his chin as
sobs rocked through her.
"Sh-sh," he whispered.
She struggled to catch her breath, to stop crying. "I'm sorry," she
said with a small hiccup. "I don't know why I'm crying. I haven't cried
in a long time, and now I can't seem to stop," she said with a sniff.
"I'm
as bad as Emily. You're surrounded by crying females."
Normally, he would have shied away from her. He'd never had much
patience with female dramatics, a leftover discomfort from the days
spent with his weepy mother, but Caitlyn's sorrow was so deep, he
felt
only helplessness that he couldn't make it go away. There didn't seem
to be any words he could
offer, none that didn't sound trite and
unsubstantial.
Caitlyn pulled away from him with a self-conscious swipe across her wet
cheeks. "I'm okay, you know. Seeing Brian again brought it all back,
but I'm fine."
"How did you get hurt so badly?"
"We were skiing. Brian is a great skier. He loves the mountains, and we
were on vacation in Sun Valley. He wanted to do this challenging run
with one of the faculty members from UCSD. The professor's wife was
going along and thought it would be fun for the four of us to ski
together. I didn't want to hold Brian back."
"He must have known you couldn't handle it."
She shrugged. "I told him I could."
"And he wanted to impress his friends more than he wanted to keep you
safe."
"I don't think he thought of it that way. Really. It was all just an
accident. It wasn't his fault."
"Right. So then you're lying in the hospital with a dozen broken bones
and he tells you, Hey, honey
I got a great job offer, so see you later."
She frowned. "He didn't say it like that, and I told him to go, so I
can hardly complain that he went,
can I?"
"But you didn't want him to leave."
"I thought he'd argue, offer to stay," she admitted. "But I got what I
asked for. End of story."
Matt shook his head in disbelief. "You were injured. You weren't
thinking clearly. What was his excuse?"
"It was a fabulous opportunity."
"More important than his fiancee?" The question slipped out before Matt
had a chance to consider how badly it might hurt. When Caitlyn's face
turned pale, he realized his mistake. "I'm sorry."
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. "You know, I don't really
want to talk about this." She slipped off the boxing gloves and handed
them back to Matt. "Thanks. That was fun."
"Yeah, next time we have this much fun, I'll bring a bigger box of
Kleenex."
The smile broke across her face like the sun coming out from behind a
cloud. "I probably should have just gone for the run, but my body still
doesn't care much for jogging. Although being told at one point that I
might not be able to walk without a limp made the joy of running a lot
sweeter."
"That was rough, what happened to you."
"I survived. I was lucky."
"Optimist, huh?"
"Most of the time. You probably can't tell that by tonight, but I
usually don't feel this sorry for myself."
"No, you just pretend the bad stuff isn't there, don't you?"
She made a face at him. "You're so smart. You have me completely
figured out, don't you?"
"I doubt that," he said dryly. "Figuring women out is not my forte."
"That's what Brian said. He doesn't understand why women say go when
they want you to stay, or say stay when they want you
to go."
"What did you tell him this time—go or stay?"
She didn't answer, her eyes somewhat guilty.
"You told him to hit the road, right?" he persisted. "You didn't give
him a second chance?"
"Well, I did tell him to go, but—"
Matt groaned. "I knew there was a but."
"It's complicated, Matt."
"You're making it complicated."
"But," she repeated, "I don't think he believed me when I told him to
go."
"Should he?"
"I don't know. I'm confused."
"He left you when you were hurt. What's confusing?"
"I loved him. I said I would marry him. I still have my wedding dress
hanging in the closet. Don't I owe him at least some consideration?"
"No, absolutely not."
"It's not so black and white. Matt, not to me."
Matt started as Emily's abrupt wail rang through the apartment,
reminding him he had a more pressing problem to deal with than
Caitlyn's love life Which didn t concern him anyway. But he was still
fighting the urge to shake some sense into her. From what he'd heard,
Brian didn't deserve a second chance, and Caitlyn was being too soft.
Although he had to admit her softness was one of the things he really
liked about her.
"Emily is awake," she said with a commiserating smile. "Do you want
some help? After crying on your shoulder, I owe you." Caitlyn moved
across the room, pausing at the bedroom door. "By the way,
you're a
good neighbor."
"Yeah, good neighbor," he muttered as she went into the bedroom to
rescue Emily. He wondered why he suddenly wanted to be
so much more than a neighbor. Caitlyn wasn't his type. She was white
lace and promises. He ought to have his head examined. Unfortunately,
at the moment he was not thinking with his head.
six
"Must think," Sarah muttered to herself as she hovered in adoorway on
Seventh Street, just south of Market, in San Francisco's downtown
business district. The Greyhound Bus Station was across the
street. She
could walk over and use her last twenty dollars to buy herself a ticket
somewhere. But what
if she couldn't gel back to Emily? What then?
Maybe Emily would be better off without her, the poor baby. She hadn't
asked to be bom into this
mess, getting a horrible mother, an even
worse father, and nothing much else. Sarah was completely overwhelmed
by her situation. She sank to the ground, the weight of the world
pushing on her shoulders. She was only twenty-two years old, but she
felt like a hundred.
"'Hey, move along," a man told her as he came out the door of the
tobacco shop behind her. "You're scaring away customers." He took a
good look at her face, which she instinctively tried to hide behind a
shield of hair. "Go on, now, find yourself somewhere else to sleep
tonight. If you're here
in the morning, you'll be sorry."
She was already sorry, Sarah thought as she wearily stood up. Sorry
she'd ever been born, sorry the monsters under her bed had turned out
to be real, sorry she'd ever believed in a promise. And sorrier
still
that she'd brought a baby into her life. Maybe that's the way her
mother had felt, like she had no
way out, no chance of making it.
The feeling that she was just like her mother scared Sarah to death.
She didn't want to be that way, yet here she was alone, her baby left
behind with Matt, a brother she hadn't seen in years. What had she done?
The only thing she could do, she reminded herself. Seeing Matt's name
in the newspaper had been a sign. She had wondered about him for years,
dreamed of seeing him again, and then just like that, when she'd needed
him the most, she'd seen his name in the paper. It had been easy to
find his office, and when she'd gone to the library to look him up
through the Internet, his phone number and address had popped right up.
It was almost too easy—as if someone had paved the way for her to find
him.
An angel maybe? The whimsical thought was ridiculous. There were no
angels. A sudden breeze blew against her face; she shivered, and goose
bumps slid clown her arm. Maybe it was being back in San Francisco that
made her feel like she wasn't alone. It was here in this city that
she'd been loved, once,
a long time ago. Coming back had been the right
thing to do.
But now what? What was she supposed to do now? Was seeing the Greyhound
Bus Station a sign that she should leave Emily with Matt? And go where?
Could she really abandon her baby? What kind of mother did that make
her? One like her own mother? The maddening, horrifying refrain went
around
and around in her head. She tried to run
away from it by walking more quickly, but it followed her through the
darkening city streets.
As she walked she wrapped her arms around her waist, trying
instinctively to protect herself from the night and the rest of the
world that couldn't get out of that night. She'd slept outside before,
hidden
away in the shadows, praying for safety, but she hadn't been
able to do that with Emily.
She wondered for the thousandth time if Emily was all right, if Matt
was loving her. She remembered how Matt had taken care of her before
the fire. He was the only father she remembered.
Her real father had died when she was only a few months old. Her mother
had fallen apart after that, but Mattie had been so responsible, always
worrying about her. He'd seemed old at the time, but now she realized
how young he'd really been. It was her fault they'd been separated,
another reason why she hadn't found the courage to talk to him. She
still remembered the look on his face as they'd watched
their apartment
bum. In that moment he'd hated her.
She'd always messed things up. but this—this was the biggest mess of
them all. There had to be a way out. She just had to find it. But she'd
spent all day trying to get a job without any luck. No one wanted
to
hire a woman with a battered face, little education, and no job
references. The familiar feeling of hopelessness enveloped her like a
warm sweater that she couldn't bear to take off.
After a dismal morning of job hunting, she'd speni ihe afternoon in
Union Square, listening to a sidewalk street musician sing the blues,
wondering why she couldn't just get up and go somewhere. But it always
came back to where. She'd almost chosen the liquor store. She'd stood
outside of it for almost ten minutes, looking at that pure gold
liquid in the window, remembering how it had felt sliding down her
throat, making all the bad things disappear.
Oh. how she'd wanted a drink, and how afraid she'd been that one drink
would lead to a bottle, and
she'd never have to be sober again. It was
a tempting thought. She'd spent most of her teenage years in just such
a place. Emily had straightened her out. When Sarah had found out she
was pregnant, she'd
quit drinking, and she hadn't had a drop since. But
now she really wanted a drink, wanted it so bad she could almost taste
it.
No! Taking a deep breath. Sarah reminded herself to think clearly,
think about Emily. But she was scared. It was getting late, and the
people on the streets could be dangerous. She wondered about a shelter.
Maybe if she could sleep, she could decide what to do next. But where
was a shelter? She had
no idea.
She walked and walked and walked, losing track of the streets, not even
sure where she was going until she saw the steeple of the church. It
was the sign that had called to her the night before. As a child she'd
seen that steeple out of their fourth-floor apartment, just two blocks
away. Every Sunday she'd heard
the bells ring and the angels sing, and
they'd given her hope. But last night, while sleeping in the church,
she hadn't felt any hope, nor had she seen any angels, so why had she
come back again?
They'd probably reported the broken window. It wouldn't be easy to get
back inside. Everything would
be locked up tight. Still, Sarah lingered
on the corner, wondering why she couldn't seem to move away. An old
woman came around the corner at the far end of the church wealing a
large straw hat on her
head despite the rising moon and darkening
twilight. She held a watering can in one hand, but instead of walking
toward the strip of flowers
that graced the walkway, she came toward the sidewalk, dousing the
weeds that grew along the curb with water.
Sarah watched her in fascination. There was something about the woman
that seemed familiar, and a memory tugged in the back of her mind. She
found herself moving forward, but the woman walked
away from her,
crossing the street to the other side, muttering something to herself
as she went.
Sarah shivered as a cool evening breeze seemed to blow through her. She
turned to leave and saw him standing there, watching her.
Startled, she wondered for a split second if Gary had come after her.
Then she realized the face belonged to the man she had met in the
church earlier, a man with blue-gray eyes that reminded her of the sky
just after sunset.
"Hello, Sarah," the man said quietly. "I was hoping you'd come back."
"I—I didn't."
"And yet you're here."
Sarah silently kicked herself for being so dumb. Why couldn't she think
of the right thing to say at the right time?
"You remember me, don't you'" he continued. "I'm Jonathan Mitchell, the
minister here.'"
"You don't look like a reverend," she said, taking note of his casual
gray slacks and dark sweater. In
fact, not only did he not dress like a
man of the cloth, his features were too pretty, with his wavy
brown
hair and long, thick eyelashes that any woman would have killed for.
"What's a minister supposed to look like?"
"Old."
He smiled. "I'll get there one of these days, probably sooner than I"d
like. Are you hungry, Sarah?"
"How do you know my name?"
"You told me earlier."
And he remembered? Gary hadn't remembered her name the first few times
she'd slept with him.
"You made quite an impression," he told her.
"Did you call the cops?"
"No"
She stared at him uncertainly. She wanted to believe him, but he had to
be lying. She'd broken into the church, caused damage. Why wouldn't he
call the cops? "I have to go," she said abruptly.
"Don't."
"But—"
"My housekeeper makes a wonderful beef stew. There's more than I can
cat. I hate to see anything
go to waste."
She wondered if he was referring to her. Because there was an
expression on his face, a worry in his eyes, and it scaied her to think
that she wanted to trust him. No one worried about her. He must have
an
ulterior motive. Most people did.
"Do you get points for how many homeless people you get off the street
each night?" she asked brashly,
a tiny spark of her old street courage
coming back to her.
"Are you homeless?"
"No. I live in one of those mansions up on the hill."
"Then I guess I'll have to look elsewhere for my points," he said with
a dry smile.
"I'm fine, you know. And I don't believe in God, so if you think you're
going to save me or have me be born again, you can forget about it."
"It's already forgotten. Look, Sarah, I'd like to help you. I think
you've been hurt and maybe you could use a friend."
"What do you get out of it?"
"Maybe I could use a friend, too."
His kind words stole the toughness away and reminded her of how tired
she was and how much she
really did need a friend. But could she trust
him? He was a stranger. He might still call the cops. Then what would
she do? They'd find out she was a terrible mother and take her baby
away the way they'd taken her away from Mattie.
"I can't." She turned blindly away, the tears already filling her eyes.
He caught her by the arm and held on, a strong, masculine grip that
hurt her already bruised skin. He must have seen the pain in her eyes,
because he immediately let go. "There's a shelter three blocks from
here. The Samaritan House, on Fourteenth and Stringer. They won't ask
you any questions, and you'll have a safe place to sleep."
She nodded, trying not to break down in front of him.
"I want to help you, Sarah."
"Why? I'm nobody to you."
"But you're somebody to someone. Aren't you?"
Sarah thought of Emily and the tears streamed down her cheeks as she
shook her head. "Not anymore."
"'I don't want you to go," Jonathan said, surprising her with the
intensity in his voice
She looked into his eyes and saw more than a minister; she saw a man.
Is this what he wanted, then?
Her body in exchange for his help? She
couldn't even imagine why he would want her body. She hadn't washed in
a couple of days. She looked like a poster girl for abused women. Not
that a man necessarily needed a pretty face; a female body would often
do.
"It's not like that," he said. "I won't hurt you."
"I've heard that before."
"Come back tomorrow. Just to talk. Maybe I can help. Maybe you'll be
able to trust me more in the daylight."
She wanted to say yes, for as she looked at the church, at the familiar
steeple, she felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe it was a sign after all.
BOOK: Barbara Freethy - Some Kind Of Wonderful
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