Belonging (12 page)

Angie felt her temper rise at his flat demand
but kept her voice calm. "If Blair was anxious to start a fire, she
certainly succeeded, didn't she?"

Todd's eyes narrowed. "Dammit, Angie, you
know that you and I—"

"I know that you and I are friends, nothing
more," she stressed tightly. "That's the way it's been, and that's
the way it's going to stay." "Because of our new police chief?"
"Matt Richardson has nothing to do with this, Todd. And even if he
did, it wouldn't really be any of your business," she informed him
coolly.

He stared at her for a long time, then
straightened abruptly. "You know how I feel about you," he said in
a low voice. "You and I—"

Angie shook her head wearily. "Please don't,
Todd. We've gone over this before." The last time had been only a
few weeks earlier. Todd had attempted to kiss her, something he'd
done a few times in the past year, but she'd always managed to
gently discourage him.

"I don't like the thought of you with another
man."

Her eyes met his squarely. "I haven't been
with another man, Todd. And despite what Blair Andrews seems to
think, I'm really not interested in Matt Richardson." Her heart
speeded up, as if to belie her words. She might not be interested
in him, but she was certainly aware of him in a way that had
nothing to do with either her job or his.

Some of Todd's tension seemed to ease, but
his tone was still accusing. "You won't even give us a chance,
Angie."

Angie was silent. Todd was nice. A pleasant
companion. Good-looking, charming, intelligent. But even if her
marriage hadn't been the disaster it was, she knew that he wouldn't
have kindled an answering spark of feeling inside her—that special
emotion she'd once felt with Evan.

"I value our friendship, Todd," she told him
carefully. "But I'm happy with my life as it is... and I won't
change my mind," she finished in a low voice.

He wasn't satisfied with her response. She
could see it in his turbulent expression. But he must have sensed
her conviction as he paced around the room. Finally he halted
before the window, his hands thrust into the pockets of his
trousers.

"What did you think of the task force's
report on city hall?" he asked abruptly.

"I tend to agree with their findings, and I
certainly respect their opinion." The task force included two of
the council's eight members, plus an architect and an engineer.
"This building may be old," she added, "but it's solidly
constructed."

Todd's eyebrows lifted. "Let me guess," he
said. "They don't build 'em like they used to, right?"

Angie regarded him quietly. "Whichever way we
go, it's a publicly financed project. We can't afford not to be
conservative."

"Meaning we're under the taxpayers'
thumb."

"In a way, yes," she affirmed.

He shook his head, grimacing as he walked
toward the door. "If you ask me, it's about time this city did
something innovative for a change. It seems all we ever do is drag
our heels."

In a way Todd was right, she reflected after
he'd gone. The city's residents had always been on the
conservative side and rather resistant to change. There were no
sprawling shopping malls, no brand-new condominiums cropping up on
the outskirts. In many of the neighborhoods, it was as if time had
stood still. Cupolaed Victorian houses were the rule rather than
the exception. In Angie's eyes it was all part of the city's
pervasive appeal.

Yet that same reluctance to embrace new
challenges and ways was also responsible for the lack of a women's
shelter. It was altogether possible—no, probable—that she would
have one heck of a battle on her hands. And tonight was the perfect
opportunity to launch the offensive.

She'd been right to think of the meeting as a
battlefield. The task force recommendation that city hall be
renovated roused both passionate praise and stinging criticism.
Angie's patience was sorely tried at least a dozen times when the
heated exchange between John Curtis and Anna Goodwin threatened to
erupt into a shouting match.

John Curtis was young, in his mid-thirties,
an attorney whose views were just a little too radical for Angie's
tastes. Bold and brash, he made it no secret that he maintained a
few political aspirations of his own.

On the other hand, Anna was a local
businesswoman whose family had lived in Westridge for
generations. Fair-minded and thorough, there could be no doubt
that she had the city's best interests at heart.

If indeed the council was made up along party
lines, these two were the leaders of the opposing factions.

By the time the three-hour meeting finally
broke up, tempers were short and nerves were stretched to the
breaking point. Todd, who was usually rather vocal in his support
of Angie, was surprisingly quiet.

But perhaps it wasn't so surprising after
all. He was polite but subdued. Angie guessed he was still angry
about the scene in her office that afternoon. She meant to have a
word with him after the meeting, but he left before she had the
chance.

She was the last one to leave the council
chambers, and it was after ten o'clock before she shoved a
mountain of papers back into her satchel. Closing the door behind
her, she sagged against it for a moment. Her lids fluttered shut as
she let the blessed quiet of the darkened hallway seep into her
senses.

"How'd it go?"

Her eyes flew open in time to see a dark form
detach itself from the shadows a few feet away and come toward
her. She relaxed as she belatedly recognized the voice as
Matt's.

She blew a wispy strand of gold off her
forehead and grimaced. "Sometimes I have the feeling all we ever do
is agree to disagree."

"The city hall issue didn't go the way you
hoped?"

Angie shook her head. "We thought it best to
delay the vote a little longer. Maybe by then I'll be able to
muster enough support for the renovation project to pass. As it
stands right now, we're divided right down the middle." She added
that her own vote was used only in the event of a split decision by
the eight-member council, but that was something she tried to
avoid.

Matt nodded. "What about the shelter?"

Her shoulders sagged. "Until the other issue
is decided and we know the funds will be available, we really
can't commit to it. I barely scratched the surface."

He reached for her satchel. "I think what you
need is a shoulder to cry on."

"You've lightened my burden already." She was
a little amazed at how easily the gentle teasing sprang from her
lips, especially after the past few hours. Her feet fell into line
with his as they started down the hallway, their footsteps echoing
hollowly on the cold marble floor.

The hazy light from a streetlamp shone down
on the two figures that descended the broad stone steps. Once they
were on the sidewalk, Angie stopped to look back at the building.
Dozens of glittering stars lay scattered across the night-darkened
sky, but her attention was captured by what lay below. Her eyes
lingered on the dense green ivy trailing alongside her office
window, the portico entrance that lent the structure a clock tower
charm.

"I hate to think of bulldozers and wrecking
cranes tearing this place apart." It filled her with a sense of
sadness, but even as she spoke, a picture of yellowed ceiling tiles
flashed into her mind. She even imagined she heard the radiator in
her office hissing and clanking the way it had done nearly every
day last winter.

Matt looked at her rather oddly. "You're
really rather sentimental, aren't you?" There was a note of wonder
in his voice.

"I guess I am, at that," she admitted. Her
gaze shifted to his face. The silver light of the moon softened
the starkly masculine planes and angles of his features. "Why are
you so surprised?" she asked softly.

A sheepish smile lit his face. "I guess I
shouldn't be. Not after seeing your house and all the antiques
inside it."

Angie laughed and started toward her car.
"That's something I come by naturally. My mother likes to drag my
father off to garage sales and antique shops. He shouldn't
complain, though. She's always the one who does all the stripping
and refinishing."

"Your parents live here in Westridge?"

"Not anymore. They decided they'd had enough
of rainy winters about three years ago and migrated to the Sunbelt.
They live in Arizona now." They stopped some twenty feet from where
her car was parked. Without quite being aware of it, she reached
out and touched his arm. "Matt, I... I'd like to thank you for all
the extra effort you put out today."

"Fruitless though it was."

"Fruitless though it was," she agreed with a
rueful laugh. "Round two is coming up, though."

Matt's lips edged up a notch. "Does that mean
you no longer want to fire me?"

She liked his slow smile. Strong white teeth
were revealed, made whiter still by the contrast with his dark
skin. A fine network of laugh lines radiated outward from his eyes.
There was much to like about Matt Richardson, she told herself.
Perhaps too much.

"I never did want to fire you, Matt." Her
brows arched reprovingly.

"No," he said dryly. "You just didn't want to
hire me. Besides, you heard Sam Nelson say just this afternoon
that he wasn't about to come back."

Angie couldn't quite stop herself from trying
to look stern. "I thought we had ceased hostilities. Frankly, I
think it's an improvement."

Amen to that, Matt echoed in fervent silence.
"Angie?"

Her delicate features etched in moonlight,
she looked almost ethereal. Ethereal and untouchable.

"Yes?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling
as awkward as a kid on his first date. "You, uh, you wouldn't want
to grab a cup of coffee before you head home, would you?"

For a moment he thought she wasn't going to
answer. And it irritated the hell out of him that she didn't look
at him when she finally spoke.

A fleeting look of distress crossed her face,
then she slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Matt. Maybe another
time. The meeting lasted longer than I expected, and I really
should be heading home."

The silence stretched out while she fumbled
in her purse for her keys. When, he asked himself harshly, was he
going to get the message? How many times did she have to tell him
she wasn't interested?

"Sure," he muttered finally. Even to his own
ears his voice sounded strained. He leaned against his car as he
watched her walk the short distance to her car.

Suddenly he straightened with a frown. "Wait
a minute. You're not going anywhere." His tone was grim as he
pointed to her car. "Your tires have been slashed."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"You don't have to do this, you know. I could
have called Janice. Or Mrs. Johnson."

Matt sighed. Angie had just climbed into his
car and now sat as close as possible to the other door. He'd sensed
the invisible barrier she put up between them the minute he
suggested coffee, a barrier that widened by miles when he offered
her a ride home.

"Mrs. Johnson?" His tone was polite, but he
felt like being anything but polite. Many women found him
attractive, and it wasn't ego but fact that told him so. But Angie
made him feel just a little like a toad spawned from the gates of
hell.

"A neighbor," she supplied. "She's staying
with the girls tonight."

Deliberately he pushed the key into the
ignition, aware of the blue eyes trained intently on his every
movement. Women's lib! he thought disgustedly. It struck a deep
blow to a man prepared to offer some old-fashioned generosity.

"Then it would be a shame to drag the three
of them out at this hour, wouldn't it?" He couldn't quite keep the
sarcasm from his voice. "Especially when you already have a ride
home."

There was a lengthy silence. He finally heard
a stiffly muttered, "I suppose you're right."

Matt glanced at her from the corner of his
eye. Was it his imagination, or had she pushed back even further
against the door? She had no need to fear him. Didn't she know
that? Yet suddenly he had the strangest sensation that it wasn't
pride or anything remotely connected with it that triggered her
reaction. The realization slammed a lid on the slow rise of his
temper.

"You know you're not doing wonders for my
male ego." He got no response; he really hadn't expected one. He
paused, then asked quietly, "Are you afraid of me, of being alone
with me?"

Angie couldn't prevent the sudden tensing of
her fingers on the strap of her purse. She had to force herself to
face him.

What she found there was oddly encouraging.
His eyes were questioning, a little puzzled. His expression was
incredibly gentle, and his roughly chiseled features seemed
softer.

"No," she breathed slowly, then smiled as she
realized it was true. Matt made her feel strange and fluttery
inside, but she wasn't afraid of him.

"Good." Matt caught his breath at her radiant
smile, and he found his own lips responding likewise.

He started the car, and this time when
silence reigned, it was a far more comfortable one. It was Angie
who finally broke it a few minutes later.

"Matt." Frowning, she reached up and tucked a
swirl of gold behind her ear. "Who do you think could have slashed
my tires?"

It had been a flagrant act of vandalism. All
four had been neatly sliced and punctured. But before Matt had a
chance to respond, she found herself speculating aloud. "Do you
think it might have been—" Abruptly she checked herself, turning
the idea over in her mind.

"Who?" He glanced over at her.

Angie hesitated. "We had a few fireworks at
the meeting tonight, and I couldn't help but wonder..." She
stopped, realizing how she must sound to him. Paranoid. That's
exactly how she was acting.