Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (22 page)

Abby shook her head. Thankfully she had never once heard any so-called biological clock ticking. Children were fine—as long as they belonged to someone else. And marriage, she mentally harrumphed, was for the people who couldn’t make it on their own. She had tried it once, but once was definitely enough.

Admittedly, the occasional date offered a welcome distraction from her busy career, but that was as far as it went. Unlike the women she knew who juggled careers, husbands and children, all the while bragging about how they had it all, Abby didn’t want it all.

A career woman through and through, she had no time for such domestic distractions. Or desire, either, she added as her gaze did another sweep of the large gathering of harried mothers and restless children. A tiny, traitorous longing that she refused to acknowledge kindled inside her, but she resolutely squashed it.

Her life was full just as it was.

She peered out on to the field where Matthew and the children, who appeared to be in the nine to ten year old range, played. He was certainly a popular coach. And no wonder. He constantly praised the children’s efforts and cheered louder than anyone else when they scored. He jumped, shouted for joy, clapped his hands, and ran around the field like one of the kids himself. But he was definitely no kid.

He wore a pair of faded, hole-in-the-knee jeans, that fit entirely too well. The soft fabric of his T-shirt conformed to his amazingly sculpted torso. “Blue Jays” had been stamped across his broad chest in big blue letters.

As she continued to reluctantly admire the subject of her assignment, he pulled off his cap and swiped his brow with the back of his hand. With the sun blazing down, she could see that his hair was more a dark blond than brown. Not that it mattered, really. Without warning his gaze connected with hers and he gave Abby a breath-stealing smile that thoroughly unnerved her. Her pulse tripped and she quickly averted her gaze. She wondered vaguely if any of the other women in the stands were suffering heart palpitations from merely watching the handsome coach. Probably not, she decided as she scanned the crowd once more.

“You must be Miss Wade.” A friendly voice interrupted her disturbing musings.

Abby looked up to find a blond woman taking a seat beside her. The woman, probably in her early thirties, tall and slender, with luminous blue eyes, looked somehow familiar.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” Abby shifted to face the woman and gave her a brisk, professional smile.

“No, you don’t know me.” The woman’s pleasant smile widened. “But I would know you anywhere from Matt’s description.”

Matt.
Realization dawned as details rumbled one over the other into her head. Stone’s mother was deceased, but he still had his father and one sibling—a sister. The blondish brown hair and blue eyes completed the puzzle. “Oh, you’re Jenny, Matthew’s sister.” Abby extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Finally, a source. Maybe this interview would get started this morning after all.

“Likewise.” As Jenny shook Abby’s hand her expression turned suddenly somber. “Matt told me about what happened yesterday.” Concern puckered her brow. “I am so sorry. Those guys can be a little strange sometimes, but they mean well. Besides, it would never have happened if Matt had told me when and where you planned to arrive. He’s always so busy he never remembers anything. I think he’d forget his head if it weren’t attached to his shoulders.

Abby frowned. “Why wouldn’t he tell you?”

Jenny bit her lower lip, looking abashed. “I think he was afraid I would ask you for an interview.”

“An interview?” Abby echoed, bewildered.

Jenny’s face lit up with excitement. “I own the
Salem Sentinel
. I’d love to run a story on what it’s like to be a big city journalist.”

Surprised by her request, Abby waited a beat before she answered. But during that brief pause, she saw the spark she recognized in all journalists. The desperate need—almost an addiction—to uncover a story no one else had. To fill that blank computer screen with words that expressed one’s own unique voice.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” Jenny offered meekly.

“That’s okay, really,” Abby put in quickly, feeling an instant connection to the woman. “I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me all about the
real
Matthew Stone, and I’ll give you that interview.”

“You have a deal, Ms. Wade.” Her bright smile returned a hundredfold.

“Please, call me Abby.”

Jenny nodded, then glanced toward the playing field. “Matt loves kids, that’s for sure. He’s always wanted some of his own, but it wasn’t meant to be,” she said wistfully. “Do you have children?” She turned back to Abby with an I-have-photos look in her eye.

“No,” Abby said quickly. “I don’t.”

Just as she had anticipated, Jenny reached into her purse and pulled out a snapshot with the deftness of someone who showed off her children on a regular basis. “I have five-year-old twins. Chris and Carlee.”

“They’re beautiful,” Abby said in all sincerity. The children really were quite adorable. If they were related to Matthew Stone, they couldn’t help but be cute, she admitted. Jenny prattled on about her children’s antics and their love for their Uncle Matt. Abby listened, maintaining a properly impressed expression.

The crowd around them suddenly cheered and applauded so loudly that the bleachers shook. Abby jumped. Neither she nor Jenny had realized the game was over until the roar broke loose from the crowd. The Blue Jays had won.

They stood to join in the applause. The players clamored around Matthew and the other coach. Matthew looked as joyous as any of the kids on his team. As the Blue Jays gave the members of the other team high fives for trying, Abby followed Jenny in the direction of the parking lot, along with the rest of the dispersing crowd.

A disturbing, empty feeling seized Abby. She paused, watching the exuberant couples hug their children and each other. Siblings shoved and chased each other affectionately, their shrill laughter filling the air. She swallowed back something that felt entirely too much like envy. Not once in her life had she ever attended a baseball game with her father. Her mother had died when Abby was an infant, so she didn’t remember her at all. But this—she surveyed the knots of people once more—she had never been a part of anything like this. Why did that seem suddenly important?

“Good game, coach.”

Abby jerked her attention from those troubling thoughts to Jenny, then to the man striding purposefully toward them, a huge grin plastered across his handsome face. Matthew pulled his sister into his arms and hugged her enthusiastically. Sadness tugged at Abby. What the hell was wrong with her? She plucked at her T-shirt again and fanned her flushed face. Maybe it was the heat. The heat could do strange things to a person.

That had to be it. She couldn’t possibly be envious of a brotherly hug. And she’d certainly never had sentimental feelings about ball games.

“Thanks, Sis. I see you met my shadow.” Matthew directed his electrifying grin in Abby’s direction.

“I sure did.” Jenny winked conspiratorially. “And we struck ourselves a bargain.”

“Is that a fact?” Matthew shifted his attention from Jenny to Abby, pinning her with a look that rattled her, and made her already overheated body swelter.

His gaze still held Abby captive when Jenny asked, “You don’t have anything planned for tonight, do you, Matt?”

He blinked as if he’d just awakened from a dream. “Not as far as I know.”

“Ed’s boss invited us to dinner, but my regular babysitter suddenly came down sick, and Dad already has plans. Can the twins possibly spend the night with you? We’ll get back too late to pick them up.” She flashed Abby an apologetic glance. “I know you have company, but I’m in a real bind here.”

Matthew opened his mouth to respond, but the pager he wore on his belt, the one Abby hadn’t noticed until now, sounded an alarm. Matthew swore, then listened intently as the dispatcher recited the location of a 1072.

Whatever a 1072 was.

“Gotta go. Can you entertain Abby until I get back?” he asked, already backing toward his truck.

“Be happy to,” Jenny assured him.

“What’s going on?” Abby looked from brother to sister.

“It’s a fire. You can stay with me—”

“Thanks, but I’d like to go.” Abby gave Jenny a quick smile before dashing after Matthew. “Wait,” she shouted as he jumped behind the wheel of his truck. “I’m going with you.”

“You can’t—”

Too late. Abby was already in the passenger seat buckling up. Matthew did not look pleased.

“This isn’t show and tell,” he warned, irritation creasing his brow. “I don’t have time—”

“Then stop wasting it.”

Exhaling his exasperation, Matthew shifted into drive and sped out of the parking lot. The short drive from the ball field to the fire station was accomplished in record time, Abby felt certain. She’d gripped the door so hard during the brief
ride
that her hand hurt.

The shiny red fire truck roared to life as they entered the building. Matthew and two other men grabbed their gear and suited up as they hurried to climb aboard. Abby watched in utter fascination. In less than ten minutes from the time the alarm sounded, the truck was ready to roll.

Matthew jerked the passenger side door open. “Get in!”

Abby climbed into the big truck and immediately scooted to the middle of the bench seat. Matthew swung in beside her as someone shouted “go” from the rear of the vehicle.

“Let’s roll,” Matthew commanded, his voice gruff, his expression intent.

“Franklin County, this is Salem, we are en route.”

At the sound of that familiar male voice, Abby’s attention snapped to the driver who was speaking into the radio’s mike.
Roger
. Her mouth dropped open, but before she could speak, Roger shot her a wide, good old boy grin.

“Why, howdy, Miss Wade. Coming along to watch some real heroes in action?”

~*~

Abby had never been at the scene of a fire when it was taking place. Never witnessed the devastation firsthand this close. Never stood by helplessly and watched men risk their lives to save the lives and livelihoods of others.

Sure, she’d seen her share of murder and mayhem in movies, in the news, and even some in real life. She’d even covered a mugging, and a theft or two on her reporter jobs before
Up Close
. But Abby had grown up on the Upper East Side, gone to the very best private schools. She’d always been sheltered from the worst the city could spawn. Hardcore reporting just wasn’t her forte.

Up Close
featured entertainers, politicians, small town heroes, and the like. And with the long hours she spent at the office, there just wasn’t a lot of time to take notice of the other things going on around her. Not that she was oblivious by any means—just busy.

Too busy.

Someday she fully intended to be a respected, award-winning writer for a better magazine.
Harper’s
or
Atlantic Monthly
or something like that. But she’d never wanted to be like her father who traveled the globe writing about war and the gut-wrenching issues of the world. The important issues, as he would say. That just wasn’t for Abby—not right now, anyway. She was perfectly content with covering the brighter side of life. Maybe she would change her mind someday. She didn’t know. If her father had anything to do with it, she’d change directions today. But he didn’t.

The acrid odor of smoke burned her lungs, and its thick presence in the air stung her eyes, yanking her back to the here and now. The fire was out. Only the charred and ruined remains of the barn still hissed and emitted steam as the firemen sprayed the area down one last time for good measure.

Fortunately for the man who owned the property, Matthew and his crew had saved the two horses, the mother cat, and all five of her kittens from the blazing structure. But more importantly, they had saved the house and the nearby equipment shed from the inferno. If either had gone up in flames, the man’s entire livelihood would have been threatened. Insurance was expensive, and Abby had just learned that small farmers couldn’t always afford the premiums. The firemen worked hard to save everything humanly possible... risking their lives in the process.

They had arrived to find the farm owner suffering from smoke inhalation. His wife had made the 911 call. In a flash the firemen had dispersed. Like actors in a well-directed play, each knew his part. Two men went inside to save the animals from the inferno. Within seconds of Matthew’s coming out of the burning barn with the second horse, the structure was consumed by the flames—a total loss. The heat had been overwhelming, suffocating. According to Roger, the long dry spell had put everything in the fire’s vicinity in danger, trees and fields included. The only solution was to wet everything down and pray. After recovering somewhat, the farmer had even plowed a wide path around the burning structure to reduce the possibility of the fire spreading.

The entire event had given her a serious adrenaline rush. Is that what kept these men coming back for more? Abby wondered vaguely as she watched the handful of volunteer firefighters do their jobs.

Three and a half hours later and back at the station, the small group of exhausted and soot-covered men were ready to go home. The fire truck had been serviced and all was set to go for the next emergency.

After arriving at Matthew’s place, Abby followed him through the back door and into what had once been a porch but was now an efficient-looking laundry room. She kicked off her sooty, dusty sneakers and Matthew did the same. Abby watched as he peeled off his sweaty, blackened T-shirt. He groaned when he stretched his arms over his head. She’d seen the fall he’d taken.

The last horse had resisted rescue. Matthew had thrown his jacket over the animal’s head in an effort to blind him from the threat. The ruse had worked, but just as they’d exited the burning barn a beam had fallen. The loud thud had spooked the horse, making him rear and knocking Matthew to the ground. He had to be bruised and sore. But it was a miracle he hadn’t been hurt worse. Only a few inches had separated the animal’s powerful hooves from his chest.