Saints and Sinners (A Classic Romance) (13 page)

"I miss you," she confessed.

"I miss you too. I haven't seen you for three whole hours." The sound of a soft kiss relayed itself over the wires.

"You already had your allotment of that for the day," she teased, winding her finger around the cord.

"Wanna dock me on the next one?"

"No! We'll let this time slide. Be partners in crime—" Her smile faded. "Is that why you called?"

"To steal a kiss? Not a bad idea. But the real reason is that... I had the feeling something wasn't quite right. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He never ceased to amaze her. His attunement to her every emotion and thought was like a direct pipeline that flowed between them, as if the damnable barriers didn't exist.

"I'm fine, Matthew." In a whisper she added, "You make me fine."

"Wish I could make it with you," he murmured silkily.

"Matthew! What a thing for a minister to say."

"What did he say?" Loren eagerly asked.

"I heard that." Matthew laughed. "Tell her I said it's past her bedtime and if she doesn't hit the sack I won't introduce her to that so-fine nephew of mine next week."

"Are you really sure taking us to your parents' house for Thanksgiving is a good idea?" Dee's stomach rolled over at the thought. "Your whole family's going to be there, and I'm afraid we'll be in the way."

"My whole family won't be there unless you and the kids come along. You know how I feel about you guys." His pause lengthened while Dee felt warmth radiate and spread through her. "Besides, I really need you with me. I haven't seen my folks for a few years, and this is a visit I'm not relishing. It could be strained. If you don't want to deal with that over the holidays, I can make the trip another time. Either way, I want us to spend Thanksgiving together."

"Then we'll come along. Besides, Loren would never forgive me for putting the skids on her meeting your nephew." Their combined sound of humor was forced. "Matthew," she continued, "do you want to talk about them? Your parents."

"No, Dee. Some other time. It's a long story and one I don't want to get into tonight."

Or any other night, it seemed. He'd let her know there was a longstanding rift between him and his father, but more than that he wouldn't say. She wanted to probe, to be his listening ear and side-taker. But who was she to dig into his past when she covered her own like a grave?

"Okay, Matt. But if you change your mind—"

"I know." A significant silence. "And so do you."

"Good night, Matthew. Sweet dreams."

"If they're about you, they will be."

Dee stared at the cradled receiver while the bedside clock ticked off thought-filled seconds.

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Dee? I'm still a little shook up from our scare."

"Sure." Summoning a smile, she turned off the light. "I could use a snuggling partner too, princess."

In the dark she heard Loren's small whisper. "Good night, Mama. I love you."

Dee found her hand beneath the covers and squeezed it. Then said a silent prayer for Matthew and Loren and Loren's mama.

* * *

"It's my turn to play the Game Boy." Jason snatched the hand-held Nintendo from his sister. They were in the backseat of the church van, which was sailing down the interstate.

"Give that back! I'm not through with my game yet and you screwed up my score. Now I get my turn all over again."

"Straighten up," Matthew shouted over the ruckus. With his left hand on the steering wheel, he released Dee's shoulder and reached back with his right. "Hand it over, Jason. Loren, I'd better not hear you talking like that again, do you understand?"

"Hand it over?" they protested jointly.

"But I'm bored," Jason said.

"Yeah," Loren seconded. "Jeez, how much longer do we have to—"

"The Game Boy, Jason?"

"Dee, you're not gonna let him take it, are you?"

"He's acting like he thinks he's our father. He's not our father—"

"That's enough out of you, Loren." Dee shot her a censuring glare. She'd never seen Matthew so ill tempered with the kids, his wick seeming to shorten with each mile they got closer to his parents' home. Her own nerves were shot, her uneasiness over meeting them turning to dread.

Matthew snapped his fingers, demanding the Game Boy. Jason and Loren stared at Dee, silently demanding she take their side. If this was any indication of what the rest of their holiday would be like, she was ready to make a demand of her own and insist they turn the van around.

"Dee?" Matthew expected her to back him up, she knew. She thought he was being a little unreasonable, but that wasn't the real issue.

"Give him the Game Boy, Jason."

"But—"

"You heard your mother." Matt claimed the battle prize and plopped it in Dee's lap. "Thanks," he said under his breath.

"Really, Matt," she whispered. "Was that necessary? We've got over a hundred miles to go."

"Bear with me, Dee." His glance was troubled. "Please?"

She squeezed his knee. "Just try to remember we'll have this behind us in a few days."

"I hope. There is a chance we'll leave sooner, so be prepared."

"I'll have another talk with the kids about using their best manners."

"They're not the ones I'm worried about." He grasped her hand, and she realized his was clammy.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"No, I'm not. But this visit's past due. If it gets too awkward, we can always cut out early."

"I wish you would tell me what's going on. All I know is that your dad's a minister and the two of you had a falling out when you decided to serve in a less conservative church. That doesn't seem like much of a reason for him to be upset with you."

"It goes a bit further than that. Keep your ears open, and I'm sure you'll get the gist of his gripe."

"I'd rather hear the whole story from you."

"Later, Dee. For now it's nothing that affects you."

"Well, it affects you and because of that it does affect me." The glance he shot her let Dee know he could say the same thing. He said nothing though; none of them did.

Twenty miles down the road, Matt broke the silence.

"Make you a deal, kids. You can have the Game Boy back as long as you promise not to squabble. Fair enough?"

"Yeah."

"Sure."

"Okay, but who gets it first?" Matthew asked.

"I do," Jason said.

"Loren, what say you?"

"I say... give it to Jason."

"But you didn't get to finish your game before I took it away."

"That's okay. It's not worth fighting about or getting it taken away again because we can't agree."

"In that case..." Matthew winked at Dee as he scooped up the item in dispute. Handing it over the seat, he said, "You get it first, Loren."

"I do?"

"Not fair," Jason said with a huff.

"It's very fair." Matthew pulled Dee close to his side. "You were selfish. Loren wasn't. She deserves first rights, and that's my final decision. If you want to argue with my authority, I can arrange for her to have it the rest of the trip. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

When Dee looked approvingly over the seat, she was no less than amazed to see Loren slip the Game Boy to Jason and put a finger to her lips.

The old saying about mothers having eyes in the back of their heads apparently extended to self-appointed fathers. Dee saw a satisfied smile curve Matt's lips.

"If I didn't know better," she said softly, "I'd think I was sitting next to King Solomon himself."

"I'm afraid not, Dee." His smile thinned to a straight, grim line. "You're coming home with the prodigal son."

Chapter 9

"Matthew, would you please say grace?"

"My pleasure, Dad." While twenty heads bowed, Matthew reached beneath the table and grasped Dee's hand. She squeezed it tight. Bless her. One night and half a day at his parents' home had drained him dry and left his throat raw from choking back quick retorts to his father's subtle reminders that their impasse had far from disappeared.

"Lord, with glad hearts we gather together to celebrate this special day of Thanksgiving with You and each other. We do appreciate this feast, which is generous. Bless those who aren't as lucky as ourselves and even as You forgive us our shortcomings, help us to forgive one another. In a word, thanks a lot, can't wait to dig in. Amen."

"Amen" was echoed all around. With a single exception.

"Thanks a lot, can't wait to dig in?"' Carlton Peters repeated tersely in a low voice. Presiding at the head of the long table and seated beside Matthew, he looked reprovingly over wire-rimmed glasses at his son. "Is that how you pray at your church? Talking to God like a pal instead of with the show of respect you were raised to do?"

Matthew slapped some mashed potatoes onto his mother's best china with more force than was needed to clear the spoon.

"Potatoes, Dad?" Matt was thankful that his brother and three sisters and their kids were talking with Dee, Loren, and Jason while his mother ran to the kitchen to take the rolls out of the oven before they burned. If anything was burning, it was Matt.

"I just lost my appetite." The elder Reverend Peters, head pastor of a thousand-member church, handed the proffered dish to his daughter. "You might have put the robes back on, but you haven't really changed, have you, Matthew?"

"Can we discuss this later? Mom's worked hard and it is Thanksgiving. I have guests and I'd really appreciate your saving this for another time."

"You show up after we haven't seen you for years and you expect me to hold my tongue?" His voice remained subdued but sharp. "Last time you brought a bunch of hoods on Harleys. This go-around you bring a divorced woman with two kids to our table, along with the insinuation that this is the first Thanksgiving of many you'd like to spend with them. You know well and good my views on divorce and marriage. Tell me, Matthew, are you deliberately trying to hurt and shame me more than you already have, or are you perpetually stupid?"

Matthew stopped carving the turkey. His jaw worked back and forth. He, too, kept his voice low so no one else would hear, though the urge to shout was immense.

"You can attack me and my principles all you like. But don't ever,
ever
speak in that snide tone about the woman beside me again. Marriage is sacred to me, and I've waited a long time for the right woman to come into my life. Belittle my judgment if you must, but God help you if I detect so much as a whisper of criticism directed at her."

"If He needs to help anyone, it's you."

Seeing his mother return, Matthew took the old familiar admonishment with the stamina of a retired fighter climbing back into the ring. With effort, he retreated to rethink his strategy and save up his strength.

"Chill out, Dad. This can wait until we're alone. It's not right for us to spoil everyone else's dinner."

"Their dinner, my reputation and life." Carlton's fist landed on the table. Eighteen heads turned at the force of his strike. "When, just tell me when, Matthew, are you going to quit thinking about yourself and act responsibly, with some kind of discretion for once?"

"And you're being discreet? I wish you could listen to yourself, Dad. And as for me thinking of no one but myself, what about you? Where is
your
forgiveness and compassion? Maybe discretion isn't my strong suit, but at least I see the world and the people in it through eyes that aren't as narrow as a needle's. Everything's so black and white for you that you can't appreciate the beauty of life's colors. You haven't changed. And barring a miracle, I doubt you ever will."

"Heaven knows it would take more than a miracle to straighten you out, Matthew. We raised you with love and a sense of right and wrong—"

"Not everything's right or wrong, Dad. For once in your life can't you open your eyes and see? If you had your way, Adam would have been castrated in Eden and the world ended before it had a chance to start."