The Real Mr Right. Karen Templeton
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shoved his fingers into his jeans’ pockets, revealing a dark green corduroy shirt underneath a beat-up leather jacket. Black, of course. To go with the beard stubble, even more pronounced than it’d been last night. “Yeah, actually,” he said on a rush of air, “I’m expecting a delivery at the house, then I’m headed into the city. But it can wait—”
“No. Really. We’ll be fine.” Kelly tried to smile, failed, went with a frustrated growl instead. “Dammit—I thought I’d feel relieved once we got away. Instead I feel... I don’t know. Like...like maybe I overreacted.”
Matt’s expression darkened. “And what was the alternative? Stick around until something bad did happen? Like you said yourself, sometimes you gotta listen to that voice.”
“Then why can’t I trust that? If it’s so right, why am I second-guessing myself?” Her hand shot up. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Not that you could. And, anyway, you don’t need to get sucked into this any more than you already are. But thanks. For letting us stay here.”
“No problem,” Matt said, then extended his hand. “Give me your phone.”
She pressed it to her chest. “Why?”
“So I can plug in my number, why do you think? And I want yours, too.” When she hesitated, he pushed out a breath. “I’m not gonna stalk you, for God’s sake. Just give me the damn phone.” So she did, and watched with the strangest mixture of relief and worry as he deftly added his number to her contacts. “You need anything, you call, you hear me? And before you give me any this-is-my-problem-not-yours crap... I get that, okay? Doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.” He handed back her phone, then dug his out of his jacket pocket. Waited.
She sighed, told him then frowned. “Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, for all intents and purposes we’re strangers—”
“Like hell.” Matt slipped his phone back into his pocket, then slammed his hands into his jacket pockets. “I mean, yeah, on the surface, you have a point. But we saw each other nearly every day for years. That hardly makes us strangers. In fact, I’m guessing both Sabrina and my dad would say you were family. Not to mention my mom, if she were still here. And they’d all three wring my neck if they thought I’d left you to swing in the breeze. So deal with it.”
She almost smiled. “Is there another option?”
“No.” He started to leave, turned back. “Abby should be up soon, the dog’s already been out and everything’s fair game in the kitchen. I’ll be back by two, but if you need anything—”
“Yeah, yeah, got it. Thanks.”
He gave her a long, disquieting look, then huffed out a breath. “Just so you know? I’m not entirely unconflicted about this. Like you said, I’ve only got your side of the story. That said, I’ve worked my fair share of domestic abuse cases, saw more times than I can count women who didn’t follow their instincts, who either didn’t see or didn’t want to see the warning signs. Or were too scared to act on them. So if what you’re saying is true...then what you’re doing? Takes balls.”
With that, he finally left. Only somehow his presence remained, all that ubermacho protective energy vibrating around her. Through her. And she thought, This is bad.
Because what she had brewing here was a perfect storm of overwrought, celibate woman colliding with honorable hunk...to whom, alas, Kelly wasn’t less attracted than she had been in days of yore.
So, yeah. Hell.
By rights, she should have felt more safe, more secure, that Matt took his protective role so seriously, his justified ambivalence notwithstanding. He’d keep her babies safe, and that was all that mattered. And God knew it would be so easy to simply...let go, let someone else do the thinking, the planning, the worrying.
Except leaning on men—her father, then Rick... She’d done that her entire life. Until that support got ripped away and she’d nearly drowned in her own insecurities.
A ragged breath left Kelly’s mouth as she squatted to dig clean clothes out of the jumbled mess inside her suitcase. She wasn’t stupid. And heaven knew if pride had been an issue she wouldn’t even be here. But there was a fine line between knowing when to ask for help and expecting other people to fix your problems for you. Having barely figured out the difference, for damn sure she wasn’t about to slip back into old habits. Not just for her sake, but especially for her children’s.
Meaning as much as the old Kelly ached to let Matt be Matt, the new one didn’t dare.
* * *
Showered and dressed in at least a clean variation of what she’d worn the day before, Kelly checked on her still-sleeping children before following the heady aroma of brewing coffee to the kitchen. By now the sun had hauled its butt up over the horizon, blasting the space with light and making the countertops glisten more than the patchy snow outside. Matt, bless his heart, had made enough coffee for half the town, and Kelly gratefully filled the huge mug sitting by the maker.
She took that first, glorious sip and sighed. Amazing, what a shower, sunshine and a shot of caffeine could do to brighten one’s mood. Or at least make one feel...hopeful. What tomorrow—shoot, the next hour—would bring, she had no idea. But right now things were better than they had been last night. And that she could work with.
The Newfie clicked over to the French doors, parked her big old nose against one of the panes and rolled back one eye. “No,” Kelly said, and, with a heavy sigh, the dog lumbered off to plop down in a pool of sunlight. Wow. If only the kids were that easy to wrangle.
Inside her jeans’ pocket, her phone vibrated in tandem with her mother-in-law’s ringtone, and the hopefulness wavered.
“Hi, Lynn,” she said softly, searching for something, anything, the kids would eat, since her cooking skills were totally lost on them.
“You really took the kids away?”
Lucky Charms! Yes! “I really did.”
“Far?”
“Far enough. Doubt Rick and I will run into each other in the supermarket.” An unlikely possibility, in any case, since Rick hadn’t seen the inside of a grocery store in decades. She unearthed a pair of plastic bowls from the cupboard, set them on the counter.
“Why now?”
Kelly leaned against the counter, her heart hammering as she squinted into the sun pouring into the formal dining room through two sets of French doors. Since the last thing Kelly wanted to do was add to Lynn’s pain, she’d refused to gripe to the woman about her son, either before or after the divorce. Now was no different. One day, maybe, she’d tell her...everything. But not this morning. So a little fudging was in order. “Because, for one thing, he keeps showing up drunk—”
“Showing up where? To your place?”
“Yes.”
“When the kids are there?”
“That would be his point, unfortunately. And when he’s drunk he’s...not a nice person And last night he called—really late—and he got pretty...belligerent. And I just felt we needed to get away. At least for a while.”
“Without telling Rick where you went?”
“Yes.”
A moment’s pause preceded Lynn’s quiet comment. “So what you’re saying is he’s getting worse.”
The despair in the older woman’s voice seared Kelly’s insides. “I’m so sorry, Lynn, I know this must feel like I’m punishing you, too—”
“And why should you be sorry? This isn’t your fault.”
Kelly swallowed, trying to ease the thickness in her throat. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”
“For God’s sake, sweetheart... I do have two