Matthew's Choice Read online

  J. Phillip Bradford rested his forearms on the table in the small conference room where Matt and the CEO were meeting. Bradford’s silver eyebrows arched in perpetual skepticism. He didn’t respond to Matt’s attempt at humor.

  Matt swallowed the impulse to add another sales pitch. He’d laid it all out and there was no reason to go over it again. The older man’s steel-gray eyes bored into Matt’s, and he forced himself not to move. Keeping his mouth shut was harder.

  Finally, Bradford nodded. “Thank you for coming in. Of the five hotels who have submitted a proposal, you’re the only representative who agreed to meet with me today.”

  Surely that counted for something. Matt pushed to his feet as the older man stood, his hand extended. Even at seventy, J. Phillip Bradford was as tall as Matt’s six-one, his posture ramrod-straight, his grip firm as he still seemed to take Matt’s measure.

  “This gala is very important to me. At last year’s affair, we raised enough money to fund an orphanage for a year. With the ambience you, or one of your competitors, provide, I expect to do even better this year. Thank you for coming by, Matthew.”

  Outside the conference room, Matt allowed his shoulders to relax as he mentally ticked the meeting off his to-do list for the day and hurried to the elevator. When he stepped off on the ground floor, he dialed Jessica. Today was the day. Pick her up in twenty minutes, take her to his apartment and make his special breakfast, then pop the question.

  “Good morning, love.” Sleepiness edged her soft voice.

  She wasn’t up, much less dressed. Disappointment stole a little of his excitement. “The meeting is over, and I’m on my way to pick you up.”

  “Now? What time is it?”

  “Yes, now, and it’s eleven-thirty. I have a special day planned.”

  “And I’m almost ready,” she said with a low chuckle. “Fooled you, didn’t I? But, since I’m not quite dressed yet, why don’t I drive myself to your apartment?”

  Punctuality wasn’t Jessica’s strong suit so he was a little surprised. “See me in the next thirty minutes?”

  “Forty-five. I’ll call you before I leave.”

  Back at his apartment, he set the dining room table then picked up a magazine he’d left flopped open on the bar. He looked around for a place to stash it.

  Allie materialized in his mind, how she’d hesitated when he asked her thoughts about the apartment. She hadn’t liked what she’d seen. It’d been written all over her face. Not that she would ever like anything about his new lifestyle.

  Allie had looked good, and he wondered what made her lose all that weight? Not that she’d ever looked bad, or at least he hadn’t thought so. She’d been the one bothered by her Rubenesque figure.

  Was it because of Peter? Surely, not that smug egotist. What was it Peter said he did? Director of social services. Perfect. A bureaucratic job suited him to a T. He just couldn’t see Allie and Peter together.

  Matt glanced down at the magazine still in his hand. Maybe next week he and Jessica could pick out a new end table with a drawer. And maybe a couple of landscapes for the walls to go with the abstract painting. Scratch that thought. He’d mentioned that before. No, no, Matthew, space and light will flow, creating the perfect decor for this room. Besides, this room is you.

  His cell vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out. Jessica. “Yes?”

  “Just so you’ll know, I’m walking out the door. And did you remember to pick up the caramel coffee at Starbucks?”

  His heart sank. Would Starbucks be open on New Year’s Day? It had to be. If not, maybe there was a number on the door for emergencies. “It will be waiting for you.”

  “Good. See you soon.”

  Matt had fifteen minutes to drive to Starbucks and get back. He grabbed his car keys and hit the door. Please let the coffee shop be open. He repeated the mantra all the way to his BMW convertible, and then for the next two blocks. Cars in the parking lot. There was a God in heaven. As he got out of the car, a plaintive meow halted him, and he glanced around. Sounded like a kitten. Another meow. Matt ignored it. Inside the store he grabbed a bag of caramel coffee and hurried to the checkout.

  Back at his car, the meows intensified. He didn’t see a cat, but neither did he look too hard. Humming, he pulled from the parking space and turned onto the street, glancing one last time at the parking lot. A tiny kitten wobbled in the space he’d just left.

  No! He didn’t have time for any distractions, especially a kitten. Maybe the mother cat would come and take care of it. He drove on. But what if someone ran over it? Someone with small children. Groaning, he made a left onto the next street and circled back to the coffee shop. Maybe the mother cat had made an appearance.

  No such luck. Matt parked and, using his finger and thumb, picked up the still mewling kitten. “Aw, kitty, you’ve got blood seeping from your nose.”

  The kitten stared at him through one opened eye. Just what he needed. An injured kitten and no vets open, but he couldn’t just leave it like this in the cold parking lot. Matt looked around for something to put the kitten in and spied a cardboard box. He hurried to get it, trying not to think about how Jessica was allergic to cats. He would put it in his bedroom. She’d never have to know. “All right, kitty, just for today. Tomorrow you go to animal rescue.”

  * * *

  NOAH BLINKED HIS eyes open and stretched his arms. The bed above him creaked, and seconds later a boy about his age popped his head over the side, his solemn brown eyes unwavering.

  “You can’t have the top bunk. It’s ours.”

  Noah glared at him. “I don’t want your old top bunk.” He hoped he fell out of it.

  Another blond head popped over the side, and Noah rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing double? No, there were two of them—they wore different pajama tops. The new boy had stars on his pajamas.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Lucas,” star man said. “I’m Logan. We’re twins. Why are you here? Our mom died and our dad got put in jail.”

  Lucas nodded. “Nobody wanted us so they brought us here. Didn’t nobody want you, either?”

  “I don’t have anyone but my mom.” Noah laced his fingers behind his head. “Doesn’t matter—I’m not going to be here long.”

  “You’ll be here longer than you think.” Lucas swiped his nose with his white pajama sleeve. He poked his brother. “Come on. I smell breakfast.”

  Both heads disappeared, and when the twins descended the ladder at the foot of the bed, Noah got a good look at them. They were identical down to the freckles across their noses, except for their pajamas. Logan was an astronaut. Noah squinted. Was that a sad donkey on the pajamas Lucas had on? Boy, did somebody know him.

  “You coming?” asked Logan.

  “I’m not waiting,” Lucas said and left, but Logan lingered.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” Noah had to figure a way to get out of here. A few minutes later, after Logan had exited and when no plan on how to get past the locked door came to him, he sniffed the air. Definitely wasn’t bacon he smelled, more like sausage. Maybe there’d be some more of those biscuits like last night. Last night. His mom, so white, not saying anything. He threw back the blanket and scrambled out of bed. Miss Sarah might have heard something from the hospital.

  Where were his shoes? He dropped to the floor and searched under the bed. They weren’t there. He fought to get his breath. He couldn’t leave if he didn’t have his shoes. Maybe they were with his clothes. He looked in the chair, where he’d neatly folded his shirt and jeans the night before. They were gone. The room spun. He fisted his hands. “No!”

  “Noah, honey, what’s wrong?” Miss Sarah’s arms wrapped around him, and the spinning stopped.

  “You took my shoes. And my clothes. Give them back. They’re mine.”

  “Oh, sugar, I just put your cl
othes in the wash, and your shoes needed cleaning. You can have them back as soon as they’re dry.”

  He gulped and searched her face. Her brown eyes smiled back at him. “You promise?” he whispered.

  “No one’s going to take your things here, Noah. This is a safe place. It’s where your mom would want you to be.”

  Miss Sarah was wrong about that. His mom was going to be so angry when she found out. If she found out. “Have...you heard if she’s okay?”

  She shook her head. “We’ll call after breakfast. So, come on and let’s get some food in you.”

  “Can you take me to see her?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Son, I wish I could, but I have to stay here at the shelter. I’ll call Jason later. Maybe he can take you.”

  In the kitchen, the constant clanging from the dryer reassured him. They’d lived in a house once with a dryer, and when his mom put his jeans in it, the sound was the same. Logan and Lucas were already cleaning their plates. Lucas even eyed the three links of sausage on Noah’s plate. “Don’t even think about it,” Noah muttered as he slid into his chair.

  Miss Sarah piled scrambled eggs onto Noah’s plate. “Want your biscuit buttered?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Noah bit into one of the links.

  “He didn’t say the blessing.”

  Logan punched his brother. “Knock it off.”

  Noah kept eating. What was Lucas? The blessing boss?

  “Now, Lucas,” Miss Sarah said, patting Noah on the shoulder. “He may have said a silent one.”

  He shot the twin a ha-ha-ha smirk. Lucas would never be his friend, ’cause first chance Noah got, he was going to knock his block off.

  Miss Sarah walked to the phone on the wall, her house shoes slapping against the floor. Noah held his breath as she dialed. Let his mom be awake. He repeated the prayer until she put the phone back in its cradle on the wall and turned to him.

  “I’m sorry, Noah, but she’s still...asleep.”

  Why didn’t she just say it? His mom was in a coma. Like before. If he could just get to her, tell her he was sorry and that he never should’ve left her, she’d wake up. He pushed back his plate.

  “Honey, you need to eat to keep your strength up.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Can I have your sausage, then?” Lucas reached toward his plate.

  “No!” Noah snatched the remaining link and bit into it. The taste nearly gagged him, but choking it down would be better than letting Lucas have it.

  Miss Sarah placed another pan of biscuits on the table and the twins grabbed two each. “Boys, I have work to do in the office. You three behave until Brittany gets here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the twins said in unison. Noah kept chewing.

  After Miss Sarah left, he turned to Logan. “Who’s Brittany?”

  “She helps Miss Sarah.” Logan smeared strawberry jam on his biscuit.

  “How long have you been here? I don’t remember seeing you in school.”

  “That’s ’cause you always sit with your head down.” Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “So?” Noah sort of remembered the twins from the cafeteria.

  Lucas leaned forward. “We’re not gonna be here much longer. Our dad’s gonna come get us.”

  “I thought you said he was in jail.”

  Lucas shot him a look of disgust. “He’s gonna break out. Boy, are you stupid.”

  Noah’s hands curled into fists. Nobody was ever going to call him that again. “I’m not stupid. You’re stupid if you believe that.” He looked toward the door. “How are you gonna get out of here, anyway? Do you know the code?”

  Lucas elbowed his brother. “Told you he was stupid. That ain’t no lock. It’s just something that tells when a door opens.”

  “You’re kidding.” Noah’s mind raced. All he had to do was get his clothes on and walk out the door? He crammed the last of the sausage in his mouth and hurried to get his clothes from the dryer. They were almost dry and he quickly changed out of his pajamas.

  “What’re you doin’?” Logan asked.

  “What does it look like? Putting my clothes on.”

  “You’re gonna run away.” Lucas’s voice raised a notch.

  “Shut up.” Noah slipped into his still-warm jacket and headed toward the door.

  Logan grabbed his arm. “Where’re you going?”

  Noah shook his arm free and opened the door. Logan might not tell, but Lucas would rat him out in a heartbeat. A soft voice intoned a warning that the back door was open. His heart leaped into his throat. He darted through the door to the outside and didn’t quit running until he came to a corner with a traffic light.

  With his chest heaving, he tried to get his breath and his bearings. Which way was the hospital? He’d been there, his mom had taken him to the emergency room when he cut his hand. Noah bit his lip. Maybe he could ask someone. He looked around—a patrol car idled in the convenience store parking lot across the street. Swallowing hard, he took a second peek. Empty. The cop must be in the store. Noah ran against the light and kept going until he reached the next corner. Another convenience store. Maybe someone inside would tell him how to get to the hospital.

  * * *

  ALLIE STARED AT the cell number Peter had given her last night. He’d said to call her if she changed her mind about having breakfast with him this morning. She dialed before second thoughts set in. He answered with his last name, sounding very businesslike.

  “Uh, it’s me, Allie. You said to—”

  “Allie! Oh, good, you’ve changed your mind. Great. I’m staying at the Winthrop, and they serve an excellent brunch until one this afternoon. Would you like me to pick you up at Clint’s?”

  “No, I’ll drive.” She’d leave for Cedar Grove from the hotel. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Allie disconnected. She hadn’t been able to forget the call Peter had received last night. In a town the size of Cedar Grove, she had to know the nine-year-old—more than likely he was one of her students. And after a restless night, she was pretty sure which one.

  She arrived at the top floor of the Winthrop where the dining room overflowed into the mezzanine. She spotted Peter over by a window and hesitated. This was not a good idea. What would they talk about? Last night, conversation revolved around dancing and lots of other people. Talking with children one-on-one—piece of cake. Not so much with a man as good-looking as Peter—being the introvert she was, she never felt she was interesting enough to hold an attractive man’s attention. With her heart pounding, she took a step back, looking for an escape, but Peter spied her and waved her over. Allie smoothed the winter-white slacks she’d chosen and fastened a smile on her lips.

  She accepted the chair Peter pulled out for her. From the window, she glimpsed a view of the Mississippi River as it rolled south. “I’ve never eaten here before.”

  A pleased smile spread across his face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Good.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe there will be more ‘firsts’ in the future. And I’ve ordered for us.”

  “You’ve ordered for me?” She struggled to keep from giving him her detention glare.

  “They were so busy, and I knew you wanted to leave for Cedar Grove as soon as you could.”

  He made sense, but still...

  “Your first course, sir.” The waiter placed identical bowls of tropical fruit before them.

  As soon as they finished the fruit, the waiter produced their main course. How much money had Peter given him to hover? She stared at her plate.

  “It’s a spanakopita omelet,” Peter said. “I had the chef make it especially for you.”

  A Greek omelet. She took a hesitant bite, and as the contrasting flavors of spinach and feta che
ese hit her taste buds, she smiled. “Very delicious.”

  “I didn’t think you’d order one yourself, so I took the liberty.”

  She frowned. How well did he think he knew her? He might have a surprise or two. She eyed Peter’s Belgian waffle and sausage. How in the world did he stay so trim? “Either you don’t eat like this every day or you are a workout nut.”

  He laughed, his rich baritone warm to her ears. “Yes and no.”

  She glanced up, seeking clarification, and he chuckled again.

  “Yes, I don’t eat like this every day, and no, I don’t exercise. At least not too strenuously or every day.”

  Some people got all the luck. Today Peter wore a black mock turtleneck that hugged his abs and he didn’t show an ounce of fat.

  He leaned toward Allie. “It’s evident you work out.”

  “Thank you.” At least Peter had noticed her weight loss since college. The approval in his eyes was the payoff for her hours in the gym, and she took a moment to enjoy the compliment.

  “I understand you’re not seeing anyone right now.”

  Allie almost choked on her omelet. She patted her lips with the napkin. “I don’t have time.”

  “I’ve heard that, too. I don’t even know how you have time for the gym.” Peter used his fingers to count. “Teacher, counselor and Sarah told me you mentor some of the children who come into the shelter. And now you’ve added foster parenting to the mix?”

  Peter had been doing his homework on her. “I like working with kids—it’s probably in my genes. Just like with Clint. Watching Mom and Dad take in foster kids influenced both of us. He works with kids at the Boys and Girls Club, and I do what I do. But, because I am busy, I’ve asked to be considered only for school-age children.”

  She paused as the waiter appeared at their table and whisked the empty plates away. “But that’s enough talk about me,” Allie said after he left. “How did you get into social work?”

  Peter shrugged. “Dad wanted me to become a psychiatrist, and I wanted to be a musician.” A wry grin spread across his lips. “We compromised.”