Heaven Sent and His Hometown Girl: Heaven Sent / His Hometown Girl

Matthew peered over his shoulder toward their table situated near the front of the café, where Patsy straightened up from pouring ketchup on Josh’s plate. His mom flashed him a triumphant smile that might mean, “See, I was right.” Seated next to Helen, Nanna laughed, caught in the act of spying.

“I see.” He reached for a serving spoon, trying to control a building anger. “They look pleased with themselves.”

“Too darn pleased.”

“You’re encouraging them.” Matthew spooned a heap of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “And I don’t like it. It’s not like I want Mom to think there’s a chance I would want—”

He paused. No, those words hadn’t sounded right. That wasn’t what he meant.

“Oh.” Hope heard his words and her fingers knocked against a serving spoon with a clatter. “That’s fine, Matthew. I’ll straighten things out once we get back to the table.”

He’d spoken without thinking, out of anger and hurt and frustration. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean I wouldn’t want to be seen with you.”

“It’s okay. You have every right to your opinion.” She scooped up a poached egg and plopped it on her plate, concentrating very hard so she didn’t have to look at him. “I wasn’t the nicest person in high school, I’ll grant you that. But I was young and with the way my family behaved, I didn’t know any better. That must be what you see when you look at me.”

“That’s not what I see.” His gaze shot behind her to where customers were grabbing plates from the stack, and moved forward to the heated trays of crisp bacon and spicy sausages. “I meant, why would a beautiful woman who has everything want to hang out with me.”

“Really, it’s okay.” Hope grabbed blindly for the tongs and dropped a bunch of sausages on her plate, then circled around Matthew, leaving him alone.

It wasn’t okay, and she didn’t know why, but a horrible tightness was squeezing into her chest. When she reached the table piled high with fruit and breads, she set her plate down and took a deep breath.

This was irrational. Completely insane. She should get a grip before someone noticed how upset she was. Taking a deep breath, she ladled melon slices onto her plate and tried not to take flight when Matthew eased beside her, reaching for a few sweet breads.

“Cinnamon rolls, for the boys.” His shoulder brushed her arm as he arranged the sweet-smelling pastries onto his crowded plate. “Hope, I’m sorry. I just meant that it’s not like either one of us wants half the town thinking we’re together. Rumors spread fast in a small town.”

“I see your point.” Trying to hide her hurt, she released the spoon too quickly, and metal clattered against the glass bowl. “For your information, I’m not all that bad to be around, at least, I’ve had other people think so. I might not be the best person in the world but I’m not the worst, thank you very much.”

Without looking at him, even as he was opening his mouth to say whatever it was that would just make her angrier, she grabbed her plate and stormed toward the table, no longer caring who noticed.

“Have a nice chat with Matthew?”

Hope set the plate on the table in front of Nanna and glared at her grandmother. She caught Patsy with a withering look and willed her voice to be quiet but firm. “No more matchmaking. I’ve had enough of it, and so has Matthew. Believe me, there’s no chance in a blue moon that we’ll ever have anything in common, so not another word. Not one more word.”

“She’s right.” Matthew towered behind her, square jaw clenched, broad shoulders set and a look of fury in his eyes. But his anger was controlled as he looked from his mother to Nanna, and then it seemed to fade away. “You heard Hope. We’re from different worlds and whatever you two have in mind is never going to work.”

“Don’t they say that opposites attract?” Patsy looked ready to launch into a full-out, charming defense but seemed to change her mind when she saw the look on her son’s face. “I only wanted to help, that’s all. Look at these little tykes. They need a mother’s care.”

“Yes, that’s right, and we love you both. We want you to be happy.” Nanna didn’t look one bit sorry. “Now, enough with this nonsense. Matthew, sit down and tend to your boys. Look what they’ve done with the ketchup.”

Matthew caught Kale before he wiped ketchup on his brother, distracted from the issue at hand, but Hope wasn’t fooled. She knew that Nanna had survived a life filled with losses and loneliness with an indomitable heart, and nothing would derail her, especially not something she felt was this important.

Frustrated, she kissed her grandmother’s cheek and headed for the buffet table to fill a plate for herself. Her stomach burned and even if she wasn’t hungry, she had to eat.

It wouldn’t be easy, sitting next to Matthew’s son and feeling Matthew’s solid presence all through the meal…and maybe feeling his dislike of her.

There was no way he would ever make Mom understand. Matthew fought frustration as he opened the refrigerator and hauled out a yellow pitcher. He slammed the door and rummaged in the cupboard for a plastic glass.

Sure, Mom was sorry but she didn’t understand. She thought he was lonely and that he was holding onto Kathy’s memory so that he could keep his heart safe from the risk of loving again. Well, she couldn’t be more wrong.

After pouring, he left the pitcher on the counter, snatched the glass and headed through the house. His footsteps echoed in the too-quiet rooms, and the dark shadows made him all too aware that he was alone. A wife would have turned on the lamps and maybe put on some soothing music. That’s what Kathy always did. His heart warmed, remembering.

He switched on the lamps and shuffled through the CDs, but couldn’t find anything that felt right. Silence was okay; he didn’t need to cover up the sound of the empty hours between the triplets’ bedtime and his own.

Matthew sat down in the recliner, put his feet up, drank some juice and grabbed the paperback book lying facedown on the end table. But when he flipped to where he’d left off reading last, the printed words stared back at him and he couldn’t concentrate.

He kept seeing Hope storming away from him in the café, hiding her hurt feelings behind cool anger, and he slammed the book shut. Frustration and conscience tugged at him. He wanted to head outside and keep going until the darkness and the cool night air breezed away this horrible knot of emotion and confusion tightening around his heart.

As he launched out of the chair, his feet hit the ground with a thud and he flew across the room. The silence felt thunderous and the emptiness inside felt as endless as the night. The doorknob was in his hand and the next thing he knew he was pounding down the front steps and into the cool darkness.

The crisp winds lashed across him, tangling his hair and driving through his shirt and jeans. He shivered, but at least he was feeling something besides heartache. Besides loneliness.

The wind rustled through the maple leaves near the house, and the rattling whisper of the aspens along the property line chased away the silence still ringing in his ears. He breathed in the scents of night earth, grass and ripening alfalfa from the nearby fields at the edge of town as a distant coyote called out and was answered. An owl swooped close on broad, silent wings and cut across the path of light spilling through the open door. He missed Kathy so much.

Father, help me to put an end to this.

There was no answer from the night, no sense of calm, no solution whispering on the wind.

“Daddy?”

Matthew heard a sniff and spun around. Josh huddled on the doorstep, rubbing at his eyes with both fists, his spaceship printed pajamas trembling around his small form. “What are you doing out of bed, hotshot?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Then come have some water with me.” Matthew scooped his youngest son into his arms and held him close. He headed back into the house, shut the door with his foot and carried Josh into the kitchen.

The boy didn’t want to let go, so Matthew balanced him on one hip while he searched for a second glass and found a clean one in the top rack of the dishwasher. He filled the glass while Josh clung to him.

The small boy was too sleepy to talk. He drank, smacked his lips and closed his eyes. Matthew’s heart tightened with love for his child. For Kathy’s child.

With Josh’s head bobbing against Matthew’s shoulder, he carried his son down the hall to the dark bedroom where a Pooh Bear night-light cast a faint glow across the two other boys sound asleep in their beds, teddy bears clutched in small hands.

“Sweet dreams,” Matthew whispered as he laid Josh down on the spaceship sheets and covered him with the matching comforter.

Josh murmured, reaching out. Matthew spotted the bear lying forgotten against the wall and pressed it against his son’s chest. The boy yawned, eyes closed, and sleep claimed him. He didn’t stir when Matthew kissed his brow.

Kathy would have loved this, tucking in the boys, basking in the peace and quiet. She would have treasured the sense of rightness, of a day well spent and the blessing of three healthy sons asleep in their beds. With every beat of his heart, he missed her.

She was no more than a blurred face in his mind, the distant memory of a kind voice, and maybe that’s what troubled him most of all. The real reason he was on edge with his mother and had hurt Hope’s feelings. Because his beloved Kathy was fading from his memory, a little bit at a time, leaving a void in his heart. He could no longer recall the exact tone of her voice or the exact shade of her blond hair. And her smile, her touch, her presence…

She’d been the love of his life, and she was fading away from him slowly, piece by piece, memory by memory.

Clenching his fists, Matthew stood, crossed the room and pulled the door closed behind him. The empty feeling of the house seemed to vibrate around him, and he knew what he had to do. He’d behaved badly today, and it tugged at his conscience like a fifty-pound weight.

After looking up the number in the white pages, Matthew punched the lighted buttons on the pad, glowing a faint yellow, and glanced at the kitchen clock. Not ten yet. Maybe she’d still be awake.

“Hello?” Hope’s voice answered after the second ring, gentle as an evening breeze.

“It’s Matthew. You have every right to hang up on me, but I wanted to talk with you. I need to apologize.”

“It isn’t important.” A reserve crept into her words, now that she knew he was the caller.

“What could be more important than your feelings?” He waited while the seconds ticked by.

“Fine, apology accepted.”

“Wait, give me a chance to actually apologize. And there’s something I wanted to talk about with you—”

“Good night, Matthew.” There was a click and the line went dead.

It was worse than he’d thought. Hope was truly angry with him. You sure handled that just fine. Did he call her back and tell her what Harold had told him today?

The static on the line seemed to answer him, and he dropped the receiver into the cradle. The night, the shadows and the loneliness remained, and now he could add being a horse’s rear to the list.

Troubled, he paced through the house, locking the doors, checking the windows, turning out the lights, feeling empty inside. A verse came to him, quiet as the night. So if you are suffering according to God’s will, keep on doing what is right, and trust yourself to the God who made you, for He will never fail you.

The frustration and pain raging inside him eased, and he no longer felt alone in the dark night. Father, I’m struggling. Please show me the way.

Nanna looked old, older than Hope had ever seen her. Bright, fresh morning light teased at the window and tossed lemony rays across the foot of the old four-poster bed. Heart heavy, Hope lifted the breakfast tray laden with untouched food as Nanna curled on her side, pale with pain and still from the effects of the medication.

“She overdid it yesterday.” Kirby tried to reassure Hope in the kitchen, where she sat at the table bent over her paperwork. “Nora isn’t young anymore, and an injury like this is hard on a woman her age. Try not to worry so much. The new dose of painkiller seems to be working, so let’s hope she sleeps through the morning.”

Hope prayed that Kirby was right as she filled the coffee carafe at the sink, the spray of water into the empty container ringing in her ears. She shut off the faucet and looked down at the smooth, shiny handles Matthew had installed, and the worry eased away, which made no sense because she was still angry at the way he’d treated her in the restaurant. His behavior toward her had been so different from when he’d helped her to the top of the McKaslin’s barn roof, when he’d held her safe and kept her from stumbling.

He didn’t want his sons near her, and he didn’t want to be seen in the same café as her. Well, that was perfectly fine. She wasn’t looking for a man, especially not a settling-down widower with three kids in tow. Really, that’s not what she was looking for. And it didn’t matter how cute those little boys were. Not one bit.

She didn’t need a family. She didn’t need love. She didn’t need to start seeing a fairy tale where none could ever exist. At least, fairy tales didn’t happen to her and she was wise enough and old enough to know it.

After spooning ground gourmet coffee into the filter and turning the coffeemaker on, she grabbed an old knife and headed outside. The sweet gentle warmth of morning breezed against her as she hopped down the steps. She then knelt alongside the flower bed that ran the length of the house.

Untended since Nanna’s injury, weeds were taking a firm hold in the rich soil. Tulips vied with dandelions and thistles, and Hope vowed to do some weeding, maybe later today when Nanna was doing better. The thought strengthened her, but even as she cut flowers, her mind kept drifting back to Matthew Sheridan and her heart clenched.

Yesterday, as he worked to keep his little boys from playing with their food, he’d handled them with tenderness and patience. Something she wouldn’t have thought a man, even one as good as Matthew, could have possessed. And this was the man who hadn’t wanted her befriending his boys, and the man who didn’t want half the town thinking he was with her.

Good, fine, get over it, she told herself. But part of her felt hurt and angry. Hurt because she wished he didn’t look at her and see her mother’s daughter. Angry because it was easier than admitting the truth.

She gathered the cut flowers, arranged them in a vase and carried them upstairs. Nanna slept on her side, one hand curled on her pillow, her gray hair swept back from her eyes making her look as vulnerable as a child.

Yesterday had been tough on Nanna, although she would never admit it. Hope had seen the look on her grandmother’s face when Helen had walked into the café with her hand on Harold’s arm. There had been a brief flicker of sadness and regret, and then she’d invited Helen to sit down next to her. Nanna had let go of her hopes, just like that, for the sake of her lifelong friend.

There had to be a way to make her happy. But what? Feeling lost, Hope scooted the vase onto the edge of the nightstand and nudged it into place, bumping into a gold-framed photograph.

Hope’s heart melted when she saw her grandfather’s picture, a man she’d met only twice as a child, and Nanna’s love. They’d met in grade school, Nanna told her, and they played together in the creek that bordered their family’s properties.

He’d been her true love, one that didn’t fade even after his death. Nanna had been newly widowed when Hope had visited the year she’d turned seventeen—it felt so long ago now, but the memories filled her with emotion. She remembered how two females, one old and one young and both hurting, forged a bond of love that summer.

She looked at the kind man in the photograph, taken at a summer picnic, maybe the town’s annual Founder’s Days celebration. It was easy to recognize the love in Granddad’s eyes as he danced with a younger Nanna beneath an endless azure sky.

For the first time, Hope let herself consider that maybe Nanna meant what she said about love. That sometimes, it was honest and true. It didn’t hurt or belittle but made the whole world right.

Sometimes.

With Kirby’s words of warning, Matthew negotiated the narrow staircase as quietly as he could in his work boots. A few boards squeaked as he reached the top, and he felt odd prowling down the hall, drawn by the splash of light through an open doorway.

No sounds of conversation came from the room at the end of the corridor. No soothing music or low drone of a television broke the stillness. There was only Hope perched on a chair at her grandmother’s bedside, head bowed as she read from the Bible held open on her lap, the light from the window pouring over her shoulder to illuminate the pages.

In the span of a breath, he saw the depths of her heart as she turned the page, searching for passages. Every opinion he’d formed of Hope Ashton faded like fog in sun.

“Matthew,” she whispered, startled, and closed her Bible with quiet reverence. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured toward the bed, where Nora barely disturbed the quilt. “I have the cabinets.”

“Now isn’t the best time.” Hope laid her Bible on the crowded nightstand and padded across the wood floor as quietly as she could manage. “Where’s Kirby?”

“Downstairs on the phone speaking with the doctor,” he explained once they were in the hallway. “She said her call might take a while and that you might be up here all morning, so if I wanted you, I’d better fetch you myself.”

“She’s right.” Hope led the way down the hallway. “I wouldn’t be able to bribe you into coming back another day, could I?”

“If it’s a good enough bribe,” he teased, wishing he could mend how he’d hurt her.

She almost smiled, but it was enough to chase the lines of exhaustion from her soft face. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the bright morning light accentuated the bruises of exhaustion beneath her eyes and surprised him.

He followed her through the front door and onto the wide old-fashioned porch where flowering vines clutched at the railing. The morning’s breeze tossed back the dark curls escaping from Hope’s ponytail and ruffled the hem of her T-shirt.

It was only then he realized what she was wearing—an old T-shirt with the imprint faded away and a stretched-out neck, and a pair of old gray sweatpants with a hole in the knee. She ambled to the old porch swing on stocking feet and sighed as she eased onto the board seat.

“Rough night?” he asked.

She nodded, this woman who could have hired a legion of nurses to take care of her grandmother. But she had come herself without nurses or help from the rest of her family. By the looks of it, she’d spent most of the night at Nora’s side.

“I know what that’s like. I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep during the triplets’ first two years.” He headed toward the steps. “I better leave so you can get some rest. We’ll worry about the cabinets some other time.”

“I hope this doesn’t mess up your work schedule.”

“Don’t you worry about my work. Since I finished the McKaslins’ barn, I’ve got a few roofing jobs to do, but I’m always waiting on deliveries. I’ll just give a call when I’ve got time and head on over. When Nora is feeling better, that is.”

“I’m determined to feel optimistic—she’s going to be fine.” Hope offered him a weary smile. “You don’t have to run off, you know. At least not before I get a chance to apologize.”

“I’m the one who owes you an apology. I practiced it on the drive over here.” He leaned against the rail, arms folded over his chest. “I gave you the wrong impression at the café.”

“No, I understand. You’ve told me how you feel about your mom’s matchmaking schemes, and I shouldn’t have expected you to just shrug them off. You’re right, we shouldn’t encourage them.”

“Now wait a minute. I was going to say that you were right. That those two stubborn opinionated wonderful women can matchmake all they want, but it won’t do a bit of good. They can’t influence us. And if you can have enough grace and class not to be obviously insulted that my mom would try to marry you off to a working man like me, then I can do the same.”

“Yep, spending time with you has been torture. And those boys.” Hope managed a weary smile, but emotion glinted like a new dawn in her eyes and told him what her words didn’t. “Those sons of yours are the cutest kids I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You won Ian over. He loves a woman with truck knowledge.”

“I’m a working-class woman, so I’ve seen a lot of trucks in my day.” She glanced at him, chin up and gauntlet thrown.

“You’re not a working-class woman, Hope. Not with your family’s income bracket.”

“I was never a part of that family.” Her chin inched a notch higher. “I make my own way in this world.”

“So, that explains the outfit.”

“What?” Then she looked down at the battered pair of gray sweats with a gaping hole in the right knee and the white, so-old-it-was-graying T-shirt. “A true gentleman wouldn’t have said a word, but you had to, didn’t ya?”

“I’m tarnished around the edges.”

“No kidding.” Half-laughing, she swiped the stray curls that had escaped from her ponytail with one hand. “Who needs makeup, presentable clothes and combed hair, right?”

“It’s like seeing you in a whole new light.” The old impressions of the remote, pampered girl he’d known in high school and the expectations he’d had of a rich woman fell away, shattered forever. “It’s not bad from where I’m standing.”

“Sure, try to make me feel better. Yikes, I need a shower and, wow, I can’t believe I look like this.” Embarrassed, laughing at herself, she hopped to her stocking feet, leaving the swing rocking. “I have to go and…and…do something, anything.”

“You look the best I’ve ever seen you.” Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken his heart, but it was too late, and Hope stopped her rapid departure.

She turned, and he saw again the woman seated at her grandmother’s bedside, head bowed over the Bible in her lap. The exhaustion bruising Hope’s eyes and the comfortable clothes she wore to care for an old woman through the night made her all the more beautiful to him.

“Tell anyone about this, and I’ll deny it,” she said.

“So, you are worried about your reputation, after all.”

“You bet, buddy. Guess what your mother will assume if you tell her that you got a good glance at my bare knee?”

“It’s not a bad knee,” he confessed, but before she could answer Kirby stepped into sight and whispered something to Hope.

Alarm spread across Hope’s face, chasing away the smile until only worry remained. “I have to go, Matthew.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Hope’s gaze latched onto his, filling with tears. “She’s in a lot of pain, and the doctor isn’t certain that the fracture is healing. Prayer would be a help.”

“You’ve got it.” Chest tight, Matthew watched her spin with a flick of her ponytail, and she was gone. Leaving him feeling both lonelier and more alive than he’d been in what felt like a lifetime.

At sixteen minutes before noon, Hope heard a car rumble down the long gravel drive. Patsy Sheridan climbed out into the brisk spring sunshine and, leaving the triplets belted into their car seats, carried a steaming casserole to the front door.

She’d handed the meal over to Kirby before Hope could make it downstairs, but the gratefulness washing over her didn’t diminish after Patsy’s car drove out of sight.

Later, flowers arrived and cakes and Helen brought supper by, a potluck favorite that was always the first to go at the church’s picnics, according to Kirby.

As the dusk came, bringing shadows and evening light, Hope knew that in all her travels, all the places she’d been and photographed, home was here in Montana, in this small town where neighbors took care of one another.