A Question Of Love. Elizabeth Sinclair
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As she started the mindless task of assembling a pot of coffee, she could sense Tess watching her. Knowing how possessively Tess ruled her kitchen, when she finally spoke, it shocked Honey that her words held no reprimand. “Something wrong, dear?”
Honey jumped at the unexpected question. “Huh? Oh, no, what makes you ask?”
Gently, Tess removed the pot from the coffee-maker, then swung the basket open. “Even though she makes coffee strong enough for a mouse to trot across, Miss Emily prefers it on the weak side. But I’m thinkin’ this might be just a wee bit too weak even for her.” They both stared down at the empty filter. “You sure there’s nothing wrong?”
Shaking her head, Honey stepped aside and allowed Tess to add coffee grounds to the basket. “I’m fine, just a little distracted.”
That had to be the understatement of the century. Distracted didn’t come close to describing her confused mind, her rolling stomach, her throbbing temples and the need to run anywhere as far and as fast as she could, as long as it was away from here, away from Matt.
“Miss Amanda wants you to freshen the spare room. Her nephew is coming to stay for a while. He’ll be here tomorrow morning.” Was that really her voice sounding so calm and in control?
“Matthew? Coming here?”
Honey nodded.
Tess huffed impatiently. “Why didn’t she wait until morning to be tellin’ me? Nothing like giving a body notice.”
“We just found out a few hours ago.”
“Oh, well.” Tess’s frown turned into a grin. When she spoke again, her lyrical Irish accent became even more pronounced. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised. Never could figure out what that lad was up to. He hasn’t changed a jot. Sure and it’ll be lovely to have him home again.”
Delving under the sink for the basket with all her cleaning aids in it, Tess extracted it, hooked it over her arm, then grabbed her broom and headed out the door. As she passed into the hall, she continued a discourse on Matt’s virtues.
Honey didn’t hear what she said, nor did she care that Amanda’s housekeeper proclaimed Matt to be the greatest thing since bottled water, or that everyone else in the house took immense delight in his unexpected visit. Honey had her own opinion of Matthew Logan, and it didn’t come anywhere close to being charitable or delighted.
When she thought about the mess he’d left her to untangle, her anger began to rise to the top of her thoughts like cream in a milk bottle. The angrier she got, the less shaky she felt, so she gave her temper full rein, enjoying being back in control. By the time Emily walked through the door, Honey had summoned up a full head of steam. All of it aimed at Matt Logan.
MATT STEERED HIS BLACK pickup truck to the side of the road, right next to the sign that read Welcome to Bristol, New York, Population 3,000 & Growing. He grinned at the optimism of the town fathers. Unless things had changed drastically, Bristol had remained relatively the same size for over thirty years. With the exception of when the town fathers allocated funds for an occasional spring touch-up, the sign had also remained unchanged.
He took in the familiar mountain skyline, sighed contentedly, then did a quick check of the motorcycle tied down in the back of the truck. His hometown felt good, right, familiar. He planned on proving to all those naysayers that you could return to your roots, even if it meant doing battle with demons from the past. Maybe that bull had done him a favor when it gored his leg and forced him to take early retirement.
Memories crowded into the interior of the truck. For a long minute he just sat there, staring out the windshield at the town from which he’d fled. He hadn’t come back, not once, not even for Stan’s funeral a year ago or his father’s funeral two years before that.
He sincerely regretted not being there for his aunt when Stan had died, but coming would have meant seeing Honey again, and he hoped to avoid that for as long as possible. Besides, he’d been in Australia with the rodeo, and by the time he got back, it would have been all over. When he’d spoken to Aunt Amanda a few days ago, he’d expressed his regret, and she’d assured him that under the circumstances, she’d understood his absence. But it didn’t erase the guilt from his conscience. Stan had been his best friend, and despite what he’d done, and the fact that Matt hadn’t forgiven him, Matt should have made the effort to attend for his aunt’s sake.
His father’s funeral was a different matter. He’d stayed away intentionally. What good would it have done to be there? The old man wouldn’t have cared one way or the other. Matt’s existence had never been of any great importance to Kevin Logan during his life. Why would it be any different at his death?
Matt stirred restlessly, then stretched his right leg over the seat. The long ride straight through from Texas had cramped the muscle in his injured limb. As he gingerly massaged the cramped calf muscle, he recalled the doctor warning him that this would happen for a while. The ache finally eased.
A full moon, hanging like a large ripe lemon in the sky, turned the treetops behind Osgood’s Market to silver. Funny, but that moon never quite looked the same from anywhere else.
Suddenly anxious to once more become a part of the slow-paced, sleepy hamlet, Matt pulled back onto the road and steered his truck toward The Diner. He knew it would be the one place in town open at this hour, the one place that served the best cup of coffee and the biggest burgers in four counties. Once he’d filled his rumbling stomach, he’d head to Aunt Amanda’s and then, in the morning, he’d go to the town hall and pay up the overdue taxes on his father’s house.
No. Pushing the past out and moving in new memories, happy memories, meant starting to think of it as his house.
Jim, a fellow rodeo rider, had warned Matt that he would need to settle up with the past before he could start a future. Matt didn’t believe that. If he just concentrated on redecorating and stopped thinking about the unhappiness he’d known in that house, the memories would soon fade away. Besides, how do you settle up with a man who’s dead and buried?
“SO, WHAT DO YOU PLAN on doing?”
Honey avoided Emily’s gaze and her question. The silence in the kitchen grew louder. She occupied her hands by stirring her cold coffee. Her shield of anger had dissolved as quickly as it had materialized. Uncertainty had returned with a vengeance.
“Honey?”
She gave an abrupt shake of her head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I hate to be the one to point this out, but you don’t have a whole lot of time to decide.” Emily stopped Honey’s nervous movements by placing a hand on her arm. “He’ll be here in the morning.”
“I know that,” Honey snapped. Immediately contrite about her sharp tone, she flashed a weak smile at her sister. “I know,” she repeated more softly. The role of the one needing advice did not sit well with her.
She stood, walked to the sink, then poured out the cold coffee. Turning, she grabbed the coffeepot and refilled her cup. “What right does he have to come back here and intrude in my life?”
“The same right my husband had to come back. Like Kat, this