My Stubborn Heart (12 page)

Last night Beverly had invited all three of them—him, Ryan, and Tyler—to stay for dinner. Matt had refused. Ryan had likewise refused because his wife had dinner waiting for him at home. Tyler had leapt at the chance.

Matt had been the one who'd decided to put distance between himself, Kate, and Beverly. Even so, it rankled that Tyler had slipped right into his empty spot at the dinner table. That Kate had found someone so much more charming than him to talk to. That Kate seemed so delighted to turn her back on him.

He could leave by four-wheeler. Mountain bike. Skateboard.

“You're a design genius, young lady,” Tyler said to Kate. “That's a perfect place for that sideboard.”

“Why, thank you,” Kate replied.

Matt ground his teeth and imagined leaving by Greyhound bus.

He'd even have settled for horse.

Hot-air balloon.

Donkey cart.

Never underestimate the effect of outrageous flattery on the ego. Because the effect of it, really, cannot be overstated.

The things Tyler said to Kate! Coming from anyone sleazy, they'd have been a huge turnoff. But coming from him, with his irrepressible good humor and dancing blue eyes, the words soaked in like moisturizing lotion on dry, scaly skin. Perfectly welcome.

Near lunchtime on Thursday, Velma strode through the front door of Chapel Bluff wearing a knee-length sweater knit with pink, purple, and black zigzags, black cotton stirrup pants, and her spotless white Reeboks. She stood in the front room watching, eyes sharp behind the lenses of her glasses, as Matt and Tyler carried a rosewood desk past her. “Two hotties!” she declared. Her gaze sought, and found, Kate's. “When did this happen?”

“Tyler came Monday,” Kate answered.

“Good gracious, Kate, I hope you're planning on taking advantage of this situation.”

“I . . .”

“Who're you?” Velma demanded of Tyler.

“I'm Tyler Vanzandt. A pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

Matt tugged the other end of the desk up the hallway, pulling Tyler from view.

Velma stared after them for a few beats, then turned and motioned for Kate to follow her toward the kitchen. “This is a good opportunity for you, Kate.”

“How so?”

“Don't be dense. To find yourself a husband, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You may not get many more chances.”

Happy thought for the day. Wish she had that one on a plaque. “I'm doing okay.”

They reached the kitchen and Velma came to a halt. “Where's Beverly?”

“At the grocery store.”

Velma's lips twitched into a frown. “I was thinking she'd have something good going for lunch. Thought I'd stop by for a taste.”

“Sorry. I can offer you a sandwich.”

Velma considered her diminished options. At length, she gave Kate one of her queenly head tilts of concession. “That'll be fine.”

Kate got out all the fixings for deli turkey sandwiches. Velma helped herself to an ice-cold Tab soda, which Gran kept stocked for her. Until coming to Chapel Bluff, Kate would have guessed that they'd ceased production of Tab back in 1984.

Kate started putting the sandwiches together. “I'm glad you're here.” Which was a slight overstatement. “I wanted to talk to you about Morty.”

“What about him?”

“I haven't seen him since I got back in town, but I understand he went shopping with Matt. Have you seen him in his new clothing?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“To be frank . . .”

Kate braced herself.

“I like the new clothes. They're an improvement.”

Genuine relief flushed through Kate.

“Except,” Velma continued, “I haven't seen a Tommy Bermuda shirt.”

“No, I bought him one in Philadelphia, but I haven't had a chance to get it to him yet. So. About going on a date with Morty—”

“I'm going to reserve judgment until I see him in the shirt.”

Kate rolled her lips inward and bit them to keep from saying something she'd regret. She added pita chips to their plates and carried them over to the table. From the fridge she grabbed a container of hummus and placed it between them.

“What's this?” Velma asked.

“It's hummus.”

“Which is . . . ?” She picked up a pita chip, surveyed it critically, then nudged a swirl of hummus with it.

“Ground-up chickpeas.”

“Chickpeas!”

“Right.”

Velma wrinkled her nose but took a bite. The pita chip crunched loudly inside her mouth. She looked faintly disgruntled. Swallowed. Then let out a grudging “Hmm.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. “You know,” Velma said, narrowing her eyes, “in order to catch a husband, I think you're going to need to wear more makeup.”

Kate slowly lowered her sandwich, fisted her napkin, and met Velma's gaze head on. “You haven't wanted a husband in all these years. Why are you so interested in finding me one?”

“Why are
you
interested in finding
me
one?” Velma shot back.

“I just want you to go on a date with Morty!”

“Well, I'd be satisfied to get you out on a date, too. Either with Matt Jarreau or that Van whatever-his-name-was person. Good gracious, Kate! If you don't make a move on one of those men, I might have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Take matters into your own hands?”

“Well, if you insist on standing around doing nothing, I'll arrange things for you with one or both of them myself.”

Kate nearly passed out at the thought. “No. Velma, let's be clear on this: I do
not
want you to set me up with either of them.” She could withstand a lot of embarrassment, but she didn't think she could survive Velma Armstrong as her romantic representative.

“Might want to rethink that. I'm a good matchmaker. What do they call them in the Jewish culture? A yenta? I'm a yenta.”

Kate wasn't so sure Velma had that definition right. Didn't
yenta
mean a gossipy busybody? “No, thank you. I don't want a matchmaker.”

Velma's gaze didn't flicker from Kate's. “Then take this free advice: More makeup, Kate. And you need more jewelry, too.” She indicated her own rings, which decorated even her pointer fingers and thumbs. “Men like a little flash.”

Kate could only stare.

“I'll just say one more thing.”

Kate winced, waited.

“At that Victoria Secrets they've got some of those push-up bras. A really tight one, a really high one, might do you a world of good.”

Thankfully the second female visitor of the day didn't come in advocacy of the push-up bra. Theresa came sheerly for the love of antiques.

Kate spent forty-five minutes with her looking over, admiring, and discussing the newly placed furniture and artwork. For days, Kate had been considering where to put what. With just a few exceptions, she was thrilled with how everything looked in the spots she'd picked. They still needed couches, armchairs, rugs, lamps, and a couple of coffee tables. But with the fresh paint, the shiny floors, and the wonderful old furniture standing sentinel in every room—the house had taken a radical turn for the better. It was becoming what it had been meant to become: a graceful, tasteful, impeccably restored, and well-loved country house.

She and Theresa completed their tour in the dining room, gazing appreciatively at the Queen Anne table and chairs.

“Just look,” Theresa murmured, “at those cabriole legs and the pad feet. I could just die!”

“I know!”

Theresa slid her hand across the top of the nearest chair's back. “A scrolling crest rail.” Then she indicated the carved piece of wood that ran straight up the back of the chair. “Do you know what this is called?” As they'd gone along, Theresa had begun to quiz Kate, clearly pleased by her newfound client's knowledge of antiques.

“I've no idea.”

“This, my friend, is a vase-shaped splat.”

The sound of approaching footsteps came from the front room and they both looked up as Matt filled the doorway. He was a recipe for heartbreak: powerful body, worn-in jeans, a pale blue long-sleeved Under Armour shirt, and his ball cap pulled low.

He stopped when he saw them. “Excuse me.” He dipped his chin slightly and made to continue by on his way to the kitchen.

“Matt,” Kate said, holding him up, “this is Theresa. She's going to be appraising all the antiques for Gran and me. Theresa, this is Matt Jarreau. He's restoring Chapel Bluff.”

A scalding blush burst to life on Theresa's cheeks, then rolled across the rest of her face. Lamely, she lifted a hand in a kind of half wave. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Matt said.

“You too,” Theresa answered.

Awkward silence. “Staying for dinner tonight?” Kate asked Matt.

“Can't tonight.” He moved toward the kitchen. Kate hated the stilted way he talked to her now, as if every word had been gouged out by a knife. He ducked out of the room.

They both listened as he said good-bye to Gran, who was clanging around in the kitchen preparing high tea, then exited out the back door.

“Kate!” Theresa hissed. “You didn't tell me that Matt Jarreau was working here.”

“Was I supposed to have told you?”

“Of course! That's
Matt Jarreau
.” She pointed emphatically toward the door he'd left through.

Kate nodded, smiling. “I know.”

“Matt Jarreau, for heaven's sake.” Her gray eyes rounded. “I have a crush on him. Doug and I joke about it. I've told him that if Matt Jarreau ever asked me to run away with him, I'd be out the door in a heartbeat. And Doug always agrees that yes indeed, if Matt Jarreau ever wants to run away with me, then I'll have his blessing.”

“Oh.”

“You definitely should have warned me!”

“I'm sorry!”

“I didn't know what to say to him! Am I blushing?”

“Just a little.”

Theresa groaned. “I always blush when I'm embarrassed.”

“It's almost all gone now.”

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are? It's very difficult to run into Matt Jarreau around this town. Since he moved back to Redbud, I've only seen him a handful of times. Twice I got super lucky and spotted him at the grocery store. . . . Oh no! Look at what I'm wearing.”

Theresa had on a gray sweat suit sprinkled with black dog hair along the outside of one leg, a lavender shirt with an overstretched neck hole, and running shoes of medium age. Her curls shot out from her head in seventeen different directions. “How mortifying.”

“You look adorable,” Kate said, meaning it.

Gran breezed into the room carrying a glazed buttermilk cake.

“I'm going to dress up next time I come, Beverly,” Theresa said.

Gran set down the plate. Blinking in confusion, she asked, “On my account?”

“When Kate called to tell me the antiques were in, I just couldn't resist. I had to run by for a quick peek. But next time, when I come to begin the appraisal, I'm going to be looking
très
professional.”

“Oh goodness, no,” Gran answered. “Just wear whatever you're comfortable in.”

“Well . . .” Theresa glanced at Kate. “Maybe I'll go for business casual then, if Matt Jarreau is going to be around, so that I'll look marginally impressive. Will I have a chance to redeem myself with him?”

“Yeah,” Kate said. “He'll be around.”
Whether he'll be worth talking to is another matter.

“Is he wonderful?” Theresa looked back and forth between them. “He is, isn't he?”

“He's wonderful,” Gran assured her. “A darling, darling boy. So smart and handsome and kind.”

Handsome, yes. Smart? Fine. But kind? That wonderful, darling boy isn't even being civil at present.

“He's quiet and reclusive, right? That's what I hear.” Theresa sighed dreamily. “I love that whole dark, intense, brooding thing.”

This conversation was beginning to annoy Kate. Why was everyone so eager to adore Matt in sunshine or rain, good behavior or bad, happy mood or grouchy?

“Can you join us for tea, Theresa?” Gran asked.

“I wish,” Theresa moaned. “I love to ruin my appetite for dinner.”

Gran laughed. “A girl after my own heart.”

“But I have to go,” Theresa said. “I dropped my kids off at my neighbor's, which means I'll have to pay her back by watching her two hyperactive children. This visit's already going to cost me.” She patted her pockets, started looking around for her purse. “Next time, I'll definitely stay for tea, and then you'll have to give me an opportunity to return the hospitality.” She located her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and straightened. “Halloween's less than a week away. Do you have plans?”

Kate shook her head.

“Then come and spend it with us. My house will be a mess and I'm sure the whole evening will be complete chaos, but I can promise you candy corn.”

“Candy corn?” Gran asked delightedly.

“Candy corn,” Theresa confirmed.

“We'll be there,” Kate said.