The Bride Next Door by Hope Ramsay (16)

June was almost over, thank God. The last weekend was almost upon them with a flurry of weddings that kept Courtney crazy-busy with half a dozen demanding bridezillas. Her days were long and hard, but her nights were romantic and steamy and incredibly erotic.

Sleeping with Matt would have been enough. The man knew how to give and take pleasure. But Matt gave her so much more than that. He took her to dinner at the Red Fern Inn on Tuesday night and behaved like the perfect gentleman. He treated her to a candlelight dinner at his place on Wednesday night featuring linguine and clam sauce that he made himself. And on Thursday, he blew her mind by sending a bouquet of cupcakes, exquisitely decorated to look like small nosegays of violets.

 “Oh my God,” Amy exclaimed when the deliveryman put them on the corner of Courtney’s desk. “Those are amazing. Are they from that new bakery in Winchester?”

Courtney nodded, although she wasn’t entirely sure. She’d mentioned the bakery to Matt last night when she’d been talking about a bride who wanted cupcake centerpieces. Good thing she intercepted the small white card that came with them before Amy got to it. Matt never failed to impress when it came to cards. She recognized his handwriting now. And of course there was a poem.

“Holy crap. I’ve never seen you blush like that, girl. What’s in that card?”

She almost told the truth. But some instinct for self-preservation stopped her. Matt was more than a Hook-up Artist, but was he Mr. Right? She wanted to believe that she’d found true love, but who could make a decision like that based on less than a week of mind-blowing sex, a couple of nice dinners, and a bouquet of cupcakes?

There were so many ways this could go wrong. And when it did, she’d probably fall apart. And if she told her friends, they would all tell her she was stupid to have gotten involved with a Hook-up Artist like Matt. And then they’d tell her to grow up and settle. Or get used to living alone.

She didn’t want to settle, but by the same token, she wasn’t some naïve girl who could be swept away with fancy gifts and dinner at a nice restaurant. So she turned toward Amy and lied. “They’re from Bethany Carr.” Bethany was the bride who wanted cupcakes at every table.

“Oh.” Amy sounded so disappointed. “They’re kind of cute, but they aren’t as pretty as real flowers.”

“That’s only because you’re biased in favor of real flowers.”

Amy gave her the stink eye, and Courtney shut up. She also slipped the card into the pocket of the dress she was wearing. No way Amy would ever get her hands on that card. Not after she’d read Matt’s first card.

Willow proved far more difficult. She dropped by Courtney’s office late in the afternoon while Amy was consulting with a client, took one look at the cupcakes, and shut the door. She sat in the single side chair, her face sober.

“Those are cute, but I have a feeling you didn’t order them yourself. And if you tell me you’re sleeping with Matt, I’m going to wring your neck.”

“They’re from Bethany Carr. She wants us to use that new bakery. For her centerpieces.”

Willow gave her the evil eye. “Have I ever told you that you are a terrible liar? Amy told me all about them. About how you blushed when you read the card.”

Pleading the fifth would not work, so she remained silent.

“Oh, my God. They are from Matt. You know this is what he does, right? I’ll bet he quoted poetry or something. Probably about violets.”

Willow had been around the block a few times. She’d suffered her share of jerks and players before finally finding the love of her life in the most unlikely of places. She meant well, but Courtney still resented the intrusion.

“You know, a few weeks ago I had this conversation with Arwen about how romance is dead in America. And here you sit staring at these cupcakes as if they are toxic or something. Why do we have to suspect every man who sends gifts?”

“I don’t suspect every man who sends gifts. But I don’t trust Matt any farther than I can throw him. Courtney, you know he’s a player. And besides, since when are you a cougar?”

Whoa, that was a low blow. “Can we leave my age out of it, please?”

“No. The last time we talked, you were the one telling me that he was too young for you. That you were just friends. I was worried then, and even more worried now. You’ve always been so clear-headed when it comes to guys like Matt. What changed?”

Everything had changed. She’d stopped looking at him that way. Now all she saw was a man with a pretty big heart and a strong set of shoulders, and a wicked-smart brain.

Willow’s gaze softened. “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? Damn, I saw this coming the day of Allison Chapman’s wedding.”

Courtney shrugged and looked away. “If I’ve fallen for him, it’s nobody’s business but my own.”

Willow nodded. “I guess that’s right. And I sincerely hope it works out. But just know that I’m here in case it doesn’t.” She paused a moment and leaned in. “And just a word of caution. Navigating the Lyndon family can be very difficult. Don’t expect them to be happy about you.”

“So you agree with Allison Chapman then?”

Willow’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. If you and Matt really are in love, then you have my blessing. And of course I think you’re good enough for him. I’m just not sure he’s good enough for you. But if you and Matt really do become a couple, I’m just saying that the Lyndon family can be challenging at times.”

Courtney let go of a long breath. “Look, Willow, I’m not ever going to marry Matt Lyndon. But I’ve decided to enjoy the cupcakes while they last. Is that so wrong?”

Willow shook her head. “You sell yourself too short, Courtney. Don’t settle for anything less than true love. It’s worth the wait.”

One by one, the tenants at Dogwood Estates began to move out and move away from Jefferson County. By the first week of July, fewer than half of them still remained, among them Leslie Heath, who had rattled a few sabers by suggesting that she and several others might not move out at all—a position Matt had counseled against.

But Leslie was a fighter.

And so was Linda Petersen, who accepted his file with a certain amount of glee. Linda, it turned out, hated Bill Cummins because the chairman of the County Council had thrown her in jail a number of years ago for carrying signs at a council meeting. Linda practically salivated as she read through the information Matt and Arwen had compiled.

It also turned out that Linda knew a lot of Avery Johnson’s neighbors—hillbillies who’d been living up on the ridge for generations, raising pigs and chickens. She nominated herself to go up there and clue those folks in on what Cummins and GB Ventures had planned for them, and in the space of a few days, she single-handedly screwed up at least two land sales.

Linda was a whirlwind all right. And at 9:00 a.m. on Monday, July 2, Linda and more than a hundred protesters showed up at city hall in order to picket the regular first-Monday-of-the-month County Council meeting. And since Linda had coordinated her efforts with Sally Hawkes, an investigative reporter for the Winchester Daily, an exposé of Bill Cummins and his relationship with GB Ventures appeared in the July 2nd edition of the paper.

That morning, Matt stood in David’s office watching the protesters through his gigantic windows while his cousin sat fuming at his desk.

“What on earth were you thinking, giving that information to the Winchester Daily?” David snarled. “Sally Hawkes is a hack. A couple of years ago, she tried to destroy Dusty’s reputation. I can’t believe you did this.”

“I haven’t had any conversations with the Winchester Daily.” A statement that was entirely true. Matt had handed the file to David’s mother-in-law, and Linda had done all the talking.

“That was a nondenial denial. I’m starting to think you have a future in politics.”

“I gave the file to Linda,” Matt said.

“Damn.” David pounded his desk with his fist.

“I had to give it to her. She was working with Leslie and the tenants. They had a right to know.”

David blew out a long, exasperated sigh and leaned back in his big leather chair. “You’re right, but did you have to involve Willow’s mother?”

“I’m right?” Matt turned from the window. “You think I’m right?”

David nodded. “I hate it when my mother-in-law starts protesting. It almost always upsets someone in the family. But I guess that’s my cross to bear, not yours.” He gave Matt a long, sober look.

“I’m happy to take the heat for you this time.”

“Thanks. Your father is probably going to be furious.”

“Why? I didn’t think he was a big Bill Cummins fan.”

“He’s not, but he wants to turn you into a small-town lawyer. And mounting crusades is not exactly what small-town lawyers do.”

“Unless they’re Atticus Finch,” Matt muttered under his breath. Although the protagonist in To Kill a Mockingbird hadn’t intended to mount any sort of crusade. He’d just been trying to get justice for his client. Matt turned back to stare at the protesters. “Do you mind if Arwen and I go out there and say hi?”

“I have a feeling I couldn’t stop you even if I tried.”

“Thanks.” Matt turned and hurried down the hallway into Arwen’s cubbyhole office, which was even smaller than his. She looked up from her laptop as he entered, and it struck him that she looked a little haggard and pale. What was up with her anyway? She’d been grumpy for the last two weeks. “You need me for something?” she said in a less-than-welcoming tone.

“Yes. I need you to get up and leave this office.”

“What?”

He took two steps into her cubbyhole, gently snagged her by the upper arm, and gave her a tug. “You need some fresh air. Besides, there are more important things than the next divorce case. Get up.” He yanked her out of her chair.

“Matt, stop. What are you talking about?” Arwen dug in her heels.

“Have you read the Winchester Daily today?” he asked.

“Uh, no. Why?” She shook her head.

“Because the front page is an exposé of Bill Cummins, his high-handed tactics, and his cushy relationship with GB Ventures.”

Arwen’s eyes grew round. “Oh my God. Did you give our file to the Daily?”

He shook his head. “No. I followed the advice of a very smart woman. I gave our file to Linda Peterson. She’s out there in front of city hall right now.”

Arwen grinned. “I knew I liked you, despite your reputation. Does your father know you did this?”

“Not yet. But he will eventually. Come on, let’s go join the fun before he rains on my parade.”

Matt took Arwen by the hand and pulled her down the hallway, through LL&K’s front doors, and out onto the sidewalk in front of city hall. Along the way he stopped at a newspaper dispenser, where he purchased a copy of the paper for Arwen.

She took one look at the headline—JEFFERSON COUNTY COUNCIL CHAIR HAS CUSHY DEAL WITH GB VENTURES—and squealed.

“Oh my God. I love you. Thank you for not giving up on this. Especially since I’ve been so out of it these last few weeks. I’m happy someone had a little courage.” And then she threw herself into Matt’s arms and kissed him right on his cheek.

A mixed bag of emotion slammed into Courtney’s chest as Arwen threw her arms around Matt’s neck. The sound of Arwen saying “I love you” to Matt Lyndon traveled across the space between them like a nuclear missile.

Courtney froze where she stood amid the protesters. Fury, jealousy, confusion, shame, and a healthy dose of self-loathing combined into a toxic brew that buckled her knees.

It was almost as if God had decided to punish her for something.

A moment ago, Sid had announced that he and Leslie were going to elope to Vegas and then move to Phoenix. He’d seemed so proud of himself for arguing Leslie out of her foolish last stand at Dogwood Estates.

Courtney had been searching for something nice to say about this news when she’d seen Arwen and Matt giving each other intimate face time.

What an idiot she’d been. All that tender lovemaking. All those words whispered in the dark. The flowers. The cupcakes. Dinner at the Red Fern. All of it was a sham. A game. The usual BS that any Hook-up Artist knew how to manage.

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly locked into place.

Poor Arwen. She was so hungry for romance that Matt’s flowers and cupcakes had probably turned her head. And she was probably too ashamed to admit it. No wonder she’d been avoiding Courtney. She probably didn’t want to hear any lectures about sleeping with a player.

Who did?

And, of course, since they’d hardly spoken the last few weeks, Arwen didn’t have any idea that Matt had moved in next door or that Courtney had broken her own set of rules when it came to Hook-up Artists.

An icy pain lanced her heart. How could she have been so stupid? How could Arwen have been so stupid?

“Hey, hon, are you okay?” Sid asked.

She shifted her gaze. Unable to speak, all she could do was shake her head.

“Honey, don’t be sad. Please. For the first time in more than a year, I feel as if I have something to look forward to.”

And Sid looked that way too. He carried a poster board sign bearing a picture of a bulldozer with the red circle-and-slash symbol superimposed on it. Dressed in a pair of madras shorts and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, Sid bore no resemblance to the ghost of a man he’d been just a few weeks ago. Leslie had changed all that. And Courtney was happy for them, even as her own heart shattered into a million pieces.

“I’m fine. I’m glad you found a reason to go on living.” She turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes.

“No, you’re not fine. What is it?”

She brushed the tears away with the palm of her hand. “I should have brought my sunglasses,” she said. “Maybe I should go home and get them.”

“Courtney,” Sid said to her back, “don’t be sad.”

“I’m not,” she said in a watery voice as she took off across the street, giving Arwen and Matt a wide berth. Not that they would have noticed her. They were holding hands and smiling as they came down the walk from their office building.

By the time she got home, her tears had dried up and her reeling emotions had settled into a stone-cold fury. She scoured her apartment collecting the stuff Matt had left there—a T-shirt, a pair of socks, a UVA sweatshirt, and a David Baldacci paperback. She dumped them in a heap in front of his door.

Then came the hard part. Would she give Doom back to him? Or would she keep both cats?

She spent the next thirty minutes consuming a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy ice cream as she considered this question.

No. For this betrayal, Matt had to lose his cat. There had to be consequences.

Besides, Melissa, who had hand-raised these kittens, wouldn’t want Porthos to end up with someone who would name him Dr. Doom. And Melissa wouldn’t be happy with Matt for coming into Courtney’s life and ruining her long-standing friendship with Arwen. And for another thing, a woman in Courtney’s predicament needed more than one cat.

Especially with Sid moving away. That thought brought another wave of tears. Yes, she was utterly alone now. A woman like her needed more than one cat. And the two cats were a comfort, especially right now. Both of them had curled up beside her on the couch, and their contented purrs were the only thing keeping her from flying apart into a million shattered pieces.

The last thing she expected in that moment was for Matt to come knocking at her door. It was barely 10:30 a.m. She’d expected him to remain at the office, hanging out with Arwen. She’d expected him to stay late at work, the way he almost always did.

But instead he was pounding on her door, banging away at her resolve. Dammit.

“Courtney. I know you’re in there. Answer the damn door.”

“Go away,” she finally shouted.

“What the hell is up with you? Why’d you put my stuff in the hallway?” The angry edge in Matt’s voice annoyed the crap out of her. Where did he get off being angry anyway? He wasn’t the aggrieved party.

Aramis, or was it Porthos—sometimes it was hard to tell these cats apart—looked up at her with a pair of green eyes. Somehow the cat seemed to be judging her. It had to be Porthos. He probably wanted to go home.

She scattered the cats as she got off the couch. She yanked the door open. “I’m not giving Porthos back. You don’t deserve him.”

He stood there with the patented Lyndon frown riding his forehead and his dark eyes sparking with a fury of his own. “What the hell is wrong with you? Leslie is all upset. She’s starting to think maybe she and Sid are rushing things. How could you be so cruel?”

“What? I told Sid I was happy for him.”

“Then why did you run away in tears? Honestly, Sid would have come himself, but I told him I’d haul you back down there. Come on. This is a day for—”

“Shut up. Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Don’t what? And what’s with my stuff in the hallway?”

“You have no clue, do you? You think you’ve completely fooled me.”

“Fooled you. About what?”

“You and Arwen. It all makes perfect sense. You with the late nights, and her wanting someone who could romance her. I should have seen it. I’m such an idiot.”

He stood there blinking at her, surprise all over his handsome face, as if it had never occurred to him that she’d figure it out. What was it about Hook-up Artists anyway? Every damn one of them was so sure of himself.

“I can’t believe this,” he said.

“What about it can’t you believe?”

“Everything.” He huffed out a breath and leaned into the doorframe. “You know, Courtney, you have a serious trust problem. And even though I understand the reasons for it, I’m not sure I can live with it. I sure as hell don’t want to be constantly judged and found wanting. That’s bullshit, you know?” His voice had gone low and hard, the anger red-hot.

“Really? You’re going to go all Man Baby on me and accuse me of being the problem?”

“Yeah, I am.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he pushed away from the doorframe. He took one backward step. “You should go back and tell Sid and Leslie that they have your blessing.” He turned and gathered his stuff. But before he slipped his key into his front door, he turned and looked over his shoulder. “I want Ghul back.”

“Ghul? He’s not yours.”

“You took Dr. Doom that day you left in the wee hours of the morning. You can keep him. But I want Ghul back.”

“In your dreams.” She slammed the door in his face.