Matt had refrained from texting or calling Courtney for an entire week, a move she probably recognized as strategic. The flowers, on the other hand, were a new tactic. He had never sent flowers to a woman before, even though he understood how much women enjoyed receiving them. Flowers were part of a courtship ritual, and Matt didn’t court women.
He pursued them with unabashed joy and honesty but shied away from long-term relationships. Flowers, especially red roses, suggested something permanent, and he would never have sent them to anyone other than Courtney, because she would recognize them as a ploy. She’d probably get the Shakespeare quote too.
He couldn’t wait to see how she reacted.
He strolled down Liberty Avenue carrying his suit jacket over his shoulder. The warm June sun still rode high on the western horizon, casting a golden light on the broad leaves of the sycamores lining Shenandoah Falls’s main street. Their shade provided welcome relief from the day’s heat as Matt sucked in a deep breath filled with a dozen familiar scents: handmade waffle cones from What’s the Scoop, honeysuckle growing wild and untamed on the chain-link fence surrounding the Laundromat’s parking lot, and frying bacon wafting through the doors of Gracie’s Diner.
Matt missed life in the big city, but Liberty Avenue had its own home-town appeal. He’d consumed hundreds of ice cream cones at What’s the Scoop, pulled dozens of honeysuckle blooms from that vine, and eaten a truckload of burgers at Gracie’s Diner.
He’d also dined at the Red Fern Inn more times than he cared to remember, usually with his parents or his aunts and uncles. He’d always been required to sit up straight, keep his elbows off the table, and use the right fork for each course.
The colonial-era stone building had been a tavern for almost three hundred years, serving alcohol more or less continuously since the French and Indian War. It was the very first building in Shenandoah Falls to be listed on the historic register, probably because George Washington had imbibed there, in addition to sleeping in several of the upstairs guest rooms.
The place was small, with whitewashed stone walls, dark-beamed ceilings, and a wide-planked pine floor that listed to one side. Matt put on his jacket just before he entered the taproom’s cool interior. Somewhere along the line, electricity, modern plumbing, and air-conditioning had been added to the three-hundred-year-old building, and today, someone had cranked the AC down to arctic.
He checked his watch. He’d arrived exactly on time—another break from his usual MO. He gave his name to the maître d’ only to discover that Courtney had arrived before him, thereby making him late. Sort of.
No, wait. He wasn’t late. And maybe Courtney had only just arrived too. Maybe they’d both decided to stop playing games.
He crossed the dining room and knew a moment of disappointment when he saw the Manhattan sitting in front of her. She’d been there long enough to order a drink.
Did that mean she was anxious? Or what?
She looked up at him with an amused twinkle in her baby blues. She’d painted her lusciously sinful mouth a bright red to match the color of her dress, which clung to every curve. The subfreezing temperature in the restaurant had affected her nipples.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he sat down at the table with its pristine white linens that he’d never failed to soil as a kid.
Her wicked mouth quirked at one corner. “You’re not late. And furthermore, you know you’re not late. I got here early. It’s been a rough week, and I needed a drink. What’s your excuse?” She nervously fiddled with the stem of her martini glass.
“My excuse for what?”
“For being on time.” She took a sip of her drink and gave him a hard stare over the rim of the glass.
He smiled because he couldn’t help it. Everything about Courtney Wallace turned him on. Her shiny black hair, those big, beautiful, slightly offset eyes, the mouth he wanted to kiss more than anything. But most of all, he enjoyed her attitude. She was a total pain in the ass, and for some reason, that made him want to laugh out loud.
A waiter came over with menus, and Matt ordered a Sam Adams. When the waiter left, Matt leaned forward and caught Courtney’s hand where it restlessly stroked the martini glass. Her fingers felt cold under his palm. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.
She pulled her hand away, leaving his skin tingling in reaction. She cocked her head a tiny fraction, the angle just enough to align her eyes. She scrutinized him, her expression neutral and unreadable. “I’ll go first with the confessions. I know all about your bet with Brandon.”
Boy, she was a piece of work. He’d spent all week working himself up to a big confession, and she stole it from him before the waitstaff had delivered his first beer of the evening. “You stole my thunder. I intended to confess.”
“BS. Your big, beautiful dark eyes gave away your surprise.”
“You think my eyes are beautiful?” He gave her his most seductive smile. Head tilted down, no teeth showing, mouth curled a little, and eyebrow lifted just so.
She leaned back from him and nervously laughed. What was going on in that beautiful head of hers? She seemed restless and tense across the shoulders.
The waiter returned with his beer, and Courtney announced that they were ready to order. Clearly she wanted to get this date over with in a hurry. He decided right then that he would linger over dinner if for no other reason than to allow Courtney to relax. He told the waiter that he needed a few more minutes and then sent him off with an appetizer order.
“You didn’t even ask if I wanted the baked brie,” she said.
“If you didn’t want it, you could’ve said something. I love the baked brie here.”
“So you dine here often?”
“If you’re asking me if I bring my dates here, the answer is no.” He cast his gaze around the dining room, taking in the early-American furniture and the walls covered with oil paintings featuring horses, fox hunts, and a reproduction of Peale’s portrait of George Washington as a young man. “This place is popular with the horsey set, but I find it just a little stuffy.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “If you think it’s stuffy, why did you invite me here?”
“To surprise you.”
This earned him a tiny, Mona Lisa smile. “I’m not surprised. Taking a woman to a place with white tablecloths, sending her flowers, and quoting poetry is precisely the sort of thing a player does. Although the Shakespeare was kind of classy. Of course, you might have done all that just to win a bet.”
This time he gave her a real smile because she was adorable and amusing. “I never take my dates to restaurants with white tablecloths, and you are the first woman I have ever sent flowers to.”
“And the poetry?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been known to quote Shakespeare from time to time.”
She took a long sip of her Manhattan and put the glass down before she spoke again. “Why did you send me flowers?”
“To see how you’d react?”
“Not because you thought it would help you win your bet?”
He leaned forward. “The cost of the flowers and the meal will far exceed the one hundred dollars I’d win if my seduction succeeds. So how does that make any sense?”
“Because your bet with Brandon has nothing to do with money. And I only agreed to go out with you because of the bet. I guess I’m still ticked off at you for encouraging Brandon to date other women right after he dumped Laurie. But Laurie made me promise that I would end my vendetta against Brandon and come clean with you. That being the case, I think I should go. I’ve already paid for my drink, and I’m not really a brie fan. If you’d ordered the crab cakes, I might have been induced to stay.”
She stood up, the picture of a woman in charge of herself. She took one step toward the door before he got out of his seat and stopped her, snagging her by the arm, leaning into her, and whispering in her ear. “I’ve been looking forward to this dinner all week. And not because of some stupid bet. Stay. We’ll order crab cakes for dinner.”
Should she stay? His hand on her arm felt deliciously warm and promised so much more. The fingers of his other hand captured her hair and tucked it behind her ear right before he whispered, “Please stay.” His hot breath curled around her ear and sent a pulse of lust shooting to her core. She took a deep breath and might have broken away from him were it not for the fact that he smelled so good.
Not of cologne or aftershave, or even laundry detergent or soap. Matt Lyndon smelled like himself, and it was an unbelievable aphrodisiac. She turned her head a fraction and met his gaze. Why did his brown eyes always look soulful?
He didn’t have one soulful bone in his body. That look on his face was a trap, and she was just desperate enough to believe what she saw in his eyes. Leaving was probably the right thing to do, but she’d never been one to run from a fight. So she returned to her chair, determined to win this battle, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what they were fighting over.
She needed something to set him back, to surprise him, the way he’d surprised her with the flowers. And then it came to her, and even though it hadn’t been her idea, it was still brilliant. It would send him spinning in an unexpected direction.
She leaned forward. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, a frisson of anticipation tingling her spine.
His eyebrow arched. “Proposition?”
She stared down his smoldering look even though her insides quivered with need. He employed that look as a weapon, and he knew damn well it was effective. She wasn’t about to give in to it. “Not that kind of proposition…exactly.”
“Exactly? What does that mean? Are you saying you want to sleep with me?”
“Well, we could do it that way.”
“What?”
She hauled in a big breath and squared her shoulders. “I’m thirty-five years old, I’m not particularly a beautiful person, and I know that I’m never, ever going to get married. So I’ve decided to stop waiting for Mr. Right. Instead I’m going after what I want. And the truth is, I don’t want you. I want your sperm. Are you willing to be a donor? I can arrange for you to go down to Fairfax Cryobank and provide a sample, or alternatively we could…”
“What? Do it the old-fashioned way? Are you out of your mind?” Everyone in the dining room turned to stare at them.
She leaned forward and placed her finger across her lips. “Shhhhh. Not so loud. And I’m not out of my mind. I’m looking for a sperm donor with deep brown eyes, you know sort of like Aston Kutcher? Your eyes fit that bill nicely. Of course, there’s also your family pedigree to consider. But don’t worry. I’m not looking for any kind of commitment or monetary handout, just—”
“I can’t father your child.” His soulful eyes looked pretty damn angry right at the moment. That look made her feel absurdly powerful for some complicated reason.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I figured as much. But you can’t blame me for trying. That’s what I get for being honest, I guess.” She stood up again. “Sorry you lost the bet. I hate when Brandon Kopp wins anything.”
She stalked out of the cold dining room and into the warm June evening, but her skin seemed impervious to the heat. She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. She’d certainly taken a sledgehammer to Matt Lyndon’s calm approach to seduction. Nothing like talking about babies with a man who believed that sex was invented for his own personal gratification.
And yet she couldn’t shake the disappointment. Not because he’d refused to be a sperm donor. Of course he’d say no to that. She hadn’t suggested it seriously. But some small part of her, the stupid romantic part, had hoped for a different reaction. Although what that might have been remained nebulous in her mind.
She’d been utterly unreasonable with him. But then again, he’d taken a bet that was completely reprehensible and slightly misogynistic. So they were even.
She headed down Liberty Avenue toward the town parking lot, where she’d left her car, a route that took her past Secondhand Prose, her friend Melissa’s used bookstore. Courtney hadn’t seen Melissa in two or three weeks, which was a depressing thought. All her married friends had other interests now. Hell, all her married friends were having babies. But not Melissa. Melissa had kittens.
Courtney stopped in her tracks and turned toward the bookstore’s front window. A large cat tree dominated the display case. Until last autumn, the tree had been the domain of Dickens, an eighteen-year-old cat in need of a personality transplant. Dickens had followed his longtime feline companion, Hugo, across the rainbow bridge right before Thanksgiving—an event that had depressed Melissa for months because Dickens had been the last of her grandmother’s cats to pass.
Melissa had avoided adopting any new cats until a couple of months ago, when Mary Caputo, one of her grandmother’s friends and a volunteer down at the Jefferson County Animal Shelter, had shamelessly guilted Melissa into fostering three orphaned kittens.
Melissa had bottle-fed Athos, Aramis, and Porthos every three hours for weeks on end. The feline babies had kept Melissa from joining Courtney and Arwen on open mic nights at the Jaybird. For a while, Courtney and Arwen had resented the little darlings who had become stand-ins for the baby Jeff and Melissa had not yet gotten around to making.
The kittens were ten weeks old now and tumbled and pounced on each other. They were the epitome of adorable, and the sign taped to the inside of the window said they were free to a good home.
Courtney stood on the hot sidewalk watching as one of the gray and white kitties jumped from the lower shelf of the cat tree onto his littermates. That one—she had no idea whether it was Athos, Aramis, or Porthos—had lots of personality and a feisty attitude. She could almost see him coming to live in her apartment.
Wait. No. She did not want a cat. She yearned for a husband and a baby and a family, but of course that was impossible. She needed to quit before that kitten wormed its way into her heart.
She’d just pulled herself away from the abundant cuteness when the store’s front door opened and Melissa came out onto the sidewalk wearing her favorite To Kill a Mockingbird T-shirt.
“Hey, I saw you looking at Aramis. Wanna take him home?”
Courtney felt superglued to the sidewalk as her brain started coming up with all the reasons why a cat might actually be better than a baby. She resisted, and while she battled, she noticed something odd about Melissa’s shirt.
The sleeves looked a little tight under the arms, and it stretched across her front like it might bust a seam any minute. Melissa had owned that T-shirt for at least five years and wore it every week. It was old and faded and unlikely to shrink at this late date. So if the shirt was the same size, then…
Oh crap.
“You’re pregnant,” Courtney said. Her words were not a question.
Melissa smiled and nodded.
Matt slept poorly on Thursday night, so he was in a grumpy mood when he arrived downstairs in his parents’ kitchen the next morning. Mom had once again insisted on making him scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast. When would she catch on to the fact that he wasn’t much of a breakfast eater?
“Are you okay?” she asked as he helped himself to the cup of coffee she’d poured.
“I’m fine. Why?”
She turned her back on him. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that you came home so early last night.”
Damn. Most people had parents who worried when they got in late. His parents not so much. It was embarrassing to have his mother so concerned about him because he’d come home from a date at 7:30 p.m. It reminded him of his high school days—a time that held zero nostalgia for him.
Matt had most definitely not been the big man on campus in his younger days. He’d had to compete with his older brother and cousins. His cousin Andrew, the Boy Scout, had chaired the debate club when Matt was a freshman. His brother Daniel, the bad boy, had starred as Nathan Detroit in the school’s production of Guys and Dolls when Matt was a sophomore. His cousin Edward, the foreign-policy nerd, had chaired the school’s Model UN team when Matt was a junior. Even his cousin Amy, who hadn’t excelled academically, had outshined him in high school by virtue of her impeccable fashion sense.
What had come naturally to his family had required years of hard work for Matthew to master. Having Mom hovering over him now, shooting him pitying looks, did nothing to assuage the toxic stew of emotions that churned in his mind and unsettled his stomach, compliments of Courtney Wallace.
What the hell was she up to? Was she crazy? Desperate? Messing with him? Cruel and self-centered like Allison? Or had she been joking? He needed to know, but a sleepless night hadn’t answered any of his questions. If she’d been joking, the joke had fallen flat.
But then again, Matt probably deserved an off-color joke. He should never have taken Brandon’s bet.
Well, either way, he was finished chasing Courtney. A wise man would pay Brandon his one hundred dollars, walk away, and never look back.
“You know, honey,” Mom said, breaking into his thoughts, “you can talk to me about stuff. I know how hard your father is on you sometimes, and—”
“I’m okay. Really.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
He needed to cut this cord. Now. Or she’d drive him insane. “Mom, you know how much I appreciate that you and Dad have let me stay here the last few weeks, but I think I need to find a place of my own.”
“Hallelujah,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I thought the day would never come.”
What the hell? “You’re okay with that?”
“Of course I am. In fact, let me help you find a place. I’ll call your Uncle Jamie’s real estate person and get you a list of apartments. Would that be okay?”
He ground his teeth. Would she never stop holding his hand? “You know, Mom, I can probably find a place on my—”
“It’s no problem. Let me do the first search, weed out the unacceptable ones, and then you can look at options.”
He begrudgingly agreed to this plan, mostly because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And then he finished his coffee and made a beeline to the office before she could start planning other parts of his life.
Twenty minutes after he’d arrived at work, Arwen strolled into his office, made herself comfortable in his single side chair, and asked, “So, how was your date last night? To be honest, I was impressed that you asked her out to a nice restaurant.”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “Did she send you here to ask that question?”
Arwen straightened in her chair, clearly surprised. “Of course not. I’m here for our pre-meeting before Leslie Heath arrives.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. Well, if you want to know how it went, ask her.” He practically snarled the words.
Arwen studied him intently for a long moment with a stare that penetrated him, and not in a good way. A slow smile curved her lips. “She scored points last night, didn’t she? God, she’s good.”
He frowned. “Good at what? Being outrageous? Man bashing?”
“What did she do?”
“I’m not going to discuss it,” he said, shooting the words like bullets. He paused a moment, leaning back in his chair, reconsidering. “It was Ryan who told her about the bet, wasn't it?” he asked.
“You and Brandon need to be careful when you shoot the breeze at the Jaybird. Juni is always listening, and so is Ryan. Juni is the biggest gossip in Shenandoah Falls, and when it comes to Courtney, Ryan is definitely overprotective.”
“Overprotective how? Are they together?”
Arwen shrugged. “You need to ask Courtney that question.”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think they’re together. But sometimes I think Courtney might be willing to settle for Ryan or something. They’re friends. Now, can we change the subject, please?”
“Okay, but you’re the one who asked about the date.” He smiled.
She nodded. “Point taken. But we need to focus. Leslie is going to be here in ten minutes, and we have nothing useful to tell her.”
That was the indisputable truth.
The landlord, facing fines he couldn’t afford to pay, had sold Dogwood Estates to GB Ventures LLC, an Arlington, Virginia, company that had been building single-family housing developments all over the county. The tenants would probably receive eviction notices before the summer was out. Everything LL&K had done for the tenants had come to absolutely nothing.
Worse than nothing. Instead of getting the complex cleaned up, the tenants would be losing their homes.
“You know,” Matt said, “that old guy, Sid, was right. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone to the county and urged them to rattle the landlord’s cage. It backfired on those people.”
“You may be right. But if we’d done nothing, those people would continue to live in housing that’s not safe.”
“I know. But here’s the thing. Which is worse? Living in a low-rent apartment in need of repair or being evicted and unable to find alternative living arrangements? I feel like we ought to help those people find new homes.”
“You know, Matt, the first rule of doing pro bono work is not to get emotionally involved. Trust me on this. These cases can break your heart.”
“What if we sued the county?”
Arwen’s frown appeared right on schedule. “On what grounds?”
He shrugged, winging it. “I don’t know. Unconstitutional taking of property?”
She snorted a laugh. “You’re insane. How did the county unconstitutionally take anyone’s property?”
He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin for a moment. “It’s a big stretch, but maybe we could argue that by imposing fines on Scott Anderson that he couldn’t possibly pay, the county essentially took his land away. Will the new owner have to pay the fines?”
Arwen blinked. “I don’t know. I assume GB Ventures won’t have to pay any fines since they’ll be tearing down the apartments. But that’s just a guess.”
“Can you find out?”
Arwen nodded. “Okay, I’ll take a look, but I think you’re crazy.” She gave him a big, genuine smile. “But it’s a good kind of insanity.”