Heaven Sent and His Hometown Girl. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
She knew who to thank. Matthew Sheridan had spread the word of Nanna’s relapse. And she owed him the world.
Chapter Six
“Is that Matthew’s truck?” Nanna leaned toward the edge of the bed, fighting to see out the window.
“Hey, careful.”