Jeannie Watt by A Difficult Woman Page B

pretty certain he knew who that someone was. And what he drove.
    There were two sides to every story, he reminded himself, before promptly disregarding the notion. Ryan Somers was a bully. Matt knew it instinctively, even if Becky seemed to think Ryan was a great guy. Matt had seen Ryan come to torment Tara when her brother was gone and she was alone. Great guys, even ones with nice smiles and firm handshakes, did not do things like that.
    Well, Matt thought as he unfolded a heavy afghan and settled it over Tara’s body, Ryan had him to contend with now, whether Tara liked it or not.
    Matt didn’t go home that night. He sat in Tara’s room while she slept, reading a spy novel he’d found in the living room bookcase. He’d helped Tara to the bathroom twice, holding her head while her stomach attacked, and she had leaned heavily on him on the trip back to her bed, something he knew she wouldn’t normally allow herself to do, physically or emotionally. Her stomach had not acted up in over an hour and she slept less fitfully now. But she still had the fever and as soon as she woke up again he was going to get some aspirin into her.
    Tara’s room had been a surprise. He had expected a room that fit in with the Victorian theme of the rest of the house, but this room was wild with color—the gypsy colors Tara looked so good wearing. There were bright comforters and afghans, satin pillows, Persian rugs on the hardwood floor. Self-contained Tara had a bit of a wild side. The only sedate touch in the room was the chair in which he sat—a rather beat-up dark leather recliner he could imagine Tara escaping to when she needed to get away.
    Tara murmured in her sleep, pulling the afghan up to her chin, huddling into herself, shivering. Matt closed the book, put it on the writing desk. She opened her eyes when he knelt by the bed and he felt the impact of connection as their gazes met. She tried to smirk. Couldn’t do it. Matt smiled. Her eyes drifted shut.
    Matt spread a blanket over her, but she still shivered. He looked for yet another blanket, but they were all beneath her, covering the bed. A huge shudder racked her body and then Matt, who’d honestly had every intention of sleeping in the chair, took off his glasses and eased his long body onto the bed, feeling it give with his weight as he pulled Tara, blanket, afghan and all, against him. She sighed and immediately snuggled against him, making his heart lurch at the unexpected action. Her body was still quaking. His arms tightened and he settled his cheek against her silky hair and closed his eyes.
    Tara’s shivering finally stopped, but Matt continued to hold her, hesitant to leave. The unsettling thought struck him that maybe he needed her warmth.
    It was almost midnight when the phone rang. Matt jerked awake, surprised to find Tara still in his arms, surprised at how natural it felt to have her there. He carefully eased himself away from her. She didn’t even stir. He grabbed his glasses and strode out into the kitchen, answering the phone with a clipped, “Hello.” The phone clicked dead.
    Matt shook his head and went back into the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, looked at the woman sleeping in the bed and wondered what on earth he had been thinking when he’d stretched out and pulled her against him. He hadn’t been thinking. He’d simply been reacting. Again.
    Matt shoved a hand through his hair, suddenly irritated that he had given in to temptation. He was just settling himself into the leather chair when the phone rang again. This time he picked it up on the second ring. “Hello.”
    Silence.
    “Hello,” he said again. If this was Somers…
    “Who is this?”
    Matt instantly recognized the voice and gave an inward groan. “Hi, Nick. It’s Matt.”
    What the hell are you doing there? Matt could practically hear the kid’s very reasonable yet unspoken question, so he filled in the blanks. “Tara’s got the flu. I’m sleeping in the chair—”