Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [12]
“I wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am about your father.”
She stared at him with wide, adoring eyes, then raised her sleeve to her red nose, cheeks ruddy with exertion. So it was true, what Bernard had said—she was in love with him. But despite Sheryl’s urging, he refused to do anything about it. He wouldn’t lead Margaret to believe he reciprocated her feelings—or that they had any kind of future.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
He looked away, embarrassed that it’d taken him three weeks to make an appearance. “I meant to get here before this.”
Her timid smile forgave him and he wanted to kick himself. Sheryl was right, even if her reasons were wrong; he should have come earlier.
“Your father was highly thought of around here.”
Margaret nodded, and he could see by the way her lip trembled that she was fighting back emotion. “I miss him something fierce.”
“I know you do.” Matt remembered when his own father died. He’d been fifteen, an age when it was difficult to express grief. He’d feared that if other kids saw him cry, they’d call him a sissy, so he’d lashed out at his mother. Why, he didn’t know. Probably because his parents had divorced and he’d blamed her, always blamed her. She never knew—or perhaps she did—that he’d been the person who’d slashed her tires. He’d done it in a fit of rage, and that had been the beginning of trouble for him. Before he was out of his teen years, he’d had more than one scrape with the law.
Now his mother, too, was dead, and he carried a double load of grief—and guilt. He didn’t think about his parents much, not anymore, but the memories never quite left him.
“Would you like to come inside?”
Her eyes were hopeful, and Matt didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.
“I’d offer you a beer, but Maddy told me—” She closed her mouth abruptly and blushed. “Sadie keeps a pot of coffee on all day.”
“Coffee would be fine. I can’t stay long.” Especially if Sadie was going to be giving him the evil eye. What had Maddy told her? he wondered next. That he drank too much? That he couldn’t be trusted? Obviously, his reputation had preceded him.
Margaret led the way into the house, stopping just inside the heated porch to remove her jacket and boots; he did the same. She opened the kitchen door and they were greeted by an array of warm, inviting smells. Matt glanced around, relieved that Sadie was nowhere in sight.
Matt noted the coveralls Margaret wore. They were shapeless and about the most unflattering piece of clothing she could have chosen. Yet when she stood on tiptoe to reach for a cup in the top cupboard, he was stunned to see that she had a halfway decent body.
Scolding himself, Matt forced his gaze elsewhere.
“Sadie bakes the most delicious cookies,” she told him as she opened the cookie jar and placed a dozen or so on a china plate. “I’d suggest we sit in the den, but neither of us is dressed for it.”
Margaret slowly approached the table, carrying a serving tray with two small china cups, sugar, cream and the plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“I’ll pour,” she announced grandly, as if this feat required unusual skill. She left and returned with the coffeepot and filled each floral-patterned cup to the brim, then smiled hesitantly, apparently awaiting his approval.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, uncertain what was expected of him. He felt nervous even touching the dainty porcelain cup, afraid he might snap off the delicate handle.
“This set belonged to my mother,” Margaret explained as she sat across the table from him.
“It’s very nice.”
“It’s all I have of her, except for the jewelry my father gave her, but I’ve never worn any of that.”
Rather than risk breaking the cup, Matt gingerly lifted it with both hands. There was a long silence. “I hope you’re adjusting,” he finally blurted out. “To your father’s death, I mean.”
Margaret didn’t reply right away, then said, “I’m trying.”
“Is there anything I can do?” His gaze held hers. He was surprised