it? Try again?”
“Sure,” she said. “When I’m fifty.”
“I might just look you up when we’re fifty,” he said. “Then if it works out, you can put in the sliding shelves.”
“That seems pretty reasonable,” she said. And they both laughed.
“What’s happening in Thunder Point?”
“A lot, as a matter of fact. Grace has been spending a lot of time at the new house so she can get her mother moved here. You know, I told you, her mother has ALS and is weakening by the day. Grace’s fiancé is helping her whenever he can because he really wants Grace to meet his family and they’re having trouble finding a time to do that. She can’t move her mother into the house and leave her to go south to meet Troy’s family. And he hasn’t told his family that Grace is pregnant because he said they will all immediately pile into cars and head this way, invited or not. So...everyone around town is putting every effort toward getting that house ready for them. Even me. That stretch of beach has taken on a life of its own—it’s like a barn raising.”
“Sounds like the Lacoumette family,” he said.
“Peyton confirmed that. Except for the cultural dress, wine and dancing, it looks like it, too.”
“Peyton is out there, too?”
“Sometimes. She’s busy with the clinic and Scott’s pretty busy with the clinic and being on call. But they can’t seem to stay away. If they’re not out there working, they’re checking on the progress.”
They talked for over an hour and covered every subject. They laughed a lot; they were both good at puns. There was even a little cautious flirting going on, starting with hooking up at the age of fifty and touching on her reassurance that she was now convinced he could be a gentleman.
“Didn’t you tell me you’re usually asleep by eight o’clock?” she asked.
“I think I’ve been a little excited about the prospect of getting out of this apartment. It’s almost ten. Late for me,” he said.
“For me, too. I’ve been getting up very early to get into the shop and get things rolling so that when Grace comes in, she feels comfortable leaving it in my hands so she can do what she has to do.”
“You’re vying for employee of the year,” he said.
“I’d far rather be awarded friend of the year.”
When they hung up Matt lay on his back on his bed with his phone in his hand. The phone was hot. Matt was hot. I have to stay away from Thunder Point, he thought. Very scary place to go.
Ginger was so sweet. So kind and generous. Here she was, still hurting after being treated like crap by her husband and losing a baby she was devoted to, and what concerned her most right now was helping Grace and Troy, helping her new friends. Ginger didn’t have a single sharp edge anywhere. She was pleasant, soft, unselfish...nice. She was nice.
Mad Matt never thought about that when he thought about women, at least not lately. He thought about long legs and perky boobs. He thought about pretty, buoyant, confident and lively. When he fell for Natalie he was willing to make almost any compromise to keep her satisfied, to keep her home, but he hadn’t ever once thought about if she was unselfish or how caring. He thought about not forcing her to deal with his overbearing family too much, about trying to balance her need for fun and a social life with his need for sleep, about trying to be sure none of the farm stayed on his hands or boots when he went home to her.
Ginger was so nice, but she was not bland. When laughter took her by surprise, she sounded wicked and playful, which triggered his memory of her smile. Her smile could melt a man’s heart. And he loved those freckles. Maybe it was the freckles that made her seem almost childlike to him, innocent, in need of a strong arm.
Stay away from Thunder Point, he told himself.
The thing about Matt—he’d been with a lot of women, before and after Natalie. He wasn’t bad-looking, he was pretty smart, usually stable. Before Nat he was probably searching for someone permanent without really acknowledging it. After Nat he was looking for a way to get over her. But there was one thing, probably a cultural thing, a family trait—marriage was sacred. He didn’t need a High Mass wedding to feel that way, it was just a thing with him. Once you pledged yourself to a woman, she became everything. Naturally it followed that he would be her everything, that she would do anything to see him happy and content. Between them there would always be complete honesty, trust. Everything would be shared, discussed, dealt with as a team. It was true that he had some firm, unshakable beliefs. That kind of went with the Lacoumette territory, especially the men. Stubbornness and passion might prevail, they might act like the king of their castle, but it was all a show. The women ran the castle. The men worked tirelessly to support their families and they served their women.
He spent Saturday around the farm though his father and George hadn’t been expecting him. If it wasn’t crazy season, he usually took a couple of days off a week. On Sunday morning, he woke at four like a bad habit. He showered and got in his truck. He grabbed a fast-food breakfast he could eat on the road and he drove south. Fast, along a deserted highway. He was in Thunder Point before nine in the morning. He drove right out to the parking lot behind Cooper’s place. It was no mystery where the action was—there was already a lot of activity around the third house down from the bar.
The garage door stood open, and three men he happened to know were armed with paint rollers and painting the inside walls of the garage. A truck holding four large ceramic planters filled with small trees was parked on the road.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Cooper asked Matt.
“I heard there was a barn raising and I was curious, thought I’d check this out. And since I’m here, maybe you can use a hand.”
“I didn’t know you were coming down,” Scott Grant said. Scott was covered in paint and it was still early. “Are you staying over?”
“Can’t. Monday morning Paco is snapping his whip early. We’re temporarily caught up at the farm and I had a day, so...”
“Does Peyton know you’re here? Did you stop by the house?”
“I didn’t. Didn’t call her, either. Spur of the moment. What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” Cooper said. “Project manager is Troy. Really, it’s Grace, but she’s letting him think he’s running things. Last time I saw him he was struggling with the light fixture in the kitchen. Apparently it’s complicated...”
“I got that,” Matt said with a laugh.
When he got inside, Troy was apparently supervising while a big guy in a blue T-shirt was on a ladder installing track lighting. He was introduced to Al, whose name he’d heard in conjunction with Ray Anne. The great room was cluttered with furniture covered in plastic, several boxes and picture crates. And a lot of women with rags, mops, brooms and shelf paper were opening boxes, looking things over, organizing.
“Matt!” Troy said in surprise.
“Matt?” a tall curly-haired woman he couldn’t remember asked.
“Iris, this is Matt Lacoumette, Peyton’s brother,” Ray Anne Dysart said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Last minute, I know, but I thought since I had a day, maybe I could help.”
They all eagerly accepted the offer. Ginger, a kerchief tying back her strawberry-blond hair, flushing slightly under her freckles, just smiled at him. He smiled right back at her.
“We’re down to finishing touches,” Grace said. “Lots of finishing touches. Furniture was just delivered, my mother’s assistant shipped some personal and household items that have to be put away after the cupboards and closets are cleaned, the basement and garage are getting painted today, light fixtures and bathroom fixtures have to be installed as well as washer