see you got a turkey.” Sitting in an adjacent chair near the window, Mom looked up from her book and moved her reading glasses to the top of her head.
Lacie lifted a brow. Was that merely an observation or were they about to enter round two of holiday discussions? If so, she’d better prepare to stand her ground.
“Just a small one.” She snagged the deep purple plush throw from the back of the sofa and tossed it over her legs while she waited for the website to load. “Oh, and don’t forget to give me your dressing recipe.”
“It’s in the recipe file in the cupboard.” Mom reached for her herbal tea on the side table. “It’s fairly basic, no special ingredients, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding what you need at Duckett’s.”
Contemplating an inevitable trip to Ouray’s one and only grocer, Lacie was pleased to see that her mother had embraced the idea of having Thanksgiving here at the house. Now if she would just come around to Lacie’s way of thinking regarding Christmas...
A knock sounded at the door.
She and her mother exchanged quizzical looks.
“I wonder who that could be.” Mom set her cup down, stood and started for the door. Fingering the sheer curtain aside, she peered through the sidelight window and smiled. “I have a feeling it’s for you.”
“Me?” Lacie set her computer on the coffee table, tossed the throw aside and stood in her socked feet. Who would be here to see her? The only person she’d had contact with since she’d been back was—
Her gut tightened. Oh, please don’t let it be—
“Matt, this makes twice in one day.” Mom held the door, allowing him and a blast of cold air to enter. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Pleasure? Lacie tugged at the sleeves of her bulky sweater. That was debatable.
“Hey, Barbara.” He wore a heavy coat, a pair of well-worn jeans, gloves and a black beanie. And if the hefty dose of pink coloring in his cheeks and nose was any indication, he’d walked. “I’m sorry to stop by so late.”
“Nonsense.” Mom closed the door behind him. “It’s only eight thirty.”
Yeah, never mind the fact that they were settling in for a cozy evening.
When Matt’s dark gaze moved to Lacie, she noticed something different, though. His shoulders seemed to slump, as though he were carrying a heavy burden, and there was something sad in his expression. Something that made her heart go out to him, though she quickly snatched it back.
Had something happened with the play? Mrs. Nichols?
“Is Kenzie in bed?” He watched her intently.
Uncertain how she felt about this side of Matt, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. Why?”
“Could we take a walk?”
A walk? Now? But it was late. Moreover, it was cold.
“We won’t be long,” he added.
She looked to her mother.
“I’ll keep an ear out for Kenzie.” Obviously the woman had read her mind.
Lacie glanced down at her computer. So much for job hunting. “Give me a sec to get ready.”
She donned her coat, scarf, hat and boots, all the while trying to figure out why Matt would suddenly feel like taking a walk. With her of all people. Unless something had happened. Or he simply wanted to discuss his duties as director? But couldn’t they do that here or someplace else that was warm?
Tugging on her gloves, she let go a sigh. She’d find out soon enough.
Outside, the air was still as they started up the darkened street. The clouds that had plagued them all day had finally dissipated, leaving a plethora of stars in their wake. It also meant they were likely in for a very cold night. Perhaps a hot bath would be in order when she got back.
“How’d the party go?” Matt’s breath hung in the freezing night air.
“Not too bad, considering there were only three of us.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Kenzie made out like a bandit.”
“I’m guessing she’d consider it a success then.” Though she didn’t look at him, she could hear a hint of a smile in his voice.
“Probably.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, seemingly heading nowhere in particular, which had her wondering what this walk was all about.
Approaching a dim streetlight at the corner, she said, “Did you want to discuss the email I sent you?”
He glanced her way, his expression somber. “You sent me an email?”
“I told you I would.”
Again looking straight ahead, he said, “I haven’t checked. Had other stuff on my mind.”
Okay, then what—
Hands in his pockets, he kept walking. “I’m curious—why isn’t Kenzie’s father raising her?”
“What?” How dare he ask something so personal?
“I mean, typically when one parent passes, the other assumes custody.”
“Unless there’s a will that stipulates otherwise. Kenzie’s father wanted nothing to do with her. My sister wanted me to raise Kenzie. Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“Were you planning to keep it a secret like Marissa did?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What secret?”
“That I’m Kenzie’s father.”
Dumbfounded, she stopped and simply stared at him. “If you’re trying to be funny, you missed the mark by a long shot.”
He stared back at her. “No, I’m quite serious.”
Not to mention crazy. She shook her head. “Did you not pay attention in ninth grade biology? It only takes nine months to have a baby. It’s been sixteen years since you and Marissa were a couple, so even if you had—”
“Marissa came to Hawaii.” The intensity of his gaze heightened and bore straight into her. “The February before Kenzie was born. But then you probably knew that.”
Her mind raced to keep up. Of course, she remembered her sister’s trip. Marissa and Grant had just broken up for the umpteenth time.
“I was there with the navy,” Matt continued. “I spent the week showing her around Oahu. And then...” He turned away as though embarrassed.
She burrowed her hands deeper into her coat. Her sister never said anything about seeing Matt. And as she recalled, Marissa and Grant got back together shortly after she returned from her trip.
February? She ticked off the months on her frozen fingers. March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, Novem...
A sickening flurry of emotions began to churn in her belly, spaghetti and chocolate cake morphing into a lead weight. She swallowed hard as the potential reality of Matt’s confession sank in.
It couldn’t be true, though. Grant was Kenzie’s father. He and Marissa had dated off and on for years. Until shortly before Kenzie was born, when he walked away for good.
She dared a glance at Matt, squaring her shoulders. Marissa would have told her if he was Kenzie’s father. “Matt, I don’t know how you came up with such a crazy notion, but I can assure you that you are not Kenzie’s father.”
He twisted toward her. “Really? Then how do you explain this?” He held out a five-by-seven photo. A little boy with dark eyes alight with amusement and dark brown hair that had been combed back to reveal a slight widow’s peak...