A New Hope. Robyn Carr

Because, really—”

      “That damn Ray Anne—she doesn’t have plans,” Ginger blurted. “At least she didn’t until you invited her to dinner and then she got an idea that she could be sure I went and I’m really not keen on the idea. And I don’t buy that you have to make amends over dinner or you won’t sleep at night.”

      “Okay, you’re right. It’s not just amends. I really want to convince you I’m not a total asshole. I know how to treat women and I don’t do...” He shook his head. “I don’t do the things I did. Paco had his ways of training us in manners. In respect. Respect is very important in our family. I was disrespectful to you, to the bride and groom, to everyone. Paco has been reminding me daily.”

      That made her smile in spite of herself. She raised one brow. “Ice water?”

      He grinned. And really, it was a convincing grin. As handsome as he was, it was boyish. “Whatever is at hand,” Matt said. “Can I pick you up or would you like to walk down to Cliff’s with me?”

      “I think I’d like to go home and change. I’m just closing now. Give me an hour? I’ll meet you there.”

      “Can I help you move this stuff inside?” he asked.

      “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you can.”

      * * *

      Matt had pulled that off perfectly while giving the impression dinner had been part of his plan from the start. It hadn’t been. The truth was he didn’t remember Ginger very well. Big surprise, since he had been completely toasted. All he really remembered was a blonde in a purple dress. In fact, he remembered the dress better than the blonde in it. Then when he saw her in jeans, green florist’s apron, simple knit shirt, so pretty, freckled, looking fresh as a schoolgirl, he was stung. He saw that she wasn’t really blonde-blonde. There was a little red in that hair streaked with gold and it looked so soft. And those green eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. She didn’t wear much makeup—her cheeks were a peachy pink and her lips shiny. She had a fine arch to her light brows. And green stains on her fingers. At dinner, he would ask what it was like working with flowers.

      When he got back to Peyton and Scott’s house, Peyton was spreading butter on a French baguette for garlic bread. There was red sauce bubbling on the stove and two empty Ragu jars on the counter. Peyton was not the cook his mother was.

      “I’m going out for dinner,” he told his sister. “Sorry it’s so last-minute—I hope that doesn’t spoil everything you have planned.”

      “Out?” she asked.

      “I went to see Ginger. I apologized and I asked her to dinner to make amends. Just here in town. That restaurant at the marina.”

      “Dinner?” she said.

      “I thought it was the polite thing to do.”

      “Listen, Matt,” she said, putting down the spreader. “Go easy on her, okay? She’s a sweet girl but she’s coming off some hard times. I’m sure she can take care of herself, but I don’t think she’s ready for a wolf.”

      “Wolf? Me?”

      “Yeah, you,” she said. “I know what you’ve been doing the last year and change. Chasing women, running through them fast, moving at warp speed...”

      “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’ve been getting up at four and having dinner at the farm most nights. Dating hasn’t been a priority at all. In fact, I mostly avoid women.”

      “Whatever,” she said, picking up the spreader.

      But she was right. That’s why he kept the apartment he hated, to have a little privacy. He’d been whoring around since the day his divorce was final and he wasn’t sure why. Oh, he had a healthy libido, he knew that. He came by it honestly—his people were like that. But it was possible he was trying to change the taste Natalie left in his mouth. He might also get a little satisfaction from thinking it would make her unhappy if she knew, but then he never prowled around in her territory. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he could get along fine without a steady relationship because taking a chance on another marriage was out of the question. And sometimes when he had a woman under him, he forgot. After what he’d been through with Natalie, he didn’t even feel guilty. He did have the courtesy to warn them, however. He was temporary at best. It was amazing how many women were of a like mind.

      “Come on, my hours are too long and dirty for women,” he told his sister.

      “Right,” she said. “Be nice to Ginger or you’ll be answering to me.”

      “You don’t want to be answering to her,” Scott said from somewhere. “She’s relentless. She forgets nothing!”

      Matt looked around. “Where is he?”

      “Under the table,” she said. “In the fort.”

      He heard giggling, and Matt went to the dining room table, which was covered with blankets. He pulled aside the flap and there were Scott and his kids, Will and Jenny. “You are a strange, strange man. Aren’t you a little big for this?”

      “We’re all getting a little big for this,” Scott said.

      “Come on, you guys,” Peyton said. “I told you to put the fort away so we can eat at the table.”

      “I’m not leaving for a little while. Want me to make you some bruschetta?” Matt asked.

      She smiled. “That would be nice. You can have half of this baguette.”

      It was his peace offering to Peyton, his favorite sister, and he had four to choose from. Matt didn’t need to be reminded that no one got away with anything with Peyton, nor that she was relentless and had the memory of an elephant. He grew up in that house, after all. Ginny was too bossy, Ellie was too critical and Adele was too much like him. But Peyton, several years older than Matt, had always seemed wise and he loved her independence, her strength. But she happened to be closest to George and Adele. And young Mike, who was getting his postgrad degree, worshipped Matt. Ginny, who got on Matt’s last nerve, adored and pampered him and called him Mattie. And so it went in big families. Feuds, alliances, shared failures, victories, spats, celebrations and reconciliations. But they were family and Matt would go balls to the wall for any one of them.

      After supplying the bruschetta, he chose to walk down to the marina. Though it was Friday night, crowded and the closest thing to fine dining Thunder Point had to offer, at least half the people present were dressed as casually as he was. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and asked if he could get a table for two in about fifteen minutes. The man behind the bar said it was no problem.

      It was only five minutes later that Ginger walked in, also early. And if possible, prettier than before. She looked a little fresher, like she’d fluffed her hair and wet her lips. She’d changed clothes. Still jeans, but this time with a jacket and boots with heels instead of clogs. He stood and smiled at her and checked her hands. They weren’t green. He waved her over. “We’re ready whenever you are,” Matt said to the guy behind the bar.

      “Hey, Ginger,” the man said.

      “Hey, Cliff. How’s life?”

      “Always good. Always. This a friend of yours?”

      “This is Peyton Grant’s brother Matt. Matt, this is Cliff. This is his restaurant.”

      After a little chat, mostly from Cliff about how grateful they all were that Peyton worked with Scott and that Scott had had the wisdom to marry her, though probably not for the sake of the town, he took them to a table in the dining room. He bragged a little about the lobster bisque, said anything on the menu with crab was outstanding and that there was mahimahi on the specials tonight. Ram—presumably the chef—didn’t fry too much, he recommended the blackened salmon or Cajun ahi.

      Then they were alone.

      “I see you got the green stains off your hands,” Matt