That Man Matthews

“How did it happen?”

He took a sip of the tea, not bothering to hide a small grimace of distaste. “She took a nosedive off one of the barn roofs.”

“Intentionally?” Joan asked quietly, hoping that Sarah Matthews wasn’t the self-destructive type.

Cody Matthews bit back an agitated response. “Hell, no. Sarah’s not suicidal. She was trying to jump onto the back of her horse, like they do in the movies. She missed.” After a pause, his fierce expression mellowed. “I suppose I ought to start at the beginning. How much did my father tell you about my situation?”

“He said you have a twelve-year-old daughter who’s been behaving wildly—”

“Sarah is free-spirited,” he interrupted. “Not wild.”

“You asked what your father told me.”

That calm response won a sheepish look from him. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Your father attended my lecture on attention deficit disorder. He felt it might be the root of Sarah’s problem.”

“I don’t believe my daughter has attention deficit disorder,” Cody stated.

The brevity of that answer should have warned her off the subject. Instead, with slow deliberation, Joan set aside her pen, dunked her teabag one last time, then slipped it onto the saucer. She didn’t look at him, but she was determined to persevere. Denial was a common reaction from parents of troubled children, and taking exception to his attitude would serve neither of them well.

After a moment she said, “I’m not a physician, Mr. Matthews. Nor have I met or even spoken to your daughter. So I wouldn’t presume to offer a diagnosis.”

“Damn,” he said with a look full of regret. “I’m going to end up apologizing to you more in one day than I have in my entire lifetime. I’m sorry if I sounded defensive. Sarah’s my only child, and I get a little crazy when this subject comes up. She’s a bright, strong-willed kid. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He looked at Joan, as though daring her to disagree. “In fact, I happen to like her that way.”

“How long has her behavior been what your family considers unacceptable?”

“Off and on for about two months. Worse lately.”

That was a good sign. A recent change in behavior might indicate the problem was situational. “Have you spoken to your daughter about it?”

“I’ve taken away her allowance. Cut her riding privileges. I haven’t spared the discipline, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, have you talked to her about the way she’s been acting? Tried to discover if there’s a reason behind it.”

He made an odd face, one full of contradictions. There was regret there, but frustration and annoyance, as well. “Lately Sarah and I have had problems communicating.”

“What about Sarah’s mother? Has she spoken to her?”

He shook his head sharply. “Daphne was killed in a plane crash shortly after Sarah was born.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Sarah doesn’t ask about her mother. She doesn’t even remember her.”

Joan didn’t like the way his face had become a chilling mask of banality when there was such bitterness in his voice. Had he loved Sarah’s mother so much—still missing her even now, after all this time—that he could not discuss her? His abrupt statement was patently false, of course. What young girl didn’t want to know everything about a mother who had never been part of her life?

Joan wanted to ask more, but the hot message glowing in Cody Matthews’s eyes told her that lingering over this line of questioning would gain her nothing. It was absurd and frustrating to feel so much and know so little.

“Who else makes up your household?”

“My father. Merlita, our live-in housekeeper. Ranch hands.”

“No one else?”

“No.”

His mouth flattened, as though he was angry with himself for allowing emotion to seize him, even temporarily. His fingers played along the rim of his cup a long moment. Long enough for her to notice that his hands were beautifully shaped and not at all what she’d expect from a high-powered businessman. Tanned and unmanicured, they were a workingman’s hands.

She made a few more notes on her pad. When she looked up, she discovered that he was watching her intently. His thumbs were hooked under his belt; the slight movement of his fingers made the dining-room light shoot sparks from that preposterous buckle. Her hand stilled, but her chin inched upward. “Something wrong?”

“You take a lot of notes.”

“They’ll give me a better picture of your daughter’s situation.”

“May I read them?”

“Of course,” she said, trying not to register anything but the mildest agreement. “If you feel that they threaten you in some way.”

The look he gave her sent shivers down her spine. “You have a sharp tongue for a woman who’s fresh out of work and just moved out on the love of her life.”

The knowledge that he knew such intimate details about her personal life left her stunned, but she refused to show it. She met his eyes. Trying to modulate her voice, she said, “And you have quite a belligerent attitude for a man whose ten minutes are up and who still seems to need my help.”

Not a flicker of a response crossed his face. Had she overestimated her ability to carry her own weight in a contest of words with this man? A hush took over the room, unbroken except for the growl of afternoon traffic in the street. And then, just before his silence could unnerve her completely, he made a low sound in his throat that could have been laughter.

“All right,” he said, and his face had lightened a little. “What else would you like to know?”

Relieved, she dived into safer water. “Has Sarah had a physical recently?”

“Yes, I had the doc check her out thoroughly when she was in the hospital last year to have her tonsils out. Nothing to worry about there.”

“What about her education? What’s that like?”

“Public school in Goliath—that’s the nearest town of any size. I’d prefer better, but there’s nothing private near the ranch, and I’m not going to pack her off to some fancy boarding school thousands of miles away, see her head stuffed with a bunch of nonsense and have her sent home only on holidays.”

Joan showed no trace of opinion on this information, but secretly she was pleased by Matthews’s determination to keep his daughter close to home. She herself had been sent to all the best schools abroad, and with a tinge of the old regret, she wondered if her parents had ever been as impassioned about her as this man seemed to be about Sarah. She shook off the thought immediately. Now was not the time to mourn for things that had never been. “Has the school done any special testing? What do her teachers think?”

“She’s ahead of most of her class, but her grades have been up and down this last semester. Her teachers say she’s quick and eager sometimes, but often disruptive and disobedient. One of them—Miss Beasley—is the same crab-apple old witch I had when I was Sarah’s age, so I don’t know what to believe from her.”

“Do these behavior problems occur only during school hours?”

“No.”

“During certain hours of the day or night?”

“No.”

“Before or after meals?”