Ann Evans - That Man Matthews

What makes Cody Matthews so obnoxious?

Joan smiled at what she’d written across the top of the paper. She was pleased with the harsh directness of her words and wondered if she’d need a second sheet. There were so many things not to like about the man.

Ten minutes later she had a sizable compilation of sins. Feeling in control once more, she scanned the list she’d made.

Overbearing arrogance

Ego the size of a planet

Poor taste in clothes—especially belt buckles

Beautiful bedroom eyes

Lascivious nat—

Wait a minute! Beautiful bedroom eyes? Where had that come from? Those eyes didn’t belong on her list.

Annoyed, she stood up and filled the teakettle. Waiting for the whistle, she leaned against the doorjamb and stared at the list on the table.

All right, so he did have great eyes. She’d give him that one. But they didn’t make up for all his bad qualities.

No. Number four on her list was simply a slip of the pen.

Dear Reader,

Growing up in my house, I remember thinking that my poor father was at a real disadvantage. Females outnumbered him three to one. Even our pets were female.

But Dad was a real trouper. The father/daughter relationship he shared with my sister and me was pretty special. Even though I suspect he would have preferred to be watching golf on TV or out fishing, he still found time to be a guest at our backyard tea parties, a customer at our imaginary shoe store and the first one to sample our latest triumph from the Easy Bake oven.

As I was creating Cody Matthews, my hero for this book, I envisioned him sharing that same kind of bond with his own daughter, Sarah. But what would he do, I wondered, if something happened to change that bond? Something he didn’t understand or have any clue how to handle? Suppose his daughter went from being an angelic daddy’s girl to the devil in blue jeans, all in a matter of weeks.

That’s one of the dilemmas facing Cody in this book. And that’s where Joan Paxton comes in. Even the greatest father in the world needs help now and then, especially if he’s a single parent. Only one problem—Cody is just as stubborn as his daughter. He’d rather wrestle a bull than admit he can’t handle his own child!

Poor Joan. She’s the one who can bring the Matthews family back from the brink of disaster, but she’s got her work cut out for her. I hope you enjoy reading just how she accomplishes bringing Cody and Sarah back together, and most of all, how she finds love along the way.

Ann Evans

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book, a story about fathers, has to be dedicated to one of the best dads I know—my brother-in-law, William Wilson Marsh.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CODY MATTHEWS took one look at Merlita Soledad’s broad, dark features and immediately recognized trouble ahead.

His live-in Mexican housekeeper was normally a pleasant apple dumpling of a woman, a whirlwind of efficiency when it came to keeping the ranch house organized. She had a generous heart, a bone-crushing hug and an ancient recipe for the best darned chilies rellenos in south Texas. But when she was angry, she had a tendency to mangle the English language, and right now she was grinding it up like a steak in a blender.

“You try it, jefe,” she demanded, her arms planted across her chest, her nostrils flared wide. “You tell me how you like.”

“Lita, if I don’t leave soon, I’m gonna be late for the afternoon flight to Washington.” He tried to give the woman back the plate and fork she’d thrust into his hands when she’d invaded his study. “You know I love your cocoa cake. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Save a piece for me.”

“No,” Merlita said with a firm shake of her head. Her arms tightened, and he caught his first glimpse of the kitchen paring knife she held between her capable fingers. “You taste my cake. It’s important. You, too, Señor Walt.”

Cody didn’t think it wise to argue with a woman who held a knife. He glanced at his father. Walt Matthews cradled a similar plate of the sweet chocolate dessert, but from the crinkle bisecting his forehead, it was clear he didn’t have a clue what was bothering Merlita, either.

With an uncertain smile Cody settled back, hooking one leg over the side of his desk. If the woman was desperate for a compliment, he’d have no trouble giving it, and then he could be away from Luna D’Oro and off to the airport.

He stuck his fork into the wedge of chocolate and scooped a generous helping into his mouth. “Mmm…” he began. “Still my favorite dess…”

The words trailed away as he stopped chewing. Whoa! Sam Houston’s underwear, something was mighty wrong with this batch!

He cast a suspicious look at his plate. The cinnamon and chocolate couldn’t disguise the fact that the cake was just plain awful. He wanted to spit the mouthful in the trash can next to his desk. But Merlita’s dark eyes were throwing off sparks now, and he didn’t dare.

Again he looked to his father for help. Pa had taken a small bite from his own dish. Cody could see he was having trouble swallowing.

“It’s…uh…a little different from your usual, isn’t it?” Cody ventured.

“Sí.”

“Trying a new recipe?” his father asked when he finally appeared to get his tongue under control.

“No,” Merlita said, looking indignant. “Emperor Maximilian ate my great-great-great grandmother’s cake in the Spanish court of kings. I do not change her recipe. But how you like it?”

“Might be a tad overcooked,” Cody suggested, clearing his throat and wishing he had something to wash the taste out of his mouth. “Or maybe the mixing bowl didn’t get cleaned well enough. Some soap-suds—”

“Tu eres loco? I don’t cook in dirty bowls!” Merlita exclaimed in horrified tones. She waved away his words with a broad sweep of the hand that held the paring knife. “It’s the salt. Dos. Two cups.”

“Oh.” Cody and Walter exchanged looks. Neither of them had a clue what went into the making of Mexican cake. Or what to say now. Cody settled on evasion. “Seems like a lot of salt.”

“That’s because it should be sugar. Someone switches the labels on the jars in my cupboard. A funny joker with yellow hair.”

“Oh. I see.” Cody straightened, suddenly understanding. He set the plate down on the only exposed corner of his desktop. Sarah! He should have known. Wasn’t it always Sarah these days? “Lita, darlin’, I—”

“You promised, jefe,” Merlita reminded him, making her point with the tip of the knife. “No more, you say. You say you straighten her out but good. You are el jefe grande around here, but you are not a man of your word.”

“I did talk to her. But I’ll talk to her again—”

“You do more than talk now. This is times three she makes jokes on me. The rubber bug in my guacamole. The bubbling soap pouring out of my washing machine. I can take no more. Comprende? She does not stop? Via con dios, jefe. I go home to Mexico.” The woman’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “And I take my rellenos recipe with me.”

With a clatter of annoyance, the housekeeper scooped up the plates and forks and left the study. She muttered a litany of Spanish complaints all the way to the kitchen.