Matthew's Choice. Patricia Bradley

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      “I thought you said he was in jail.”

      Lucas shot him a look of disgust. “He’s gonna break out. Boy, are you stupid.”

      Noah’s hands curled into fists. Nobody was ever going to call him that again. “I’m not stupid. You’re stupid if you believe that.” He looked toward the door. “How are you gonna get out of here, anyway? Do you know the code?”

      Lucas elbowed his brother. “Told you he was stupid. That ain’t no lock. It’s just something that tells when a door opens.”

      “You’re kidding.” Noah’s mind raced. All he had to do was get his clothes on and walk out the door? He crammed the last of the sausage in his mouth and hurried to get his clothes from the dryer. They were almost dry and he quickly changed out of his pajamas.

      “What’re you doin’?” Logan asked.

      “What does it look like? Putting my clothes on.”

      “You’re gonna run away.” Lucas’s voice raised a notch.

      “Shut up.” Noah slipped into his still-warm jacket and headed toward the door.

      Logan grabbed his arm. “Where’re you going?”

      Noah shook his arm free and opened the door. Logan might not tell, but Lucas would rat him out in a heartbeat. A soft voice intoned a warning that the back door was open. His heart leaped into his throat. He darted through the door to the outside and didn’t quit running until he came to a corner with a traffic light.

      With his chest heaving, he tried to get his breath and his bearings. Which way was the hospital? He’d been there, his mom had taken him to the emergency room when he cut his hand. Noah bit his lip. Maybe he could ask someone. He looked around—a patrol car idled in the convenience store parking lot across the street. Swallowing hard, he took a second peek. Empty. The cop must be in the store. Noah ran against the light and kept going until he reached the next corner. Another convenience store. Maybe someone inside would tell him how to get to the hospital.

      * * *

      ALLIE STARED AT the cell number Peter had given her last night. He’d said to call her if she changed her mind about having breakfast with him this morning. She dialed before second thoughts set in. He answered with his last name, sounding very businesslike.

      “Uh, it’s me, Allie. You said to—”

      “Allie! Oh, good, you’ve changed your mind. Great. I’m staying at the Winthrop, and they serve an excellent brunch until one this afternoon. Would you like me to pick you up at Clint’s?”

      “No, I’ll drive.” She’d leave for Cedar Grove from the hotel. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

      Allie disconnected. She hadn’t been able to forget the call Peter had received last night. In a town the size of Cedar Grove, she had to know the nine-year-old—more than likely he was one of her students. And after a restless night, she was pretty sure which one.

      She arrived at the top floor of the Winthrop where the dining room overflowed into the mezzanine. She spotted Peter over by a window and hesitated. This was not a good idea. What would they talk about? Last night, conversation revolved around dancing and lots of other people. Talking with children one-on-one—piece of cake. Not so much with a man as good-looking as Peter—being the introvert she was, she never felt she was interesting enough to hold an attractive man’s attention. With her heart pounding, she took a step back, looking for an escape, but Peter spied her and waved her over. Allie smoothed the winter-white slacks she’d chosen and fastened a smile on her lips.

      She accepted the chair Peter pulled out for her. From the window, she glimpsed a view of the Mississippi River as it rolled south. “I’ve never eaten here before.”

      A pleased smile spread across his face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

      “Good.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe there will be more ‘firsts’ in the future. And I’ve ordered for us.”

      “You’ve ordered for me?” She struggled to keep from giving him her detention glare.

      “They were so busy, and I knew you wanted to leave for Cedar Grove as soon as you could.”

      He made sense, but still...

      “Your first course, sir.” The waiter placed identical bowls of tropical fruit before them.

      As soon as they finished the fruit, the waiter produced their main course. How much money had Peter given him to hover? She stared at her plate.

      “It’s a spanakopita omelet,” Peter said. “I had the chef make it especially for you.”

      A Greek omelet. She took a hesitant bite, and as the contrasting flavors of spinach and feta cheese hit her taste buds, she smiled. “Very delicious.”

      “I didn’t think you’d order one yourself, so I took the liberty.”

      She frowned. How well did he think he knew her? He might have a surprise or two. She eyed Peter’s Belgian waffle and sausage. How in the world did he stay so trim? “Either you don’t eat like this every day or you are a workout nut.”

      He laughed, his rich baritone warm to her ears. “Yes and no.”

      She glanced up, seeking clarification, and he chuckled again.

      “Yes, I don’t eat like this every day, and no, I don’t exercise. At least not too strenuously or every day.”

      Some people got all the luck. Today Peter wore a black mock turtleneck that hugged his abs and he didn’t show an ounce of fat.

      He leaned toward Allie. “It’s evident you work out.”

      “Thank you.” At least Peter had noticed her weight loss since college. The approval in his eyes was the payoff for her hours in the gym, and she took a moment to enjoy the compliment.

      “I understand you’re not seeing anyone right now.”

      Allie almost choked on her omelet. She patted her lips with the napkin. “I don’t have time.”

      “I’ve heard that, too. I don’t even know how you have time for the gym.” Peter used his fingers to count. “Teacher, counselor and Sarah told me you mentor some of the children who come into the shelter. And now you’ve added foster parenting to the mix?”

      Peter had been doing his homework on her. “I like working with kids—it’s probably in my genes. Just like with Clint. Watching Mom and Dad take in foster kids influenced both of us. He works with kids at the Boys and Girls Club, and I do what I do. But, because I am busy, I’ve asked to be considered only for school-age children.”

      She paused as the waiter appeared at their table and whisked the empty plates away. “But that’s enough talk about me,” Allie said after he left. “How did you get into social work?”

      Peter shrugged. “Dad wanted me to become a psychiatrist, and I wanted to be a musician.” A wry grin spread across his lips. “We compromised.”

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