“You’re next.”
Matt Blakefield
choked on the piece of wedding cake he’d been about to swallow. “Not in a
million years.”
His gaze slid
around the table in the inn’s dining room spearing each couple with a glare.
Friends and family had gathered to celebrate this morning’s marriage of his
brother to the mother of his recently discovered son. Since the nine-year-old
was the only other unattached male present, Matt knew the whispered remark had
been addressed to him.
“I have a
friend,” one of his sisters said.
The other grinned.
“She’d be perfect.”
“No sale.” Matt
dropped the napkin on the table.
“Remember the
curse.” Mark grinned. “None of us has escaped.”
Time to hit
the road. With this decision made, as though in answer to his desire,
Matt’s cell phone vibrated. Salvation,
He answered.
“Matt here…You did…Great news…I’m on my way…Yeah today…Doesn’t matter.”
As if he’d stay
here where plans he wanted no part of were being laid. He’d been present for
the important event. There was no reason for him to linger and a huge need to escape.
Although the meeting with the Good Magazine Group’s investigator wasn’t until
Monday morning, Matt seized the opportunity. “Have to leave. Have information
on this year’s make-over house for Good Livin’.”
“On the
weekend?” His father, CEO of the magazine group and recently married to his
teenage sweetheart, arched an eyebrow.
“Yeah. It’s the
Smiton house. You know the one I intend to use as the project for showing
people how to convert a house from energy sucking to energy efficient. Jules
has a line on the owner. I want the contract signed so we can start work.”
His father’s
eyes narrowed. “If there’s a problem find another house. Who knows what
condition the Smiton’s house is in? No one has lived there for years.”
“I checked. The
place is sound.”
“Find a house where
the owners are in residence. They’ll appreciate the free upgrade.”
Matt groaned.
“And spend hours listening to complaints about being inconvenienced or hearing
about changes that won’t work.” Matt pushed to his feet. What he didn’t say was
that he planned to buy and live in the house.
He kissed his
new sister-in-law. “Let Mark spoil you and Davey. My brother has a few years of
making up to do.”
Matt strode to
the coatroom to retrieve his leather jacket and helmet. He’d planned to hang
out here until tomorrow but not with the schemes buzzing in the ladies’ heads.
He leaned over the counter, kissed the middle-aged woman’s cheek and dropped a
ten spot in the tip dish.
He dashed out
the door and down the steps to the parking lot and his bike. As the engine
roared to life the relatives gathered and protests began.
So much for
a quick escape. He braced for the arguments.
“Stay,” his new
sister-in-law called. “You can have one of the cabins all to yourself.”
“We won’t
bother you. I promise,” his step-mother said.
She wouldn’t
but her promise didn’t include his sisters. “Another time.”
“Matt, it’s
going to rain.” The voices of four females rose in a chorus.
“I won’t melt.”
He slipped on his helmet. With a spray of gravel he headed to the road.
Exit Matthew,
fleeing a bunch of women intent on ending his bachelor state.
What about his
father, brother and his sisters’ fiancés. He bet the guys envied his freedom.”
“You’re next.”
Had someone said that or was it his imagination?
He waved. “Not
today. Not this year. Maybe never.” The engine’s roar drowned any comments.
Visions of
being followed by a parade of match-makers crowded his thoughts. Instead of
heading for the interstate he decided to cross from Vermont into upstate New
York. Exploring new territory was a perfect ending to his escape.
Once they’d
found the perfect mate, why did happy couples believe every bachelor should be
part of a twosome? He wasn’t ready to take a wife or enter a long term
situation. He enjoyed his single state and found pleasure with a variety of
women. Granted there’d been a dry spell lately—not his fault. He hadn’t met a
woman who’d tempted him for even a night.
As he sped
along the serpentine roads, a misting rain began. Moments after crossing into
New York the storm turned earnest. Water fell in wind-driven gusts. Thunder
rumbled like a mad drummer played a kettledrum. Lightning streaked across the
sky in a brilliant display. Although the time was late afternoon the darkness
spoke of night.
Time to find
a motel, bed and breakfast or a rustic inn with a room for the night.
He reached a
crossroads and paused to read the signs. The nearest town was fifty miles away.
He dug out his cell. No service. He wiped the face plate of his helmet
and chose a road. The headlights cast a tunnel through the gloom. Shadows
impinged on the narrow band of light. He sent the bike down the road. Off on an
adventure, hopefully with a dry room at the end of the road.
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