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Page 16
“How did your sisters feel?” He placed his hand on the flat of her stomach.
“I don’t remember much about it. They say it was a little strained at first. It was a big change and all that.” Molly covered his hand with hers. “I was one more person to share Mama and Dad’s attention, and my sisters didn’t like it. Not to mention the fact that I was costing a lot of money.”
Sam frowned. “Money?”
“Legal bills. And hospital bills. Family health insurance doesn’t cover expenses for a child you bring home from the hospital because nobody else wanted her.” She stroked the back of his hand. “It wasn’t easy, but Dad and Mama were determined. It took a couple of years before everything was final.”
“And you became a Flynn.”
She grinned at him. “We had a ceremony. Flynns are big on ceremonies.”
“I noticed that.”
“My sisters inducted me into the family.”
“What’s involved in a Flynn family induction?” he asked.
“Well, I can’t tell you all of it. It’s a secret ritual. Outsiders only get the facts when they marry in—or, um, opt in, I guess, like I did.”
“There’s a ritual?” He sounded nervous. “My sisters’ husbands all survived it unscathed. I assure you, it’s not that bad.”
“I see.” Sam leaned back against the pillows. “And from that day forward, you felt like a Flynn.”
“Well, no, not really,” Molly confessed. Those had been confusing times for her, difficult times. Times when she’d wondered what had made her birth mother decide to leave her behind in a hospital. “It took me awhile. I worried a lot while growing up that if I screwed up too bad, they’d send me back.” She gave him a dry look. “I’m sure this will come as a complete shock to you, but I’m pretty good at screwing up.”
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t say.”
“I was stressed about it for a long time.”
“What changed your mind?”
“The day I totaled Dad’s new car. He’d had it a week. I was driving to school to pick up Colleen. I had friends in the car even though I wasn’t supposed to. I got distracted and went off the road. Thank God nobody was seriously hurt. The car, though…” She shrugged. “Let’s just say there’s a reason I drive a twenty-year-old Beetle.”
“I’ve seen you drive,” he told her. “I know why.”
Molly gave him a playful swat. “I figured for sure that the car was going to be the last straw. I mean, with your own kids, you sort of have this built-in life contract thing, but when the kids are somebody else’s—well, I wasn’t sure the same rules applied.”
“You were what, sixteen, by then?”
“A few days over sixteen. I’d had my license less than a week.”
He tilted his head. “You were still afraid of being sent away eleven years after your parents adopted you?”
“It wasn’t their fault, Sam. I just couldn’t get over the fact that my birth mother dropped me off at a hospital and never, to my knowledge, even tried to find out if I was okay.”
He scrubbed at his day’s growth of whiskers. Molly found it unbearably sexy to hear the rough sound against his hand. “I can understand that,” he told her.
She forged ahead. “Wrecking the car was a water-shed event. I figured out that unconditional love doesn’t mean you never get angry—Dad was plenty angry. It just means you don’t give up. Not ever. I found an incredible sense of security in knowing that when my family took me in and made me a Flynn, as far as they were concerned, the contract was binding. No backing out. No escape clause. No money-back guarantee.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Molly squeezed his hand. “Taylor and Ben feel that way about you, Sam.”
He gave her a shrewd look. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s the way they talk to you, the way they talk about you. It’s family. I happen to be an expert on the subject of family. I know one when I see one.”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you how I’m feeling about all this?”
“No. I don’t need to know how you feel.”
He rolled his head to the side with an incredulous look. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” she assured him.
“Women always want to know how men feel.”
“That’s a disgusting generalization, Sam. I gave you more credit than that.”
“In my experience,” he clarified, “women always want to know how men feel.”
Molly clucked her tongue. “Then it’s your fault for getting involved with crummy women.”
Sam searched her face. Molly wondered if he found what he was looking for. “Then why did you tell me that story?” he finally asked.
She set her mug on the nightstand, cleared the breakfast tray and turned to him. “Because. I wanted you to know how I feel.” Her fingers went to the buttons of her pajama top.
He definitely looked interested. “Oh?”
“Mm-hmm.” She flicked open the top two buttons. Sam started working at the bottom buttons. “I feel,” Molly said, “that I have an article to write today with a four o’clock deadline, and that if I want to make love to you again, we’d better get to it.”
Sam stared at her a moment, astonished, then started to laugh. “Molly—”
She slipped out of the pajama top. “Come on, Sam. I realize the cow pajamas may not have put you in the—” She squealed when he deftly rolled to his side and slid her beneath him in a move of seamless and effortless grace.
“It might surprise you to learn, Ms. Flynn,” he said, his lips pressed to her ear, “that I find cow-print pajamas unbearably sexy.”
“Sam—”
He nipped the spot beneath her ear, making her moan. “It’s true,” he whispered. “I’ve been aching for you since you plopped that breakfast tray on my lap.”
Molly wound her arms around his neck. “Oh, good,” she said. “And here I was worried that I wouldn’t have time to seduce you before I had to get to my story.”
“BECAUSE, TAYLOR,” Sam told his sister patiently on the phone later that afternoon, “I haven’t asked the woman to marry me.” Having met Molly and the Flynns at the duck races, Taylor had wasted no time pressing forward with her usual agenda. She’d called Sam to ensure that Molly was coming to his party. He’d assured her she was. She also wanted to know whether she could begin discussing Sam’s wedding plans. He’d assured her she could not.
Sam had left Molly’s house that morning before noon, knowing she had a deadline to meet and that there’d be four days of work in his inbox. Once at the office he’d been unable to concentrate. In fact, he’d restrained himself from calling her that afternoon. He felt foolish and more than a little unsettled that his apparently unrelenting hunger for her had not been assuaged during the night—or this morning.
Thoughts of the morning had a predictable effect on him. He’d never known flannel pajamas could be so sexy. Of course, it probably wasn’t the flannel pajamas as much as what was under the pajamas. After weeks of speculating about Molly’s lingerie, Sam had been gratified to learn that he still had keen instincts. Yesterday, under her sweatshirt and jeans, she’d worn a lemon-yellow bra and panty set to the duck races. Yellow, he guessed, for ducks. On some women, the color might have looked harsh, but on Molly the warm hue did something wonderful and unpredictable to her skin. This morning, as the cow-print pajamas were coming off, Sam had discovered a pair of coral lace panties that accented her freckles and her rich red hair. His head had spun.
He wondered if Molly knew how this newfound knowledge would torture him in the days ahead. How would he stand sitting across from her in a meeting knowing—
“Sam—” Taylor insisted. “Sam, are you still there?”
Sam shut his eyes in frustration. He’d snatched up the phone before the second ring, hopeful that Molly was calling to tell him she’d finished her article on the duck races. He had not been in the mood for Taylor’s well-intentione
d meddling. “Yeah,” he told her as he shoved aside a stack of financial reports. “I’m here.”
“I like her,” Taylor said. “I like her a lot.”
“You like the fact that you think she got the better of me with that ad.”
“It didn’t hurt,” his sister admitted. “But it’s more than that. She’s—real. I never really thought that about Pamela.”
Sam didn’t want to think about Pamela. Somehow, the idea of comparing Molly to Pamela left a bad taste in his mouth. “Molly and Pamela don’t have much in common,” he agreed.
“Except for you,” Taylor pointed out. “They both attracted you.”
Not really, Sam thought wearily. Pamela had been convenient and appropriate—precisely the kind of woman a Reed should marry. After Ben’s very public engagement, Sam had felt drawn to Pamela’s suitability. Too bad, he thought bitterly, he’d nearly missed her more obvious flaws. “Look,” he told his sister, “I lost a lot of time last week. I don’t mean to rush you, but—”
“Speaking of last week,” his sister interrupted. “Have you heard from Rhea again?”
“No,” Sam said flatly. He had not spoken to his mother since their heated discussion on Friday afternoon.
“Did you decide what you’re going to do?”
“Not yet.” Fresh in his mind was the healing memory of Molly’s arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist and of the very real sense that he finally belonged somewhere. Rhea’s threats had faded somewhat in the face of making love to Molly Flynn. Another miracle, Sam mused, to add to his list of things to ponder later.
“You want my opinion?” Taylor asked.
“Aren’t you going to give it to me whether I want it or not?”
“Probably.”
He sighed. “Then go ahead.”
“I think you should tell her to stick it.”
Sam thought that over. “You know what’ll happen, Taylor.”
“She’ll call the tabloids. Big deal. Don’t you remember last month when they announced that soap star was the child of alien parents? Nobody takes that stuff seriously, Sam.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’d still rather avoid having to tromp through the mud.”
“I know, but if you buy her off, she’ll come back again. Whatever Daddy gave her obviously didn’t do the trick.”
Sam mentally squashed his frustration. He couldn’t—nor did he want—to explain to his sister why his mother’s extortion attempt was taking such a toll on him. Briefly, he remembered Molly telling him about her experience with the Flynns. What Molly didn’t understand was that she’d had the advantage of a family that had allowed her to assimilate. Sam hadn’t. “You may be right,” he told Taylor, hoping to head off another lecture.
Taylor’s sigh was exasperated. “Well, whatever you do, please make sure you discuss it with me and Ben first. You know we’re on your side, Sam.”
“Sure,” he said noncommittally. “And you’re bringing Molly to the party?” Taylor prompted.
“Yes. I’m bringing her to the party.”
“You sound worried,” she said. “What have you got to be worried about?”
“You know how I feel about this party.”
“Oh, pooh, Sam. You’re thrilled and you know it.”
He didn’t argue. He’d given up weeks ago. “I’m just not sure Molly will enjoy herself.”
“Not enjoy—you think she’s going to be put off by us when we’re all together, don’t you?”
“Taylor,” he said with strained patience, “when have you ever known me to worry about something like that?”
“You are worried. Why?”
When he didn’t respond, Taylor continued, “I mean, she’s already met Mother and Aunt Margaret. That went all right, didn’t it?”
“As well as could be expected, I guess.”
“I talked to Mother before the duck races. She said Margaret found Molly charming. Mother seemed to like her, too.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really concerned about what the Reeds think of the women in my life.”
“I know, I know. It’s got more to do with her than it has with us.”
“Not all of you,” Sam conceded.
“Sam,” his sister said thoughtfully, “you’re really serious about her, aren’t you?”
“Don’t read anything into this,” he warned.
“You’ve never really cared before whether they met your family or not.”
“Molly’s different.”
“I’ll say.”
“She’s not used to the kind of environment we live in, Taylor. Payne may only be an hour and a half from Boston, but in some respects, it’s a world away.”
“I know that, but I have it on very good authority, Sam, that most people consider Reed males to be very good catches. Molly may be from a small town, but she’s in publishing, for God’s sake. She’s got to know who we are.”
“Oh, she knows.”
“Then I can’t imagine that she’ll be put off by meeting your family.”
“She won’t be put off,” he assured his sister. Molly struck him as the kind of woman who was comfortable just about anywhere. She liked herself. She was proud of her life and her family and it showed. Sam, who had come by his own personal acceptance through a tougher-than-usual route, admired her for that. He couldn’t really explain his reluctance. It had nothing to do with Molly’s ability to adapt, and much more to do with what she might think of him when it was over.
Not wanting to contemplate the implications of that, Sam abruptly closed the subject. “I’ve already told you she’s planning on coming,” he said to his sister. “That’ll have to be enough.”
His remark seemed to appease her. “That’s fair enough.”
“Thank God.”
Taylor laughed. “Oh, don’t be so sour,” she chided him. “You know I wouldn’t nag if I didn’t care about you.”
“You’re meddling, Taylor.”
“Of course I’m meddling, Sam. It’s what I do.”
“And you excel at it,” he said. “Just like everything else.”
“If I excelled at it, darling, I’d have managed to get both my older brothers married years ago.”
“Point well taken,” Sam said smoothly. “If there’s nothing else—”
“There’s one more thing. Amy and I talked on the ride back yesterday about calling Molly this week and seeing if we could get together for a girl’s day. I think we’d all enjoy the chance to get to know one another a little.”
“Taylor—”
“I need her number,” his sister broke in. “Or should I just wait and call her at the office tomorrow?”
Sam had a strong suspicion that Molly’s idea of girl stuff would not entail the day at the spa he was certain his sister had in mind. Molly was not the primping type. But he’d let her cross that bridge with his sister. “She’s on deadline today,” he explained. “I’d try her tomorrow.”
“You think she’ll go?”
“No,” he said. “She’s not going to take a day off to go shopping. She’s married to the newspaper.”
Taylor laughed. “For now she is.”
“What do you mean ‘for now?”’
“If I have my way, Sam, it won’t be long before she’s married to you.”
“WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?” Colleen held up a dress for Molly’s inspection.
Molly wrinkled her nose. “Bad cut.” It was Wednesday afternoon. Molly had met her sister for lunch every day that week in search of a dress for Sam’s party. She couldn’t decide whether she felt guiltier about wasting the time shopping, or about the relentless need she felt to find a dress. In her life, Molly couldn’t remember worrying about clothes except for her sister Eileen’s wedding. Eileen had chosen lime-green bridesmaid dresses. Everyone worried about the clothes at Eileen’s wedding.
Colleen returned the dress to the rack and held up another. “You’re never this picky,” she pointed out.
Colleen showed Molly yet another choice. “This?”
The dress had ruffles. Molly hadn’t worn ruffles since first grade. She glared at Colleen. “What are you thinking?”
“Okay, okay. I quit. We’re not going to find whatever it is you’re looking for here.”
Or probably anywhere, Molly thought glumly. Sighing, she glanced quickly at her watch. “I’ve got to go back to the office anyway. I’ve got a four o’clock deadline.”
“Okay. Same time tomorrow?”
“The party’s Friday.”
“I told you, I have that amber dress you can borrow. You’ve always liked it.”
“On you. I’ve always liked it on you.”
“What’s wrong with the brown one you bought a couple of years ago?”
“I wear it to funerals,” Molly said. “It’s a funeral dress.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I’m not wearing a funeral dress to Sam’s birthday party.”
Colleen gave her a shrewd look. “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you—”
“That I’m making too big a deal of this? Yes, as a matter of fact it has.”
Colleen blinked. “Oh.”
“Surprised?”
Her sister nodded as they walked toward the door. “In my experience, you’re usually the last to know when you’re about to wade in too deep.”
Molly pushed open the glass door and emerged onto the busy sidewalk. The wind had picked up, so she wrapped her fleece jacket around her. “You think I’m in too deep with Sam?” Colleen hesitated. “What?” Molly pressed her. “You were going to say something.”