by A. J. Pine
Delaney’s jaw dropped as they read through the texts together.
Ben: Heard you had your first TKO in the ring today.
Colt: So our stranded guest laid you out pretty good, huh? Let me know if you need me to cover you at the festival opening tomorrow.
Luis: Anna said la chica bella whose car broke down broke your nose! But no worries, compañero. Anna’s the only chica bella for me.
Ben: Wait, she broke your nose? Luis just told me!
Colt: Hey man, let me know if you want me to walk Scout for you.
Pearl: Carter told me about your nose! I’m sorry to say it, Sam, but I think it’s a sign. Be careful with that girl. Any connection to Wade Harper is a bad connection.
Sam quickly closed out of the texting app, and Delaney’s throat tightened.
“Ignore her,” Sam said. “You know Pearl. She’s everyone’s mama whether they want her to be or not. You told me everything I need to know about Wade, right?”
She nodded slowly, reminding herself that Wade was her problem, not Sam’s. The only problem they had to figure out together was the land.
“Then don’t let Pearl get to you,” he said. “She’s just being overprotective.”
Delaney nodded again and forced a smile. “I was in and out of this town faster than you can blink. I didn’t think I left an impression at all, let alone a bad one.” She blew out a breath. “Pearl’s not all wrong, you know. There is the issue of the land.”
He shook his head. “We’re not talking about that now. We agreed. We can’t do anything about it until next week, so let’s enjoy ourselves and deal with it then.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. He was right. But if she was being totally honest with herself, it felt kind of crappy that he could so easily detach from a life-changing issue—from her. Plus Pearl’s comment niggled at her. She didn’t want to prove the woman right by waltzing into town and ultimately wreaking havoc in Sam’s carefully built life. No matter what happened with the land, Delaney wanted to leave some sort of impression on Sam that showed how much she cared about him.
“Have you ever thought about getting tested?” she asked after a long pause. “So you wouldn’t have to wonder how your future might turn out?”
Sam’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel harder, but he forced a smile.
“Now where’s the enjoyment in that, Vegas?” he asked.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sam, please,” she said softly. “I just want you to be happy. But in the two days I’ve known you, I’ve watched you run yourself ragged with the ranch and beat a speed bag senseless when work wasn’t enough to distract you. I know it’s scary to see what life might look like for you one day, but the not knowing…” She laid her hand on his arm.
The truck came to a stop in front of the registration cabin, the vehicle idling.
Sam pulled himself from her gentle grip and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m not looking to be your next project, Delaney.”
Delaney. Not Vegas.
She flinched at the sound of her own name.
“That’s not what I—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Really?” he said, his tone biting. “You married a man who wasn’t up to snuff and thought you could fix him. Now you’re getting tangled up with me. I may be different than Wade in a lot of ways, but I’m just as much of a mess. The only difference is I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”
The words hit her like an uppercut right to the jaw. Maybe she pushed when she shouldn’t have, but defensive Sam was not a Sam she liked.
She sniffed back the threat of tears and held her head high. “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said. “Maybe I was out of line. But that doesn’t give you the right to box me up and throw on a label like you know exactly who I am.”
He wouldn’t look at her and instead stared straight out the windshield. They just sat there in the aching silence for what felt like days. Finally, Sam glanced at the clock on his phone. “Dinner starts soon. I’m sure you’re hungry,” he said, a hint of defeat in his tone. “I’m going to head inside and get dressed.”
He hopped out of the truck without another word, leaving her there to wonder how she’d let herself believe that she could keep from getting emotionally involved. Because she was one big basket of emotions right now, and that basket said Sam Callahan all over it.
It was one thing to be an outsider in a town she’d once hoped to call home. But Sam Callahan had an impeccable knack for making her feel welcome one minute and like he wished she’d never step foot in Meadow Valley the next.
Of course, she had the impeccable knack for saying whatever the heck she felt whenever she felt like saying it, which wasn’t her most ingratiating quality.
“Damn it,” she mumbled. After the day he’d had—from his father’s episode to her delivering her best right hook to his face—she maybe should have cut him some slack. And he maybe shouldn’t have retaliated with hurtful anger.
She exited the vehicle and strode through the registration cabin’s door to find Scout curled up on the rug in front of the check-in desk, Sam’s office door wide open, but no Sam to be found.
Scout’s ears perked up when the door clicked shut behind Delaney.
“Hey, girl,” she said, squatting in front of the animal as she basked in the pool of sun on the rug.
Scout sprang to her feet at the sound of Delaney’s voice, tail wagging as Delaney gave her a good scratch behind both ears.
“Where is that human of yours, huh?” she asked. “I’m getting awfully tired of his disappearing act. Plus, I sort of owe him an apology.”
Scout gave her a sloppy wet kiss right on her cheek, and Delaney laughed.
“You think you could tell me where he is?”
Scout danced back and forth in front of the desk, then scrambled down a narrow hallway to the right, where she wagged her tail proudly in front of a door.
Delaney blew out a breath. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you out,” she said. Looked like all Scout really knew how to communicate was whether she was hungry or needed to do her business. So Delaney opened the door she assumed led to the back of the cabin and jumped when she realized it was, instead, what looked like an apartment.
Scout scrambled inside. From behind an interior door, Delaney heard music blaring. She didn’t recognize the tune but could tell it was classic rock.
Sam.
She set her bag on the round wooden table that sat outside a small galley kitchen. Scout ran into the kitchen and whined at something on the counter. Delaney found a canister of dog treats sitting just above Scout’s head, so she took the liberty of giving her one as thanks for leading her to Sam.
She’d give him his space while he drowned out the rest of the world with his playlist. But she wasn’t leaving without apologizing for putting her foot in her mouth. They’d agreed to go the week without letting reality ruin a good thing. After all, they only had next week, and the thought of spending it without Sam? Well, it was a thought she certainly didn’t want to think. So she collapsed onto a chair at the table and decided to wait.
She scanned the apartment’s surroundings—a rustic wooden coffee table framed by a tan sectional. A modest flat-screen television was bolted to the wall above a short bookcase with shelves boasting everything from DVDs to books to the occasional picture frame. DVDs? Really? Didn’t everyone stream movies these days? She laughed. The place was sparse but at the same time homey, much like her room in the guest quarters. She guessed that was Sam’s design, and she felt that much closer to him knowing this.
She left her spot and strolled cautiously toward the bookshelves, lowering herself to her knees once she got there.
It wouldn’t be snooping to look at the pictures, right? After all, pictures were on display because they were meant to be seen. Anyone Sam invited into his living space would also be invited to view what was on display. So she wasn’t exactly invited inside. She wasn’t uninvited either
.
The first frame she grabbed was one of Scout sitting in the bed of Sam’s truck, staring right at the camera as if she knew she was the star of the show. In Sam Callahan’s life, Delaney guessed that was exactly what Scout was.
The second frame was of a woman and two young boys outside, stretched out on a blanket staring up at the stars. Absent was the photographer, who she guessed was Sam’s father, realizing the boys were unmistakably younger versions of him and Ben. She picked it up and traced a finger lightly over the outline of the taller boy’s frame, knowing it was Sam. He looked so happy. They all did. It broke her heart to know that the family no longer existed in this capacity—that he kept the photo on display, even now.
This was an invasion. She hadn’t meant it to be, but now it was.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and put the photo back on the shelf before pushing herself to her feet. That was when she spotted the black file folder on top of the shelf, its existence camouflaged against the dark wood. The label on it read Alzheimer’s Articles.
“You might as well read what’s inside.”
She yelped at the sound of Sam’s voice, turning to find him standing right next to her. She hadn’t realized the music had stopped, or heard the door open.
“My heart just leapt all the way up my throat,” she said.
He stood there in a black Rolling Stones concert T-shirt and well-worn but clean pair of jeans, dusty work boots on his feet. She guessed he was ready to throw himself back into work.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snoop. And you don’t really think I was going to read a private file, do you?”
He shrugged, his expression impassive. “You barged into my apartment, gave my dog an unearned treat, and are clearly nosing through my stuff. The thought did cross my mind.”
Delaney narrowed her eyes at Scout, who lay curled on the ceramic tile floor, the telltale crumbs framing her muzzle.
“She earned it,” Delaney said with a pout. “And I’m not nosing. Photographs are fair game.”
He grabbed the folder and handed it to her. “Go ahead. Proof I’m not living my life as some sort of distraction from my inevitable future.” He backed toward the sectional and sat down on the edge.
Delaney shook her head. “That’s not why I barged in here.” She groaned. “I mean, I didn’t barge. You were right. We made an agreement to enjoy the week, and I get that a slew of things that happened to you today—minus what happened in my room, because I think we can both agree that was pretty spectacular—were pretty much crap. I came to find you to apologize.”
He scratched the back of his neck and sighed.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” he said. “You might have overstepped, but you didn’t deserve what I said about you making me your project. You haven’t had the easiest time of it either. But I’m not used to letting anyone else see this much. Hell, not even my brother has witnessed our father standing on a table and threatening to use a board game as a weapon. I don’t know how to do this.”
She sat down on the floor and crossed her legs, dropping the folder onto her lap.
“Do what?” she asked.
“Let someone in.”
She laughed. “Actually, I let myself in.”
This, at least, got him to smile. “Read it,” he said. “It’s okay. Someone else might as well know.”
So she opened the folder, first to a printout of an online article about genetic testing and counseling. He’d included the comments, one by a person who was thrilled to have tested negative only to find out her sister tested positive. Another commenter was awaiting results, claiming if he had the gene mutation he wasn’t going to have children for fear of passing it on.
There was a second printout outlining statistics for each possible gene mutation. Sometimes the inheritance skipped a generation, while at the same time having a parent with any of the mutations meant that the child or children of that parent had a 50 percent chance of also having the gene. Those with early-onset Alzheimer’s could start exhibiting symptoms as early as their thirties.
“Oh, Sam,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes burning. “I had no idea.”
For the first time since she’d met him, she saw past the rugged exterior—and the recently bruised eye—to what lay underneath. Fear. Here was a man who had everything going for him, and his own genetic makeup could snatch it away as early as sometime in the next decade.
“How old was your dad when he was diagnosed?” she asked.
“It’s been about a decade since the official diagnosis, so…forty-eight. But things started going south years before that. We just never thought—I mean, he was so young. He still is. I guess you could call him lucky. His dementia is pretty slow as far as progression. Ben and I moved him into the facility because he wanders off sometimes, and if it’s a bad day, he gets lost. Ben and I just aren’t around enough to keep him safe.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “A lot of what happened between him and my mom had to do with his own damned mind revolting against him. It started with paranoia and strange accusations. He accused my mom of infidelity. He accused me of doing something to his son.”
Her brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
He shook his head. “Neither did I. There was a day my freshman year when I came home from school and he was working out one of the horses we were boarding. When I stepped into the arena to say hi, ask if he needed a hand, he stared at me with this blank expression. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, and I thought he was messing with me. I told him it was me, Sam, and he got angry, asking what I did with his boy. I kept insisting I was me, and he kept yelling until I freaked out and ran into the house. When he followed me in a few minutes later, he was different—upset still, but remorseful. He apologized and blamed it on the sun—said he’d been outside too long and just got a little confused.”
He stared straight at her, his brown eyes fierce with something she hadn’t seen in him before, something she couldn’t name. But what happened to his father—and what could happen to his own future—had broken something inside him.
She dropped the folder onto the floor and rose to her knees in front of him, pressing her palms to his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “You must have been so scared. I know it wasn’t easy to tell me that, but I’m so grateful you did.”
She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay. But she didn’t have the ability to do that. This wasn’t something that could be fixed. He had either one kind of future to look forward to or another.
“I was scared, but also…he was my dad. I trusted him,” he said. “So I didn’t say anything to my brother or my mom. I believed him when I shouldn’t have. Now I wonder what would have happened if I’d told someone. If we’d figured it out sooner.”
She cupped his face in her palms, his stubble rough against her skin. “Hey,” she said. “I don’t know a whole lot about this disease, but I know enough to be certain that you were just a kid who had no idea what he was up against. So whatever happened with him, with your mom? That’s not on you.”
He wrapped his hands around her wrists, gripping her as if she were his lifeline.
“I’m not getting tested,” he said firmly.
Delaney lowered her hands. “But if you knew—”
He shook his head. “My father carries one of the mutations. You read the statistics. That gives me and Ben a one-in-two chance of having it too. That’s pretty crappy odds for both of us. So we decided neither of us would find out. We’d just live our lives until the inevitable happened—or didn’t.”
She glanced around his apartment, at Scout sitting tentatively, watching them, as if she knew any second one of them was going to jump up and take her outside to play.
This was his whole life—the ranch, his dog, and his father.
“I know you have a lot to fulfill you, but is it really living, Sam?”
She thought he was your typical workaholic, throwing
himself into his business because that was all he knew how to do. But it was what he wanted to do. What he needed.
He let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t have a choice whether or not I’ll get the disease. But I do get to choose how I live until I do.”
“If you do,” she argued. “And if you knew, you could prepare. I don’t know how, but there are medications. Diets. There are options, and everyone’s prognosis is different. If you knew—”
“If I knew I had the gene, I’d live my life exactly the same as I am now—keeping my nose to the grindstone, doing what I love, and leaving personal connections at the door.”
His words hit her like a punch to the gut.
She cleared her throat and stood up, brushing nonexistent lint from her dress.
“Delaney, I didn’t mean…” But he didn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes, you did.” She forced a smile. “It’s okay. I get it. This was only ever going to be a weeklong thing anyway. I overstepped, and you set the record straight. End of story.”
What the hell was she thinking, that after who-knew-how-many years of his living with that mentality that she’d come in and change his mind after two days?
“You were right. I’m pretty hungry. I’m going to head to dinner,” she said, and turned toward the door.
“Wait,” he said, his rough hand wrapping around hers. “Please.”
She turned back to him, her heart in her throat.
He was standing now, towering over her with those pleading eyes that just about did her in.
“If I could have dreamed up the kind of girl I’d let myself fall for—”
“She’d have been just like me. Blah, blah, blah. I’m a big girl, Sam. I don’t need you to protect my feelings.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You really are impossible, you know that?”
She opened her mouth to protest again, but he raised a brow, and she thought better of it.
“If I could have dreamed her up,” he started again, “the girl in my head wouldn’t hold a candle to you.”
“Oh,” she said, and that was the extent of her vocabulary.
He slid his fingers into her hair, her head resting against his hands. And then he kissed her, his touch achingly gentle, even as his tongue slid past her parted lips.
