by N. Raines
That third cup of breakfast coffee had been a big mistake. But maybe she shouldn't blame the coffee for her jangling nerves as she drove to Shankey's. It was more likely Rick Russo, lounging beside her in the passenger seat, who had her so jittery. The aroma of bacon emanating from his sandwich filled the cab of her F-150.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Conversation might distract her. "Did you finally get hold of your landlord?" she asked.
"Yeah, the door's back on its hinges. Still got the same old shitty lock."
Sam frowned. "Really? That's not good. What if the creeps come back?"
"Why would they? There's nothing left for them to steal." He turned his gaze out the side window.
She gripped the steering wheel tightly, irked by his nonchalance. Typical guy, taking chances with his safety, convinced he could handle anything, that nothing could hurt him.
Sam wanted to kick herself for caring. He wasn't her responsibility. She might have had a crush on Rick long ago, but today she barely knew the guy. Anyway, she had enough to do just worrying about her dad, another guy who thought nothing could hurt him.
Rick turned to her. "About the other night. The party. I was a dick. Chalk it up to too much beer and self-pity. I'm sorry."
She thought about saying, "That's all right," but changed her mind. "Thanks." But what did he mean about self-pity? Why would he have any reason to feel sorry for himself?
They finally arrived at Shankey's. Sam found herself admiring Rick's broad back and shoulders as he lifted the bag of cat food from the truck bed. She shook her head to clear it. Get it together, Sam. Any minute you'll start drooling.
Sam retrieved the humane trap. "We caught two of the kittens yesterday. Now we just have to get the mom and the rest of the babies."
In the lot, Rick poured out piles of cat food. When the cats started eating, he pulled the bacon sandwich from the pocket of his hoodie. Boss cat Big Boy strolled past the other cats, ignoring the kibble. He stood in front of Rick and stared at the sandwich.
The waxed paper crinkled as Rick unwrapped his breakfast. "What's with you, cat? Oh, you want what I got? You got your own food."
The cat didn't budge. Rick shrugged and bit into the sandwich.
"Shoo. Go on," he told Big Boy as the cat continued to stare. He glanced at Sam. "What's with him?"
"Seriously?" She smirked. "Would you want kibble if you could have bacon?"
"Yeah, well, he's not getting mine. Too bad for you, catso." Rick took another bite and smacked his lips. "Mmm, so good." He gave an exaggerated moan of delight.
Sam shook her head. The guy didn't know who he was screwing with. "Don't tease him."
But Rick didn't listen. He made more appreciative noises, really rubbing it in. "Bacon." The big cat's tail swished.
"You better watch it," Sam warned.
He waved the sandwich over the cat's head. Big Boy hunkered down. The fur on his back rippled.
"Bayyconnn…ow! Hey!" In a blink, the cat leaped, raced straight up Rick's torso, onto his chest, and over his shoulder. Rick stumbled back, tripped, and fell flat on his ass. The remains of the sandwich flew into the air and landed in the dirt. Big Boy pounced on it and scrambled away, a strip of bacon dangling between his teeth.
Rick sat there, his mouth hanging open. "What the hell happened?"
Sam bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You messed with Big Boy. Bad move."
He blinked, shook his head as if dazed. "He stole my sandwich. Dumb cat."
She snorted. "Big Boy takes no prisoners. And, you know. Bacon." Then, concerned he might be hurt, she held out her hand to help him up. "You okay? Did he scratch you?"
Red-faced, he waved away her offer of help and stood on his own. Once on his feet, he wiped his hands on his sweatshirt. "I'm fine." He grinned. "Guess I had it coming."
By the time they finished their rounds and set out the Havahart, the morning had warmed up. Rick pulled off his hoodie, revealing a few spots of red blooming on his light gray T-shirt.
Sam winced. "The cat did a number on you. When we get back, make sure you wash those scratches out good."
He shrugged her concerns away. "They're not that bad."
She rolled her eyes. "Gah. Do you have to be such a guy?"
"'Scuse me?"
She puffed out her chest and swaggered in her best imitation of a macho man. "I'm tough. I'm hard. Nothing hurts me."
His eyes narrowed. "I can handle a few cat scratches."
"Whatever." Sam pressed her lips tight as they headed for the truck. She said nothing more to him on the drive home.
It was a different story, though, when they got to her place. As soon as she descended from the cab, she said, "Go inside and clean up those scratches. I mean it."
Rick opened his mouth, ready to argue, then huffed a laugh. "You gonna keep nagging me until I do?"
She planted her fists on her hips. "Anytime a woman tells a man to do something he's not smart enough to do on his own, you guys call it nagging."
His mouth twisted into a smirk. "And what do you women call it?"
"We call it getting your head out of your ass."
He laughed out loud at that. "Okay, boss. I won't argue." He turned and headed into the house.
"And use some antiseptic," she called as he walked away. "It's in the medicine cabinet."
When she got to the kitchen, Sam remembered she'd used the antiseptic cream last night when she cut her finger on a cat-food can. She'd forgotten to return the tube to the bathroom. There it lay, right on the kitchen counter where she'd left it.
Rick would need this. She picked up the ointment and carried it to the downstairs bathroom with Blackberry at her heels. She only intended to tap on the door and quickly hand him the medicine. But Rick hadn't bothered to close the door. He'd taken off his shirt, and the sight of him without it stopped Sam in her tracks.
He didn't notice her at first as he rubbed a soapy washcloth on his chest. And, God, what a chest. As impressive as it was clothed, naked it was…amazing. His shoulders were broad and sturdy. The smooth muscles of his chest, covered lightly with dark hair, tapered down to a tight belly. His skin was a light golden color. For a moment Sam forgot to breathe as she imagined how warm and supple it would feel to her touch.
Those thoughts fled when Rick lifted the washcloth to reveal the wicked red streaks left by Big Boy's claws. Even through a hoodie and T-shirt, the cat had managed to gouge Rick's left nipple.
She sucked in a startled breath. His gaze flew to her.
"It's not that bad," he assured her.
"It looks really painful." She remembered the ointment in her hand and held it out to him. "I brought you this."
"Thanks." He fumbled for a moment with the washcloth, then laid it in the sink. He reached for the towel hanging on the rack.
She stopped him. "Let me get a clean one."
She took a fresh towel from the linen cabinet and gently blotted his wound.
"I'll get it bloody," he murmured.
"Shush. Doesn't matter." Sam winced as she gently patted the towel against his flat, copper-colored nipple.
The cat, who'd been circling their feet, hopped to the closed toilet seat, and watched them with wide eyes.
Rick gave Blackberry a look. "'S'up, you little snoop?"
Without thinking, Sam took the tube from his hand, squeezed a blob of ointment onto her finger, and dabbed it along the raw, red marks on his chest. Concentrating on her task, it wasn't until she smoothed it on his nipple that she realized she was touching him. She hesitated as a wave of heat flashed through her and a film of perspiration popped out on her hairline. She felt him watching her but was afraid to meet his eyes. Her heart beat a tom-tom in her ears.
His skin felt so warm under her touch. Her fingers tingled. Suddenly she was aware of how close they were. She only needed a half step more to be in his arms…
She lifted her gaze and found herself staring into his deep brown eyes, unable to break the connection between the
m. He covered her hand, pressing it to his chest. To his heart.
Blackberry suddenly thumped down to the floor, slipping between their legs as she scampered out the door.
It was enough to startle Sam out of her daze. What am I doing? Have I lost it?
She snatched her hand from his grasp. She had to clear her throat before she could speak, and even then her voice wobbled. "How's your back? Did he get that too?"
"Don't know." Rick shook his head slowly as though trying to clear it. "I haven't, uh, haven't checked."
"Turn around." She'd be all business from now on. Damn it. "Let me see."
When he turned, she surveyed his wide shoulders.
"You see anything?" he asked.
"No scratches. You're good."
"Cool. Thanks." He grabbed his shirt from the towel rack, where he'd draped it. It was then she had a good look at the letters tattooed down the length of his left forearm. She'd noticed it before, but just in passing.
On his arm were two stark words in black ink. No Promises.
Though she had no tats of her own, several coworkers did. From the way Rick's skin was peeling, she recognized his was a fairly new ink job.
Sam met his gaze in the mirror over the sink. "Interesting tat."
His eyes went flat and cold.
Without answering, he pulled the tee over his head. Sam wanted to smooth his rumpled hair, but the chill in his eyes warned her to keep her distance.
No Promises. What did it mean?
He took the antiseptic from her and placed it in the medicine cabinet. "Thanks."
By the time she replied, "You're welcome," he was already gone.
****
She went upstairs and changed into her scrubs for work. When she entered the kitchen, Rick and Pop were sitting at the table, drinking reheated breakfast coffee and talking like best buds.
She avoided looking at Rick. Her skin still tingled from his touch. Her legs felt shaky as she thought of their near kiss. And her pride burned when she remembered how completely he'd blown her off when she mentioned his tattoo.
She nodded to her father. "Okay, Pop. I'll see you later."
Rick frowned. "You working? On a Sunday?"
"Sure. We're an emergency clinic, open weekends, nights, all that."
"Emergency, huh?"
Something in his tone made her look at him. "Uh, yeah." Her glance bounced away. She scooped up her keys and scooted out the door. Chicken.
As she climbed into the truck, her phone buzzed. It was Britt. "Hey, what's up?"
"Nothing much," Britt answered. "Just wanted to thank you for taking Rick home the other night. I know I kind of roped you into it."
"Well, it turned out to be a pretty interesting night." She gave Britt a quick rundown of the evening's events, including the break-in above the Laundromat.
"Oh my God," Britt said. "Someone broke into his place? And you took him to your house? What did Uncle Jay say to that?"
"Uncle Jay slept across from him in the big chair, guarding my honor." Though Britt couldn't see it, Sam rolled her eyes.
"Oh, man. Bet he loved that."
"No big thing. Pop had a grand old time busting his balls the next morning." She couldn't keep herself from asking, "What does he do for a living?"
"He's a paramedic. That's what I last heard. My mom and his still keep in touch."
A paramedic. "He said he's got time off from his job. Know anything about that?"
"No. He told you that?" Britt's voice went up an octave in surprise. "You know more than I do, then. I mean, we haven't been in touch for years, and then out of the blue he sends me a friend request on Facebook. Then he comes to my party and spends most of it out on the back porch with a couple six-packs. And don't think Morgan didn't have plenty to say about that." Britt's voice went soft. "Tell you the truth, I don't get it. He's just not the guy I remember. He's changed."
True. But why the change? And why did he want to reconnect with Britt now, of all times?
She remembered the conversation she'd overheard while hiding in the broom closet. "Do you think…?"
"What?"
"Do you think he still has feelings for you?" A needle of jealousy jabbed her. What was wrong with her? She had no right to feel that way.
"Seriously? After all this time? No, no way. Oh, just a heads-up," Britt added. "You'll be getting an invitation to Morgan's graduation party. She wants you to come."
"That's nice of her."
"It's at her parents' snooty country club, so it'll be formal dress. I just wanted to give you advance warning. I know how much you love to dress up."
Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, I might just have to be sick that night." But it was more than a joke. She'd never told Britt, never told anyone, about the one time she'd tried to girl it up and had been humiliated.
"Don't you dare," Britt said. "Her parents already don't like the idea of their darling daughter seeing someone who's not in their social set. I need someone on my side."
"Okay, okay." Much as she dreaded such an event, she'd brave it for her cousin, who was her best friend and always had her back.
"I'll go shopping with you, help you pick out something hot."
"I don't care about hot. I just don't want people laughing at me."
"What?" Britt sounded bewildered. "Who's going to laugh?"
Sam heard Cody's voice again, pictured the smirk on his face. "Wow, Sam. Is it Halloween and nobody told me? Who are you supposed to be?"
Hot shame flooded through her as she remembered his cutting words and mocking laugh. But it had been her own fault, trying to be something she wasn't. Cody hadn't been attracted to her. He'd never considered her girlfriend material.
"Nothing," she muttered. "Never mind."
"I'll do your makeup too. It'll be fun."
Yeah, real fun. All Sam wanted now was to get off the phone. "Okay. Gotta go now. Talk to you soon."
She ended the call.
Her thoughts strayed to Rick, who was still in the kitchen, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze with Pop. How would he react if she showed up at his door, dressed to the nines and made up?
Would he joke about it being Halloween?
Or would he tell her she looked hot and invite her in?
Sam ground her teeth and turned the key in the ignition. Who cares?
Chapter Five
When Sam got home from work, Pop wasn't there. Sunday afternoons he sometimes walked down to the neighborhood bar and grill to watch the game on the big screen and hang with a few buddies. But he was always back by suppertime.
She changed out of her work clothes and came back downstairs. Glancing out the kitchen window, she saw the overhead garage door was open. So that was where he was. She frowned and hustled out the door.
Her father was leaning against the garage wall, admiring his baby: a light blue 1957 Ford Thunderbird. Pop was always quick to correct her and insist the color was actually Starmist Blue. Whatever.
She hoped he wasn't doing anything more than admiring the T-bird. He wasn't supposed to be working on it when she wasn't around to supervise. She had to make sure he didn't do anything too strenuous. Her eyes narrowed in disapproval when she saw the T-bird's hood had been popped and stood open. "What are you doing in here?"
"She's a beauty, Jay."
Sam's mouth dropped open when Rick stepped from behind the hood. He nodded a greeting. "Uh, hi," she stammered. He'd been here all day?
"I'm just showing Rick here my Ellie May." Pop's cheeks were ruddy with pride. Though Sam had been her father's buddy for fishing trips, hikes, campouts, and the rest while growing up, his love of automobiles was the one thing that eluded her. He'd been a mechanic before moving up the ranks to owning his own garage. After two heart attacks and open-heart surgery, he'd been forced to retire and sell the place to his former head mechanic. Still, Pop hated "sitting at home doing nothing." He found his way down to the old garage two or three days a week to sit in the office, shoot the breeze, a
nd help out with paperwork. But his health issues meant he could no longer do the hands-on work he loved so much.
"It's been a while since I worked on her," Pop said. "I should get back to it, instead of leaving her alone here in the dark."
"Definitely." Rick lowered the hood. "Fix up the engine, give her a paint job—"
"Forget the paint job," Sam put in. "He shouldn't be breathing in those fumes." She wished the stupid car would disintegrate into a pile of rust. It was too big a temptation for Pop. She was half tempted to hire someone to haul it away, but she knew her father would never forgive her.
"He doesn't have to do it himself," Rick said. "He can send it out to get done."
Pop crossed his arms over his chest. "That's right, Sammy."
A spurt of irritation flared in her. It felt like they were ganging up on her. Pop had known Rick Russo all of two days and now they were bros? What gave?
Sam didn't like what she was feeling: a sludgy mixture of annoyance and jealousy. She turned to leave. "Whatever. I'm going to start supper."
"Great," Pop said. "Hey, Rick, you'll stay for supper, won't you?"
Rick glanced at her. "Uh, no. I've taken up too much of your day already."
"What are you talking about? It's been great. Sammy, we went down to Spencer's Tavern, and this guy bought everyone in the house a round."
"There were only three other guys there," Rick explained at her questioning look.
Pop grinned. "We watched a game, had a couple brews, went out for burgers."
Burgers? Terrific. Just the thing for a guy with high cholesterol and heart trouble. "I hope they were veggie burgers," Sam said.
Pop let that pass without comment. "Then we came back here to check out good ol' Ellie May. Had a fine day."
"Yeah." Rick wiped his hands on an old rag. "But I don't want to outstay my welcome."
"It's fine," Sam told him. No point in being a bitch. She ought to be glad her father had someone to hang out with. She knew he got lonely. "I'm just reheating leftover soup. There's plenty, and you're welcome to stay."
****
They lingered over coffee and homemade peanut-butter cookies. Rick was on his third. "These are awesome."
"Sammy's a good cook." Pop smiled at her proudly. "She takes after her mother that way. She made the soup too."
