“Daddy, will you read to me now?” Emma asked as she came up alongside him and tugged at his pants leg.
“I can’t right now, honey,” he said, pulling one of her thick braids. “I have to get back to the inn. See if they kept my room. But I’ll come back and get you tomorrow, okay?”
Emma scowled up at him and it occurred to Jeff that she looked most like her mother when she got that disapproving expression on her face.
“You shouldn’t go, Daddy. You should stay here. With Mommy and me.”
“Oh . . .” Well, that caught him off guard. And judging by the poleaxed expression on Sam’s face, she was right there with him. But now that Emma’d brought it up, the idea felt . . . good to him. Staying here? Right down a narrow hallway from Sam?
His blood boiled.
“Honey, I don’t know—” Sam gave him a quick look, saw no help there at all, and refocused on Emma.
“Why not?” Emma demanded, turning to look up at her mother. “There’s the other room. Daddy could stay there and then he could read to me at night, too. And you’re the mommy and he’s the daddy and I’m the little girl, so it would be good. Like Isabel says, mommies and daddies most times stay in the same house.”
“Yes,” Sam said. “Most of the time, that’s true, but your daddy and I are—”
“Divorced, but you’re friends, you said.” Emma rushed in to finish Sam’s sentence and leave her mother scrambling for an argument.
Jeff looked at Sam.
Sam looked at Jeff.
Emma looked at both of them.
“Not a good idea,” Sam said.
“Scared?” Jeff asked.
“Oh please.”
“Then why not?”
“Yes, Mommy, why not?”
Seconds ticked past. From down the hall and out in the kitchen, Jeff heard the refrigerator burp and hum. Outside, someone was mowing their lawn. Inside, he waited.
Finally, Sam sighed and threw both hands wide.
Jeff grinned.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m probably crazy, but okay.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You sold it?” Mike couldn’t believe it.
“Well, honey,” Grace said softly, “I didn’t really need the property, although Lucas says it’s fine with him if the goats wander over, which I thought was just lovely of him, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Mike said, nodding her head in a jerky motion that felt as if she were shaking the stones in her head. “Lovely.”
“He’s even thinking of buying the old vineyard property that runs behind the stand of woods.” Grace pulled and tugged at the carded strands of cashmere, smoothing them into perfect alignment.
“The vineyard? He wants to make wine?” He hadn’t looked like a winemaker to Mike. Serial killer, maybe.
“Oh no, dear.” Grace set the wool aside, stood up and smoothed her hands down the front of her pale green slacks. “He said he didn’t know a thing about it, but that he’d always liked grapes.”
“Sure. Don’t buy a bunch of grapes at the market,” Mike muttered darkly, remembering the man with his dark brown eyes and lanky build. “Buy a vineyard so you can eat ’em right off the vine.”
“Exactly.” Grace reached out to pat Mike’s cheek, then stopped and stared at her. “I’m awfully sorry about the land, honey. I had no idea you might be interested in it.”
“My fault,” Mike admitted, her brain wheeling, looking for a way out of this situation. Trying to find some way she could still get her hands on the only piece of land she’d ever wanted. “I should have said something to you years ago, but—” She broke off and wagged her right foot, trying to shake off the goat determined to eat her bootlaces. “You just never seemed like you were in a hurry to sell and—”
“I wasn’t. But that young man has a very . . . persuasive way of speaking,” she said, smiling to herself.
“Oh yeah,” Mike muttered darkly. “He’s a real charmer.”
“I thought so, too.” Grace leaned in and smiled, then bent and pulled the goat off Mike’s foot. “There now, Isabel, you go find something else to eat.”
“Isabel?”
“Emma named her.”
“Ah . . .”
Around them, the job site was bustling. The Gypsies had dinner cooking in several pots hung over fires, and the work crews were sidling close, looking for handouts.
Everything was normal, except for the boulder in the pit of Mike’s stomach. She’d lost out on the property where she’d planned to build herself a house.
Unless . . .
“Maybe he’ll sell it to me.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, dear,” Grace said, reaching up to smooth her snow-white hair unnecessarily. “He seemed very determined to build there. He said he liked the quiet.”
“Great.” Well, this day couldn’t get any better, could it?
“Is your father still here?” Grace asked.
“Somewhere,” Mike muttered.
“I’ll just go find him, then.”
Grace moved off and Mike stood alone in the dappled shade of the maple tree. There had to be a way around Lucas Gallagher.
All she had to do was find it.
The next morning, Sam was still getting used to the fact that Jeff was living in her house. She’d heard him all night. Moving around in the guest room, settling in. And every moment, she was reliving that kiss.
She could almost feel the press of his mouth to hers. Feel the soft sigh of his breath dusting her cheek. Feel the shattering pounding of his heart against hers and the hard, implacable strength of his arms wrapped around her.
With that one kiss, he’d splintered her world.
He’d reminded her of what they’d had. What they’d lost. What she’d have given anything to have again.
Then she’d heard him taking a shower.
Oh, dear Lord, she’d listened to the splash and rush of the water and lain in her own bed, imagining that water pelting off his naked body, sluicing down his chest, across his abdomen and lower and lower.
By the time he’d turned the water off, she was exhausted. Drained. And headed for a long night of little sleep.
Bright and early this morning, she’d dragged herself to the kitchen, peeling her eyes open and propping them up through sheer force of will. It only pissed her off further to see that Jeff looked well rested and entirely too pleased with himself.
He was enjoying this.
Dammit.
“The carnival’s tomorrow,” Sam said, grabbing her cup and filling it to the brim with rich, dark coffee. She paused a moment, inhaled it slowly, deeply, letting the scent of caffeine jolt through her system. She sighed, took her first sip, and then paused again, relishing the near religious experience of that first morning shot of coffee.
“And . . .”
She looked over at Jeff as he picked up Emma’s cereal bowl and walked with it to the sink.
“And,” Sam said, scooting over a bit so that he could stand at the sink without actually brushing against her. It was too early, she was too sleep deprived, and dammit, she was just too . . . edgy to be able to stand it. “Emma’s looking forward to it. We’ll have a picnic and then watch the fireworks.”
He set the bowl down in the sink, then turned, leaned a hip against the edge of the counter and stared down at her. He smiled as she inched farther away and that was enough to stop Sam in her tracks. She wouldn’t let him know just how nervous he made her.
“Sounds like fun.”
She nodded, saying good-bye to the faint notion that he might not want to attend. Of course he would. He’d want to spend the Fourth of July with Emma. “Okay, then. Tomorrow.”
“What about today?”
Sam looked up at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was just too good-looking this early in the morning. That had always been an irritation, as she remembered it. He rolled out of bed looking rumpled and sexy. She rolled out of bed, hair standing on end, eyes bleary.
&n
bsp; More coffee, she told herself firmly. Taking a sip, she swallowed, then staring down at the inky black surface, she said, “Today, we’re at Grace’s. I have to finish the library walls, Jo’s doing the floor in the study, and Mike’s finishing up the kitchen.”
“Sounds like fun, too.”
“Huh?” She blinked up at him.
He put one finger on the bottom of her coffee cup and tipped it toward her mouth. “More coffee, Sam. It’ll clear the cobwebs.”
“They’re clearing, thanks. What did you say about fun?”
He grinned at her. “I was just thinking about going to the job with you and Emma.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Sam.” He shook his head. “I thought we got past that whole trust thing yesterday.”
“Not completely.” What was he up to? Why was he being nice? And why was he so damn close?
He caged her, planting one hand on either side of her on the counter. “Then we’ll have to work on that.”
“Why?”
He laughed shortly. “You ask more questions than Emma.”
“And get fewer answers.”
He bent down, lowering his head to hers. When her eyes crossed as she tried to focus on him, Jeff smiled again. “You’ll get your answers, Sam. We both will.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dammit. She could feel his breath on her face. She could smell him. All morning and shower and shampoo and man.
“Whatever you want it to mean.”
She forced a laugh she didn’t feel and tried to push past one of his arms. Sure. Like trying to move a steel rod. “You’re doing the vague thing again.”
“Let’s see if I can get more clear.”
He leaned in.
“What’re you doing?” Did her voice really sound so breathy? Hungry?
“Not sure.”
“You do remember that we’re almost divorced?”
His mouth curved. “You know another word for almost divorced? ‘Married.’ ”
Sam sucked in air. She knew she should have tried to dodge his move, but hey, it was early. She hadn’t had nearly enough coffee yet. And truth to tell, she just plain didn’t want to dodge it.
He kissed her again. Short. Sweet. Tantalizing.
And left Sam’s knees wobbling like a pan of over-cooked pasta.
He pushed away from the counter, smiled at her again, and said, “I’ll bring Emma to the site in a couple of hours.”
Sam nodded.
At least, she was pretty sure she nodded.
Either that or every bone in her body was liquid and her head had simply fallen forward onto her chest.
When Jeff left the room, she heard him whistling as he walked off down the hallway. Lifting one hand, she rubbed her fingertips against her mouth and then turned to the coffeepot on the counter. She was either going to have to start drinking more of the stuff—or make it a lot stronger.
To deal with Jeff, she was going to need every brain cell she could muster.
“Are you insane?”
Sam’s spine stiffened and her shoulders went soldier straight. Sure, she’d considered the fact that she might be leaning toward the “challenged” side of life. But it was one thing to accuse yourself of slipping out of your hammock. It was something else again when your family did it for you. “Excuse me?”
“You are,” Jo said, answering her own question and nodding her head as if looking for reassurance from a nonexistent crowd. “You are nuts. It’s the only explanation.”
“I’m not nuts and it’s no big deal.”
“Said the fly, while watching the spider creep a little closer.” Mike shook her head, clearly disgusted, then reached out and grabbed the pipe wrench off the floor beside her.
“Thanks. Always good to get the family’s opinion.”
“What opinion?” Papa stepped into the room and looked from one to the other of his daughters. “You want family opinion?”
Sam cringed. She already had a very good idea what Papa’s opinion would be.
“Sam’s letting Jeff move into her house.”
“He’s not moving in. He’s just staying there for a while.”
“He’s moving in, girl,” Mike warned, “in more ways than one.”
She sent Mike a glare that should have curled her hair. Mike just ducked under the kitchen sink and ignored her.
Papa frowned and as his face froze over, even his beard seemed to scowl. “Samantha, we need to talk. You girls go for a walk.”
“Papa,” Mike complained, already crawling back out, “I’ve almost got this piping finished and—”
“Finish later.”
Jo and Mike wandered out slowly, as if reluctant to leave what looked like a promising conversation. But Hank Marconi was a patient man and he knew his daughters. They’d no doubt be hanging just by the doorway, hoping to eavesdrop. So when he finally did speak again, he kept his voice a whisper. “Samantha mio cuore, are you trying to be hurt again?”
My heart. He’d always called her that.
“No, Papa. I’m not.” She sighed, walked across the room, and looked out the window at the yard, to where Emma and Jeff were getting a lesson in how to spin yarn from one of the Gypsies.
“Then what is this about?”
She leaned one shoulder against the wall and didn’t tear her gaze from the window. “I’m not really sure anymore,” she admitted. “It started out about Emma, but—”
Slowly, he walked across the floor until he was standing beside her. Laying one beefy hand on her shoulder, Hank thought about all the times he’d heard his middle daughter crying in the night. About the shadows he’d seen in her eyes and the brave front she’d plastered over a broken heart.
“Now it’s about him, too, eh?” he asked quietly.
She turned, staring up at him with that tender heart in her eyes, and Hank knew she was in for more pain and he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. “You love him still.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, shaking her head and gritting her teeth. “And I shouldn’t. It’s just stupid and I’m not stupid,” she added quickly, “but I just can’t seem to help it.”
Wishing he could protect her as he had when she was a little girl, Hank did the only thing he could do. He opened his arms and held her close when she leaned into him. “Sam, you don’t get to choose who you love,” he said, staring over her head at the world beyond the glass panes—and the man his daughter loved. “It would be easier if we could. But maybe . . . not so exciting.”
“I don’t feel excited,” she muttered against his chest and her voice was muffled and thick with tears she was too stubborn to shed.
He patted her back and rested his cheek against her head. “You feel worried.”
“Yes.”
“A little scared, too.”
“Oh yeah.”
“This is good.”
“Good? How is this good, Papa?”
She pulled back and looked up at him. Hank cupped her cheeks with his palms. “It means you’re careful. This is good, too. You’re a grown woman, Sam. You have to make your own decisions. Go your own way.”
She blew out a breath that ruffled his beard and made him smile.
“I wish I knew which way that was.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “And if Jeff is the one for you . . .” He inhaled sharply and told himself he’d have to find a way to let go of old resentments. “Then we’ll welcome him.”
“You would?”
Hank shrugged. “He’s Emma’s papa, and as much as it kills me to admit it, he’s a good one.”
“He is, isn’t he?” she asked, turning back to look at Jeff again.
“But he makes you cry again and I’m not going to be happy.” His warning was a growl and made her smile, as he’d hoped it would. Hank worried. He would always worry about his girls. And at times like this, he really wished their mother were still here, to help him out. To find the right words. But since she wasn’t, he
had to trust his daughters to know what was in their hearts. Even if he thought they were wrong.
“Thank you, Papa.”
He nodded, scrubbed one hand across his beard, then hmmphed and said, “Now go get Mike and tell her to finish the sink. Grace wants to talk about adding a whirlpool tub in the master bathroom.”
Sam laughed shortly. “Well, that’ll make Mike’s day.”
Hank watched her go and then shifted his gaze to the man who still owned Sam’s heart. Maybe he’d just have a talk with Jeff.
The Fourth of July in Chandler was an event no one wanted to miss. Red, white, and blue bunting and streamers fluttered across every storefront, and American flags decorating every lamppost flapped in the breeze. Summer sizzled, but no one seemed to mind. There were Sno-Kone stands and kids selling lemonade from card table counters.
Jeff hadn’t enjoyed anything so much in years.
Growing up, he had spent the Fourth at charity functions where even the children wore suits and ties and frilly dresses that precluded anything remotely resembling fun. Once it was dark enough, a few fireworks were tastefully displayed as a symphony played accompaniment.
Here, tinny circus music blared out of what looked like ancient speakers and kids waited for dusk so they could hold their own sparklers. Here, families gathered and argued and laughed and ate. A tawdry carnival squatted at the edge of town, beckoning the unwary to try their hands at the game booths or to climb aboard rides that looked as if they might fall down in a stiff wind. And it was all . . . great.
“Having fun?”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing a little uneasily at Mike as she dropped onto the blanket beside him. “You?”
Her gaze swept the crowd, landed on Sam and Emma, preparing for a three-legged race. “I would be. If I knew what you were up to.”
Jeff drew one knee up and rested his forearm atop it. He watched Sam too in her green tank top and denim shorts that displayed long, tanned limbs. “I’m not ‘up to’ anything, Mike.”
“Thought you were here to get a divorce.”
“So did I.” When had that changed? Had it changed? It couldn’t change. He was still engaged. Guilt gnawed at him, like a diet-conscious female eating a muffin one crumb at a time.
And Then Came You Page 20
