And Then Came You

by Maureen Child

  “Just like her mother.”

  Sam froze.

  Her smile fell away like a stone dropped into a well.

  Turning slowly, she faced Jeff with what she hoped, for the sake of prospective customers, was a civilized expression.

  “Daddy!” Emma ran at him, still clutching her paint sponge. Before he could dodge out of the way, Jeff’s jeans were decorated nicely.

  Small satisfaction, but Sam would take it.

  He stepped into the booth as the customers left.

  Her stomach jittered and her blood pumped in a frantic rush. “Go away.”

  “Not until we talk.”

  “We talked yesterday.” Sam bent down, snapped the lid on the paint can, then turned to take the sponge and the rubber glove from Emma.

  “No, you talked,” Jeff muttered, grabbing up a handful of snack bar napkins emblazoned with the words “Hot Dogs and Beer—a Marriage Made in Heaven,” and rubbed them across his paint-smeared jeans. Finally, he gave it up and looked at her. “Now it’s my turn.”

  “There’s nothing left to be said,” Sam said, standing up to look him dead in the eye.

  “Well, you won’t know that until I try, will you?”

  All around them, the crowds shifted and moved, surging through the building like lemmings rushing toward a cliff’s edge. They moved as one, winding and meandering up and down the aisles, their voices ever rising to compensate for the noise level.

  “Mommy?” Emma took Sam’s hand. “Are you mad at Daddy?”

  “No, honey,” she lied smoothly and gave that small hand a squeeze. “I’m just too busy to talk right now.”

  Jeff snorted. “You don’t look busy.”

  “Trouble?” Mike strolled up, thumbs tucked in the front pockets of her jeans.

  “Not yet,” Jeff said, sliding her a glance and hoping to hell she wouldn’t start in on him. A wise man only tried to handle one Marconi woman at a time. “Mike,” he said, “I just have a few things I need to say to Sam.”

  Mike met his gaze for a long minute, then shifted a look at her sister. Sam stood with one hip hitched higher than the other and her arms folded across her chest. She tapped the toe of one boot against the concrete floor in a staccato beat that belied the serene expression on her face.

  “Aunt Mike, my daddy came!”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, clearly making a decision. “I can see that. Why don’t you and me go find Papa and Aunt Jo and tell them? I think your mommy and daddy want to talk.”

  Sam lurched forward, making a grab for her sister and missing. “Mike, don’t you leave here.”

  “Thanks, Mike,” Jeff said.

  “Don’t make me sorry, weasel-dog.”

  Emma laughed. “Aunt Mike really thinks you’re great, Daddy.”

  “Oh man.” Mike winced, but kept moving, dragging Emma in her wake. This love business was really way too complicated, she thought and wondered when in the hell she’d gone soft enough to cut the weasel-dog a break.

  Sam thought about chasing Mike down to kill her, but there’d be time later. Instead, she faced down the man from her past. “Do we really have to put each other through more of what happened yesterday?”

  “There’s that warm Italian welcome I’ve missed so much.”

  She smirked at him. “I can show you a warm Italian good-bye.”

  “I’ve had one of those. I never want another one.”

  Sam inhaled sharply, deeply, and it didn’t help. Her insides jumped and her mouth went dry. Dammit, where were all the customers? Most of the morning, she’d been tortured by people asking inane questions. She’d given demonstrations, pointed out directions to the restrooms, and even turned down a dinner invitation.

  Now, all of a sudden, when she most needed a distraction, there was no one?

  What was up with that?

  “I broke it off with Cynthia.”

  Her head snapped up and she pinned him.

  “She admitted that she lied to break us up.”

  Sam sucked in a shaky breath. “Well, she did a good job of it.”

  “Don’t let her win,” Jeff said softly.

  His voice, his very nearness, touched something deep inside her and made her want to forget all the pain. Forget being careful. But clearly, her body didn’t know enough to protect itself, so it would be up to her brain to handle it. “Don’t you get it, Jeff? Nobody wins here.”

  “Doesn’t have to be that way.”

  Her stomach did a quick somersault, then nosedived to her knees. “It’s too late for us. Go back to your girlfriend.”

  “I don’t want a girlfriend,” he said. “I want my wife.”

  Too late. Too late. The words echoed over and over inside her, bouncing to the beat of her thundering pulse. Her blood bubbled and boiled in her veins and she could almost feel each one of her cells exploding with want and need. But she couldn’t do this. Not again. Couldn’t let herself love him only to be slapped down for it. Do it once, it’s bad luck. Twice, you’re an idiot. Three times, and the guys in white coats would come looking for her.

  “I’m not your wife,” she reminded him. “Not anymore. I signed your stupid papers, remember?”

  “I tore them up.”

  Oh God. He tore them up. What was she supposed to do now? “I—” She stopped and looked around wildly. She needed something to do with her hands. Needed something to hold. To throw. To twist.

  Deep within her, fury warred with misery and strangled the tiny bud of hope that sprouted in the bottom of her soul. She couldn’t risk this. Couldn’t love him and lose him. Not again. “I can’t do this, Jeff. Not again.”

  A woman stepped up out of the crowd. “Excuse me, but are you going to be giving another demonstration of the faux-suede look?”

  “I can show you right now.” Eagerly, Sam grabbed the woman and dragged her bodily into the booth. Concentrating solely on the short brunette, she ignored Jeff, ignored her every instinct, and turned to the one thing that had never let her down. Her work.

  Jeff quietly simmered for about ten seconds. He had half a mind to grab her, toss her over his shoulder, and race out of the building. But they’d never make it through the crowds.

  “Sam,” he growled, and paid no attention as the customer gave him a wary look. “Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”

  “It’s not stubbornness,” she said, without even turning to glance at him. “It’s self-preservation.”

  “Excuse me,” the confused-looking woman asked, “but am I interrupting something?”

  “Yes,” Jeff said.

  “No,” Sam insisted.

  The woman winced, but stood her ground. Clearly, she was siding with Sam on this one. Didn’t surprise him. Women, of course, would stick together.

  “This isn’t finished,” he grumbled, glaring at the back of Sam’s rock-hard head. Couldn’t she see that they belonged together? That fate had smiled on them for a change and had presented them with a shot at what they should have had nine years ago? “Dammit, Sam . . .”

  She completely ignored him and that just fired off what was left of his self-control. For God’s sake, he’d told her he wanted her. That he’d called it off with Cynthia. That he loved her.

  Hadn’t he?

  Jeff straightened up, frowning.

  No.

  He hadn’t mentioned that one little detail.

  Stupid.

  He watched her studiously avoiding noticing his existence and knew that making her listen was going to take more than a quiet chat in a dark corner. She was scared—and that shook him. Nothing had ever scared Sam Marconi. But he’d seen it in her eyes just a minute ago. He’d watched as she’d fought an internal battle over whether or not to believe. To trust. To take another chance on him.

  He couldn’t blame her.

  He’d let her down before. Sure, they’d both made 330 Maureen Child mistakes, but he was only in a position to do something about the ones he’d made. Jeff wouldn’t lose what he’d just found aga
in.

  He’d have to find a way to make her listen. Make her hear him.

  His gaze frantic, he scanned the crowd, and got an idea. Jumping into the sea of people, he let them carry him toward his goal.

  Sam took a deep breath and let it slide from her lungs on a sad sigh. He was gone. It was better that way, she knew it. But dammit, if he wanted her so badly, why hadn’t he tried harder?

  And just how contrary could she be? she wondered as she set up a private demonstration area. She tells him she doesn’t want him, but then is pissed off when he doesn’t try harder to do what she told him not to do?

  God. Her head was going to explode.

  “Honey,” the short brunette standing beside her said, “none of my business, but are you out of your mind?”

  “What?” She looked up to see the woman smiling at her.

  “The guy’s clearly nuts about you,” she said. “Why not cut him a break?”

  “Wish I could,” Sam said, and shifted her gaze to the crowd, amazed at just how quickly Jeff had managed to disappear. “But we had our chance.”

  “Maybe,” the woman said, “but if he’d been looking at me like that, I wouldn’t have let him go.”

  Sam sighed again. “I didn’t let him go,” she reminded the woman. “He left.”

  “If you say so . . .”

  Getting back to business, Sam concentrated on work. She painted a small section of the plywood board with black glaze. Then she ripped off a big piece of Saran Wrap and laid it over the glaze. Laying her palms over the plastic wrap, she gathered the thin film and pushed out the air bubbles. When she was finished, she peeled off the plastic wrap and left behind a section of paint that looked as if it were actually suede fabric wallpaper.

  “Wonderful. Just what I’m looking for in my family room,” the woman cooed. “You may not know jack about men, but you’re great on the painting end of things.”

  Sam absently handed over one of their business cards as she thanked the woman and said good-bye. The instant she was alone again, though, Sam’s mind returned to Jeff. She looked across the crowd, and told herself she was an idiot to think he’d hang around. She’d sent him on his way. Told him thanks but no thanks. Of course he’d leave. Jeff had never been a man to make a scene. He wouldn’t want to have it out with her here.

  Hell, she was surprised he’d even shown up at the Home Show. Too many people. Too much risk of embarrassment. Too public for a Hendricks.

  “Excuse me!”

  A deep, familiar voice shouted over the loudspeaker and Sam’s heart leaped up to lodge in her throat.

  “Hello?” Jeff’s voice came again, even louder this time, and the crowd began to quiet instinctively. Low murmurs of conversation rippled, but mostly the sounds of “Shhhh . . .” could be heard.

  “Thanks,” he called out as the silence deepened.

  “Oh God,” Sam whispered, moving out of her booth to stand at the end of the aisle, where, over the heads of the people in front of her, she could see him standing center stage. His dark blue shirt looked a little rumpled, his jeans carried Emma’s green paint like a badge of honor, and his gaze swept the crowd, searching, she knew, for her.

  “Hate to interrupt everything,” Jeff was saying, clutching the microphone and stalking back and forth across the front of the stage like a demented emcee, “but I need to talk to my wife and this is the only way I can think of to make her listen.”

  “Hey,” a man from the crowd shouted, “if it works for you, I’ll give it a try!”

  His wife slapped his arm and laughed along with everyone else.

  Sam just shook her head and tried to disappear into the throng. But suddenly, her family was standing right behind her and she had nowhere to go.

  “No use hiding,” Jeff shouted, as he spotted her. Pointing one finger at her, he said, “Sam Marconi, I love you.”

  She sucked in a gulp of air and ducked her head. Eagles soared in her stomach and her knees wobbled hard enough to make her reach out and grab hold of a display table bearing samples of lawn mulch.

  “Yeah,” Jeff said, keeping his gaze locked on the only woman who’d ever mattered in his life. “I love you, Sam. Always have. Should have told you before—”

  “Yes,” a woman in the crowd called out. “You should have!”

  Everyone laughed again and the sound rolled back and across the sea of people like a tidal wave, picking up speed and power as it moved.

  “But I’m saying it now,” Jeff went on, words racing out of his mouth in his effort to make her hear. Make her believe. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives.”

  “Atta boy,” someone shouted.

  “Gotta give it to the weasel-dog,” Mike murmured. She let go of Emma’s hand and the little girl scampered through the crowd toward the stage. “He gets an A for effort on this one.”

  Jo said, “Looks like he means it.”

  “Maybe,” Sam whispered, not paying any attention at all to the faces turned toward her. All she could see was Jeff. His eyes. The love on his face. Oh, she wanted to believe. But still, stubbornness kept her in place. A wary sense of disbelief glued her feet to the floor.

  “Sam,” Jeff said, his voice deepening into a rough whisper that bounced off the walls and reverberated deep inside her. “I was wrong.” He paused and let that last word sink in. “I was wrong about everything.”

  Sam’s breath hitched.

  His gaze locked with hers. “Wrong not to trust you. Not to believe in us. I was wrong to walk away. And I’ve paid. For nine years, I’ve lived without you—and I don’t want to go another day without seeing you, holding you, loving you.”

  “Oh God.” Sam’s voice came on a sigh.

  “Wow,” Mike said. “Color me impressed.”

  “He loves you.” Papa’s voice. Right behind her. Gently, he pushed her forward, and as she started walking, she heard Grace say, “It’s about time.”

  Sam’s heart felt full enough to break through the wall of her chest. Every step was slow, tentative, but she was drawn on by the sound of Jeff’s voice.

  “I can’t stand to wake up one more morning without you, Sam,” he said, his voice thick, rough with emotion. “I can’t live without you.”

  Tears blurred her vision, but she kept walking as the crowd parted to let her pass. Her gaze locked with Jeff’s, she watched him smile.

  Still holding the microphone tightly, and speaking only to her, he said, “I love Emma more than anything in the world, Sam. But even if we’d never had her, I would still want to be with you.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Still need to be with you.”

  Sam believed.

  She really believed. Tears erupted in her eyes just as the crowd’s muttered approval began to swell and grow.

  When she reached the edge of the stage, Jeff dropped the mike and jumped down to stand beside her. Cupping her face in his hands, he whispered, “Marry me again. Love me. Let me love you. God, I love you so much, Sam. Only you. Always you.”

  “What’d he say?” someone in the back of the crowd shouted.

  Sam laughed through her tears and smiled up at him.

  Jeff wiped those tears away gently. “You never cry.”

  “Happy crying,” she assured him.

  “So I can take this as a yes?”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. Finally, she was sure. No more doubts. No more worries. No more haunted memories or lonely dreams. Here was everything she’d ever wanted.

  Here was love.

  And so much more.

  Nodding, she stared at him through teary eyes and said, “I love you, Jeff. Always have. Always will.”

  He grinned and her heart jumped into life.

  “Just what I wanted to hear.” Drawing her close, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hard and long.

  Over the cheers of the crowd, someone shouted, “What’d she say?”

  Emma grinned at her parents, picked
up the microphone and said softly, “She said yes.”

  Watch for

  Mike’s Story:

  A Crazy

  Kind of Love

  Coming in January 2005 from St. Martin’s

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  Lost In

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  by

  Maureen Child

  Coming from Silhouette Desire in October 2004

  LIS 03/04

  #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  MAUREEN CHILD

  FINDING

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  Carla candellano has faced a tragedy she’d like to put behind her, but no one has been able to penetrate the wall she has built around herself—until she meets six-year-old Reese Wyatt. Reese hasn’t spoken since her mother died last year, and it’s friendship at first sight for Carla and little Reese. But it’s the girl’s worried father, Jackson, who arouses Carla’s curiosity, and passion, in ways she never imagined . . .

  “An absolutely wonderful contemporary romance. A delightful blend of humour and emotion, this sexy love story will definitely keep readers turning the pages.”

  —Kristin Hannah, author of Distant Shores

  “Heartwarming, sexy, and impossible to put down . . . Maureen Child always writes a guaranteed winner, and this is no exception.”

  —Susan Mallery, author of Married for a Mouth

  ISBN: 0-312-98920-2

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  Ever since Stevie Ryan was a young girl, she was in love with her best friend Carla’s older brother Nick Candellano. But Nick had to complicate things by growing up gorgeous—and breaking Stevie’s heart. Now she’s convinced that forgetting him is the way to go. And it’s working out fine . . . until she and Nick’s brother, Paul, spend one sultry night together. Has the right brother been under Stevie’s nose all along?