A Soft Place to Fall

by Barbara Bretton

  And look at Sam. He had carved out a brilliant career that had given him nothing in return except money and now, not even that. He had sacrificed everything for his brothers and sisters and they hadn't a clue that he was in the fight of his life.

  Warren understood the boy straight through to his marrow. There was no greater sorrow in life than letting love slip through your fingers because you couldn't find it in your heart to say the two little words she needed to hear.

  Don't go.

  But that was his story and he had made his peace with it a long time ago. He had moved onto other loves but none had ever burned as brightly in his heart than the first.

  He wanted Sam and Annie to have the one gift he had never had: the singular joy of loving and being loved for a lifetime. For all of their bright promise they were both still alone and he was determined to change that before his Maker called him home.

  Matchmaking wasn't half as easy as bestowing scholarships and jobs on deserving candidates. There was no Wharton School for love, no Harvard Business for romance. The most you could do was put a man and a woman on the path toward each other and hope for the best.

  When Sam called earlier that afternoon with his request, it was all Warren could do to keep from offering unsolicited advice. She's a fiercely proud woman, boy, he'd wanted to say as he listened to the younger man's idea. If it smells like charity, she'll throw it back in your face like a week-old cod.

  But Sam was high on the idea and in the end Warren acquiesced. He wouldn't be at all surprised if Sam found his offerings in the street before the night was over.

  #

  It was nearly seven by the time Annie closed up the shop and climbed behind the wheel of her truck. She waved at George, one of the local cops, who was ticketing young Vic DeLuca for a parking violation. George and his wife Sunny had lived next door to Annie and Kevin for seven years before they moved to a small farmhouse a few miles outside of town. If George had ever wondered about some of those late-night visitors who occasionally found their way to Annie and Kevin's front door, he never gave any indication. There were times she had almost prayed somebody would see a strange car idling in her driveway or wonder aloud why so many of the Galloways' checks bounced each month but it never happened. Not once in all those years.

  People only saw what they wanted to see and what they had wanted to see was Annie-and-Kevin, everyone's favorite couple, the high school sweethearts who had almost managed the happy ending everyone dreams about.

  How did you tell the people who loved you that there was no Annie-and-Kevin anymore? How did you make them hear you when you said you were suffocating under the weight of the past? She'd seen Claudia's eyes when Sam Butler walked into the shop this afternoon. If looks could kill, Sam would have been knocking on the pearly gates before he said hello.

  You have nothing to worry about, Claudia, she thought as she pulled into her driveway. Now that he's fixed the front door and cleaned out the truck, there won't be any reason for him to stop by unless he's hoping to catch me butt naked in the tub again.

  Fat chance of that. He was probably installing blackout curtains on his front windows so he wouldn't run the risk of seeing her without her clothes on. The poor man was probably still reeling from the sight. He probably thought she was some needy pathetic widow who couldn't add two plus two without a man to help her. Cheap champagne. Candles around the tub. A silk robe nobody but the cats had ever seen her wear. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd called Warren and told him the whole story, right down to her hangover.

  If that thought wasn't enough to snap her back to reality, nothing was.

  In less than twenty-four hours, her new neighbor had seen her disheveled, exhausted, exasperated, dead drunk, butt naked, unconscious, without makeup, hung over, and stuffing her face with DeeDee's Donuts. So what if there had been some inexplicable pull of attraction between them? They were human, weren't they? A man and a woman caught in an intimate situation couldn't help striking a few sparks. Of course their hormones would dust themselves off and take a quick spin around the block. It couldn't be helped. Blame human nature.

  Better still, blame the champagne.

  She was a serious, thoughtful woman, not the tipsy bird brain he'd pulled out of the bathtub. She was the one people turned to when they had a problem. She was the one you could trust, the one who knew how to hold your secrets close to her heart.

  Of course he had no way of knowing that about her. All he knew was that she liked to sip champagne and set fire to her bathrobe. And how could she forget that he also knew that she had cellulite, two tiny stretch marks, and a birthmark only her husband and gynecologist had ever seen.

  So if he's not interested, why did he ask if you were seeing Hall?

  Because he was nosy, that's why. Sam was new in town and he was trying to figure out the connections between the various players. Hall showed up – acting quite proprietary, come to think of it – and two seconds later Annie was saying yes to dinner at Cappy's. He was just more direct in his curiosity than most people she knew.

  That still doesn't explain the way you almost melted into the sidewalk this afternoon, does it?

  "I'm an idiot, that's why," she said as she pulled into her driveway. She knew as much about men as sixteen-year-old Jennifer and Jen's giggly girlfriends. She'd heard them talking about boyfriends this afternoon while they worked on the flowers. Jen was less than half Annie's age and she already had twice the experience. Annie had fallen in love with her first and only boyfriend and married him three years later. She was already part of his family; loving the favorite son just made the whole thing that much sweeter.

  When it came to men, she was stuck somewhere back in the 1980s with big hair and shoulder pads. She'd learned everything she would ever know about dating and courtship by the time she was sixteen which left her thirty-eight year old self pretty well in the dark when it came to being single.

  So what if she and Sam Butler had shared a few donuts on her front porch. People did that all the time. So what if they'd shared a chaste and sugary kiss. How else would you thank someone for saving your life? And it wasn't like he kissed her back. Their lips met and then it was over. Case closed. There was a rational, logical reason for every single thing they did and said and not one of those reasons came embroidered with red hearts and pink flowers.

  And then she opened her front door and found out just how wrong she was.

  Where there had been empty space, there now was furniture.

  Lots of it.

  A reading lamp on a dark pine end table. An upholstered rocker big enough to get lost in. A small maple table with two chairs that exactly fit the tiny space allotted for a dining area. A pitcher of wild-picked daisies graced the center of the table top. George and Gracie had already claimed the upholstered cat condo by the living room window. She'd always wanted to buy one of those silly things but could never rationalize the cost.

  Who on earth would do such a thing for her? Warren, of course, but he would have furnished the entire house and he knew that would make her very angry. Claudia certainly didn't have the money. Neither did Susan or any of the others. Besides, they were all way too practical to risk such an expensive surprise.

  She ran her hand across the weathered surface of the maple table, relishing each bump and gouge. She remembered sitting at a table just like this once upon a time, writing up a list for Santa Claus on a lined tablet with a big fat No. 2 pencil. Warren's sister Ellie was baby-sitting for her parents and –

  She was out the door in a flash.

  #

  Sam heard Annie's truck long before he saw it. The crunch of tires on the sandy road, the marbles-in-a-bowl sound of her engine that matched his own – funny how quickly a sound could become part of your personal landscape.

  "No turning back now, Max," he said, scratching the dog behind the left ear. "It's up to her now."

  He and Max were sitting on the back step of Ellie Bancroft's old cottage, watching a trio of seagul
ls scavenging for a last tasty morsel before the sun went down. The idea that had seemed inspired this afternoon when he was fueled on donuts and coffee and the way her hair looked in the sunshine seemed dubious now at best. He had planned to tell her when he brought her house keys to the flower shop but when he saw the other two women there he decided against it. Public humiliation had never been his thing.

  So he just did it.

  He'd never been one for grand gestures. He thought before he acted, considered every option and their consequences. You had to when you were nineteen years old and responsible for five younger brothers and sisters. This was the first time he had ever acted out of romantic impulse and it felt great.

  Terrifying as hell, but great.

  The engine noise cut out. He heard a car door slam shut. The squeak of a front door opening then closing. Silence. At least she hadn't screamed. That was a good sign. He drummed his fingers on the top step. He tapped his foot.

  He looked down at Max.

  Max looked up at him.

  "You're right," Sam said. "I should go over there and explain."

  He put the dog inside the house and made it halfway down the driveway when he saw Annie Galloway walking up the road toward him. She was still wearing the sleek black pants and red sweater he'd seen her in that afternoon. The pants clung to her womanly hips like a hug while the sweater glided over her breasts, just snug enough to tantalize. She was backlit by the setting sun; its red glow made her wild mane of curls shimmer like living fire. She looked a little tired, a lot curious, real and earthy and beautiful enough to bring him to his knees.

  In other words, nothing had changed.

  She stopped a few feet away from him.

  Their eyes met.

  "You shouldn't have, Sam."

  "I wanted to."

  "You could have asked."

  "Then it wouldn't have been a surprise."

  "You know I can't accept it."

  "Why not?"

  "I barely know you."

  "It's just furniture, not a truckload of Victoria's Secret."

  "Strangers usually don't buy each other living room furniture."

  "I didn't buy it."

  "Okay, then they usually don't steal living room furniture for each other either."

  "I have a houseful of the stuff. It's either give Max more to wreck or find a safe haven."

  "You can't just give away Warren's furniture."

  "He said you could help yourself."

  She jammed her hands in the pockets of her sleek black pants. Her belly was slightly rounded, womanly and inviting. His entire body remembered how she had felt naked in his arms.

  "I don't know what to say, Sam."

  "I'm so happy . . . wow, what a great idea . . . how about a wide screen tv while you're at it . . . did you get those massive muscles moving furniture . . . any one of those would be okay."

  Again that laugh, that wonderful laugh. Did she have any idea what that laugh did to him?

  "Would you settle for a thank you?"

  "No," he said. "Not good enough."

  A gust of wind blew a lock of hair across her right cheek. She didn't seem to notice it. "What would be good enough?"

  He looked at her mouth and grinned.

  Honeyed warmth spread outward from the center of her chest.

  "I'm not going to ask you," he said.

  She nodded.

  "I'm just going to do it."

  "Good idea," she whispered.

  They were in each other's arms before they drew their next breaths.

  "Annie . . . " Did he say her name or was it already a part of his soul?

  "Shhh . . . " No words. No sound. All she wanted was the feel of his lips burning hers, the cool sweet taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin. She was on fire from within. She couldn't think. She didn't want to think. If she thought about what she was doing she would turn and run and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She melted against him, molding her body to his in a way that brought him halfway to the brink in a heartbeat. Her hunger matched his. She was a thousand dreams in the middle of a cold dark night brought to warm and vibrant life in his arms. Her fingers touched his throat, his jaw, his ears, the bridge of his nose, his temples. They tangled in his hair then slid over his back and shoulders as if she were trying to memorize his body with fingertips and palms.

  He cupped her buttocks and drew her closer to him and she gasped into his mouth when he moved against her. If they didn't stop now, they would be making love right there in his driveway.

  Still kissing, still touching, they stumbled up the driveway and into his house where they fell together onto the big soft sofa near the fireplace. She sank deep into the cushions and he covered her with his body. He tugged at the zipper on her sweater and pulled it down. Her bra was made of soft beige cotton. Her hard nipples were clearly visible through the worn fabric. Black lace couldn't have had a more powerful effect on him.

  She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers felt clumsy and awkward in her eagerness to bare his skin to her lips. A button popped off and danced crazily across the braided rug then rolled to a stop.

  "I'll fix it," she said as she pressed her mouth to his chest. "I'm great with a needle and thread."

  He ripped off his shirt and threw it across the room.

  She laughed softly, her breath hot and moist against his skin. She smelled like flowers dipped in honey. He wanted to drench himself in her.

  There was nothing yielding about him, nothing soft or comforting. He was all hard muscle and sharp angles, her opposite in every way. They both knew her welcoming softness made him possible, made everything possible.

  She hungered for his hands on her bare skin and cried out when he undid the clasp on her bra and cupped her breasts in his palms. It had been so long, more years than she wanted to think about, and she had been so deeply, achingly lonely for someone who saw her through the prism of desire. She loved the way he touched her. He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate. His hands claimed her body with a lover's sure and gentle touch. Each place he touched – her breasts, her ribcage, the base of her throat -- burned beneath his fingertips, his palms, his tongue.

  It was all so sweetly familiar, so terrifyingly strange. Only one other man had ever touched her this way. Her body knew only one man's rhythm, one other lover's dance. She felt clumsy at times, amazingly sensual at others. Each kiss, each touch, led her down a different pathway until she was wonderfully lost. He kissed his way along her collarbone, lingering at the hollow at the base of her throat, then found her mouth. Oh God, his mouth . . . so sweet, so hot, so demanding. The explosion of sensations made her dizzy and she allowed herself to sink even more deeply into the cushions, shielded from reality by the delicious weight of his body poised over hers.

  His kisses stole her breath. She wanted to lose herself in them, lose the Annie Galloway everyone thought they knew and find out who she wanted to be.

  Holding her was like holding quicksilver. Even with her body melting against his, Sam had the sense that the real Annie Galloway had somehow slipped his grasp. She was warm and willing in his arms. Her kisses scorched him from the inside out but he wasn't sure she was really there.

  He wanted to kiss her until her brain clicked off and there was nothing left but desire. He wanted to bury himself in her, anchor her in the here and now until there was no room for anything but each other.

  She moved her hand down his chest, over his flat belly, then stopped. Her open palm hovered over his obvious erection.

  The only sound in the room was the wild pounding of their hearts, the quick pace of their breathing . . . and Max's shotgun sneezes.

  Annie's eyes flew open and so did Sam's.

  He cupped her face and was about to kiss her again when Max sneezed three more times, ran one lap around the living room, then threw himself down on Sam's discarded shirt and went happily to sleep.

  Max snored.

  Later on Annie would
say that Sam was the first one to laugh but he knew better. Her creamy shoulders began to shake, her lower lip quivered, and then before he had the chance to process what was happening, her full rich laugh filled the room. His own laughter wasn't far behind.

  They laughed so hard that Max woke up, shot them an indignant look, then stalked from the room. That, of course, only made them laugh harder. They clung to each other, gasping for air, as their laughter ricocheted off the walls. Half-naked, wrapped in each other's arms, they laughed until their sides ached and their throats hurt and tears ran down Annie's cheeks.

  After a bit, their laughter stilled but the sense of connectedness between them grew deeper and more intense.

  "This is crazy," she whispered, her mouth soft against his bare chest.

  "You talk too much," he said then kissed her quiet.

  She liked that he didn't ask, didn't tiptoe around her, didn't treat her like St. Annie the Virgin Widow. He treated her like a flesh-and-blood woman and her response was as natural as breathing. Her lips parted at his gentle pressure and she sighed deeply as his tongue slid across the swell of her lower lip before claiming her mouth. It was all so strangely familiar, the sensual duel where both won the battle. She drank him in as if she had been parched for the taste of him, as if her soul required his essence. He would run if he knew how long it had been for her, years and years since she had been kissed this way, as if he wanted to steal her breath and make it his own.

  The rough hair on his chest scraped pleasurably against the delicate skin of her breasts, causing ripples of sweet sensation to shoot straight to her core. She stiffened as he eased the flat of his hand beneath the waistband of her pants and rested his palm against the softness of her belly.