“Rachel. Rachel, you amaze me, astound me. Completely,” he simply said. “I come into town, practically order you to my house, I assault you with flowers day after day, batter your defenses, and yet you come. You stay. You make my children sleep soundly at night.”
A soft sigh escaped her lips. In the moonlight he watched her drop her head forward as if she’d been waiting for something else, something more ominous.
“Oh, Sam,” she said on a breath. That was it. Just Oh, Sam.
It was all he needed, all he wanted. Slipping his hands beneath her hair, he framed her skull with his palms, waiting for her to turn her face up to his.
She did. Slowly she lifted her head. The moonlight sparkled across her eyes, and he saw the need written there. Need he recognized because he felt it, too.
Marry me, Rachel. The words slipped into his consciousness, echoed around his brain, but he refused to let them take shape. He knew the dangers of jumping in like that, he knew better than to get carried away, knew this woman had turned down other men.
Marry me. But it wasn’t marriage he wanted, he told himself, pulling her close as he brought his lips down on top of hers. It was just her. Just Rachel.
Marry me. The words sounded more right with each beat of his heart. They drove into his soul as he drank the nectar from within her, rubbed his lips against hers, nibbling, sucking, tasting her.
She kissed him back, her body pressing up against his as a strangled cry escaped her.
Gathering her closer, trying to bring her into his body, he half lifted her off the ground. He took her weight, the soft velvet warmth of her. He felt her body mold itself to his.
“Rachel. Oh, lady, I want you.”
A groan escaped him; he felt a shiver run through her. Then, as his words died away, as though she’d just realized what he was saying, Rachel pushed back, still within the circle of his arms.
“Sam.” His name was a moan on her lips. “I can’t, Sam.”
Her mouth was a heartbeat away from his, still close but retreating.
Staring down into her lovely gray eyes, Sam fought his desire. He swallowed hard, then purposefully set her away from him. She was sweet honey, warm skin, cream that could make a man lick his lips and ask for more. She was everything he wanted tonight—but others had wanted her, too. And she’d said no. She was saying no now. He couldn’t try to coax her, to push her any further and still live with himself the next day.
Silently he let her go, felt her slide down his body until her feet touched the wooden floorboards. She stepped back and away.
Now his hands felt empty, his body too cool, his heart—damn! He braced a palm against the chain of the porch swing and blew out a long sigh.
“You’ve never married,” he said simply. “But you’re a natural with children. You’re a damned desirable woman. It’s none of my business. Slap me for asking if you want to, but...why?”
“Why haven’t I married?” Her words were a whisper brushing past him.
As he turned to her, she looked away, for once unwilling to meet his gaze.
“I suppose I’ve just never found what I’ve been looking for,” she said softly.
Sam felt the blow like an arrow piercing his body. “And what’s that?” He said the words so casually, yet deep inside he knew they were important. Too damned important.
She turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Someone I loved. Someone who loved me back. Desire’s not enough, Sam.”
And she’d been desired. He knew that just as sure as he knew his own name. Men had wanted her, had made her offers, but she’d turned them down, every one. She was waiting for the right man, the only man...and she hadn’t found him.
The arrow slid in a few inches deeper, hitting nerve, muscle, bone, striking hard. He shouldn’t have touched her. It had not made things better, had only buried her deeper in his soul. And she was standing there, looking wounded, raw, uncertain, probably upset that she’d let her desire for him show as well. At least she hadn’t denied that she wanted him. She hadn’t said that.
Well, he was the one who started this mess. He would make sure that he ended it right. He wouldn’t have her lying awake, worrying about this moment.
Moving away from the swing, he stepped forward, sliding his palm up her cheek, brushing her lips softly once again.
“I won’t say that I’m sorry I kissed you this time, Rachel. When I said I wanted you, I meant it, and it would be a lie to deny it, one you’d recognize. There’s something about you, something that makes my blood run hot and fast, but I promise you this much. I’ll do my best to control it. That doesn’t mean you won’t have to remind me again not to push things. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop wanting you, but—don’t let this be a wall between us. Don’t let that happen.”
He stood there staring down at her, wondering what she was thinking, if she was hating him for putting her in this unthinkable position. He would never know, because she wouldn’t walk away, at least not while his children were still in her care.
Her nod was quick and silent. Relief flooded through him like an overflowing river.
“Shall we start again?” he asked finally, striving for lightness that didn’t come. “Friends?” He forced the word past his teeth.
She stood there barely breathing, nodding hard before she spun around and practically tripped down the steps, barreling toward her car.
“Friends,” he thought he heard her call softly, just before she drove off into the night.
Long after she’d gone, Sam stood there, staring out into the clear, dark sky. Friends. Why had he said it? It was a fine word, a good word, but it in no way described what he felt toward Rachel. On the other hand, their path had been made clear tonight. She wanted him, he wanted her, but it was just not going to happen. If they were friends, if he could make that leap, maybe it would make things that much easier when she finally did meet the right man. Maybe then he would be able to smile as she walked down the aisle to another man. The right man.
Maybe if he said the word often enough, he would stop wanting her someday.
But not yet, Sam thought as he lay back in bed and longed for the woman who would never be his. Not tonight.
~ ~ ~
Leaning over Zach’s crib several days later, Rachel soothed one hand over the little boy’s fluffy baby curls. He stared up at her, his big brown eyes absolutely trusting as he smacked his lips in her direction.
“Sleep tight, angel,” she said as she bent to brush her lips against the softness of his cheek.
“Seep,” he agreed, but when she meant to move away, he wound his little arms around her neck. For a few seconds the scent of baby powder drifted around her. The feel of feather-soft skin and a tiny heartbeat fluttering beneath her chin nearly undid Rachel. Maybe Zach was only following Janey’s lead in hugging her, but whatever the reasons, this tiny boy and that sweet munchkin already snoozing in the next crib over had crawled into her heart.
She’d already fallen in love with them, would fight for them, give her own life to save theirs if necessary, and it seemed they were beginning to get used to her, too.
Untangling herself from Zach’s relaxed grasp, Rachel kissed her fingertips and soothed them over his forehead, down his nose, causing his already sagging eyelids to close completely.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she whispered, though she knew he was drifting off, almost beyond hearing.
The words caught, clogging her throat. She was in deep, way too deep. She’d known it the other night when she’d been lost in Sam’s arms. She’d tried to run from it, when he’d accepted her denial of his caresses and so easily turned from lover to friend.
Rachel knew what Sam was looking for, and it wasn’t her sharing his life. He’d made that clear, hadn’t bothered lying. He wanted someone he could trust to care for his children above all else, but he was also flesh and blood and bone. It was only natural that, spending as much time as they did together, there would be passion between them. If
she would be baby-sitter and woman as well, if she’d been willing—Dear heaven, she had been willing. She’d ached to give in to the temptation of having Sam’s hands and lips on her body. She’d wanted the freedom to allow her own lips to roam. But...she couldn’t have handled it, wouldn’t have been able to control it. Sam would have known that for her there was nothing casual about touching and being touched by him. And while Sam would willingly give her pleasure, and he would offer her friendship... his heart was unavailable.
This was not, nor would it ever be, a permanent arrangement. Someday she’d have to go.
Remembering Zach and Janey’s hugs, Annie’s wounded eyes, Rachel knew it would have to be soon. She had to be careful. So very careful. She wouldn’t hurt her babies for the world. She couldn’t bear to leave them thinking that she didn’t care enough to stay when in fact, she cared too much. Just too damn much.
Closing the door behind her, Rachel wandered out on the landing, started down the stairs...and found Sam staring up at her.
Her hand clenched on the railing.
“I—I didn’t know it was so late,” she stammered as he continued to gaze up at her. Standing there, poised above him like a woman on a pedestal, her loose blouse suddenly felt too tight, too seductive, when in fact it was only her usual, white cotton with a modest vee neckline. She tugged at the leg of her cutoff shorts, stilling her hand when he turned his attention to the point where thigh met blue denim.
~ ~ ~
Sam dragged his gaze away from Rachel’s legs and up to her wide, distressed, gray eyes.
“It’s not late,” he admitted. “I came home a little early tonight.” But why? He hoped she didn’t ask that question because he damn well wasn’t sure he could answer it himself. Because days had passed and he wanted to see if time had helped? Because he needed to know if he could really ignore the disastrous things Rachel did to his insides and step into the role of friend or pal?
Nice try, Grayson, he thought, noticing the slight tremble in her lips. It would have been crystal clear to anyone with a functioning brain that he wasn’t going to be able to sling a careless arm around Rachel’s shoulder and proclaim her his buddy. The woman did things to white cotton that he would never have imagined if he hadn’t seen it firsthand. What’s more, with that hand clenching the railing so hard, with those eyes looking dark and pained, he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up and protect her from whatever idiot had caused her grief. In this case, he suspected, that idiot would be himself. He was the one, after all, who had claimed to hire her to care for his children and then practically licked his way down her body in full view of anyone who cared to drive past his front porch.
Fool.
“Where are my little monsters?” he asked, determined to let her know that things were different tonight. He was in control of his baser instincts.
She smiled at his teasing tone, and Sam’s heart started pounding. He ignored it.
“The little monsters?” she asked. “They’re snoozing peacefully, and you darn well know that they’re as angelic as babies only a few months away from the ‘terrible twos’ can be. And Annie is with Nicky, and Michelle Wilkins. She’ll be home soon. I was just going to start dinner.” She continued down the stairs, obviously intent on getting to her tasks.
Sam stopped her by holding out one hand. His fingers were mere inches from her arm, but he didn’t touch. He didn’t trust himself to get near even something as innocuous as her wrist.
“Wait. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Rachel bit her lip, then nodded quickly. “All right, why don’t we go outside. I have a few things to talk to you about, as well. We’ll watch for Annie.”
Her expression was filled with meaning. It was clear that she didn’t want Annie to sneak in and hear this conversation. What were those “things” she wanted to talk to him about? Sam sucked in air, wondering why he felt as if a mountain was about to tumble onto his head.
For the last few days, every time he went into town, each day at work, the talk seemed to center around Don Bowers and what was going to happen when the man came back into town. The money was running on the man’s success. People were saying that Rachel had been too grief-stricken to know her own mind when he was in town last. They were asking questions the way people do. Was Rachel going to marry the man? Was she going to leave Tucker? Was she going to discover that she really was in love after all with the guy who’d waited for her and given her the gift of time?
Sam tried to ignore the red-hot sliver of pain that snaked down into his chest and curled around his heart, squeezing hard. He gave a tight nod, holding the door open for Rachel. When she walked past him, the desire to reach out and touch was overwhelming. He squeezed the doorknob hard, wondering if the imprint of his fingers would still be here when his grandchildren were running around the place.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” he managed to ask, his voice coming out too gravelly, too rough. Maybe she’d heard all the talk; surely she had. Maybe she wanted to prepare him for the fact that she wanted out. If she loved that guy…
Sam’s brain nearly shut down. He tried again. If she loved Don Bowers, would she still stay here? Could he even ask her to do that?
No. She’d given him so much, she’d brought life back into his household. He couldn’t cheat her out of what she wanted and deserved.
Sam cleared his throat, preparing himself to talk about something he didn’t even want to think about. He stared off in the distance, watching his daughter and her two young friends work their way up the limbs of a tree on the outskirts of his lot.
“Look at them, will you?” he asked, fierce pride and an unwillingness to jump into the topic of Don Bowers leading him to stop her answer to his question. “They look like they’re having the time of their lives.”
The floorboards creaked lightly beside him. “I know,” Rachel agreed, “and I’m glad Annie found some friends right away. I’m sure she still misses her mother now and then, but Nicky and Michelle make her forget a great deal of the time, I think.”
Sam looked at the three children, so different in physical appearance. Annie, a tiny little fairy of a girl; Nicky, short and round; and Michelle, skinny and tall as a cattail. Her ragged jeans were at least two inches too short for her lengthy frame.
Sighing, Sam turned to Rachel. “I’m glad, too. I just wish there was something I could do to help Michelle. Her dad works down at the yard, but I suspect he drinks up half his pay. She and her sisters barely have food and clothing to get them through the week.”
Rachel turned suddenly, her expression unreadable.
“She seems happy enough.” Her voice was slightly chilled.
Sam lifted one shoulder. “Happy doesn’t pay the bills.”
Turning aside, Rachel’s jaw was tight and tense. “No, it doesn’t. You pity her, then?”
Her voice was not much more than a wisp of sound. Her shoulders were rigid, her whole body tight, waiting. Sam was free to study her, turned away as she was. He remembered another long-legged child, running with the wind. A child whose eyes could glow bright as stars...once upon a time.
“Pity isn’t the word for a child like that,” he whispered. “How can anyone pity a kid who doesn’t know that the sun shines for everyone, not especially for her? How could I feel sorry for someone who has so much life in her that it practically spills over with every step she takes?”
“She’s needy, she’s poverty-stricken,” Rachel reminded him.
“Damn right she is, and for that I want to help her. I’d like to fire her daddy, but what good would that do? Then there’d be no money coming her way. I want to help, but I don’t know how. I’m just glad that she and Annie have become friends. I can at least give her a decent meal now and then.”
Without allowing himself time to think, he reached out and took Rachel by the elbows, turning her to face him directly. “It’s all right to do that much, isn’t it, Rachel?”
Sam wasn’t even sure w
hat he was asking, but he knew for certain that it was tied somehow to a much younger Rachel, a much younger Sam.
She nodded, staring into his eyes. The breeze picked up a lock of her hair, tossing it forward against his neck. They were joined, they would never be joined, but on this, Sam suspected, it was important that they at least agree.
“It’s more than all right to do that much, Sam. Just don’t ever make her feel that you’re doing it out of pity, all right?”
Now he knew for sure that they were talking about more than Michelle Wilkins. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rachel placed her fingers upon his lips.
“There’s something important that I want to talk to you about, Sam.”
Her voice was strained. He waited, the light touch of her fingers holding him immobile.
“I wanted to talk to you about Annie,” Rachel said, stepping back, now that he was silent. “And Janey and Zach. They’re so special. You must be so proud of them, Sam. They give the word-sweet a whole new meaning. And I—I suppose that’s why I’m worried about them. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Sam stared down at her, trying to read her expression. Her arms were crossed over her chest protectively. She was chewing her lip nervously. So it wasn’t Don Bowers she had wanted to talk about. She wasn’t discussing marriage to the man, at least not today. Rachel was worried, plainly worried.
He tipped her chin up with his finger, met her gaze.
“You think my children are too sweet?” he asked incredulously, knowing, of course, that wasn’t the point at all.
“I think they can be easily hurt,” she admitted with a nod. “And I know—you know, that Annie can. It wouldn’t do for them to become too attached to me. I wouldn’t want to ever run the risk of hurting them in any way, even if it was unintentional.”
Her eyes were dark, the gray of a cloudy sky just before the rain.
She was thinking of leaving. Seriously thinking of going. That man. He was coming for her, she was waiting for him. But it was killing her to think that she could ever hurt a child.
Babies and a Blue-eyed Man Page 13
