Sam reached out and slid one hand along her jaw. He stroked his thumb across her cheek. She was worried for his children’s sake, and suddenly Sam was just as worried for Rachel.
How had he complicated her life? She hadn’t asked for all this. He’d pushed it on her, and now—aw hell, he’d known all along that she was more warmhearted than other women. He’d realized that, even in the early days when he was still living with his resentment of Donna’s deception, of Rachel’s dismissal of him. And now she was aching inside—because his manipulating ways had forced her to do something she’d never do under normal circumstances: bring possible pain to an innocent. And Sam knew full well that she would shield his babies, save them as much as possible, even at a cost to herself.
She was leaving soon. He wanted to swear. He wanted to kick something so hard that the physical pain would dull the tripping of his heart. “I didn’t mean to involve you this much,” he said gently.
“Don’t you think I know that? But now, if—”
She held her hands out helplessly.
Sam heard the strain in her voice. He should be trying to make this easier for her. But dammit, he couldn’t. That was one thing he couldn’t do.
Marry me. The words filled his mind. He pushed them away. He was a simple man, a man whose life revolved around his children and his work. He didn’t know how to keep a woman happy, not enough to make her stay, not enough to make sure she wouldn’t turn away from him when he was least expecting it. Didn’t he remember that? It had happened with Donna. It had already happened once with Rachel.
Marry me. He sucked in air, ignoring his thoughts as best he could.
“Rachel.” He reached out, touched her lips with his thumb. “You don’t have to leave. I’ll keep my hands to myself. We can work things out.”
It took a mammoth effort for him to manage an encouraging smile, especially when it felt like there was a steamroller parked on his chest, but he did it. He wondered if he had forced her into a corner, if she was just thinking of marrying that guy to escape Sam Grayson and his damned overpowering desire. If that was true he had to let her know that it wasn’t necessary. He would put a lock and chain on his hands—he’d place himself under a twenty-four-hour guard—before he would make her flee in such a manner.
She managed a small smile of her own, but she didn’t say that she wouldn’t go.
“Tell the kids I’ll see them tomorrow,” Rachel said, turning her back to him.
“No.”
She whirled, faced him. “You don’t want me to come back? You think it’s best to end it now?”
He thought it was best to never end it. It would have been best for him if he’d kept her buried in his memories. But she was here; he’d sought her out. Now it was only his fault if he was in danger of burning up and dissolving into cinders.
He shook his head. “Tomorrow’s the Tucker Summerfest. We close the yard. Remember? I’ll be taking the kids. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”
Never mind that he had planned on asking her to come with them. It was obvious she needed some personal space.
He needed her to know that he could keep his distance, that if she stayed it would be okay.
“I want you to take the day off, have a day just for you. Maybe we’ll see you there,” he said.
He could tell by the stillness of her expression that it wasn’t likely to happen. He had given her a reprieve. She had taken it.
“Maybe,” she said. That was all.
And maybe in no time at all, she would be Mrs. Don Bowers. He would have lost Rachel Allyn for the second time in his life.
Chapter Nine
Rachel looked in the mirror, adjusting the delicate gold chain she’d looped around her neck.
Sam Grayson didn’t pity Michelle Wilkins. The words swirled into Rachel’s consciousness, blurring the picture in the mirror.
He wanted to help that little girl because her clothes were ragged and her father drank away the grocery money.
But he didn’t pity her. The enormity of what Sam had revealed yesterday swelled inside Rachel’s soul as she stood before the mirror trying to decide what she would wear to the Summerfest.
Catching up a pair of white denim jeans and a red midriff top, Rachel sat down on the bed and pulled on the pants. Not that it mattered in the long run what Sam had or hadn’t felt years ago. That didn’t change things. He had still loved and married Donna. He was still not going to love Rachel Allyn. But although she had regrets for all the years of friendship she had missed with Sam, she also could feel good knowing she hadn’t been wrong about him when she’d first met him. Sam was an admirable man, he was a wonderful man, and he respected her and liked her, even if it would never amount to more than that. Someday, maybe, when she’d learned not to let Sam make her senses spin, maybe the two of them really could be friends.
Someday. A long time from now.
Still, someday was better than never.
With great determination Rachel pulled the red top over her head and tried out a tremulous smile, checking the mirror to see if it worked. “Let’s go,” she said, taking a deep, energizing breath. “It’s party time.”
~ ~ ~
She’d been wandering around, chatting to old friends, admiring the beautiful day and nibbling on hot dogs, when she felt Annie come up behind her. The little girl slipped her hand inside Rachel’s palm as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
“Rachel,” she said, shaking her head. “We are late. Zach tumbled into the mud, Daddy had to give him a new bath, and then Janey lost Baby. We are late, late, late. Is it almost over?”
“No, silly, of course not.” Rachel brushed the little girl’s nose with the tip of one finger. She noticed that Sam didn’t come near with Janey and Zach.
“What should we do?” Annie asked, as if there was no question that they would be sharing this day together.
“An-nie,” Sam drawled, moving closer then. “This is Rachel’s day off. She probably has friends she hasn’t seen for quite a while. Come on, pumpkin, we’ll go check out the rides and see the pet display.”
“Woof,” Zach said in agreement.
But Annie was clearly not happy with Sam’s statement, and Rachel found that she had to agree with the little girl. If she had so little time left, she wanted to live it to the fullest, saturate herself with Grayson family memories, fill herself to the top with visions of Sam and his children.
Rachel knew she had to end things. She could never hurt the children and she couldn’t be a martyr, even for love. But that didn’t mean the end had to be right now, this second. She had time. Even Don wouldn’t be here until tomorrow and even then—even then—
“Hey, Zach, what do you say? Let’s go take a whirl on the merry-go-round and find those woofs, huh?”
Rachel smiled into the little boy’s eyes—and found that Sam had been caught in her line of vision. He was standing there, holding two babies, his legs splayed, his blue eyes still clear, if unreadable, beneath the shadow of his Stetson.
“I don’t know about this,” he said. “I thought we agreed—”
“I don’t remember any agreement,” Rachel said softly. “At least not one concerning this day.”
Still he stood, a wall, a statue, a man who was determined to do what he considered to be the right thing—just the way he always had.
“It’s just one day, Sam,” she reminded him. Not forever. “Besides, I understand you’ve already had your hands full today. You were detained, late.”
His smile slowly formed; it reached his eyes as he nodded his head to Janey, who was bucking in his arms.
“They’re a little overexcited,” he admitted.
So was she.
Rachel nodded. “Everybody’s excited when a festival comes to town. Come on, Annie, let’s go see what there is to see.”
And see everything they did. She and Sam each took a twin. They sandwiched Annie between them and rode up and down on prancing painted stallion
s. They chased each other on the helicopters. At the pet display, they watched the judges try to decide which chicken had the most personality.
Janey clapped her hands when the judge handed out the blue ribbons. Zach tried to climb down from Sam’s grasp to get a closer look at the “woofs.” Together they looked at chickens and cats, dogs and rats, gerbils and fish, oohing and aahing and pointing until the twins got tired and Sam settled with them on a bench in the corner.
Annie and Rachel moved on. They were looking at a pretty little golden retriever when Annie poked her fingers at the wire cage.
“I’d like to have a dog someday. Mommy didn’t like pets.”
Rachel knelt down to Annie’s level. She prayed for the right words, the ones that would make a difference “I seem to recall that your mother was allergic to dogs,” she answered truthfully.
Annie nodded. “That’s what Daddy said, but Mommy said they were pests to take care of. Rachel?”
“Yes, Annie.” Rachel let the little dog lick her finger, his rough tongue curling around her skin.
“Do you think my mommy might ever come for a visit?”
Rachel froze for two whole seconds. She forced herself not to close her eyes, to breathe normally, as she turned to the child. “I don’t know, Annie,” she finally admitted, pulling the little girl close for a hug. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know that.”
“Nicky says that you might get married soon, that you might go.”
It was a loaded statement. Rachel did hold her breath then. She studied the angles of the comment that was really a question.
“I don’t know if I’ll be getting married anytime soon, Annie, but you realize I’m an employee. That means I just work for your dad. I can’t stay with you forever.”
Annie was biting her lip; she clenched her little hands. “I know. That’s what Mrs. Nelson said, but—”
“But,” Rachel continued, soothing her hand over the child’s hair. “Even though I can’t stay with you for always, Annie, I won’t ever really leave you. I’m exceptionally loyal to my friends. We’d see each other sometimes, I’d talk to you on the phone, and hey, I write a really mean letter. Ask your aunt Kate. We’ve been long-distance friends for years, and you—you’d write a pretty great letter yourself. After all, you’re Annie Grayson, the born storyteller.”
Silence. So much painful silence.
“When will you go?”
“I don’t know. Soon. But Annie, I will tell you. I won’t surprise you. I would never simply slip away. I won’t do that. I won’t vanish. That’s a promise.”
Annie hugged her arms around Rachel’s legs suddenly. She hid her face against Rachel.
“And you would call me? You’d write?”
Rachel closed her eyes; she smoothed Annie’s silky hair. “The phone lines will be burning up, Annie. I swear it.”
With that, the little girl pulled back. She stared all the way up into Rachel’s eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek and trembled on her chin. “Then make them short phone lines, Rachel, please. I don’t like long ones. I don’t.”
Neither did she, Rachel wanted to say. But it would only make things harder for Annie if she allowed the child to see just how little she wanted to leave.
Instead, she nudged one finger under the little girl’s chin, brushing the teardrop away. She smoothed two fingers across Annie’s damp cheek. “I meant what I said, Annie,” she whispered. “I don’t turn my back on my friends. I stay in touch. And I hope...maybe you’ll send me some of your stories. I’d love to see them.”
Annie nodded, slowly, sadly, her expression too wise for her years. “I will. I promise. And I’ll water your flowers, too, Rachel. I like those flowers.”
Rachel’s throat felt tight and twisted. “Me, too, but not as much as I like you, Annie. I’m very glad I had the chance to meet you.” She opened her mouth to say more, but she’d said all it was possible to say without offering hope where there was none, without making the damage worse.
Instead she simply continued to stroke Annie’s hair. She looked up across the display area and into Sam’s eyes. He had hired her to help Annie. Now he watched as she proceeded to hurt his child, the one she had promised to protect.
The afternoon had passed into evening. Annie had been persuaded away from Rachel by Nicky and Michelle. Hal and his friend Lily Dawson had asked if they could have the twins for a few hours. And when the dance floor had been set up and the music started, Rachel had managed to keep a crowd of humanity between her and Sam.
Slow music. Sensual music. Skin-to-skin music.
Looking up, Rachel spotted Sam in a millisecond. He was threading his way through the crowd, headed her way.
Taller than most men, his progress was easy to follow. Not that height alone made Sam stand out from a crowd. That slightly long, dark hair; the touch of swagger that emphasized his lean hips; and those blue, blue eyes, all were parts of Sam that set him apart.
Rachel knew she should probably go home right now, call it a day, anything to keep her distance from this man and to stop herself from doing what she was wanting to do.
Instead she stepped out onto the dance floor beneath the stars. She looked up at Sam when he made it to her side.
“I’ll take that dance you owe me now, Rachel,” he said, holding out his hand.
She placed her fingers in his, nodding. “This time I’ll stay until the song’s over, Sam.”
It was just a dance. Lots of people were dancing.
Bracing her senses for the touch that had sent her spinning so long ago, she took a deep breath. Sam’s hand against her back was just a part of the dance, nothing special, just a formality. But when Sam gave a tug and pulled her closer into his arms, Rachel knew there was nothing formal about the way she was feeling.
Leaning her head on his shoulder, Rachel moved with him. As Sam turned and swirled her, as he waltzed her around the makeshift wooden floor, she closed her eyes.
“Tired?”
She looked up and found only the star-spangled night, only Sam, as she leaned back against the flesh and steel of his arm. “Not at all.”
He smiled then, brushing his hand over her hair, pulling her back to her resting place against his chest.
This was where she felt at home, this was where she’d once wanted to be.
This was the man she loved. Had always, would always love. The thought plunged in, as unavoidable as a red light in a darkening sky. No matter who or what came or went in her life, there would always be Sam waiting in her thoughts, slipping into her dreams. It was the truth. She knew that, but the truth caught her unprepared. Rachel stumbled slightly.
Sam lifted her off her feet, holding her close till she could get her bearings, then pulled her in tight against his hips as he waltzed her back into the dance.
Rachel locked her hands around Sam’s neck, holding on, connecting herself to him. She drank in the warm male scent of him: soap, a touch of lime-scented after-shave. If she turned her lips a fraction of an inch, she’d be kissing the muscles of his chest.
And if things had been different years ago, if she’d been older, if she hadn’t pushed Sam’s friendship away, if there’d been no Donna for him to love, maybe this wouldn’t be the first dance ever she was sharing with Sam. Maybe it wouldn’t be the last.
But she was not going to dwell on that now. Not yet. For a few minutes more, he was hers. All hers.
Rachel smiled against Sam’s shirt, and he tucked her closer to his heart.
“I never knew you danced so well, Sam,” she murmured.
He moved slightly, his lips catching on her hair. “And whose fault would that be, I wonder?”
“Mine, Sam. All mine.” She took the blame; she took the man to her heart.
He shook his head. “Mine, too, I think. You wouldn’t have walked away without a reason.”
He was right, but she didn’t want to waste time explaining now. Rachel gave herself up to the dance—and Sam.
~ ~ ~
/> Sam spread his hand wide across Rachel’s back. He could feel the warmth, imagine the softness beneath the thin material of her blouse. Her hair swayed as she moved, brushing against his fingers. He wanted to wrap it around his wrist, to breathe in the lemony scent of it. He wanted to tilt her head back so that her long mane draped down her spine and her creamy white neck was exposed to his lips.
But he did none of those things. Instead he held her, just a little too close. He let his thoughts drift into territory that was just a touch too dangerous. Hell, who was he trying to kid? His thoughts were beyond dangerous. He’d allowed himself to imagine holding Rachel in his arms for more than just this moment, of keeping her against his heart through long days and even longer nights.
Sam shifted, dodging his errant daydreams. He forced himself to smile reassuringly down at Rachel when she looked up at him. What would she say if she knew what he’d been thinking?
He didn’t want to know.
Hard to believe he was holding her at all. She’d made a living out of keeping him a room’s length away.
But what if she hadn’t? What if he hadn’t chased her away with words he now knew he’d uttered but couldn’t remember? Would she have continued to smile at him? Would he have felt the way he was feeling now? Would he have married a woman who had been too young to commit to a relationship?
Sam closed his eyes. He didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. Instead, he just held on. He tightened his grip on Rachel and she looked up at him. She sank back into his embrace, becoming a part of him, making him a part of her.
He wanted this woman like a drowning man wants an island in the ocean. But he couldn’t have her—and he didn’t blame her. Not at all.
She’d restored his trust, that deep-in-the-soul faith in a person that he thought he’d never know again. Because he knew that she would never betray a man without a reason. She would never wound or abandon a child if she could help it.
He believed in her. Implicitly. He would trust her to supply the very air that he breathed—but there was no point in thinking that way. Because he’d learned his lesson. Sam Grayson would never again push a woman into a commitment she wasn’t ready for. He wouldn’t unintentionally harm Rachel again.
Babies and a Blue-eyed Man Page 14
