“Well?” Sam demanded.
Carl bared his teeth in a grin. “Get Angela. I need her to notarize something for me.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Sam said.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, getting involved.”
“They’re good people. Matt’s my best friend.”
“I meant with the girl. Meg.”
Sam’s throat was suddenly dry. “We’re figuring it out.”
“I’m glad to see you finally settling back on the island. I’d hate to see you throw it all away for New York.”
Sam swallowed. “I’m not going to New York.”
Carl nodded. “You make sure she knows that.”
Nineteen
TAYLOR’S HEART POUNDED as she walked to the courthouse between Aunt Meg and Miss Dolan. Please, please don’t let me puke. She’d been too nervous to eat the breakfast Grandma Tess had cooked, and then she was hungry in the lawyer’s office, and there was nothing to do while they were waiting except eat the leftover Halloween candy Miss Dolan kept in the bowl on her desk. And now Taylor’s skin felt cold and her face felt hot and her stomach felt like she was going to throw up all over the new shoes Aunt Meg had insisted she wear to court.
“You have to look like we’re taking care of you,” Aunt Meg had said as she’d laid out colored jeans and a stupid ruffled sweater on the bottom of Taylor’s bed this morning. “Image is important.”
Taylor hated the clothes, which were stiff and tight and way too bright. She didn’t want people looking at her. She didn’t want to be there at all. Every time she thought about where they were going and why, she felt sick and dizzy. But she understood what Aunt Meg was trying to say—Wear this, or they’ll take you away—so she put the clothes on anyway. Besides, Aunt Meg was dressed up, too, in what Uncle Matt called her City Girl clothes. Miss Dolan wore a suit and lots of makeup. Taylor had never seen Miss Dolan without a suit, but everybody in their dark, stiff clothes reminded her of a funeral, Mom’s funeral, and thinking about her mom just made things worse, so she stared at the cracks in the sidewalk and tried not to think at all.
She swallowed. At least they let her keep her hat.
Over her head, Miss Dolan was talking to Aunt Meg.
“. . . Marines hardly a stable family life,” Miss Dolan said. “But it will carry a certain weight with the judge in this case.”
“My father’s a Marine,” Aunt Meg said.
“Yes,” Miss Dolan said, short and cool. “So is mine.”
Mine, too, Taylor thought, but her . . . but Luke wasn’t here, and that made her feel sad and kind of mad, too. She’d never had a dad before. She’d never needed a dad. Mom said that as long as they had each other, they didn’t need anybody else. But now Mom was gone and Luke was gone and he said he was coming back, but he wasn’t here now, was he? Taylor’s throat burned. She needed him now. If he was here, they wouldn’t take her away. And he’d fight them if they tried.
The lines on the sidewalk blurred, and she stumbled in her stupid new shoes.
Aunt Meg grabbed her hand before she fell. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Which was what everybody had been asking her all day until Taylor wanted to scream. What would they do if she said no?
But Aunt Meg meant well, so Taylor mumbled, “Fine.”
Aunt Meg took a breath and then paused, like maybe she expected Taylor to say something else.
Taylor looked over her shoulder at her mom’s boss, at Miss Dolan, standing there waiting. Listening. Taylor’s stomach churned. She couldn’t say anything to anybody. Not Aunt Meg. Not even Uncle Matt.
She dropped her head, her heart thumping, the Big Scary Bad pushing in at her thoughts, waiting for her like a monster at the end of her bed. She wanted to curl up under the covers with Fezzik to protect her. She wanted to run and run somewhere they’d never find her. But she kept walking, one foot in front of the other, while they talked about her over her head.
“Mistake to bring the child in at all,” Miss Dolan said. “Judges don’t like these King Solomon decisions. Frankly, I don’t think the Simpsons have a snowball’s chance in hell.”
Snowball. It was too much.
Taylor’s eyes burned. Her throat burned. One hot tear welled up and slipped down her nose. Another.
“Oh, sweetie . . .” Aunt Meg sounded shaken.
Taylor squeezed her eyes tight shut, willing the tears away.
“Now what?” Miss Dolan said.
“I think . . . she had a cat named Snowball,” Aunt Meg said.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Miss Dolan.
There was a rustle, and then someone gripped Taylor’s shoulders hard. She jumped—she didn’t like people grabbing her—and opened her eyes. Miss Dolan was kneeling on the sidewalk in her suit and high heels, looking Taylor right in the face. Taylor had never been this close to Miss Dolan before. Her hair was red and you could see that she had freckles under her makeup. Freckles and . . . Taylor blinked. A scar. A short, deep gash high on her left cheek.
“You’re going to be fine,” Miss Dolan said in a voice that said, or I’m going to kick somebody’s ass. “Both sides have agreed to let you talk to the judge in chambers. Do you know what that means?”
Taylor’s head wobbled yes. “He’s going to ask me questions.”
“Right. Nobody else will be there. Just you and Judge Dixon. You can tell him whatever you want. As long as you’re honest with him, everything else will work out.”
Taylor licked her lips. “What if I say the wrong answer?” she whispered.
“There are no wrong answers,” Miss Dolan said. “The judge wants to know how you feel. Feelings are never wrong, they’re just feelings. Okay?”
Taylor was pretty sure it was more complicated than that, but she nodded anyway. Maybe she could talk about her feelings without telling . . . without saying everything.
“Good.” Miss Dolan squeezed Taylor’s shoulders and stood.
Aunt Meg took her hand, and instead of jerking away, Taylor let her fingers curl around her aunt’s. “Ready?”
Taylor nodded, more confidently this time.
“Right.” Aunt Meg smiled at her, a real smile, and the hot band around Taylor’s chest loosened. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
“WHAT’S TAKING THEM so long?” Meg whispered to Kate Dolan.
The courtroom looked like something on TV, wood veneer and beige paint and anxiety like a grimy film over everything. Because they’d come in late, Meg and Kate were forced to sit in back. The chairs in front were full of men with thinning hair and sagging faces and women with dull, accepting eyes, victims of broken families, broken bones, broken promises. Meg could barely see the top of her father’s gray head where he sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. Beneath his navy blazer, Matt’s shoulders were rigid. Their lawyer was standing, chatting amiably with Jolene Simpson’s lawyer. At least, Meg assumed he was their lawyer. He wore a bow tie. And pleated pants.
She curled her nails into her palms.
“This isn’t long,” Kate said. “The judge is actually speeding things up since it’s only a temporary custody hearing. That’s why he accepted the affidavit instead of requiring Mr. Grady to appear as a witness.”
Meg sat up straighter, distracted by movement at the front. “What?”
“Here they come.”
At last. A door behind the judge’s bench opened, and Taylor appeared, dwarfed between the black-robed judge and a female deputy.
Meg held her breath. Taylor’s face looked thin and pinched and pale. Her gaze darted over the courtroom until it landed on Matt in the front row. She gave him a small, crooked smile.
That was good, wasn’t it? Please let it be good.
The deputy—bailiff?—whatever—leaned down to say something. Taylor nodded before she came down the steps toward Matt. Meg so focused on watching them that she missed half of what the judge was saying.
“. . . Inappropriate
use of the court’s time. Motion denied without prejudice to either party.”
Meg turned to Kate. “That means we won, right?” Relief stung her eyes and nose. “We won!”
“It’s not right!” Jolene’s voice rose from the front of the courtroom before she was hushed by her lawyer.
Through a blur of happy tears, Meg saw Tom grinning. Matt had his arm around Taylor. Taylor, usually so reluctant to hold and be held, leaned into his sheltering side.
“Pending resolution of the claim for permanent custody upon Staff Sergeant Fletcher’s return,” the judge said.
Kate nudged Meg. “We can go out now. This way. They can meet us in the lobby.”
Meg swallowed and sidled past legs and stepped over purses on her way to the aisle. “Thank you,” she said to Kate when they were outside the courtroom.
“Happy to help.” A hint of uncertainty crept into Kate’s gaze. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, with a hard polished shell that contrasted oddly with her curling red hair. “I wish I could have done more.”
“I don’t know what else you could have done,” Meg said.
“I meant . . . when Taylor’s mother died.”
“You contacted my brother,” Meg said. “That’s good enough for me.”
“I’m still not sure that was—”
The courtroom doors opened, cutting her off.
“I never thought I’d be grateful to Carl Grady,” Tom was saying as he came out.
“Why?” Meg kissed her father’s cheek. “What did he do?” She swooped on Taylor for a brief hug, surprised when Taylor actually hugged her back. “Good job, sweetie.”
Matt answered her. “Carl sent a courier to Vernon Long’s office this morning with an affidavit testifying to our fitness to be guardians for Taylor.”
“Carl did?” Meg blinked. “But how did he know?”
“Hell, everybody knows. Raised you and your brothers, didn’t we?” Tom said.
“But why would he . . .” Sam, she realized. Warmth flooded her veins. Sam must have asked his father. For Taylor’s sake. For hers.
There’s not much I wouldn’t do for your family, Meg. Or for you.
She couldn’t wait to get home to thank him.
* * *
“I SMELL DINNER,” Tom said.
Meg sniffed appreciatively as she came through the kitchen door. The mouthwatering scents of red wine and pancetta rose from the heavy-bottomed pot on the stove.
Tess turned, smiling, from the sink, up to her elbows in soap bubbles. “I made pot roast with Amarone. It just needs to simmer for a couple of hours.”
He stooped to give her a brief, hard kiss. “You’re working too hard, babe.”
“I had to keep busy. Besides, I had Sam to help me.”
More hugs, more kisses as Matt and Taylor trooped in. Taylor dashed upstairs to change.
Meg’s gaze found Sam standing at the counter, lean and relaxed and deliciously male with a dish towel in his hands. Every woman’s fantasy. “You’ve been helping everybody today.”
He met her eyes, his mouth curving, his look as warm and potent as a kiss. Take me now, she thought. “You had all the bases covered,” he said. “I just asked Dad to have a word with the umpire.”
“Much appreciated,” Tom said.
“You’ll stay to dinner,” Tess said. “To celebrate.”
He smiled at her. “I’d like that.”
“I owe you,” Matt said quietly.
“No,” Sam said.
Taylor reappeared, dancing from foot to foot. “I’m ready.”
“Where are you off to?” Tess asked.
“Uncle Matt’s taking me and Josh and Allison for ice cream. Do you want to come?”
“Grandma needs to lie down,” Tom said.
Her blue gaze switched to him. “What about you?”
“Grandpa’s going to lie down with her,” Matt said. “It’s you and me, kid.”
“And Josh,” Taylor said.
“Yeah.”
She gave a little bounce. “And Allison.”
He smiled down at her. “That’s right.”
“Can Fezzik come, too?”
“As long as he rides in back.”
Meg watched them go, man, child, and dog, and thought with sharp and shocking clarity, I want that. One day.
Tom helped Tess to bed. Meg turned back to find Sam regarding her, a smile on his lips and heat in his eyes. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She cleared her throat. “I guess that leaves just you and me.”
“Looks like it.”
“Want to go out to your truck and neck?”
He laughed and crossed to her, his hands spanning her hips, bringing her into full, firm contact with his body. “I have a better idea.”
Her insides contracted with desire. “We can’t go upstairs. My parents . . .”
“I know.” He kissed her, long and slow, running his hand up her side to take her breast.
Ten minutes later, her skirt was bunched up and her blouse was undone and she was seriously rethinking her position on having sex in her room with her parents in the house. Hell, in another five, Sam could probably have her on the kitchen table.
He broke their kiss, breathing hard. “Right. Time for my idea.”
She grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand back to her breast. “If you stop now, I’ll be forced to kill you.”
“Sugar, you’re killing me already.” He kissed her again, his mouth searching, his hands claiming, making her system jangle with lust. “Okay, that’s it.” He pulled away, his color high, his eyes almost black. “That has to hold us ’til we get there.”
“Get where?” Disbelieving, she watched as he tugged her skirt down her thighs. “Sam, I don’t want to wait.”
He steered her toward the door. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
“Make it up to me?” she sputtered as he bundled her out to the truck. “I may not let you touch me after this. Hell, I may not even be speaking to you.”
His grin flashed. “Don’t sulk.”
He drove fast, one hand on the wheel and the other on her knee. It wasn’t enough. She wanted him naked. She wanted his hands, his mouth, all over her. She was on edge, vibrating with impatience.
The truck slowed as he turned onto the unfinished road of the Dare Plantation development. The track went down, then up, then down, farther than they’d gone before. He parked amid the dunes and blowing grass near a stand of ancient live oaks. A frame house on stilts rose half finished in the sun.
Grabbing a tarp from the back of the truck, Sam opened her door. “Here we go.”
“Where?”
“Up there.” He guided her up a flight of unfinished stairs, with daylight showing through the treads, boosting her with a hand on her bottom when the handrail disappeared.
Meg poked her head cautiously through an opening in the floor. Light poured over the platform. The open walls, the oaks all around, gave the unfinished structure the feel of a tree house. “Sam, it’s beautiful. But . . .”
“We couldn’t make love at your house,” he said. His gaze met hers, warm as the sun that flooded the boards around them. She melted inside. “So I brought you to mine.”
She turned in a cautious circle, taking in the views from the sound to the sea. “This is your house?”
“It will be. This is the master bedroom. And this”—he spread the tarp—“is the bed.”
She laughed and sat, patting the canvas invitingly. “Maybe we should test it out.”
“That’s my plan.” But instead of joining her, he walked to one corner of the platform and reached up behind one of the joists.
She frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Turning off the security camera.”
“Oh.” Her breath went in a puff of laughter. “Good idea.”
Her laughter faded as he stripped off his shirt. She loved looking at him, his smooth, muscled chest, the shadow of coarse hair that ran like an arrow down hi
s abdomen. She shivered in anticipation as he stalked toward her, his skin prickling in the cool air.
Was she actually going to make love outside? In broad daylight? In November?
Yes.
“We’re going to freeze,” she predicted.
Sam lowered himself beside her. “I’ll keep you warm,” he said and proceeded to make good on his promise.
His hands were fluid as they flowed over her, lingering in the places that gave her the most pleasure. His mouth was warm and coaxing, taking, giving, taking a little more. He set her blood on fire, set her skin aglow. She closed her eyes, sinking into a molten, golden sea, flooded with sunshine and well-being. He dealt with the condom before he covered her, whispering love words—like that, sugar, take it, yes—moving into her, pushing into the heat and the laughter, slowly and deliberately taking her, making her gasp and shudder, making her arch and moan. Making her his. She twined her legs around him, holding him to her and in her with everything she had, making him hers, over and over. Until their pace quickened and raced, until their rhythm crested and broke, until he shuddered and spent inside her and she dissolved in waves of bone-melting heat.
Afterward they drifted.
He kissed her nose.
She touched his jaw. “I like your house,” she murmured.
He stretched on top of her, wakening her nerve endings, working the kinks from his back. “It could use a mattress.”
She smiled and rubbed the back of her head. “I was thinking some pillows.”
“And you,” he said. Their eyes caught. Locked. “It needs you.”
Her heart rolled over in delight. Her stomach sank in dismay. They had agreed to take things one day at a time, to enjoy the journey. But they were traveling too far, too fast, and she could see the end of the road too clearly.
“Why don’t you show me the rest?” she suggested, fighting to keep her voice steady.
She felt the tension in his long body, the masculine resistance before he levered himself off her. But he was too smart to push. Instead, being Sam, he set himself to impress. To charm. After they were dressed, he showed her the job site from their vantage point on the platform, where the channel allowed the best access for boats, where the fish house and the housing and the greenway would be. His enthusiasm fired her imagination. She could see, so clearly, all his hopes, all his plans taking shape in the island’s soil.
Dare Island [2] Carolina Girl Page 23
