by Kristi Gold
He glanced at her hand then reluctantly took it for a brief shake. “Mr. Rashid.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rashid. You’re welcome in the house, you know.”
“It is best I remain here to allow you and the sheikh some privacy.”
Andi shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’m sure this won’t take long.”
Rashid executed a slight bow. “As you say, Miss Hamilton.”
Andi yanked open the door, prepared to face whatever might come, yet she couldn’t have prepared for Sam sitting on the living room sofa, dressed in casual slacks and knit shirt, his dark head bent as he thumbed through a photo album containing pictures of Chance from birth to the present day. So engrossed was he in the task, he didn’t bother to look up. His preoccupation gave Andi a chance to study him while he journeyed through the pictorial history of their child.
Leaning back, he propped the album on one crossed leg and smiled. His smile faded and his expression turned melancholy, wistful. Andi closed her eyes and willed away the threatening emotions, the regrets.
Once she felt more composed, she approached the sofa. “He was such a beautiful baby.”
Startled, Sam looked up and erased the tenderness from his features, but it didn’t quite leave his eyes. “Yes, he was.”
Andi joined him on the sofa, leaving as much distance between them as she could and still be able to view the pictures with Sam. How many times had she dreamed of this? How many times had she hoped that one day he would return? More times than she could count. And now that the moment had arrived, she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“What made you decide to call him Chance?” Sam asked.
“Other than I like the name, I guess you could say he was my chance to have someone who loved me without conditions.” Her chance to have part of Sam that she could have with her always, but she wouldn’t admit that to him.
She pointed to the photo of Chance on his first birthday, a mound of icing on top of his dark head. “He really tore into that cake. He wore more than he ate.”
He turned the page to a picture of Chance on a pony. “I see that he has inherited his mother’s love of horses.”
“Yes. That’s Scamp. She’s still with us although I’m not sure for how long. She’s about twenty years old now. I don’t know what he’ll do when we lose her.”
“I’ll buy him another.”
“Some things can’t be easily replaced.”
He kept his attention focused on the photograph. “I have learned that to be a strong truth.”
Now seemed like a good time to tell him her greatest concern. “I can’t let you take him from me, Sam.”
He closed the album, slipped it onto the coffee table and leaned forward, hands clasped between his parted knees, but he failed to look directly at her. “Is that what you think I’ve come to do, take him away from you?”
“Is it?”
“No, Andrea. He belongs here with you.”
Although he sounded certain, doubts still hounded Andi. “So now that you’ve seen him, you’re going to turn your back and walk away?”
He pinned her with his fiery dark eyes, his expression hard, angry. “I have no intention of turning my back on him. I will set up a bank account in your name to pay for his expenses. As I understand it, his medical bills have been a burden on you, according to Tess.”
Damn Tess. “He’s doing okay, and I’m managing to pay the bills a little at a time. So it’s really not necessary for you to give us any money.”
His features softened. “I insist that you let me do this for him. For you.”
“I’ll think about it.” And she would, but not for herself. After all, Sam did have an obligation to their son, and she could use the extra money for his expenses. Not to mention, the sheikh probably had several fortunes to spare. Because of Chance, she would put away her pride and allow him to help.
Sam walked to the shelf across the room and ran a fingertip along the edge of the frame that held the most recent picture of Chance, as if trying to connect to the child he’d only known for a few hours. “Do they know why he has this diabetes?”
“No. It just happened. It’s not anyone’s fault.”
He glanced back. “And he’s doing well?”
“Most of the time, now that we have his insulin and diet regulated. He’s so brave. He doesn’t even complain when he has to have his shots.”
“I hate that he has suffered.” Turning his attention back to the photo, he released a long sigh. “Has he asked about me?”
Andi rose and stood behind him. “Yes, several times in the past few years.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him that you couldn’t stay, that you lived far away in another land. I told him that you loved him and you’d be with us if you could.”
Slowly Sam faced her. “Then you did not lie to him.”
“I don’t know. Did I?”
He lowered his head. “It’s true. I couldn’t stay in America, Andrea. And now that I have seen him, I know that I would die before I let any harm come to him.”
Andi swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you feel that way, but I’m also worried about what we should tell him.”
Sam raised his dark eyes to her. “I will leave that up to you, but I would like for him to know that I’m his father.”
In a perfect world Andi would consider that to be a good idea. But this wasn’t a perfect situation by any means. “Then what? ‘Hey, Chance, I’m your dad and I’m sorry about this, but I have to go back and do my princely duties’?”
“I can return to visit during the summers when he’s not in school.”
“Is that enough, Sam? Will that ever be enough for him?”
He streaked a hand over his nape and sighed. “Would you have given up the opportunity to have spent time with Paul and your father even knowing they would be taken from you?”
Andi cursed his logic. “No, I wouldn’t take anything for that time with them. But that’s different. You’d be absent by choice, not death.”
“Sometimes choices are made for us.”
“You mean your duty? I’m not sure he’d understand why your position takes precedence over him. In time he might come to resent you.”
“As his mother does?” Sam asked in a low, steady voice.
Andi had to admit that she’d resented his sudden departure. Resented that he had made love to her, created a child then left her alone to raise their son, left her alone to deal with her grief over her brother’s death. But she couldn’t fault him, at least when it came to Chance, since he hadn’t known about him until now. He also hadn’t made that possible because of his loyalty to a way of life that Andi couldn’t even begin to understand. Worse, he hadn’t even tried to explain or to stay in touch.
Still, she had to do what was best for everyone, even if that included calling a truce.
“I’m past my resentment, Sam.”
“But you’ll never forgive me, will you?”
“I have forgiven you.” To a point, but she would never be able to forget.
His eyes took on the cast of satisfaction. “I’m pleased by that, Andrea. I only hope that I can earn your trust.”
That would be a bit harder, in Andrea’s opinion. She still feared that Sam might change his mind and try to take her son back to his country, especially after he got to know him. Yet she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being. “So where are you staying?”
“Here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tess told me it would be best if I remain nearby, and I agree. She wishes to reside in the bunkhouse during my stay, though I argued against it. But she insisted. I’ve brought a few of my things and I’ll send Rashid back to the hotel in Lexington to wait for me until I’m ready to leave.”
Andi fought the bite of apprehension. If Sam stayed under the same roof, she couldn’t avoid seeing him on a daily basis. And with the
ir son away at camp for two weeks, she worried that she might not be able to resist him. “I think you should wait until Chance returns before you move in.”
“I have promised Tess I will help do some repairs while I’m here, before Chance comes back.”
Tess. Always thinking of everything, darn it. “I guess I could use the help,” Andi admitted. She could also use some courage. Right now it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him, send her fingertips over the fine lines framing his mouth, his incredible lips that now formed a grim line as he studied her. Be brave, she told herself.
As if he intended to test her nerve, Sam took her hand into his, creating pleasant warmth that flowed through her whole body. One simple touch, and already she was battling for control. But she had to remain in control, prove to herself, and to him, that she was much stronger than before. Prove that her memories were colored by the fantasies of a young girl, dreams that no longer existed in a woman’s reality. She intended to conduct her own test.
Putting her best smile forward, she pulled her hand from his grasp and opened her arms. “Welcome home, Sam.”
His gaze roved over her from head to toe in a long, lingering look of appreciation, then finally he accepted her embrace. He felt good against her, strong and solid and warm. She remembered how wonderful it had been to hold him close, remembered his exotic scent, his overwhelming heat. Remembered how she had missed having him in her life, left only with her hopes of his return and memories of one night when he had been completely hers.
Trembling with the force of her reaction, she pulled out of his arms and stepped back. Her greatest fear was now realized.
Nothing had really changed, even after all these years.
Sam brushed a tender kiss across her cheek and studied her with those damnable mysterious eyes, dark and intense and capable of bringing her to her knees.
“Thank you, Andrea. It’s good to be home.”
If only it was home, Sam thought as he stood in the middle of the aged barn. He had chosen to come to the stable first, his favorite place. A place where he had spent many an hour with Paul and Andrea, assisting with the daily chores, shoveling manure, unloading feed, watering the remaining two horses that had belonged to Paul and Andrea’s father before his death, and any others that had happened upon the premises, thanks to a young woman who couldn’t say no.
Even then, Andrea would bring home someone’s colt or filly to break, most of the time solely for the thrill of it, not for the pay. Today, out of the dozen or so stalls, only four were occupied, one by Chance’s pony.
This would never do, Sam decided. He needed to help Andrea acquire some horses to train immediately. Most of those he owned belonged to a syndicate, but that did not mean he couldn’t purchase one that belonged solely to him. He had a gift for choosing good prospects, the reason why he had come to Kentucky to attend the sales. In fact, he had been approached at the auction regarding a promising two-year-old filly. One phone call and the mare would be his, though she was priced at half a million U.S. dollars. That didn’t matter. After all, he had paid for Andrea’s training expertise; he might as well put that investment to good use. But first he must repair a few stalls.
After rummaging through the tack room for a hammer and nails, Sam set out to make the barn more serviceable. Unfortunately, he pounded his thumb on more than one occasion, yet he welcomed the pain. For seven years he had done nothing more than paperwork, since manual labor was considered demeaning for royalty. But Sam was in America now, in a barn, not Barak, therefore he could labor to his heart’s delight.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He turned toward the entry to find Andrea staring at him as if he had grown fangs. He had no fangs, only two nails in his mouth. He spoke around them. “I’m repairing these stalls before an injury occurs.” Considering his deplorable skills, an injury could very well occur. To him.
She took a few steps forward and braced her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a horse in that stall, and I doubt there’s going to be one anytime soon.”
Turning away from her, he removed the nails from his mouth and hammered one into the wooden slat. “You’re wrong, Andrea.”
“What are you talking about?”
He faced her again and swiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm. “I’ve recently purchased a filly.” Or he would by day’s end. “If you recall, I bid an obscene amount of money for your services, and I expect to collect.”
At the moment he would like to collect on several things, none having to do with her training skills. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the ragged white T-shirt she now wore or the faded jeans that adhered to the bow of her hips like a second skin. His body stirred, calling attention to a need that had been denied far too long. Reminding him that Andrea could still affect him without attempting to do so.
She strolled to his side and leaned a shoulder against the stall, facing him. “You mean to tell me that you actually intend for me to train your horse.”
“That’s precisely what I’m telling you.” He should be telling her that, if she knew what was best for her, for them both, from this point forward she would wear a bra.
She frowned. “And when is this horse supposed to be here?”
“I will arrange for her to arrive in two days. That should give me time to repair the stall.”
Andrea smiled, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. “You intend to do this in your good clothes?”
Sam looked down at his slacks and shirt, then back up again. “I’m afraid this is all I have at the present. I’ll go into town and buy something suitable tomorrow.”
“Can’t you have Mr. Rashid do it for you?”
“I’ve sent him back to the hotel to field calls. I prefer that no one knows where I am.” Then perhaps he could avoid his father’s questions.
“You don’t need his protection?”
Only from his desire for Andrea, and he doubted Rashid could aid him in that regard. “I am relatively safe at the moment.” Yet still in danger of losing his control in her presence.
“You really don’t have to buy anything, at least not today,” she said. “I’m sure I can find you something to wear.”
He let his eyes travel down the length of her—very much at his own peril when he noticed her nipples had hardened beneath the thin shirt. “I doubt that I will fit into your jeans.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, much to his disappointment and relief. “Not mine. Yours. You left some jeans here. They’re in the cedar chest in the attic.”
“And they are still intact?”
“I’m sure they are. Of course, there could be one major problem. You were much skinnier then.”
“Skinnier?”
She sent a long glance down his body, much the same as he had hers. “Yep. You’ve filled out quite a bit.”
He was definitely filling out in some very obvious places. To avoid embarrassment, he turned back to the stall and surveyed his handiwork. “Give me a moment and we can go to the attic.”
“Why can’t we go now?” she asked, sounding confused.
Obviously she was still somewhat naive. He took in a deep draw of air but refused to turn around. “As soon as I’m finished with this board, I will join you. At the moment I prefer not to stop what I’m doing.”
He, as well, preferred to stop his craving for her, but he doubted that would happen soon—if ever.
Three
Sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, Andi pulled the jeans from the cedar chest where she’d kept them along with other special mementos—Chance’s baby clothes, his first shoes, a few of Paul’s things, treasures that she couldn’t bear to part with. She fought back more tears, already missing her son and he’d only been gone a few hours. Admittedly, already missing Sam even though he wouldn’t leave again for several weeks.
She set the jeans aside and rummaged through the pile in the chest, coming upon Paul’s high school
football jersey sporting the number seven. Lucky seven, Paul had said. If only his luck had held out, before he’d been ripped from her life, never having children of his own, never knowing Chance.
How Paul would have loved his nephew, loved playing uncle. If he hadn’t died, maybe things would have been different. She probably wouldn’t have made love with Sam. And she wouldn’t have Chance.
She couldn’t imagine not having her son in her life. She also couldn’t turn back time and she couldn’t keep wondering about what might have been. Even if Paul had survived, Sam would have returned to his country, his duty. Hadn’t he all but admitted that to her?
Dropping the jersey back into the chest, she grabbed up Sam’s jeans and held them against her heart. Clung to his old clothes as if they were a replacement for the man.
“You’re so stupid, Andrea Hamilton,” she muttered. “Still pining away over a man you can’t have, so stop thinking about him. Stop it!”
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
Still clutching the jeans in her arms, Andrea stiffened. With her back to the door, she could only hope Sam hadn’t witnessed her foolishness, hadn’t heard her declaration.
Glancing over her shoulder, she thankfully found his eyes focused on the open cedar chest, not her. He strolled over with hands in his pockets, then hovered above her like some dark, imposing monument to sheer male beauty.
He nodded toward the jersey laid out on top of the other items. “I remember Paul wearing that often.”
Andi tossed the jeans aside and shifted to where she could get a better look at Sam, his reaction. He hid his emotions behind that steel facade, those impenetrable eyes. Tearing her gaze away, she leaned forward again and produced another keepsake. “Do you remember this?”
Sam crouched beside her and took the baseball from her grasp, turning it over and over with his strong fingers. His expression mellowed with remembrance. “I recall this very well. My first major league game. Cleveland Indians. In April, the year Paul and I met.”
“And Paul caught the ball after a two-run homer.”
Sam grinned. “The ball rolled from two rows above us and landed at his feet. It was a foul, not a home run. Paul thought the other story sounded more favorable.”
