by Rula Sinara
“Oh. Well. Good to know.”
“Is it?”
“Sure, sure. Beggars can’t be choosers, they say.”
A glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand reminded her to try Sam again. Finn didn’t leave a message this time, either. Just as well, because what could she say? Based on what little she’d heard about his family, he wasn’t likely to forget this meal any time soon!
“I need to set the table and get the pasta water boiling. We’re having company for supper.”
He opened the door and stood aside as she walked into the living room. “Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Have you been seeing him long?”
“I only met him a few days ago. And I’m not seeing him. Sam and I are...friends.”
In the kitchen, she saw that while she and Connor had been talking, Ciara had set the table and finished the salad. She stood, wide-eyed and shoulders up, waiting for Finn’s approval.
“Aw, Kee! Everything looks terrific!”
Finn didn’t mention that she’d mixed up the silverware placement. Or that the lettuce chunks were three times larger than any human mouth. Ciara had understood what needed doing, and she’d done all on her own.
“I wanted to—wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you sure did!” Finn drew her into a hug. “Thank you for helping. Now I’ll have time for a cup of tea before I start the pasta.”
Ciara pointed. “I filled the pot. Didn’t turn it on, because I wasn’t sure when to put in the noodles.”
“You’re amazing,” Finn told her.
“Do you—do you think I did a good job, Dad?”
Finn realized he was about to point out Ciara’s mistakes; she couldn’t let him do that.
“Of course he does. She’s something else, isn’t she?”
Connor met her eyes, nodding as understanding dawned.
“Yup, you’re something else, all right,” he said, winking. “I’m mighty proud of you.”
The doorbell chimed, halting any chance for him to say more and mess things up.
Finn turned Ciara toward the door. “Will you let Sam in and bring him to the kitchen?”
The minute she was out of earshot, Finn said, “Sometimes Ciara gets things backward. And sometimes she goofs them up entirely. But she tries real hard, so let’s not point out her mistakes.”
“If we don’t, how will she ever learn the right way to do things?”
Oh, great...lessons in doing things the “right” way, from the man who’s done everything wrong!
“I’ve figured out how to teach her without embarrassing or frustrating her, without any help from anyone but her doctor. I know you mean well, but unless she’s in danger, let me handle things, please?”
“There’s no denying you’ve done a great job with her. Why, last time I was here, she wouldn’t have attempted anything like this.”
Ciara, hand in hand with Sam, walked into the kitchen.
“This—this is Sam, Dad. He’s our new friend. He’s a firefighter, and, and he teaches firefighters how to be firefighters. He took us to the zoo today. And isn’t he handsome? He’s a singer, just like you. And Rowdy says he’s one of the bosses over at The—”
“Whoa, girl,” Sam said, “you’re gonna give me a swelled head.”
Smart move, interrupting her, Finn thought. Because if Connor found out about The Meetinghouse partnership, he’d hit Sam up for a job, rob him blind and disappear. What would become of their friendship then?
“If I ever need a publicist, I’ll know who to hire.” Sam winked at Ciara, then extended a hand to Connor. “Good to meet you, sir.”
“Good to meet you, too... Handsome Sam.”
He’d turned on the charm full bore, from the big friendly smile to the hearty handshake. She had no idea how long he’d been in town before his pal dropped him off earlier; it was entirely possible that Connor was already aware of Sam’s involvement with the club.
“And, please, call me Connor.”
So it begins, Finn thought. Don’t fall for it, Sam. Please don’t fall for it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I MADE—I MADE the salad, Sam,” Ciara announced. “And I set the table, too.”
Winking, Sam gave her a thumbs-up. “Excellent work, kiddo. Excellent!”
“I did it to help Finn.” She looked toward the sink, where Finn was draining the pasta into a colander. “So she could have an important talk with—with Dad.” Hands clasped under her chin, Ciara squealed softly. “He’s going to stay with us for a while. Right, Dad?” She beamed at Connor.
“Right, honey.”
Somewhere under that machine-made tan, Connor blushed. Sam made note of the guilt in his dark eyes, too. From everything he’d heard, the man had good reason to feel guilty.
“How long will you be in town, Mr. Leary?”
His daughters waited with wide-eyed expectation for his answer.
“Connor, remember? Mr. Leary was my dad.”
Ciara seemed disappointed by the nonanswer. And Finn? Finn rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove.
Connor propped his booted feet on a nearby chair and leaned back.
“Anything I can do?” Sam asked, joining Finn at the sink.
She leaned in close and whispered, “You can leave, save yourself from having to witness the Leary family drama.”
Yet again, her situation reminded him how lucky he was to have parents and a family like his.
“And miss out on that?” he asked, pointing at the saucepot. “Not a chance.”
“In that case, you could get the salad dressing out of the fridge.”
He opened the door and inspected the bottles lining a lower shelf. “Any particular flavor?”
Ciara waved her hand like a girl in school. “French for me, French for me!”
Connor chimed in with “Italian.”
Sam put their choices on the table. “And you, Finn?”
“Ranch, if there’s any left.”
“A girl after my own heart. Where have you been all my life?”
“She’s been right here,” Connor said. “Holding down the fort while her mom and I worked.”
Finn shook her head—if Sam had blinked, he would have missed the quick, silent gesture that said it all: save it, Dad.
While Sam dropped ice into each glass, Connor bent at the waist and whispered to Ciara. “The forks belong on the left side of the plate, and the butter knives and spoons go on the right.” He moved the utensils into their proper positions.
Finn whirled around and branded him with a stern glare.
“Aw, I’m sorry, Finn,” Ciara said. “I thought, I thought, I thought the forks went—”
“You did a great job, Kee, and the table looks fine.”
“But I wanted to do it right.”
Finn wrapped her in a hug, then cupped her chin in a palm. “Would you pour the iced tea for me, sweetie?”
The distraction instantly changed Ciara’s expression from hurt to delighted. Finn sure knew how to handle that girl, Sam thought.
“She’ll be a wonderful, loving mother someday, don’t you think?” Connor asked him, nodding at Finn.
If she gets the chance, with you and her mother putting up roadblocks.
He decided to change the subject. “I hear you’re a songwriter?”
“That’s right, Handsome Sam, and I hear you’re a singer.”
He didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot with Finn’s father, but if the guy didn’t drop the stupid nickname...
“You look like a singer.”
Now, how was he supposed to respond to that?
“You into sparkly suits and ten-gallon ha
ts, or baseball caps and torn jeans?”
The other night in the diner, over pie and milk, Finn had underscored Mark’s assertion that she didn’t think much of musicians. Now that he’d met her father, Sam thought he understood why.
“I live by the KISS rule when I can,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.
It was not.
“How long have you been at it?”
“Got my first guitar for my twelfth birthday.” Sam grinned slightly, remembering the wrapping paper with horses and cowboy hats—and the yards of blue ribbon—that his mom had used to cover the case.
“You play for pay, or just for fun?”
Finn was mixing sauce into the pasta, not nearly distracting enough to keep her from hearing his reply, so Sam chose his words carefully.
“I get onstage when I can...long as it doesn’t interfere with my teaching.”
Connor leaned back as Finn plopped a thick pot holder onto the table.
“I just got in from a gig in Florida, myself. Needed a change of scenery.”
There was more to it than that. A whole lot more, if Finn’s raised eyebrow was any indicator.
“So I thought, why not spend some time with my beautiful daughters while I wait for the next offer to roll in?”
Gut instinct warned Sam to exercise extreme caution when dealing with Connor Leary. He’d met the type before: good-looking, reasonably talented, likable enough to bluff his way through just about anything, with just about anyone.
Anyone but Finn, that was.
No sooner had she put the spaghetti pot in the center of the table than Connor grabbed the fork and served himself. “Hey, Kee, pass the Parmesan, will ya?”
The girl happily obliged as Sam filled her plate, then Finn’s. And as she joined them at the table, he grasped the sisters’ hands. “Mind if I say a quick blessing?”
“I think—I think that’s a great idea, Sam!” Ciara gushed.
Finn answered with a happy, surprised smile.
As for Connor, at least he had the common sense to stop stuffing his face.
“We’re thankful for this meal and the beautiful women who prepared it—” he gave Finn’s fingertips a gentle squeeze “—and for friendship.”
Connor, not to be outdone, added, “And for a roof over our heads and clean sheets on our beds. Good food, good meat, good God, let’s eat!”
Sam didn’t think he’d ever met a more self-centered man. His daughters might have to treat him with deference, but he didn’t.
“So you never got around to telling us how long you’ll be in town, Connor.”
“That depends entirely on the generosity of my eldest daughter.” He patted Ciara’s hand. “Right, Kee?”
With what Sam could only call complete clarity, Ciara said, “Finn always—always does what’s right. Finn always does what’s best. Because she loves everyone more than herself.” She looked at Connor to add, “It’s what Pete said all the time.” She sent a loving glance to her sister. “And he was right.”
Finn’s eyes welled with tears, and she smiled. “Sam, would you pass the ranch, please?”
When he handed it off, their fingers touched for a split second...long enough for a slight tremor to pass from her to him. The urge to pull her to her feet and gather her near washed over him like a tidal wave.
“Sam?”
He looked at Ciara. “Hmm?”
“Why are—why are you staring at Finn that way?”
Sam pretended to flick an eyelash from her cheek. “There. That’s got it.” He picked up his glass, and as he drained it, he wished it was big enough to hide him from the three pairs of dark eyes watching him. Closely.
Connor snickered. “Why, I do believe Handsome Sam here is sweet on our Finn.”
“What does—what does that mean?”
“It means,” Sam said softly, “that Finn and I are friends. Good friends.”
Ciara’s shoulders slumped.
“Aw, why do you look so sad, Kee?”
“Because, Dad, I was hoping they’d fall in love. And get married.”
Finn’s big eyes locked on Sam’s. “Oh, wow, I’m... I’m so sorry.”
“Me—me, too, Sam.”
He patted Ciara’s hand, then turned to Finn. “So tell me, maker of the best spaghetti I’ve ever tasted, what’s for dessert?”
He had a feeling he’d carry that wide-eyed, grateful look with him for days.
And nights.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“YOU HAVE NO idea how good it is to hear your voice, kiddo.”
“Uh-oh, what mess have you gotten yourself into this time, big brother?”
He propped his boot heels on the railing and settled back in the deck chair. “No mess. Just missing home a mite more than usual.”
“Then, pack up your guitar and get back here! You know we’d all love that...none better than Mom and Dad.”
“Can’t just bail on my students.” Or Mark, he thought. And with Connor Leary in town—
“So how are things out there?” his sister asked. “You seeing anyone?”
“Nope.” At least, not in the traditional sense. “Are you?”
Sophie laughed. “Yes and no.”
“If he’s making you miserable, I can be there in three hours.”
“He’s fine. It’s me who’s making him miserable.”
Sam sipped his iced tea. “A quiet, demure, easygoing gal like you, making a man miserable?” He chuckled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Save your sarcasm for someone who appreciates it.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ben.”
“Not too-nice-for-his-own-good Ben Stewart...”
She sighed. “One and the same.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“I know.”
“A gentleman.”
“I know.”
“From a good family.”
“I know, I know, I know!”
“So what’s the problem? Isn’t he tall enough for you?” Sophie was nearly as tall as Sam, measuring in at five feet ten and a half inches.
“He’s six-three.”
“Too fat, then?”
“He has a terrific physique.”
“Well, it can’t be ’cause he’s a slacker. He’s still VP of his dad’s hardware chain, right?”
“It isn’t his work ethic. Or his looks. Or his family ties. Ben is wonderful.”
“Then, I repeat—what’s the problem?”
“I’m high maintenance. Everybody says so. Ben shouldn’t have to work so hard at, well, at making the relationship work.”
“Then, stop making him work so hard.”
“That’s not my point.”
“Still, seems to me that’s the simplest solution to your problem.” He paused to give her time to think on that. “Right?”
Sophie sighed. “I suppose.”
“You know what Mom would say if you put this issue on her table?”
“‘If you live by the Golden Rule, you’ll never need another,’” they said together.
“She’s right, Sophie.”
“I know.”
This time, it was Sophie who paused. “So what’s her name?”
“Whose name?”
“The woman who put you in such a funk.”
“I’m not in a—”
“Please. I haven’t heard you sound this way since you broke up with Miss Priss.”
“Suzanne.”
“Whatever.”
“And I didn’t break things off—she did.” Sam pictured Suzanne as she’d looked that night...tall, buxom, blonde and blue-eyed, and all wrapped up in the arms of
J. D. Caruthers.
“If you think I’m hanging up before you tell me who she is, you’re sadly mistaken.”
High maintenance or not, Sophie had always been a good listener. Sympathetic when a situation called for it, to the point when she needed to be. What could it hurt to tell her about Finn? Might be nice to get another viewpoint on things—a woman’s viewpoint.
Sam started by describing her, then eased into an explanation of how they’d met and the events that had led up to her ownership of The Right Note. “Then, a couple nights ago, a tree fell on her diner and—”
“Not that big beautiful tree on Broadway, where all the musicians take turns entertaining the tourists!”
“One and the same. The city has been nursing it along for years, but that storm the other night was more than it could handle.”
“That must have been scary. And upsetting.”
“Yeah, but she took it on the chin. It’s what she does.”
“I like her, sight unseen!”
“She’s antimusician.”
“All of them? Even you?”
“Even me.”
“Hmph. I like her a little less now, passing judgment without giving you a chance.”
“Well, in all fairness, I sort of understand her reservations. I haven’t met her mother yet, but I got more than my fill of her dad tonight. He’s a recovering alcoholic.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Didn’t have to. I know the signs.”
“Ah, because of Mark’s brother, Eli. But...”
“But what?”
“Are you worried about that?”
“Why would I be? Finn drinks coffee and tea, but I’ve never seen her touch anything stronger.”
“Think maybe she’s on the wagon?”
He thought about Finn’s long list of responsibilities. “No way.”
“Avoiding temptation, then, in case she inherited her folks’ tendencies?”
“Never gave it a thought,” he admitted. “But if that’s the case, I admire her for making that decision.”
“What about the sister?”
“She’s a sweetheart. You’d love her. Not a mean bone in her body. Not even toward that so-called father of theirs.”
“He didn’t beat the girls when he was drunk, I hope.”
