Seducing Sam

by Verdenius, Angela

  “I can’t believe it,” Debbie said sharply. “What’s the neighbourhood coming to, Sam?”

  “Hmmm?” Pretended ignorance was the safest path.

  “Motorcycles roaring around all hours of the day and night. Before you know it, there’ll be wild parties, fist-fights, drunkenness and debauchery happening all over the street.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Did you see that big, bald bikie? I bet he’s drugged out.”

  Sam didn’t bother to reply, just used his fingers to dig another small hole and carefully place the seedling safely inside it.

  Debbie was on a roll. “I wonder how many people will end up living in that house. So far there’s two men and one woman. And what kind of woman would take up with two men, I ask you?”

  Alan would have had a reply for that question, no doubt. Good thing his friend wasn’t around, though Sam sure missed the entertainment.

  “Sam!”

  “Huh?” Startled out of his rhythm of digging, planting and smoothing soil around fragile stems, he blinked and looked up.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Debbie asked sharply, her gaze raking across his face.

  “Uh…” He pushed his glasses back up his nose.

  “I said, I saw you go over there earlier.”

  No point denying it. “Yep.”

  Debbie raised her eyebrows.

  Sam raised his in reply.

  Impatiently, she looked across at the house. “You went inside with that…woman.”

  No point denying that, either. “Yep.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hurt herself.”

  When Sam didn’t elaborate, but returned instead to the seedlings, Debbie knocked on the fence with her knuckles. “Sam!”

  “Mmmm?”

  “What happened?”

  “She hurt herself,” he repeated.

  “Doing what?”

  “Picking up a box.”

  “Back issues?”

  “Knife fell out and cut her.”

  Debbie sucked in a breath and he sighed. Wait for it…

  “Switchblade?” she queried, almost angrily. “Some kind of dagger thing? Hunting knife? I knew it! Those kinds of people are trouble! Oh my God, keeping weapons lying around in boxes and-”

  “Butcher knife.” Sam sprinkled a little Seasol on the new seedlings to help give them a little boost after the trauma of transplanting. “It fell out of the box of cutlery.”

  That took the wind out of her indignant sails. “Oh.”

  Sauntering out to sit beside Sam, SJ sniffed the seedlings.

  “So what was she like?” Debbie asked.

  “Who?” He gently pushed SJ aside.

  SJ responded by head butting his hand.

  “The woman, of course,” shee replied impatiently.

  “She seems nice.”

  “Covered in tattoos, I suppose.”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  With an equally impatient sigh, Debbie moved back from the fence. “I have things to do. See you later, Sam.”

  “Yep.” He eyed SJ, who had reached out one paw and prodded a seedling. “Cut it out.”

  SJ poked a little harder.

  Sam placed his hand on the cat’s chest and pushed gently.

  SJ fell over.

  “Oh, please. It wasn’t that hard of a push.”

  SJ stretched and half rolled onto his back, blinking at Sam.

  Grinning, Sam reached out and rubbed his belly.

  Ah yes, this was the life. Warm sun, the scent of clean, damp soil, fresh air and a furry companion. Could life get any better?

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a frenzied yapping caught his attention. Turning his head, he looked in the direction of the noise to see, well, nothing. The picket fence hid anything from sight, and he couldn’t make out anything between the tiny gaps between the pickets.

  Shrugging, he looked back around to see SJ sitting upright, his head turned in the direction of the yapping, his eyes big and round and his ears pricked.

  “It’s all right, SJ.” Sam ran his hand comfortingly down SJ’s back.

  “Crusher!” A man’s voice yelled out. “Settle down!”

  Immediately silence fell.

  Crusher? That name didn’t bode well. Sam couldn’t help but feel a spike of concern as he glanced back across the street. He certainly didn’t want SJ mauled by a dog. “You stay on this side of the street, SJ.”

  SJ resumed the sphinx position beside Sam, but he faced the house opposite and Sam could just about see the wheels turning inside his head. He just hoped SJ had enough sense not to check out the source of the noise. Good thing he wasn’t allowed out after dark, and he slept most of the day, but Sam still couldn’t help but worry that his cat just might take it into his inquisitive head to investigate the yapper during the day while Sam was at work.

  Maybe he should keep SJ inside for a few days. It wouldn’t harm him, he spent most of it snoozing anyway.

  Minutes later, one of the Harleys in the drive roared to life and Sam, who normally couldn’t be bothered about the goings-on outside his fence line, couldn’t help but glance across to see the big, bald bikie straddling the Harley, Carly standing beside him and leaning forward to plant a kiss on his craggy cheek.

  The skinny bikie was standing by Carly’s side, an arm slung around her neck, and for the first time Sam wondered if Carly was living with both bikies, as in living with them, sharing the house, the bed…

  Darn Debbie for putting such a thought in his head.

  Shaking his head, he reminded himself that it was none of his business what other people did, as long as they left him in peace and quiet to enjoy his solitude. He valued his peace and-

  The roar of the Harley driving away pulled his forehead into a frown. Maybe peace wasn’t something he could enjoy as much, not if bikies were going to start roaring up and down the street at all hours of the day and night.

  For the first time in a long time, Sam felt disgruntled. After sprinkling Seasol across the last seedling, he gathered the gardening equipment and packed it away in the little shed in the backyard. A search for his water bottle which he found in the garage, he had no idea why it was there, a hunt for his book which he certainly didn’t remember leaving on the front veranda, and then he disappeared inside the house to shower and change, intent on spending the rest of the afternoon watching a marathon session of The 70’s Show.

  Away from everyone.

  ~*~

  “I can’t find my leather vest,” Ed said.

  “You’re wearing it.” Carly didn’t even bother to look up from the dishes.

  “Not this one. The other one.”

  “They’re all black, all tattered, and all stink like old socks. Who’ll know the difference?”

  “I’ll know. And Crusher.” Ed edged nearer. “Geez, you in a snit or something?”

  “Give me a few more minutes of that attitude and you’ll find out.” She pointed the sponge at him. “Did you finish cleaning the shower?”

  Ed folded his arms. “Yes.”

  “Don’t say it like that. We’re sharing the chores, remember?”

  “You are in a snit.”

  Carly narrowed her eyes.

  “Fine. Fine!” Hands up, Ed spread his fingers. “Yes, I finished cleaning the bathroom like a good boy. Can I have a biscuit now, please, mistress?”

  She turned back to the sink. “Did you take the garbage bin out the front for the garbos to collect? This is bin day.”

  “Cripes, it’s like living back with the old lady.”

  Moving fast, Carly spun around and threw the sponge at him. It hit him right on the forehead with a satisfying spray of detergent.

  Swearing, Ed grabbed it in one hand. Rubbing the detergent dripping down his face, he glared at her. “I thought living together was going to be fun.”

  “I’m not your ex, Ed. I’m your niece.”

  “You’re my nightmare.”

  She
grinned. “Now that, I’ll take as a compliment.”

  He flipped her the bird.

  “And since you’re going to try the lubricious idea of pulling the uncle act, that’s not the way to do it.” She deftly caught the sponge he tossed back at her.

  “It’s ludicrous that I’m your uncle.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m sure half the street thinks we’re husband and wife, or partners.”

  Ed shuddered.

  “My sentiments exactly.” She turned back to the sink. “You can’t blame them, though.”

  “Oh, I can. That’s pre-judgemental.” He paused. “Or is that judgemental? Do I have it the right way?”

  “You’re the one with a Uni degree.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot that I’m the educated one in the house.”

  This time it was Carly’s turn to flip him the bird.

  “Your being rude to me will upset Crusher.”

  “Crusher is a grown dog, which is more than I can say about you.”

  “You’re saying I’m a dog?”

  Carly rolled her eyes.

  “Anyway.” Appearing at her side, Ed thumped her lightly on the arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “To wash your dishes?”

  “Yeah.”

  She elbowed him lightly.

  Grunting, he rubbed his concave belly before reaching over and taking the sponge from her hand. Tossing it into the sink, he grabbed her other hand and turned her to face him.

  “Ed, I need to get this done,” she protested. “I have to go to work tomorrow and the house needs sorting and-”

  “Just hush for a minute.” Ed regarded her seriously, all traces of fun gone. “Carly.”

  Her heart beat a little faster, a little heavier, and the sudden lump in her throat rose unwelcomingly. “Ed, don’t…” She didn’t want to think about, wanted to push the thoughts, and emotions that accompanied them, away.

  “Carly,” he repeated. “We’ll get through this.”

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  “The whole unpleasant messes are over, we only have to pick up the pieces. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “No, Carly, I mean it.” His gaze searched hers. “We’ll make it. We are making it.”

  Tears blurred her vision.

  He squeezed her hands. “We’re going to be all right.”

  “I know.”

  Gathering her into his arms, Ed hugged her close. His voice was gruff when he repeated, “We’re going to be all right.”

  Tightly, she hugged him back. What they’d been through was so similar, she knew that even he was overwhelmed at times, though he hid it better than her. But he was right, together, they’d get over it.

  Moving into a house away from bad memories was the beginning. No, it was further along the track to recovery. This was part of the journey, and to be truthful, there was no one else she’d rather have beside her at this time, the one person who truly understood what she was going through, for he was treading a similar path.

  And Ed had been her close friend throughout childhood.

  He was the first to pull back, clearing his throat. “Okay, enough of the sloppy shit.”

  “I agree.” She took a deep breath. “There’s still that bin to take out.”

  “Slave driver.” He ruffled her hair and walked away.

  When he reached the door, she called out, “Ed?”

  “Yeah?” He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  “Thanks. For everything.”

  He grinned widely. “Ditto.”

  Carly smiled. Yeah, she felt better. Moving to the big glass sliding door, she looked out at the blue skies, the colourful mix of bougainvillea that grew along the side fence, and the lantana that had burst through the big pot in which it had been planted by the previous owner.

  Life went on and so did people. Worse things had happened, worse things could have happened to her, but she had her health and her family, including a sometimes idiot young uncle and their combined mix of eclectic friends, and for that she had to be grateful.

  Yeah, she would come out the other side smiling, stronger, supporting Ed to make sure he did the same, though he seemed to be taking it better lately.

  The big old bell at the door bonged loudly as someone tugged on the chain.

  Feeling full of renewed purpose, Carly shook her hands briskly before wiping them on a tea towel as she walked into the hallway and down to the front door. Opening it, she found a tall, blonde woman standing on the veranda holding in her hands a plastic wrapped paper plate containing a small selection of what looked like homemade biscuits.

  “Hello.” Carly looked from the paper plate to the woman.

  She was stylishly dressed, make-up immaculate, and the perfume that wafted from her sophisticated. Her smile was cool. “Good morning. I’m Debbie Martin. I live in the house across the street.”

  Carly looked across at Sam’s house. Poor bugger.

  Debbie didn’t even follow the direction of her gaze. “Not Sam’s house. The one on the left.” She added, “Your right,” as though Carly wouldn’t have the brains to figure that out. “It has the BMW in the driveway.”

  “Ah.” Carly nodded. “Nice car.” She switched her gaze back to Debbie.

  “I’m here to welcome you to the street.” Debbie held out the paper plate. “A little house warming present.”

  “Why, thank you.” Carly took the plate. “Did you make them?”

  “Of course.” Debbie looked her right in the eye. “Don’t you?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Lovely. Home cooking is so much healthier. I could give you some tips, if you like.”

  “Uh - thanks.” I think. Carly wasn’t sure exactly what Debbie meant. Was it a dig at her weight? Or not? Or maybe Debbie was just being nice. Geez, she had to stop jumping to conclusions. Look what had happened with Sam.

  Determined not to be so critical, Carly smiled. “Ed will love these.”

  As if by magic, he appeared right behind her, “Love what?”

  Carly shifted to the side a little so that Ed could stand partially beside her. “Debbie brought us some homemade goodies to welcome us to the neighbourhood. Wasn’t that kind of her?”

  At the sight of the biscuits, Ed’s eyes lit up. “You bewdy! Thanks, Debs.”

  “That’s Debbie.” Her smile was exceedingly frostier. It certainly didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Right.” Ed stuck out his hand. “Ed Miller.”

  Amused, Carly watched as Debbie placed only the tips of her fingers in Ed’s palm. Regardless of the fact that he washed his hands thoroughly, he often had oil stains on them from the motorcycle shop.

  Ed simply shifted his hand and took a hearty hold of the delicate hand Debbie proffered, pumping it enthusiastically. “I love eating home cooked food, as Carly will tell you.”

  “Oh yeah, he does,” Carly agreed.

  Sooner than could be considered polite, Debbie retrieved her hand. “Lovely.” She glanced at her palm, apparently relived to find it clean and not slicked with oil. “Been working in the garage, Mr Miller?”

  “Ed, please.” He already had the corner of the plastic wrap pulled back and was pulling two biscuits from the plate. “Nah, I own a bike shop. Fix ‘em up, sell ‘em.”

  “A second-hand push bike shop?”

  “Motorbikes. Some new, some second-hand. Keeps me busy and out of trouble.” Popping one of the biscuits whole in his mouth, he managed to say around it, “Mostly, anyway.”

  “I see.” Face expressionless, she studied him.

  Deciding it was time to intervene before Ed said something he shouldn’t, Carly neatly re-stuck the plastic wrap around the plate. “So, Debbie, you’ve lived in this street long?”

  “Since Brian and I got married ten years ago.”

  “It’s a lovely place. Very old fashioned.” Carly relaxed against the door frame. “Old stone or wood houses, picket fences, beautiful gardens, tree-lined road. It
’s like stepping back in time.”

  “It is a peaceful street.” Debbie looked squarely at Ed before transferring her gaze down to Carly. “And we’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I agree.”

  “Quietness is valued here.” Debbie looked back at Ed. “I see you have a motorcycle.”

  Now Carly knew what she was getting at, no doubt fearing that Ed having a Harley would disturb the peace. It was common misconception, but before she could explain to Debbie that roaring bikes at all hours weren’t going to be a problem, Ed smacked his lips in loud appreciation and used the side of his hand to wipe the crumbs from his mouth.

  “Bloody good tucker, Debs.”

  Uh-oh. That didn’t bode well. Discreetly, Carly nudged him warningly in the side of his foot with her shoe, but it was too late.

  Ed could never resist stirring trouble.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell all my friends to keep the noise of their bikes down when they visit, which is most nights. After work, you know.”

  Debbie’s face tightened.

  “Most of them won’t all have their bikes here at once, some of the bikes have been impounded by the police.”

  Carly sighed.

  “Really?” Debbie wore an open expression of disdain.

  Determined to nip this in the bud before it escalated out of control, which had happened before with Ed’s warped sense of humour, Carly sought to change the subject quickly. “I hear that you once had a famous author visiting here, Debbie.”

  Her gaze switched to Carly. “A famous author?”

  “Sophie Willow. Writes romances. Is she related to Sam by any chance?

  “Sexy ones,” Ed put in, just as determined to keep stirring. “”Really sexy, if you know what I mean.” He actually leered.

  Carly gave him another discreet kick in the foot.

  “Ah, yes.” Debbie had a distinct expression of distaste. “Sophie Willow, Sam’s cousin. She writes those smutty books.” Her eyes narrowed as she regarded Carly assessingly. “I don’t like smut. It’s so degrading.”

  “Huh.” Carly hoped like hell that Ed would hold his tongue.

  “So, do you like to read?” Debbie’s gaze now encompassed them both.

  Ed smiled widely.

  “I prefer thrillers and horror,” Carly said hastily.

  “Interesting.” Unfortunately, there was to be no reprieve, because Debbie asked Ed, “And what do you read? Apart from magazines?”