“It can take up to several weeks.”
“Several weeks?”
“As I said. Every case is different.”
Simultaneously he sucked in a breath and drew back his fist. The faint odor of fresh paint stopped his fist as it made contact with the wall. The drywall was less than a year old. He didn’t want to have to explain a hole in it.
Bursting with frustration, all he could do was pace his small office, scrub a hand over his hair, and try to reconcile himself to waiting.
* * * *
First thing Monday morning, Sam rifled his desk drawer for the welcoming folder Woodcrest had given him the day of Dad’s admission until he found the number of the doctor.
“I’m sorry. Dr. Mowbray is out until Friday.”
“Who’s taking care of his case load?”
“Dr. Stephan is on-call for emergencies. Do you have an emergency?”
If Red found out that house was his, he was dead. Did that count?
“Can you check my father’s record and see if they’ve come up with a diagnosis for him yet?”
“I’m sorry, only the doctor is authorized to give out that information. Can I leave a message for Dr. Mowbray to call you when he gets back?”
“Yes. When will that be? Will he just see the message Friday, or will he actually call me back then?” His voice control was impressive, if he said so himself. Maybe he still had it, after all. Or maybe it was the pressure. He’d always worked best under pressure—until he didn’t.
“I can’t answer that. All I can do is leave him the message and you’ll have to wait.”
Sam hung up and looked unseeing out his office window. He was only twenty-nine. He’d thought he had time before he had to start thinking about the future. Time to get up each morning in a free country and be grateful for no longer being under Psychodad’s thumb. For old friends and the opportunity to work hard at a meaningful job. To take his sweet time getting to know a woman before the realities of—he couldn’t even say the word to himself. What came beyond that was too scary to think about, because if he were anything like his father, he would wind up hurting the very people he cared most about.
But as scary as the thought of committing to Red was, the thought of losing her was scarier.
And yet, he couldn’t let her get hold of that saltbox.
If ever there was a case of being up the creek without the proverbial paddle, this was it. What was he supposed to do?
If he wanted to keep Red, he had to take away her fondest dream.
Chapter 14
Thursday night, the consortium stayed open late. Heath brought in Poppy after her shift at the café, joining a half dozen tourists who were already there. They were followed by Rory Stillman and Mona.
Then, around six, there was movement outside the tall windows and Sam’s friends’ banter came to an abrupt halt as Red rounded the corner from the parking lot.
Poppy raised her glass. “Here comes your girlfriend,” she teased over the rim.
Sam’s bar rag stilled. “Say again?”
“Red? You two are going to the wedding together.”
Junie’s eyes danced. “Got your RSVPs.”
“What?” Poppy looked wide-eyed from Junie to Sam and back, while Heath and Manolo sported smug grins that translated as, welcome-to-the-club, sucker.
Remembering the new rules, Sam dried his hands and went out from behind the bar to meet Red halfway.
Her flush when he took her hands in his and kissed her cheek made all the teasing worth it.
They walked back to the bar together. Heath immediately gave up his prime location nearest to the register and the women took turns embracing Red.
Then Sam beat a retreat back to his comfort zone behind the bar and poured Red a glass of her favorite Riesling.
“So what’s new?” asked Poppy pointedly.
So much for subtlety, thought Sam. But to his surprise, instead of launching into the details of their new relationship, Red brought up her perennially favorite topic. “You remember the house I was looking for? The rare saltbox? I found it.”
No. Sam tensed. Not here, in front of all our friends.
Junie laughed. “You’re always house hunting. Which one is this?”
“This one’s different. It feels like I’ve been looking for it all my life. I want this house. I need to have it.”
“You’re really excited about this. Where is this place?”
“To the west of here, off the Nestucca Lake Access Road, past the McGuire Reservoir.”
Junie and Poppy exchanged glances. “That’s a ways,” said Poppy.
“I’ve always dreamed of a little patch of land of my own, out in the country where I can have a garden.”
Manolo frowned. “Hey, Sam. Didn’t you tell me your old house was somewhere out in the boonies?”
All heads turned toward Sam.
“It’s a big country. Clarkston’s surrounded by woods.”
“Not to the north and east,” said Rory thoughtfully. “North is Gaston, and east is Highway 99.”
Behind the bar, Sam was intent on rearranging a display of bottles and glassware.
“Have you made an offer on it?” asked Poppy.
“I don’t even know if it’s for sale. But I’m hopeful, because no one lives there. I looked in the window. It still has its original paint. The colors are right off of the Newberg Downtown Coalition Color Palette. And there’s a big fireplace. The white surround is really sooty, but I’m hoping it’s just cosmetic damage.”
Sam could feel Manolo’s suspicious gaze burning a hole through his back. Manolo had been raised in the restaurant business. He wasn’t fooled by Sam’s busywork. But he’d deal with Manolo later. Right now he had to listen carefully to find out exactly how much Red had learned about the house’s ownership.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Junie.
“I’ve had a full slate this week, plus I just accepted a part-time consulting gig every other Friday at the assisted living facility in Newberg. All I’ve had time to do is look around online for who owns the house, but I haven’t come up with a name yet. The county is still in the process of uploading their old records, and The Recorder of Deeds Office isn’t open on Saturdays. It looks like I’ll have to sneak out early some weekday and drive down to the courthouse and do some research.”
The courthouse was in McMinnville. Lucky for Sam that Red’s services were in high demand. Plus, she had a hard time with the word “no.” It could be days—weeks—before she had a block of time big enough to make the drive worthwhile.
“What’s this about you two going to Junie’s wedding as a couple?” asked Poppy.
Red lit up and looked at Junie. “I take it you got the RSVPs.”
“Yesterday. Now we can seat you next to each other at Poppy and Heath’s table. Won’t that be great?”
“You guys are officially dating?” asked Poppy.
Red smiled prettily at Sam.
“How long has this been going on?” Poppy complained. “Am I the last one to know?”
“I knew something was up as far back as Sam’s homecoming,” said Junie, eyeing Red knowingly. “Remember? Red spilled her drink on him?”
“That was an accident,” insisted Red.
Junie smirked. “Go ahead. Keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m so happy for you guys!” exclaimed Poppy.
All this feminine fuss, thought Sam. They were going to a wedding together. Not getting hitched themselves.
An hour or so later, it was closing time. Tabs were settled, women slinging purses over their shoulders.
Manolo tossed an arm around his fiancée. “Anyone who can, come out to our place Saturday night. The DJ wants a playlist. We’re going to be listening to music, making our picks.”
And th
en everyone was gone and quiet descended.
“Wait up and I’ll walk you to your car,” Sam told Red.
From her perch at the bar, she watched him methodically close out the register and turn down the lights. Then he came around and stood between her legs and dipped his chin. “I think I like being known as your girlfriend.”
He kissed her.
“You know what good girlfriends do, don’t you?”
“Hm.” She grinned lazily. “Nice try, Owens.”
That familiar, irresistible need to possess her, body and soul, overcame him. He gave her a mock offended look. “What? I’m just saying. A man has needs.”
“And I’m saying, we still have a ways to go.”
“You never did tell me exactly what the steps are.”
“I didn’t?”
He nuzzled her neck and slipped his hands up under her shirt in the back.
“First was holding hands.”
He ran his hands down her arms, intertwining his fingers with hers.
“Then kissing.”
He kissed her until they were both breathing hard.
“I think we’re officially kissing experts,” he said in her ear.
“We could give kissing lessons.” She giggled.
“Write a book: Everything You’ve Ever Wanted to Know about Kissing.”
“Hm. I’m dying to know what’s next.”
“I think you’re going to like it.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“We sleep together.”
“Yes.” He pumped his fist. “About time.”
“Don’t get too excited. I said sleep. Without touching.”
He held her at arm’s length. “Come back?”
“Sleep. Just sleep. In the same bed. And talk, and kiss, if you want.”
“How is that even possible?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I guaran-damn-tee you, no man came up with this plan.”
She chuckled. “Actually, it was a man-woman team. Masters and Johnson. Ever hear of them?”
“Were they masochists?”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “No, only the most respected sex researchers in the world.”
“Well, if Masters—or Johnson, whichever one was the dude—had ever met you, he would’ve known that his plan counted as torture under the Geneva Convention.”
“That’s very sweet—I think.”
“When do we do this?” A sense of urgency that had nothing to do with desire propelled Sam. He knew what it was but he didn’t want to look it in the eye.
“When do you want to do it?”
“How about right now. Tonight.”
“I don’t have my stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“My toothbrush.”
“You can use mine.”
“You don’t have any makeup I can borrow. And I need my pajamas.”
“You don’t need pajamas.”
“Yes I do. Did you think we were going to be naked?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sorry, lady, but nothing comes between me and my sheets, except maybe a feisty redhead. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“Technically, we’re both supposed to be in pajamas. How about tomorrow night?”
He nuzzled her again. “I don’t know if I can wait twenty-four hours. You are just too damn sexy.”
“My first client’s at eight thirty tomorrow morning,” she said, lifting her chin so he could graze his lips beneath it.
“So’s mine,” he mumbled against her neck.
“Tomorrow’s Friday. That’ll work better. That way I won’t have to set my alarm.”
Sam stroked a lock of Red’s hair back behind her ear. “You make me crazier than a caffeine addict locked out of Starbucks, you know that?”
“Now you’re getting the point of our little exercise.”
“To make me suffer?”
“That there’s more to being intimate than wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”
Shame welled up in him.
“Doc. I never…” He struggled for words. “I always thought we were on the same page.”
“We were, until…” It was her turn to be tongue-tied.
Sam tipped her chin up. “I never wanted to take advantage.”
“I know. I just need you to see how much better we can be, with a little conscious effort.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“Where?”
Sam thought of his own, bleak room with its single bed. “How about dinner out? After that I’ll find us a nice room somewhere. See if that B&B outside Newberg you’re always talking about has anything. I’ll bring champagne.”
Red’s face glowed. “That would be lovely.”
Chapter 15
Red’s heart expanded with happiness as Sam locked the consortium door and they walked out into the twilit summer night, hand in hand.
They were halfway to her car when a white puppy toddled out into the road at the same time a sports car rounded the corner from Main Street, gathering speed on its way out of town. The dog was the picture of innocence, wagging from tongue to tail, blissfully unaware of the four thousand pound vehicle bearing down on it.
Suddenly Sam was tearing straight into the car’s path. From the center stripe down Highway 47 he raised a halting hand. Brakes screeched as sheer momentum propelled locked tires forward, leaving long, black skid marks on the asphalt.
While the car bounced on its springs, sending dust motes dancing in the evening sun, Sam scooped up the errant dog and jogged back to where Red stood rooted with her hand clapped over her mouth.
As the car zoomed away, a woman loped up with a leash looped around her hand. “Sparkle? Sparkle! Thank God. I’ve been chasing him for blocks.”
Sam transferred the squirming bundle into his mistress’s arms.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
She looked at Sam for a response, but he hadn’t uttered a word since the rescue. Hands on hips, he turned and walked several yards into the parking lot.
“You’re welcome.” Red dismissed the woman with a smile and a wave. Then she went to Sam, curled her arm around his shoulder, and guided him back toward the building.
He stopped when he saw the direction she was headed. “Thought you were going home.”
Her hand ran down his arm, her fingertips pressing stealthily into his inner wrist. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale, your skin is clammy, and your pulse is racing. Are you sure you’re—”
Before she could finish, Sam made a dash for the bushes.
By the time he turned back to her, his usual front was back in place. “Last time I order the lunch special at Casey’s.”
“Sam. You’ve been traumatized.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You love dogs that much?”
He scowled at her like she was the crazy one. “What else would it be? I couldn’t stand there and watch a—” His voice caught. “An animal get killed.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked. I was thinking maybe it was your overdeveloped sense of powerlessness and injustice.”
“What kind of talk is that?”
“You risked your life for a dog. It was heroic. But seriously, Sam, you could have been killed.”
“I said it’s nothing. Forget it. I’m fine.”
“You’re a little green. Why don’t we go back inside and you can lie down for a bit. I’ll put a cool cloth on your head and take your pulse again after you’ve rested.”
“I said I’m good. Let’s go.”
She let him turn her around and walk her to the parking lot, where he opened her car door. She slid in, still concerned for his hea
lth.
“You know that book on kissing we’re going to write?” he asked. “Remind me to include a chapter about when not to kiss. Like after you hurl.”
“Owens. It’s not funny. I’m worried about you.”
He stood with one hand on the hood of her car and the other on his hip. “Told you, it was the lunch special.”
“Have you ever thought about adopting a dog of your own?”
His grin evaporated. He slammed the car door.
Red expected him to stomp off, but instead he just stood there, dazed, like a lost little boy.
Red’s heart went out to him. She cranked down the Impala’s window.
“What did I say to upset you?”
“Already had the best dog there ever was. Riggley. There’ll never be another one like her.”
Red smiled softly. “Riggley. That’s a nice name.”
Sam lifted a hand and turned to go. “I’ll call you about dinner.”
Red sat there in her car and watched him stalk away until he disappeared
around the corner of the consortium.
It wasn’t something Sam had eaten that had made him retch, she thought. It was something eating Sam.
Chapter16
Sam sat down on his narrow bed, rested his forearms on his thighs, and relived his asinine act of an hour ago. Throwing his life away for a dog he didn’t even know? What the hell was wrong with him? And Red, a psychologist. What must she be thinking? He sighed and scraped his hand through his hair.
And then there was his childhood home. That was a close call tonight. How had he gotten himself backed into this corner?
He was fated to be a liar, that’s how. Lying was the best weapon he knew to handle Psychodad’s sick manipulation: denying that it happened. Sticking it away in a box on a back shelf of his mind. If no one else could see it, he could pretend it didn’t exist.
Luke and Cindy had their own way of dealing. They hightailed it out of town the minute they could and never looked back, leaving Sam to endure the constant friction between his parents.
Until one day when Sam was eight, his mom took him out to Dad’s truck and pointed to the lipstick-stained cigarette butts in the ashtray as proof of Dad’s infidelity. Then Mom packed some clothes and left.
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