Because right now he was guessing she was one discombobulated lady. One discombobulated lady who needed the space to figure out what came next without sex and romance and all that stuff clouding the issue. Even if Sam had been a hundred percent sure he was ready to reconsider his stance on there not being room for another woman in his life (or his house), which he wasn’t, even if he’d been even reasonably sure Carly was the woman he was ready for, which he definitely wasn’t, even if she’d reacted to his kids like Snow White to the seven dwarfs, the timing just plain stank.
It was a shame, though, Sam thought as he slammed the freezer door and trudged back up the cellar steps, hamburger patties in tow. Because he had a pretty good idea—from things her father had let slip, mostly—that it had been a long time, if ever, since a guy had treated that gal the way she deserved to be treated. Since somebody had taken the time to see past the prickly armor she hugged to herself to see the dynamite, caring lady hidden away underneath.
And under other circumstances—if the timing hadn’t been lousy, if he’d had a few less kids, if the thought of losing his hard-won ability to go it alone didn’t scare him spitless—he might have welcomed the challenge of trying to pry off some of that armor. Since it was, and he did, so he couldn’t, he really didn’t care one way or the other whether or not Carly Stewart decided to stay in Haven.
He just wouldn’t be surprised if she did, that’s all.
Libby cradled the cordless phone between her shoulder and her ear, frowning at herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door as Blair went on about how much English sucked, why’d they have to read Moby Dick, anyway?
“Yeah, huh?” she said distractedly, partly because she’d already read Moby Dick on her own like two years ago—it wasn’t too bad, once you got past the draggy beginning—and partly because she was trying to decide if the stretchy top she’d bought off Merrilyn Jasper for five bucks showed too much cleavage or not. Merrilyn had said the bright yellow turned her skin practically the same color as her Uncle Willie’s right before the cirrhosis took him under, but it looked fine on Libby. More than fine—she tugged the neckline down a little more—it made her look older. Lord, Daddy would have a freaking cow if he saw her in this.
“So, you coming over to do homework or what?” Blair said.
“Can’t tonight. Got too many chores. Besides, Sean said he might call.”
“Oh,” Blair said, and Libby could tell she was holding back saying what she was really thinking. Libby didn’t encourage her, however, because whatever it was, Libby doubted it wasn’t anything she was much interested in hearing. Sometimes Libby wished things could go back to how they used to be between her and Blair, but their age difference made them view things from totally different perspectives, she supposed. After all, Libby already thought of herself as fifteen, but Blair had only been fourteen for a few months.
Except then Libby had a pang of conscience and said, “Maybe we can hang out Friday night or something.”
“Oh, you mean you don’t have a date with Sean?”
Libby ignored the other girl’s sarcasm and said, “You know Daddy won’t let me date until I’m sixteen. Which only makes me like the biggest freak in the entire state.”
“We can be freaks together, then,” Blair said on a sigh. “’Course, it’s a moot point at the moment, since I don’t have a Sean. Or anybody else.”
“You jealous?”
“Of you and Sean? Please.”
“Could you sound any more disgusted?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“Blair? You’ve already made it plain you don’t like him. So could we just drop it?”
“Fine, whatever. So…you wanna come spend the night over here on Friday? Jenna said she’d drive us over to Claremore to catch an early movie, if we want.”
Outside, one of her brothers started howling for no discernible reason. At least it would be quieter over at Blair’s, jeez. “Okay, sure. Sounds good.”
Blair then started in about some girl at school, but Libby was only half paying attention because her mind had drifted to thinking about Carly, and how well she and Carly had gotten along, even though Carly was old. Like Carly would totally approve of this top, she thought, turning sideways and sucking in her breath. Unlike everybody else in town, however, she doubted seriously if Carly would stick around, once she got her father settled. Why should she? Why would she?
Although the thought had crossed Libby’s mind a time or two that having a stepmom like Carly might not be the worst thing in the world. Somebody who’d just listen without nagging or judging her. Somebody cool. Oh, Mama had been cool, too, in her own way, and there were still times when Libby would wake up in the middle of the night missing her so much she thought her chest would cave in. But that happened less and less as time went by.
Daddy had told her that would happen. That it would stop hurting, eventually. Now Libby wondered, as she dug her new glittery pink lipstick out of the Homeland bag and applied it generously to her way-too-skinny lips, if Daddy had stopped hurting over Mama yet. If she was just imagining the looks that passed between Carly and her father. Not that she particularly wanted to think about her father getting it on with anybody, but these were hard times. Whatever it took to mellow him out was okay by her—
“Butthead!”
“Dork-face!”
“That’s enough, guys,” she heard Daddy say.
God, she was never having kids, she thought, pouting at herself in the mirror as Blair started in about the latest Orlando Bloom flick. Well, maybe she’d have one kid, when she was around thirty or so, but if it wasn’t a girl she was giving it to somebody else to raise.
This lipstick totally rocked.
The call-waiting signal beeped; she glanced at the caller ID and her heart bucked inside her chest. “Blair, sorry, gotta take this call—I’ll see you tomorrow, ’kay?” She hit Flash before Blair’s “Okay, bye” had even faded in her ear.
“Hey, babe,” Sean said when she answered. Oh, man, Daddy’d have two cows if he heard Sean call her “babe.”
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound sophisticated and worldly, like boys called her “babe” on a regular basis. Like boys called, period, on a regular basis. “This is a surprise,” she said, in what she hoped was a cool purr. She’d read somewhere that a girl should never act like she was sitting by the phone or anything, waiting for a guy to call, because it ceded them far too much control in the relationship.
“Huh,” Sean said, sounding a little confused. “I thought I said I’d call tonight?”
Oh, crap. She’d forgotten. “Um, guess I didn’t hear you? Sorry. But I’m really glad you did,” she added, since she didn’t want him to think she was one of those nose-in-the-air-girls who got off on stringing boys along.
“Anyway,” Sean said. “I was wondering…you wanna go to a movie over in Claremore Friday night?”
Libby’s breath caught in her throat. He was actually asking her out? Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmi…
“Sure, I guess that’d be okay,” she said, because Sean was the hottest boy in school and there was no way she was going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers, even if she wasn’t allowed to date until she was sixteen. Which was a dumb, stupid, totally arbitrary rule anyway. Why should she suffer just because her father still had one foot in the eighties?
“So, like, should I pick you up there or what?”
“No! I mean…I’ll have to get back to you on that—”
“Lib?” her father said, knocking on her door.
“Hold on a sec, okay?” she said, then held the phone to her chest, her mind racing. If Jenna did drive her and Blair over to Claremore, maybe Sean could meet her there. But how on earth was she going to convince Blair not to tell…? “Yeah?” she called out to her father.
The door opened just enough for Daddy to stick his head in the room. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were on the phone. But when you get off, could you help me with
the little ones’ baths? I have no idea what they got into but…”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll be out in a minute.”
Then she caught his frown. Damn—she’d forgotten she was still wearing the low-cut top.
Not to mention the lipstick.
“Ignore this,” she said. “It’s going right back. I mean it’s way too low and stuff.”
Her father cleared his throat. “It certainly is that. But as long as you’re returning it…”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. I mean, God, I look like a total slut in this.”
She thought maybe Daddy blushed, but all he did was make a let’s-wind-it-up motion toward the phone, then popped back out.
“Sorry,” she said to Sean. “My dad.”
“Oh. I get the feeling I’m not exactly his favorite person, you know?”
“Don’t take it personally. He’s just being protective and stuff.”
“I don’t blame him. I’d be protective of you, too, if you were my daughter.” Libby’s heart gave a little blip—God, she’d so lucked out! “So…is he cool with me takin’ you out? ’Cause I definitely do not want to piss off your daddy.”
“Uh, sure. I mean, yeah, it’s fine.” Her insides got all quivery, half from excitement, half from stark terror—she’d never told a lie in her life. At least not one this big. “But I’ve gotta get off, go help give my little brothers baths. So we’ll talk tomorrow, okay? About Friday?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“I…I can’t wait.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Okay,” she said on a rush of breath. “’Night—”
“Hang on a sec…” Sean’s voice got all soft. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Just do it, babe. Close your eyes. You got ’em closed?”
She had no idea what was going on, but she shut her eyes and said, “Uh-huh.”
“Now imagine me kissing you, my lips real hot on yours, and I’m holding you tight against me….”
Libby’s eyes popped open, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it.
“Can you feel it? Can you feel me kissing you, babe?”
“Uh…yeah. It’s, um, nice?”
His low laugh set her skin to prickling all over, but not unpleasantly. Not unpleasantly at all, in fact. “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. ’Night.”
Libby replaced the phone on the stand and thought, Ohmigod, about five dozen times.
Things were not exactly going to plan.
Of course, Carly silently groused as she and Dad stopped at Haven’s only stop light, the moving van impatiently growling behind them, if she’d had a plan to begin with, she might not be in this situation.
“Did you ever see a prettier day?” her father asked, grinning like an idiot, as the light changed and they took off again, every inch, foot, mile bringing her closer to her doom. Carly slumped down in the passenger seat of the truck—her Saturn leashed to the truck’s rear bumper like an obedient puppy—ramming her face down inside her oversize turtleneck, her eyes stubbornly shut against the onslaught of all those damn yellow and red and orange leaves vibrating against a brilliant blue sky.
Against the nasty wee voice whispering Home…home… home. To which her response was Like hell…like hell…like hell…
“Yeah. Gorgeous,” she said.
“And smell that air!”
“Dad? You are seriously going to make me sick.”
He laughed, jolly as Old Saint Nick. Well, hell, why shouldn’t he? His life was falling into place quite nicely, thank you, while hers had made an express, first-class trip to hell in a handbasket. All Dad had talked about the entire two weeks they’d spent packing up his place—how he’d managed to accumulate so much junk in a one-bedroom apartment was beyond her—were his plans for the stupid, bloody farm. And his new Internet-based business. And Ivy.
Oh, God, yes. Ivy. “Smitten” didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Ivy told me to call her as soon as we got into town.”
As she was saying.
Of course, no word yet on whether Ivy returned her father’s smittenness, Dad’s version of their date being obviously one-sided. Mostly, they’d argued about politics, from what Carly could glean. Long enough to close the restaurant, apparently. But although Dad had clearly found the evening invigorating, who knew how Ivy felt? While there’d been more than a few phone calls while they’d been back in Cinci, what she didn’t know was who’d initiated them.
Carly opened her eyes and peered over the turtleneck at her way too mellow, humming father, and her heart cracked. Even though the man could be a major pain, he still deserved to be happy. But if he’d moved here for all the wrong reasons, if this thing with Ivy was one-sided…
By all accounts, her father’s experience with women began and ended with Mom. Which meant he hadn’t dated in more than forty years. Her guess was his immunity to heartbreak had long since worn off.
Unlike hers, of course.
A thought which bounced off her head as they pulled up in front of her father’s new house and her heart did this bizarre boing at the sight of Sam standing there. Surrounded by a million little boys and nearly as many dogs.
Well, hell.
They parked, they got out, the men did the whole shoulder-clapping, good-to-see-you thing, kids swarmed, dogs barked, and Carly was nearly overcome with an oh-gee-isn’t-this-just-swell urge to barf.
Or run. Something.
Then Libby was giving her a hug and whispering in her ear, “I have so got to talk to you,” and then she kind of got swept up in the tidal wave of dogs and people moving toward the house, as the moving van rumbled up behind them, beep-beep-beeping as it positioned its butt as close to the porch as possible.
A perfect October breeze toyed with Carly’s hair as she took in the house, and all these chattering, excited people, her father’s expression of pure bliss and Libby’s of what she could have sworn was relief; then, finally, her gaze came to rest in Sam’s. He smiled, and for the life of her, she couldn’t turn away from his eyes, or the questions lurking in them.
Any more than she could turn her thoughts away from wayward musings about how solid and confident and uncomplicated he seemed, traits she’d always thought of as boring. Before now. Which only went to prove that packaging really is everything.
Then he was in front of her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes still on hers, the understanding in them nearly taking her breath as everyone else drifted off to help the movers or whatever, she really wasn’t paying much attention.
“You seem awfully agitated for somebody who’s just here to help her father get settled in.”
Her mouth twitched, but not into anything even remotely like a smile. “Good call,” she said, then added, meeting Sam’s gaze dead-on, “since I guess this is my zip code for the foreseeable future.”
“You’re staying?” Libby shrieked behind her, then spun her around for another hug. “That is so freaking cool!”
Carly hugged the excited teenager back, as if by doing so, some of the girl’s enthusiasm would rub off.
Chapter 7
“So basically, all my options dried up.”
Sam’s insides clenched at Carly’s words, spoken in the way of someone who’s resigned herself to the inevitable before she’s come anywhere near making peace with it.
He could tell she’d tried her best to keep a lid on her composure after she and her father had first arrived, but her jerky movements and short, obligatory replies to everyone’s questions clearly indicated how overwhelmed she felt. So Sam had hauled her off to the half-remodeled barn so she could vent an emotion or two in relative peace. Now she stood in a shaft of light knifing through the glittering dust motes from a window the previous owners had installed in what had once been a hayloft, three rectangular pools of sunshine from as many windows spilling across the pine floor. What had at one time smelled of animal flesh and hay and manure was now perfumed with a bouquet of dust, unfin
ished wood, the residual tang of polyurethane.
Carly’s back was more or less turned to him, her hands stuffed into her jeans’ back pockets, the toes of her pointy, fancy boots headed as usual in two different directions. Even at rest, energy pulsed from her body like a racehorse itching to be given its head.
His own arms laced across his chest, Sam leaned on one of the barn’s support beams, far enough away to keep their molecules from intermingling. To prevent either one of them from feeling threatened.
“What happened to the teaching jobs?”
She turned then, her mouth pulled tight. “No openings. Anywhere, apparently. And my friend Emily’s pregnant again, so she decided to put off starting her own school for another year at least.” She walked across the evenly laid planks, the skinny heels of her boots making soft, sexy tapping sounds. Crouching, she ran a hand over the gleaming surface. “Nice floor.”
“It is that. Like I said, the previous owners had planned on living here and tearing down the old house…”
“Oh, God, Sam…what am I going to do?”
Her anguish bounced off the high walls like panicked birds searching for a way out. She was still squatting, her hands gripping her knees as she stared at the floor, shaking her head. Then she laughed, an empty sound, mirthless, and pushed herself to her feet. “Sorry. That was a rhetorical question. Besides, I need to be here right now anyway, right? Because of Dad, I mean.”
“Seems to me your father’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”
“I’m not talking about the day-to-day stuff. I’m talking about…”
“Ivy?”
“Yeah.”
“I imagine he can take care of that all by himself, too. And wouldn’t he be pissed to find out his daughter thinks he can’t?”
A rueful smile tugged at her lips. “True. But you didn’t see him right after Mom died. And for many, many months after that. He was absolutely wrecked. And this…thing with Ivy…At this point, it’s based on air.” Her gaze touched his, then skittered away before she said softly, “I’m afraid for him.”
Swept Away Page 10
