A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel

by Carol Burnside

  Lorelei merely looked to him for reassurance.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. Rosie’s the nice lady who’s going to let us live in her house until we find one of our own.” He stood and turned back to Rosie. “She’s more clingy than usual since we left New York. I’m hoping it’ll pass with time.”

  “I’m sure it will.” She liked how Sam’s voice softened when he talked to Lorelei. During one of their recent phone calls, he’d warned her his daughter was terrified of the dark and strangers who approached her too fast, but hadn’t explained why.

  “Pwetty,” Lorelei said, bringing Rosie back to the present as she pointed toward the flowers inside their refrigerated cases. Her big brown eyes sparkled with interest.

  “She’s beautiful, Sam. Good thing she took after her mother,” she teased. If Rosie hadn’t been looking directly at his face, she would have missed the tightening of his jaw.

  “I like to think I see a few Moreland traits in her occasionally. In any case, She’s a good kid. Puts up with me.”

  “Then she must be angelic, as well.”

  Sam rewarded Rosie’s acerbic statement with a short, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far. Wait until you see her grumpy act at nap time.”

  “Speaking of that, we should probably get going so we can get her room squared away. Unless you’d like to reacquaint yourself with Sweetwater Springs.”

  “I soaked in the changes on the way here. Getting settled would be good. My deadlines aren’t moving just because I am.” He tweaked the long braid hanging over her shoulder. “Good to see some things are the same.”

  She hesitated, uncertain how to respond. She wasn’t the same, not at all, not after her ex-fiancé’s negative impact on her life. Dean’s need to control through mind games and manipulation was enough to turn a woman off men forever.

  In the end, she opted to ignore Sam’s statement. “Even with the trendy coffee shop on the corner and the new office park by the freeway, a few minutes are all you need to see everything. Sweetwater Springs isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis.”

  A slight movement to her left reminded Rosie they weren’t alone. “You remember J.T.’s wife, Sara, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.” He took a step toward Sara, hand offered for a polite shake, his gray T-shirt stretching over well-muscled shoulders. Lorelei followed, clinging shyly to his jean-clad leg like a lifeline. His fingertips played in her dark hair. Its wispy look and her large, serious eyes gave her a soft, fragile appearance.

  “I’ve read all your books,” Sara gushed. “J.T., too. He likes the action, I like the romance.”

  “Well, thanks. I’m glad. How is he?”

  “Quite virile, if recent reports are to be believed,” Rosie quipped.

  Sara colored delicately. “I’d better get back to work. My slave-driver boss is very strict about the hired help keepin’ to schedule. Good seeing you again, Sam. We’ll have y’all out to the house for supper real soon.” With that, she waved and re-entered the cool confines of the prep room.

  Sam did a slow circle so Lorelei could follow, taking in the cooling units, bridal table, gift shop and the display window. “This is nice. What made you choose to become a florist?”

  “My Aunt Laurel made me a good deal on the place when she retired to Florida. Between my business degree and the experience I had working summers here, it felt like a good fit.”

  “You must be doing all right. The place looks good.”

  Suddenly all the late evening hours spent scrubbing and painting were worthwhile.

  “Yes, but she spends way too much time here.” Sara’s voice came from the doorway of a cooler where she separated a few sprays of Gypsophilia, or baby’s breath, from a thick bunch. “Maybe now that you’re around, she’ll accept a few more invitations and rejoin the living.”

  Rosie hadn’t heard Sara reenter the room and was momentarily tongue-tied. Sam’s frown and narrowed gaze urged her to set the record straight. “It’s not like I’m a hermit. I’m in here meeting the public every day. Is it any wonder I’d like a little quiet time?”

  Sara shook her head and flicked a don’t-you-believe-it look at Sam. “She eats, sleeps and breathes this place. Some days she doesn’t even leave for lunch. Eats at her desk in the back.”

  She started back into the prep room, then turned with a frown. “Rosie, these don’t look as perky as they should. Are these from the batch we received yesterday?”

  “Has to be. We barely had enough to finish the Slocum wedding on Friday, remember?” Her gaze wandered to Sam. “Twelve attendants on each side. Can you imagine?”

  A sound of disgust came from his throat. “Waste of good money.”

  “Lucky for us though. That wedding brought us the most profitable month yet.” Not so profitable that she could afford anything major to go wrong over the next few months. She made a mental note to have the refrigeration in that unit checked first thing tomorrow.

  “Perfect example of Miss Workaholic’s tendencies right there. Rosie stayed here until midnight making the bridesmaid’s bouquets.” Sara looked at Sam with amusement, but he was stroking Lorelei’s head, his attention on her.

  Sara exchanged what-gives shrugs with Rosie. “Well, I’d better get back to it.”

  “And I’m out of here. You’re on your own.” Rosie extricated herself from the apron and stowed it under the counter. “Throw some extra preservative in with the baby’s breath, and I’ll check it again tomorrow.”

  Sara’s gaze flicked over Sam again. “You got it.”

  Rosie smiled at the rounded eyes watching her from behind Sam’s knee. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  She was leading the way to her house, window of her aging van partially lowered to release the trapped heat, air conditioner on full blast before she allowed herself to examine the feelings of dissatisfaction surrounding Sam’s arrival.

  His warm embrace and teasing aside, something wasn’t right.

  She’d wanted him to see her as the mature grown-up and competent businesswoman she’d become over the last two years since grad school. Instead, she’d gotten the distinct impression Sam had withdrawn from the conversation a little further with each mention of her involvement in the business.

  Both his mother and ex-wife had managed high-profile careers. Maybe hers wasn’t impressive enough for him. Rosie made a sound of disgust in her throat. Or maybe she was being too sensitive and egotistical. He was probably tired or something.

  Until a few months ago, she and Sam had drifted to the greeting card stage in their correspondence, never completely losing touch. Over time their sporadic communications had become less personal. E-mails and phone calls regarding his move and living arrangements had alleviated some of that distance.

  He’d probably felt a little apprehension about the reunion, as she had. They’d both changed, she in ways she’d never imagined. It was only natural to expect a period of adjustment, to wonder if they could reestablish their former easy friendship or if the bonds of childhood would remain elusive.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Easy? Ever since that one-time aberration in their behavior—the kiss—there had existed an undercurrent of tension in their relationship. One she’d never had enough courage to examine closely. Therein lay the source of her apprehension. Did he feel it too?

  * * *

  Sam braked behind Rosie’s slowing van, then stopped as she pulled over in front of a house that stood proudly a good fifty feet off the road. The soft gray of a weathered roof, porch floor, and shutters subdued the large expanse of gleaming whiteness. A wraparound porch, dotted with wicker furniture displaying faded flowery cushions, flared around the house like a hoop skirt, while the porch ceiling reflected cool blue. Boston Ferns hung at regular intervals across the front of the house.

  He sighed. Although he hadn’t made the best decisions lately, especially where his personal life was concerned, this was a good choice. It looked like . . . home, and he’d wanted something comfo
rtable with a yard his daughter could play in. Until he and Lorelei could find a place of their own, this one would more than do.

  Rosie stepped around the front of her van and motioned for Sam to pull forward. He rolled down the window and winced at the wall of heat. How did she manage to look so cool?

  Her skin had a soft, dewy look lots of women would kill for. And her Caribbean blue eyes had depths a man could happily drown in. He’d almost done so while dancing with her at that damn wedding. It was one memory both of them avoided talking about.

  “Back your trailer into the driveway along the side the house,” Rosie instructed. “That’ll put it right at your front door and make it easier to unload.”

  He maneuvered the U-Haul into position, and saw he could access the apartment from a private side entrance.

  Sam retrieved Lorelei from her car seat and stood looking at the house. She held onto the edge of his jeans with one hand and clutched a worn baby blanket in the other.

  “Love the house, Rosie,” he called to her with a grin. “What a great porch.”

  “There’s a screened-in version across the back. Both the apartment and house rear doors open to it.” She sauntered across the yard toward him, rounded hips swaying. Rosie had most definitely filled out in all the right places, her body more curvy than he remembered. Holding her earlier, however briefly, had about overloaded his senses.

  “I appreciate you letting us stay here,” he said, pretending fascination with the house before she could catch him gawking.

  “Hey, I need a tenant. You need a place to live. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Lucky me. A great place to live and a pretty landlady. What more could a single guy want?” he teased, mostly because he’d come to believe it was expected.

  She turned to the house with a shake of her head. “Come on, Slick, I’ll show you and Lorelei your new digs. You can save all that charm for somebody who’ll swallow it.”

  Sam gazed after Rosie in amazement for a moment before realizing she didn’t want flattery. After living with Jasmine, so insecure and obsessed about every nuance of her appearance, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the concept.

  If Sara’s teasing were to be believed, the floral business was now Rosie’s life. He certainly hadn’t expected that either.

  He’d seen her playing with her doll babies as a girl, laughed indulgently at her preteen wedding plans, and would’ve predicted Rosie married and the mother of a kid or two by now. Not that she couldn’t have those things and a career too. Just because his mother and Jasmine couldn’t handle both didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

  Rosie had showered him with protective, maternal instincts after his parents died, sometimes sitting beside him for hours without talking, their bare feet dangling into the creek waters. Until then he’d only seen her as J.T. and Travis’s little sister, an occasional tagalong. That summer, she’d become a friend.

  Had the loving, nurturing girl he’d known changed so much that a career shifted into her number one priority? The thought saddened him, followed by the sharp pinch of shame. At the least, he owed her the benefit of the doubt.

  She’d done more than sit with him. She’d stuck by him at a time when most people shied away, tolerating his vile moods and letting his caustic words roll off her shoulders with a wisdom that had belied her youth. They’d been an odd duo for sure, the sixteen-year-old boy and a girl of eleven. Time would tell if his Rosie still existed within the distracting outer shell she’d developed.

  Whoa. His Rosie?

  Since when had he started thinking of her like that?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rosie unlocked the door and handed the key to Sam. He was being his usual charming self. No need getting all flustered thinking he’d been flirting with her. Why would he? The man was attracted to twig women. More likely he was as nervous as she was about the weird friends-but-strangers thing. It was disconcerting, feeling so distant from someone you once knew well.

  He slipped the key into his pocket and stood Lorelei on the floor. “Looks nice. Do we get the grand tour?”

  “Right this way.” Rosie led them through the small apartment, which consisted of five rooms and a hallway. Just as she completed the short tour, J.T. came through the front door, his sandy blond hair shorter than she’d seen it in awhile.

  “Hey, man. You finally gettin’ back to God’s country?” he asked.

  Sam laughed, and they slapped each other’s backs with hearty enthusiasm. “Thanks for your advice on the move. The apartment is perfect, and Rosie tells me there’s even a park nearby. I owe you one.”

  “That’s easy. Keep the books coming.”

  “Ah, yes. My agent’s favorite comeback. I’ll be playing catch-up for a couple weeks yet.”

  Rosie excused herself. They could muddle through the reunion without her. She went through the connecting door and upstairs to transform her hair from a low braid to a high inverted ponytail. There. Much better. More practical. Now it wouldn’t be flopping over her shoulder or swinging wildly while she worked.

  That the style looked perky rather than dowdy had nothing to do with . . . anything.

  When she returned to the apartment, a small stack of haphazardly labeled boxes had been placed in each room. Sam had settled Lorelei in a large playpen in the living room with a few picture books and toys. The child’s dark gaze swung Rosie’s way, watching her as she passed through the room.

  She could see Jasmine’s looks in the little girl’s dusky skin and large eyes, but none of her features stood out as replicas of Sam’s. Right now those eyes regarded her with sober deliberation as if Lorelei couldn’t decide whether she wanted Rosie any closer or not.

  Ditto, kid.

  Rosie tackled the child’s room first, figuring she’d need a nap soon. Sam or J.T. popped in occasionally to drop off another box and spent a good half-hour putting the crib together. From several boxes marked “L’s room,” she unpacked books, toys, and dozens of small outfits still on their hangers. She shook them and hung them in the closet. The last box was slightly larger than the others and bulky.

  She pushed it into the small walk-in and pulled the tape off. How many clothes did one toddler need? Folding back the flaps, she stared at the tiny pink garments it contained.

  Lorelei wouldn’t be wearing these again. They must be meant for storage. With shaky hands, she replaced the flaps without touching the contents, but the powdery, clean baby scent that lingered on them reached her nose. Remembered pain—a phantom from the past—speared through her abdomen, weakening her knees.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. Unbidden images assaulted her, of a child she would never hold, the feelings as fresh and anguished as if it had been yesterday. Tears rushed to the surface. Oh, God. She had to get out of here.

  Rosie stepped backwards from the closet and into a hard wall of bone and muscle. “Oomph!”

  She turned too quickly and stumbled.

  Sam grabbed her upper arms to steady them both. “You okay?”

  Nodding, she stared into his concerned gaze.

  “You’re crying.”

  “No. No, I’m not. It’s . . . dust from the boxes. Must’ve gotten some in my eyes.” His gaze flicked to her upper arms, his concern turning to mild alarm.

  Gradually, she tamped down the pain, becoming aware she’d raised her arms in a defensive gesture, and the backs of his thumbs were pillowed against the outside of her breasts. Her nipples pebbled, yet he appeared more embarrassed than she.

  “I’m fine.” She whispered, her mouth desert-dry, pulse rapid. Slowly, she raised her elbows out to the side. Sam took a quick step back, releasing her and his breath.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his gaze darting about the room. “You’ve gotten a lot done in here. Thanks.”

  “Did you want me?”

  “What?” Sam’s incredulous tone wasn’t exactly flattering.

  “I mean, you . . . you came in here. You must’ve had a reason.” The
y were back to staring, and Rosie could feel the heat in her face. She’d never been able to hide a blush on her fair skin.

  “Right.” He broke eye contact and swiped a hand across the back of his neck. “J.T. said he’s going to raid your fridge for lunch. I thought you might be ready for a break, too.”

  “Good idea. I’ll be right there.” Between that last box and their collision, she needed a moment to collect herself.

  Sam reached the doorway before he stopped and looked back. “If I haven’t said it before, thanks for . . . all this. It means a lot that you’d take time away from your business to help me get moved in. Now I can get back to writing and make my deadlines. It’s more than I expected.”

  The normalcy of that statement brought their situation into focus. He was trying to bridge the awkwardness between them. The least she could do was meet him halfway.

  “I don’t know why. Friends help each other.”

  “Well, it means a lot. If it weren’t for all this, I’d lose more writing time, which would mean sixteen hour workdays in my future.”

  “Can’t have that. Lorelei needs your attention, too.”

  “True, but I’ve imposed on you too much already. You’re not expected to feed us too. I’ll run into town and grab us all some burgers.”

  Rosie adopted a look of mock horror. “And have it spread around that I don’t take care of my guests?” She stepped past him, dismissing the idea.

  “I’d forgotten about the Busy Biddy Brigade. Still meddling, are they?” He referred to the label he and her brothers had given his grandmother’s peers years ago. No matter where the boys went or what they did, they hadn’t been able to hide anything from her eagle-eyed friends.

  “Some things never change.”

  “I’ll take them any day over reporters dogging our steps.”

  Reporters? How naïve of her not to realize such things had become a part of his life. It made sense they’d shadow a well-known author and his celebrity wife—especially in a high-profile city. No wonder he’d returned to his roots.

  “Let’s go see if J.T. saved us any leftover roast beef. I could use a sandwich.”