Sam groaned. “Homemade? The way your mom used to make it?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“My stomach will think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said as they crossed from his small combination kitchenette and dining room into her much larger eat-in kitchen.
“A short trip from God’s country,” J.T. wisecracked before digging into a mammoth sandwich.
“Don’t tell me you can’t get roast beef in New York.”
“Oh, you can get anything you want.” Sam hesitated. “But somehow it never tasted the same.”
With J.T.’s mouth full, the conversational ball was back in her court, but Rosie couldn’t think of a proper response. She surveyed the room. “Where’s Lorelei?”
“Playpen. She’s sleepin’,” J.T. offered between bites with a hitch of his chin toward Sam’s apartment.
She noticed Sam had left the adjoining door open between his half of the downstairs and hers. “Should we wake her to eat?”
“I gave her a snack earlier. She’s fine. Sit. Relax. J.T., back away from that roast.”
Rosie washed her hands and eased into a chair, smiling at the nostalgic bickering that ensued while she quickly slapped together a thick sandwich with mayo and sharp cheddar on wheat and slid the paper plate across the table.
Sam stared at the offering, his lips parted.
“What’s wrong?” Had his preferences changed?
“Nothing. It’s just that . . . no one’s done things for me like this since Gran died.” He shook his head, obviously pleased. “I can’t believe you remembered. After all this time.”
His gaze caught hers and lingered.
Silence filled the room, broken only by ice falling into the bin inside her freezer.
“Is there something going on here, I should know about?” J.T.’s gaze swung back and forth between them.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rosie shot back at him and turned her attention to making her own sandwich. “Haven’t you ever heard of hospitality? Just because you’re rude enough to serve yourself before a guest doesn’t mean I have to follow suit, big brother. Today Sam is a guest, tomorrow a tenant . . . as well as a friend.”
J.T. quirked a brow and kept eating.
Jeezus Pete. What had driven her to tack on that last bit?
* * *
Hours later, Sam sat in the near-darkness, listening to crickets and cicadas filling the night air with a relentless buzz. In the distance a Bard owl made his usual hooting queries of “Who-cooks-for-you? Who-cooks-for-you-all?” with startling regularity.
He swung his bare feet onto the chaise and eased back into the cushion. Dog-tired but too restless to sleep, he sought quiet solitude in which to unwind, but had forgotten how noisy rural areas could be. Oddly enough, though, the nonthreatening racket was leaching the day’s tension from his body.
The porch floor creaked, alerting him he was no longer alone.
“Listening to nature’s concert?” Rosie asked, easing into a twin chaise. The scent of a flowery soap, citrus and mint mixed with the earthy night as she took a deep breath and exhaled. His body stirred to life.
“I’d forgotten we called it that.” His awareness of her was bordering on ridiculous when just the scent of her turned him on. Unable to resist any longer, he chanced a look in her direction. “We were way off the mark. It’s more like the tuning-up session.”
She smiled at his response. With her fresh-scrubbed face upturned, head against the cushion and eyes closed, she appeared ethereal in the moonlight. The crew neck of her nightshirt showed between the overlapped lapels of a pink and white seersucker robe. Tied securely around a nipped-in waist, the robe’s hem stopped just above the knees of her shapely legs.
He’d be willing to bet she didn’t cover that much when he wasn’t around. It was too hot for it. Even in shorts and a tee, he still felt the heat.
Her hair, still damp from a recent shower, flowed over her shoulders, spilling across high, generous breasts. There was nothing overtly sexy about her position or her attire, but she stirred his desire all the same.
My God. J.T. and Travis would kill him if they could see him giving their mature little sister the once-over, his body reacting.
Not good.
He shifted, raising the knee closest to Rosie. No need advertising his response to her. He averted his gaze, focusing on fireflies floating across the backyard.
Appearing.
Disappearing.
Like his resolve.
He’d forgotten about the seemingly magical insects putting on a show. Someday soon he’d catch a few in a jar and show Lorelei. She’d like that. Though he no longer believed in magic, whether it be bug related or the kind of old-fashioned and enduring love his grandparents had known, he did enjoy seeing the wonder in his daughter’s eyes.
He had to do whatever was necessary to protect her, to keep her innocence alive as long as he could. Even if it meant relinquishing his freedom and being celibate for a while longer.
Logic. That’s what he needed. Cool, clear logic. And work. Lord knew, he had plenty of it to keep him busy between the two proposals due soon and the screenplay Hollywood was waiting on, based on his best-seller from two years ago.
“You as tired as I am?” Rosie’s soft voice held more drawl than usual.
“Probably. But this is nice.”
“It is. I love it out here this time of night. It’s warm, but not unbearably hot like during the day.” She stretched her arms high overhead before covering a yawn. “It’s getting late, though. We should go to bed.”
“Now that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time,” he said, mimicking her drawl perfectly. After the direction his mind and body had taken earlier, the response came automatically.
“Sam!” She pushed to her feet. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
He grinned, enjoying her look of righteous indignation and the cute way her nose crinkled. Who knew the snaggletoothed little girl who’d annoyed him, J.T. and Travis during their junior high years would turn out to be so pretty and . . . hot.
He eased off the lounger and stood beside her in the near darkness. “How about you let us treat you to dinner tomorrow night, as thanks for today.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Say yes.” Surely by tomorrow night he’d have his libido under control.
“All ri— Oh, shoot, I just remembered. I can’t. I have a date.”
Of course she did. He hid the twinge of disappointment. Rosie was attractive and single. She wouldn’t be available at a moment’s notice, regardless of what Sara had said. Whatever he was thinking with, it wasn’t his brain.
“Someone special?” He tried to make the question sound nonchalant.
“Wha—Oh, no. It’s not like that. I’m meeting a friend. But I’ll take a rain check.” She gave him a tired smile. “The Sunrise Grill has a great Sunday brunch.”
Sam hesitated, surprised. Daylight, a crowd and Lorelei as a buffer. Perfect. “It’s a date. Oh, um, no. Not exactly a date date. More like a . . . ah . . .”
“Non-date?”
“That’s it. Exactly. Friends sharing a meal.” He nodded, feeling rather foolish now for making such a fuss.
“Fine. Sunday brunch it is.”
“Good night, Rosie.”
“Good night, Sam.”
As they turned to their respective doors, a child’s shrill scream pierced the night air.
* * *
Too stunned to react, Rosie froze until Sam darted around her, running toward Lorelei’s room.
As she entered the bedroom, Sam reached into the crib and swept the struggling child into his arms, repeating, “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. Daddy’s got you.”
He soothed his daughter, rubbing her back and murmuring in her ear. Soon her cries quieted to soft snuffles, and she raised her head off Sam’s shoulder.
She stared at Rosie, looking like a street urchin with perspiratio
n-dampened hair and her tiny face tear-ravaged. Lorelei pushed against Sam’s shoulder, squirming to get down.
He lowered her until her feet touched the floor.
“Lo’lei go potty, Daddy,” she stated in a very matter-of-fact tone, and ran toward the bathroom with Sam not far behind.
Wide-awake now, Rosie leaned against the doorframe, waiting. Soon they reentered the room. She watched as Sam tucked his daughter back into the crib, talking softly to her. A part of her wanted to feel the sweet warmth of helping him. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.
He leaned over his daughter, smoothed her hair back with a gentle hand and whispered, “Sweet dreams, baby.” He kissed each cheek, then her forehead.
Why did she have night terrors at such a young age? Rosie couldn’t imagine the pain it must cause Sam to see his daughter so distraught. But he’d covered it well, releasing her when the fear had passed. Who knew he would be so relaxed, so good with a child?
Seeing her city sophisticate friend as a dad made him even more attractive. Like she needed that added complication.
Lorelei’s eyes seemed huge in her small face as she studied Rosie from across the room, then turned to Sam. “Light, daddy?”
“Yes, baby. I’ll leave the hall light on.” He left the door open, and they slipped into the hallway. “It’s really too bright, but I don’t dare shut her door.”
“Why don’t you use a nightlight?”
“Hers broke during the move. Do you have an extra we could borrow?”
“Better than that. I have one she can keep. Wait here.” Rosie retrieved an extra from her laundry room that she’d bought and never used. Made of stained glass, it had delicate pink roses across the bottom with a fairy clad in blue and yellow flying overhead. She removed a safety plug and inserted the light where Lorelei could see it.
“Look at that, Lorelei. Rosie found you a new light. What do you say?”
“Ooh, pwetty.” She tucked tiny fists beneath her chin and grinned.
“Yes, it is, but what else do you say?”
“Tank you.”
Rosie smiled at the shy, but dutiful response. “You’re welcome, Lorelei. Good night.”
Solemn, unblinking eyes regarded her, then the little girl scrunched them tight and feigned sleep.
Rosie’s heart kicked into overdrive when Sam reached for her hand and tugged her a few feet into the hallway.
“Thanks,” he murmured close to her ear, the intimate sound sending frissons of delight down her spine. “I think you just made another friend.”
She turned her head and discovered he was closer than she’d imagined. “That’s good, er, nice, but I’ve got work tomorrow and so do you. I should go to bed now.”
Something flickered in his eyes as he watched her lips move, but he quickly shuttered it away. “Then you need a sweet dreams kiss too.”
Her tongue flicked over lips suddenly dry, her head screaming, Say something! “Sam, I don’t think . . .”
He stopped her with a finger to his pursed lips, his eyes full of amusement and that same shuttered look she couldn’t quite get a handle on.
Desire?
No. Sam is attracted to stick-thin super models, remember? Twigs.
Oh, Lord, what was happening here? She’d wanted to erase the strangers feeling, but this wasn’t exactly . . .
Everything shifted into slow motion.
Sam reached to smooth back her hair, like he had his daughter’s, and hesitated.
How many times had she dreamt of this happening again after that first gentle touch of his lips against hers? She’d desperately wished for a repeat at J.T. and Sara’s wedding, while slow dancing. Rosie’s eyelids drifted down and then closed. She waited with the odd combination of excitement and dread that accompanied the fulfillment of a dream.
His lips met her expectations, soft and warm.
But their touch was way too fleeting as he brushed them against one cheek, then the other, and her forehead—exactly as he had kissed Lorelei.
Dismayed and relieved at the same time, Rosie swallowed hard. Her eyes flew open. He gave her a big wink and a smile—which was exactly what she needed to bring her back to reality.
Of course Sam wouldn’t actually kiss her.
They were just friends.
Rosie smiled back, feeling foolish. She decided to act as if the last thirty seconds never happened and hope her pulse took the hint.
Sam followed her across his kitchenette to the adjoining door. She waggled her fingers in farewell, afraid her voice would sound breathless and bothered.
Before she could make a fool of herself, Rosie closed the door on the latest complication in her life.
* * *
“Is it dead?” Sara asked.
“Looks that way,” Rosie muttered, as if there was any doubt. Her stomach churned, making her a little queasy.
They stared at one very droopy rose sitting inside the refrigerated unit, which had seemed iffy the day before. The note Sara had left taped to it indicated she’d moved the rest of the flowers to other units, in case the unit wasn’t working properly.
“Thanks for saving our stock and taking care of the shop yesterday.”
“No problem. But what are you going to do? We’ve got three more weddings on the books, and Sassy Bing called yesterday to schedule a consult on her daughter’s upcoming nuptials. There’s no way the other two can hold the supplies we’ll need to stock, not even with the overflow unit in the back.”
“Cassandra’s getting married? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Um . . . Dean?”
Rosie turned from the deceased rose to blink stupidly at Sara, unease slipping over her like a too-tight glove. “Dean? As in Lassiter?”
“One and the same.”
“I hadn’t realized they were seeing each other.” She stepped to the register counter and pulled her rolodex from a drawer a little too forcefully.
“Sweetwater Springs is growing. It’s getting harder for the grapevine to keep up with everyone these days. Does it bother you?”
“What, the town growing?” Rosie shrugged, flipping through the cards until her fingers rested on Kool Katz Refrigeration. “It’s good for business.”
“I meant Dean. You know . . . marrying someone else.”
“No.” She supposed some might think differently, since she’d once been engaged to him. The queasy feeling grew into a knot of real discomfort. How well did Cassandra know the man she’d agreed to marry? Would she listen if Rosie tried to warn her about his past behavior, which she now knew to be classic companion abuse?
“You sure you’re okay?” Sara cocked her head to the side, a worried look on her face.
“About Dean getting married? Yes, although I pity the poor girl.” Boy, wasn’t that the truth. “About that unit conking out? Not so much. Let’s hope Mr. Katz can fix it.”
Please, please let it be a simple, inexpensive repair.
“I’m sure he can. He’s done it before.” Sara squeezed her arm in sympathy, slipped an apron over her head and headed into the prep room to tackle the latest orders.
Rosie breathed a little prayer regarding her predicament, tacked on one for Cassandra Bing and reached for the phone, which rang before she could touch it. She pushed a button and lifted the receiver. “Rosie’s Posies.”
“Miss Rosie, we got a problem.” Ernest Throckmorton was a good twenty-five years her senior and the most reliable delivery driver a florist could want. He persisted with the “miss” as a sign of respect.
“What is it, Ernie? Did we give you a bum address?”
“No, ma’am. Van overheated. Radiator’s imitating a steam engine. I think she’s busted.”
Oh, Lord. What else could go wrong? Bad news usually came in threes, but she hoped it wasn’t the case this time. She turned her back to the prep room, sure her face reflected her anxiety.
Damage control, Rosie. You’re the boss, remember? At least she still had the retired delivery van
, it’s only service use these days to handle overflow during a big wedding. “All right. Give me your location. I’ll shuttle my van to you and arrange for the garage to tow that one.” Which meant she’d have to rent transportation for a few days.
Another expense she could ill afford.
She relayed the problem to Sara, jotted the phone numbers she needed in her planner and headed for her van. On the way to meet Ernie, she left instructions with the wrecker service, then dialed the number to Kool Katz.
Sales were steady, even good at times, but she wasn’t in a position to replace a three-grand unit, not after replacing the transmission and tires on the van last month. No telling how much a radiator would set her back. Automotive repairs were astronomical these days, but she might could convince the owner to let her pay installments.
The cost of a new van would be catastrophic. She didn’t even want to think about that possibility. This one had to stay in service at least another year.
Mr. Katz answered and she placed the repair order, startled when he reminded her it hadn’t been long since he’d serviced that particular unit.
Crap. Her apprehension, which began when Sara mentioned the Bing-Lassiter wedding, deepened dramatically.
She shouldn’t have socked the bulk of her profits into paying ahead on her business loan. Doing so had given her the peace of mind that Dean wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if he tried to cause her trouble financially, but it had left her with little ready cash for emergencies.
Going to Dean, the local bank’s loan officer, with her hand out? Not in this lifetime. Not even with her family around her for protection. Controlling bastard that he was, and with a grudge against her for dumping him, he’d take great satisfaction in trying to ruin her.
Rosie shuddered. Exposing herself to Dean’s abuse wasn’t an option. Better she pray that her mounting problems would develop silver linings.
CHAPTER THREE
Ever since he’d come perilously close to kissing Rosie for real last night, Sam had been imagining her in the role Bill described, despite the fact there was no real reason for her to consider such a proposition.
She was practical, and except for the whole attraction thing he couldn’t seem to shake, she was convenient too. Dependable. Today she was mostly distracted and nervous. He’d be willing to bet that was his fault after that “sweet dreams” stunt he’d pulled.
A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel Page 3
