by Lori Wilde
“Hello.” Emma shook her hand. “I’m Emma Parks.”
Maddie looked from Emma to Sam and back again. “I take it you know Sam.”
“We’re old friends.”
“How fitting that Patches herded you home from the bus stop,” Maddie said.
Was she being sarcastic? Emma couldn’t tell. “How did you know that’s what happened?”
Maddie waved a hand. “That dog herds home at least one person a month. I keep telling Sam that Patches belongs on a sheep farm, but he’s too attached to the dog to ever give him up.”
“Who knows, Maddie, maybe I’ll buy a sheep farm one day,” Sam said.
“When would you have time for a sheep farm? It’s a miracle you haven’t been called away on an emergency today. It happens almost every Sunday, your only day off.”
“You have a point,” he said.
Maddie inclined her head toward the room she’d emerged from. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen? Would you like something to drink, Emma? I’ve got a big pitcher of sweet tea made up.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Charlie.” Maddie raised her voice. “Wash the backs of those hands too, little mister.”
“Can I help with anything?” Emma asked as they walked into the kitchen.
“No, no, everything’s ready. You just have a seat.”
The kitchen table was set with napkins and silverware. Sam pulled out a chair, and Emma moved past him, going for the next chair.
“This is for you,” he said.
Emma’s cheeks heated. He’d held the chair out for her. When was the last time a man had done that? She couldn’t remember. Had a man ever done that for her? “Um, thanks.”
She sat down awkwardly, and Sam took the seat opposite her. Charlie came into the room, palms held out for Maddie’s inspection. “Good job,” she said. The boy took the chair next to Emma, reached for his napkin, and spread it out in his lap.
Maddie turned from the stove, two plates heaping with pot roast made with carrots and potatoes and a side of green beans in her hands. She slid one plate in front of Emma, the other in front of Sam, and then went back for two more plates for her and Charlie. Lastly, she deposited a wicker basket lined with a white linen napkin and filled with homemade yeast rolls in the middle of the table, along with a dish of butter. Then, finally, she sat down.
Emma picked up her fork, ready to dive into the food, when she noticed everyone else at the table had bowed his head. Maddie reached for Emma’s hand on the right, Charlie’s from the left.
She realized belatedly that they were saying grace. No one had ever said grace in her household, but she remembered the times she’d taken meals with Sam’s family and they’d always bowed their heads, joined hands, and given thanks for their food.
Sam blessed the meal and then everyone echoed, “Amen.”
In unison, movements so simultaneous it felt choreographed, they all tucked into the pot roast.
“Bread?” Sam asked, and held up the basket of rolls.
“Yes, thanks.” She hadn’t had a good meal in days so she figured the few extra carbs would be okay. An actress always had to be on guard against weight gain, but sometimes a girl just had to indulge herself a little.
Emma reached for the basket and her fingertips brushed his knuckles, provoking goose bumps. The look in his eyes told her he felt it too, and she quickly ducked her head.
“Sam grew the potatoes and carrots and onions and green beans himself,” Maddie bragged. “In his backyard garden.”
“Really?” Emma asked, impressed.
Sam shrugged. “Digging in the dirt relieves stress.”
“You have a lot of stress?”
He said nothing, but she saw him dart a glance in Charlie’s direction. She wondered how long it had been since the boy had spoken and if Sam had taken him to therapists. Probably so. The Sam Cheek she knew was nothing if not responsible.
When they were kids she’d been the one getting him into trouble. Like the time she dared him to climb the ancient pecan tree in the park off the town square and he’d fallen out and broken his arm. She’d felt so guilty, but when he’d returned from the hospital, his arm in a cast, he let her be the first one to sign it. And he told her he’d had so much fun the fall was worth it. That was when she’d decided he was her boyfriend and she was going to let him kiss her if he ever tried.
She smiled at the memory of her audacious fourteen-year-old self. She’d been so fearless back then. What had happened to her? She took a bite of carrot. Whether it was Sam’s gardening skills or Maddie’s culinary talent or just the simple honesty of fresh vegetables grown in Twilight soil, the tender, slightly sweet buttery carrot was the best she’d ever tasted. She didn’t even realize she’d closed her eyes and murmured, “Mmm” until she heard Sam’s laugh. Her eyes flew open.
“You’ve been away from country life too long if a carrot can make you moan like that.”
Was there a hint of sexual innuendo in his tone or was she reading something more into an innocent comment? Emma slathered her roll with creamy yellow butter. “You might grow good carrots,” she said, “but I’m a city girl through and through.”
She bit into the heavy bread and almost moaned again at the succulent decadence of fresh butter. There were several local dairies in the area, and she had a feeling the butter must have come from one of them. Okay, so maybe food did taste better when you got it closer to the land.
Sam’s gaze was on her face. She could feel the heat of his eyes drilling into her. “You never did tell me why you were back in Twilight.”
“Didn’t I?” She wondered if he’d heard about her troubles in New York. If he didn’t already know, he would soon enough. Gossip spread like a forest blaze in Twilight.
“No.”
“Nina Blakley hired me to play Rebekka Nash in the Founders’ Day skit.”
An odd expression crossed his face. “They skipped the skit last year, I thought…” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.
“Valerie played Rebekka for the last five years before that,” Maddie explained.
“Valerie?” Emma arched an eyebrow.
“My late wife,” Sam said.
“Oh Sam, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was taking her place, I…”
He gave a sharp jerk of his head in Charlie’s direction. “No reason to apologize. I just hadn’t realized Nina decided to reinstate the skit.”
An awkward silence settled over the dinner table. Emma turned her head to see Charlie studying her as intently as his father. He might not resemble his father physically, but their mannerisms were the same, from the quiet quizzical looks, to their guarded body language. Both of these guys could use some lightening up.
“Nina must be paying you a lot to lure you away from Manhattan,” Sam said.
Emma shrugged, not sure how many of the details she should get into at this juncture. “She gave me the opportunity to get out of the city for a few months. Her offer made me realize I hadn’t left New York in over twelve years.” That was true enough.
Sam drank his iced tea and leaned back in his seat, studying her with a level gaze. “See, even you realize you’d been in the city too long. Every so often you have to get back to nature, clear your head.”
If he only knew the real reason she was here, that she was a failure and this was her dying dream’s last gasp. Emma’s stomach tightened, and misery rolled through her. During all these years of wishing and hoping and struggling to establish her acting career, she’d been kidding herself. She should have done what Scott Miller wanted. If she had, she’d be on Broadway now. Instead she let her foolish pride and misguided sense of morality ruin her best chance at stardom.
She felt out of place here. She no longer belonged. If, indeed, she ever had. Her childhood had been nomadic, her ties few. She concentrated on the pot roast, but she couldn’t help slipping an occasional glance Sam’s way. His long fingers curved around his fork. They we
re the hands of a veterinarian, a vegetable gardener. Large and square, the backs tanned and riddled with little nicks and scars, the nails clean and clipped short.
In her imagination, she could feel those fingertips on her skin, roughly calloused, yet amazingly gentle, and she had to bite the bottom of her lip to keep from shivering.
A knock sounded at the front door.
“Who could that be?” Maddie frowned. “Interrupting Sunday dinner?” She laid down her napkin and moved to get up.
Sam pressed his palm downward, pushed back his chair, and got to his feet. “You sit, Maddie. I’ll get it.”
Compelled by some unseen force, Emma tracked his movements. Something about the way he carried himself made her feel calm and comforted, and she had no explanation for it. Perhaps it was nostalgia. More likely it was simply because she found him dead sexy. He paused just before he left the room and turned to stare at her as if he could feel the heat of her gaze, his chocolate brown eyes cloaked, enigmatic.
The pulse at her throat fluttered.
His face remained unreadable. Sam disappeared into the hallway, and a second later she heard a feisty female voice say, “Your damn dog hijacked another one of my guests.”
“Why, come on in, sis, it’s great to see you too.”
Emma tilted her head toward the sound of Sam’s voice. She noticed Maddie and Charlie did the same.
A clattering noise—small wheels against a hardwood floor—echoed, and a slender woman appeared, dragging Emma’s suitcase behind her. Her coloring was lighter than her brother’s, and she wore her honey brown hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. She had on beige capri pants and a black V-neck T-shirt, with a frilly, full-length blue gingham apron tied over the ensemble.
“Hi!” She beamed at Emma. “I’m Jenny.” Then she wiggled her fingers at Maddie and winked at Charlie. “Do you remember me? I kinda remember you from when you were a freshman in high school, but I was a senior and you know how self-absorbed seniors are. Plus that’s the year I started going out with my husband…well, he wasn’t my husband back then of course, but you know what I’m getting at.”
“Emma, you remember my sister, Cyclone Jenny?” Sam came over to lean a shoulder against the wall of the entryway and folded his arms over his chest. He had a tolerant, brotherly smile on his face.
Emma got to her feet. She remembered Sam’s older sister because she’d been in awe of her. Jenny had been the most popular girl in high school—cheerleader, prom queen, Miss Twilight, the works. She was as chatty as Sam was quiet. No wonder he didn’t speak much. He’d grown up never being able to get a word in edgewise. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Jenny shook a finger. “Your name used to be something else. “Trixie Mae, was it?”
“Trixie Lynn,” she said. The name felt rusty on her tongue.
“But you prefer Emma?”
“I had it legally changed.”
“Then yes, of course you prefer it.” She smacked her forehead with a palm. “Duh, blabbermouth Jenny.”
Sam shook his head, grinned.
Jenny glanced at the remains of the pot roast. “I see they’ve already fed you. That’s a shame. I made chicken and dumplings from scratch.”
“For me?” Emma splayed a palm to her throat. She felt oddly pleased and flattered and yet distressed to think Jenny had gone to so much trouble and she’d already eaten.
“I’m sorry we fed her,” Maddie said. “We didn’t know she belonged to you.”
“I came as soon as I could. If I’d known Patches was going to round her up from the bus stop, I would have just popped right over, but I had no idea she’d arrived until Rusty called from the Grab and Go and told me there was a suitcase sitting in the middle of his parking lot.”
Confused, Emma frowned. “I’m not quite following this conversation.”
“Ohhh.” Jenny whacked her forehead again. “I didn’t tell you. My husband, Dean, and I run the Merry Cherub, the bed-and-breakfast where you’ll be staying. It’s just around the corner. In fact, the back of the inn butts up against Sam’s property.” She gestured in the direction Emma supposed was her B&B. “Honestly, little brother, you should teach that dog of yours to herd the guests to my house. He could be the official escort service.”
“The Merry Cherub?” Emma echoed.
“She collects angels,” Sam explained. “Wait’ll you see.”
Jenny leaned over to lightly punch her brother on the upper arm. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” He smirked.
“Like you think my angels are silly.”
“They’re not silly, they’re…” Sam paused as if trying to think of a polite way to phrase it. “Um…plentiful.”
“They make me feel good.”
“I’m sure they do.”
As she watched their exchange, Emma experienced a sense of sad longing and wistful loneliness. How many times had she wished for a brother or sister of her own to squabble with good-naturedly?
“You could do with an angel or two in your house.” Jenny eyed the kitchen.
Sam shot a glance at Charlie. “I have one.”
Jenny smiled tenderly at her nephew. “Indeed.”
Charlie looked at the adults as if he didn’t understand why he was suddenly in the spotlight.
“She does have some very lovely angels,” Maddie said to Emma.
“Thank you,” Jenny said to Maddie. Then she held out a hand to Emma. “Come on, let’s get you over the Merry Cherub and get you settled. And, little brother, if you can’t keep that dog from herding home my guests, lock him in the backyard.”
Sam hadn’t expected to feel so…What the hell did he feel? Seeing Trixie—er, Emma—again had him feeling like he’d drunk too much coffee. He resisted the urge to pace. He was accustomed to being in firm control of his emotions, and this detour was unexpected. He needed something to do. He could better make sense of things, more easily organize his thoughts when he had something to keep his hands busy.
“Hey, buddy,” he said to Charlie. “Wanna go to the park and throw the baseball around?”
Charlie’s eyes brightened, and a big grin spread across his face. He shot upstairs after his ball and mitt. Sam watched him go, the familiar sadness settling on his shoulders. Was the boy ever going to speak again? When he was feeling optimistic, he thought, yeah, sure, of course. But it had been over a year now, and the kid hadn’t uttered a single syllable. Sam himself was quiet, pensive, and cautious. Maybe if he were more outgoing, it would help draw the boy out of his shell. Although the thought of changing his personality at this late date seemed daunting, he’d sure give it a try if he thought it would make a difference with his son.
He recalled the way Charlie had been with Emma. How he’d gone right up to her and stroked her hair. The boy was never so forthcoming with strangers. It had to be that her red hair and petite build reminded him of his mother.
Charlie clambered down the stairs, struggling to carry Sam’s mitt, his own, and the softball. Sam’s instinct was to offer to help, but he knew he needed to let Charlie do things on his own. Sam opened the door, and Charlie followed him outside.
“You want me to take my mitt?”
Charlie nodded and handed it over. Side by side they walked the three blocks to the town square, and then cut catty-corner across the lawn, headed for Sweetheart Park.
Charlie was small for his age, and Sam couldn’t help wondering if that was an element of his shyness. Even before Sam had married Valerie and legally adopted the boy, Charlie hadn’t played with other kids much. He was more like Sam on that score as well, preferring to play alone or with animals. Charlie was who he was, and Sam was okay with that. He just hated to think that the boy was missing out by staying so much inside his own head.
Just like you.
“Stand over by the Sweetheart Tree,” Sam instructed, and took up his position near the gazebo a few feet away.
The Sweetheart Tree was a two-hundred-year-old pecan t
hick with sheltering branches. In the past, hundreds of names and hearts had been carved into the trunk. The oldest names were those of the original sweethearts. Jon loves Rebekka had been carved in the center of the pecan, faded and weathered now, but the etched lines were still visible. Sometime in the 1960s a botanist had warned that if the name carving continued, it would kill the pecan, so a white picket fence had been constructed around the tree, along with a sign sternly admonishing: “Do Not Deface the Sweetheart Tree.”
Sam smiled. He and Trixie Lynn…no, she was Emma now, he had to remember that. He and Emma had climbed that tree together once upon a time. Climbed high into the branches and carved their names with a pocket knife where no one could see. Sam and Trixie Lynn were here. He hadn’t been bold enough to scratch: Sam + Trixie Lynn, but damn, he’d wanted to. Then he’d fallen out of the tree and broken his wrist. He’d had to stay calm to keep her from panicking, and he told her to run home to get his mother. Even though his mother thought Trixie Lynn was a bad influence, she’d let her come with them to the hospital. Trixie Lynn was the first one to write her name on his cast.
Hey, what was past was past. Forget about it.
Sam slipped his hand into the catcher’s mitt and squatted down. “Let ’er rip, champ.”
Looking far too serious for a game of catch, Charlie drew back his arm and slung the ball as best he could.
“Good job.” Sam snagged the ball, pitched it back to him. Charlie wasn’t interested in joining T-ball. Valerie had tried to sign him up, but he’d quit after one game. He didn’t like the pressure of team sports. Sam couldn’t blame him for that. He was the same way. Which was why he’d run track instead of playing football or basketball or baseball. But Charlie did enjoy tossing the softball with his dad.
His dad.
Never mind biology, he loved the little guy more than he’d ever thought possible. Charlie was the glue that held Sam’s life together. He remembered the day Valerie and Charlie had come into his veterinarian office just after he’d first opened his practice, and not long after Valerie’s first husband, Jeff, had died in a car crash. Charlie’s cat, Speckles, was lethargic.
