by Ann Roth
Determined to act like the mature nearly thirty-year-old woman she was, she pasted a smile on her face and wheeled forward with confidence and poise. She waited to speak until she was almost beside him. “Hello, Sam.”
His gaze jerked up from his magazine, a business journal for entrepreneurs. “Amy,” he said, clearly surprised.
Warmth flickered in his eyes, and a flush of pleasure washed over her. Abruptly he schooled his expression into the casual indifference of a not-too-close friend.
“What are you doing out so late?” he asked, making polite conversation.
His coolness stung. Amy realized she’d imagined the warmth, maybe because she’d wanted it so much. There was nothing between them, and that was how they both wanted it. She gripped the handle of her cart and forced an easy smile. “With the recital only days away, this is the only time I could squeeze in the shopping.”
“I hear that,” he said. “I’m about to wrap up negotiations for another Cutter’s, and suddenly there’s no time for anything else.”
That explained the fatigue etched on his face. “Another Cutter’s? That’s wonderful,” she said, meaning it.
“Thanks.” Sam nodded.
For a few tense moments they regarded each other, Amy toying with her braid and Sam rolling the magazine between his palms.
Now that she’d run into him, she couldn’t wait to get away. Odd, after days and nights spent longing for him. She inched backward. “Well, I should finish shopping before the store closes.”
“Me, too,” Sam said. “What time should I show up for the recital Saturday night?”
Amy didn’t think she could bear seeing him that night. She considered telling him she didn’t need his help after all, then quickly nixed that idea. She might be foolish in matters of the heart, but she was no idiot. Sam had agreed to lend a hand and she’d gladly take it. “The performance starts at seven-thirty,” she said. “If you could show up an hour before that, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great,” she said brightly. She waved, pivoted her cart around and headed for the dairy section. She had the oddest sensation that Sam was watching her. Feigning interest in the toothpaste she’d just passed, she glanced over her shoulder. He was gone. It had been wishful thinking on her part, nothing more.
Maybe she wasn’t over Sam, but he certainly was over her.
Suddenly exhausted, she plodded forward. Tears gathered thickly behind her eyes. She blinked them back. She’d do her crying alone. Repressing her feelings caused an ache in her throat.
Hardly aware of her actions she quickly added eggs, milk, cheese and yogurt to the cart and then headed for the checkout. Right now, she needed to focus all her energy on the upcoming recital. But the minute it was over, she would refocus, doing whatever it took to forget Sam. It was time to move on with her life, meet someone, and settle down.
Otherwise, she’d never survive living in the same town with him.
AS SAM HEADED FROM the parking lot toAmy’s studio early Saturday evening, the slanting sunlight nearly blinded him. The irony of that struck him as funny and, shading his eyes, he gave a derisive laugh. He’d been blind, all right, thinking one night with Amy would cure him of wanting her. The joke was on him.
He’d been doing okay until the other night at the grocery. He hadn’t been prepared to see her there, and the shock had momentarily waylaid his carefully constructed defenses. He’d been appallingly glad to see her.
Sam recalled the warm look on Amy’s face when they’d first locked eyes. For a minute there, he’d almost thought she was glad to see him. But he’d been wrong. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough, he recalled. Though he felt exactly the same way, her reaction rankled. He kicked a pebble across the asphalt, watching it skitter angrily into a puddle, the remnant of a heavy rainstorm this afternoon. Too bad his run-in with her had ruined his chances for a good night’s sleep. Not that he’d been sleeping all that well anyway.
In the tree overhead, birds chattered noisily. The screeching sounds stabbed annoyingly at his frayed nerves. Muttering an oath, he frowned up at them. Naturally, they paid him no mind. He was tired, irritable and antsy, and sure as hell wished he hadn’t agreed to help out tonight. Yet at the same time here he was, heart pounding and palms sweaty, as if he were a kid about to go on his first date.
But this was no date. It was nothing but keeping his word to help with the recital. He didn’t want Amy. And she sure as hell didn’t want him. His jaw set against the hollow feeling caused by the knowledge.
Even worse, after the recital tonight, she had a date with Bob Swanson.
At the thought, Sam’s already low spirits plummeted. Swanson wasn’t good enough for her. His reputation as a smooth-talking fast-mover interested in getting a woman into bed made him the wrong man for Amy. Sam imagined the slick bachelor sliding his hands over her. He released a helpless howl and clenched his fists at his sides.
Her love life was none of his business, he sternly reminded himself. After tonight he wouldn’t see her again unless they bumped into each other. He would do his job backstage, congratulate his niece and her teacher, and leave. In no time, he’d forget Amy and move on. Squaring his shoulders he strode inside, pausing in the doorway.
Amy stood in the middle of the studio, directing two high school boys who were setting up the folding chairs. She was all dressed up in a softly clinging rose-colored dress and matching heels, her hair twisted into a fancy knot at her nape. The style showcased her long, graceful neck. She looked fragile and beautiful. And nervous, if her fidgeting hands were any indication. Sam forgot about her impending date. A tender feeling he didn’t understand swelled his chest. He swallowed and headed forward.
Connie, Kari and Susan—was that her name?—were hunched over a long table placed over the benches, setting out a coffee urn and trays of cookies. Connie noticed him first. She nudged Kari, who elbowed Susan. They glanced from him to Amy. He should have been irritated, but he figured their talk would stop soon enough. When he and Amy no longer saw each other, they’d have nothing to speculate about.
“Hey, Sam,” Connie said.
He had time for a quick nod before Amy’s attention snapped toward him. “Oh good, you’re here.”
In another context the pleased expression on her face and the heartfelt words would have filled him with warmth. But he understood her meaning. She needed an extra hand.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Connie said, pulling Susan and Kari toward the door. “I’m sure the girls need help getting ready.”
“Don’t be too long,” Amy said. “I want them here right away.”
As Sam neared her, he was alarmed at what he saw. She was pale, with purple shadows under her eyes. Forgetting to keep his distance, he eyed her with concern. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She reached for her braid. But with her hair up, there was no braid. Her hands fidgeted aimlessly, then laced at her waist. “To tell you the truth, I’m a nervous wreck.”
Understandable, given that this was her ballet school’s very first recital, and that the school and her reputation were on the line.
“How can I help?” Sam asked.
She brightened as if she appreciated his can-do attitude. “If you could change the sets between dances? They’re in the storage room, labeled and ready. And before the Pearls go on, you’ll need to put out the dry ice, which is in a cooler near the sets. Same for the finale. Also, open and close the curtains when I cue you. Aside from that, hang around backstage. If anyone needs anything, take care of it.” She chewed her lower lip. “Okay?”
That sounded easy enough. He nodded. “No problem.”
Her mouth relaxed and she let out a loud breath. “Thanks, Sam.”
He shrugged. “Glad to help,” he said, meaning it.
Piece of cake.
Chapter Thirteen
SAM BARELY HAD time to close the heavy red stage drapes and arrange the set for the first dance before kids st
arted to arrive. Already in costume and makeup, and in high spirits, they passed the time jumping and prancing around backstage, jostling each other and laughing nervously. Through a chink between the curtains, he caught a glimpse of Amy. She’d positioned herself by the door. With a broad smile she greeted parents, family members and guests, and directed her students to the stage. Sam marveled at her composure. If he hadn’t talked to her earlier, he’d never have guessed how nervous she was.
Looking shy but cute in her fairy costume, a glittery affair complete with frothy skirt, wings and a sequined crown atop her head, Mariah greeted him with a wave. “Hi, Uncle Sam.”
“Uncle?” Pretending confusion, he frowned. “Do I know you?”
His niece tittered. “It’s me, Mariah.”
“No.” Sam rubbed his chin, eyeing her a moment. Then he grinned. “It is you. For a minute there, I didn’t recognize you. You look beautiful, like a real fairy. Are you nervous?”
She shook her head. “I’m excited.” She spotted two female friends and squealed. “I’ll see you later.” Off she ran. The three beaming girls grabbed hands and jumped up and down.
Sam chuckled at the sight. Soon a chubby boy dressed in the Robin Hood costume all Ruby males wore approached him, carrying a Robin Hood cap. “Can you help me with this, Mr. Cutter?” he asked in the hoarse voice of a boy on the edge of puberty. “I need you to fix it so it doesn’t fall off.” He unclipped several hairpins from the sleeve of his shirt and offered them to Sam.
Other than when he’d helped Amy take down her hair, Sam had never used a hairpin. But how hard could it be? “Sure,” he said, leaning down.
While he did his best to anchor the hat without grazing the boy’s scalp, two seven-year-old males raced past him, chased by a giggling girl. A moment later, a loud, clattering crash silenced everyone.
“Oh, no,” a voice lamented.
The kid under the hat looked up at Sam. “Uh-oh.”
No telling what had happened. “Exactly,” Sam muttered. “I used all your pins. Your hat should stay put.” He pivoted toward the stage.
The two-dimensional, straw-roof cottage he and Amy had made had toppled to the floor, and the red-faced kids who had raced past him were trying to stand it up.
Sam strode forward. “You kids okay?”
Eyes huge, they nodded in unison. Satisfied that they were fine, Sam quickly righted the house and secured it.
“Did we break it?” the girl asked, popping her thumb in her mouth. She was one of the youngest dancers, a Pearl.
He picked bits of straw from the floor, then gave a reassuring smile. “It looks fine. But no more running,” he ordered.
The three kids slunk to the side of the stage, where they joined the forty-one other, now somber, dancers.
Amy suddenly appeared, looking worried and tense. “What happened?”
“It was no big deal,” Sam said.
She glanced at her glum students. Bristling protectively, she pivoted toward Sam, her face accusing. “Oh no? Then why do they look so scared?” she demanded in a low but furious tone.
Her anger meant only one thing. She still saw him as he’d been years ago, as a controlling male with rigid expectations and a short fuse. Guilty without a trial. He’d changed and thought she understood that. Apparently not. He stiffened defensively. “Like I said, it’s nothing. We’re fine.”
She glanced again at the now wide-eyed group. “They don’t look fine.”
“Whatever.” Jaw clamped, he mentally threw up his hands.
“Uncle Sam didn’t do anything,” Mariah said in a small voice.
“Some of the kids knocked over the cottage,” her friend Janelle added. “Mr. Cutter fixed it.”
“Oh.” Cheeks red, Amy regarded him. “Guess I overreacted. Sorry.”
The apology helped, but not enough to reassure him. Despite everything they’d shared the past few weeks, Amy saw him as the same old Sam. Stung and frustrated, he gave a terse nod. “Go on back to your guests.”
When she was gone, he turned to the kids, who seemed upset by what they’d witnessed. This had nothing to do with them. “She’s a little stressed,” he explained, seeking to reassure.
Several heads nodded and a collective sigh of relief filled the air. “Should we get into our groups now?” Delia Jeffries asked.
Sam didn’t have a clue. But the kids looked as if they wanted direction, so he nodded. “Sure.”
“Where do you want the Emeralds?” “What about the Rubies and Pearls?” dancers called out, all at the same time.
Hell if he knew, but he had to tell them something. He glanced around the area and quickly decided. “Since the Rubies are on first, you wait here. Emeralds, you wait over there. And Pearls, there.”
Chaos ensued but, amazingly, within minutes they stood exactly where he had directed. Sam took advantage of the order to peer again through the slit in the curtains. The seats were filled. He spotted his sister and brother-in-law, talking to Susan Andrews and the man who must be her husband. Kari was there, too.
He saw other familiar faces. It had been years but he recognized Dani and Nina right away. Apple-cheeked and round with her pregnancy, Dani was the picture of health and happiness. And Nina, tall and serene as ever, seemed to glow. The men with them seemed equally content.
There was Bob Swanson. Sam’s gaze homed in on the man. Arm draped across the seat beside him, dressed in a sport jacket and shirt open at the throat, he exuded male confidence. Mr. I-Will-Score, Sam thought. Irritation narrowed his eyes. Anyone’s guess where the slime planned to take Amy after the recital. At the moment, though, Bob wasn’t focused on Amy. Connie sat beside him, and the ex-couple were chatting civilly, friends despite their divorce.
The way Sam and Amy never could be. After what had just happened, he knew that for sure.
AS THE MINUTES TICKED BY, Sam stood concealed behind the curtains on one side, watching along with the now-fidgety dancers for Amy’s cue. At last she walked onstage with the poise and grace of a professional performer. If she was nervous, she hid it well. The audience quieted, and she welcomed them and referred them to the printed program for the evening. After a moment, she glanced to the side, where her students waited. “Our first dancers tonight are the Rubies, our eleven- and twelve-year-olds. Let’s give them a warm welcome,” she said, leading the applause.
While the crowd of family and friends out front clapped, Amy crossed the stage and descended the steps. Standing off to the side, she started the taped music and gave a nod. The sixteen Rubies ran onto the stage in graceful ballet steps.
Sam enjoyed the dance, but didn’t get to watch much. A few minutes into the dance, an Emerald a few years Mariah’s senior sidled up. “My costume ripped,” she whispered in a loud voice. She pointed to her shoulder.
The seam had split open several inches, not enough to matter. Besides, she wore a T-shirt the same color underneath. “It won’t show,” he told her.
“Yes it will,” she insisted with a worried look.
Mariah joined the girl. “You have to fix it, Uncle Sam,” she whispered.
Trust his niece to butt in where she wasn’t wanted. Sam didn’t know much about sewing, and wasn’t about to test his skills now. He spoke in a low voice. “How about if I safety-pin it together.”
“That’ll probably work,” the girl said.
He dug through the box of supplies he’d found earlier. Sure enough, there were pins of all sizes. Good thing Amy had stocked it. The girl unbuttoned the top and slipped the sleeve down. With clumsy fingers he pinned the tear. When he finished, she carefully slipped her arm into the sleeve.
“Okay?” Sam asked while the girl buttoned the top.
She looked to Mariah, who nodded. “Thanks,” the girl said.
He didn’t have time to draw a relieved breath before the music ended and it was time to change the set. As he dragged the trees he and Amy had cut out and decorated across the wood floor, he heard muffled sobs.
What n
ow? Quickly he placed the pieces. Then, following the soft wailing, he found the source of the tears. The small girl who, with her friends, had knocked over the cottage prop sat on the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her two male buddies and several girls patted her on the back, but she did not seem comforted. Sam hunkered down beside her. “What’s the matter, honey?”
She peeked through her fingers at him. “I c-can’t remember my part.”
Totally out of his realm, he squeezed her narrow little shoulder awkwardly. “Sure you can.”
She sniffled. “Nuh-uh.”
To Sam’s dismay, her friends looked as if they, too, would cry.
What to do? He thought fast. “Miss Parker’s right out front. If you forget what to do, she’ll remind you.”
“How can she do that?” a red-haired girl asked. “She’s not talking.”
“Right, but she mouths the steps. Look.” He parted the curtain a fraction and the kids peeked out. Just as he had said, Amy stood with her back to the audience, silently mouthing the dance steps. She looked the picture of a nurturing teacher. Sam felt a rush of pride. “See what I mean?” he murmured in a low voice.
After a minute, the girl and her friends nodded. Sam pulled a tissue from a box nearby and handed it to her. “Going to be okay now?”
Another nod.
“Except she needs new makeup,” the red-haired girl pointed out in a soft voice.
Sam rolled his eyes. Great. “Anybody here know how to put on makeup?”
“Janelle and I can,” his niece volunteered.
He nodded. “Go to it.”
No sooner had the strains of a new song started than a sturdy-looking boy lunged for the wastebasket. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he groaned. Right then and there, he threw up.
Despite the performance on stage, girls shrieked, and boys called out, “Ew, gross.”
