by Gina Wilkins
He should have known Serena better than that. “I’m the one who brought you here,” she said. “I will pick up the tab.”
He’d had all the charity he intended to take. It was time to reassert his independence. He’d been paid after the lunch shift that day; he could take care of this modestly priced meal and put most of the rest toward his debts. “I’m paying.”
This time his determination seemed to get through. “At least let me pay for my own,” she said.
Wearing a patient smile, he spoke evenly. “Serena, I don’t lose my temper very often—I can’t even recall the last time I did so—but you’re pushing my buttons. I would like to pay for our dinner this evening.”
She subsided with a grumbled, “Damned male ego.”
“Exactly.”
“Just don’t think paying for my meal is going to get you a trip to the lake this evening.”
He had to laugh at that. “Like the man said, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Feeling oddly pleased with himself, he paid the waiter. After leaving a tip on the table, he accompanied Serena out of the restaurant, dodging tipsy customers and stopping a couple of times to greet acquaintances—mostly Serena’s, but a few people who recognized him from his first week at the diner. Finally outside, they took a moment to relish the relative quiet of the parking lot.
“I enjoyed the meal,” Sam said after a moment, then winced when he realized he’d spoken a bit too loudly.
Serena smiled. “It takes a few minutes to adjust, doesn’t it? It’s a wonder Chuck has any hearing left at all after being exposed to that every night.”
Speaking in his normal voice, Sam asked as they walked to the car, “So this is an average Saturday evening for you?”
“Hardly,” she answered ruefully, unlocking the doors. “This is the first time in months I’ve taken an evening to just hang out and do nothing productive. I’m usually in meetings, either with clients or newspaper employees. Or I’m trying to catch up on the newspaper business details that pile up while I’m taking care of my legal practice—or vice versa. Or I’m answering e-mail or phone messages or doing research or writing briefs or…”
“I get the picture.” He slid into the passenger’s seat and buckled the seat belt. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”
Starting the engine, she answered, “It pays the bills.”
This was not the voice of a woman who was entirely content with her life, Sam realized, studying her profile as she drove out of the parking lot. She was going through the motions, successfully keeping up with the details, but there was a hole in her life that she hadn’t been able to fill to her complete satisfaction.
That feeling was as familiar to him as the scent of beer and cigarettes had been earlier. And just as frustratingly elusive. He knew it well—but he didn’t know why.
He could make himself crazy at this rate—if he wasn’t already there.
Chapter Eight
Serena had to pull over to allow a fire truck to pass on the way home. Both she and Sam watched as the aging emergency vehicle sped past, lights flashing and siren wailing, then turned at the next intersection. “I hope that isn’t a serious emergency,” she murmured, resisting a voyeuristic impulse to follow.
“Sirens—not a sound you hear very often around here,” Sam commented.
“You won’t hear me complaining about that.”
“No desire at all for the fast-paced life of a big city?”
“I’ll leave the fast lane to my sister. My life is here.”
“Your mother worries about you, you know.”
She shot him a look, wondering just how much her chatty mother had said to him. “In what way?”
“She’s afraid you’re getting into a rut. Working too hard, playing too little. She said there are very few single people your age here, and she worries about your social life.”
“She’s more worried about her lack of grandchildren,” Serena answered dryly. “She’s the only non-grandmother in her Saturday-night dominoes group, as she loves to remind me every Sunday morning.”
Sam chuckled. “So how come you aren’t making an effort to help her out with that?” he teased.
“That takes two,” she answered with a shrug intended to disguise her sudden self-consciousness. “I haven’t found anyone I want to mix genes with. And besides, I’m not sure I’m cut out for motherhood. I’m having enough trouble being responsible for Kara’s dog.”
He laughed again. “Now you’re selling yourself short.”
She’d had enough of that subject, especially with this man. “You know, maybe I would like dessert. How does a snow cone sound to you?”
“A snow cone,” he repeated in a neutral tone that made it sound as if he’d never heard the term before. “Sounds great.”
She turned left on North Street, heading for Patty’s Polar Ice Shack, a concessions trailer that operated during summer months on a vacant lot next to the local discount store. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
“It’s, uh, been so long since I had one that I hardly remember. What’s yours?”
“Wild cherry. Sometimes I order grape. Mom always chooses orange. Kara used to try something different every time—offbeat flavors like tiger’s blood and ocean breeze and wedding cake.”
“Your sister’s always had a taste for adventure?”
Serena wrinkled her nose. “I wish she had confined it to snow cone flavors.”
“You wouldn’t really want her to stay here if she was unhappy, would you, just because she felt obligated to run the newspaper to keep your mother and you happy?”
Serena felt herself getting defensive again—as she always did when she and Sam discussed Kara. She wished she could make him understand that her irritation with her sister was based on genuine concern. Kara was destined—at least in Serena’s opinion—to end up heartbroken, penniless, disillusioned—all the things that happened to a woman who totally immersed herself in a man. She’d seen it all too many times in her law practice—women stripped of their confidence, their dignity, their savings, all because they’d trusted the wrong men. As far as Serena was concerned, Kara simply hadn’t known Pierce long enough to be sure he wasn’t using her.
Besides, she thought with a ripple of sadness as she parked in front of the concessions trailer, she missed her sister.
“I’ll have the wild cherry tonight,” she said, deciding to leave Sam’s questions about Kara unanswered. “What will you have?”
Sam studied the illuminated sign listing a dismayingly long list of flavors. “Bubble gum?” he asked quizzically.
She shuddered. “I have a feeling that flavor would be sweet enough to induce a coma in anyone over twelve.”
“I think I’ll have grape.”
“Nice, safe choice.”
“That’s me,” he said with a smile. “Just a dull, safe-type guy.”
It was a good thing she wasn’t eating anything at that moment, Serena thought wryly. She very well might have choked.
Several picnic tables had been set up for customers, shaded with colorful umbrellas for daytime and decorated with strings of colored lights after dark. A teenage girl in the cramped metal trailer took their orders from a pass-through window at one end, then heaped finely shaved ice into cone-shaped paper cups and poured on syrup in the flavors they had requested. They carried the dripping treats to the only empty picnic table. The other tables were occupied by families, syrup-smeared children chattering and giggling and jostling each other, one boy complaining loudly that his sister’s cone had more syrup than his.
“Well, this is quite a contrast to our first stop of the evening,” Sam commented, eyeing his grape snow cone as if he wasn’t quite sure how to begin eating it.
“Hey, you wanted to experience Saturday night in Edstown.”
Sam took a tentative nibble of grape-flavored ice. “Not bad. Pretty sweet, though.”
“Extremely sweet,” Serena agreed, licking wild c
herry syrup off her lower lip. “Haven’t you ever had one of these?”
“Sure. I mean, I must have, right?”
She studied him for a moment over her dessert. “Sometimes you say the oddest things.”
His smile was lopsided. “You think so?”
“And then you do that.”
Imitating a boy at the next table, he drank syrup out of the rim of his snow cone cup. “Do what?”
“Deflect my questions with another question or a smart comment.”
“Do I?”
She sighed and took a crunching bite of ice.
“Serena, hi!” Holding a bright green snow cone, Lindsey Gray slid onto the bench beside Serena and nodded to her companion. “Mr. Wallace.”
“Ms. Gray,” he responded gravely. “A pleasure to see you again.”
“It’s a bit ridiculous to be so formal over snow cones,” Serena said with a roll of her eyes. “First names, okay? Sam, meet Lindsey.”
Sam’s lips twitched. “I believe Ms. Gray is still annoyed with me for turning down an interview.”
“I’m not annoyed, Sam,” she replied equably. “I still wish you’d agreed, of course, but I don’t hold grudges.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Serena looked at her employee. “How did things go at the paper today?”
“Well…”
“Never mind.” Wincing in response to the reporter’s tone, Serena shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“You really are going to have to do something about Marvin, you know. The paper can’t keep operating this way much longer.”
“I’ll do something soon. You and Riley just try to keep things going a little longer, okay?”
“I’m trying. And so is Riley, in his own way. But we really need an editor we can depend on.”
“I’ll talk to Marvin again.”
“Like that will do any good. Face it, Serena, it’s not going to get any better. Marvin needs treatment, not lectures.”
Serena tossed the melting remains of her dessert into a nearby trash can, wiped her hands on a paper napkin and then rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “I know that. But I can’t force him to get help.”
“And you’re too softhearted to fire him because you don’t want him to end up in a gutter or something.” Lindsey gave Sam a look filled with irony. “Can you believe it? A tenderhearted lawyer. Bet you didn’t know such a critter existed, hmm?”
“Now that seems like a headline for your newspaper,” Sam said.
“Nah. Old news. Everyone knows Serena’s not as tough as she pretends to be.”
Uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was taking, Serena changed the subject. “We passed a fire truck on the way over. It looked like it was responding to an emergency call.”
“I already know about that. Riley just called and said he’s covering it. He heard the details on his scanner. The old dairy barn on Locust Street caught fire.”
“That building’s been abandoned for several years. That’s somewhat of a relief. I was afraid someone’s house was burning.”
“You can read all about it in tomorrow’s Evening Star. It’ll be front-page news—right above a photo of the winner of tonight’s chicken-scratch game.” Lindsey spoke dryly to Sam. “As you can see, there isn’t a lot of hard news to report around here. That’s why I was so interested in the stranger found all beaten up in a ditch.”
“Lindsey.” Even for the compulsively irreverent reporter, that comment seemed a little too flip to Serena.
Sam seemed to find it more amusing than offensive. “Sorry I ruined your chance at a big byline.”
Lindsey shrugged matter-of-factly. “It’s not like I have a lot of competition. I get all the bylines I want.”
“So why aren’t you chasing stories in a bigger market? Some place where a dominoes game isn’t front-page news?”
Serena glared at Sam. “Please don’t try to deprive me of my one truly dependable employee. Talk Lindsey into leaving, and I might as well put the paper to bed for good right now.”
“You know I’m not going anywhere for a while,” Lindsey replied. Glancing at Sam, she added, “I used to work in Little Rock, but I moved here a couple of years ago. My father’s in poor health and my brother is career military, so he doesn’t get home very often. I’ll stay as long as Dad needs me.”
As different as Serena and Lindsey were in many ways, they both placed their obligations to their families above their own desires. Serena wondered if Sam had made note of that—and, considering his defense of Kara, how he felt about it. Not that she cared all that much about what he thought, of course.
Lindsey finished her treat and tossed the empty cup into the trash can. “I think I’ll run by the old dairy barn and see if there’s anything interesting going on. I just had a craving for a lime snow cone on the way. I’ll see you guys around.”
“You still haven’t stopped by the diner for that cup of coffee I offered,” Sam reminded Lindsey as she stood.
She gave him a dimpled smile. “I might just take you up on that invitation soon.”
Realizing that she was frowning, Serena quickly smoothed her expression. It was certainly none of her concern if Sam wanted to flirt with Lindsey—or if she flirted in return. The only reason Serena disapproved was that they really didn’t know this guy very well. He was several years older than Lindsey and an admitted drifter—but undeniably good-looking and charming. She would hate to see her star reporter swept off her feet when there was no future in it.
With her father ill and her workplace in turmoil, Lindsey could be vulnerable—especially if Serena was right about her harboring an unrequited crush on Dan. She would hate to see Lindsey hurt—which was the only reason she cared if Sam flirted with her, she assured herself.
She was in a rather pensive mood when she parked in her garage a little while later. Her mother wasn’t home yet; it was only ten o’clock and the dominoes games often went on until eleven. Serena frequently teased her mother about having the more exciting social life.
After tonight, Sam probably thought Serena was just about the dullest woman under sixty he’d ever spent an evening with.
Apparently, he wasn’t much of a mind reader. “I had a great time tonight.”
“I’m sure you’ve had more exciting evenings.”
“Not recently.” He opened his door.
Serena could have entered her house directly from the garage, but instead she found herself following Sam onto the walkway that led past the swing and rose garden to the guest house. “Mother and I usually go to church on Sunday mornings. I don’t know if you’re interested, but you’re welcome to join us tomorrow if you’d like.”
“Your mother already invited me. I think I’ll pass this time.”
She wasn’t really surprised. “Sure. So, I’ll see you around then.”
“You bet. Thanks again for going with me this evening. It was a nice change of pace.”
“For me, too,” she admitted, oddly reluctant for the evening to end.
A moth fluttered out of the shadows and tangled in Serena’s hair. Sam reached out to gently disengage it, setting it free to fly toward the closest light. The move brought them closer, and he didn’t immediately step away. He combed his fingers through her hair again. “I like the way you wear your hair. Soft. Natural.”
Now he was flirting with her. And she wouldn’t let herself be carried away by it for the same reasons she’d mentally listed for Lindsey—this was not a man to start depending on. But it was rather nice to stand in the moonlight with him, the scent of roses in the night air, his fingers brushing her cheek. Even a level-headed, practical woman like Serena could appreciate the romance of the situation.
If this had been a real date, a good-night kiss would be appropriate. A light brush of lips or even a more lingering exploration—neither would have been out of line. Had this been a real date, of course.
She realized that Sam was looking at her
mouth, as if similar thoughts were playing through his mind. The possibility that he was thinking about kissing her made her mouth tingle as if their lips had already touched. There was a certain allure in the idea of kissing an attractive stranger—a tempting element of risk in knowing so little about him, having so little reassurance that he was safe. She felt herself swaying toward him and sensed that he was moving toward her, as well.
She was the one who put up a hand, resting it on his chest to hold him away. Kara had the taste for adventure in this family, not Serena. The only wild taste Serena indulged was her preference for wild cherry snow cones. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“No,” he murmured. “Probably not.” But he didn’t move away—and neither did Serena.
“All we shared was dinner and a snow cone.”
“Right. Just a friendly dinner.” His lips had quirked into a half-smile that made her even more tempted to taste them. Just a taste…
He must have read the impulse in her eyes. Once again, he leaned his head closer—and this time she didn’t move away.
It wasn’t a long kiss—but it certainly was a powerful one. The glimpse it gave her of what could be between them if she wasn’t careful shook her to her toenails. Her hands weren’t quite steady when he released her, and she didn’t trust her voice to reply steadily when he murmured, “Good night, Serena.”
Without a word, she turned and headed quickly toward the house. It really didn’t matter if he found her retreat amusing. She needed some distance from him.
She might as well tackle some of that paperwork tonight, after all, she thought as she closed herself into her house. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep for a while, anyway.
Sam stood in the darkened bedroom of the guest house, staring at the light burning in an upstairs window of the main house. Serena’s room, he presumed. It was after midnight, and she was still awake. Her mother had come home almost an hour ago, and because he saw no other lights he assumed Marjorie had already turned in. But Serena was still awake. Working? Or—like him—was she spending the evening replaying the time they’d spent together? Remembering the brief kiss they’d shared in the rose garden.
