“Coming,” a tenor voice responded.
The two women had just settled when a tall, slender young man entered the room. Samantha regarded him with a great deal of interest. She could see the resemblance to Ben senior in the lean and athletic way he was built, and his eyes were the hazy blue of Mimi Stoddard’s.
Sadness at his loss of his parents brushed the edges of her mind. Sympathy for what he must be feeling washed over her.
This younger Ben seemed hesitant about greeting her.
“Welcome home, Benny,” Samantha said, offering her hand when Brenda had finished the introductions. “I never got to meet you, as I’m a relative newcomer to Riverhaven even though I am a native Norfolkian. I . . .”
“She’s just being modest, Benny,” Brenda interrupted. “Samantha was a Swann. Her family owned Riverhaven. You can check the deed in the deed books over in the Chesapeake Civic Center in the clerk’s office if you’re curious.”
“Really?” Benny looked at Samantha with interest.
“Yes.” Brenda smiled at Samantha. Brenda was proud of her knowledge, as if having Samantha as an acquaintance added to her own luster.
Samantha kept her gaze on Benny. She thought he must be shy about meeting older ladies. She liked that. So many young people today didn’t seem shy about much of anything.
She smiled at the boy, then turned to her hostess. “I take my coffee with cream and sugar, please, Brenda.”
She was used to adding her own cream and sugar, but Brenda was presiding over the silver waiter with the coffee service on it in a way that reminded Samantha of English ladies and their tea trays. “Light and sweet, please.”
Calories be darned, Brenda’s coffee was a far cry from Agnes Chamberlain’s, and she surely wasn’t going to take it black!
Samantha turned her attention back to the young man. In light of his shyness, she decided not to offer him her sympathy on the loss of his friend, Olivia Charles. Instead, she chose to tell him of Jasmine’s accident and to persuade him to visit her. “I came to make a request, Benny, on behalf of someone you know. Someone who is an old friend of yours.” Samantha accepted her cup from Brenda and told her, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hope it’s sweet enough. I put in three sugars.” Brenda was watching Samantha carefully.
Goodness, Samantha’d had no idea that Brenda took being a hostess so much to heart. To put her at ease, she sipped her coffee immediately. “Hmmm. Nice.” She threw her a smile and got back to her reason for coming.
Turning her attention back to Benny, she saw the distress on his face and wondered if he’d already heard that Jasmine had been involved in a hit and run. She hastened to tell him, “She’s going to be fine,” she said first to reassure and prepare him, “but Jasmine Johnson has had an accident, and is in the hospital. I know that, more than anything in the world, she’d want you to visit her in a few days. When she’s feeling better. She’s been so looking forward to seeing you again. She’ll be counting the days, I know.”
Benny looked so shocked, his eyes wide, his mouth half open, that she feared she hadn’t been gentle enough. His panicked gaze flashed to and locked on his hostess, however, so there was no way Samantha could give him a reassuring smile. Instead she offered, “I’ll be happy to drive you over to Norfolk General any time you want to go. I work at home, so I’m freer to go than Brenda is.”
“Th-thank you.” He dragged his gaze back to her with an effort. “What happened to Ms. Johnson? Why’s she in the hospital?”
“A car hit her yesterday morning. A hit and run.” How odd that he called Jasmine by her last name. “We’re very fortunate she wasn’t hurt more seriously than a badly broken leg.”
“Oh.” He had paled and looked desperately upset. He put the best face on it he could. “That is fortunate. But it’s so soon after . . . after . . .”
The boy broke off and watched Brenda again as Samantha said, “Yes, it is awful, two tragedies almost together.” She didn’t add ‘and right on top of you learning of the car accident that killed your parents.’ She was trying to get him to pay a hospital visit, not crush him under a load of grief.
Brenda broke in, “But Jasmine is going to recover.” Then she explained, “Jasmine works for Samantha now that your parents have . . . uh . . . moved away.”
“I . . . I see.” His voice was a tight rasp.
Brenda turned and touched Samantha on the arm. “Benny is still exhausted from his trip, dear.”
Samantha felt quick sympathy—and just as swiftly recognized her marching orders. “Of course he is.” She set her half-full cup on the coffee table. “I’ll go now and let him get some rest.” She looked over at him. “You do look tired, Benny. Get rested up, and call me when you want to go visit Jasmine, okay? She’s in traction, so she’ll be doubly glad for company, and while the rest of us will visit her, it’s you she particularly wants to see.” She rose and smiled at him. “Welcome home. We’re all so glad you’re safely back.”
Benny flushed and stammered, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Brenda got up to usher Samantha to the door. “So glad you decided to come,” she said as if she didn’t mean a word of what she was saying and meant for Samantha to know it. “I’m sure Benny enjoyed meeting you.”
“I’m glad to have met him, too.” Samantha spoke sincerely, determined not to react to Brenda’s goad. Then, unable to resist, she added, “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.” For that remark, Samantha’s tone was dry in the extreme.
Brenda hesitated. Finally she let her stiffly held shoulders drop and said, “Okay. So I wanted to get off to work earlier than usual this morning. So I was angry about your insisting on coming.” Grudgingly, she added, “I apologize. Or you can sue me if you want.”
Samantha grinned at her. “That makes it all better. I’m sorry I forced myself on you, but you know how much I love Jasmine. I just had to get my bid in to take him to visit her before he gets all booked up by the rest of the neighborhood.”
Brenda sighed. “I’m hoping they won’t bother him too much.” She leaned out the door toward Samantha and spoke softly. “That prison stay had a serious effect on him, it seems. I don’t think he likes a lot of fuss. Not comfortable with people, you know.”
“Just so he visits Jasmine,” Samantha told her. “I promise not to bother him about anything else.”
“Good.” Brenda started to turn back into the hall, remembered her manners and watched from the door until her guest had reached the street. Then, with a wave and a cheery “Goodbye,” she firmly shut the door.
Samantha looked back over her shoulder at the still quivering spring decoration on the Talleys’s paneled front door and wondered how Brenda had broken the news to Benny about Olivia. Heaven knew the young man seemed to be walking around in a mild state of shock.
She was proud of Brenda for perceiving that he was shy and protecting him, but she almost wished Brenda hadn’t been in such an all-fired hurry to get rid of her. Maybe she could have been of some small comfort to him.
Chapter Fourteen
Halfway home from Brenda’s, Samantha saw the Dratted Colonel in the distance. She decided she must not be living right. Her luck today was certainly failing her.
Unfortunately, he’d seen her first. Rotten luck. Too late to duck between houses and get to another street. Oh, well.
McLain trotted up to her. As usual he arrived at her side without the slightest sign of breathlessness. “Well?”
She raked his lean frame with her gaze. No tell-tale darkening marked his sweatshirt. He was the most annoying man. He could at least have the grace to perspire—she figured honest sweat was too much to hope for—when he ran all over the neighborhood. Her voice was not exactly cordial, “Well what?”
“You went to meet the young Stoddard kid, didn’t you?”
That annoyed her, too. How was it that he was always aware of her movements?
As if to answer her, he said, �
��Saw you head in this direction when I was shutting down my computer.”
No one had ever made her feel as perverse as Colonel John Francis McLain, USMC, before. She certainly hoped no one ever would again. The man had a real knack for irritating the fool out of her.
Her conscience prickled. She really ought to admit that the irritation was something she needed to overcome. After all, she was raised as a Southern gentlewoman, and she felt obligated to overlook the faults of others. Now, she was determined to overlook his. Absolutely determined. And she would, too. Starting tomorrow.
Suddenly ashamed, she offered, “I met Benny Stoddard.”
The Colonel turned his head away to hide his triumphant grin. “Yeah? What was he like?”
“Young. Handsome. Pleasant. And . . .”
“And what?”
“I suppose he’s nervous from having been in a foreign prison.”
Samantha didn’t notice the grim look that came over the face of the man beside her as he said, “Yeah. I can understand that,” and rubbed absently at a thick scar on his left wrist.
“He’s terribly dependent on Brenda for moral support, poor boy. He keeps his eyes glued to her. As if somehow she’s his lifeline.”
“That can happen when you first get out and back to the real world.”
“The real world? I can’t imagine a world much more real than a foreign prison.”
“You’ve got a point. Ours are more like country clubs by comparison. A helluva lot more like country clubs.”
They turned the corner onto Samantha’s street. She looked at the strained expression on his face and found herself saying, “Why don’t you come in? I’ve made a pitcher of iced tea.”
“‘The house wine of the South’.”
“Yes. It is rather like that isn’t it?” She smiled up at him. “Now where did you learn that?”
“How do you know I’m not a Southern boy?”
She laughed in his face. “Chicago. No doubt about it.”
He conceded it with a wry smile as they walked up her driveway. “Dolly Parton told me.” The wry smile turned into a grin. “In Steel Magnolias.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten. She said it when she was serving iced tea at the fair. That movie certainly developed a following quickly.”
“Yep.”
Samantha pulled her door key out of her pocket. Snarling fury erupted as the door opened. Rags attacked. Flying out the instant Samantha opened the door he grabbed the cuff of McLain’s pant leg and shook it, growling fiercely. McLain looked down and snarled back, “Knock it off!”
Samantha stooped and snatched the little dog up, disengaging him from the khaki fabric of McLain’s trouser leg by wiggling a fingernail between the dog’s teeth. “Stop it, Rags! That’s enough!”
“Too damned much if you ask me. What ails the blasted dust mop?”
Samantha straightened and glared at him. “He’s protecting me.”
“Ha!” He meant it as an expression of disbelief, but the thought of the six pound clump of hair defending anybody got the best of him. He roared with laughter.
Samantha was determined to ignore his rudeness to her pet. It was time that Rags understood McLain was a friend, after all. Samantha might wish him anywhere but here, but he had done some very thoughtful things for her. She gave the little terrier a shake and scolded, “Friend, Rags. Colonel McLain is a friend.”
Rags looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Friend,” she repeated firmly.
Rags slanted a look at the tall man. One lip lifted. A low growl emanated from his tiny frame. Rags was percolating again.
“Doesn’t look like he agrees with you, Sam.”
She took a breath to scold McLain this time. How many times did she have to tell him she hated being called Sam? Maybe she’d let Rags bite him.
“Maybe that’s it,” McLain said, his own eyes narrowing in thought.
“What’s it?”
“The fact that you don’t feel very friendly yourself where I’m concerned.”
“I . . .” she began hotly, only to trail off as she realized he was right. “. . . will get the tea.” She turned away, leaving him to seat himself at her kitchen table and busied herself getting their iced tea. When she had two tall glasses chock-full of ice and brimming with sun-brewed sweet tea she said, “All right. You may have a point.”
McLain opened his mouth to blast the moderation of her statement, then shut it firmly.
Samantha put the glasses in place on the table, gave him a brightly colored linen napkin and sat down across from him. “All right,” she repeated. “I’ll try not to let you annoy me.”
The Colonel’s eyebrows shot up, he opened his mouth, then closed it again. When he spoke, it was with quiet calm. “Thank you.” Samantha could barely hear his teeth click together at the end of his two word sentence.
“Now.” Samantha spoke into the silence between them. “Tell me what you’re writing on your computer.”
“I’m writing a history of the Corps.”
“How nice. What are you calling it?”
“America’s Finest Fighting Men: The United States Marines.” His gaze held hers, warning her to be careful.
She was. Quietly she said, “That’s quite an undertaking. It will keep you busy for a long time.”
“Yep,” he agreed briskly. Then, eyes steady, he added quietly, “In the meantime, though, I intend to catch this vandal and to find out if he’s responsible for the death of your friend.”
Chapter Fifteen
The lovely sunny promise of the morning had disappeared, and now a steady drizzle fell from lowering skies. With a sigh, Samantha attempted to make the best of a damp situation. “A good day to be indoors, at least, isn’t it?” she asked her small companion. “Good thing I made my Commissary run yesterday.”
She rushed to put the finishing touches on the card tables. The Bridge Club would start arriving any minute now. “Where did the week go, Rags? Honestly, time seems to rush past like an express train.”
“Yap.” Rags ran and jumped up on one of the wing chairs, turned three circles and settled down.
“You know you’ll have to get into your box.”
“Errr.”
“Don’t growl at me. You can bet your best plush chew toy that I can stand your disapproval a lot easier than I can handle Agnes’s comments if she finds you running loose and ‘scattering dog hair everywhere’.”
Rags dropped his muzzle to his paws and did his best to look pitiful.
“Stop that. It won’t work.”
“Yurpf.” He jumped to the floor. With measured tread and immense dignity, the Yorkshire made his way past his owner and into the kitchen. With a huge sigh, he plopped down in his box.
Even over her own movements, Samantha could hear his tiny body slam down on the floor of his roomy airline kennel. She hadn’t time to feel guilty, however. Today was her day to host the Bridge Club. She gave her preparations a last glance.
The queen-size card tables cut across the center of her spacious living room, the dining room table held a tempting selection of goodies, and two silver-plated electric urns showed the red lights that proclaimed that both the coffee and the hot water for tea were set to go. Sugar, the creamer waiting for the actual cream to be poured into it at the last minute, and a really nice selection of tea bags were there. All was in readiness. It was safe to go change.
Half an hour later, Samantha was pushing her fingers through hair still damp from her shower as she rushed to answer the first ring of the door chimes. Olivia Charles’s cousin was standing on the doorstep lowering her umbrella. “Janet. How nice that you could play today.”
“Thank you.” Janet Wilson’s smile was tinged with sadness. “But I just hate the fact that losing Olivia is what makes room for me to play.” Tears filled her eyes. “She was so much more to me than a cousin. She looked after me, you know.”
Samantha took a deep breath and put her hand on her guest’s arm praying for the right
words to put the girl at ease. In a society suffering from a surfeit of words, why did the right ones have to be so hard to find? “Life goes on, Janet,” she said softly. “And we go on with it. It’s difficult and unfair and even horrible sometimes, but it doesn’t stop just because we’re grieving.”
She took a deep breath and continued even more gently. “Please don’t feel you’re taking Olivia’s place, dear. Nobody could replace her with us anymore than they could with you. But now, you’re going to play Bridge with us, and we are glad to have you here. In your very own place.”
Janet put her own hand over Samantha’s and gave it a little squeeze. “Thank you, I . . .”
The door chimes interrupted whatever Janet had been going to say. The door swung open an instant later and Laura Fulton and Anne Stuart came in together, Anne crying, “Knock, knock!”
Agnes Chamberlain was behind them on the porch, Emilee Twiford was halfway up the walkway, and beyond them, Samantha could see Tyler Brokenborough just parking her car. Behind her several other members of the group hurried through the gentle rain. ‘The girls’ were gathering.
Brenda Talley called from where she was locking her newly acquired Lexus, “Hello everybody!” She laughed. “You all look like a drab flock of khaki-clad pouter pigeons. See me! Here comes a red bird!” She pirouetted to show off her bright red, hooded raincoat.
Samantha laughed, “That’s Cardinal, Brenda. We call them Cardinals here in Virginia, not red birds.”
“And we’ll just have to call you Little Red Riding Hood if you dare call us khaki-clad pouter pigeons ever again, Brenda Talley.” Laura was pretending to frown at the woman in the red raincoat.
Brenda pushed her way in and kissed the air beside her cheek. “Don’t frown, Laurie. It makes wrinkles.” She slipped out of her coat and Samantha took it. “Everything looks beautiful, Samantha.”
“Thanks.” Samantha headed for the bedroom to put the four coats she’d collected on her bed. There’d be too many to hang in the guest closet. By the time she got back, the entire Bridge Club had arrived. Laura passed her carrying the rest of their coats back to Samantha’s bedroom.
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