Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  “Only every other guy.” She blew her nose. “I’m a basket case. I swear, I almost never cry.” She looked away.

  He touched her cheek. “Sam. Look at me. Please don’t shut me out. Not now.”

  She gazed up at him, her damp eyes huge with sadness. “This is how it is for me. If I were afraid, it would be easier.” Her hands fisted in the sheets. “At least it would be something I could work on. That’s what makes this so goddamn frustrating!

  “It was amazing, with you. I thought, this time... But then it’s like a switch flips and I’m lying there, staring up at the ceiling.” Red spread from her chest, up her neck, to her cheeks. “No one ever noticed before.”

  “Never?” He shook his head. “You’ve been hanging with the wrong people.” He took her chin in his hand. “I’m here because I want you. Yeah, I want sex. But if I can’t have you there, sharing it, then I don’t want what’s left.”

  “But you can’t just keep going to a certain point and stopping—isn’t it bad for you or something?”

  He laughed, pulled his arm up and rested his head on his fist so he could see the emotions play across her face. “That’s just what teenage guys tell girls to get into their pants. I’m a grown man, Sam.”

  She looked at him, hopeful but guarded, as if she were afraid to believe.

  “Don’t think this is some kind of sacrifice I’m making, either. This trip we take together, babe. If I can’t have it all, I’m not settling for less. When this happens for us—and it will happen—it’s going to be worth waiting for.”

  He leaned in, and dropped a chaste kiss on her lips, and on the end of her red nose. “Now, how would you feel about skipping dinner and going straight to the strawberry pie?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BY MIDWEEK, SAM’S nerves were ragged from the sandpaper of regret they’d rubbed on for two days. Sure, Nick had said everything was good. He’d kissed her good-night on Saturday. He’d even called before she fell asleep on Sunday. She hustled him off the phone. When he called the next night, she’d done the same. And the night after that.

  He said all was good. But for how long? No matter how beautifully crafted, a man wouldn’t stay long with an ice sculpture in his bed. She knew she was going to have to face Nick again. But right now, she felt more than naked. As if she’d stripped more than clothes that night; she’d stripped her pretty skin, exposing the squirming mess underneath. She was beyond embarrassed.

  And at the same time, she missed him. Missed his chuckle on the phone, in the dark. Missed the special look in his eye; the one that told her that, for whatever twisted reason, he’d chosen her.

  But hope was something she didn’t do. So she didn’t hope. But she so wanted to.

  That night with Nick had tipped the scales. She had forced her shaking fingers to dial Bina’s number and schedule an appointment for tomorrow. Maybe Bina would have some answers—Sam was fresh out.

  You’re not going to be here long enough for it to matter, anyway. Here it was, almost August. She estimated the house would be complete by late November. Four more months. Then she’d put the house up for sale, ship her stuff to the next town, get on her bike and put Widow’s Grove in her rearview mirror. She pictured the road running under her front tire, the wind and a road song blowing thoughts out of her head.

  Her total world encompassed in the view from her face shield.

  Without raising his head from his paws, Bugs blinked at her with his sad eyes.

  “Never said it would be any different. You knew that coming in.” She bent to pet his head, listening to the kids talking in the other room over the sound of hammering.

  Pete stuck his head in. “Sam, Tim hasn’t showed up yet. We’re supposed to be working on the sink in the kitchen, but I can’t do more until I talk to him.”

  Tim usually arrived first, anxious to get started each day. Worry, like a rivulet of ice water, trickled into her mind. She hadn’t talked to Tim since he’d left work last Friday.

  “Okay, Pete, do me a favor while we’re waiting, will you? The yard is getting out of control again. I lost Bugs in the grass twice the other day. Would you mind cutting it?”

  He groaned, but then held up his hands. “I know, I know. I’m going.”

  Sunny came in and asked a question. Sam turned her attention to the matter at hand, but a part of her mind still worried about Tim. She got Sunny started on measuring the space, and then walked out onto the porch.

  Tim’s decrepit truck labored up the hill.

  When he pulled up, she stood tapping her foot on the drive.

  “Sorry I’m late, Sam. I just stopped—”

  “Raven, why don’t you have a cell phone like everyone else on the planet over the age of four? I just realized I don’t have any way of getting hold of you if you’re not home.”

  “Now hang on a minute, missy. I’ve been taking care of myself longer than you’ve been alive. I don’t need a keeper to change my diapers yet, but when I do, I’ll call you.” He crossed his arms and thrust out his chin.

  God, will this day never end? Here she was, taking her frustrations out on a little old man. “You’re right. I apologize. I get a little excited when I’m worried.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not used to having people worry about me.” He uncrossed his arms. “I was on my way, but I passed Ana’s house and saw her in the yard lugging hoses, so I stopped to help. Do you know that feisty little thing tried to throw me off the property? Held me at bay with a garden rake! It took me a while to calm her down.”

  Sam chuckled. “I had pretty much the same experience the first time I visited. Her bark is worse than her bite, though. I’m trying to develop a friendship, but it’s been a tough sell.” When he would have walked away, she touched Tim on the sleeve. “I know you’re protective of her past, Tim, but I would like to help her if I can. It would help if I understood more about how she got to where she is now.”

  His gaze raked her, deciding. “What do you want to know?”

  “How long have you known Ana?”

  “Nigh on to forty years.” Tim’s gaze strayed to the cottage at the bottom of the hill. “My wife, Nellie, and I went to school with Ana’s husband, Glenn. He went off to war right out of high school. My parents were old, and since I was an only child, I stayed to help with the farm. I married my Nellie a year later.” His voice softened. “Childhood sweethearts, we were.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, we had dances. Once a month, young folks would gather at someone’s barn. One of us would bring a phonograph and everyone else would bring records. How we danced. Those were some good times, let me tell you.” He smiled a bittersweet, faraway smile.

  “That’s where we met Ana for the first time. She was a tiny thing, shy about her English. But there was a glow about her. You know how some young women are, just so fresh and pure that the life just shines from their faces?” Tim’s face flamed, as if realizing he was talking to a woman. “Yes. Well. Anyway, that’s how I met her.”

  “How long has she lived alone in that house?”

  “Glenn’s been gone ten years, now. Sad thing, that. We called it ‘getting senile’ back then. Ana refused to send him away—said that he’d been raised on this land and, by God, he’d die on it. She saw that he did, too.

  “Did it all by herself. Got so she didn’t want anyone seeing Glenn like that, so she wouldn’t allow visitors. We didn’t want to intrude, or make her uncomfortable, so we all gave them space. Took him years to die, and I guess Ana just got used to being alone. Maybe now she doesn’t know how to do anything different.” Tim sighed, and the truck door groaned when he opened it. He reached in and pulled out a pipe wrench.

  “I’m off to work. No telling what my assistant’s gotten himself into.”

  Sam watched Tim walk away, considering h
is words. She now understood what her niggle of curiosity had been—why her feet had so often made the trip down the hill, in spite of Ana’s rebuff.

  We’re not so different, she and I. Left alone, could she end up a recluse, chasing people off her porch with a claw hammer? At the bleak picture, a shiver of unease shot through her.

  She walked up the drive, relieved that she’d had the guts to call Bina.

  * * *

  WHAT A GREAT ROOM. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases were saved from being oppressive by the filtered light through a large bay window. A padded window seat overlooked the backyard. The flowered chintz pillows would’ve called Sam to curl up with a book if she’d been in Bina’s office for a different reason. Instead, she fidgeted in an overstuffed wing chair opposite a delicate French provincial working desk.

  She’d set up an appointment a few days ago and regretted it since. This is so not me. Why am I here?

  She knew why. The nightmares. They now bled into her days, staining them with shame. With all her previous projects, she’d pulled off the road, completed them then jumped back on the bike and kept moving.

  This time when she’d stopped, the past caught her. Memories landed and enfolded her with leathery wings until she couldn’t get a free breath.

  This place was changing her. The town, the people, the dog. Nick. Something had shifted in her. Her need for connection, like a massive snake, awakened. It wrapped around her guts and commenced squeezing, tighter than her memories.

  She felt as though she were watching a family from the outside of their house, the warm light spilling from a living room. She was no longer content to observe from the sidewalk. She wanted to walk up, knock on the door and be welcomed. She wanted a real relationship with a man. She wanted...so much.

  And she hated wanting.

  She stood and smoothed the creases in her jeans. Bina would think she was strange, but she had to get out of here.

  Bina walked in the doorway, carrying a modern silver coffee service. “Have a seat, Sam. The mutts are busy tearing up the backyard, so we shouldn’t be interrupted.”

  Sam glanced at the door. She thought about the dreams. She sat.

  Bina poured their coffee and took hers to the window seat. Slipping off her shoes, she tucked her feet under her and settled into a pillow-lined corner. “You seem a little apprehensive, Sam. Why don’t we just chat? No agenda.”

  Sam picked up her mug, then set it down. “Apprehensive. That’s one way to put it.” Before the silence could stretch out, she shoved the words from her mouth. “Do you know anything about dreams? What they mean?”

  Bina blew on her coffee. “Do you have recurring dreams?”

  Sam stared at the cup in her lap, steeling herself to open the door guarded for so long. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.

  “I’m working in a house. It’s a different house every time, could be a mansion or a cottage, old or brand new. Sometimes I’m alone, or there could be a party going on.

  “At some point I become aware—in the back of my mind, somehow I know—there’s something horrible in the basement. Once I know about it, I can’t avoid it. It’s like those scary movies, where the girl is walking down the cellar stairs, and you’re yelling, ‘Don’t do it!’”

  Bina nodded.

  “The closer I get to the stairs, the more terrified I become. I know there’s something down there. I don’t know if it’s a monster, or a demon or what, but in my dream I know there are worse things than dying. Even knowing that, I go. I’m lured to it.” She shuddered. “I can’t convey the impulse. Or the terror.

  “When I get to the bottom of the stairs, the floor goes to dirt. There is an opening in the earthen wall opposite me. I perceive that there’s a labyrinth of tunnels beyond where it lives. All I want to do is run, but I can’t make my legs obey.

  “I can hear it getting closer. I can even smell it moving down the tunnel toward me. Musty, with the scent of old things. Dead things. It’s so real. I know that once I see it, I’m never going to be the same.” She put up her hand, as if that would ward off the memory. “It’s just on the other side of the wall,” she whispered, afraid the words could summon it. “Then I wake up.”

  A chill spilled down the back of her neck, and bumped down her spine. Just recounting the dream brought back the emotions. “I know it sounds like a kid’s nightmare. But it feels like my soul is withering the closer the demon gets.”

  Bina’s threaded eyebrows creased. “I’ll need to know more about the difficulties you’re having. But generally, dreams are our connection to our subconscious mind. Imagine your mind as a computer. The grunt work is done in code by the processor, the subconscious. Dreams are the interface to your awareness, see?”

  Sam wanted the answers. She really did. But she also knew that if her damn bike was intact, she’d be on it right now, letting the wind and a road song drown them out.

  No, you wouldn’t. You’ve committed to doing this—you’re not a victim any longer. I want to be someone brave. Someone to be proud of.

  “Do you want to tell me about your past, Sam?”

  She took a deep breath, sat on her hands to quell their shaking and nodded.

  * * *

  NICK USED THE WALK from his shop to the Farm House Café to decide.

  Jesse knows Sam better than anyone. She can tell you what’s up.

  Yeah, but what, are you still in junior high? “Does she like me?” God, how embarrassing.

  But if Sam’s not talking, how else am I going to find out if she’s trying to dump me? If she is, it’s going to take me some time to decide what I’m going to do about it—to get my game face on.

  Jesus. Men just aren’t wired for this shit. Why can’t women just say what’s on their minds? He ran his hand through his hair. This coming from a guy who’s going to the girlfriend of his girlfriend for advice.

  Since the night she’d invited him to dinner, Sam would hardly speak to him. The walls were up, but now they were topped with razor wire. Her voice was cool and detached on the phone, as if he were a stranger. He’d tried to broach the subject of what happened, and she’d practically hung up on him. So they talked, but it was all B.S. chitchat.

  And it was making him crazy.

  After hesitating a few heartbeats, he pulled open the door of the café. He looked around at the almost deserted booths. Good timing.

  “Hey, Nick, what are you doing here this time of day?” Jesse looked up from the Widow’s Grove Guardian, spread on the bar. “Aren’t there any broken-down cars littering the roadside hereabouts?”

  “Nary a one, last I checked.”

  “Well, then, I’m glad you stopped by. It’s downright dead in here.”

  A fact he’d counted on. He sat on a stool at the deserted bar.

  “You want some coffee?”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day. Thanks.”

  “All day?” Her eyebrows disappeared in her bangs. “I guess Sam has been working, huh?” She winked, pulled a cup from beneath the bar and set it in front of him.

  “Don’t you bust my chops, lady.”

  She lifted the coffeepot from the hot plate and brought it over. “Not me, Nick. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you two getting cozy on my front porch.” She filled his cup. “She’s super, isn’t she?”

  “Honestly?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes. And no.”

  “Uh-oh. That tone calls for sugar.” Jesse slid the glass back on the refrigerated display case on the wall, pulled out two dishes of pudding and set them on the counter. She dragged over a tall stool and settled on it. “Banana pudding helps in these situations. Trust me. I’m a professional.” She retrieved two spoons from beneath the counter and gave one to him. “Now, talk, Nick.”

  No reason to play coy; he’d
come here to talk. Even if he didn’t want to flat out say it. “You don’t really know me, Jesse. Sure, you knew me as a kid, but—”

  “Oh, please, Nick.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if I get this right.” She held up fingers.

  He hated when she did that.

  She touched the first finger with her thumb. “You had tragedy, young. You had to face stuff as a teen that breaks down adults. You went a bit wild. You made mistakes.” She touched the second finger. “But you’ve worked your ass off the past eight years, building back your reputation, as well as a business. It’s firmly established now. You can stop working hundred-hour weeks.” She touched her next finger. “In that time, you’ve managed to get your feet under you, too. You’ve given back to the community, assuring the Pinelli name will be known for something other than what happened fifteen years ago.” She dropped her hand and picked up her spoon. “How am I doing so far?”

  He nodded to keep her talking. Maybe she could tell him what would happen next, and he wouldn’t have to say a thing.

  “So now you’re starting to lift your head up and look around. You’re looking for someone to share your life with. Someone to give you the grandkids your mom would have so loved.” Her eyes went all soft.

  He shifted on the chair. If she was going to cry, he was out of here.

  “You’ve done well, Nick. The whole town is proud—”

  “But I also know I have limits.”

  Jesse paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Uh-oh.”

  “You’re dead on, Jess. I’m settled. Right where I want to be.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “So what kind of cosmic joke is it, when I find someone that could be those kids’ mom, it’s a come-and-go biker chick?”

  Jesse put her spoon down. “You mean, wedding-shower, happily-ever-after in love with someone? With Sam?” Her smile started slow, but was blinding by the end.

  “Jesus.” He put up a hand. “Focus, Jess—don’t go all girly on me now.”

  She dialed back the smile wattage, but it looked like it hurt her to do it. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat.