by Leger, Lori
As Carrie watched his show of stubbornness, she remembered Roxie’s first comment to her about Sam. “He’s been cranky since his wife left him…” Maybe she’d get better results from her grumpy co-worker if she showed some empathy for his situation. Suddenly, she remembered her mother’s advice on handling an annoying classmate in high school. You’ll always attract more flies with honey than vinegar. Maybe this plan called for a revision.
With a slight tilt of her head, she tilted her head back to scrutinize the man who stood well over six feet tall. She’d always been attracted to big men, and Sam made quite an attractive package with his light colored hair and crystal blue eyes. Her gaze lowered to encompass long legs covered in work faded denim that fit snugly across slim hips and lean thighs. The man filled out a pair of jeans nicely, that’s for sure. The jeans ended at a pair of scuffed, but clean, lace up leather boots—at least three sizes larger than Dave’s.
Her brows lifted curiously. Big boots, for a big man. Did the size of a man’s foot really have anything to do with the size of other parts of his anatomy?
She shook off the thought. The last thing she needed was the complication of a man in her life. She watched as he stood stock still, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tone sounded smug as he addressed her.
“Like what you see?”
One corner of Carrie’s cheek lifted in a partial smile as she watched Sam’s cheek tighten to form a single, adorable dimple…One more addition to the irresistible factor. She found herself wondering again how someone so attracted to tall men with blue eyes could end up married to a man with Dave’s dark looks and short, compact stature. She shrugged off the internal interrogation and gave her shoulder length waves a quick flip with her hand. “Just curious.”
He stared down his nose at her. “About what?”
“My daddy always said it takes a big man to admit he’s wrong. I’m curious to see if you’re big enough to do the right thing.” She lifted her eyes to meet his crystal blue gaze and paused. “So.” Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. “Are you big enough, Sam?”
Sam swallowed hard as he gazed into gorgeous, multi-hued eyes that sparkled with curiosity as well as the slightest hint of devilish amusement. He wondered if that brazen curiosity of hers would extend to the bedroom as well, but dismissed the thought. Sleeping alone for over a year made a man entertain some crazy thoughts.
Most people would call her difficult, but his love for the Cajun dialect caused him to brand her tracas, with a capital T. No sir, regardless of what faults, or qualities, she possessed, he knew one thing for certain. He didn’t need her kind of Trouble.
Sam sensed the occupants in the room holding their collective breath, and made a strategically sound decision to surrender with dignity. He’d already given his traitorous co-workers enough to fuel the gossip fires for months.
Sam took a deep breath and released it before turning toward Roxie. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He saw Carrie’s brow furrow as though she strained to hear.
“What was that?” she asked.
Sam’s jaws clenched with a snap, as he turned back toward his co-worker. He placed his right hand over his chest and bowed from the waist. “From the bottom of my heart, Roxie, I apologize.”
Roxie’s eyes widened, in undisguised shock. “You do?”
“Yes, I do.” Sam turned toward Carrie. “And I’m sorry I made you late the other day. I was w-wrong. There, I said it. I was wrong and I won’t do it again,” he mumbled.
He chanced a look into her eyes, and nearly lost his breath at the sight of her dimpled smile directed solely at him. That’s what he called lagniappe – a little something extra.
“Thanks Sam,” she told him. “I appreciate that.”
“And you should start riding with us in the mornings again.” It was high time he started coming to work on time. He’d been a lousy role model for his crew this past year.
Carrie nodded. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
The crowd dispersed, and Sam took a few moments to watch Carrie as she stared at an empty spot on her desk top. She looked lost in thought—totally focused on something, or someone, far removed from this office.
He paused beside her and lowered the timbre of his voice before he spoke. “Satisfied now?”
“Not for a long time,” she muttered.
“Oh?” Sam watched, riveted to Carrie’s reaction, as his one-word-comeback snapped her to the present as efficiently as a glass of ice water to her face. Her eyes widened, and a slow blush crept up from the base of her neck, infusing her fair skin with the most becoming shade of pink he’d seen on a woman in a long time. He thought of the approaching winter nights he dreaded so much. Long, lonely nights filled with emptiness. He wondered, for the first time, what it would be like to have a woman like this…Holy Hell, he may as well own up…to have this woman warm his bed at night.
Determined to push the thought from his mind, he clamped down on his jaw, and once more, paid for his rashness as he bit down on the side of tongue. His breath rushed out in a hiss of pain. Sam winced, slapping his hand over his cheek and jaw. He barely managed to suppress the string of curses his crew called his OSHA orange streak, in honor of their bright orange safety equipment.
That’s what I get for dreaming.
Sam positioned himself so he could watch her, unobserved. Everything about the woman screamed difficult, from her outspoken ways, to her eagerness for confrontation. And, after today’s confrontation, he expected she’d be even more blatant with her comments and opinions. He liked things neat, simple, and uncomplicated.
Touche pas, old boy. Don’t touch. Even as the command bounced around in his brain, he found himself wanting to do exactly opposite of that—to touch her—to study her—to examine every inch of her.
Sam smiled as Carrie mumbled something incoherent and retreated to the women’s restroom, still blushing in a way that beckoned him to get up close and personal.
He sauntered over to the back exit wondering how he could so obviously lose an argument but still walk away feeling like a winner.
CHAPTER 3
Early November
Carrie sat at her desk, staring into her compact at the dark circles under her eyes. She’d just applied a touch more concealer when Sam appeared next to her.
“You look dog-tired,” he muttered.
She snapped the compact closed. “Thanks Sam. You always know just what to say to make a girl’s day.”
“You know what I mean. You’ve been tense and short tempered lately, too. Anything you want to talk about?”
“Nope.” Raw with on-the-edge emotional baggage, she grabbed her coffee mug and escaped to the kitchen. If he didn’t follow her, maybe she could avoid the display of waterworks about to erupt at any moment. The latest in a long line of two a.m. anonymous phone calls she’d received over the past two months had left her exhausted and edgy. She filled her cup with hot, steaming, dark roast as she revisited the terror of the latest call. Like three teenagers, too little money, and a new job wasn’t enough to deal with…throw in one crazy ex, and she had more trouble than your average newly divorced, single mom could handle.
Carrie jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, and turned to see him staring at her, his mouth tight with concern.
“Is everything all right with you?”
“I did some tossing and turning instead of sleeping last night, that’s all.”
“Is it your ex? Because, you’re one of us now, and we’re touchy when it comes to people messing with one of our own.”
She leaned her hips against the kitchen’s base cabinets and hugged her mug of coffee with both hands. For some reason it seemed easier to discuss her failed marriage to someone who’d been through it recently. “My divorce came through yesterday.” She glanced up at him then shifted her gaze down to her mug. “I wanted the divorce, and I’m glad it came through, don’t get me wrong, but…” She paused to wipe the corner of her eye and took a deep breath. �
��I still feel like a failure.”
“Hmm-boy, I remember well,” Sam said. “How’d old Dave take it?”
Carrie shook her head and gave him a half laugh. “He was shocked, of course. He’s been sleeping with any woman who’d have him since the day we separated, and long before, if truth be told, and he couldn’t believe I went through with it. I swear, what that man lacks in size, he makes up for in nerve.”
Sam chuckled. “He’s not a big man, is he? He can’t be more than five foot eight or so.”
Her gaze met his above the rim of her coffee mug. “When have you ever seen him?”
“I saw him the day he came to switch out your car for that diesel truck of his.”
“He always told me he was five nine.”
“Yeah right,” Sam said with a low snort. “I think he’s got a serious case of ‘Little Man Syndrome’ or what I like to call the ‘Tee-Boy Blues.”
Carrie broke into a wide grin. “Yeah, when he complained about my weight, I told him I could lose the weight, but he’d always be too damn short.”
Sam guffawed loudly. “Double or nothing he wasn’t happy with that.”
“Nope,” she said, remembering that argument, along with the two nights Dave had spent with another woman to get his head straight. She looked up as Sam spoke to her.
“How are the kids?” he asked.
“Grant and Gretchen are okay, but Lauren’s having a rough time of it.” She smiled as she pictured Grant and the twins, Gretchen and Lauren. “At least I’ll walk away with something good from that marriage.”
“That and your house, I’m sure.”
Her mouth tightened in a grim line. “My kids will always have a place there with Dave, but it’s part of his family’s estate. I’m only there until I save up enough money for three months of rent and deposits by January. That’s when my rent house will be vacant.” She raised her mug to her lips then paused. “Not as easy as I thought it’d be.”
After their confrontation that morning in the office, Carrie and Sam formed a truce that had since evolved into an unexpected camaraderie. She’d been surprised to find that ‘Oscar the Grouch’ had a sense of humor, reducing her to helpless fits of laughter on several occasions. He was intelligent…Carrie had tagged him ‘the walking encyclopedia of useless information’, and easy to talk to. She still didn’t know much about his personal life, had been reluctant to ask more than he volunteered. Roxie had told her he liked to keep private matters private, but considering their latest direction of dialogue, she couldn’t stop her curiosity from taking control of her tongue.
“You can tell me to mind my own business if you want, Sam, but I’d like to know what brought on your divorce. Did you sleep around on your wife? Did you hit on her, or drink too much?”
He settled slim hips against the counter and crossed his arms. “Now, why would you assume I’m to blame?”
She shrugged, not bothering to apologize. “Just drawing from my own well of experience with men, I guess.”
“Well then, no, no, and no. Look, just because Dave was a dog, don’t assume all men are like him.” He crossed one booted ankle over the other in a relaxed manner. “But I’ll admit I made my share of mistakes.”
Carrie’s gaze never wavered from his as she waited for him to continue.
“Linda, my wife, accused me of being controlling. And I was, a little.”
Her breath hissed as she sucked it in. “That can be a death sentence for a marriage.”
“I know that now,” he agreed. “I’ve learned from my mistakes, and believe me when I tell you she made several of her own.”
“Any chance of reconciliation?”
“Nope.” He held up his left hand. “I didn’t take off my wedding ring until the divorce finalized. Then I chucked that son of a gun.” He leaned his elbow against the counter top. “It came through September eighth—on a Friday.”
“I started here three days later, on the eleventh,” she mused.
“Yep. I came in to work late on Monday, and you were here already.”
“No! You came in late? I don’t believe it,” she teased.
“Okay, smart ass. I was depressed. I’d had a hell of a year, you know.”
His pained expression made her swallow the sharp comeback simmering just out of reach. She wasn’t the only one to have it rough. “I understand, and I’m sorry.” She watched him nod in mute agreement. Damn, she hated being the one to make his painful memories resurface. “We could always exchange horror stories—”
“Or compare our divorce documents,” he pitched in.
“Or settlement options.”
He grinned down at her. “Did you make out okay? Will you get compensated for losing your home?”
Carrie’s brow creased in concentration. “At first I wanted to prove to Dave I could do it on my own, without any help from him. But my lawyer convinced me not to let my independent spirit get in the way of common sense.”
“Smart…for a lawyer, I mean.”
“I expected nothing less…She’s the best around.”
“Oh…Well that explains it, then.”
She gave him a nod and a half smile, thinking they’d come a long way. “I just wish I hadn’t wasted my best years on a man who never wanted me. I don’t think he’d ever been happy with me as his wife.”
Sam grunted his disapproval. “It always amazes me how some people have everything they need to be happy and aren’t, while others can have nothing and be perfectly satisfied. I’ve heard some of your horror stories, Carrie. I don’t know how you put up with it.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Do you think I got what I deserved for staying?”
“Aw, hell no, nobody deserves that.”
The kitchen’s electric wall clock droned with a low hum, while Carrie gathered her thoughts. “For years, when Dave would leave us, I’d be stuck alone with the kids. I’d always end up terrified and lonely, and I’d start to think, ‘Hell, anything’s better than this.’ At some point, I realized being alone wasn’t so bad. I guess I had to learn to like myself enough to be alone with me.” She raised her mug. “Not sure how I’ll like being alone for the rest of my life, though.”
Sam shifted, rearranging his long legs. “Just because you’re alone now doesn’t mean you’ll stay that way.”
Carrie chuckled in disagreement. “Come on, Sam. I’ll be thirty six years old in two seconds, and I have three teenagers. If my body was a roadway, I’d have to post WATCH FOR POTHOLES, signs on my midsection and butt. I’m not exactly what guys are looking for.”
Sam straightened to his full height. “You’re kidding, right? You’re a kind, decent lady—”
“And one day someone will come along who’ll really appreciate my qualities,” she interrupted. “That’s a classic ‘throw-the-dog-a-bone’ line if I ever heard one.”
Sam raised his hand and spoke firmly. “I wasn’t finished…And you’re a good looking woman, as well,” he added.
Carrie rolled her eyes and turned to stare out at the dismally depressing morning outside of the kitchen’s single window. Gloomy, rainy, and cool, it felt like an anchor, weighing down her spirit. “You’re only saying that to be nice.”
J.C. stepped into the kitchen with his usual flair for making an entrance, and headed for the coffee pot. “Dat’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I ever did hear. Sam Langley never says anything just to be nice.”
“You tell her, J.C.” Sam encouraged.
“He might say somethin’ to piss you off, or prove what a monumental jack ass he is, but he won’t ever say it just to be nice.”
“Yeah! Wait. What?” A veil of confusion slowly settled over Sam’s previous look of confidence.
J.C. continued. “I mean, we all know what a grouchy ole son of a gun he can be.”
Sam’s brow furrowed with deep frown lines. “All right, that’s enough.”
“He didn’t get the name Oscar de Grouch for no good reason.”
“Julian,” Sam warned.
“He sure can be a crusty old son of a bit—”
“Julian Alcide Carter!”
A moment of stunned silence permeated the kitchen, until Carrie finally spoke.
“Julian Alcide?” she repeated, suddenly understanding J.C.’s preference for initials.
J.C.’s eyes snapped with mischief as he glared up at the big man. “You stump jumpin’ old son of a bitch. I could kick your ass for dat, yeah!”
Sam gave his somewhat vertically challenged buddy a friendly shove. “You’d have to be able to reach it first, short shit.”
Carrie chuckled at the good natured teasing between the two men. She stepped between them and gave J.C. a gentle nudge. “Go to your corner, Killer.” She turned to Sam and stuck a finger in his face. “And you! Go pick on somebody your own size.” She walked out of the room mumbling. “Julian Alcide—I never would have guessed that.”
From the doorway, Sam watched Carrie return to her desk. Gradually, he realized J.C. had spoken to him and pivoted to face his friend. “Sorry, did you say something?”
J.C. grinned. “I said she’s closer to your size. Maybe you oughta go pick on her.”
“Bouche ta gueule, J.C.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up. I know what I’m talking about here, dammit. You two would be good together.”
“It ain’t happening.”
“Why not? You’re divorced, and now she is, too. You know you want her, man.”
“Arret ca, Julian. Just stop it.”
The shorter man poked Sam’s chest with his stubby finger. “Look, Jackass. You need to quit calling me dat.” He turned and walked toward the door.
“It’s a good name—”
J.C. turned and pointed to him. “Den you take it.”
“Come on, J.C.,” Sam pleaded, as the other man left the room without looking back. “It’s a good name.”
Sam crossed his arms and looked out the window, surprised at how empty the room felt without Carrie’s presence. He pictured her the way he’d seen her at various times. With her head back and laughing at his impersonation of an old co-worker, or in profile as she bent over her desk to study a set of plans. The smell of her perfume lingered in the air. He breathed deeply, remembering the effect it had on him the day before as he’d leaned over her shoulder to explain a field book drawing.
