by Cara Colter
“I can hardly wait,” he growled, and then kissed her on the tip of her nose, a playful gesture that seemed all too tender and all too real. It should have been a warning to stop before she had embedded herself further in the quicksand of the heart. But instead, it only egged her on, even though she wanted to quit doing this. Not to him, but to herself.
Down the narrow hall they went, the narrowness forcing her to let go of him.
But she made up for it.
The back bedroom was tiny and dark.
“This is the room I want for the nursery,” she declared, but unfortunately, as she said it, she could see it, just as she had so clearly seen the future in those other rooms.
And shockingly, so could he.
“I’d knock out this wall,” he said, pensively, “and put in a bigger window, a bay one, with a window seat. We could sit here with the baby, together, in the evenings.”
The picture that conjured up for her stole her breath. She could so easily imagine him in that tender scene. And that picture stole her drive to make him uncomfortable, to make him pay for this farce. She was done pretending. What it was doing to her heart was far too dangerous.
She did not renew her possessive encircling of his waist, and made no comment about how romantic the master bedroom was, though it had another fireplace in it, and a window that faced the sea.
He also became more and more silent, and Sam wondered if he was looking at the house through a developer’s eyes. If he was, she deduced, a bit sadly, there was probably nothing to be saved.
After a tour of the interior of the house they moved outside. Annie’s husband, Artie, was in the garden, and they met him, and then Annie laid tea out for all of them on a worn outdoor table that faced the sea.
The dogs had worn themselves out and flopped down, panting under the table. Waldo nuzzled Annie’s hand.
“What an adorable dog,” the old woman said gently.
“He’s looking for a home!” Sam said, never missing an opportunity to place one of her charges.
“I can barely keep up with the one I have,” Annie confessed ruefully. “I do love his outfit. Where did you get that?”
“Groom to Grow in St. John’s Cove,” Sam said. “I—”
Ethan nudged her gently in the ribs, reminding her she was beginning to complicate things by mixing up her fiction with her facts. So instead of saying she owned it, she said, hearing the slight sullenness in her own voice, “I love shopping there.”
“I’m going to get a jacket just like that one for Josie!” Annie declared, and Sam thought what a perfect home this would be for Waldo, even as she remembered what she hated about lies. They never stopped. Now this woman was going to show up at her shop in St. John’s. What if she inquired about her fiancé? What if people were listening?
Annie’s eyes met hers over the tea. “I can see you here,” she said quietly to Sam. “I’m so delighted. Finally I can see someone here.”
Artie looked at his wife and smiled, and something passed between them that was so sweet and so genuine that it nearly broke Sam’s heart in two. No wonder she could feel love in this house, no wonder the place conjured visions of domestic bliss.
“We don’t want to sell to just anybody,” Artie said. “Annie’s a bit fey. She said she’d know when the right people came along. People who would love this ramshackle old wreck of a place as much as we have.”
Sam wanted to sink under the table she felt so dreadful. If Ethan got his hands on this old cottage what would he do with it? Tear it down? She saw Ethan leaning forward. Clearly this was the moment he lived for, closing the deal. He probably had papers they could sign in the car.
And suddenly, she just couldn’t do it, not even if her whole future and the future of Groom to Grow was at stake.
“Oh,” she said, forcing brightness, “we aren’t rushing into anything, are we, darling? I’m just not sure if this is the right place for us. There’s only three bedrooms, and we are planning a large family. Ethan wants at least six children.”
“Six,” Annie said with surprise, though it was approving surprise.
“Of course, we could put on an addition,” Ethan said, the smile belying what she interpreted as a warning look in his eyes as he gazed at her.
She ignored the warning. “Darling! You know I have to be sure. You know what they say, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” he said tightly.
“If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” she sang to him, wagging a stern finger below his nose.
He glared at her while the Finkles laughed with delight.
“I think you’re right not to rush into anything,” Annie said. “Even though the place is getting to be too much for us—look at the flower beds and the paint, disgraceful—we’re in no hurry to sell. I’d feel better if I found exactly the right place for us to move on to first.”
“Very wise,” Sam murmured, not daring to look at the man beside her.
“We’re thinking a condo, but I haven’t seen one I like yet. They’re all so—”
“Generic,” Sam provided. She, too, had looked at condos before finding her own charming apartment, with the storefront beneath it, so suited to her needs.
The one she was about to throw away. Because she couldn’t do this. Not if Ethan promised to buy the whole of Main Street, St. John’s Cove. She liked these people and hated herself for being a part of this pretense. Samantha’s business meant a lot to her, the world to her, in fact, but she realized she wasn’t prepared to sell her soul for it!
“Exactly,” Annie said. “Plus, so many of them seem to be prisons for old people. I don’t want to retreat from the world. That’s part of what bothers me here. Since we retired and spend so much time here, it seems too isolated. I want to be part of the community. Maybe have a little rug shop, where I could meet people every day.”
“Well, I guess we all need to think about it for a bit,” Sam said, nearly choking on her cheer. She finished her tea in a gulp that was very un-Mrs. Ballard-like and got up from the table. “It was so nice meeting you, Annie. Artie. Darling.”
But it was Waldo, getting used to being called darling who fell in beside her as she went up the crooked walk beside the cottage to the car. She didn’t even glance back over her shoulder at the house of her dreams.
Or to see if Ethan Ballard, pretend fiancé, had followed her.
CHAPTER FOUR
“SORRY,” Samantha murmured.
“Don’t give it a thought.”
He was surprised that he meant it. Ethan Ballard should have been furious. The Finkles had been ready to do some preliminary talking about the property, which was everything he’d hoped for and more. Even the cottage, which he had thought from the Internet pictures would be only worth knocking down, had lots of potential.
He told himself people loved the old saltboxes, and he could knock down interior walls to create a more open space, add windows, expand the house toward the rear. But even as he tried to convince himself that, he wondered if part of how charmed Samantha had been with the old place had rubbed off on him. There was no way she was a good enough actress to have pulled off the enraptured look on her face, the light in her eyes, as she had moved from room to room.
But it was probably all a moot point now. He might never get a chance because the little minx sitting beside him, stroking her dog furiously, had done her best to nix the deal.
But he was aware he did not feel furious with Samantha.
More like cautious of her. He had felt something stir in him when she had touched him so possessively, and felt it stir again at an even more powerful and primal level when she had talked about sitting in that living room with a baby at her breast.
Even though she’d clearly been trying to get his goat, the picture had taken on a life of its own inside his mind, and somehow the baby she held had been his.
That, even though he was a man who had never given one single thought to having kids, or to domestic bliss. When h
e’d been engaged to Bethany he’d been too young to think that far ahead. Bethany had never said a single word about children. He’d been her ticket to Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, not a ruined figure and responsibility.
But there was something about Samantha Hall that made a man not just think of those things, but yearn after them.
Plus, at tea with the Finkles, when Samantha had stunned him by declaring they needed time to think about it, Ethan felt as if he had discovered something more valuable than the property.
The woman beside him appeared to be a person incapable of subterfuge, incapable of deceit. How many people were there in the world who would be so true to themselves? He could tell how badly Sam wanted to stay in her store, but she had been unwilling to lie to do it.
But, he reminded himself, there was an irony here. She did lie to herself, the clothes he had disposed of this morning being a perfect example.
Now as they pulled away from Annie’s Retreat, he could tell she was relieved the playacting was over.
“I hated that,” she said.
“I should never have asked you to do that,” he replied. “It was an impulse. I regret it.” But even as he said it, he knew his regret was not one hundred percent. He thought of her fingers on his back, as she teased him, played with him; he thought of nipping the delicate lobe of her ear.
And was aware he wouldn’t have missed that for the world.
She misunderstood him. “I know. You could have asked a thousand girls who could have pulled that off better than me. But Annie and Artie were just such nice people. I hated that they wanted us to have that property when it was all a lie.”
He said nothing, digesting what she was telling him about herself.
“So, are you done?” she asked. “You aren’t going to try to buy it?”
“I’ll back off for the time being. What did you think of the property?”
She was silent, as if she did not want to give anything of herself away to him. Not that he could blame her. But he had already seen things, and she seemed to know it was too late to hide them.
“I loved it,” she admitted reluctantly.
“So did I.”
“But I loved it just the way it was. I mean a few things needed work, the paint, the flower beds, but it would be a shame to change it. A crime.”
“Unless you were going to raise six kids there,” he teased her.
She delighted him by blushing. “Just trying to play the part.”
“Don’t give up your day job.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Unless I get evicted from my building. Then I’ll put out my new sign, Wife for Hire.”
He chuckled, and her stance toward him softened a bit.
“I did like your idea about the one wall in the, er, back bedroom,” she admitted.
For a reason he wasn’t about to investigate, he was sorry she hadn’t called it the nursery. Which is probably why he changed the subject, tried to get it back to the nice, safe area of business instead of the very gray area of nurseries.
“I’m glad you’re not going to buy my building,” she said thoughtfully, somber. “It sounded great, but it made me uneasy, too. I don’t want to feel indebted to you, but it’s more. Ethan, being the youngest in a family, the only girl, I think I’m used to the boys bailing me out. I don’t want to rely on other people to fix my problems.”
He was struck by her simple bravery.
“I didn’t keep my end of our bargain,” she continued. “You can have the outfit back, too.”
“You know,” he said quietly and carefully, “there’s a fine balance between being independent and being alone. Sometimes it’s good to rely on others, to share your burdens.”
He remembered the joy that had lit her eyes when she had first twirled in that outfit, and cursed himself for stealing that happiness from her.
“And sometimes it’s okay,” he continued, “to accept a gift. It’s no threat to your independence. I want you to have the outfit.”
She shrugged and he suspected the outfit was going to enjoy approximately the same fate as the flowers she had caught just last night.
Suddenly he wanted out of this mess he had created for himself. Even if he didn’t buy Annie’s Retreat, he would never be able to shake the vision of this girl twirling in front of the mirror and him, her hair and her skirt giving her a gypsy air, never be able to quite escape the memory of her hand resting on the small of his back, or her quick intake of air when he’d nipped her ear.
In fact, the sooner he put this whole unfortunate lapse in judgment behind him the better. He’d drop her off and wave goodbye. A kiss, even a casual little goodbye peck, was out of the question; the dog would probably bite him if he got that close to her. Besides, it would be one more memory that he had to outrun.
But when he turned onto Main Street, and slowed in front of her store, he could see Charlie Weston was on the sidewalk in front of it. The poor fool, still in his suit from last night, though he’d lost the bow tie, was seated on a stool, with a guitar across his knee, gazing up at the open window of Sam’s apartment, oblivious to the astounded, curious looks of passersby.
“Thank goodness it’s Sunday. Look what he’s done to my sign,” Sam said, annoyance and obvious affection mixed in her voice.
Ethan looked at where a ladder was propped against her store sign. The placement of the spindly ladder looked downright dangerous. A clumsy, hand-drawn S and L had been taped over her sign, turning “Groom to Grow” to “Groom so Low.”
“The English language constantly amazes me in its versatility,” Ethan said. “Do you think he meant groom so low, as in depressed, or groom solo, as in single?”
“Charlie is not exactly an academic,” Sam said affectionately.
“A romantic,” Ethan concluded dryly. “Which would you rather have?” He realized he was truly interested in her answer, but Samantha ignored him, put her window down halfway, looked as if she planned to intervene.
With the car window open it was painfully apparent Charlie was serenading his runaway bride, wailing an old Don Williams song. Charlie’s voice was particularly horrible, part whine, part twang, mostly heartbreak and pathos.
Amanda, light of my life—
Ethan glanced at Samantha. She looked like she was going to get out of the car and try to fix this. Her love for her friends showed in the utter distress on her face. But her hand froze on the door handle when something flew out the open window of Samantha’s apartment and hit Charlie square in the chest.
“What was that?” Ethan asked, craning his neck to see better. “A rock?”
“One of the little squares of wedding cake that it took Vivian and me four hours to wrap and tie with fuchsia ribbon.”
Charlie set down the guitar. “Mandy, come on—”
The window above Charlie snapped shut.
“Now, that’s reality,” Sam said sadly, as if for a while she had believed something else. Ethan thought of the look on her face when she had looked at the cottage.
“Maannndddyy!” It was like the bellow of a wounded bull.
The window shot up, and Amanda leaned out. “Go away!”
“I think I better try to talk to them,” Samantha said.
Not even for his own self-preservation was Ethan dropping Samantha off in the middle of that. He stepped on the gas.
“What are you doing?” Samantha demanded.
“Rescuing you from that. Haven’t you heard the expression about not going where angels fear to tread? Lovers’ quarrels fall solidly in that category.”
“I told you before, I can look after myself.” But he didn’t miss the fact she looked relieved.
“Well, pretend you can’t. Pretend I’m a knight in shining armor and you are a damsel in distress.”
“Even if my imagination was that good, I think I’ve done enough pretending for today.”
“Me, too,” he said quietly, and was startled by how pleased he was that she looked faintly intrigued. “I’
ll take you for lunch. Charlie and Amanda should have resolved things by the time we get back.”
“I hate to break it to you since you look like the kind of guy who believes in happily-ever-after—” that said sarcastically “—but Amanda and Charlie have been trying to resolve things since they were fourteen.”
“A long lunch, then,” he said, and was rewarded with her smile, which she quickly doused when he smiled back.
“They are both such good people,” she said softly. “I don’t know why it’s always so volatile between them.”
“Passion,” he said. “It’s hard stuff to tame.” As if he was any kind of expert on passion—or wanted to be thinking about the subject when he was in such close proximity to her!
“I can’t leave Waldo in the car. It’s getting too hot.” To prove her point, she slipped the hoodie off her dog.
He hoped that meant the imminent removal of her own jacket, even as he thought Samantha was showing a remarkable lack of gratitude for his chivalry. He should just turn around and dump her on that sidewalk, but he thought of Charlie wailing, and Amanda throwing things, and her thinking she could do something to fix it, and he just couldn’t.
“Okay, we’ll buy some sandwiches and eat at the beach.”
“I guess I could change into my other clothes.”
And deprive him of the camisole? At least he’d made one good decision today, and he admitted it to her now, trying to appear contrite. “Um, I forgot to pick them up after I paid for the new things.”
She stared at him, her gaze going right through him. He was never going to be able to tell her a lie. Ever. But what did it mean that he was thinking like that? As if there was an ever in their future.
They were having lunch. He was sticking around for another day or two to finish looking at properties in Cape Cod and then he was leaving St. John’s Cove far behind him. And that meant this woman, her dog and his crazy cousin and her heartbroken husband were going to be in his past, not his future.
“You didn’t forget,” she said, those gray-green eyes narrowing. “You left my clothes on purpose! I’m trying to tell you that’s who I really am, jeans and T-shirts, baseball caps.”
