After setting his bag down in the overstuffed brown chair, he toured the rest of the house. The kitchen was smaller than Sam’s, but neat. A dining table sat in the corner. Down the hallway lay the master bedroom with a bath. A king-sized bed topped with a blue and white quilt and a large dresser filled the room. The bathroom matched the minimalist décor of the bedroom.
As he wandered back to the living room, the quiet set in. An old clock above the fireplace ticked away the seconds. With a sigh, he pulled his laptop out of the bag, placed the bag on the floor, and plopped down on the chair. There was no desk here, like at Sam’s, and the coffee table was lower than the chair, so his lap would have to suffice.
He read back over the words he had typed out the last few days and found himself lost in the story, but as he reached the end and placed his fingers on the keys, nothing came. No spark, no story, no ideas. Just Sam. Beautiful, challenging, engaging Sam.
She was probably still at the shop as it was not quite four. Did she have a customer or was she sitting and watching the clock hands slowly make their way around the face?
A knock at the cabin door interrupted his daydreaming, and his heart fluttered. Could it be Sam? Had she followed him out here? A smile tugged at his mouth as he opened the door, but it froze quickly. The woman in front of him was not Sam.
Chapter 10
Sam watched the Porsche fade into the distance before re-entering her shop. She still needed to finish the repairs for Rose, even though Rose had insisted there was no hurry, but now that Brent’s car was fixed, she had no reason not to work on it. Plus, she needed the money. Brent’s repairs would get her through another month, but she needed to get more customers coming in, and word of mouth was the best way to make that happen. Since Rose was a bit of a gossip and ran the only flower shop in town, it might mean a spike in business.
The bell above her door jingled and she glanced up. Had Brent decided to stay after all?
“Excuse me, are you Sam Jenkins?” A man she didn’t recognize, dressed nicer than most folks in Soda Spurs stood in her doorway.
“Yes, I’m Sam. What can I do for you?”
The man smiled and waved to someone unseen. Before Sam could react, two more people flooded her shop, one holding a camera and the other a microphone which was shoved unceremoniously in her face.
“I’m Gary with the Star Gazette. We heard Brent McKasson was staying here with you. Are you two an item?”
“What? No!” Sam shook her head and tried to hide her face. “He was just here getting his car fixed, and he’s gone now, so you can leave too.”
“Is he coming back? Did he tell you about his next movie?” The man continued firing questions as Sam pushed them out of her shop and locked the door.
She leaned against it and shook her head. Maybe it was a good thing Brent had left after all. If this reporter knew he had been here, it probably meant more were on their way, and Sam had no desire to be in the spotlight.
With a sigh, she pushed away from the door and popped the hood of Rose’s car to begin her inspection.
When she finished, a glance at the clock showed closing time. At least she’d have the house back to herself. Not that Brent had been a bad roommate, but it was her space, and now it would be quiet and the way she liked it again.
She opened the door quietly and poked her head out first, but no reporters were in sight. Still, she wasted no time locking the shop and racing to her truck.
As she pulled into the driveway, she noticed her steps no longer appeared the same color. What happened here? She stepped out of the truck, looked closer, and realized the wood was different.
She could have replaced them herself; however, with starting her new business, all other aspects of her life had been shoved to the back burner. Moisture pooled in her eyes at the thoughtfulness of Brent, and she sniffed the tears back as she tested the steps. No more sagging, no more squeaking.
After inserting the key in her front door, she told herself one more time how much she’d enjoy the quiet, but as she opened the door and the silence answered her, she doubted the truth of the statement. Sam dropped her keys on the side table and wandered into the kitchen. Not a dish was out of place.
His presence still lingered, a hint of his cologne. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the woodsy scent. Hoping the odor would be stronger in the spare room, she meandered down the hallway and opened the door.
The room appeared pristine. The made bed held no wrinkles; no trash littered the room; and the bear he had won her sat prominently on the pillow, a white slip of paper peeking out from underneath. She unfolded the paper as she sat on the bed.
Dear Sam,
Thank you for opening your home. You helped me find my muse. I hope our paths will cross again, and if this story ever amounts to anything, I’ll send you a copy. Maybe you'll find time to read this one.
-Brent McKasson
She smiled, remembering the conversation about her mother’s books. Sam placed the note down and grabbed the pillow, holding it to her face. His scent was stronger here, but by this time tomorrow, it would be gone and all she’d have left of Brent McKasson was a note and a silly stuffed bear.
What was wrong with her? She had no time for men, especially not rich actors who lived in the city and were constantly hounded by photographers and autograph seekers. She stood, dropping the pillow. A walk; that was what she needed. A walk would clear her mind, get it out of the clouds and back where it belonged.
After locking her door, she headed down the farm market road with no particular destination in mind. However, she was not surprised when she found herself in front of Fanny’s porch.
“I figured you’d be by to visit me.” Fanny didn’t bother looking up from her knitting.
Sam smirked softly as she leaned against the railing, wondering how this woman perceived so much. "Was your room really taken?"
The needles paused, and Fanny pinched her lips together. “Sometimes we need to be uncomfortable to realize God’s will for us.”
“God’s will?” Sam couldn’t help but sound skeptical. “Brent left today, Fanny. So, if you’re thinking God’s will was for us to be together, that's not happening.”
The needles resumed their rhythmic clacking. “Things aren’t always what they seem. God has a plan and a purpose, even when we don’t understand it at first.”
“Well, the only purpose I can see is that it showed me I miss companionship.”
The elderly woman didn’t answer, just kept clicking her needles.
“All right Fanny, have a nice night.”
Fanny paused long enough to raise one wrinkled hand in a wave before refocusing on her needles.
As Sam headed back toward her house, she passed Norma’s, paused, and turned back. She had promised she wouldn’t eat out so much, but she was hungry and there would be people inside. It was a start at getting involved.
Norma greeted her with a wave as she stepped inside. Sam returned it and sidled up to the counter to order a burger and fries before claiming an empty booth. Only a handful of other people filled the mostly empty restaurant.
“How you doing, hon?” Norma asked as she slid the food in front of Sam and her ample frame into the seat on the other side of the booth. She folded her hands on the table and turned her eyes on Sam.
Sam offered a crooked, half-smile. “I thought I’d be happy, you know? He was so obnoxious when I first met him, but after the festival on Saturday and church on Sunday, I saw a different side of him.” Dropping her eyes, she ran her hand up and down the glass of tea, watching the sheen of condensation disappear under her touch. “I guess I hoped he would want to stay and finish his writing here. Did you know he writes as well as acts?”
Norma shook her head and patted Sam’s arm. “Did you ask him to stay?”
Sam let out an unattractive snort. “No, in fact, I told him I only wanted to be friends. Why did I do that Norma?”
“Because you were scared, hon. We’ve
all been there. Now, I only met him once, but he seemed like good people. Perhaps he’ll surprise you and come back.”
Sam shrugged and grabbed a fry. “Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath. Once he gets back to the city, he’ll forget all about this town and me. Greg did, and we lived five minutes from each other.”
“You can’t compare him to a past relationship, hon. Brent is his own person, with his own issues, but he’s not Greg.” Norma gave her a small smile and one final pat on the arm before scooting out of the booth and heading back to work.
Sam knew she was right. Brent wasn’t Greg, but it didn’t really matter. He was gone, and she needed to accept that, forget him, and get on with her life.
Chapter 11
“Tricia, what are you doing here?” The two had only dated for a month, but Brent realized it was two weeks too long when she blew up his phone with texts every morning and every night.
“I came to visit you, silly.” Tricia placed a perfectly manicured hand on his chest and smiled, batting eyes laden with eyeshadow and fake lashes. “Julia told me you were here, so I thought I’d come see if I could help.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” Brent tried to keep his tone light, but inside he seethed. He had informed Julia he needed alone time. Why would she tell Tricia of all people where to find him?
“Well, not willingly.” Tricia's too-full lips pushed into a mischievous pout. “I saw pictures of you at some small-town festival and figured Julia could tell me where you were.” Her pout turned into a frown. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me with you. Anyway, I only stretched the truth a little. I told her there was urgent news you needed to hear.”
Brent rolled his eyes. He’d have to perform damage control when he got back as there was no telling what lie Tricia had spun. Since gossip magazines rarely got information right anyway, he didn’t need them getting wrong information.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Her lips returned to a pout and she tilted her head to the side and batted her eyes.
Had he ever found this woman endearing? Or were her negative traits standing out because of the last few days with Sam. Down to earth Sam who didn’t need makeup and got ready in five minutes flat. Sam, who, in three days, had managed to steal his heart. Sam, who claimed she wanted to be friends, but acted otherwise. Why had he left? Better yet, why was he still here?
“You know what? You have to go.”
“What?” Her brow furrowed together as she placed hands akimbo on her hips.
“Yes. In fact,” — he grabbed his bag, shoving the laptop back inside — “I have to go too. I remembered that I left something back in Soda Spurs.”
“What is so important that you’d make me leave after just arriving?” Tricia's demeanor quickly shifted from fun and flirty to angry.
“My heart.” Brent flashed a quick smile and locked the door behind him.
“Your what?” She hollered after him as he passed her, leaving her standing on the porch. “Brent, you’re making a big mistake.”
Brent ignored her, climbed in the car, and fished out the receipt for Sam’s repair work. Though silly, it held the only connection to her besides the picture from the Cowboy shootout tucked in his bag. “I’m coming, Sam,” he whispered aloud, “and this time I’m not letting you push me away.”
Strapping his seatbelt, he backed out of the drive, waving at Tricia as he left.
When he hit the highway, his foot found the accelerator, and a smile crept across his face. He should never have left. He was inspired and he couldn’t remember being as content as he had been this last weekend.
As the scenery passed, he imagined what Sam might be doing. Surely, she had left for the day. Would she be at home reading her Bible? Or would she have returned to her old ways and be eating Norma’s non-home-cooked food?
Brent's gaze flicked to the left as a flash of light caught his attention. A car was barreling down the road at full speed. Though his foot slammed the brake, it was not fast enough, and the surprised expression of the other driver was the last image he saw before the car slammed into him and the world went dark.
Chapter 12
After paying the tab, Sam began the short walk home. The sun sat low on the horizon, and a chill floated on the air. A shiver fluttered down Sam’s spine, causing her to wish she had brought a light jacket before setting out. From within her pocket, her cell phone vibrated.
Sam glanced at the number as she pulled the phone out. It wasn’t familiar, but perhaps the call was a new customer. She just hoped it wasn’t another reporter. Did they even do that? Find cell numbers? She hoped not and bit her lip as she pressed the button.
“This is Sam Jenkins. How can I help you?”
The voice was clinical and professional. “Is this the Sam who owns Sam’s Repair in Soda Spurs?”
A foreboding feeling blanketed Sam and her feet halted. “Yes, that’s me.”
“This is Dr. King from St. Joseph’s. We are hoping you can assist us. Brent McKasson was in an accident and we are hoping to locate his next of kin, but yours was the only number found in his possessions.”
Icy fear flooded Sam’s veins. “Is he,” she swallowed, choking the emotion down, “Is he okay?”
“It’s too soon to tell.”
Sam's eyes closed, recalling their conversations over the last few days. They hadn’t spoken much about his personal life, but she thought he had mentioned his agent once in their discussion. Julia, she thought that had been the name he said. “I don’t know if he has any family, but he has an agent, Julia something, but I’m not sure where she works. Can I come visit him?”
“Of course, though he’s in the ICU. Your visiting times may be limited.”
“He’s in intensive care?” The words escaped as a whisper from her strangled throat.
“That’s all I know for now. Thank you for the information.”
The phone clicked. Without another thought, Sam jogged the rest of the way home, peeling off her clothes as she entered to change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. She wanted to be comfortable in case she faced a long wait.
Sam opened a backpack and shoved in a blanket, a travel pillow, and her hairbrush, toothbrush, and deodorant. With no idea if Brent had family or if Julia would come, she prepared for a lengthy stay. No way she was letting Brent wake up with no one there or worse with reporters if they caught wind of his accident.
After grabbing her wallet, she slung the bag over her shoulder and hurried out to the truck. When the engine roared to life, her foot pressed the pedal. Thankful that the way to St. Joseph’s was a straight shot, she focused on prayers.
“Lord, I don’t know why you brought Brent into my life, but please be with him now. Heal him if it is your will and help me to be okay with whatever happens.”
There were plenty of open spaces in the parking lot at the hospital, and Sam snagged one close to the main entrance. Before opening the truck door, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Though she wanted God’s will to be done, a large part of her wanted God to heal him. She didn’t know how it would work, but she had been a fool not to tell him how she felt. With a heavy sigh, she exited the truck and forced her feet up the sidewalk to the main door.
The doors emitted a small whooshing sound as they slid open to allow entrance. She stepped into the lobby of the hospital, and the mood shifted. Goosebumps erupted on her skin as she scanned the area for someone in charge.
A solitary nurse sat at the check in desk while a few people waited in the chairs around the lobby.
“Hi, I was wondering if there was any news on Brent McKasson? I’m Sam Jenkins. They called me.”
The nurse, a petite blonde with her hair pulled back, looked up from the computer. “Hm, let me check.” She tapped on the keyboard. “Mr. McKasson came in after an automobile accident. He’s in ICU and visiting hours are over for the night.”
Sam forced a small smile though her heart had dropped to the floor. “That’s okay. I'll stay if it
's allowed. Will you please tell me if there’s any update?”
The nurse nodded before turning back to the computer.
Turning to scan the options, Sam spied a small couch near the back of the lobby. It wasn’t her bed, but it would be much more comfortable than a chair.
She took the pillow out of the bag and curled up on the small couch, glad she had remembered her jacket before leaving. The cool air sent a shiver down her legs, but she curled up and closed her eyes.
Sam stretched and checked the time. It was almost seven a.m. How had she slept so long on the uncomfortable couch? As she lifted her arms, her shoulders screamed their hatred at her, and her neck made an audible creaking noise with each roll of her head.
A commotion at the front desk grabbed her attention as she stood to work out the rest of the kinks.
“What do you mean I can’t see him? I’m his agent. It is imperative I see him at once.” A brunette woman with a tight bun stood at the front desk, hands splayed across the top. Her pinstripe suit screamed “designer,” and Sam crept a little closer, curious if this was Julia.
“Visiting hours don’t start for another hour. You can enter then, but not until.” The nurse this morning was a stocky brunette who obviously worked out.
Sam intervened. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. Are you here for Brent McKasson?”
The woman crossed her arms and shot a narrowed gaze at Sam. “I am. Who are you?”
“Sam Jenkins.” She held out her hand. “I fixed his car and spent the weekend with him.”
“Julia Adams.” Her hand was soft with an immaculate French manicure topping her fingernails, but her eyes were cold and wary as she looked Sam up and down. “You don’t look like his usual type.”
A Brush with a Billionaire Page 7
