A Better Father (Harlequin Super Romance) (2 page)

In their years together, first as campers, then counselors, Sam
had seen Libby in tight jeans, short shorts and a bathing suit that made his
mouth go dry. On one memorable night he’d seen her clad in nothing but
starlight. So how could he still be amazed at the way the simple swirl of a
skirt turned her legs into an invitation?

“Libby.” His voice stuck somewhere between his throat and his
mouth, so he coughed and tried once more. “Hello, Libby. It’s been a long
time.”

“Hasn’t it, though?” She pulled her hand away from his.

Damn. He thought he’d let go about three or four heart-thuds
ago.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” She shot an
unreadable look at Myra as he lowered himself onto a battered orange plaid sofa.
“Just passing through?”

Her
I hope
was unspoken but most
definitely not unheard.

He glanced at Myra for the assist. This was her cue. But Myra
avoided his gaze while seating herself at her desk, leaving him gripping the
arms of the sofa and readying himself to say the words.

When Sam had first looked into the camp a couple months back,
he’d been astonished to find Libby listed as the assistant director. That hadn’t
been her plan. Last time he saw her, she’d been days away from heading off to
university, to teaching, to a life beyond the small tourist town of Comeback
Cove. Even though he knew that life had thrown a curve into those plans, he had
never imagined that the curve was really a circle leading her back to camp.

But once he got past the
hope she’s
okay
stage, it had been a no-brainer to imagine how she would react
to his appearance. And once she learned the reason why he was back, well...

He shuddered.

Live the goal.

“Actually, I—”

“Oh, my goodness.” Myra placed a hand to her heart, her tone
far too bright to be spontaneous. “Where are my manners? Sam, would you like
something to drink? Coffee, tea, hot cocoa?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Good as a drink might be, he doubted that
Myra stocked whiskey in the camp office.

“Well.” She folded her hands together again and risked another
beseeching kind of look at Libby, who had perched on the edge of a chair as if
ready to bolt at any moment. “Have you had a chance to look around, Sam? There
have been many changes since you were last here.”

Twelve years would do that to a place. A person, too, he
thought, assessing the wary cast to Libby’s posture.

“We have year-round programming now, thanks to Libby’s efforts.
We’ve added more cabins and expanded the dining hall and enclosed the craft
building. Libby overhauled our curriculum and rewrote the staff and parent
handbooks, and just last year she added an orienteering piece to the—”

“Myra,” Libby cut in, “I’m sure Sam doesn’t need to hear that.
After all, he’s just here for a trip down memory lane, right?” The look she
leveled at him was half daring, half desperation.
“Right?”

He could curse in six languages but as far as he could tell,
none of the words were adequate for what he was feeling at that moment. He took
a second to breathe, slowing his heart in preparation for the hell that was
about to be unleashed, when Myra finally decided to do the right thing.

“Libby. Dear. Sam’s not passing through,” she said with a heavy
sigh. “He’s come to buy the camp.”

CHAPTER TWO

Y
EARS
AGO
,
Libby had gone on a
space shuttle simulator ride at the fair. She would never forget the pressure
during the mock liftoff, the sensation that there was an invisible elephant
squashing her chest.

But compared to the impact of Myra’s words, that make-believe
elephant felt more like a Chihuahua. “You can’t be serious.” She could scarcely
get the words out past the breath she was holding. The camp was hers. It was
more than her job. It was her safety, her security, her
home.
It was hers, dammit, hers by virtue of the hours and the
thought and the work and the love she’d poured into it over the years.

It was hers. It couldn’t go to anyone else. Especially not Sam
Catalano. She would not, could not let him take it away. Not from Myra, and not
from her.

Sam leaned forward, earnestness practically radiating from his
rounded shoulders and clasped hands. “I’ve never been more serious in my
life.”

It was a good thing she knew better than to be suckered in by
his act.

“You. Really? As serious as you were about—” She clamped her
mouth shut just in time, glancing at Myra. Libby had no illusions. Of course
Myra knew that for one lusty summer a dozen years ago, Libby and Sam had been an
item. The whole camp had known. But Myra didn’t need to know that Sam had then
gone on to break her heart.

Nor did she intend to give Sam the satisfaction of knowing how
completely he’d turned her world inside out.

“Now, then.” Myra’s deceptively soft words cut into her mental
meanderings. “Before you start to panic, Libby, dear—”

“I’m not panicking.” Furious, lost and breathless, but
absolutely not panicked. She’d dealt with worse than this in her thirty years.
There would be no panic needed or allowed.

Murder, however—that was another option altogether.

Myra slipped lower in her chair and spread her hands across the
stained and wrinkled desk blotter. “You know about the situation with my
sister,” she said softly. “Alzheimer’s is...well. Esther is going to need a lot
of care. Expensive care. She doesn’t have many resources, and since I want to be
with her anyway...” Her voice faltered. “I’m so sorry, Libby. I know this is a
shock, and I meant to handle this better. It’s...well...things change.”

So this was why Myra had been so reflective and nostalgic.
Libby remembered her fleeting thought that Myra was planning to hand the camp
over to her and winced.

As if reading her mind, Myra looked at her with regret. “Please
understand, Libby. I know I promised you that—”

“Don’t even think of it.”
And please,
please don’t let Sam know that he’s just stolen yet another of my
dreams.
She swallowed the tears clogging her throat and reached
across the desk to squeeze Myra’s hands, wishing she could ease their shaking
with her touch. “I’m so sorry. Of course you have to do this. She’s your
family.”

“She’s all I have. Except you, of course.”

Rule number one: no one else is ever going
to put you first.

Myra blinked and forced a smile. “When Sam called to ask if I
would ever consider selling, well, it seemed like an answer to my prayers.”

Much as she wanted to believe the Almighty had listened to
Myra, Libby had a hard time believing that prayers could ever be answered
through a newly retired hockey player currently riding a wave of popularity due
to a stint as a naughty rogue in a series of body-wash commercials.

Okay. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was too raw to be
rational at the moment. But Libby didn’t trust Sam Catalano, and not just
because he’d loved her and left her without a word of explanation. She had facts
on her side. Widely reported facts, such as the string of starlets he’d dated
and discarded during his NHL years. Or the undeniable fact that he had stuck
with college just long enough to land a pro contract, turning his back on the
degree she had fought so hard to obtain. Or the highly disconcerting fact that
he’d walked away from his contract and his team the minute their season ended
just last month, for nothing more substantial than
personal
reasons.

Not that she had learned any of this on her own, of course. Sam
had grown up just a half hour from Comeback Cove, so the local papers always
treated his every breath as headline news. But there was no denying that the man
had a lousy history when it came to following through on his commitments.

Overreacting, hell. The more she thought about it, the more she
felt she owed too much to Myra, had given too much of her own heart to the camp,
to let someone with Sam’s track record get his unreliable hands on it.

“Myra,” she said softly, “I know this might feel like your only
option right now, but are you sure there’s no other way? Maybe if you waited a
bit...”

“Prospective buyers don’t grow on trees, Libby. Perhaps, if
Esther didn’t— Well, that’s neither here nor there, is it?”

Libby closed her eyes and tried to focus all her energy as a
shield against the hunk of testosterone lounging far too casually on the sofa.
She longed to ask him to leave so she could talk to Myra in private. She needed
a minute to breathe, to pull herself together, to quell the little voice
shouting
Not fair!
and focus on saving the
situation.

On the other hand, what could she lose by letting him hear her
concerns? The situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Myra, I have to be honest. You’ve always said Overlook is
special because everyone involved is so committed to it. Do you think that’s
going to stay the same with an owner who is probably planning to be here
part-time, if that?”

She felt like a heel, adding to Myra’s worries, but the woman
needed to have all the facts before she could make an informed decision.

A frown creased Myra’s forehead, but Sam was the one who
spoke.

“Not part-time,” he said. “Full-time. No more hockey, no more
commercials, no more publicity except for charity work. As much as possible, I’m
going to be Joe Average.”

It must have been the trace of regret in his voice that made it
impossible to believe him. Libby couldn’t stop herself. She snorted.

Sam gave her a hard glance. “What?”

“Come on, Sam. Do you honestly expect anyone with half a brain
to believe you can walk away from the money and the fans and the endorsement
deals to live in the boonies and run a camp?”

He opened his mouth, but she rushed on before he could speak.
“No. Wait. Wrong question. I do believe you can do that. After all, you’ve
already taken the first step.” She glared at him through narrowed eyes. “But for
how long?”

Myra uttered a soft, “Oh, my.”

“I’m here for good.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

No explanation. No justification. No discussion.

And there was no way she was buying it.

“Your actions have been pretty well documented around here,
Sam. When you walked away from your team with no explanation, well, you were the
top news for a week.” She ran clammy hands over the gauzy folds of her
elastic-waisted Emergency Bloat skirt and cursed whatever hand of fate that had
delivered Sam Catalano and PMS on the same day. “I don’t recall hearing anything
that lets me believe you have what it takes to make a lasting commitment.”

Myra’s lips pursed. So she hadn’t been aware of Sam’s track
record. But being the fair-to-a-fault woman she was, she immediately turned to
Sam.

“Is there something I should know?” she asked quietly.

Libby held her breath.

The sudden lines around Sam’s mouth and the almost-silent tap
of his finger against the arm of his chair were the only indicators of whatever
internal debate he might be conducting. When he nodded, it was more of a jerk
than an acknowledgment.

“Yes. I’ll explain.” He focused on Myra. “To you. And only
you.”

Heat flashed through Libby, pulling her out of her chair. “Hang
on. This was my question. My concern.”

“But it’s not your property,” he said, and the impact of his
quietly even words almost pushed her back down. As it was, she had to clamp her
mouth tight to keep him from seeing precisely how wrong he was. He might have
the money to buy the camp, but it belonged to
her.

“Libby.” Myra’s hands fluttered through the air like runaway
thoughts before she clasped them together and set them in her lap. She closed
her eyes for a moment, sighed, then looked Libby in the eye.

“This isn’t how I would prefer to handle this,” she said. “You
know that you are much more than an employee.”

Libby forced herself to nod.

“But if this is truly something I should know, and if this is
the only way Sam will disclose the information...”

“Yes.” Sam stood to face Libby. He looked past her—out the
window, she presumed, to the river that was always there, always wearing down
the rocks—then blinked and made her the center of his focus once again.

“Yes,” he said again, gentler this time, almost regretfully,
but there was no mistaking the resolve beneath the word. “This is strictly
between us.”

By “us,” Libby knew he did not mean him and her.

“Fine.” She grabbed her clipboard and headed for the door. “I
guess I’ll step outside. Because when
I
start
something, I’m willing to do whatever is needed to see it through.”

* * *

T
EN
MINUTES
LATER
, Sam crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “So there you
have it.”

“Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry. Although...”

“Let me guess. You can’t understand why I don’t want Libby to
find out.” He shoved his hand into his pocket and rubbed Casey’s stone between
his fingers. “You know there’s history between us.”

She didn’t ask him to expand. Not out loud. The way she folded
her hands in her lap and kept her gaze steady on him was question enough.

“Things didn’t end well,” he said at last. “All my fault. But I
feel... I think she’s had enough to absorb for one day. I don’t want to, you
know. Rub things in her face.”

“You mean, because you have a child and she doesn’t? You do
realize that Libby spends a good deal of her life tending to other people’s
children.”

He grinned at her undeniable point. “But it’s more than that in
this case. She’s sunk her life into this place. Having me waltz in and take it
over has to hurt. She doesn’t need to know that I’m doing it because I’m
building a new life with my kid, especially since she’s probably out there
writing her letter of resignation as we speak.”

“Fair enough.” Myra considered him for a moment, then nodded
and leaned back in her chair. “We haven’t discussed her role thus far, but to be
blunt, Libby is the sole reason this camp is doing as well as it is. In fact,
you’re going to need her to stay on if you want to stay in compliance with our
policies this summer.”

He couldn’t keep the laughter inside. “You’re joking,
right?”

“No, I’m not. Because, of the two of you, she is the one with
the education and experience to meet the guidelines for the position of camp
director. She might not be happy with you, Sam, but she loves this camp too much
to do anything that would be detrimental to its continued operation.”

“Whoa. Time-out.” He made a T with his hands, then leaned
forward. “Are you saying I need to keep her on for the whole summer?”

“No, not necessarily. If you can find someone else with
twenty-four weeks of supervisory experience and an appropriate degree, who isn’t
already committed to another camp, well, then, of course you could let her go
with a generous severance package. But considering it’s already June, I would
say you don’t have much hope of that.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of her.” At least, not officially.
“Heck, she’s been here this long, she’s earned the right to stay as long as she
wants. But...” His words trailed away as he imagined juggling a new job, a new
role as single parent, a custody suit and Libby, all at the same time.

Live the goal.

Myra’s voice cut through his sudden disorientation. “I know it
will be awkward, what with your history and all. But the time will pass faster
than you realize. Once camp ends and the facilities are used for retreats and
such, well, even you are qualified to run those.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But I want your word that Libby will have a job here as long
as she wants one.”

Myra was absolutely right to look out for Libby’s best
interests. But it was obvious from the reception he’d received that Libby bore
him even less goodwill than he’d anticipated. Totally deserved. Totally
understandable. Totally terrifying.

“Myra, I’m not sure—”

“Your word, Samuel.”

Ah, crap. She’d played the Samuel card. He sighed, knowing from
long-repressed experience that once she started in with the full names, there’d
be no backing down. He would just have to find a way to skate around this.

Did he want Libby to stay? No. He was juggling enough already
without adding a resentful assistant to the mix. But he needed to play this
carefully, to find a way to either get back in her semigood graces or have her
decide on her own to leave before life could become any more complicated.

At the moment, though, he needed to move forward with his
deal.

“You have my word.” He extended his hand. Her gaze skittered
from his palm to his face, no doubt taking his measure. He refused to blush or
look away. At last she accepted his offer with a quick shake.

“Fine, then,” she said. “Be a dear and call Libby in, would
you, please?”

There was no logical reason why those simple words should have
him worrying again, but he’d learned long ago that intuition was often a great
substitute for logic. As he walked to the door and called to Libby, he did a
quick mental run-through of everything he had said or done since entering the
office. Nothing made him want to slap himself on the forehead, so he was
probably fine.