A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel (3 page)

She’d done more than sit with him. She’d stuck by him at a time when most people shied away, tolerating his vile moods and letting his caustic words roll off her shoulders with a wisdom that had belied her youth. They’d been an odd duo for sure, the sixteen-year-old boy and a girl of eleven. Time would tell if his Rosie still existed within the distracting outer shell she’d developed.

Whoa
. His Rosie?

Since when had he started thinking of her like that?

CHAPTER TWO

R
osie unlocked the door and handed the key to Sam. He was being his usual charming self. No need getting all flustered thinking he’d been flirting with her. Why would he? The man was attracted to twig women. More likely he was as nervous as she was about the weird friends-but-strangers thing. It was disconcerting, feeling so distant from someone you once knew well.

He slipped the key into his pocket and stood Lorelei on the floor. “Looks nice. Do we get the grand tour?”

“Right this way.” Rosie led them through the small apartment, which consisted of five rooms and a hallway. Just as she completed the short tour, J.T. came through the front door, his sandy blond hair shorter than she’d seen it in awhile.

“Hey, man. You finally gettin’ back to God’s country?” he asked.

Sam laughed, and they slapped each other’s backs with hearty enthusiasm. “Thanks for your advice on the move. The apartment is perfect, and Rosie tells me there’s even a park nearby. I owe you one.”

“That’s easy. Keep the books coming.”

“Ah, yes. My agent’s favorite comeback. I’ll be playing catch-up for a couple weeks yet.”

Rosie excused herself. They could muddle through the reunion without her. She went through the connecting door and upstairs to transform her hair from a low braid to a high inverted ponytail. There. Much better. More practical. Now it wouldn’t be flopping over her shoulder or swinging wildly while she worked.

That the style looked perky rather than dowdy had nothing to do with . . . anything.

When she returned to the apartment, a small stack of haphazardly labeled boxes had been placed in each room. Sam had settled Lorelei in a large playpen in the living room with a few picture books and toys. The child’s dark gaze swung Rosie’s way, watching her as she passed through the room.

She could see Jasmine’s looks in the little girl’s dusky skin and large eyes, but none of her features stood out as replicas of Sam’s. Right now those eyes regarded her with sober deliberation as if Lorelei couldn’t decide whether she wanted Rosie any closer or not.

Ditto, kid
.

Rosie tackled the child’s room first, figuring she’d need a nap soon. Sam or J.T. popped in occasionally to drop off another box and spent a good half-hour putting the crib together. From several boxes marked “L’s room,” she unpacked books, toys, and dozens of small outfits still on their hangers. She shook them and hung them in the closet. The last box was slightly larger than the others and bulky.

She pushed it into the small walk-in and pulled the tape off. How many clothes did one toddler need? Folding back the flaps, she stared at the tiny pink garments it contained.

Lorelei wouldn’t be wearing these again. They must be meant for storage. With shaky hands, she replaced the flaps without touching the contents, but the powdery, clean baby scent that lingered on them reached her nose. Remembered pain—a phantom from the past—speared through her abdomen, weakening her knees.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. Unbidden images assaulted her, of a child she would never hold, the feelings as fresh and anguished as if it had been yesterday. Tears rushed to the surface. Oh, God. She had to get out of here.

Rosie stepped backwards from the closet and into a hard wall of bone and muscle. “Oomph!”

She turned too quickly and stumbled.

Sam grabbed her upper arms to steady them both. “You okay?”

Nodding, she stared into his concerned gaze.

“You’re crying.”

“No. No, I’m not. It’s . . . dust from the boxes. Must’ve gotten some in my eyes.” His gaze flicked to her upper arms, his concern turning to mild alarm.

Gradually, she tamped down the pain, becoming aware she’d raised her arms in a defensive gesture, and the backs of his thumbs were pillowed against the outside of her breasts. Her nipples pebbled, yet he appeared more embarrassed than she.

“I’m fine.” She whispered, her mouth desert-dry, pulse rapid. Slowly, she raised her elbows out to the side. Sam took a quick step back, releasing her and his breath.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his gaze darting about the room. “You’ve gotten a lot done in here. Thanks.”

“Did you want me?”

“What?” Sam’s incredulous tone wasn’t exactly flattering.

“I mean, you . . . you came in here. You must’ve had a reason.” They were back to staring, and Rosie could feel the heat in her face. She’d never been able to hide a blush on her fair skin.

“Right.” He broke eye contact and swiped a hand across the back of his neck. “J.T. said he’s going to raid your fridge for lunch. I thought you might be ready for a break, too.”

“Good idea. I’ll be right there.” Between that last box and their collision, she needed a moment to collect herself.

Sam reached the doorway before he stopped and looked back. “If I haven’t said it before, thanks for . . . all this. It means a lot that you’d take time away from your business to help me get moved in. Now I can get back to writing and make my deadlines. It’s more than I expected.”

The normalcy of that statement brought their situation into focus. He was trying to bridge the awkwardness between them. The least she could do was meet him halfway.

“I don’t know why. Friends help each other.”

“Well, it means a lot. If it weren’t for all this, I’d lose more writing time, which would mean sixteen hour workdays in my future.”

“Can’t have that. Lorelei needs your attention, too.”

“True, but I’ve imposed on you too much already. You’re not expected to feed us too. I’ll run into town and grab us all some burgers.”

Rosie adopted a look of mock horror. “And have it spread around that I don’t take care of my guests?” She stepped past him, dismissing the idea.

“I’d forgotten about the Busy Biddy Brigade. Still meddling, are they?” He referred to the label he and her brothers had given his grandmother’s peers years ago. No matter where the boys went or what they did, they hadn’t been able to hide anything from her eagle-eyed friends.

“Some things never change.”

“I’ll take them any day over reporters dogging our steps.”

Reporters
? How naïve of her not to realize such things had become a part of his life. It made sense they’d shadow a well-known author and his celebrity wife—especially in a high-profile city. No wonder he’d returned to his roots.

“Let’s go see if J.T. saved us any leftover roast beef. I could use a sandwich.”

Sam groaned. “Homemade? The way your mom used to make it?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“My stomach will think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said as they crossed from his small combination kitchenette and dining room into her much larger eat-in kitchen.

“A short trip from God’s country,” J.T. wisecracked before digging into a mammoth sandwich.

“Don’t tell me you can’t get roast beef in New York.”

“Oh, you can get anything you want.” Sam hesitated. “But somehow it never tasted the same.”

With J.T.’s mouth full, the conversational ball was back in her court, but Rosie couldn’t think of a proper response. She surveyed the room. “Where’s Lorelei?”

“Playpen. She’s sleepin’,” J.T. offered between bites with a hitch of his chin toward Sam’s apartment.

She noticed Sam had left the adjoining door open between his half of the downstairs and hers. “Should we wake her to eat?”

“I gave her a snack earlier. She’s fine. Sit. Relax. J.T., back away from that roast.”

Rosie washed her hands and eased into a chair, smiling at the nostalgic bickering that ensued while she quickly slapped together a thick sandwich with mayo and sharp cheddar on wheat and slid the paper plate across the table.

Sam stared at the offering, his lips parted.

“What’s wrong?” Had his preferences changed?

“Nothing. It’s just that . . . no one’s done things for me like this since Gran died.” He shook his head, obviously pleased. “I can’t believe you remembered. After all this time.”

His gaze caught hers and lingered.

Silence filled the room, broken only by ice falling into the bin inside her freezer.

“Is there something going on here, I should know about?” J.T.’s gaze swung back and forth between them.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rosie shot back at him and turned her attention to making her own sandwich. “Haven’t you ever heard of hospitality? Just because you’re rude enough to serve yourself before a guest doesn’t mean I have to follow suit, big brother. Today Sam is a guest, tomorrow a tenant . . . as well as a friend.”

J.T. quirked a brow and kept eating.

Jeezus Pete. What had driven her to tack on that last bit?

* * *

H
ours later, Sam sat in the near-darkness, listening to crickets and cicadas filling the night air with a relentless buzz. In the distance a Bard owl made his usual hooting queries of “Who-cooks-for-you? Who-cooks-for-you-all?” with startling regularity.

He swung his bare feet onto the chaise and eased back into the cushion. Dog-tired but too restless to sleep, he sought quiet solitude in which to unwind, but had forgotten how noisy rural areas could be. Oddly enough, though, the nonthreatening racket was leaching the day’s tension from his body.

The porch floor creaked, alerting him he was no longer alone.

“Listening to nature’s concert?” Rosie asked, easing into a twin chaise. The scent of a flowery soap, citrus and mint mixed with the earthy night as she took a deep breath and exhaled. His body stirred to life.

“I’d forgotten we called it that.” His awareness of her was bordering on ridiculous when just the scent of her turned him on. Unable to resist any longer, he chanced a look in her direction. “We were way off the mark. It’s more like the tuning-up session.”

She smiled at his response. With her fresh-scrubbed face upturned, head against the cushion and eyes closed, she appeared ethereal in the moonlight. The crew neck of her nightshirt showed between the overlapped lapels of a pink and white seersucker robe. Tied securely around a nipped-in waist, the robe’s hem stopped just above the knees of her shapely legs.

He’d be willing to bet she didn’t cover that much when he wasn’t around. It was too hot for it. Even in shorts and a tee, he still felt the heat.

Her hair, still damp from a recent shower, flowed over her shoulders, spilling across high, generous breasts. There was nothing overtly sexy about her position or her attire, but she stirred his desire all the same.

My God. J.T. and Travis would kill him if they could see him giving their mature little sister the once-over, his body reacting.

Not good.

He shifted, raising the knee closest to Rosie. No need advertising his response to her. He averted his gaze, focusing on fireflies floating across the backyard.

Appearing.

Disappearing.

Like his resolve.

He’d forgotten about the seemingly magical insects putting on a show. Someday soon he’d catch a few in a jar and show Lorelei. She’d like that. Though he no longer believed in magic, whether it be bug related or the kind of old-fashioned and enduring love his grandparents had known, he did enjoy seeing the wonder in his daughter’s eyes.

He had to do whatever was necessary to protect her, to keep her innocence alive as long as he could. Even if it meant relinquishing his freedom and being celibate for a while longer.

Logic. That’s what he needed. Cool, clear logic. And work. Lord knew, he had plenty of it to keep him busy between the two proposals due soon and the screenplay Hollywood was waiting on, based on his best-seller from two years ago.

“You as tired as I am?” Rosie’s soft voice held more drawl than usual.

“Probably. But this is nice.”

“It is. I love it out here this time of night. It’s warm, but not unbearably hot like during the day.” She stretched her arms high overhead before covering a yawn. “It’s getting late, though. We should go to bed.”

“Now that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time,” he said, mimicking her drawl perfectly. After the direction his mind and body had taken earlier, the response came automatically.

“Sam!” She pushed to her feet. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He grinned, enjoying her look of righteous indignation and the cute way her nose crinkled. Who knew the snaggletoothed little girl who’d annoyed him, J.T. and Travis during their junior high years would turn out to be so pretty and . . . hot.

He eased off the lounger and stood beside her in the near darkness. “How about you let us treat you to dinner tomorrow night, as thanks for today.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Say yes.” Surely by tomorrow night he’d have his libido under control.

“All ri— Oh, shoot, I just remembered. I can’t. I have a date.”

Of course she did. He hid the twinge of disappointment. Rosie was attractive and single. She wouldn’t be available at a moment’s notice, regardless of what Sara had said. Whatever he was thinking with, it wasn’t his brain.