All-American Girl (18 page)

“So that’s it?” Jenny stuffed the last of her belongings into her bag and looked at Samantha. “Lance didn’t say all those nasty things when you were younger? He wanted you? And still wants you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Samantha bit her bottom lip. Hearing Jenny sum it up like that made it sound so much simpler. “Basically, but I don’t know if he’s telling the truth.”

“Why would he lie about it?”

She groaned. “He wouldn’t. I know that. I just need to hear it from Cole, but I can’t go running to him and ask.” Samantha sank down on the bed next to the luggage. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m in no position to get involved with anyone—”

“No matter how much they make you throb between the thighs?” Jenny asked with a suggestive smile.

Samantha smacked Jenny’s leg playfully. “No, it’s not worth it. You know my track record with men. Plus, I’ve got enough stuff going on. A man would screw it all up.”

“And might hurt you.”

“That’s what I am afraid of. Ryan left me as damaged goods, and since he won’t let me see Ava, it hurts that much more. I can’t go through anything like that again.”

Jenny gave Samantha a hug. Samantha didn’t pull away, didn’t really feel the urge to coil and spring like she used to. The hug was warm, thoughtful, and nice. A new feeling settled in Samantha’s chest: comfort.

Her heart had been black, not caring about anyone or anything. That was changing; she could feel it. It was painful and reassuring at the same time to know that she did have a heart and could share it.

Without even thinking, she wrapped her arms around Jenny and held on tight. Jenny suddenly let out a sniffle, crying. Startled, Samantha pulled away. “What’s wrong?”

Jenny shook her head and wiped her tears away. “Nothing. It’s just you’ve changed, Samantha. You’re turning into that girl I used to know. The one who cares.”

“Stop.” Samantha didn’t want to hear this. It would make her more emotional and uneasy about everything.

“You’re turning back into the girl I haven’t seen for a while.” Jenny smiled brightly. “I’ve missed her. I’ve missed
you
.”

The tears came before Samantha could stop them. It felt good to let her happy emotions out, and even better to feel something other than anger. Now if she could just hold onto it and let it sprout, she could be the old Samantha.

“I’ve missed me, too,” Samantha said quietly. “Thank you for not giving up on me. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

“Well, you’ve still got a long way to go, but I’ll be here for you. Always.”

“I know. But it feels good to have gotten this far.”

Jenny’s thin brow shot up. “Now, about Lance.”

Oh. Him.
How much of this new, giddy feeling was caused by him? More than Samantha wanted to admit.

“Jenny, you know—”

“Yes, I know you’ve been hurt in the past. I know the pain you harbor from Ryan.” Jenny stroked Samantha’s arm. “But you can’t hide in that shell forever,
Sam.
”

“Don’t call me Sam. Please.”

“Why don’t you like that name?”

“Because it makes me sound like a boy.”

“Ah.” Jenny’s expression softened.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I think I see the picture, now.”

Samantha scrunched her nose. “What picture?”

“I wouldn’t have the fun of watching you figure it out if I told you.”

“Told me what?”

Jenny looked at her watch. “I’ve got to run. Long drive and all.” She grabbed her bag and headed to toward the door.

“Wait,” Samantha called out. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that. What do you know that I don’t know?”

Jenny laughed. “Like I said, you need to figure it out.”

They walked to the front door, Samantha prodding Jenny all the way. She really did hate being the last person to know something. They shared another hug, and Samantha recognized the torn feeling in her chest. She didn’t want her friend to leave. “I’ll miss you,” she said.

“You’ll be back home before you know it. Then we can get back to the fun things we always used to do. Okay?”

Samantha nodded, not wanting to wait for those days. “Bye,” they said in unison.

After the door clicked shut behind Jenny, Samantha slowly turned around and pressed her back to it. She wanted to get back to her old, carefree life, but before she could do that, she had to fix her life here with Gram, her brother, and Lance. Since she had no idea what to do about Lance, she pushed that thought aside for now. Turning to the living room, she saw her laptop on the coffee table. With this new, relaxed and cheerful feeling inside her, she had the sudden urge to sit down and pound a few hours away at the keyboard. Her unfinished story,
Aspen Rain,
clicked on in her head and she almost couldn’t make it to the laptop fast enough. She had an idea and couldn’t wait to start typing it out.

“Conscience is the mirror of our souls, which represents
the errors of our lives in their full shape.”
~George Bancroft

F
ROM
T
HE
K
ITCHEN
, Lance had watched Samantha and Jenny pad down the stairs to the front door and say goodbye. After her friend had left, Samantha had worn a glowing smile and wistful expression that made his heart clench and, unfortunately, made the uncomfortable tightness between his thighs return. He loved seeing Samantha happy.

She’d looked just as beautiful as she had the night before, even without the makeup and dress.

He hadn’t slept well the night before, either. The sound of her moan had replayed in his head and kept him awake. He couldn’t help but remember the soft movement of her body beneath him. They’d been so close that it’d taken every ounce of will to leave her so breathless and flushed after they were interrupted. He’d had half a mind to drag her up to her room and finish what they started. He wondered how much that would have affected their already uneasy relationship.

Hell, he didn’t know. She’d wanted it though, just as much as he had. He’d seen the longing in her eyes and heard the way she breathed his name. Felt the way her body curved so perfectly around his.

Damn. He stood and readjusted his jeans as he measured the top of the kitchen island. She didn’t yet trust him, and he hated that he didn’t trust himself. After what Jax’s mother had done, he wasn’t sure he could ever risk his heart again. But he continued to watch her as she hammered away at the keyboard in the living room, perched comfortably on the couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table, and he wondered if he could change that. Samantha had been the only woman who made him feel like he was perpetually eighteen. She was the only one who’d taken his breath away. Only her hands could make him shiver and beg for more.

He blew out a disgruntled breath and snapped the tape measure back into its casing. He needed to get a grip. As much as he wanted her, she had things to work out first, just as he did.

He shook his head and spared Sam another glance. She looked deep in thought, huddled over her laptop. Her face twitched and she smiled, but a few moments later it scrunched up tight as she scowled. Then she laughed. The ethereal sound sucked him right in.

He focused more intently. Her eyes never left the screen, but her face flashed a million different emotions while she was concentrating. Fear. Anger. Surprise. Happiness. It looked like she was on a roller coaster ride and couldn’t settle on any one emotion. Whatever she was doing—the clicking of the keys, the swift changes in facial expressions—it was magic to him.

When she twisted in her seat and readjusted, the smirk on her face made him chuckle. Her head snapped up, curious eyes gleaming over the laptop screen. She looked like a rabbit coming out of its hole. He laughed again.

“What’s so funny?”

He continued to laugh, amused at her concentration and how easily it could be broken. “Nothing,” he replied.

She pushed the laptop to the side and crossed her arms. “I doubt that.”

“No…no, I was just amazed at how your face looks when you’re doing whatever you’re doing over there.”

“Oh.”

Her hand came to her face as she blushed. The pink in her cheeks once again reminded Lance of the night before. He tried to focus on measuring the cabinets but curiosity got the best of him. “What were you doing?”

She scrunched her face. “I’m writing.
Trying
to anyway.”

“No, what are you doing with your face?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When you were typing, your expression changed every few seconds.”

“Oh.” She gave a half-smile. “Well, when I write, I’m in the head of several characters at different times. I guess my face reacts to what I’m typing. One character might be happy and the next one might be angry.” She blushed again. “I guess you’re seeing their expressions on my face. I didn’t realize I did that.”

“It looks exhausting.”

Her arms stretched out, and she rolled her shoulders. Lance had the sudden urge to rub any knots out for her. His hands twitched at the mere thought of touching her again.

“It can be tiring,” she replied. “Not the expressions, but the writing. It sometimes wears out my brain.”

“Maybe you should take a break.” He looked around the barren kitchen. “I can go get you some coffee or something.”

“That’s okay. Thanks, though. I think I’ll go take a shower, loosen up my shoulders, and then get back to work.” A bright smile lit up her entire face. “I’ve got the ball rolling on this story and I don’t want to lose momentum.”

“I’m sorry about what happened with your brother last night, Sam. But I want you to know I enjoyed the time I spent with you.” The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. When he looked at her, he saw a brand new shade of red in her cheeks. She put the laptop back on her lap, almost as if she was using it as a shield.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He rose and leaned against the counter. “Why?”

Her fingers clicked furiously at the keys. “Because I haven’t worked out what happened between us yet.”

“What?”

She shook her head and pounded harder on the keys. “Cole.”

“I was telling you the truth.”

“I never said you weren’t. But that’s something I need to hear from the horse’s mouth.”

“I understand. But…” When he walked toward her, she bunched herself in a tight ball, clutching to her laptop. “Listen, Sam. I know we have a lot of stuff to work through so, uh, why don’t we just, uh, date?”

Her head jerked up. “What?”

“Date.”

Her eyes combed over his face. She threw her head back and laughed hysterically.

His jaw muscles tightened. “Why is that funny?”

She stopped laughing and gaped at his grim expression. “Oh, you’re serious.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, I thought—”

The front door burst open. Cole stumbled in and collapsed on the woven rug. Samantha threw her laptop on the couch and ran to his side. From the looks of it, Cole was worse off than the night before—far worse. Lance ground his teeth as he knelt down beside Samantha.

“Cole,” Samantha said, voice shaking.

Her brother was face down, limbs sprawled awkwardly. Her hands trembled when she tugged his shoulder. He didn’t move.

“Cole,” Lance called out as he flipped Cole on to his back. “
Cole
.” Lance dipped his head and put his ear to Cole’s chest. His breathing was shallow, skin pale and cold to the touch. “Call 9-1-1, Sam. Now.”

She didn’t argue. Lance held Cole’s head, hopefully making it easier for him to breathe. He’d seen people like this before, his stepfather to be exact. Lance should’ve known something was wrong when he went to check on Cole that morning. There’d been no answer at his door, but the porch had been littered with empty bottles. And Cole had retrieved his car. Lance figured he’d hotwired it or something. It, too, had been filled with bottles.

Samantha stumbled back into the foyer, trembling. Her hair had fallen from its ponytail, and auburn wisps stuck to her tear-lined face. There were no words that would soothe her. Lance’s only fear was that Cole wouldn’t make it to the hospital; Samantha wouldn’t be able to take a blow like that.

The hospital room was a stark place. The chairs were uncomfortable, with straight backs, sticky leather-type covers, and legs that were too close the floor. The clean scent tingled in Lance’s nose. He didn’t mind the hospital, but he did wish the environment was more comforting. He looked down at Samantha, who was stretched across two chairs, head lying in his lap. After Cole was admitted and Lance got Samantha calmed down, she’d zonked right out.

His legs were falling asleep, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to. There was something about having her tucked in next to him that made him feel at home, like she always should have been there.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t think about things like that. Right now his main concern was to make sure Samantha was okay, and to help out with Cole. Cole had a long, hard road ahead of him and Samantha would need all the support she could get, especially since Dorothy was still in recovery. Lance hoped this wouldn’t be a setback to Samantha in dealing with her anger.

He’d noticed a change in her the past few days. When Jenny came to town, a new Samantha had emerged, sweet and caring—the one he remembered from his childhood. He hoped she could keep caring long enough to deal with whatever was troubling her. And he’d be right there.

Samantha stirred, her soft features almost giving way to a smile. Maybe she was dreaming. She really did look adorable when her face wasn’t a raging ball of fire. Hell, even then she looked good. Her body shifted and came back to life with a fluttering of her lashes and a long, cat-like stretch. He smiled.

When she looked up at him, sleep still fresh in her green eyes, his heart did an unsettling flip in his chest. Well, if that didn’t make things more complicated, he didn’t know what would.

“Hey,” she said softly as she moved off his lap. The loss of her warmth made him want to tug her back down.

“Hey.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off.” She rubbed her eyes and tightened her ponytail before glancing at her brother lying in the hospital bed. “How is he?”

“He’s doing better.” Lance tucked a stray hair behind her ear. When their skin met this time, it felt like a lightning bolt flashed between them. His chest tightened more, and he knew he was in trouble. Lance jerked his hand back. “The doctor said the alcohol will be out of his system in a few hours. They started a heavy dose of antibiotics to help with the pneumonia.”

Samantha closed her eyes and rubbed her thin fingers over her face. “I can’t believe he was that sick on top of everything. He could’ve died.”

“But he didn’t. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Her eyes made their way back to his. There it was: vulnerability. The eyes of a child who was unsure of her next step. Her next words. Her next act. “Thank you. Your help means the world to me.”

Those words stole his breath. They were simple, yet they meant so much coming from her.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“We wait.”

“Ah, yes. Waiting. I can do that.”

Lance almost laughed. In the past few days, he’d decided patience wasn’t high on Samantha’s list of fine qualities.

“I really want to talk to Cole when he wakes up.” She turned her head toward her brother. “I need to know how he’s feeling.”

“The doctor’s said he’ll be awake soon, hopefully. Why don’t we go get something to eat? You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“I don’t want to leave him. Besides, I’m not hungry.”

“Fine, but promise me you’ll eat right after he wakes and you get the chance to talk to him.”

After several silent seconds, she replied, “I promise.” She settled back into the uncomfortable seat and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

She turned her head, her face twisted in confusion. “What do I think about what?”

“Us.” He watched the color drain from her face as she hugged herself tighter. Then the blush returned and she looked away. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have asked you now, here,” he said when she didn’t answer.

“No, it’s just…I don’t know.”

“Can you at least tell me why you were laughing at my suggestion that we date?”

She bit her top lip. “I thought you were joking,” she said softly.

“I wasn’t.”

She dropped her legs, shifted, and turned to face him. “Well, that was pretty obvious from the look you gave me after I stopped laughing.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

Her eyes fluttered to the bed and then back to him. “After the way I’ve treated you, why do you even talk to me?”

His fingers found her cheek. “Because I remember what you used to be like.” He stroked her soft skin once, twice, three times. “And I think, deep down, she’s still there, but afraid to come out.”

She blinked, inching herself back from his touch. “Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make up for anything.”

“
We
could.”

Was that fear in her expression? Or just plain shock? He didn’t know, but he wanted to kiss it away.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

He took her hand into his. She tried to pull it away but he gripped it tightly. When she stopped tugging, he rubbed over the back with his thumb. “Tell me, Sam, what’s made you this way?”

Her eyes, which had been so mesmerizing a few moments before, now shot daggers at him. “
What
way?”

He took her other hand and held both tightly on his lap. “Shutting people out. Keeping your emotions locked up inside. Fighting instead of talking. Doing everything that’s not
you.
” She put her head down, and a tear dripped from her cheek. “I want to help you.”

“Why?”