And Then Came You (26 page)

“Not completely.” What was he up to? Why was he being nice? And why was he so damn close?

He caged her, planting one hand on either side of her on the counter. “Then we’ll have to work on that.”

“Why?”

He laughed shortly. “You ask more questions than Emma.”

“And get fewer answers.”

He bent down, lowering his head to hers. When her eyes crossed as she tried to focus on him, Jeff smiled again. “You’ll get your answers, Sam. We both will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dammit. She
could feel his breath on her face. She could smell him. All morning and shower and shampoo and
man
.

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

She forced a laugh she didn’t feel and tried to push past one of his arms. Sure. Like trying to move a steel rod. “You’re doing the vague thing again.”

“Let’s see if I can get more clear.”

He leaned in.

“What’re you doing?” Did her voice really sound so breathy? Hungry?

“Not sure.”

“You do remember that we’re almost divorced?”

His mouth curved. “You know another word for almost divorced? ‘Married.’ ”

Sam sucked in air. She knew she should have tried to dodge his move, but hey, it was early. She hadn’t had nearly enough coffee yet. And truth to tell, she just plain didn’t want to dodge it.

He kissed her again. Short. Sweet. Tantalizing.

And left Sam’s knees wobbling like a pan of over-cooked pasta.

He pushed away from the counter, smiled at her again, and said, “I’ll bring Emma to the site in a couple of hours.”

Sam nodded.

At least, she was pretty sure she nodded.

Either that or every bone in her body was liquid and her head had simply fallen forward onto her chest.

When Jeff left the room, she heard him whistling as he walked off down the hallway. Lifting one hand, she rubbed her fingertips against her mouth and then turned to the coffeepot on the counter. She was either
going to have to start drinking more of the stuff—or make it a lot stronger.

To deal with Jeff, she was going to need every brain cell she could muster.

“Are you
insane
?”

Sam’s spine stiffened and her shoulders went soldier straight. Sure, she’d considered the fact that she might be leaning toward the “challenged” side of life. But it was one thing to accuse yourself of slipping out of your hammock. It was something else again when your family did it for you. “Excuse me?”

“You are,” Jo said, answering her own question and nodding her head as if looking for reassurance from a nonexistent crowd. “You are nuts. It’s the only explanation.”

“I’m not nuts and it’s no big deal.”

“Said the fly, while watching the spider creep a little closer.” Mike shook her head, clearly disgusted, then reached out and grabbed the pipe wrench off the floor beside her.

“Thanks. Always good to get the family’s opinion.”

“What opinion?” Papa stepped into the room and looked from one to the other of his daughters. “You want family opinion?”

Sam cringed. She already had a very good idea what Papa’s opinion would be.

“Sam’s letting Jeff move into her house.”

“He’s not moving in. He’s just staying there for a while.”

“He’s moving in, girl,” Mike warned, “in more ways than one.”

She sent Mike a glare that should have curled her
hair. Mike just ducked under the kitchen sink and ignored her.

Papa frowned and as his face froze over, even his beard seemed to scowl. “Samantha, we need to talk. You girls go for a walk.”

“Papa,” Mike complained, already crawling back out, “I’ve almost got this piping finished and—”

“Finish later.”

Jo and Mike wandered out slowly, as if reluctant to leave what looked like a promising conversation. But Hank Marconi was a patient man and he knew his daughters. They’d no doubt be hanging just by the doorway, hoping to eavesdrop. So when he finally did speak again, he kept his voice a whisper. “Samantha
mio cuore
, are you trying to be hurt again?”

My heart
. He’d always called her that.

“No, Papa. I’m not.” She sighed, walked across the room, and looked out the window at the yard, to where Emma and Jeff were getting a lesson in how to spin yarn from one of the Gypsies.

“Then what is this about?”

She leaned one shoulder against the wall and didn’t tear her gaze from the window. “I’m not really sure anymore,” she admitted. “It started out about Emma, but—”

Slowly, he walked across the floor until he was standing beside her. Laying one beefy hand on her shoulder, Hank thought about all the times he’d heard his middle daughter crying in the night. About the shadows he’d seen in her eyes and the brave front she’d plastered over a broken heart.

“Now it’s about him, too, eh?” he asked quietly.

She turned, staring up at him with that tender heart
in her eyes, and Hank knew she was in for more pain and he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. “You love him still.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, shaking her head and gritting her teeth. “And I shouldn’t. It’s just stupid and I’m not stupid,” she added quickly, “but I just can’t seem to help it.”

Wishing he could protect her as he had when she was a little girl, Hank did the only thing he could do. He opened his arms and held her close when she leaned into him. “Sam, you don’t get to choose who you love,” he said, staring over her head at the world beyond the glass panes—and the man his daughter loved. “It would be easier if we could. But maybe . . . not so exciting.”

“I don’t feel excited,” she muttered against his chest and her voice was muffled and thick with tears she was too stubborn to shed.

He patted her back and rested his cheek against her head. “You feel worried.”

“Yes.”

“A little scared, too.”

“Oh yeah.”

“This is good.”

“Good? How is this good, Papa?”

She pulled back and looked up at him. Hank cupped her cheeks with his palms. “It means you’re careful. This is good, too. You’re a grown woman, Sam. You have to make your own decisions. Go your own way.”

She blew out a breath that ruffled his beard and made him smile.

“I wish I knew which way that was.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “And if Jeff is the one
for you . . .” He inhaled sharply and told himself he’d have to find a way to let go of old resentments. “Then we’ll welcome him.”

“You would?”

Hank shrugged. “He’s Emma’s papa, and as much as it kills me to admit it, he’s a good one.”

“He is, isn’t he?” she asked, turning back to look at Jeff again.

“But he makes you cry again and I’m not going to be happy.” His warning was a growl and made
her
smile, as he’d hoped it would. Hank worried. He would always worry about his girls. And at times like this, he really wished their mother were still here, to help him out. To find the right words. But since she wasn’t, he had to trust his daughters to know what was in their hearts. Even if he thought they were wrong.

“Thank you, Papa.”

He nodded, scrubbed one hand across his beard, then hmmphed and said, “Now go get Mike and tell her to finish the sink. Grace wants to talk about adding a whirlpool tub in the master bathroom.”

Sam laughed shortly. “Well, that’ll make Mike’s day.”

Hank watched her go and then shifted his gaze to the man who still owned Sam’s heart. Maybe he’d just have a talk with Jeff.

The Fourth of July in Chandler was an event no one wanted to miss. Red, white, and blue bunting and streamers fluttered across every storefront, and American flags decorating every lamppost flapped in the breeze. Summer sizzled, but no one seemed to mind. There were Sno-Kone stands and kids selling lemonade from card table counters.

Jeff hadn’t enjoyed anything so much in years.

Growing up, he had spent the Fourth at charity functions where even the children wore suits and ties and frilly dresses that precluded anything remotely resembling fun. Once it was dark enough, a few fireworks were tastefully displayed as a symphony played accompaniment.

Here, tinny circus music blared out of what looked like ancient speakers and kids waited for dusk so they could hold their own sparklers. Here, families gathered and argued and laughed and ate. A tawdry carnival squatted at the edge of town, beckoning the unwary to try their hands at the game booths or to climb aboard rides that looked as if they might fall down in a stiff wind. And it was all . . . great.

“Having fun?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing a little uneasily at Mike as she dropped onto the blanket beside him. “You?”

Her gaze swept the crowd, landed on Sam and Emma, preparing for a three-legged race. “I would be. If I knew what you were up to.”

Jeff drew one knee up and rested his forearm atop it. He watched Sam too in her green tank top and denim shorts that displayed long, tanned limbs. “I’m not ‘up to’ anything, Mike.”

“Thought you were here to get a divorce.”

“So did I.” When had that changed?
Had
it changed? It couldn’t change. He was still engaged. Guilt gnawed at him, like a diet-conscious female eating a muffin one crumb at a time.

“And now?”

He shifted his gaze to look at her. “Now, I’m not sure of anything.”

She looked at him, considering. Her long blond hair hung, as usual, in a thick braid down the middle of her back. When she tilted her head to look at him more closely, it fell over her shoulder. “You know, there may be hope for you.”

He laughed shortly. “Thanks.”

“If Papa doesn’t kill you.”

Jeff winced, remembering the little warning Hank had already delivered that morning. Hank was thirty years older and several inches shorter than Jeff, but that hadn’t diminished the clear threat.

Hank stared up at Jeff and poked him in the chest with one thick index finger. “Make no mistake. Samantha cries one more tear over you and I will make your life a living hell.”

“I don’t want to hurt her, Hank.”

“You love her?”

That had caught Jeff off balance. He hadn’t even let himself think about love. All he’d been able to concentrate on was the amazing connection he and Sam still had together. His hesitation was all Hank had needed to bring the threat home
.

“It’s time you decide. Make up your mind what it is you want
. Who
it is you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeff said tightly, shifting his gaze back to where Sam and Emma were laughing and hobbling across an open meadow. The sun was low enough in the sky that splashes of red and gold were already creeping across the horizon. And a slice of that late, dying sun fell across Sam, illuminating her, and Jeff felt a hard, solid jolt that rocked him right down to his bones.

Love?

Beside him, Mike snorted as she watched him. Then pushing herself to her feet, she looked down at him and shook her head. “Weasel-dog,” she said thoughtfully, “you think too much.”

Jeff didn’t even notice when she wandered away.

Cynthia was furious.

Jeff should have been in the city with her. They had tickets to the symphony. Reservations at Jardinière, tickets to a show. And their wedding was in three short weeks.

She paced back and forth across her living room, counting the clicks of her heels as she stepped smartly on polished hardwood floors. Her mind raced even as her temper boiled. She’d never been so humiliated in her life.

That he would rather spend a national holiday in a poky little town with a grubby child and his homespun almost ex-wife instead of
her
just boggled the mind.

“And leaving me a
message
telling me he won’t be back in town until Wednesday?” A message. He hadn’t even had the decency to keep calling until he’d reached her personally. Oh no, he’d had his little office twit call and deliver his regrets that he couldn’t be in the city for the Fourth.

“Regrets, my ass,” she muttered and spun back around to pace off the twenty-seven steps to the white brick hearth. “This is
her
fault. Sam. What kind of name is that for a woman?”

When she reached the hearth, she grabbed hold of the cold brick mantel and stared at her own reflection in the gilt-framed mirror. She saw a beautiful woman with taste and elegance. She saw a woman who de
served the very best life had to offer. She saw a woman who
deserved
to be a Hendricks.

Thoughtfully, she took a deep breath, tried to count to ten, and gave it up at five. Scowling furiously, she hissed in a breath and muttered, “You’ve put in the time. You’ve played nice with the child. And dammit, you’re not going to lose him
now
.”

She’d been
too
nice, that was the problem. Trying to be understanding and cooperative and compassionate. Definitely time to try another tack.

Cynthia snarled, slapped the mantel, and chipped a nail. In her frustration, she grabbed up the first thing she could reach—a Waterford candlestick—and hurled it into the cold fireplace. The satisfying crash and tinkle of fine crystal helped.

But not enough.

“None of this would be happening if not for the girl,” she said. “You’d think she were the only child ever concei—”

A slow smile curved her mouth and she winked at her reflection.

She’d found the right button.

“Ferris wheel!” Emma crowed and jumped into the air, swinging her legs out ahead of her, clinging to her parents’ hands, trusting them to hold on tight.

“You’re way too big for this, kiddo,” Jeff teased, even as he winked at Sam and gave the girl another swing.

“I’m still little, Daddy, swing!”

“How is she not tired?” Sam asked, amazed that her daughter seemed like the Energizer Bunny. Emma had been on full speed all day. She’d inhaled cotton candy,
popcorn, Papa’s special sausage sandwiches, Slurpees, Sno-Kones, and God knew what else. The kid had a cast-iron stomach and apparently boundless stores of energy.

“Ferris wheel, Mommy!”

Just hearing that word made Sam want to give the little girl anything in her power to deliver. Besides, she was having as much fun as Emma. Sam had always loved the celebration on the Fourth. But this year was special. Everything looked a little nicer, a little shinier. Even the tacky little carnival that showed up in Chandler every year had a special magic to it that she’d never noticed before.