Carolina Girl (20 page)

His blood pounded in his head. She had no idea what she did to him. What he wanted, craved, to do to her.

“I should, uh . . .”
Play it cool
, he reminded himself desperately.
No pushing. No pressure.
“I brought your bag in from the car,” he managed. “If you want to shower.”

And imagined her naked, pictured her hot, wet, and glowing, soaping herself all over while the bubbles ran down her lovely breasts and the slope of her belly and between her thighs.

“In a minute,” she said, bursting his little fantasy. “I want to finish my coffee.”

“I’ll go first, then.” He needed a shower. A cold one.

“Sam.”

He turned back.

“Thank you.” Her eyes, blue and direct, met his. “For everything. I like knowing where things are going. It scares me, the not knowing.”

He nodded. He knew.

“This whole trusting-in-the-moment deal is hard for me. But I trust you.”

Trust was good, Sam told himself as he stepped under the spray of the shower. It wasn’t let-me-soap-your-back, steamy sex good, but in the long run, it was better. Meg would not love where she did not trust.

Love?

Long run?

His hands stilled on the soap as his heart turned over in his chest, as a trickle of panic ran down his spine.

Of course he loved Meg on one level. Always had. She was a piece of his past, a part of him, his. But
love
 . . .

Steam swirled as the shower door opened. Sam blinked water from his eyes.

Meg stood on the marble tiles, the deep V of her robe exposing the indentation between her breasts. He watched, transfixed, as her hands untied her belt. “You said we had a late checkout,” she reminded him.

She shrugged and the robe dropped to the floor, revealing her, all pink and white, smooth and beautiful. His blood hammered. His mind emptied.

Meg’s smile curved her lush mouth, danced in her eyes. “We might as well make the most of the time we have,” she said and stepped into the shower with him.

Seventeen

“I
’VE GOT THIS,”
Sam said, lifting Meg’s bag from the truck.

Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s not necessary. I’m a big girl. I can carry my own suitcase.”

He held on to it, his green eyes glinting. “I’m coming in with you.”

“There will be fewer questions if it’s just me,” she warned.

“Maybe,” Sam said. “But we’re not doing ‘The Night I Took Your Virginity, Part Two.’ If we’re together, we’re together.”

She sighed, tipping her head back to inspect the staring windows at the back of the house. “It feels like coming home the morning after prom.” Or what she imagined prom could have been if she’d gone with someone she’d really liked.

“How’s that?”

“You know. Glowy. Guilty.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you to prom.”

“Different years. You took Misty Rogers.” And, oh, Meg had been jealous.

“And you went with Danny Webber,” Sam said, surprising her. He’d gone back to college without a word. She hadn’t imagined he’d noticed, hadn’t believed he’d paid any attention to her at all after that one disastrous New Year’s Eve. “And now I must find him and kill him.”

She laughed. “Danny only asked me because Matt fixed us up. He never made it past second base.”

“Okay. He can live.”

She shot him a mischievous look. “Of course, he might have been the tiniest bit intimidated by Dad cleaning his gun on the kitchen table when he came to pick me up.”

Sam winced. “Your parents do know you’ve had sex before, right?”

“New York Meg has sex. Dare Island Meg, not so much. Not under my parents’ roof.” In fact, Tom’s insistence on separate bedrooms was one of the reasons Derek had rarely accompanied Meg on her visits home. She slid Sam a wry look. “And never with you.”

Sam carried her bag down the walk toward the back door of the inn. “Good thing I drove to Raleigh to meet you, then.”

“It’s not too late to back out.”

“I won’t sneak around. And we’re facing your family together.”

She had never felt the need for a buffer against her family. They were on her side, always.
Back to back to back.
The idea that she could have an ally outside her immediate family circle was . . . weird. And not entirely unpleasant.

She shrugged. “Okay. But don’t blame me if Matt gives you a hard time.”

“I’m not worried about Matt. Your dad’s the one with the gun.”

She laughed, as she was sure he intended. But neither of them was entirely joking.

With his free hand, Sam opened the back door. Meg straightened her spine and walked into the kitchen. The adults were all sitting around the table, Tom, with his USMC Devil Dog mug; Tess, snapping green beans; Matt. And now Allison, her chair pulled close to Matt’s, part of the family circle.

Meg braced. At least she’d get this over with all at once. That was better, maybe. Mostly. Wasn’t it?

Tom looked up at their entrance. His bushy gray brows rose. “You’re home early.”

Meg braced. “I flew in last night.”

“I picked her up at the airport,” Sam said.

Meg’s teeth clenched. Like they couldn’t guess.

Everybody looked at him. At them.

Tom scowled. “Where did you spend the—”

Tess cleared her throat. “Did your meetings go well?”

Meg took a few cautious steps forward, her shoulders relaxing with relief. “I got the job.”

Tess smiled. “That’s wonderful, honey.”

“Told you, smart girl,” Matt said. He glanced at Sam. “Good for you.”

“Congratulations,” Allison said.

Tom got up from the table and put an arm around her. “We’re proud of you, baby.”

She leaned into his familiar, bony embrace, aware he was glaring over her head at Sam. “Thanks, Dad.”

And thank God, she thought, for Mom. She’d never expected to get a pass on sleeping with Sam, a ripple of reaction instead of a tsunami.

But as she raised her head, she was aware of a tension in the room that has nothing to do with her or Sam.

For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder what they were all doing home in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.

“What’s the matter?” She took a step back. Her gaze skimmed over their faces before landing on the official-looking letter that lay on the kitchen table like the telegram in a war movie. Her blood froze. Her family’s faces blurred. That wasn’t how . . . It couldn’t be . . .

“Luke,” she whispered.

Sam came up behind her. His hand pressed warm against the small of her back.

“No,” Tess said instantly. “Luke’s fine, sweetie.”

Meg breathed again. “Then, what . . .”

“It’s a subpoena,” Matt said. “Delivered today. The Simpsons have subpoenaed Taylor to appear in family court on Tuesday.”

Meg frowned. “I thought our lawyer said she didn’t have to go.”

“The Simpsons must feel they have a better shot at modifying the custody agreement if Taylor testifies,” Allison said.

“But they don’t, right?” Meg looked around the table. “I mean, she wants to stay with us.”

“She’s staying,” Matt said flatly. “I promised Luke.”

When Matt used that voice, a hurricane couldn’t shake him. Meg looked at her parents. “So what’s the problem?”

A brief, charged silence filled the air.

“I should go,” Sam said. “You all obviously have a lot to talk about.”

“Sit,” Tess said.

Sam glanced at Tom.

“You heard her,” Tom growled. “Stay. Hell, you’re practically family anyway.”

They found places at the table, Tom and Tess, Matt and Allison, Meg and Sam.

She was aware of him, sitting close, listening with that polite, focused attention of his. It felt odd to have someone at her side, but not that odd because it was Sam. Sam belonged. He had always belonged.

“You know Jolene and Ernie Simpson are arguing that after my accident, I can’t take proper care of Taylor,” Tess said to him.

He nodded.

“Well.” Tess’s lips compressed. “We talked to the lawyer. Apparently they’re using some incidents at school to claim our home is not a fit environment.”

Meg stared at her mother, stunned. “That’s bullshit.”

Sam rested his arm on the back of her chair. “What incidents?”

Allison answered him. “Taylor got sent to the vice principal’s office her first day of school.”

“For what?” Meg demanded. “Chewing gum?”

“Wearing a hat in class.”

Rage sliced through Meg. “They’re going after us because she wears her father’s Marine hat?”

Sam dropped his hand onto her shoulder.

“It’s not just the hat,” Tess said. “She has nightmares.”

“Nobody needs to know about that,” Matt said. “Besides, she’s over them.”

Tess sighed. “And one of the parents complained to the office about Taylor’s aggressive behavior.”

Meg leaned forward, away from Sam’s restraining hand. “Are you fricking kidding me? What aggressive behavior?”

“She got into a fight at school,” Allison explained. “A couple of weeks ago.”

Over Allison’s shoulder, the dining room door moved stealthily inward a bare half inch and stuck. Meg narrowed her eyes.

Sam lifted his brows. “Seems to me a kid who’s just lost her mother is entitled to act out a little. No matter where she’s living.”

He would know, Meg thought. Sam was eight when his mother moved out. But she didn’t say anything, her attention focused on the door. She slipped out of her chair.

“That’s what Mr. Long—our lawyer—will say,” Tess told Sam. “But Jolene is saying that Taylor didn’t have any behavioral problems while she lived with them.”

The door remained cracked. Meg walked around the table and yanked it open. Taylor fell into the room. Meg reached for her arm to help her up and the little girl exploded.

“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything!”

Unthinkingly, Meg tightened her hold on Taylor’s thin arm. Taylor flailed, a whirlwind of anger and tears. One of her fists connected with Meg’s stomach.

“
Oof
,” said Meg and let go.

“Taylor.” Matt’s voice dropped into the furor like a stone.

Taylor turned her scrunched little face in his direction. “I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to listen.”

“Then you should come in,” Matt said.

She flushed and fixed him with accusing blue eyes. “You shouldn’t talk about people behind their backs.”

Tom snorted. “You’re not people. You’re our granddaughter. Of course we talk about you behind your back.”

Tess laid her hand on his arm. “We were going to talk to you, honey. After we decided what to do.”

Allison spoke up. “I think Taylor would feel better if she knew she was part of the decision-making process.”

Score one for the teacher, Meg thought.

“Come here,” Matt said quietly.

The little girl dragged her feet forward.

He tucked her into the crook of his arm, turning her to face Meg. “Apologize to your aunt.”

“That’s okay,” Meg said hastily. “She doesn’t need to . . .”

“Sorry.” Taylor hung her head.

“I’m sorry, too.” Meg sat, gingerly rubbing her stomach. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”

Matt smiled at her across the table. “Right,” he said. “No sneaking. No secrets. We’re all in this together. Now sit down while we figure out what to do next.”

Taylor turned her head into his shoulder, the brim of Luke’s Marine cap shielding her face.

Meg’s throat closed at the picture they made, the big, quiet waterman and the scrawny little girl, her brother and her other brother’s child.
All in this together. Back to back to back.
Maybe Meg hadn’t built the bond with Taylor that Matt obviously had. But they were her family. Luke was her brother, too.

“I don’t want to go,” Taylor said, her voice muffled.

Matt’s arm tightened around her. His big hand patted her back. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But I
heard
you.”

“What did you hear, honey?” Tess asked.

“They’re going to take me away,” Taylor said. “Because I got in trouble.”

Meg sucked in her breath.

“No,” Tess said. “Your Grandma Jo and Grandpa Ernie want you to live with them because they love you. But we love you, too, and your daddy wants us to take care of you.”

“But the letter said I had to go.”

“Only to court,” Allison said. “To talk to the judge.”

“Who’s the judge?” Sam asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Matt said. “Nobody’s taking Taylor from us.”

Yes
, Meg thought, watching their two heads so close together, Matt’s hair the color of oiled oak, Taylor’s the color of straw, sticking out from under Luke’s camouflage cap. Something grabbed at her heart and pulled hard. Whatever it took, Taylor was one of them now.

But despite Matt’s assurances and the lawyer’s assertions, nobody really knew what would happen in court on Tuesday. There wouldn’t be a permanent custody hearing until Luke returned from Afghanistan, two months from now. What if some judge decided Taylor was better off with the Simpsons until then?

Taylor leaned against Matt’s arm, her face shiny with tearstains. “Will you go with me?”

Matt and Allison exchanged glances over the child’s head.

“I’ll be in court with Grandpa,” Matt said carefully. “But Miz Dolan—the lawyer your mom used to work for, remember?—said you can wait in her office until it’s time for you to come to the courthouse. And Allison is going to try to get Tuesday off so she can wait with you. Okay?”

Taylor nodded, her blue eyes doubtful.

The child trusted Matt, Meg knew. But she hadn’t lived with them long enough to understand. To believe.

Meg looked around the kitchen table. The dining room was for holidays and celebrations, but the kitchen was the place where news was shared and plans were made, the scene of Sunday dinners and family meetings, the go-to spot for homework and cutthroat card games.

Her parents were there as they’d been there all of Meg’s life, Tom frowning in fierce concern, Tess with busy hands and worried eyes, a solid unit of love and support. Meg’s gaze shifted to Matt, rock steady and constant as the sea, and Allison at his side, pretty and earnest and determined to help. All of them, she thought with a squeeze of heart, ready to do their best for Taylor.

That was what they did. In hard times, family stepped in. Stepped up.

“I’ll be there,” Meg said. “I’m staying.”

Sam closed his hand over hers on the table. Could he know how much she needed, how much she treasured, that light, undemanding touch at that moment?

“Well, that makes things easier,” Tess said. “It could be a long day. We don’t know when Taylor’s case will be called.”