Crazy Ever After (4 page)

“Samara looks so beautiful,” Dayna said softly, almost talking to herself. “So grown up. I can’t believe she’s here. It’s been so long.”

“Yeah.” He gnawed his bottom lip. “And she still seems to be uh...carrying a grudge.”

Dayna sighed, a small crease between her auburn brows. “Her father just died. She’s probably not herself right now.” Her defense of her daughter, even after how badly Samara had hurt her, made Travis smile. “But she’s here.”

“Yeah. She is.”

Dayna’s housekeeper Ava appeared in the French doors. “I’ll take that, hon,” she said, reaching for the tray.

“Thanks, Ava,” Dayna said.

“Dinner is ready whenever you are,” Ava added.

Dayna sighed. “I really don’t feel like eating.”

“You have to eat,” Ava said, her eyes clouding.

“Yeah,” Travis said. “And I, for one, am starving.”

“While you’re eating, I’ll go put fresh sheets on Samara’s bed.” Ava said. “Where is that girl? I haven’t even seen her.” Ava had worked for their family for many years and probably had missed Samara too.

“I’m right here.” Samara’s voice came from the door.

All three of them looked over at her. She’d changed from the business suit into a casual sundress in shades of orange and gold that flattered her pale gold skin and fiery hair. Christ, still so gorgeous.

Ava set down the tray and went over to pull Samara in for a hug. “Sammy,” she murmured. “How are you, hon?”

“I’m okay.” Samara’s voice came out sounding choked, and she hugged Ava’s plump form back in a tight, heartfelt embrace.

“It’s been too long, Sammy,” Ava scolded her, drawing back. She shot a glance toward Dayna. “I missed you.” Ava studied her and smiled. “Look at you, all grown up.” Her smile faded. “I’m so sorry about your dad, honey.”

“Oh, Ava. I’m sorry too.” They hugged again, and Travis’s heart shifted.

“We’ll talk more later,” Ava said, drawing back.

Samara gave a teary but still wry smile. “Okay.”

“You look beautiful, Samara,” Dayna said. “Let’s go eat, shall we?”

She led the way to the dining room then stood there surveying the formally set table with sparkling crystal, china and gleaming silver. She paused. “I don’t want to eat in here tonight,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ava. Can we eat in the breakfast room?”

“Of course. I should have thought of that, with it being just the three of you. You’ve all eaten in the breakfast room so many times.” Ava quickly picked up dishes of food and whisked them back into the kitchen.

Samara picked up a place setting—a plate, cutlery and a water goblet—and followed Ava. Travis did the same. “Thanks,” Dayna said. “Sorry about this.”

“God, Dayna, don’t apologize,” Travis said. “There was a time when I ate here more often than I ate at my own home. I can help out.” He didn’t want to even think about how much he’d missed being in their home, being a part of their family. Except he really wasn’t part of their family, as he’d painfully learned.

She nodded and gave him a sad little smile.

In a few moments they were settled in the small alcove off the kitchen with cheery yellow walls and painted white furniture. A wall of windows looked out onto the patio and the yard beyond, clay pots overflowing with colorful flowers and greenery. The house faced south so the breakfast room received light almost all day long. Now the sun was lower in the sky, and the rich light made the flowers glow and cast long shadows across the patio and lawn.

Uncharacteristically quiet, Samara pulled out a chair and sat down, unfolding her napkin. Fatigue drew down her mouth and eyes. She must be wiped. She was putting up a good front, but this had to be killing her. She and her father had been close, despite living so far apart these last years. Even with the tension between him and Parker, and Parker’s reluctance to talk to Travis about his daughter, Travis knew Parker had kept in frequent contact with her after she’d left Portland. Parker had been so worried about her when she’d been traveling in Central America that year after high school, he’d gone to meet up with her in Brazil and in Matagalpa. When she’d started college in San Francisco, Parker had traveled down there to help her find a place and get settled. He’d been thrilled when she’d wanted to work at Cedar Mill Coffee Company after college, although frustrated when she’d insisted on working her way up on her own. Travis knew Parker hoped she’d come home to Portland and work there with him, maybe move into the executive ranks some day when she had more experience.

He couldn’t help but watch her as she smoothed the napkin over her bare knees, and he deliberately took the seat adjacent to her so he didn’t have to look directly at her. Dayna sat in her usual spot.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Dayna asked her daughter, reaching for a platter.

Travis’s stomach growled at the scent of the food. There’d been no time for lunch. After hastily rearranging his schedule and cancelling meetings, he’d flown from L. A. to Portland and had gone straight to the office there to make sure staff was all told what had happened and everything was okay. Many of them were in shock, especially Parker’s assistant, Paulette, who’d worked for him for fifteen years. Travis had sent her home.

Then he’d come here to see Dayna, knowing she would be devastated by the news, and waited for Samara to arrive, annoyed at how hungry he was to see her, how just hearing her voice on the phone that morning had aroused all kinds of memories.

“I’m not that hungry,” Samara said. “But it smells awesome.”

“Ava makes the best roast chicken,” Dayna said.

She helped herself to some of the meat from the platter and passed it to Travis. He piled his plate up and passed it to Samara, who took it without even looking at him. They all scooped up servings of the yellow beans and carrots, the tiny little potatoes dotted with parsley and gleaming with butter, and the golden lemony gravy that accompanied the chicken. Travis dug in hungrily but after a few minutes he realized the two women were just playing with their food, pushing it around, cutting it up and eating tiny bites.

He watched Dayna glance repeatedly at Samara, as if she still couldn’t believe she was there. “Tell me about your life, Samara,” Dayna invited softly. “Do you like living in San Francisco?”

“I love it,” she answered, pushing a piece of chicken around her plate. “It’s a wonderful city. There’s so much to do.”

“Well, it’s much bigger than Portland.” Dayna rolled her lips in briefly, looked down at her plate. “And your job? Are you enjoying it? Dad said you’re doing so well.”

Travis knew that. He, sadly, had followed every step of her career with Cedar Mill, from the days when she’d been a barista at the store on Northwest Broadway when she was still in high school. During college, she’d been a shift supervisor at one of their San Francisco stores, allowing her to work part time while going to school but still get to know the business from the retail ground up. After college, she’d started in the San Francisco regional office and had already been promoted a couple of times.

“It’s going great. I love working there.” Samara looked down at her own plate, her fork still.

“You always did have an interest in the business,” Dayna said. “And a passion for coffee. I’m glad it’s working for you.” She lowered her gaze to the table. “Your father was so proud of you. And I am too.”

Samara stared down at her plate mutely. Travis repressed a sigh.

Dayna changed the subject. “I guess tomorrow we’ll go the funeral home and make the arrangements.”

Samara nodded. “Do you know what kind of funeral Dad wanted?”

“No. He was only fifty-two years old. Who would have thought he was going to die?” Dayna’s voice choked a little bit. She paused, her fingers tightening on her fork. “I know he hates...I mean, he hated organ music. And he said once that he wanted a big party.”

Samara’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut. “A party?”

Dayna nodded. “You know what he was like.”

“I can see him not wanting tea and dainties in the church basement after the service,” Travis said. “More like a few bottles of Lagavulin and some dirty jokes.”

Dayna’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “True.”

“But...” Samara hesitated. “Okay, fine. Obviously, it has to be what he would have wanted.”

Dayna nodded. “We can have the party here. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I called the funeral home. The woman I spoke to was very nice.”

“The funeral director is a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Is it Gia?”

Dayna’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. Gia Stephenson. How did you know?”

Samara smiled wryly. “That’s Gia Rizzuto. She married Brent Stephenson. I knew they owned a funeral home.”

“Oh, I remember Gia. You two were such good friends.”

“A long time ago.”

“Well. It will be nice for you to see her again, even if not under the best circumstances.”

Travis watched as their eyes met and connected, but Samara looked quickly away, blinking.

Travis licked his lips, flicking his eyes to Samara and back to Dayna. Why wouldn’t Samara just give in and let her mother comfort her, let them comfort each other? Ah hell, Parker. You weren’t supposed to do this. Pain lanced through him at the thought that Parker was really gone.

After dinner, they had coffee and dessert on the patio, but again he was the only one who even tried to eat the huge piece of strawberry shortcake. The late spring day was cooling off as the sun sank low in the sky. The trees of the woods were vivid shades of green and richly textured in the late evening sun. A squirrel sat high in a nearby tree, chattering agitatedly at something they couldn’t see. The fresh scent of cedar and pine drifted on the evening breeze.

It was like being in the country here. So unlike Los Angeles, his home for the last seven years. He lived near the beach, which was great for him with his love of surfing and sailing, but L.A. was a big city with pollution, crowded freeways and lots of concrete. This was quiet and serene, almost pastoral.

“You must be tired, sweetie,” Dayna said to Samara. “You should go up to bed. Ava has gotten your room ready.”

Samara nodded slowly and rose to her feet. “I am tired. I still can’t believe...” She looked at Travis. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral...”

He shook his head. “Oh, I’ll likely see you in the morning.”

“Travis is staying here too,” Dayna put in.

Samara looked at him, then at her mother. “How nice,” she said, her voice flat. “Well, good night then.” She gave them her back and stalked inside, closing the French door with a bang.

What the hell was her problem?

Chapter Four

He was staying there? In her parents’ house?

Samara hurried up the stairs to the privacy of her bedroom. She’d said she was tired and she was, but even so, once in bed she lay wide awake in the darkness. Her body was tired but her mind remained active, churning over everything that had happened that day, starting with that phone call from Travis.

Seeing him again. All those memories flooding back, the ones she’d locked away in the very back of her mind. She turned her face into the pillow, her chest aching, remembering all those intense teenage feelings she’d had for him. Remembering that night just after her high school graduation, the night she’d done the stupidest thing in her life, and how wounded she’d been.

She’d had a crush on Travis for so long. Every boy she dated was just that...a boy. She’d compared everyone to Travis—his athletic body, lean and muscled from the surfing, sailing, and climbing he did on weekends, his maturity, his willingness to get into deep discussions about things like fair trade and conditions in developing countries and how to take market share away from Starbucks. The magnetic attraction his easy smile and sparkling blue eyes held for her. Nobody even came close to appealing to her like Travis did.

Sure he was older than her. He was her father’s friend and business associate, and maybe that made him seem a little forbidden, a little dangerous. She was honest enough with herself to question whether that increased the attraction for her, and she didn’t know the answer. She only knew she wanted him so badly and truly felt like she was falling in love with him.

There were moments where she was convinced he wanted her too. Like at the dinner table when she’d look up at him and he’d be staring at her with such focused intensity she immediately became hot and disoriented. Or at the company golf tournament when they’d golfed on the same team, when she’d sunk a putt to birdie the ninth hole and he’d grabbed her in an exuberant hug that had lasted just a little too long, awareness surging between them. Maybe if those things had never happened, she never would have let herself think there could really be something between them.

That evening just after graduation, she’d taken Travis out to show him the new gazebo they’d had built in the yard. She’d led the way down the stone path through the woods, the late evening sun casting long dappled shadows through the lacy leaves of the trees. They’d been all alone in the tranquil grounds. Travis had been quiet—tense.

She took his hand in hers as they walked and she chatted away. When they arrived at the gazebo, all decorated with Victorian gingerbread, she led him inside. In the dim light, she turned to face him, still holding his hand. They stared at each other wordlessly for a long, stretched-out moment, and her heart had thudded so hard it made her breathless. Then she tugged on his hand, moving them closer together, her breasts brushing his chest.

She was the first to admit she’d been aggressive that night. It seemed like the perfect opportunity, and who knew when she’d have another one? So, she’d boldly gone up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

He’d kissed her back. When he closed his hands on her waist and opened his mouth over hers, she’d started shaking with excitement and lust. Finally, finally they were together! And it was delicious. Better than she’d imagined in all her feverish fantasies alone in her bedroom. She pressed her aching breasts against his hard body, threading her fingers through his shaggy hair to pull his head closer.