Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (20 page)

“You obviously really care about him, and I just put two and two together. I had already seen the signs.”

Lucy gave her a curious glance. “I didn’t know that you…. Well, it
is
a small town.”

“That’s for sure. So you see why I was leery about Sam doing that work on my floor.”

Lucy’s brow creased. “I’m not sure I—”

Grace backpedaled, not wanting to wade in too deeply. “Well, it’s a big job.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s eyes softened in understanding. “I don’t know how Sam manages to get so much accomplished considering what he’s facing. Trust me, though, he always puts his all into his work. He’s a perfectionist.”

Grace gave her a puzzled look. Lucy had said herself that Sam’s behavior was inconsistent, and Grace had witnessed it more than once. How could you trust that someone involved in drugs on any level might not just snap?

“Anyway,” Grace continued, as casually as she could. “He was going to build something for me but I was wondering if maybe Bob might have time. It shouldn’t take long.”

“What is it?”

“A crate. Just a small one.”

“A crate?”

“Just a small one.”

Lucy shrugged. “I can ask. But he wouldn’t be able to get to it till next month at the earliest. He’s pretty swamped with this ranch project.”

“Next month?”
Darn ranch project
. “I guess I’ll try to find somebody else.”

Lucy looked tentative. “There was one other thing…about Sam.”

Grace’s stomach clenched slightly. “What?”

A look of culpability played on Lucy’s face. “He knows we’re friends, and he asked if I thought you were spending time around that director. What’s his name?”

Grace’s brow furrowed. “Devon?”

Her nod was hesitant. “I said you hadn’t mentioned him.”

Uncomfortable with this line of questioning, Grace wandered to the end of the aisle, pretending to hold an immense fascination with the pyramid of facial tissue they had on display. She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

Lucy let out a small sigh. “Good.”

Grace’s focus was pulled to the front of the store by a high-pitched titter that would have put any good soprano to shame. She looked up to see Sophia standing at the checkout several yards away, her back to Grace. She tossed her brunette mane to the side in a flirtatious laugh.

The warmth rushed from Grace’s face so quickly she must have looked like the plug on her blood supply had been pulled. There next to Sophia, also laughing playfully, stood Devon. Grace’s heart pounded out a bewildered
recitative
. She nearly ripped the plastic off the package of Kleenex she’d grabbed to keep from lunging at the little viper’s throat. She stepped closer to the pyramid, peering around and trying to get a view of the bag boy’s hands as he filled a canvas tote with their apparent purchases.

A long baguette, two kinds of cheese, grapes, and a tall slender bottle of wine—cabernet sauvignon, if her eyes didn’t deceive. She huffed, her throat clenching. What did this mean?

“So, I’m really relieved about that.” Lucy had been talking, but Grace hadn’t heard a word. She faked a smile and nodded in agreement.

Lucy seemed in better spirits. “Anyway, don’t think we’re nosy, but we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Grace looked again toward the front of the store. Still engaged in lighthearted banter, Devon and Sophia walked out the front door, his hand on the small of her back.

Grace bit her quivering lower lip, forcing herself to speak. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.” She tipped her head, watching as the pair strolled up the sidewalk. “Just peachy.”

Chapter 27

Grace paced in front of her fireplace, stopping to watch Trouble attack a ray of sunlight that danced across the living room rug. She hated being lied to. Devon could have at least been honest with her. She expelled a small growl of frustration. The thought of Sophia getting the guy she wanted was too much for her to take.

The clang of the doorbell sent her heart into a sprint. Was Devon finished with his picnic already? Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the door, hastily rehearsing her charges against him. Crimes of the heart should not be easily dismissed.

Peeking through the cut glass, her heart fell. It wasn’t Devon.

She groaned. The sight of Sam reminded her that she still hadn’t found anyone to build that silly crate. Why hadn’t she just let him go ahead and do it? Using more might than necessary, she turned the deadbolt and flung open the door. Surprise forced her to take a step back.

“Morning, Miss Addison.” Mr. Roberts stood next to his son, a warm smile gracing his face. She instantly lamented her hostile stance.

Sam spoke in a tone that was gentle, almost apologetic. “I told my dad about your cupboard door. He pretty much insisted on fixing it. I hope you don’t mind.”

Her fiery attitude from the moment before was partially doused. “Of course not.” She stepped back, allowing them to enter.

Mr. Roberts slipped Sam a sly wink. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” He disappeared around the corner, while Sam lingered next to her in the foyer.

Grace laced her fingers together, leaning back on her heels. Sam put up a decent front, but knowing what she knew about him made her want to keep her guard up. He couldn’t fool
her
.

“So, good news.” He fixed her with a look that could melt chocolate. “‘Speedy Plumbing’ lived up to their name. I have all the parts to finish the repair. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be able to get the tile down this morning too and your kitchen will be good as new.”

“Oh.” Her voice felt thick. She hadn’t expected the project to be done so soon. Why did she feel a little let down?

He flashed a reticent smile. “Then as soon as the Roto Rooter guy does his thing, I’ll come back and fill in that hole. I hope it hasn’t been a hazard for you.”

A hazard?
She’d practically forgotten about it. “Only when I have the gang over for a rousing game of ‘tag’.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I’d be happy to resod it for you, as a favor.”

Indignation gave way to confusion. Why did he want to do her any favors?

She thought again about Devon and realized her head was starting to hurt. Maybe some caffeine would help. She lifted a hand toward the kitchen. “Will I be in the way if I make coffee?”

“Coffee?” He gave her a quizzical look as he rubbed his neck. “In this heat?”

“You’ve never heard of iced coffee?” She couldn’t keep the tease from her tone. Something about Sam made it difficult to stay irritated with him.
How annoying.

He chuckled. “I guess not.”

“I’ve been making iced mochas for everybody in town.” Folding her arms, she pinned him with a snappish taunt. “Maybe you should stop by the concession stand once in a while.”

Hope flashed in his eyes. She bit her lip. What she’d intended as an admonition had come out sounding like an invitation.

She quickly recanted. “I mean, your dad does own the place.”

The glint of hope dwindled slightly. “I know. I should be more supportive.” He tilted an innocent glance. “Maybe I’ll stop in this weekend.”

A tingle of anticipation danced across her back. She shook it off. “Suit yourself.” Why on earth had she even brought it up? The further away he stayed, the better. Resenting the urge to linger and chat, she started for the kitchen.

He followed, his toolbox clanking as he walked.

Pushing through the kitchen door, she smiled at Mr. Roberts, who was crouched in front of the errant cabinet. Gingerly, she made her way into the room, thankful that her kitchen would soon return to normal and she could stop feeling like she was moving across a river on stepping stones every time she entered it. She pulled open the fridge, and grabbed a jug of water. “It’ll be a relief to be able to use the sink again.”

Sam set down his tools and started to peruse the work he’d already completed. “I hope it hasn’t been too much of a hardship.”

She shrugged, speaking under her breath as she poured water into the pan on the stove. “I’ve lived through worse.” She crossed to the counter and grabbed her jar of Nescafé.

Mr. Roberts chuckled. “You’re making coffee in this heat?”

“Come on, Dad.” Sam glanced up. “You’ve never heard of iced coffee?” His eyes met Grace’s with a shrewd wink.

The older man held up his hands. “Matter of fact, no.”

Grace’s face relaxed into a smile. “Would you care for one?”

Pulling a screwdriver from his box, Mr. Roberts nodded. “I’m game.”

Suddenly feeling awkward, she looked over at Sam, who was kneeling on the floor, putting the new piping into place. “Sam?”

He looked up. “Oh, no thanks. I have a lot of work to get done here.”

“Son,” his father shot him a pointed glance. “When a woman offers you a cold drink on a hot day, you should accept. Haven’t I ever told you the story of how I won your mother’s heart?” He turned to Grace, who blanched at the implication. “It involved an unseasonable heat wave and a thermos of pink lemonade.”

Sam tossed his dad a glare, his face turning a color to rival the lemonade in the story. “Yes Dad. You’ve told me.”

“Too bad.” Mr. Roberts cocked his head. “It’s a good story.”

Grace reached up into the cabinet next to the sink and grabbed the glasses she’d gotten six for five dollars at the Peach Basket. “I’d like to hear it.”

The older man looked at her with a pleased glint. “I love a willing audience.” Holding the counter for balance, he stooped down and began to remove the screws from the latch. “It was the summer of ‘76 and I was building a fence out on the Sutton Ranch. A part of the fence line runs along Hanson Road, and I couldn’t help but notice that a young lady rode her horse past at some point every day. Now, being the bright young buck that I was, I made sure that part of the fence got built to perfection. In fact, I put extra effort into that particular section. Took me a solid week to finish that chunk of the project, but I was there every day, waiting to flash that young lady a smile.”

Listening intently, Grace took the ice from the freezer and leaned on the counter while she popped the cubes.

Removing the latch from the door, Mr. Roberts continued. “Since I never knew exactly when she’d ride by, I was constantly on the alert, but one particular day, it was hotter than blazes and I was about ready to give up and move on to a shadier section of the line. Right about then, a shadow appeared from out of nowhere, giving some much needed relief. I turned around, and realized that the horse was standing right behind me. I’d been so caught up in what I was doing that I hadn’t even noticed. I about fell over. This gal was even more beautiful than I’d realized.”

Grace smiled at the image. Her eyes lit on Sam, who kept an uncomfortable focus on his work.

Mr. Roberts’ voice grew animated. “Then, she reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a thermos. She handed it down to me with a single word. ‘Lemonade?’ It was like an angel’s song, the way she said it. I was smitten. I reached up and took it, and to make a long story short, that was the beginning of a beautiful romance.”

Grace swallowed hard, blinking her dewy eyes. She glanced again at Sam, who had stopped working and seemed lost in thought. She took in a ragged breath and crossed to the stove, where bubbling water made her pan dance.

Mr. Roberts looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Here’s the capper. About twenty years later, that fence blew over in a windstorm. The only part they didn’t have to rebuild was the stretch that runs along the road.” He chuckled. “I guess my diligence paid off in more ways than one.”

Grace snickered, but Sam looked away solemnly. His voice crackled when he spoke. “I, uh, have to go get the tiles out of the truck.” He stood, running a hand through his hair.

Mr. Roberts set down his screwdriver. “I’ll go with you.”

Sam held up a hand. “No. You’ll never get that done if you stop to help me.” Without waiting for a response, he bounded out of the kitchen.

Grace watched, puzzled, as she grabbed her jar of Nescafé and shook loose the residual crystals that stuck to the bottom. She looked at Mr. Roberts. “I’ll be right back.”

He nodded. “Take your time.”

Moving through the house, she questioned her own motives. Something was clearly bothering Sam, but that wasn’t the reason she was going after him…was it? She felt obligated to help carry in the tiles, that was it. Pulling open the front door, she expected to see him hoisting boxes from the back of his truck. To her surprise, he was standing on the porch with his head down and his hands on his hips. He looked up.

She smiled tentatively. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”

He faced forward, his gaze distant. “I just needed a second.”

She nodded, not really understanding. “Are you okay?” As if she expected him to tell her what was bugging him.

He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’ll be fine.” He hooked his thumbs on his belt loops, apparently lost in his concerns.

Feeling awkward now, Grace drummed her fingers on her thighs. “Was it something your dad said?”

He looked at her as if gauging whether to share his thoughts. “My dad talks a lot about my mom. I guess that’s good in a way, but…”

Impatience gnawed at her. Did he realize how lucky he was to have great parents? He probably drove them crazy with worry, the way he behaved. “Why wouldn’t that be good?”

He looked away again. “He talks about her, but he’s not really dealing with it.”

Confusion bubbled in her throat. “Dealing with
what?
”

His look registered surprise. “Oh, sorry. I forget you’re new here.” His eyes dropped along with his volume. “My mom died last year.”

His words were like a blow to her gut. Now she recognized the emotion that welled in his eyes as the all-too-familiar pain that had been a constant in her own life for months. She swallowed hard to keep from shouting out
I know what you’re going through. I know how it feels to lose a parent.
She wanted, for both their sakes, to tell him she knew exactly how he felt.

The words were there. All she had to do was back them up with a breath of bravado.