Stealing Second: Sam's Story: Book 4 in the Clarksonville Series (3 page)

“We got home a little while ago.”

“It’s okay that I’m on the yacht, isn’t it? I mean, you said I could.” She pretended to be ignorant about why he had burst in on them.

“Of course it’s okay. As long as you don’t take her out to sea, that is.”

“Not on your life,” Sam said with a laugh. “You’re the captain of this ship.”

Her father beamed, his blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. His sandy blond hair made him look younger than his true fifty-three years. “Don’t stay out too late.” He headed out of the cabin.

“I won’t,” Sam said. “Thanks for making sure we were all right.” Of course, she wondered how he knew they were even there, but she didn’t dare ask. Someone from the marina office must have called him and said Sam was on the yacht with someone tall. Did they think Lisa was a guy? Far from it.

Sam turned to Lisa and mouthed, “Sorry.” She retrieved her bra from under the bed and quickly put it back on. Out loud she said, “So, this is my cabin. Let’s go back up to the main deck and get our sodas, okay?”

“Sure.” Lisa fell into step behind Sam.

Once on the main deck, Sam spotted her father on the dock. “Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, Kitten. Be safe, okay?”

“I will.”

He headed toward the chauffeured Lincoln Town Car idling in the parking lot.

Sam watched until the Town Car was well out of sight. She turned, not sure what she’d see in Lisa’s face. Lisa smiled back at her with so much gentleness that Sam melted. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay.” Lisa blew out a sigh. “Thank God he didn’t catch us. My nerves are shot.”

“Me, too.”

“But you know what?” Lisa said.

“What?”

“My father would have done the same thing.”

Sam laughed. “Which father?”

Lisa chuckled. “Both.”

“C’mon,” Sam pulled her keys out. “Let’s go to our usual spot on Raymond Road.”

Lisa nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at this yacht in quite the same way again.”

“Same,” Sam said with a laugh.

They headed back to the upper deck to get their sodas, turn out lights, and lock doors.

Once in the Sebring, Sam put the top up, and they headed back toward the secluded farm road in East Valley. It was dark when she pulled the car far up the deserted road.

Sam undid her seatbelt. Lisa did the same.

“You were kind of quiet on the drive over,” Lisa said. “Are you okay?”

Sam wondered how she was going to explain her father’s paranoia about protecting her. “We almost got caught.”

“I know. That was close. I guess the yacht isn’t an option anymore.”

“I guess not.”

“How did your father even know we were there?”

“Someone from the marina must have ratted on us.” Sam shrugged and then snuggled into the softness of Lisa’s shirt. She chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?” Lisa asked softly.

“Me.” Sam gestured to her front. “I was standing there braless in front of my father.”

“At least it wasn’t topless.”

“No kidding.” Sensing that things had cooled off considerably after her father’s intrusion, Sam kissed Lisa on the forehead. “Baby, I

know we were about to, you know, but...” “Yeah, we should try another time. I’m still freaking out a little.” “You look so calm and cool.” “Not a chance.” Lisa shook her head. “My heart is pounding.” Sam laid her ear on Lisa’s chest. The familiar heartbeat was smooth and rhythmic. “I think you’ll live.” “Oh, thank God.” Lisa stroked Sam’s head. “Hey,” Sam sat up, “do you want to get some ice cream instead?” “I thought you’d never ask.” “I hope you’re not too disappointed.” Sam started the engine, turned on the headlights, and headed back toward Raymond Road. Lisa took a long time answering. “I am disappointed, but not with you. Just with the circumstances, I guess.” “One of these days we’ll find a place of our own where no one will interrupt us. Do you still love me?” Sam asked playfully. “Of course I do, doofus.” Lisa’s answer was accompanied by a light-hearted smack on the arm. Sam beamed. It was the best smack in the world.

The Puppet Show

SAM TOUCHED HER eye. The bruise was now a spectacularly fading yellow and just looked weird instead of cool.

“You look like you’ve been playing hockey,” Helene said.

“Watching it on TV is as close as I’ll ever get to playing hockey,” Sam said to her nanny.

Helene smoothed in the cover-up makeup under Sam’s eye. “Good as new.” She stood back to admire her handy work. “The ladies who lunch will never know that Miss Samantha Rose was in a fist fight.”

“I was not in a fist fight,” Sam protested. She groaned at Helene’s teasing smile. “Bree hit me and then I fell down. End of story. A fighter I am not.” She chuckled. “If Susie hadn’t held everybody back, I think Lisa would have killed Bree.”

“You really like her don’t you?”

“Lisa?”

Helene nodded.

“Yeah. Do you know we’ve been together for three months and a week already?”

“You’re counting the weeks, eh?”

Sam felt her cheeks flush. Talking to Helene about Lisa was cool, but Sam had to make sure her parents didn’t overhear. They didn’t know their only child was gay, and there was no way in hell she was going to let them find out. The thought made her head hurt, so she changed the subject. “Are the ladies here yet?”

Helene checked her watch. “Not yet. In about fifteen minutes.”

Sam stood up, linked arms with her nanny, and together they walked though Sam’s bedroom into the living room of her suite. Not many seventeen-year-olds had their own bedroom suites with private living rooms, but Sam wasn’t like most seventeen-year-olds. Sam lived in a mansion surrounded by rolling lawns, a tennis court, a swimming pool, and myriad gardens all taken care of by servants and hired staff.

“C’mon,” Sam said, “let’s get this puppet show over with.”

“Duty calls.” Helene grinned as they headed down the hallway toward the main staircase leading to the first floor.

Sam’s mother’s gardening committee was having its August meeting, and Sam, of course, would be playing her violin to entertain them. She’d been entertaining her mother’s guests for over fourteen years, ever since she was three years old.

Helene groaned when they got to the bottom of the stairs. Sam’s mother was talking with one of the women from the committee who had arrived early. “She’s going to have my head for not being down here to answer the door.”

“Sorry, Helene.” Sam reached up to touch her eye. “You go on. I’m going to say hello to Daddy first.”

“Oh, sure, throw me to the wolves,” Helene said with a fake frown.

“I want to ask him about the lake house again.”

“Good luck with that one.” Helene patted Sam on the arm and headed toward the music room.

Sam went the opposite direction down the first floor hallway and was about to knock on the closed door to her father’s study when she heard him on the phone.

“Remember, David,” her father was saying, “I reward people that are faithful to me and my family. I reward people who keep their word.” Her father didn’t speak for a moment. David, whoever he was, must have been talking. Groveling, probably. “I’m glad we’ve come to this understanding.” Sam’s father added, “Just get it done.”

Sam heard her father place the phone back into its cradle. She waited twenty more seconds and then knocked lightly.

“Come,” he said.

Sam opened the heavy door and stepped into the room. Her father sat in his leather chair behind the mahogany desk reading what looked like legal papers. The two-toned desk commanded the center of the room like a judge’s bench in a court room. The dark paneling and manly décor of the room made it abundantly clear this was her father’s space. Sam always felt small in there.

Sam stopped two feet from the edge of the desk and waited for him to acknowledge her.

After several long minutes, he looked up and his face brightened. “Hello, Kitten.”

“Daddy,” Sam groaned, “I’m seventeen.”

“You’re still my good little girl, aren’t you?” His chiseled chin gave him an air of distinction, but Sam knew not to cross him, because behind those kind, blue eyes was a man used to getting what he wanted. Their family didn’t own most of the real estate in Clarksonville County because her father was a softy.

Sam folded her arms across her chest. “How was your trip to Albany?”

“Ahh, politicians,” he flicked his hand dismissively and leaned back in the chair, “pompous fools, every last one of them.”

“So why do you give them money?”

He smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Kitten, let Daddy worry about those things. Go play your violin for your mother’s company.” Clearly having dismissed her, he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

“Okay, Daddy.” She turned to go, feeling slighted. Her father thought she couldn’t possibly understand politics or the family finances.
He still thinks I’m his good little girl.
There was no way he’d ever give his little kitten permission to stay at the lake house with her friends. Not when he thought she was still nine years old. And he would positively freak if he suspected his perfect little kitten was a lesbian. Defeated, she reached for the door knob. Just as she touched it, she remembered Lisa’s Aunt Fran told her once that she and Lisa looked grown up. Maybe it was time for her father to see it, too.

She spun on her heels, adrenaline pumping. “Daddy, I know I asked you before,” she hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. She forced herself to look up at him. “I’d like to take some friends to the lake house. Weekend after next.”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “It’s not a good idea for you girls to be alone on the lake. It’s not secure.” He shook his head. “And I don’t know these new friends of yours.”

“You know Susie, and you met Lisa on the yacht.”

“Samantha Rose,” he glared at her over the top of his reading glasses, “I said no.”

“Okay, fine.” She cursed herself for giving in so quickly. God, how she wished she had a backbone. She slunk out of his study, tail between her legs.

Once in the hallway, she smoothed down her bright yellow sundress and made sure her hair was still securely tacked on top of her head. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to greet the ladies who lunch.

Stepping into the music room, she wasn’t surprised that Mrs. Worthington was among the first few guests. Mrs. Worthington was probably in her fifties, like Sam’s mother, but had her nose so far up her mother’s butt, it wasn’t funny.

“Samantha Rose, darling.” Mrs. Worthington leaned in for a two-cheek kiss.

Sam obliged, kissing the air on either side of the woman’s cheeks, desperately trying not to inhale her hairspray.

Sam stepped as far back as protocol allowed. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Worthington.”

“You look lovely, dear. How is school?”

Sam didn’t bat an eye. The first rule of entertaining was to put guests at ease. So what if Mrs. Worthington didn’t know that school was still out for summer. It was Sam’s duty as Mimi and Gerald Payton’s only child to play junior hostess and make guests feel comfortable.

“Senior year starts in about a week and a half, but I expect it to be a good experience.” Sam stifled a laugh.
A good experience? Oh my God, that was so cheesy.

“Well, that’s nice, dear,” Mrs. Worthington said with a smile.

“Thank you for coming today.” Sam nodded and then stepped back releasing Mrs. Worthington to join the entourage building around her mother.

Helene scurried around like a pro answering the door and serving tea to the steady stream of women arriving for the committee meeting. Several years before, Sam had helped Helene answer the door, but her mother reamed them both out afterward. It wasn’t Sam’s place, her mother had told her. Let the servants take care of those things. Since when was Helene a servant? Sam always thought of Helene as a member of the family.

Sam shot Helene a sympathetic smile, which was returned. Sam wished she could have stayed in her room that afternoon to get ready for her six o’clock game, but she remembered her role as debutante and approached a group of women who had been watching her. All of her life people had stared at her. It had been unnerving when she was younger, but, over time, she learned to ignore the unwanted attention. Still, in the back of her mind she always wondered what people wanted from her. For whatever reason, a smile or a word from Samantha Rose made them happy. Sometimes she wanted to shout at them to leave her alone, that there was more to her than the debutante puppet Samantha Rose Payton—the princess of Clarksonville County. She hated every minute of it, but put on her practiced smile and greeted her mother’s guests warmly.

She steadily worked her way through the guests, and after what seemed like forever, stood next to her mother.

“Samantha Rose dear,” her mother said as if surprised to see her. “Would you favor us by playing a few selections?” She gestured toward the Stradivarius displayed on the closed grand piano. Apparently all the guests had arrived, and it was time for the puppet show to begin.

“Of course, Mother.” Sam went to her violin and placed it delicately under her chin. She quietly tuned the strings.

“Is everyone here?” Sam’s mother said.

Mrs. Worthington did a quick count and nodded.

Sam’s mother clapped her hands twice to get the women’s attention. “If everyone has their tea, please be seated.”

One thin woman held up her empty hands and frowned as if to say she had rudely not been offered tea. Sam couldn’t get over how emaciated the woman was. She looked like a walking skeleton. Obviously the woman thought you could never be too rich or too thin. Unfortunately, her mother adhered to the same philosophy.

Sam’s mother gestured toward Helene to wheel the silver tea service cart over. Helene obliged and poured hot water into a china cup. She offered the woman a selection of tea bags.

Sam methodically applied rosin to the bow giving the walking skeleton enough time to fix her tea. Sam waited for her mother’s introduction.