The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (19 page)

“Twentieth and Ninth,” he told her.

“Nice neighborhood. Very arty.”

“The apartment’s on loan from a friend.” Ty, a former college roommate, was in Europe for the summer. A lucky break, since Sam was probably used to nicer digs than he could’ve afforded on his own.

“You’re from California, aren’t you?” She drove too fast, just as he suspected she did everything. A few blocks ahead, Grand Central’s arch loomed like a finish line.

“Little town just north of Santa Barbara.”

“I know the area. My grandparents have a house in Big Sur.”

“You get out there much?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m flying out the end of the month.”

From the exaggerated nonchalance with which she spoke, he suspected she’d only just decided. Why had he told her where he lived? She’d be all over him now. Suddenly, he felt impatient to be with Sam.

They were turning onto Twentieth when he spotted her climbing out of a cab. She looked up, squinting into the glare of the Mercedes’s headlights, then broke into a wide grin.

“Anyone you know?” Markie pulled in behind the cab.

“A friend.” Ian cast her a distracted smile as he climbed out. “Listen, thanks for the ride.”

Then he was dashing to meet Sam, who stood with her arms out as if to embrace the whole world. He caught her, lifting her off her feet with the fury of his embrace. Her hair tickled his nose, and he could feel her buttons—small, cool circles pressing through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

He drew away, holding her at arm’s length. “You look wonderful.”

“Liar. I look like hell.”

“Rough trip?”

Her smile faded. “The worst. For a while there, I wasn’t sure we’d make it.” He could see now that she looked a little pale. Was it just the plane ride?

He touched her cheek. “Only a little further. Did I tell you it’s a walk-up?”

“I’ve come this far, I think I can make it up a few flights of stairs.” She bent to retrieve her suitcase, but he beat her to it. There were some things she’d just have to get used to.

He led the way up a steep flight of steps. Ty had touted this as a real find, but it looked more charming at night, when you couldn’t see the chunks missing from the lintels and cracks plastered over with cement. He cast her an apologetic smile as they stepped into the small, dimly lit vestibule. “I warned you it wasn’t the Ritz.”

Sam gave the easy laugh of a woman who’d have been just as happy with peanut butter and crackers as caviar. “I don’t intend to look a gift horse in the mouth. As long as there’s running water, I’ll be fine. Right now I’d kill for a shower.”

“Right this way, ma’am.”

On the landing above, she paused to ask, “She someone I should know about?”

“Who?”

“That girl just now.”

He caught the slight note of tension in her voice, and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Her? Just someone who works in the building. I ran into her as I was leaving.” He wondered why he hadn’t been more forthcoming. What difference did it make that Markie was the boss’s daughter?

Moments later he was unlocking the door to the apartment. They stepped into the living room, bathed only in the dim glow from the street lamp below. He set her suitcase down, and once more embraced her, burying his face in her hair. “I missed your smell.”

She broke away with a little laugh. “Listen to you, anyone would think we’ve been separated for ages.”

“It feels that way.” He studied her face in the half light, its delicate planes and lucent, gray-green eyes. “I’m glad you came. I was afraid you’d change your mind.”

She smiled. “I’m glad, too.”

“I wish you could stay longer.”

“I wish you were coming home with me.”

“It’s only for another week, if that. I’ll be home before you know it.” Ian switched on the overhead light. “I’ve got it all mapped out. Tomorrow, sightseeing. You ain’t seen nothing till you’ve been to the top of the Empire State. Then dinner in the neighborhood. There’s a great little Japanese restaurant just around the corner. You like sushi?”

Sam wasn’t even listening; she was gazing about the room, which was small, but long on charm with its wooden shutters and quaint marble fireplace. “I wasn’t expecting anything this nice.”

“The starving-artist garret was taken.”

She looked faintly abashed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

He grinned. “I know you didn’t.” He headed for the kitchen tucked off to one side—little more than a closet, really. “What can I get you? Water, wine, soda?”

“I’ll take that shower if it’s all right with you.”

“Bathroom’s all yours.” He caught her loosely about the waist as she was sidling past, kissing her on the nose. “Don’t be long.” He’d never wanted to make love to a woman so badly.

Down the hall he heard the shower crank on, and a few minutes later she was poking her head out the door, her head wrapped in a towel. Another thing he loved about Sam: She was the only woman he’d ever known who didn’t spend hours in the bathroom.

“Can I borrow your robe?” she asked. “I forgot to pack mine.”

“Let me look at you first.” Ian nudged his way inside.

Sam looked a bit startled, but didn’t protest when he drew her into his arms, holding her gently pinned against the sink. Steam settled over him like a warm hand. In the medicine chest over the sink, their reflections were a pale blur. He slipped a hand under her towel, and it dropped to the floor in a dark blue puddle.

Sam’s eyes searched his, and he saw what he always did, that tiny flicker of insecurity, the voice of the uncherished wife asking,
Is it true, can he possibly want me?
Ian wouldn’t have known where to start. It wasn’t just that he wanted her; she was
everything
he’d ever wanted.

He let his hands and mouth tell her instead.

Sam’s head tipped back, her hair falling in wet tangles about her shoulders. Water dribbled down the slope of her breasts. Ian bent to catch it with his tongue. It tasted sweet, like rainwater. He pressed his face against her neck. She smelled of shampoo and soap…and her own womanly scent. God, how could he ever give this up?

“I want you,” he murmured.

“Here?”

She pretended to be scandalized, but when he pushed a hand between her legs she was wet. She moaned, parting them further. Ian, on fire, reached to unbuckle his belt, fumbling like a teenager. Later would come the long, slow hours of lovemaking. But if he couldn’t have her right now, this very minute, he’d go crazy.

Tell him
, a voice whispered.
Tell him now
.

But the words wouldn’t come. She could scarcely breathe. Sam hiked herself onto the sink, wrapping her legs about his hips. It was awkward, but they managed. She could feel the cool porcelain pressing against her bottom as he thrust into her. Oh God…

Now there was only this: his warm breath mingling with the steam, his arms and chest slick with moisture, his body driving into hers. She gripped him about the waist. His damp hair stuck to her cheek. She could see their reflections shimmering on the wet tiles at his back. She squeezed her eyes shut, and forced her mind to go blank.

They came within seconds of one another, the force of it shoving her back hard. She felt the cold bite of the faucet in the small of her back, and would’ve slipped and fallen if he hadn’t caught her. He held her tightly for a moment before gently releasing her.

They eyed one another, gasping for breath amid the lazily swirling steam. Something warm trickled down the inside of her thigh. Suddenly she knew it couldn’t wait another moment. She had to tell
now.

“Ian,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

She’d only just found out. Even as she said it, it didn’t seem real.

She saw the same disbelief mirrored in Ian’s face. He took a step back, and incredibly, broke into a grin—the goofy grin of a man in shock.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m afraid not.”

The goofy grin dropped away. “I don’t get it. I thought—”

“So did I. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“Jesus.” He scrubbed his face with an open hand.

Sam felt a sudden chill. “Is that all you can say?”

Ian held his hands out, entreating her. “I’m sorry. Look, we’ll… we’ll figure something out.”

She shook her head. “Abortion isn’t an option.” She’d considered it, of course—for all of two minutes. But how could she go through it, knowing what it was to be a mother? Thinking of her own two and what her life would’ve been without
them
?

A heavy silence fell. There was only the slow tick of water from the showerhead, and the faint throb of music from the apartment below. Ian wore the expression of someone sucker punched, and when he spoke it was with the cracked voice of a man who’d aged aeons in the space of a minute.

“We’ll have it, then,” he said.

“You don’t sound too thrilled.”

He closed his eyes. “Give me a break, Sam. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“I know.” Her voice softened. She wanted to say something to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. This wasn’t a setback—or even an illness. Those were reversible. This wasn’t.

He’s just a kid,
whispered the voice in her head.
What did you expect?
She remembered the pretty young woman in the silver convertible.
She’s who he should be with,
she thought.
Someone his own age, someone with all the time in the world to raise a family
—
or to wait.

“Whatever happens,” he said, “we’re in this together.”

It was the sort of remark she’d have expected from Martin: utterly useless. At the same time, she didn’t know what he could have said that would have put her at ease. All she wanted was something, anything, that was firm, precise, like clear directions on the back of a box telling her how to proceed.

Too exhausted to continue, she pulled his robe from the hook on the door and slipped it on. When he reached to hug her, she gently pushed him away. “Not now,” she told him. “What I need more than anything is a good night’s sleep.” She opened the door, and slipped out into the hall.

Ian stood motionless in her wake, staring at his foggy reflection in the mirror—that of someone he didn’t know. He wanted to follow her, but the set of her shoulders had made it clear she wasn’t interested in anything he had to say—at least not now. Somehow, he’d failed. He didn’t know how, and maybe it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered, the only thing he knew, was that he had to find a way to make it right.

A baby.

Jesus.

Reality came crashing in. Was he ready for this?

In that instant, Ian saw himself as Sam must: young, unfettered, and about as far from father material as a man could be. But he wasn’t his dad. He wasn’t the sum of his childhood, either.

We need to talk,
he thought.
Not tomorrow, or next week. Now.

He had to make her see that it could work…as soon as he figured out
how.

A minute passed, then two. He stood there, his eyes squeezed shut, gripping the edge of the sink like a man in pain. At last, he stepped out into the hallway and called softly, “Sam?”

No answer.

The bedroom door was closed. He knocked, and when she didn’t answer, eased it open.

She lay sprawled across the bed in his robe, fast asleep.

“Y
OU NEED BOOTS
, for one thing,” Laura said firmly.

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble,” Finch said. “I’m fine with what I’ve got.” Her voice carried a note of defiance that Laura recognized for what it was: abject fear.

“You sound like Maude.”

The girl’s hard mouth flickered in a tiny smile. “I
could
use some new underwear.”

Well, that’s some progress at least,
Laura thought. It had taken most of the morning, and practically an act of Congress, to talk Finch into this shopping expedition. She claimed she needed nothing more than what she had and the few castoffs Laura had given her. But both knew that this represented far more than new clothes and a pair of boots that fit; it was a turning point of some kind, an unspoken commitment.

As they strolled along Old Mission on their way to Rusk’s, Laura made a mental list. The girl could use several pairs of jeans, some T-shirts and tank tops, a dress for special occasions, and sweaters for when the weather grew cooler. Assuming, of course, she’d be around then.

That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?

Laura was no closer to an answer than she had been a month ago. She still knew next to nothing about Finch. The only information she’d volunteered was that she was from New York and that both her parents were dead. When Maude had inquired gently about other family members, she’d clammed up. Further efforts to pry her loose had proved useless.

Only one thing was certain: They couldn’t go on this way indefinitely.

They were passing the bookstore when Laura ventured, “Have you given any thought to school?”

It was as if a wild animal she’d been hand-feeding for months suddenly caught the scent of danger. Finch’s reaction was immediate and visceral; Laura could almost see her shrinking as her muscles contracted and her neck disappeared into her shoulders. “No,” she said, staring at the ground.

“You’ll have to enroll, you know.” Laura spoke with studied casualness. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just…well, until you decide what you want to do.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.” Finch reminding her that she was sixteen now and could do as she pleased.

“What about college?”

Finch cast her a guarded look. Clearly, college had never been part of the equation. “What about it?”

“If you get good grades there are scholarships.”

“Yeah, right.” Finch was wearing that look again: the look of someone who finds it easier not to hope rather than risk having her hopes dashed.

“I’m serious,” Laura went on. “If your grades and test scores are good, there’d be any number of colleges that’d be thrilled to have you.”

Finch shrugged. “My grades suck.”

“We could work on that,” Laura said. “I was always good at math. And Maude…well, did you know she used to teach high school English?”