by Neesa Hart
Sam didn’t try to decipher the cryptic comment. He forged ahead. The crowd around his sister parted as he approached. He received several strange glances and was vaguely aware of the whispers around him, but didn’t stop until the last person obstructing his view stepped aside. Then he realized what was causing all the speculation.
He stopped so abruptly that a waiter carrying a champagne-laden tray nearly collided with him.
Sam stood, heart pounding, mouth dry, and palms damp. He was looking straight into the clover-green eyes of Molly Flynn.
“Sam,” Taylor said, her voice triumphant. “Happy birthday.” She glided forward and wound her arm through his. “I’m sorry we’re a little late, but girls need time, you know.”
The crowd around them laughed. He thought. His ears had begun to ring. “What’s the matter, Sam?” Taylor pressed. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a gorgeous woman before.”
Not one like that. Molly Flynn, who had always had the power to knock the breath out of him, now stood six feet away in a crowded ballroom looking spectacular. Someone must have cued the band. They began a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” People began to sing. Sam stood rooted to the spot, staring at Molly. Taylor gave him a none-too-subtle nudge. “I laid all the groundwork for you,” she told him. “Now, go fix it or I might never speak to you again.”
Molly, wearing a green velvet dress that hugged her curves and dipped and draped in all the right places, was fidgeting. The fidgeting gave him hope. Sam took a steadying breath and closed the distance between them. “Hi.” Was that his voice? “Dance?”
She held his gaze for several seconds while he wondered why he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Finally she moved an imperceptible step forward. Sam placed a hand at the small of her back and drew her toward the dance floor. Her hair was piled atop her head in a cascade of curls and tendrils. She was taller than usual. A quick glance at her feet revealed two-inch heels, which made her slim ankles look slimmer and her long legs look longer. Sam’s heart rate kicked up a notch.
When they reached the dance floor, he took Molly into his arms. The feel of her against his chest, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, was so solidly right, he found it hard to believe that only two days had passed since he’d last seen her. He’d aged a decade, it seemed.
Sam tugged her closer as relief flooded him. She was in his arms again. Everything would be okay. For a man who never gambled, he was about to take the biggest gamble of his life. And for the first time since Taylor had told him her plans for this event, he was beginning to think the evening might actually turn out okay.
MOLLY SHIVERED against Sam’s solid warmth. She’d spent the most miserable and anxious two days of her life waiting for this moment.
Sam lowered his head to hers. “You look spectacular,” he told her.
“The dress itches.”
A devilish smile played at the corner of his mouth. “What would you do if I told you I could take care of that? I have a suite at this hotel for tonight.”
Her heart leapt. Maybe, just maybe, she told herself, Taylor was right. “Sam—about what happened—”
Sam shook his head. “Don’t, Molly. You were right to be angry. I was ready to make the deal.”
“Oh.”
“You hoped you were wrong.”
“No.” Molly searched his face. “I just don’t—I mean, I’m not sure now what—”
“Don’t say anything else. Let me explain. You were right about a lot of things. You were right when you said I’d allowed the governor’s office to trade on the Reed family name.” His eyes darkened. “Hell, as far as I know, it might not even be my name.”
“Your mother—”
“I told her yesterday to do what she wanted, that I wasn’t paying her not to talk to the press.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Me, too,” he said bitterly. “I told her if she needed money, I’d help her, but I’d never cared if Edward Reed was my father or not. I sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.”
“I think you did the best thing.”
“And as far as the story’s concerned, I haven’t promised them yet that I’ll delay it until Monday. Do you believe that?”
“I do,” she assured him.
“However,” he went on, “I did think I could persuade you to see it my way. You said I didn’t take the Sentinel seriously, and in a way, I realize now that you were right. It doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to you. I didn’t see the harm in waiting a few more days to run the piece.”
Molly thought that over. It was as she’d suspected. Despite Sam’s protests, he’d never seen the Sentinel as more than a passing amusement, a favor for an old friend. He had no concept of what it meant to put down roots and build a life around something other people might find insignificant. Sam was like that stray cat she’d tried to befriend years ago. When he no longer needed her, he had chosen to move on. Molly felt the wound in her heart tear open again as she looked into Sam’s eyes. “Then I guess the question is,” she said softly, her voice slightly hoarse, “what is important to you, Sam?”
“You are, Molly. You’re important. Don’t you know that? I’ve been through hell the last two days.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean what’s important to you right now. I mean, ten years from now, twenty years from now. What are you going to look back on and say it mattered to you?”
“Molly—”
“Because if it’s not people, then I feel really sorry for you. At the end of the day, family’s all you’ve got, Sam. No matter how you come by them, or where you get them, they’re all you’ve got. And you’ve spent so long trying to make sure you’d never get thrown out of one, you forgot you have to build it first.”
The song ended and Molly took a step away from him. “I came tonight because I wanted to apologize to you. I realized I’d done exactly what you were always accusing me of—I had rushed into a situation and reacted with my heart instead of my head. But you know what, Sam? I’d rather be a person who does that and makes a lot of stupid mistakes than a person who never lets herself feel anything.” Her throat felt tight. “That’s a rotten way to live.”
“Molly—”
She laid her hand on his chest. “No. Enjoy your party. Enjoy yourself. A lot of people have worked hard to show you they love you. Don’t take that away from them.”
He grabbed her hand. “You can’t leave.”
“I have to. I’ve got a life to get back to.” She looked around the ballroom. “I don’t belong here, but you do. Which is really what it comes down to, isn’t it?”
“We can work this out.”
“Not until you answer that question about your priorities, we can’t. I know what mine are, and they probably aren’t what you think, either.” She tucked a tendril of loose hair behind her ear as she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Happy birthday.” And then she fled the room.
SAM STOOD ALONE on the dance floor and watched Molly walk away. Every instinct told him to go after her. He’d made the mistake of letting her walk out of the Sentinel on Wednesday, and it had taken until tonight for her to come back to him. This time, he had the feeling he was on the verge of ruining the best thing that had ever happened to him.
A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to find his brother. “She’s incredible,” Ben said. Sam nodded. Ben’s gaze remained on Molly’s retreating figure. “And she’s good for you.”
Sam nodded again. “Yeah.”
“You’re in love with her,” Ben guessed.
“Hell, Ben, I don’t know.”
“Is your head pounding and your stomach in knots?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s love.”
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”
Ben grinned at him. “Damn it, Sam, I can’t believe you’re asking me that question.”
“I’ve never been in love before. You’re the expert on the subject.”
Be
n cast a quick glance at his wife who was standing near the bar deep in conversation with Taylor. The two women looked distinctly unhappy. He turned to his brother again. “You’ve always been a fighter,” he told Sam. “You mean to tell me you’re not willing to fight for the most important thing in your life?”
Sam gave Ben a sharp look. “What?”
“The most important thing in your life,” Ben repeated. “At the end of the day, the only thing that really matters is who you love and who loves you. Wouldn’t you say?”
If Sam hadn’t been so shell-shocked, he might have laughed out loud. Molly had made the same statement, and then left him wondering how in the world he was supposed to come up with an answer for her. Fool that he was, he hadn’t realized it had been staring him in the face for weeks.
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Greg Jessen’s number. The new editorial director of the Payne Sentinel answered on the second ring.
“Greg? It’s Sam.” Sam accepted Greg’s birthday greeting with only minor annoyance. “Yeah, thanks. Listen, I need you to do two things for me.”
“Sure, Sam. What’s going on?”
“I need you to call Cindy Freesdon and tell her to do whatever she has to do to hack into Molly’s computer and see what the status is on her transportation story.”
“I think it was just about done when Molly, er, left on Wednesday.”
“I’m counting on that,” Sam told him. “Cindy will know where to find it. Look it over and see how close it is to ready. If you need to edit it, just prep it to be a two-parter. We’ll run the second part later.”
“Okay. What’s the other thing?”
“I need you to stop the presses,” Sam said. Ben raised his eyebrows. Sam gave a few final instructions to Greg Jessen, then hung up the phone. He slipped it back in his pocket. He passed his brother the key to the presidential suite. “Here,” he told him. “Taylor got this for throwing the party here. She wanted me to stay there tonight.”
“I think she figured you’d share it with Molly.”
“I think so, too. You and Amy take it. I’ve got other plans.”
“Plans that include Payne, Massachusetts?”
“Yes,” Sam said. He checked his watch. “And I’ve got to get on the road. The copy for my front-page edition is now five hours past deadline.”
Ben laughed. “Stop the presses? You’ve always wanted to say that, haven’t you?”
Sam grinned—his first real smile in two days. “Yeah. It felt good.”
Ben nodded. “All right, I’ll cover for you with Taylor. Tell Molly I said hello.”
Sam was already heading for the door when he heard Ben call out to him, “What are you going to give me for not telling Taylor to start planning your wedding?”
Sam didn’t bother to respond.
MOLLY HEARD the familiar thump of the Saturday morning edition on her doorstep. Weary and emotionally exhausted from the night before, she’d collapsed on the sofa when she’d finally returned home from Boston. Seeing Sam had drained her, but she’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was the horrible anxiety she’d felt as the waiting kicked in. She’d thrown everything on the table last night. All she could do now was wait and see what Sam would decide.
Nervous energy had helped her make the drive home from Boston, but by the time she let herself in the front door, she’d been a bundle of nerves. She’d managed to strip out of the velvet dress Taylor had helped her find, and had savagely run a brush through the obscenely expensive hairdo Taylor’s personal stylist had executed earlier that day. A good scrub of the washcloth took off her makeup, and when she finally slid on her heart-and-lips printed pajamas, Molly felt better. Saner. But somehow she couldn’t face the prospect of sleeping in the bed she’d shared—however briefly—with Sam. So she’d settled onto the couch with Errol, where she’d fallen into a fitful sleep.
The thump of the paper had awakened her. Usually she hurried to the door, but today the thought held little appeal. Her story should have been on the front 246. Instead, when the paper had gone to press yesterday afternoon, the front-page article was a filler piece about the upcoming statewide elections. Molly contemplated going back to sleep, but Errol was nudging her hand insistently. He recognized the morning thump as the cue that Molly should be up and feeding him.
Groaning, she rolled to her feet and padded toward the front door. The sun seemed brighter than usual as she reached for the paper. Molly carried it back to the sofa and sank down wearily to scan the front page—more from habit than from interest.
Her eyes widened, and her heart kicked into double time when she saw the headline—her headline—announcing the discrepancies she’d uncovered in the mayor’s election reports and giving information about the fraudulent bid process Cobell had used for the transportation hub.
Molly scanned the front page, noting that very little of her piece had been changed. Greg Jessen had done an outstanding job of editing it, she noted, as she thumbed through the front section for the continuation. A full-page ad on the second page of the front section stopped her cold. Laid out like a personal ad, it read:
WANTED: self-assured, confident woman to mend ways of arrogant, confirmed bachelor. Sam Reed, Operating Partner and CFO of Reed Enterprises, seeks a candidate of marriageable age who is looking for a serious commitment. The ideal woman must be able to tolerate Mr. Reed’s unusually hard head and stubborn nature. She must be able to argue with Mr. Reed until he sees reason, have the tenacity not to relent when he turns churlish, and the grace to recognize that he will continue to make mistakes. She will need the patience of a saint, the endurance of a long-distance runner, and the heart of a warrior to put up with Mr. Reed’s irascible nature and often unmanageable moods. Mr. Reed has a propensity for redheads with green eyes and sharp minds. The interested and qualified party who wishes to apply should do so by opening her front door where Mr. Reed anxiously awaits her.
Molly’s hands trembled. She read through the ad again, and then a third time to make sure she’d read it correctly. Slowly, she stood and walked to the door. She took a deep breath and pulled it open to find Sam, looking tired, worn, and absolutely wonderful, standing on her front porch.
“Sam. How did you—”
He made a sweeping motion with his arm. “I tipped your paperboy to let me deliver your paper. You’ll be happy to know I still have the touch.”
Despite her fatigue, a smile played at the corner of Molly’s mouth. “I heard it hit the front door. Nice thump.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
In the morning light, he looked more relaxed than he had the night before. She had the vague feeling that she, on the other hand, probably looked as if she’d been hit by a freight train.
Molly held the newspaper up. “I saw the article. I was, um, surprised.”
Sam shrugged. “I was wrong, and I’m big enough to admit it. You deserved to break that story, and the Sentinel deserved to be the paper that broke it. I lost sight of that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you I realize I’ve been wrong about other things, too.”
Molly felt her stomach flutter. “You have?”
He nodded. “Yes. You were right about me. I lost sight of what mattered. When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time worrying that I had nowhere to belong. I was angry at Edward Reed because I needed him and I didn’t want to. And I was angry at my mother because she didn’t need me.”
“Sam—”
He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. “This time, let me finish, Molly.” He took a step toward her, pulled the paper from her hands and tossed it aside. Cradling both her hands in his, he pulled them to his chest. “I have to admit that when you challenged me last night, I didn’t think I knew how to answer you. I wasn’t really sure I could tell you what mattered to me. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t given it a lot of thought. The only things that mattered to me were being independent and self-su
fficient.”
Molly realized, now, the significance of what Taylor had told her about Sam’s relationship with the Reeds. She understood why he’d never accepted Edward Reed’s money—why he’d never been able to stand the idea of being reliant on his father. “I know,” she said softly.
Sam continued. “And in doing that, I lost the most important part of myself.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hands. He looked nervous, and a little on edge. “You saw the ad?” he asked.
Molly nodded. “That’s a great deal on airfare to the West Coast.”
Sam blinked. “Airfare? Molly—”
She laughed and let him off the hook. “Oh, you mean the full-page ad on the second page of the front section? Yeah, I caught that.”
“I meant it,” he said. “It’s a lifetime commitment.”
“Did you also mean the part about putting up with your moods and your hard head?”
“The whole package.”
“I’m sure you’ll get a lot of applicants.”
“There’s only one woman in the world who’s qualified.” He looked at her seriously. “It’s got to be you, Molly. I finally realized it last night.”
Her heart was racing, and her eyes felt suspiciously damp. “It was the dress, wasn’t it?” she managed to quip.
He grinned at her. “Despite the fact that you looked drop-dead gorgeous in that dress—no, it wasn’t the dress. Or the hair.”
“Thank God for that,” she said, “because I don’t think I can live through another four-hour session with Phillipe. The hair thing is not going to be happening again.”
Sam was smiling at her, with a breathtaking smile of absolute perfection that made her toes curl. “And as much as it turned me on to see you in that dress, I have developed an affinity for university sweatshirts.” He folded her hands closer to his chest, and his expression grew serious. “No, Molly, it wasn’t the way you looked. It was you—who you are. I let you walk out of the ballroom because I didn’t realize that. Then Ben said something that put everything into focus. You’d said it before, but I wasn’t listening. At the end of the day, family’s all you’ve got.” His gaze turned intense as he searched Molly’s face. “I love you, Molly. I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. I want you to be my family.”