No Promises

by N. Raines

  "Me?" He scoffed. "What would I do with a cat?"

  "Take care of it, feed it, pet it. What everyone else does." She nodded at the kitten. "He likes you."

  And Rick liked the cat. Shit, it was a cute little bugger. "Do you want to hold him?"

  Sam's eyes lit with warmth. "Sure. Let me put my coffee down." She placed it in the cup holder and reached out for the kitten. He struggled a bit, then settled into her lap. Her lips curved into a smile as she stroked the little fuzz ball. Rick was struck with an urge to stroke her hair, which looked as soft as the kitten's fur. She looked so pretty right now. Rick leaned in, imagining kissing her soft, tempting lips…

  The kitten stood and stretched, pricking its claws into Sam's denim-covered thighs. It blinked, then crawled back to Rick's lap and butted its head against his stomach.

  Sam laughed. "He likes you best. You should keep him once he gets the all clear."

  Rick grinned at the kitten. The little guy had a lot of heart. Cats weren't hard to take care of. Leave them food, water, a litter box, and they were good to go. He wouldn't have to worry about it on his long shifts…

  His smile faded. What shifts? What the hell was he even thinking? He couldn't adopt a pet. Not now, when his life had gone tits up.

  The black coffee left a bitter taste in his mouth. He set his half-empty cup in the holder. "How long have we been here? Maybe we should get going."

  He kept the kitten tucked close to him until they reached the vet clinic.

  Chapter Six

  A week later Rick had settled into a kind of routine. In the morning he helped Sam with the cats, then cleared out the junk room and did other chores for Jay. When some of the neighbors discovered the Pennywells' "handyman," he even began doing some work for them too. Mowing lawns, cleaning out gutters, whatever they needed. He had no complaints—it kept him busy. What would he do otherwise, veg out and get addicted to video games? Or worse, soap operas?

  With his downtime, he caught up with his reading. He found a collection of old paperback thrillers while cleaning out the loft and picked up some more at the local used bookstore. He had an e-reader, but found the low-tech option surprisingly enjoyable.

  Sometimes, though, there was too much downtime, and it made him edgy. Jangly. Like he was waiting for something to happen. The way he used to feel on the job, sitting in the rig, waiting for a call. He hated to admit it, after all the shit that had gone down, but he missed the excitement.

  At any rate, he couldn't live like this much longer. He'd have to get to work pretty soon. He wasn't some trust-fund baby who could sit back and live off Daddy's millions. The little bit he'd managed to put aside would be gone but quick.

  The only question was, how would he earn a living? Did he want to go back to Willowvale EMS? Cris would kick his ass if he didn't. It wasn't fair to keep his partner hanging, not to mention the chief and the rest of the crew.

  He kept putting off the decision. A lot of the reason was Dylan, but a small part, he had to admit, was Sam. He liked being around her, looked forward to helping her every morning. Enjoyed the time they spent alone together. He'd miss that once he went back to the old nine to five.

  Aw hell, what was the point of him pretending he saw Sam as no more than a buddy? She was getting under his skin. Though she tried to hide under those loose T-shirts and silly scrubs, she had a nice little shape and a sweet ass. Her boobs were on the small side, but that was fine with him. She was pretty, too, though she didn't seem to think so. She didn't fuss with makeup or any of the other tricks girls used to look hot.

  It was almost as though she'd given up on the idea of guys looking at her.

  Sam was a mystery he was curious to solve. A package he wanted to unwrap. And Jay was a pretty funny old coot. So Rick gave himself permission to chill a bit longer with the Pennywells before making any decisions about his life.

  ****

  Helping Jay work on Ellie May also kept him busy.

  "Well, Jay, it looks like… Hey, where'd you go?" Rick lifted his head from under Ellie May's hood. Sam's dad had been in the garage just a minute ago, but now he was gone.

  Rick shrugged, then closed the T-bird's hood. He left the garage, looked around outside. Weird. Had Jay gone back into the house?

  He circled around back and froze. Wisps of smoke drifted from behind the old shed. What the hell?

  He stormed over and caught Jay with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Jay!"

  Sam's father snatched the cigarette from his lower lip. "Shit!" He whipped his head back and forth as though he wanted to pitch the cig and deny all knowledge. Then his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Shit."

  "Are you crazy? What do you think you're doing?" Rick demanded. "You're sucking on cancer sticks with your bad heart?"

  "I know, I know." Jay looked in disgust at the still-glowing cigarette in hand, then dropped it and crushed it beneath his shoe.

  "You gotta know how dangerous it is for somebody in your condition to be smoking. What's going on in your head?" Helpless rage began to fill him. Rick's fingers curled into fists. What the fuck was wrong with people? Why did they do such stupid things, things to hurt themselves, and leave others to pick up the mess? "Have you lost your mind?"

  "It's hard, all right? I smoked a pack a day for forty years." His mouth twisted at the admission. "I've quit. Mostly. But once in a while, I just can't help myself."

  Jay's remorse helped Rick's temper cool some. Calm down, he told himself. It's an addiction. An addiction harder to break than one to heroin.

  "Where's the rest of the smokes?" he asked, holding out his palm. "Hand 'em over."

  Muttering something under his breath, Jay complied, passing Rick what remained of the pack. Rick frowned. "You gotta stop, Jay. These'll kill you."

  "Hey, guys."

  Both men jumped when Sam appeared from around the shed. Her scrubs, which had been fresh and crisp this morning, were rumpled and limp. Her face was pale and washed out. Purple shadows rimmed her eyes. "What's up? I thought you'd be in the garage. How come you're way back here?"

  Rick and Jay gaped at each other, both fumbling to answer.

  "We just, uh—"

  "Came back to check out the shed—"

  When Rick crumpled the cigarette pack in his hand, hoping to hide it, the cellophane wrapper gave a distinctive crackle. Sam glanced at him, then immediately zeroed in on what he was trying to conceal.

  "You were smoking?" The blank surprise in her expression morphed to anger. Her eyes blazed. "Are you crazy, doing that crap around my father after he's worked so hard to quit?"

  Rick's first impulse was to defend himself. He didn't want to rat out Jay, but he hated her thinking he was a bad influence. He didn't take her rage personally since he knew, underneath it, she was plain scared shitless for her father.

  "Sammy—" Jay interjected.

  "No, Pop. You shouldn't even be around that secondhand stuff. It's terrible for you." She glared at Rick, still waiting for his explanation.

  "Sam, listen to me." Jay looked like a man about to face his executioner. "They're not Rick's cigarettes. They're mine."

  She blinked at her father as though he were speaking a foreign language. "Yours?"

  "He caught me smoking and took the pack. That's why he—"

  Sam didn't stay to hear the rest. She whirled away and ran to her truck, jumped in, and peeled out into street.

  Jay's shoulders fell, and he sneaked a guilty look at Rick. "Sorry about dragging you into that."

  Rick held up his hand. "No worries. Give her a chance to calm down, she'll be all right."

  He hoped.

  ****

  A few hours later, Rick was lying on his bed when he heard Sam's truck pull into the driveway. Was she still pissed? He descended the loft stairs and ambled over to the house. He tapped on the kitchen door, let himself in.

  She stood at the sink, rattling dishes as she took them from the drainer and stuffed them into the cabinets. He kept a safe dis
tance from her. The way she was going, she was likely to clock him if he got too close.

  "Hey," he said softly. "Your dad said he was going to his friend Lenny's house."

  She paused, slid one more dish on the stack, and closed the cabinet door. "I know. It's his weekly poker night." She kept her back to him. "Did you guys eat?"

  "Yeah; we heated up some leftovers. You?"

  "I hit the drive-through, stuffed my face. It was gross. Thanks for doing the dishes."

  He stepped closer. "You're welcome. I didn't want to leave a mess."

  She let go a long sigh of defeat. "Sorry I ragged on you before."

  "It's okay." He took another step, wanting to touch her. But she held herself so stiff and tight, she might shatter if he laid a hand on her.

  "No, it's not." She turned to face him, a dish towel in her hand. "I shouldn't have blamed you. And you would have kept taking the blame if Pop hadn't confessed. How come?"

  He shrugged, showed his palms in a helpless gesture. He didn't know why he wanted to protect Jay. Or maybe it was more about protecting Sam.

  Her head drooped. "It was a shitty day at work. One of our regulars had to be euthanized. Riley. A sixteen-year-old golden retriever. Half-blind, deaf, could barely walk, but he was a sweetheart. Everybody loved him. Every time he came in, he'd give us all kisses. He couldn't even get to his feet this morning. His owners had to carry him in. They knew it was time, but that didn't make it any easier."

  "That sucks."

  "Yeah." She twisted the towel hard enough to shred it. "I mean, at least he's not suffering anymore. But it's hard. We were all in tears. Then I come home and find Pop… " She shook her head. "I just couldn't deal, after everything else. Damn it, he knows how dangerous it is to smoke. Doesn't give a damn he's killing himself."

  "He cares. He just… It's an addiction."

  "An addiction." She screwed up her mouth. "He's had two frickin' heart attacks. You'd think that'd be enough to make him quit." She peered at him, her eyes narrowing. "Was this the first time he sneaked a smoke?"

  Rick hesitated, though he knew the answer. "You've got to ask him that."

  His evasion didn't fool her. "Shit!" She threw the towel onto the counter. "Why the hell am I trying so hard to keep him healthy? To make sure he eats right and doesn't overdo it? Trying to keep him alive, when the minute I turn my back he lights up—"

  "He's a grown-ass man, Sam. You can't control what he does."

  Her mouth went slack. "You think it's my fault, then? That I, what, push him too hard and he's rebelling? Like a kid would?"

  "It's not to spite you. It's not about you, Sam."

  "Shit." She squeezed her eyes shut, clapped her hands over her face, and whirled away. Once again he was looking at her back.

  "Hey." This time he stepped to her, put his arm around her. She fit perfectly against him, as though she belonged there. Heat raced up his side where they touched. Crap. He shouldn't be reacting like that now, while trying to comfort her. Focus, dumbass, focus. It's not about you. It's about Sam. She's hurting. "He's been a smoker his whole life. It's a sonuvabitch to kick, even when somebody really wants to."

  She kept her face hidden in her hands as her shoulders began to shake. His heart swelled when she sank against him, trusting him to support her.

  Her tears rendered him helpless. He wanted to make her feel better, make her forget her shitty day. "Take it easy. It's not your fault."

  Her response was muffled by her hands. "Say again?" he murmured.

  She dropped her arms to her sides as her gaze fell to the floor. "You think I'm a bitch."

  "What? No." She really believed that? "No, Sam." He turned her in his arms to look down at her.

  She swung her head up. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears. "You think I like it? Being a nag and a pain in the ass? Always bugging him to watch what he eats, take care of himself, don't stress out? You think it's fun for me? That it's my life's ambition to live with my dad the rest of my life and be his babysitter?"

  He stroked her hair. It was fine and silky between his fingers. "Then why do it?" His voice was soft.

  "Because who'll take care of him if I don't?" Her eyes, which moments ago had been dull and lifeless, now blazed with anger. "He won't. Hell, no. 'Cause he's too big and tough. Hey, only wusses eat salad and worry about their cholesterol. Real men smoke and chow down on greaseburgers and keel over at sixty." The anger suddenly drained away, leaving her limp and sad. "That's what I'm dealing with. That's why I'm such a bitch."

  "No, you're not." Rick pulled her close. Her body turned stiff, resistant. "It's all right, Sam."

  She shook her head. "It's a mess."

  Nothing will happen to your dad, Rick wanted to say. He'll be fine. You both will.

  The words stuck in his throat. No promises, he reminded himself.

  He wanted to comfort her, somehow make it better. Without thinking, he tilted up her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, only a simple touch of lips at first. Sam's eyelids fluttered, but she didn't pull away. He should have stepped back then, but the softness of her lips, the quickening of her breath captivated him.

  He held her loosely, so she could free herself if she wanted. Instead she moved in closer. He trailed his fingers down her sides, his touch gentle. In his arms she felt tiny and fragile. Her small, round breasts pressed against his chest, and fire raced down his spine straight to his dick. Rick shifted as it began to swell. Shit, what a time to get a hard-on. He didn't want to come on like some horndog just looking to get laid.

  Sam wouldn't let him retreat. She threw her arms around his neck and held tight. As their lips clung, Rick deepened the kiss, opening his mouth. She followed his lead. When their tongues touched, lust zapped him, followed quickly by reason.

  "Whoa." He stepped back, freeing himself from her hold.

  "Rick." Her lips were swollen, her gaze soft. Her arms remained open, inviting him to return to her embrace. He wanted to, more than anything.

  No. He had to stay cool. He hadn't meant for it to get this far.

  Weird, because she wasn't his type. He liked tall girls with long legs. Long hair. Hot girls who knew how to dress, knew how to fix themselves up. Girls like Britt.

  He almost rolled his eyes. Yeah, sure. Britt. Look how that turned out.

  Crazy that a funny little chick like Sam would have his gut in a twist and his dick hard as a rock. All the little things about her that caught his attention—her soft hair, her trim body, her love of animals—had crept under his defenses. He wanted her.

  And she wanted him. The glow in her eyes, the sigh escaping her parted lips told him so. "Rick."

  Ah, the hell with it. He grabbed her, crushed her against him, and claimed her mouth. Their lips and tongues clashed, then melded as the kiss turned slower, softer. Deeper. Fire blazed through him, then shivers as though freezing winds blasted him. Sam was shaking too. She slipped her hands over his shoulders, down his arms. She stood on tiptoes, hitched one leg up against his hip as though trying to climb him, while all he wanted was to lay her down and have her right there on the kitchen floor.

  No. His better self kicked in. He peeled her off him, stepped away. Rubbed his swollen mouth. "We can't. I can't."

  She stared at him, then sagged. The light left her eyes. Her mouth drooped in disappointment. "Why not?"

  He scrubbed his hand through his hair, shoved his fists in his pockets. "God's sake, Sam. Your father took me in, gave me a place to stay. He trusts me. I can't disrespect him by doing his daughter in his own house."

  "It's my house too." Her voice was thready, barely a whisper.

  He let out a deep breath. Shit, talk about frustrated. "You know what I mean."

  "Uh-huh." Her gaze turned chilly as she folded her arms across her chest. "Is that the only reason?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, maybe I just don't turn you on. Maybe you feel sorry for me and—"

  What? Seriously? Here he
was, trying to be a decent guy and she—

  Anger crackled through him. "You think me getting hard means I'm sorry for you? That's some messed-up shit."

  Her cheeks bloomed red. "You wanted to comfort me and things got out of hand."

  He snorted. "I wanted a hell of a lot more than that. Look, I'm trying to be good here, okay? Don't make it tougher for me." The look she gave him only made him want to grab her again. If he stayed with her another minute, no telling what he'd do. "That's it. I gotta go."

  With that, he turned and stalked back to the garage, grinding his teeth and trying to ignore his aching cock.

  ****

  Sam stood alone in the kitchen, numb. He wanted to be good? Well, what about her? What about what she wanted?

  She ought to admire him. He wanted to respect Pop. Respect her, too. Some guys would have just said the hell with it and gone for it. Gotten their rocks off and scuttled away without a second thought. It wasn't as though she'd made it difficult. Hell, she'd practically climbed him like Jack had the beanstalk.

  But admiration was hard to come by when all she felt was frustrated. And horny.

  He wanted to be a good guy. Well, she was sick of being a good girl. Daddy's girl, everybody's buddy, an honorary bro. Levelheaded, responsible, dependable Sam. Screw that. She wanted to be mysterious, unpredictable, sexy. She wanted to be a woman, damn it!

  Rick didn't want to disrespect Pop by sleeping with his daughter under his roof. Okay. Then she'd fix it so that wasn't a problem. She'd go to him.

  Sam firmed her lips and straightened her shoulders, then headed out the door. Halfway to the garage, the doubts hit her. What if he'd only kissed her out of pity and had been carried away? What if he turned her away? What if he laughed?

  She cringed, humiliation crawling into her bones. He wouldn't do that. He's not Cody.

  She forced herself to take the few last steps. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to ignore the contents of her stomach tumbling in spin cycle. She turned the knob and pushed open the door.

  And collided with Rick.

  Chapter Seven