Taking another, deeper breath, Sam blew it out slowly before saying, “I’ll always love your daddy for giving me you, Emma. But it’s different now.”
“I know.” The little girl sighed dramatically and laid her head down atop Bear’s. That only lasted a minute, though. The big dog snuffled, turned its head, and whipped out its tongue to give her a swiping kiss across the face. She giggled, then sobered again and said, “Isabel says that mommies and daddies don’t always live together.”
“Isabel sounds—” Dangerous, Sam thought. Good ol’ Isabel had an opinion on everything. But she didn’t say that, she only added, “Smart.”
“Oh, she is. Isabel’s eight already and on her birthday we went to the movies and had popcorn and candy, and how come you didn’t want me when I was a baby?”
The subject changed so abruptly, Sam’s head spun. These were the questions she’d somehow imagined her daughter asking her. But she’d thought that she’d have time . . . years . . . to come up with the answers.
Sam had never expected to connect with her daughter while she was still a child. In her dreams and imaginings, this meeting had always taken place after Emma was grown up. She’d heard the stories. Adopted children searching out their birth parents. And she’d always thought their reunion was years away, if ever.
Now that it was here early though, she didn’t know how much to tell Emma. She was only a baby. She didn’t need to hear her mother talk about an evil old witch-faced grandma who’d stolen so much from them. She needed truths. But the kind of truths that a child could understand. There would be time later for details. “I did want you, Emma.” She spoke quickly now, hoping to ease away any doubts the child might be feeling. “I really did. But I wanted you to have a family and—”
“But you have a family. Aunt Mike and Aunt Jo and Grandpa and Bear and—” She paused and looked around as if searching for someone else. “Don’t I have a grandma, too?”
Another ache in her heart. “No. My mom died just before you were born.” And that was a big part of the reasons that had convinced an eighteen-year-old girl to make the biggest sacrifice of her life.
“Oh. My daddy’s mommy died too, so maybe they’re friends.”
Sam doubted it, but managed to keep from saying so aloud. Her own mother—a sweeter, warmer woman never lived—was probably running a bingo game in heaven. While Jeff’s mother was no doubt somewhere a lot warmer, desperately wishing she had sunblock strong enough to withstand the flames.
“So how come you didn’t keep me?”
Sighing, Sam lifted Emma’s hand and held it. Rubbing her thumbs across the back of her small, soft hand, she said, “I wanted to, baby. I really did. But—” She stopped and thought about it for a moment before saying, “There were some problems here and—”
“Was I a problem?”
“Oh no.” Sam smiled widely and pulled Emma in close for a hug. This she could give her. This truth was pure and simple. “No, honey. You were never a problem. You were a gift I couldn’t keep.”
Jeff looked at the old house, lamplight shining in the windows, and just for a minute, he remembered his first visit here. Nine years before, he’d stood in just this spot, looking at the house and tugging nervously at his collar. But he’d had Sam beside him then. Leaning into him, hugging him tight, reassuring him with a laugh that her family would love him—because she did.
The sun was shining and in his memories it always seemed to be that way. Was it real? Or was it because when he was with Sam, the world looked brighter? Didn’t matter now.
They’d walked up those porch steps together, and he’d heard the family inside. So different from his own. Here, there was laughter and shouting and a TV turned up way too loud. The scent of something mouthwatering drifted through the screen door and Sam said, “Lucky you. Mama’s making her world-famous sauce.”
Then he followed her inside and the noise stopped. Her sisters, her mother, and finally, her father, all turned to look at him and Jeff knew what it felt like to be on a glass slide under a microscope. Nerves rattled through him, but in an instant, it was over.
Sylvia Marconi, tall, slim, still lovely, hurried to him. “Let me see him, Sam,” she said, smiling as she took his hands in hers. She studied him for a long moment with frank, warm brown eyes, then nodded. “I like you,” she said firmly and kissed him on both cheeks.
It had felt as though someone had just hung a medal around his neck. Nerves slipped away, he took a deep breath and smiled. Impossible to do anything else when faced with such open welcome.
“Thank you, Mrs. Marconi.”
She laughed and he instantly knew where Sam had gotten her full-throated, rolling yet musical laughter. “Call me Mama. We’re family.” Then she flicked a quick glance at her husband. “Papa, leave the football game and come meet Sam’s young man.”
Then it was a blur of voices, faces, smiles. Sam’s sisters jumped right in, giving him warm hugs and making him feel at ease. Jeff had never experienced anything like it. The warmth of the house surrounded him and the Marconis swept him up in the flood of emotions.
Hank stood up, a barrel-chested man with a thick head of gray-flecked brown hair and a full steel-gray beard. Stretching out one hand to him, the older man winked. “Glad you’re here,” he said, with a wicked glance at his wife and daughters. “One more man in the house evens things up a little.”
The family had welcomed him, but they still hadn’t approved of his and Sam’s marriage. They’d insisted the two of them were too young. And looking back, he thought maybe they’d been right. Didn’t matter now though, one way or the other.
Jeff inhaled sharply, deeply, then blew the air out of his lungs in a rush. A twinge of regret pinged inside him like a steel ball in a pinball game, bouncing off rods and pins, racking up thousands of points. But there was no “win” here.
The afternoon that still lived in his memory was long gone and his welcome at this house, long revoked. That bothered him more than he would have thought. A soft ocean wind drifted past him, spearing curious fingers through his hair. Overhead, the leaves of the old oak rattled like an old woman’s bones in winter. And Jeff shoved his hands into his pants pockets.
He hadn’t expected to feel . . . so much. Sure, he’d anticipated his reaction to Sam. But he hadn’t known that he would miss her family, as well. Nine years ago, Mike Marconi had been only sixteen and Jo nineteen. He hadn’t known them well or long, but he’d felt their acceptance. They’d treated him like an older brother.
Now, Jeff thought grimly, Mike had already made it plain that she’d like nothing better than to pick up a nail gun and use him for target practice. Jo surely wouldn’t be any happier. And he was sorry about that.
Hell, he was sorry about a lot of things.
Straightening up, he marched up the flower-lined walk and stomped up the steps. The point was, the past was gone and the future had yet to be mapped out. And dammit, he wouldn’t let regret push him off course. What mattered now was Emma. Not the wispy, fragmented emotions of too many years ago—but a little girl who didn’t deserve any of this shit.
The stereo was on and Bob Seger was growling about old-time rock and roll. Through the screen, Jeff saw past the dimly lit living room to the bright kitchen beyond. He lifted one hand to knock just as a woman danced to the kitchen counter, shook her bootie for emphasis, then shimmied in time with the music.
And he was caught, as he had been so many years before. She moved with a freedom and unselfconsciousness that he’d always envied.
His hand stilled.
His heart pretty much did, too.
Sam still had great moves.
And one terrific butt.
“God.” While he watched, she did a fast dip and spin, then rocked her jeans-clad hips to the beat Seger provided. Jeff couldn’t take his gaze off her. He’d nearly forgotten how she liked to dance in the kitchen. Her dark, fiery hair swirled around her shoulders and when she lifted her arms skyward, a kitchen towel
clenched between her hands, the hem of her dark green T-shirt rose, giving him an all-too-brief glimpse of tanned skin.
Naturally, he shouldn’t be noticing Sam—not the way he was, anyway. Dammit, he was engaged. To a woman who had the right to expect better. Jesus, was he really going to stand here and let his hormones drag him down a road he’d already crashed on?
Sure, he knew better. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. Couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from Sam’s seductive dance. She wasn’t even trying—yet he felt a raging need crawling inside him.
He unfisted his hand and laid it against the screen door. He couldn’t interrupt. Didn’t want to shatter this moment when she didn’t know she was being watched. When she wasn’t angry or defensive or ready to kick his balls into his throat. Just for this one moment, he wanted to enjoy seeing the woman he remembered. The woman who’d swept him into a sea of passion that had, eventually, drowned him.
That thought doused whatever embers were flickering to life within. He made a fist and knocked three times. Hard.
Instantly, she whirled around and her gaze fixed on him. Embarrassment and suspicion crossed her face in quick succession before her features composed themselves into a perfectly polite, perfectly poised, blank. She tossed the dishtowel onto the counter, glanced behind her, and then headed toward him.
Loose limbed and graceful, even when her spine was stiff enough to snap, Sam Marconi was the kind of woman who could bring a man to his knees. But she’d done that to him once, as he vividly remembered. Wouldn’t happen again.
“A dancing carpenter?” he asked, and could have kicked his own ass for getting things off on the wrong foot. One thing to keep from getting sucked into a sexual haze—something else again to pick a fight with a woman who could make his life miserable.
Her eyes narrowed. Jesus. He remembered that look all too well. Ready for battle and hunting for scalps. Quickly, he lifted both hands in surrender. “Sorry. Look, I’m just here to pick up Emma.”
Emma. He’d spent the last two hours wandering around “downtown” Chandler, thinking about what his daughter might be doing. What Sam was telling her. Stupid, but it had felt like the longest two hours of his life. For the first time, he’d been locked out of something involving his daughter. For the first time, he’d known that someone else had as deep a claim to her as he did himself.
And it wasn’t sitting well.
Sam nodded, reached out and opened the screen door. “Come on in. I’ll get her. She’s out back with Jo and Mike.”
Both of her sisters were there. Great. With the fortitude of a gladiator, Jeff managed to keep from groaning. But his features must have told her what he was thinking.
Her mouth twitched. “Don’t worry. My sisters won’t kill you in front of witnesses.”
“Comforting. What about your parents?”
Sam inhaled sharply. “Papa’s so happy to get a chance to be with Emma, he’s willing to overlook you.”
Briefly, Jeff mourned the loss of the older man’s respect. He’d enjoyed Hank Marconi. Enjoyed having a father figure who wasn’t steeped in years of guilt and family duty. “What about Sylvia? She ready to kill me, too?”
“Mama’s dead,” Sam said, all light in her eyes dissolving.
“God, Sam . . .”
She stepped back as he stepped in. Shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, she shrugged and tipped her head to one side. “Just before Emma was born.”
He hadn’t known. Hadn’t kept tabs on her or her family. He’d wanted to put it all behind him. And he’d succeeded. Now, a twinge of grief snaked through him, for Sylvia, for Sam, for him. For all of them and for what might have been.
“I really am sorry.”
She nodded. “So’m I.”
“I liked Sylvia a lot.”
“She liked you, too,” Sam said, gaze fixed on him. “Which just goes to prove that even Mama could make a mistake.”
“Ouch.” Her barb hit home and made the guilt flare just a little. Deliberately, he tamped it down. “And are you ready to kill me?”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
A long minute ticked past and the music kept rolling out around them. Guitars, drums, and raspy voices filled the room and made it seem . . . crowded. Sam walked around the end of the sofa and turned the volume down. When she looked back at him, she took a deep breath and said, “Emma’s great.”
“Yeah. She is.”
“You did a terrific job with her.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.
That admission had cost her. He could see it in her. And damned if a part of him didn’t swell with pride. Why should it please him to hear her say he’d raised their daughter well? Why should what she thought of him mean anything? It had been years since they were together.
But, he silently admitted, it hadn’t been years since he’d thought of her. How could he avoid thinking of Sam? Every time he looked at his child, he saw her mother’s face. “She’s everything to me, Sam.”
“She is to me, too.” The words burst from her as if she’d been holding them in all night and finally lost the battle. As she spoke, she came back toward him, her steps as hurried as her words. “I know you don’t believe that. Because I gave her up. But she’s always been everything to me. She’s never been out of my head, my heart. Not for a minute.”
“I do believe it,” he said, unable to deny what he could see so plainly in her eyes. He’d told himself for years that Sam hadn’t wanted either of them. That he and Emma had been a mistake. One she’d eagerly corrected as soon as she could. He’d been wrong. He understood that now. “But it doesn’t change what is, Sam. Emma’s mine.”
“And mine.”
A ripple of anger swam uneasily in the pit of his stomach and he forced himself to contain it. “I have full custody,” he reminded her with a calm he silently congratulated himself on.
“For now.”
Shock slapped him back a step. He’d expected her to want visitation rights and had even convinced himself that they could agree on something reasonable. A week or two in the summer—the occasional weekend. But joint custody?
“You can’t be serious.”
Her pale blue eyes narrowed again and he could almost hear the starting gun going off, signaling the beginning of the battle.
“I’ve missed eight years of her life, Jeff,” she said, her words an oath that was all the more powerful for the whisper it was delivered in. “I missed her first words, her first step, her first laugh. I wasn’t there for her first day of school. I wasn’t there to give her cookies when she came home—your housekeeper does that.”
“Julia is—”
“Doesn’t matter how wonderful Julia is. She’s not me. She’s not Emma’s mom. I’ve missed too much already, Jeff. I won’t miss any more.”
His control slipped a little further and he scrambled to hang on to it. But she was threatening everything he held dear. Everything that mattered. “I’m not giving her up.”
“I’m not, either.”
He shoved both hands through his hair, and snorted a choked-off laugh. “You already did.”
“Nice shot,” Sam muttered, and headed for the kitchen.
He was right behind her, his stride longer, and when he caught her, he grabbed hold of her arm and spun her around to face him. He yanked her close. So close, he could taste her breath on his face. So close, he could see her pulse pounding at the base of her neck. So close that the urge to be closer grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.
“Why?” His voice was a growl. A low roar of raw emotion. “Why are you the one woman in the world who can get to me like nobody else?”
She threw her hair back from her face, planted both hands on his chest, and curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not trying to get to you, Jeff. I’m trying to get through to you.”
Damn. Her perfume wrapped itself around him. Filled his head. Confused his senses. Stirred up flames until he felt the heat spreading thr
ough every inch of his body. He didn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go.
Because he’d never really said good-bye?
Because she’d never left his mind?
Because he was an idiot letting his dick do the thinking for him again?
Or all of the above?
“That’s what makes me nuts, Sam,” he said, his voice hard, low, amazed. “You never had to try. You just do it. Always did.”
Some of the starch left her spine. Her shoulders slumped and she almost leaned into him. Almost. Her hands relaxed against him, her palms lying flat on his chest. Jeff could have sworn he felt the imprint of her hands on his skin.
“What did that ever get us, Jeff?” she asked quietly.
“Emma, for one thing.”
She smiled all too briefly. “But we lost us.”
True. Though he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit, at least silently, that he’d wondered often, over the years, what might have happened if they’d stuck it out. If one of them had only dug in their heels and demanded that the other listen. But they’d been too young. Too eager to blame. Too quick to quit.
And now it was too late.
Wasn’t it?
God, she felt good.
“Jeff . . .” She shook her head even as he lowered his head to hers. Even as his mouth hovered just a breath away from hers. “We can’t do this—”
She was right.
It was stupid.
And he absolutely had to. “Call it a nine-years-late good-bye kiss.”
His mouth met hers and the flash of something hot, familiar, and overpowering hit him hard and fast. His body went tight. His blood pumped. His body tightened and his breath strangled in his lungs. Desire, need, was so overpowering, he felt his knees rock.
Then the guilt kicked in, slamming into him with a punch solid enough to steal what was left of his breath.
Instantly he let her go and took a step back. It wasn’t far enough, but it was all he could manage.
“Sorry,” he muttered, scraping one hand across his face as if he could wipe away the kiss and the memory of it. She looked as shaken as he, but true to her nature, she’d never admit it. Already, any semblance of softness had dropped away, like shadows disappearing when a light flicked off.
And Then Came You Page 8