“I’m telling you, I laid my new list of supplies right here on the workbench.” Mike pushed aside hammers, levels, and empty coffee cups, looking for the eight-by-twelve sheet of paper she’d set aside only moments ago. “Somebody moved it,” she snapped, planting both hands on her hips and scanning the crowd for the guilty party.
Hammers pounded, saws whined, and women laughed. Yet, over all that noise, Sam heard a distinctive sound that had her turning around in dread. “Not somebody,” she said on a sigh. “Something.”
“What?” Mike turned, too, and instantly leaped. “You little shit, give me that.”
Any other time, Sam would have enjoyed watching her little sister fight a goat for what was left of her list, now hanging from one side of the damn thing’s mouth. But it was late, she was tired, and she still had to go pick up Emma.
Emma.
The bright spot in Sam’s universe.
She was still finding it hard to believe. She had her daughter back. And it was as though the missing eight years had never happened. Everything was good. Everything was just as she’d always dreamed it could be.
Well, except for the fact that Jeff was here too and showed no sign of giving in on the custody issue.
Mike dug her heels in, wrapped both hands around the goat’s snout, and tried to pry its jaws apart. Sam shook her head.
Jeff.
A curl of heat unwound inside her and Sam told herself to squash it like a bug. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t listening. She could lie to everyone else and was actually doing a fine job of it. But there was no point in lying to herself.
Jeff still had the ability to twist her insides into a whimpering, pleading mass of want.
“Give it up, you hairy rodent,” Mike threatened.
The goat snorted through clenched jaws.
Sam lifted her head and stared up at the startlingly blue summer sky through the leafy canopy above her. A soft wind blew past, ruffling her ponytail and sending a few stray locks of hair into her eyes. She brushed them back and took a deep breath. Her stomach growled as she caught the scent of what smelled like stew coming from a bubbling cauldron hung over one of the campfires.
“Dammit, stop eating my list!” Mike shifted her grip on the goat, grabbing its head between her palms until she could stare it dead in the eye.
It chewed.
Mike steamed. “Listen to me, you little rat bastard,” she growled. “As far as I’m concerned, we can get the wool off you from the inside out.”
The goat stared at her for a long minute, then, apparently deciding that paper wasn’t an attractive enough snack to risk disembowelment, spat what was left of the list at Mike’s feet.
Mike let it go and the goat scampered off for greener pastures, so to speak. As she bent down to pick up the sodden, stringy mass of pulp, Mike threw another glare at the animal. “Can you believe this?” She grimaced at the dripping mess in her hand, then lifted her gaze to Sam. Thoughtfully, she asked, “Got a taste for goat burgers?”
Sam laughed and checked her wristwatch. “No, but you go ahead. One less goat around here could only be a good thing. I’m outta here.”
“Hey,” Mike said, reaching out to pull Sam to a stop. “How come you get to leave early?”
“Gotta pick up Emma.”
Mike grinned. “You’re really enjoying saying that, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah.”
Grin fading, Mike asked, “What about the weasel-dog? He lightening up on the custody thing yet?”
“No.” Sam shoved her hands into her pockets and told herself that it was just a matter of time. It had been a week already. Jeff’s wedding date was looming—something she really didn’t want to think about, for reasons she didn’t care to explore. So he was bound to cave soon. He had to, if he wanted to marry Cynthia Perfection. “He will, though.”
“I still say you should talk to Jackson.”
Jackson Wyatt was Carla Candellano’s husband and a very good attorney. Sam knew Mike was right. She should get herself a lawyer to handle her side of this. And maybe she would. Eventually. If Jeff refused to bend. But for now, Sam wanted to handle this herself. To find a way to reach a compromise with Jeff. For their sakes and for the sake of their daughter.
“If I have to get a lawyer, I will,” Sam promised.
“There’s a dodge.”
“I’m not dodging anything,” Sam argued. “Jeff and I should work this out. Together.”
“Hey,” Mike said, “maybe he’ll do what he did before. Run away.”
“If he does,” Sam reminded her tightly, “he’ll take Emma.”
“Then we hunt him down like the weasel-dog he is.”
“Not really helpful,” Sam pointed out, not seeing the humor in any of this.
“Sorry. But he can’t win this, Sam,” Mike said, reaching out to slap her sister on the back. “Emma’s as much yours as she is his. And as long as you don’t go all sappy and hormonal on us, the battle’s ours—” She stopped and stared.
Sam looked away.
“You’re not.”
Sam sighed.
The hum of activity around them drifted into the background as Mike’s gaze narrowed on her. Sam wanted to shift position guiltily, like a burglar in a lineup.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mike blurted, throwing her hands high before letting them slap down against her thighs. “You’re still hot for him.”
“It’s nothing,” Sam said quickly, with a glance around to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear. Bad enough she was having this talk with Mike. She’d just as soon not have everyone in Chandler knowing that Jeff was still able to light up her body like a fireworks show. “I’m handling it.”
Mike snorted and folded both arms across her chest, completely hiding the Marconi Construction logo. “Yeah, you handling him is what I’m worried about.”
“Cute.” Sam turned away, snatched up her purse and slung it over her shoulder, rifling through it one-handed to find her keys. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay? He’s engaged.”
“Uh-huh. He may be engaged to Ms. Fabulous, but he’s still married to you. That makes her the other woman.”
Well. Sam hadn’t really thought about it like that. And it might have been better if she hadn’t. Her hormones didn’t need any encouragement, thanks. Besides, she told herself sternly, they’d had their shot nine years ago. It hadn’t worked. Their time was over—and it wouldn’t be fair to anyone to try and change the rules now.
“All I’m saying is . . .” Mike broke off and huffed out a blast of breath on a disgusted sigh. “Speak of the weasel-dog and up he walks . . .”
Sam whirled around and watched Jeff and Emma approach the worksite. She hadn’t expected him. And seeing him like this, completely unprepared, she felt a wild rush of something hot and liquid and dangerous flash through her. Good Lord.
“Oh yeah,” Mike murmured, leaning in close. “You’re gonna be just fine around him. No problems here.”
“Go kill a goat.”
Mike snorted, spared one quick, murderous look for Jeff, then stalked off.
“Mommy!” Emma raced right for her and Sam automatically bent down to scoop her up. Joy raced through Sam and worry drained away. How could she possibly worry about tomorrow, when today she was holding her little girl close?
Then Jeff stepped up into the dappled shade, smiled down at her, and Sam thought . . . Oh yeah. That’s how.
Chapter Nine
He shouldn’t have come.
Jeff knew that, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. Nine years apart. A lifetime. An eternity. He’d become accustomed to thinking of Sam only as a memory, and he’d learned to live with the occasional pang. Now, seeing her was mesmerizing. He couldn’t seem to get enough.
And that was dangerous.
For both of them.
The more time Jeff spent in Chandler, the harder it was to remember his daily routine in San Francisco. This world, this life, was so far removed from h
is. Here, there were no high-rises. No impatient clients or business lunches.
A flicker of guilt zapped him as he thought about all the extra work he’d put his assistant, Sallye, through lately. She’d canceled his meetings, rescheduled appointments, and managed to convey her displeasure at his suddenly cavalier attitude toward work.
Couldn’t blame her for being surprised, he thought. In the last five years, since he’d taken over the reins of the family bank, Jeff had been the model executive. He’d balanced work and home and slowly turned himself into exactly the kind of man his mother had envisioned.
That thought hit him harder than it had the last time it had drifted through his brain.
Had he really become the Hendricks family scion? Was he just another link in the long chain of dutiful bankers he’d sprung from? Was that it? Was he destined now to spend his life in a buttoned-down world?
Dreary thought.
Which was why this time in Chandler was so damn appealing. Here, there were beaches and the forest and the small town where every storekeeper greeted you like a long-lost friend—rather than a hefty receipt on legs.
Here, Emma was happy.
Here, there was Sam.
Dammit.
“I was just leaving to pick up Emma,” Sam said, her voice dragging him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, well,” he said, shoving both hands into his jeans pockets. “Emma wanted to show me Grace’s goats, and . . .” I wanted to see you . . . God, he hoped to hell he hadn’t said that out loud.
Sam smiled and the power of it slammed into Jeff and rocked him on his heels. He was rushing blindly through a minefield. And though he knew the danger was right here, all around him, he couldn’t seem to care.
“She had a good time here yesterday.”
“Yeah,” he said, enjoying the fact that for the moment, there was no enmity between them. “It’s all she’s talked about.” And he could admit, if only to himself, he’d felt more than one twist of envy when listening to his little girl talk about her aunt Jo teaching her how to hammer a nail, or about Mike showing her how easily faucets come apart, or about how her mother had given her a paintbrush and let Emma help paint a wall.
The Marconis were adventure. They were fun, new, exciting. Emma’s daddy, on the other hand, worked in a bank. Boring. Especially to an eight-year-old.
“C’mon, Daddy,” Emma said, squirming to escape Sam’s hold. As she jumped up and down, Emma’s sneakers sent up tiny puffs of dust around her feet. “You have to see the goats and Aunt Jo and Papa and Uncle Mike and—”
Jeff inhaled sharply, deeply, and caught the gleam of humor in Sam’s eyes. Not surprising. She probably saw the hesitation on his own features. Talk about a minefield. Walking unarmed into the midst of Marconis couldn’t be a healthy thing. “Enjoying this?”
“I shouldn’t, should I?” Her mouth twitched. “But yeah. I am.”
“Good that one of us is,” he muttered.
“Daddy, don’t you wanna see the goats?”
Please his daughter or avoid having confrontations with the whole Marconi family on their own turf? Tough choice. But he wasn’t ready to leave yet anyway. “Sure, honey—” He broke off as Hank Marconi bulled his way through the crowd of people to join them.
Jeff steeled himself, knowing there was no way to get out now, without looking like he was running for the hills.
The older man glared at him through pale blue eyes that glittered with emotion. Jeff had been dreading this meeting. Nine years ago, Hank had been the one person on Jeff’s side. The one member of either family who’d seen the love between Jeff and Sam and recognized that it couldn’t be fought. He’d offered friendship then, and now, Hank looked like he’d enjoy nothing more than stepping back in time to knock Jeff’s block off.
“Hank.” Jeff nodded, took the risk and held out one hand.
Sam’s father stared at him for a long moment. Tension simmered in the air between the men. An unspoken vow had been broken, he knew. Hank had trusted Jeff to make his daughter happy—and Jeff had failed miserably. It didn’t look as though Hank were ready to forgive and forget, either.
Finally, Sam took a step forward and laid one hand on her father’s arm. “Papa?”
He glanced at his daughter, then shifted his gaze to his granddaughter, staring up at him with a question in her eyes. Hank scraped one hand across his graying beard and rubbed his jaw like he had a toothache.
Jeff saw the older man crack. And he couldn’t blame him. No man alive would have been able to hold out against Emma and Sam.
Reluctantly, Hank took Jeff’s outstretched hand and shook it. “It’s good you’ve brought Emma home to her family.”
I’m her family, Jeff wanted to say, but clenched his jaw to keep from uttering the words. Like a child fighting over a toy, he wanted to stake his claim on his child. Wanted to tell them all that Emma was his. He didn’t want to share her, dammit. She was all he had. The only real family he’d ever known. And it cost him more than he could say to see the way Emma was being sucked into the Marconi vortex. But watching his daughter with the people who loved her, he couldn’t deny any of them that connection.
“I’m glad Emma got a chance to meet her other family.”
Hank eyed him with a steely glare and solemnly nodded. Then he released Jeff’s hand and deliberately turned to focus on Emma. Patting her head with a surprisingly gentle, beefy hand, he said, “Come with me, little mouse. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“But I wanna show Daddy the goats.”
Jeff spoke up quickly. “It’s okay, kiddo. I’ll catch up.”
He watched as she waved and then skipped along beside her grandfather. The goats were there, wandering through a crowd of workmen who paused occasionally to swat one of them out of the way. Hank and Emma had joined an older woman wearing casually elegant clothes and dozens of ropes of beads around her neck. As he watched, the woman took off several of her own necklaces and presented them to Emma. The little girl preened, then did a quick pirouette while her grandfather beamed.
Even if Hank wanted to stomp Jeff into the ground, it was clear the older man was nuts about Emma.
“Well, that was pleasant,” Jeff said, still feeling the sting of Hank’s disapproval.
“You’re alive,” Sam pointed out. “So, upside.”
He choked out a laugh. “True.”
Tearing his gaze from his daughter, he looked at Sam. Dirt streaked her forehead. Dried lemon-yellow paint streaks decorated her dark green T-shirt. Her worn, faded jeans clung to her legs like a lover’s hands. Like his hands used to.
Great.
Images filled his mind and he couldn’t shake them. Suddenly, the past was closer than the present and far more clear than a future that hung nebulously out of reach. He blew out a breath, and told himself to ignore the steamy visions clouding his brain. And he’d probably have as much luck with that as he would in telling himself not to breathe.
Pushing a stray lock of red-brown hair out of her eyes, Sam looked up at him. “So. You want to meet the goats?”
He stared into those pale blue eyes of hers and knew he should leave. Knew he should get far, far away from Sam and the memories she stirred within. “Yeah. I would.”
Cynthia made a careful note in her day planner, then tucked a fall of blond hair behind her ear. “Yes, I understand,” she said, nodding to the person on the other end of the phone. “That’ll be fine. We’ll be there Friday. About seven. Yes.”
The caterer was still talking when she hung up the phone. Now that the details were set, she really didn’t want to listen to the man tout his flair with salmon one more time. Besides, she didn’t want to have to try to convince the man again that Jeff would show up for this meeting. He’d already missed two and Cynthia was beginning to feel like an idiot, trying to explain why her fiancé was on the missing persons list.
Idly, she rested her fingers atop the receiver as it lay in its cradle and then tapped her manicured n
ails in a staccato beat.
Her nerves clanged inside her like a mission bell in a hurricane and she suddenly couldn’t sit still a moment longer. Jumping to her feet, she crossed the living room of her apartment, pushed open the French doors to the balcony, and stepped out.
Instantly, a cold San Francisco wind slapped at her. The incessant growl of traffic from the street below rose up to greet her, and from a distance came the lowing bleat of a ship’s horn. On the horizon, storm clouds banked and gathered, swirling together until they were strong enough to make an assault on the city.
She sighed and dropped both hands to the cold iron balustrade, curling her fingers over the lip and hanging on as if it meant her life. “This is not supposed to be happening,” she murmured, squinting into the wind and blinking back the tears filling her eyes. “Jeff should be here. With me. Emma should be having her dress fitted. We should be happy, dammit.”
But she wasn’t.
Her fiancé was spending entirely too much time with his wife, for heaven’s sake, leaving all of the wedding details to her. All he was supposed to do was get the papers signed. Why was it taking so long?
Worry curled inside her, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she smiled, turned, and went back inside. Sitting behind her desk again, she picked up the phone and dialed.
“This place is amazing,” Jeff said, running the flat of one hand across a newly paneled wall.
“It really is,” Sam admitted, then shot him a quick look. “Though if you tell my sisters I said so, I’ll deny it.”
She’d been giving Jeff a tour through Grace’s Winchester Wannabe house and it had been like seeing it all for the first time herself. Hard place to work on, considering Grace’s propensity for changing her mind all the damn time, but seriously, if you just looked at the house itself, it was great.
“See this?” she asked, bending almost in half to show him the detail work on the chair rail ringing the room. “She had this done by a woodworker up north.” Sam ran her fingertips over the intricate carvings. “He’s done stars and the moon and the sun in here, and then in the library he’s worked out symbols from fairy tales.”
And Then Came You Page 12