If Jillian would agree to resume their relationship and work with him to conquer the four-lettered demon, he would shovel damned sand to remain on Mimosa Key and be near her. Maybe she would hire him to work in the store she had inherited. Hadn’t she said her aunt was retiring and moving away? He had worked at Barber’s Hardware Store when he was in high school, so he had some retail experience. And surely the store had a computer so his IT experience in the Army would….
Come by my office if you get a chance and let’s talk.
The conversation with the head of Casa Blanca security surfaced. If McBain Security would hire him, he would have the means to stay on Mimosa Key. And if Jillian would give him a second chance, he would have a real reason to stay.
Sam focused on those possibilities throughout the remainder of his session with Evan. Once they were finished, Evan told him to report to the spa’s reception desk to complete some forms. It sounded all too much like an Army discharge. Forms, forms and more forms. But perhaps Jillian would be there and he could convince her to have dinner with him. He could explain everything over steak and lobster and a good bottle of wine.
He showered and changed at the villa, then walked to the spa. Jocelyn Palmer sat behind the reception desk with a dark-haired infant in her lap sucking on its thumb.
“Cute kid,” Sam commented. “Is it yours?”
Jocelyn nodded. “My nanny brings the baby here for feedings.” She cradled the child against her chest lovingly and kissed the top of its head. “And you feel better now that your tummy is full, don’t you sweetie.” The baby grinned and patted Jocelyn’s face with a slobbery hand.
Sam remembered Jillian’s full breasts and a vision of her with a nursing baby slammed into his consciousness before he could stop it.
First things first, Hartman.
She had to agree to see him again. And he had to convince Luke McBain to hire him. Those two hurdles stood in front of him, but he wouldn’t give up. Not until he had truly tried.
“Evan said you needed to see me,” Sam said, getting back on track.
“It’s just a final evaluation report we like all our guests to fill out. I understand you had some challenges with your first therapist, but I hope you can feel free to be honest and fair in your responses.”
“I will be. Honestly, everything was my fault. I hope you know that and don’t penalize her for it. If she’s available I’d like to speak with her and apologize for my attitude and behavior.”
Jocelyn smiled knowingly. “She’s off until Monday. Her sister came home yesterday, and she’s taking time to be with her and to consider…some other things.”
Sam knew what the other things were. Lara had made that clear. He completed the evaluation form, gave the resort and its staff glowing marks and then returned to his villa to hatch a plan to win back Jillian and convince Luke McBain to give him a job. It was all or nothing.
* * *
Mid-morning the following day, he revved the engine of his rental car and sped to town. In ten minutes he was pulling into the Mimosa Memories parking lot, having stopped at the Super Min to ask for directions. Jillian might be concerned about that Charity person spreading rumors, but he wanted the whole island – the whole world – to know how he felt about Jillian Logan. A bell jangled over the front door when he entered the shop, and the sharp aroma of incense filled his nostrils. He glanced around and took in the explosion of color in the wide variety of merchandise.
A dark-haired woman in her early twenties approached him. Her gait was marginally unstable, and she had a bright pink cane in her right hand to steady herself.
“Welcome to Mimosa Memories. Can I help you look for anything in particular?”
Sam hesitated briefly, then said, “I’m looking for Jillian Logan. I understand she and her little sister own this store. Do you know where I could find either of them?”
“I’m the little sister.” She eyed him suspiciously.
Sam gave the woman an appraising look. It wasn’t the look of a man romantically interested in a woman, but rather that of a man who had entertained an entirely different mental picture – a picture which had just been erased and re-painted.
“You’re Becca? You’re all grown up.”
“Yeah. That happens with us humans,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Do I know you?”
Sam shook his head. “No. I’m Sam Hartman. I know your sister—”
“Oh yeah. The spa. You’re Mr. I-Hate-the-Sand.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “She told you about me?”
Becca shrugged. “She might have mentioned you.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
Becca didn’t move and her expression grew serious.
“I really need to talk to her.”
Becca remained motionless.
Jillian had completely underestimated her sister, as had he. “I have to explain,” he said, his voice faltering. “To…apologize.”
Becca shifted her weight from one foot to the other and narrowed her eyes. He could almost see the cogs turning in her head as she considered what to do.
“She’s at home,” Becca said, finally breaking her silence. “She’s scrubbing bathroom grout with a toothbrush for some crazy reason.”
Sam could hear the accusation in her voice.
“If you hurt her, you’ll regret it. I might be the little sister, but I carry a big stick. Literally.” She lifted her cane to make her point. “Let me get a piece of paper and I’ll write down directions to the house.”
When Sam knocked on the front door of the sixties-style bungalow minutes later, an older woman wearing a long, flowing dress answered the door. He asked for Jillian and the woman, invited him into the small living room.
“Jillian!” she called toward the back of the house. “You have a gentleman caller.” The woman raked Sam with her gaze, not bothering to hide her obvious appraisal of him. Sam rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight from side to side. “You have an interesting aura, you know.” She reached out one hand and traced an outline of him in the air. “Deep red shows survival instincts and yellow-green indicates passion. Both of those are very strong. But the dark blue tells me you’re afraid to say what’s on your mind. Let the first two colors take control. Tell her how you feel, son.”
No doubt, this was Jillian’s Aunt Daffy. Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure how to respond. Crazy as it sounded, the woman was right, at least about his passion and his fear of expressing his feelings.
“Jillian?” the woman called again.
Just then Jillian appeared, dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a black tank top that hugged her curves. Her feet were bare but her hands were covered by bright purple rubber gloves with ruffled polka dot cuffs. She wielded a worn toothbrush in her right hand and a spray bottle in the other.
“She wasn’t kidding,” Sam muttered.
Jillian stood quietly. She refused to make eye contact and Sam felt like he had been punched. The silence between them grew awkward.
“You know, I just remembered something. I need to return a library book,” the woman interjected. “Or something.” She grabbed her purse from a table by the front door. “See you kids later.” Moments later they heard her VW’s horn toot as she drove away.
Aunt Daffy’s excuses were as nutty as she was. And Jillian would have countered it with an excuse of her own except she had already done a good enough job of making a fool of herself.
“I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“Nice to see you too, Jillian. You can’t wait for me to leave?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She curled her toes against the wood floor beneath her. Her emotions were a confusing mix of excitement and apprehension. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, stalling for time. Time to allow her to calm herself and not react to him foolishly.
She motioned to the kitchen and Sam followed. She set the bottle and toothbrush by the sink and removed the ridicu
lous rubber gloves. Tired of battling the ancient percolator, Jillian had driven to the mainland earlier in the week and purchased a new coffee maker along with a variety of coffees. She held up several of the small cups. “What’s your poison? Dark roast? Doughnut blend? Decaf?”
“I think I’m going to need high test,” Sam answered.
After brewing two cups of dark roast, she set the steaming mugs on the kitchen table, motioned for him to sit and took a spot opposite him.
“Here’s sugar.” She pushed a flamingo-decorated sugar bowl toward him. “I have half and half in the—”
Sam placed his hand over hers and stilled it. “I want to talk to you,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to you. Before I leave, I have to apologize and thank you as well. I know I was a jerk. And I realize now I’ve been in deep denial about having PTSD, too. That’s the roughest part.”
She rubbed her thumb against his palm. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“But I do. It’s sort of like being an addict. The first step is admitting you have a problem. This…thing I have. I have to admit I’m weak, and then I have to try to be strong to overcome it and sometimes….” He paused and took a sip of coffee as if to fortify himself. “Sometimes, hell, most of the time, I try to be strong and then I feel like two different people.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing she could say more to ease his obvious anguish.
“I’m the one who is sorry. I discounted what you did for me – the massage, the Reiki. But when you touched me, I did feel something. Something physical and emotional. You touched parts of me inside that have been trying to hide. And they need to come out of the dark so they can heal.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“I also hope you’ll reconsider leaving Casa Blanca.” He held up his hand when she attempted to interrupt. “I can’t reveal my sources, but I know. Don’t let my shit storm be the end of your career there. You didn’t fail. I did. I screwed everything up.”
“And you’re trying to unscrew it. That’s good.”
Sam grinned wickedly. “Partly,” he said. “There are parts I’d like to well…screw back up.”
Jillian felt the blush begin at the base of her neck and travel upward.
“I have lots of reasons for leaving Casa Blanca,” she said, getting the conversation off his innuendo-filled statement. “My sister needs me to help her. This is not all about you, you know.”
“I met your sister a little while ago, and she looks pretty self-sufficient to me. You told me I had survivor guilt over the bombing, and you’re right. I’ve been awake too many nights wondering why the hell I lived and others didn’t. But I wonder if maybe you don’t have some survivor guilt too about your sister.
“You were healthy and she wasn’t. You got an education and began a career that took you away from home. Don’t most parents want their children to grow wings and fly?”
“But I flew away and never came back.”
“You came back this time because you were needed. Becca is all grown up. And I think she’d like you to let her show you just how capable she is. She can’t do that if you’re hovering over her like…like….”
“Like our mother.” Jillian completed his sentence. He was right.
“You have to let her go just like any parent. That’s what your sister needs from you most. She needs you to be the one who lets her spread her wings and fly. You called me out about my tattoo and asked me if I’d really tried to work through my problems. I know it’s risky to say this, but you have to really try to let Becca choose her own path and live it. Just like you have to live yours.”
“She is all grown up, isn’t she? I couldn’t believe how much she had changed when I saw her yesterday.”
“She’s a gorgeous woman, and if I wasn’t in love with her sister, I might….” Sam’s voice wobbled on the last word and fiddled with placemat beneath his coffee cup. He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m hoping maybe we can put aside the past and start over.”
Had she heard him correctly? Had he said that word? Love? Jillian had been fighting that emotion for days, sure it was one-sided on her part. But he was asking to rekindle their relationship.
“But you’re going back to North Carolina and I’m here. Long distance relationships have never worked too well for me.”
“For me either. But I’m coming back to Mimosa Key.”
“Oh? Back for more voodoo at the spa?” she teased.
“Actually, I’ll be starting a job here. With McBain Security. I have to go home and handle a few details. My brother ships out to the Middle East soon and I want to spend time with him before he leaves. I start work in about a month in the new branch office in Naples.”
“Luke’s a great guy from what I hear.”
“He is. He is taking a chance on me after I was such a shithead and gave everyone at the resort every reason not to.”
“I’m guessing he was able to sift through all the bravado and see all the reasons why he should hire you. You’re a good man, Sam Hartman. You just got caught up in a series of events that cut you to your soul. You reacted normally.”
Sam grimaced. “Yeah, if being a real prick is normal.”
“But you’ve said yourself you are going to do whatever it takes to improve. Jillian paused. “And um, maybe you could work on your colorful language, too?”
“And deprive Poppy’s orphanage of my donations?” His laughter spread to his eyes and they sparkled clear blue.
“I think Gabe Rossi keeps that orphanage pretty well funded. Have you met him yet? He works for McBain too.”
“No, but I’ve heard about him and he sounds like one hell…heck of a guy. See? Working on the language.”
Jillian patted him on the hand. “Atta boy, Sam.”
“And since we won’t be long distance once I get back, I was hoping maybe we could pick things up where we left off. Candlelight dinners. Watch movies snuggled on the sofa. Maybe even meditate on the beach at sunset.”
“But you hate the sand,” she declared.
“With you right there beside me, I think I could learn to like it.”
Sam rose and moved around the table to pull Jillian to her feet and take her into his arms. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her tenderly.
“I hate to break this party up because I’d sure like to see where that kiss could lead.” He let his hand glide down her body, past her shoulder, into the curve of her waist and then settle on her hip. “I’d go a little lower but I don’t want to cross any lines.”
Jillian buried her face in his chest and laughed. “You and your lines.”
“Oh no ma’am. They were your lines. But regardless, I have to return my rental car and check in for my flight home.”
They walked arm in arm to the front door and Sam kissed her softly once more. When she shut the door behind him, she collapsed against it, closing her eyes to remember Sam’s touch and his tender kiss.
Her reverie was interrupted by a knock. Could Aunt Daffy be back already? Jillian opened the door to find Sam standing in front of her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, puzzled at his sudden return.
“I forgot something.”
“Oh?”
“I forgot this,” he said, a sexy smile curving his lips. He pulled her into his strong embrace.
Jillian relaxed into his arms as he caressed her cheek with his fingertips and covered her lips with his. Her mouth molded to his, and when his tongue begged entrance, she parted her lips and let him in.
He groaned and rocked his hips against her. Cupped the curves of her backside and pulled her closer to him. Then as suddenly as the kiss began, he stepped back, the only remaining contact being his hands on her bare shoulders.
“Damn, that was good.” His lids were heavy, nearly covering his eyes, and he licked his lower lip as it to savor her taste.
“Mmmm hmmm,” she agreed, wanting more.
“I don’t want to leave you. Believe me
, sweetheart, if I didn’t have a plane to catch, I’d be carrying you to the nearest bed and crossing so many lines you’d be in a different time zone. You believe me, don’t you?” His brow furrowed with trepidation.
“I do, Sam. I do.”
“Do you also remember how I said I thought I could learn to like the sand?”
She nodded.
“I lied. Truth is,” he said, leaning in for one last brief kiss. “I believe with you I could learn to really love it.”
Epilogue
One year later
The banner hanging on the storefront across the street from Mimosa Memories announced the grand opening of Mimosa Touch. Jillian beamed with pride and pinched herself to make sure her dream of a center specializing in the treatment of veterans had finally come true.
Jillian had left Casa Blanca eight months earlier with their blessing, shortly after she and Sam said “I do” on the sand at Barefoot Bay. She had worked long hours to assemble a team of psychologists and counselors so the center could pair talk therapy with massage, Reiki and meditation.
Becca had designed a first-class advertising campaign as a project for one of her business classes. As a result, Mimosa Touch had received more requests than it could handle, and Jillian had spent hours on the phone and the Internet finding other facilities to refer them to.
Sam tugged on one corner of the banner to straighten it. “Mrs. Hartman, I do believe your venture is a success.”
“We’ve just opened, so I’m hesitant to use the word success yet. The real success will be when these men and women walk out of here as whole beings again.” She grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed. “Whole like you.”
McBain Security had provided him with a flexible work schedule, and after sessions with a counselor and lots and lots of assistance from Jillian, Sam had come to grips with his and Trip’s survival and his squad mates’ deaths. His shoulder was fully functional, and while the scars across his back remained, they bothered him less and less. Best of all, he no longer woke in the middle of the night re-living the bombing.
“We got it!”
Jillian glanced over her shoulder and saw her sister standing in the doorway of Mimosa Memories. A broad smile brightened her face as she moved outside to the paved walkway.
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