Hooked

by Ev Bishop

  The steam in his mind chilled and dripped icy embarrassment down his spine. “I, er, was just out walking off dinner.”

  Sam stepped into the ring of light thrown by a solitary bulb mounted on a pole in the center of the parking area. “No, I was out walking. You are standing by my porch, gawking at my cabin like a stalker.”

  Rats. Exactly what he’d been scared he’d look like.

  “Should I be worried?” she continued.

  He shook his head, one hundred percent flustered yet again—and made the poor choice of glancing down. The high heels and silky-looking expanse of bare legs were gone, but what he saw was no less disarming. Figure-caressing black leggings, with slouchy suede leather boots. A light drizzle started and he latched onto that inane fact as a much welcomed distraction. “I hope you sprayed weather protector on those things.”

  One of Sam’s eyebrows shot up. She pulled her knit wrap tighter around herself. “Rainbow cabin is that way,” she said, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully, like she was talking to a dunce—something that was more than fair, he figured. “Get lost.”

  Thankful for the dark that would hopefully conceal yet another flush of embarrassment, Charles obeyed, taking long, easy strides to hide how he felt: that he was slinking away in shame.

  *

  The tub was every bit as glorious as Sam had imagined it would be. She stretched out in the mango-scented water, made a mental note to tell Jo what a nice treat the bath products were, and sipped her wine. A glass in and she was a little lightheaded already, not typical for her at all, but what could she say? Maybe a bar of dark chocolate, though delicious, wasn’t the best dinner.

  The creek and trees beyond the window were a soft black blur, but above that darkness, the sky was a plush navy, sprinkled heavily with bright stars. It was like a scene out of a movie, so beautiful it made you bittersweet.

  Sam sighed. Tomorrow was another day, as ol’ Scarlet would say, but for tonight, at least, Sam was glad she’d come. Excited for Jo. And sure it was the perfect space to screw her own head on right again. She was also happy it appeared that Jo and Charles had honored her request and hadn’t told Aisha she was here yet. It would be better to meet fresh in the morning, then they could stamp out some boundaries, decide when to chat—

  A glimmer of movement low to the ground outside the closest window interrupted Sam’s planning. She leaned forward, water sloshing, and peered into the thick night. A little shiver coursed down her spine. Great, the place was surrounded with wild animals. Either that or she’d just given one of Jo’s staff a big eyeful.

  She’d assumed the luxurious windows were privacy glass, but maybe she should’ve confirmed it. Then again, if there was someone out there, who cared? They could enjoy the show. It was pretty tame anyway: “Lonely woman gets drunk having a solo soak.” But she couldn’t really feel sorry for herself. Not tonight. Not here. She sipped again and relaxed lower into the water once more. She loved that the tub had a heating element so your water never cooled. To heck with the rest of Silver cabin. She might just spend all her time submerged.

  She started on a third glass of wine, her buzz less noticeable now, and thought back to catching Charles staring at her cabin. She was used to men either loving her, or finding her attractive anyway, or hating her, pretty much on sight. Charles definitely fit into the second category, probably because he incorrectly viewed her as some threat to his daughter’s affections or wellbeing. She’d set his mind at ease. Eventually. For now it would be fun to let him stew a bit.

  She did wonder why he’d stood outside her cabin so long, though. It was almost like he was trying to screw up courage to do something—maybe to knock on her door. If he wasn’t such a jerk, wouldn’t it have been fun if what he’d actually wanted was to check out the shower together, like really together?

  Another little shiver coursed through her—and this one had nothing to with the difference between the air temperature and her lovely steamy water. She sipped more wine and rubbed her right foot over her left one. He had seemed taken with her legs—or weirdly concerned about her choice of footwear and ability to protect it from the elements, anyway. For this fantasy she’d go with the former. . . .

  No. She sat up abruptly. She was not going to wet dream about that man. Greenridge, as she knew all too well from the months spent with Jo settling their Uncle Ray’s estate, had a complete shortage of appropriate men to play around with, true. But that said, she shouldn’t get all mushy minded about Charles. It would be weird. Weird and pathetic. He was her biological child’s adopted father, for crying out loud. Widowed or not, it made him seem taken. And people could say what they wanted about her, but even in her fantasy life, Sam wasn’t someone to mess with taken men. Except that one time all those years ago, and look how that turned out: a surprise pregnancy—and an even bigger surprise that the man she’d hung all her hopes on didn’t give a shit about pretty-but-naïve-as-hell Samantha Kendall.

  Ah well, hindsight was twenty-twenty and all that, and anything her childhood hadn’t taught her, Rick certainly had. When they’d met, his smooth tongue and flattery easily convinced the lonely kid she’d been that maybe there were such things as true love and soul mates, despite her mother’s pathetic track record with a long line of losers. What could she say? She used to be stupid, but she’d been wised up for a long time now.

  Sam set her glass down heavily beside the now-finished wine bottle and closed her eyes. Why was she thinking on those painful, humiliating ancient days? Well, because the primary evidence of her stupidity was back in her life, of course. And what on earth should she tell young Aisha about her conception? She’d like to get away without having to tell her anything at all.

  Chapter 5

  Damn, damn, triple damn. She should’ve asked Jo what time breakfast started so she could’ve been early, one of the people watching other folks’ grand entrances instead of the reverse. Even from out on the porch she could see the dining room was packed. Where did all the people come from? It wasn’t like River’s Sigh B & B was a high capacity venue. The house’s windows glowed a cheery welcome in the damp, foggy morning, but all Sam wanted to do was turn and flee.

  This place, this situation, isn’t me, she thought. Yet she turned the door handle and stepped into the steamy room regardless. It was filled with noisy laughter and chat—far too energetic for morning, if you asked her—and the stomach-rumble-inducing aromas of bacon, cinnamon, and coffee.

  As she neared the table, all sound stopped and every eye in the place turned toward her. She almost bolted, but then Jo was there.

  “Hey, Sam. Help yourself. And everybody? This is my sister Sam. Sam, this is everybody.”

  Samantha nodded and returned the collective smiles, then, thankfully, was forgotten and conversations resumed.

  Sam was ravenous, but with the exception of chocolate and alcohol, she pretty much avoided all refined carbs—so she contented herself with one deep, lingering inhale near a platter of huge cinnamon buns oozing brown sugar and cream cheese drizzle, then armed herself with a plate of two eggs over easy, four strips of bacon, and a mug of caffeine.

  She scanned the table. It was beyond pathetic that aside from Jo, who was understandably too busy to sit, the only person she remotely knew was Charles. He glanced up as she approached, then quickly directed his gaze elsewhere. Fine. She didn’t want to sit with a guy that drove a Toyota anymore than he wanted to sit with her. Okay, actually she could care less about the Toyota, but if he was going to snub her for no good reason, she was going to return the favor in spades. She settled at the end of the table furthest away from everyone, and noted, just for the record, not because she cared, that there was no one young or pregnant present.

  She ate her eggs first because both coffee and bacon were equally delicious at any temperature, and did a quick inventory.

  Herself, eating alone.

  Jo, buzzing guest to guest like a manic butterfly crossed with a good fairy.

  Someo
ne clanking away in the kitchen just out of sight—Callum, she assumed—who was no doubt, according to every Callum fact Jo continually burdened her with, the person guilty of creating those cinnamon buns she wasn’t having.

  Two older women, apparently also avoiding carbs, eating scrambled eggs that looked yolkless. Shit, was that her future? Holidays with spinster friends, no one enjoying decadent foods in case their waists, heaven forbid, expand an inch? No, not likely her fate. She didn’t have any female friends.

  Two men, too young for her—never her thing at all—so not really notable, except that one was loudly cataloging all the work he had to do around the place. Note to self, she thought. Give Jo and Callum a heads up that staff should be informed that employees work, that’s their whole raison d’être, so monologues about duties are out of place, especially when fortunate enough to be welcomed for breakfast before their shift.

  Charles. Absorbed in the cinnamon bun he was devouring. Lucky jerk.

  Another woman, about her age, who smiled and murmured good-morning when Sam glanced over. Sam started to return the greeting, but a bearded man came up behind the woman, bent and kissed her cheek. Sam was understandably forgotten.

  So . . . a couple employees, the cabins’ other occupants, definitely no Aisha.

  Jo appeared at her side and plunked into the chair to Sam’s right. “Whew,” she said, helping herself to Sam’s last piece of bacon. “No rest for the wicked.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I’m not tired.”

  “Heh.” Jo grinned. “Can I grab you anything else? More bacon perhaps?”

  “Hmm, maybe one more slice? It kinda feels like I shorted myself or something.”

  Jo laughed, got up and returned a moment later, with six more slices of bacon, a plate of orange wedges, and a carafe of coffee.

  “You know, keep this up, and I might never leave.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  Sam held up her hand. “Don’t go getting all crazy. I just meant I really appreciate how you’re spoiling me. It’s a great place, Jo. I mean it—and how much are you gauging me for Silver, by the way?”

  “For you? Don’t be silly. Callum and I have already discussed it. No charge. We’re using you to break in the service. You can just give us pointers—”

  “Not a chance. I won’t even accept a discount,” Sam interrupted.

  “Come on—”

  “No.”

  “Fine. We’ll fight about it later.”

  They munched bacon in silence for a moment, then Jo said, “It’s really good to see you again, to have you back so soon. I mean it.”

  “You’re acting like you don’t know the only reason I’m here.”

  The two older women at the far end of the table stood up. “Thank you so much,” they called in unison and one added, “Delicious, yet again.”

  Jo waved and then said good-bye to the woman with the bearded man as they left too. The young bucks had apparently decided to work instead of just talk about working and shuffled out after the paying guests. It was down to Callum, still clanking in the kitchen, Charles—who she’d covertly noticed was on his second sticky bun—and her.

  “Is she avoiding me?” Sam asked softly, playing with an orange rind.

  Jo looked surprised, then apologetic. “No, not at all. She just has your sleep genes. She’s a great worker, like I’ve said, but I’ve yet to see her awake before eleven. I should’ve told you that when you mentioned waiting till breakfast to make plans. I didn’t even think.”

  Sam shrugged. “No worries.”

  “I’m pretty busy until one, but then things simmer down. I was thinking we could have tea here, say two-ish? I’ll introduce you guys and then you can cue me. If you want me to stay, I will. If you’re more comfortable talking to her alone, I’ll take off.”

  A cough sounded from the other end of the table. Sam looked over. Charlie nodded, not even having the decency to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping and now apparently with some mistaken notion he should be a part of this conversation.

  “I think,” he said, proving her right, “you and I should talk before you and Aisha meet.”

  Sam crossed her arms over her chest, then uncrossed them. “And why’s that?”

  “My daughter, I mean Aisha—”

  “I know who she is. Just call her Aisha.”

  “Fine.” Charles got up, walked the length of the room, and sat across from Sam.

  Jo cleared her throat, but topped up her coffee without saying anything.

  “Aisha,” he finally spoke again, “is really vulnerable right now. She comes across as super confident, tough even, but she’s actually a tender soul. It hurt her a lot when her mom died, and while I did the best I could, I probably wasn’t—no, for sure I wasn’t—as much help or support as I should’ve been.”

  Sam crossed her arms again, and this time they stayed that way.

  “I know it must be tough,” Jo said, “but what exactly are you trying to say?”

  “I don’t want Samantha to meet her,” he answered Jo, then fixed his eyes on Sam. “She doesn’t need you. She had a mother, a perfect, amazing, wonderful mother. You can only disappoint her.” His words poured in a torrent and he looked a little horrified by them. “I’m sorry. That came out badly. I just mean—”

  “That you think I’ll somehow be a disappointment? No, that was loud and clear—and I guess we’re even-Steven because I was pretty disappointed myself to find you raised the kid to the same pathetically low standard I could’ve managed on my own.”

  “Sam, stop it.”

  “No, you stop it, Jo. We’re all grown ups here and as Chuck so eloquently pointed out, perhaps he and I should talk before Aisha and I meet. I’m not the one who searched for her. I’m not the one who requested, not once, not twice, but multiple times that I please talk with her.”

  “Sam . . . ” Jo said.

  “Come on,” Charles sputtered.

  Sam shook her head. “Like it or not, Aisha wants me in her life, and that means, whether you like it or not, I will be—at least to answer any questions she has.”

  “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t saying what it sounded like—I just don’t want her hurt again. She makes attachments easily but feels them strongly when they break apart. She lost her mom. The father of her baby is a total loser. You didn’t—for good reasons, admirable reasons, reasons I’ll always be grateful for—want to keep her, so please don’t waltz in and out now. It’s just easier if you don’t become part of her life.”

  Sam jumped to her feet, a livewire of rage sparking through her. She tried to kindle the fury even hotter—how ignorant he was, how condescending, how holier-than-thou—in a desperate hope that the anger would mask the insecurity flooding through her. Because he was right. She had had the best of reasons to give her baby up, and all those reasons were still applicable. And she had been planning a quick Q and A and a fast exit, all very smooth and neat—how had he known? And would that be damaging to Aisha, or was it all she needed? Jo said the girl had no expectations, just wanted information.

  Unfortunately the words she mustered were neither as angry nor as confrontational as she wanted them to be. “Who would that really be easier for, Chuck? You, me or Aisha?”

  “Stop calling me Chuck,” Charles whispered, his tone seething—a completely asinine response in Sam’s opinion.

  The phone rang, making them all jump. Jo waved it away. “The machine will get it.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry you guys both ended up here at the same time. It makes it harder than it already is—” Both Sam and Charles started to object, but Jo spoke over them. “I know Aisha feels badly that you feel hurt by all this, Charles—but she really does want to meet Sam. She isn’t a legal adult, true, but she is seventeen and she’s going to be a parent herself any day. Not letting her make her own decision about this seems wrong.”

  Charles glared, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

  Sam nodded, but inside sh
e still wasn’t sure. Maybe Charles was right. She bit her lip—and the bullet. “Look, for what it’s worth, whatever you’re afraid of, I’ll do my best to support Aisha too. I only ever wanted the best for her, and about the crap I just said—”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Charles growled. Sam’s anger flared again.

  Jo started to say something else, but a flurry of activity stopped her. Callum jogged into the room. On his heels came a worried-looking girl with a mop of blond curls pinned up with chopsticks. The stress on her face intensified as she looked from Charles to Sam to Jo.

  Aisha, Sam thought, knowing the Jo-look-alike couldn’t be anyone else. She could only stare. She was . . . beautiful. Not quite as tall as she was, more compact—again like Jo—but plumper, no doubt because of the pregnancy. Green eyes just like her own, though—and just as Sam rubbed at the ring she wore on her right hand with her thumb, the girl did the exact same thing to a ring she wore. Was there a genetic code for nervous tells?

  Aisha locked gazes with Sam who was still standing a few paces behind Jo, and recognition seemed to hit her too. Her mouth fell open. Before anyone could respond to Aisha’s obvious surprise, however, Callum spoke in a low, tense voice. “Ah, Jo? Can I steal you a minute? We have a problem.”

  Chapter 6

  Charles was at Aisha’s side in a heartbeat, taking her arm in case she was in danger of falling. “What, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Aisha shook loose of his grasp. “God, Dad—it’s not me. I’m fine.”

  Charles stepped back uneasily.

  “The kid’s fine,” Callum affirmed and turned toward Jo again. “But the bookings are not.”

  Aisha darted another glance at Sam, as if torn—but something, responsibility maybe, or nerves, won out. “I’m so sorry,” she wailed. “It’s all my fault.”