All-American Girl

by Justine Dell

  “Honey,” Gram said, leaning over and grabbing a glass of water. “I didn’t mean you only came because I’m in this place. I understand how busy your work keeps you.” She put the glass to her pale lips and took a long drink. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  Samantha frowned as she looked at Gram’s unexpectedly upbeat gaze. “I know I have a lot of explaining to do.” She placed a soft kiss on Gram’s cheek. “Right now, let’s worry about getting you well.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m ready to get out of this place. I’ve been here two weeks too long.”

  “Two weeks? You’ve been in here for two weeks, alone, and they just called me yesterday?” How dare the hospital staff take their precious time locating her and telling her the news? What if her grandmother had been in the morgue instead of a hospital bed? Idiots.

  “Good God, Gram. Words can’t even describe how sorry I am.” Samantha was tense from head to toe, stomach flipping, guilt stabbing at her heart.

  Samantha rose from the chair and paced the room, but it only agitated her more. Needing an outlet, she went to the window and fiddled with the blinds, making sure the slats were perfectly horizontal. Then she neatly lined up the chairs before organizing the newspapers on the bedside table. “I’ll fix this, Gram.” Samantha’s voice shook. “I’m so sorry I left you alone.”

  “I’m glad you’re saying ‘I’m sorry’ for something.”

  Samantha stiffened at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. She turned to see a man looming in the doorway, his large frame blocking out the light from the hallway and his dark eyes focused sharply in her direction.

  Lance Cummings. Exactly who she didn’t need to see.

  Despite her irritation, he looked better than she remembered. His thirty-four years were doing him justice. What a shame. He was taller than she recalled, well over six feet. His shoulders were broad beneath a rumpled white T-shirt. His arrogant steel eyes and the hard set of his mouth reflected disapproval as he glared in her direction. She could definitely deal with him being annoyed. The tingle in the pit of her stomach, however, was not something she was prepared to experience.

  Then, as though there was no bad blood between them, he strode in and flashed a wicked smile at her before walking over to Gram and pecking her cheek.

  “Hey, Dorothy,” he said softly. “You’re looking very well today.”

  Samantha wasn’t blind to the flush that came over Gram’s face or the twinkle in her eyes. It only angered Samantha more.

  “I’m going to see if I can find the doctor,” Samantha bit out. If she spent one more minute in the same room with Lance, she would lose it.

  “Okay, dear. Lance will take good care of me while you’re gone.”

  Lance shot Samantha a demeaning smile that made her want to knock it right off his face. Who did he think he was anyway? He didn’t even know her grandmother that well.

  Before leaving the room, Samantha walked over to Dorothy and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, Gram. I’ll take care of you now.”

  Why did Samantha have a permanent case of foot-in-mouth disease? She wished she could learn when to keep quiet—like now, when the attending physician was staring her down like she was the evil black sheep in her family. She gave a tight smile.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude when I came in,” she said. Images of the doctor’s shocked face when she burst into the room kept floating into her vision. She’d barged in with no decorum and zero class. He’d jumped up as if she was going to attack him and then her mouth had gone off. That thing needed an off switch.

  If her grandmother had seen her behavior, she would’ve strung Samantha up by her toes. Samantha clenched her burning eyes. She was an embarrassment to herself, to her grandmother, to everyone. What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to channel the old Samantha. Hell, she wanted to be the old Samantha. The Samantha that didn’t have to deal with twelve years of failure. The woman without two disastrous marriages and who hadn’t had a child ripped from her side. The person who didn’t have a tanking career. Someone who had been happy.

  She didn’t want to be stretched so tightly that she would snap at anyone or anything in her way. The world wasn’t her spitting ground. God, why couldn’t she figure out how to handle herself anymore?

  “I was upset when my grandmother told me how long she’d been in the hospital before your staff contacted me,” she finished, finally drained of all emotion.

  The doctor spread some papers out on his desk. “We tried—unsuccessfully. When your husband came forward the day after your grandmother was brought in—”

  “My husband?”

  He narrowed his already stern eyes. “Yes. Lance Cummings.”

  If she had been standing, she would’ve fallen to the floor. “I’m afraid your information is incorrect. I am not now, nor have I ever been, married to Lance.” Thank God.

  “Ah, well. That’s not what he told the staff. Since he doesn’t seem to be a relative after all, do you want to be the one to make all the decisions from here on out?” He set a piece of paper in front of Samantha and held out a fancy pen. “Sign this, and we’ll remove him from the list of contacts and won’t discuss her condition with him further.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She didn’t want Lance’s grubby hands in her problems anyway. If she was going to learn to control her anger, he needed to stay far, far away. She scribbled her signature on the form and slid it toward the doctor. “Tell me about my grandmother’s condition, please.”

  He tucked the piece of paper in a folder and leaned back in his seat. “The news is good. Dorothy suffered a stroke, which has primarily affected her left side. She is weak and will require therapy—”

  “That doesn’t sound like good news.”

  He cracked a brief smile. “I’m sorry—you’re right. The good news is what’s not wrong with Dorothy.”

  Samantha set the pen down, neatly lining it up with a stapler and tape dispenser. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your grandmother’s primary care physician diagnosed her with dementia. Her memory was failing, and she forgot to take her medication. That’s why she had the stroke.”

  “I see.”

  “But she doesn’t have dementia. We discovered a vitamin B12 deficiency, the symptoms of which mimic dementia. If she’d been on supplements, she wouldn’t have had a stroke. Once we get her new medications regulated, your grandmother will be good as new.”

  “Are you saying she’ll be able to go home soon?”

  “Yes. She needs therapy for the damage to her motor skills, but in time she’ll be fine. Her memory and fine motor skills are improving every day. Dorothy is very lucky.”

  Samantha was the lucky one. She had a second chance with her grandmother, a chance she didn’t deserve. She wouldn’t screw it up this time around. If there ever was reason to pull herself together, Samantha knew that this was it. She stood and held out her hand. “Thank you, doctor. This news means the world to me. I appreciate everything you and your staff have done, and I’m sorry again for yelling at you when I came in.”

  He handed her a card. “Here’s the information for the rehabilitation center Dorothy will go to when she’s discharged. Due to her ongoing physical limitations, they might give you information regarding certain modifications that will need to be made to her home. Give them a call.”

  “I will.”

  She walked back down the corridor to her grandmother’s room, thankful Gram hadn’t been taken from her. A tiny weight lifted from her chest.

  When she turned back into the room, she collided with a warm body. Knocked off balance, she rocked back on her heels, trying to stay upright. Strong hands caught her elbows. Once her feet were firmly on the ground, she wrestled her arms away.

  She stared at Lance’s too-close chest. His tight T-shirt stretched over its breadth, and she watched as it expanded, stretching the fabric even further, as he breathed.

  She bit down on her bottom lip in frust
ration, raising her eyes to meet his. Why had butterflies taken root in her stomach and started a damn colony?

  “Aren’t you going to say ‘excuse me’?” she asked.

  An arrogant eyebrow shot up as he lazily tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Me?”

  “No, the invisible man behind you.”

  Lance shifted his weight, and Samantha, as much as she tried, couldn’t help but stare at him.

  “Do you always think you have the right-of-way?” he asked.

  She snorted. “I’m not the one who needs a license to walk. There must be a lot of people in Burlington who need one.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

  “Or maybe you just need glasses.”

  She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him. Less than a foot separated them and she tried to move away, but his solid grasp kept her closer than she liked. Her insides tightened like a cat getting ready to spring. She needed three feet of personal space—period. If he didn’t back off, she was going to explode.

  His nostrils flared as he stared down at her, a glimmer of satisfaction in his darkened eyes. “Did you forget to take your medication or something?”

  She kicked him, bringing her knee right up and landing a good solid blow to the inside of his thigh. He let out a muffled groan as he released his hold and stepped back. Too bad her aim was a little off.

  Then remorse hit her full on; Dr. Wade would be so disappointed in her. Among other things, Samantha was supposed to be working on her people skills. Sure, she needed to control her rage, her overbearing attitude, and her general dislike of the world, but she just couldn’t do it with Lance. With anyone else she could try, but not him. She forced herself to look at Lance. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  He backed her against the wall, her stomach jumping in her throat as his hot breath skimmed over her face. His jean-clad thighs brushed against her legs as he glared down at her. Again, her body ached to put distance between them. She couldn’t think; she could hardly take a breath, and when she did, all she could smell was him—the intoxicating scent of steel-hard, rustic man.

  “I know your grandmother, too, Sam.”

  Sam. He dared to call her by that stupid tomboy name. “So?” She reached for the handle to Gram’s room. Lance’s hand clasped hers, big, warm and rough on her skin, filling her head with the memory of it sliding over her body. “Excuse me. I need to see Gram.”

  He leaned closer, and she lost her breath. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning? What’s with the attitude?”

  “Listen, Lance,” she hissed, arching a stubborn brow. “The last thing I need is you lecturing me about my manners. Last I checked, you didn’t have any of your own. Take it as a lesson learned.”

  He shrugged, his poker face firm. “I guess twelve years in the big city turned you a little sour.” To her surprise and relief, he shifted his body away from her as a look of dismay crossed his features. His right hand came up to the side of her face, and for a split second, she thought he was going to stroke her cheek. That thought evaporated when he reached behind her and gently tugged on her uncomfortably tight ponytail. “That’s too bad, Sam.”

  She yanked her head back and tried to push him out of the way. He stumbled back, a smile curving his lips.

  She could have said something. She should have said something, but her mind was not cooperating at the moment; it was lingering on how his hand had been mere inches from her face.

  “Why did you tell the hospital staff we were married?” she demanded.

  “Someone had to take care of Dorothy.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “Seeing as how her actual family wasn’t around, it was the only way I could get them to talk to me.”

  Infuriated that Lance accused her of abandoning her grandmother—especially because he was right—Samantha tossed her head back. “Well, I guess I owe you something for that—but you didn’t have to lie to them. And what makes you think I can’t take care of Gram?”

  “Because you haven’t in twelve years.”

  A knife went straight through her heart. It didn’t matter that he was right; what mattered was that he was being so damn obnoxious about it. More in tune with her resentment than her need for space, she moved away from the wall and took a step in his direction.

  “I take it back. Don’t for one second think I owe you anything for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You don’t know me now. She is my grandmother, and I intend to take care of her, starting right now.”

  He shrugged, arrogant eyes focused on her. “It’s a free country, you know. I can help Dorothy if I want.”

  “Thank you for the history lesson. Now, please leave.”

  “What is your problem? This is how you repay me for watching over her? If not for me, she would be in a crappy nursing home. Do you know how long it took me to track you down?”

  “Oh.” She frowned, not really understanding the uncomfortable tightness in her chest. “Well.”

  “Yeah, well. Think about that the next time you decide to go off on someone.”

  She stared at him, speechless.

  “Here.” He shoved a card in her hand. “I also wanted to give you a message.”

  Samantha pulled her eyes away from his glare and looked down at the card.

  “It’s Candice’s phone number. You remember my sister, right?”

  She nodded.

  “If you’re not too busy,” he said harshly before softening his tone, “call her. I’ll bet she’d like to see you.”

  “Um…of course.” Samantha hadn’t spoken to Candice in almost a decade. Not only that, but she was still reeling from being yelled at and didn’t like the agitation and shame it produced. And she certainly didn’t like the sudden need she felt to apologize for kicking him. Why did her conscience decide that she needed to play nice right now, and with Lance of all people? She was fairly certain she could be pleasant to just about anyone else, but not him. Okay, that probably wasn’t true. Her issues kept her from being nice to just about everyone. Truthfully, she hated that particular personality quirk of hers, but she wasn’t about to change her attitude for the man standing before her.

  “Don’t worry, though,” he said, interrupting her wandering thoughts. “I won’t tell her about your attitude problem. She’ll figure that one out on her own. I’ll come back and see Dorothy again soon.” He smirked at her, waved, and turned to walk away.

  Samantha took a step forward, trying to muster an apology, but by then he was halfway down the hall. The words were stuck on the tip of her tongue, and that was probably for the best. Saying thank you to the man she hated would no doubt burn.

  He turned as he reached the elevator and gave her a slight nod before stepping in and disappearing from view.

  Heading into Gram’s room, Samantha vowed that Lance would be no more than a bump in the road during this short trip home. After all, at one time, she had been no more than a small bump in his.

  Lance huffed out a loud breath as the elevator door slid shut behind him. He inhaled slowly, thankful the spicy scent of Sam hadn’t lingered.

  After twelve years of silence from her and nothing but questions as to why she left, that was not what he had been expecting. That being a seriously bad attitude. What the hell was wrong with her? And why the hell did she look like she wanted to gouge his eyes out?

  He shook his head as the elevator door creaked open. Stepping out, he couldn’t help but think of not only how mad Sam had looked, but how broken as well. The glimmer in her eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow stare. Her thin shoulders were hunched, and she wore droopy clothes and no makeup, like she didn’t care how she looked. That wasn’t like her, and neither was the attitude. She wasn’t the bubbly, fun-loving woman he’d held in his arms. Instead, she was a bomb, ready to explode at whatever upset her. And apparently that was him.

  “Hey, Lance,” said Grace, the elderly, petite receptionist at the welcome desk. “Le
aving already?”

  He nodded and gave a tight smile. “Yeah, Samantha’s up there visiting for the first time. I wanted to give her some space.”

  The receptionist frowned. “It’s nice that one of Dorothy’s grandchildren finally came in.”

  Small town. People talk. Lance had known people would discuss Sam and her brother’s absence since Dorothy had fallen ill. “Some people take a while to track down, Grace. As soon as we found her, she came. That’s what matters.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Grace wiggled her wrinkled brow. “You gonna bring Jax by so I can get a good look at him? I haven’t seen him since you finished the remodel on our house.”

  “Sure will. Will you be here tomorrow?” He asked, and she nodded. “Good. We’ll come by and see Dorothy and stop by here, too.”

  “Take this for him in the meantime.” Grace shoved a handful of hard candy into Lance’s hand.

  Lance put the candy into his pocket. “He’s not allowed to have sweets very often, so he’ll appreciate these. Thanks.”

  “And make sure you don’t let Samantha keep you away from here. This old lady likes to have some eye candy of her own every once in a while.”

  He laughed and put his hand over hers on the countertop. “With compliments like that, how can a man stay away?” He winked at her. “So you’ve talked to Sam?”

  Grace waved her free hand frantically. “My, my, yes. When she first got here she burst through the doors like a raging bull. Practically knocked down ol’ man Herbert who’d come to see his wife. She pounded on my desk and barked out a million different things before we had to have a security guard calm her down.”

  Lance drew his brows together. “She was that wound up?”

  “More than wound up, I’d say. What do you young-uns call it? Freaking out? Yes, that’s what she was doing. Freaking out.” Her thin lips curved into a wan smile. “We thought she might hyperventilate right here in the reception area. Thank goodness ol’ Mel got her under control.”

  He drummed his fingers counter. Maybe it wasn’t just him she was mad at. Maybe she was mad at the entire world. How was she going to be level-headed enough to take care of Dorothy? “Yes,” he finally replied. “Freaking out sounds about right. Tell Mel I said thanks, all right? I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”