All-American Girl

by Justine Dell

  Samantha rounded the corner. A man loomed in the doorway, and she jerked the candleholder back.

  “Whoa!” his deep voice rang out. He grabbed the ridiculous weapon from her as she stumbled in the opposite direction. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  She planted her feet and shook her head as anger trickled in. She was already pissed at being raised from her slumber by the sounds of the house falling down around her, and to discover Lance was the cause?

  “What in the hell are you doing here at seven in the morning?” she demanded. “How did you even manage to get in?” She looked around. The bathroom was in total disrepair. “What did you do to the bathroom?”

  He stared at her and said nothing, chest rising and falling as he took ragged breaths. His hair was damp with sweat and clung to his forehead; his eyes were so dark, they were almost black.

  He held out the candleholder. “What were you going to do with this?”

  “I—”

  “Had I not turned around, you would have hit me right in the head with it.”

  “Well you shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s not every day that a man’s face comes that close to a solid piece of brass. What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that?”

  Not able to take anymore, Samantha took a step in his direction and gave him a good shove on the shoulder. “Stop lecturing me, you brute. You are the one who’s in my house—uninvited, I might add—and for all I know you could have been a burglar. I was protecting myself. Just what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Me?” He waved a hand in the direction of the mess. “I’m working here.”

  Instant headache. Samantha pressed a hand to her head, willing it to go away. “We haven’t discussed the details yet.”

  The half-smile that tilted his lips made her blood heat. “Just getting an early start.”

  “How did you get in?”

  His smile made her want to push him into the shower and flip on the cold water. Or maybe she needed the cold shower.

  “I’ve got a key,” he said.

  “You’ve got a key to Gram’s house?” She rubbed her tense neck. “Why?”

  He shrugged as he bent over, picked up a tape measure, and hooked it to his belt. “I already told you. She helped me. I help her.”

  “Yeah, that clears everything up doesn’t it? Geez, Lance.” She flung both her hands up in the air and let them fall lifelessly down at her sides. “It’s too freaking early for this. I was sleeping. Don’t you even care that people are trying to live here while you go making enough noise to raise the dead?”

  “Actually, what I’m more concerned about is how you tried to knock my head off with your weapon of choice.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to go running up behind someone who might have broken into your house?”

  “With the intent of hitting them over the head? Yes.”

  “Wrong answer.” He shook his head. She drew in a shallow breath. Sawdust and sweat—his scent was intoxicating, and it sent a tingle down her spine. She looked down at her skimpy cotton tank and pants—she wasn’t wearing her robe. Her midriff was showing. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, nipples erect and sensitive from the cool morning air. Lance looked away uncomfortably. Interesting.

  “Okay.” She cocked a hip and crossed her arms across over her exposed chest. “First, I was pretty sure you weren’t an intruder. Burglars don’t make so much damn noise at seven in the morning. I thought you were my brother and I was pretty intent on hitting him over the head. Second, what would you expect me to do if a stranger came into my home? Play damsel in distress and cower in the attic until a big strong man comes to rescue me?”

  “If that’s what it takes to keep you from getting hurt, yes.”

  “And what if he never shows up? Besides, why do you care what happens to me?”

  For the first time since seeing Lance, pain flashed across his features.

  She tightened her arms around herself. “God. Give me a second.” She huffed a breath. “I didn’t mean that, Lance. I’m not much of a morning person without my coffee.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your way soon. I just needed to get this sink out so I could take it down to the hardware store and get it retrofitted.” Lance bent down to mess with something on the floor. Once again, he had Samantha as a loss for words. “I’ll still stop by the shop later and talk about the estimates, if that’s what you want.”

  “Um…sure.” Now where was her mind exactly? Hell if she knew. “I’ll be there after one or so. I’ve got to stop by and see Gram before heading in. Is that okay?”

  His shoulders slumped, his long arms hung at his sides. “Doesn’t matter to me. You’re good at doing things your own way, so however you want to play it.”

  What did he mean by that? Was he insulting her? How on God’s green earth could she crave intimacy from a man who…whoa, wait. What was she saying? She shook her head. She was losing her mind.

  “Fine.” She whirled around to head back upstairs, when the doorbell rang. “Coming.”

  Samantha swung the door open and was greeted with the fresh spring breeze and scent of flowering dogwoods. Thank goodness it overcame the masculine smell that drifted from the bathroom. Her best friend stood on the porch with a beaming smile on her face.

  “Jenny!” Samantha snaked her arms around her and held on tight.

  “Hmm…wow,” Jenny said in a muffled voice.

  “Oh, sorry.” Samantha released Jenny and moved away. “I’m just excited to see you.”

  “I’m glad.” Jenny straightened her shirt and eyed Samantha. “I’m not used to a Samantha who hugs freely. What’s gotten into you?”

  Samantha waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. I’m just really happy you’re here.” Truthfully, she couldn’t believe she’d reacted like that either. It made her worry about her own emotional stability. “Come in.” Samantha ushered her inside. “I’m a mess, so let me go get cleaned up and I’ll be right down, okay?”

  Jenny nodded as she looked around the room. “Sure, sweetie. I’ll just have a seat in the living room. What do you want me to do with my bags?”

  “Bags?”

  Jenny’s suspicious stare turned to concern. “Yes, I’m staying with you this weekend, remember?”

  “Oh, right…right. I’m sorry. It’s been a long morning.” It’s been a long week. Samantha drew in a deep breath, trying to settle whatever had come over her. “I didn’t forget.” She winked at Jenny. “I promise.”

  Jenny cocked her head. “Did you just wink at me?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Are you sure you are all right?”

  Why did she keep asking that? Samantha felt fine, except for the obvious problem banging around in her bathroom. “Yes, yes—I’m good. I’m just going up to change.” Samantha headed toward the stairs. “Make yourself at home. And ignore the guy in the bathroom.”

  “Stop.”

  Samantha froze and turned around.

  “What guy?” Jenny asked as she arched a brow.

  “Don’t give me that look. There’s a contractor doing some work on Gram’s house. Certain things need to be updated before she can come home.”

  Jenny frowned. “Oh.”

  “Be right back.” Samantha bolted up the stairs. It didn’t take her long to throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. She yanked a comb through her hair and put it back up in a ponytail. In less than five minutes she was ready to go.

  Samantha rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and found Jenny hunched over the coffee table with Samantha’s unfinished manuscript in her hands. Irritation wormed its way into Samantha’s mind.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, closing the distance between them.

  Jenny’s head snapped up as she dropped the papers. “Oh, nothing…just…umm.”

  Samantha fought not to smile at the hand-in-the-cookie-jar look Jenny gave her. Sh
e clucked her tongue. “You know I don’t let anyone read my work, Jenny.”

  Jenny sank back into the couch, embarrassment all over her face. “I know. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

  Samantha sat down next to Jenny and shot her a playful glare. “I’m not mad. Irritated, because you know the rule. But not mad.”

  Jenny’s face twisted in confusion. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

  “No, what would make you say that?”

  “It’s just…you’re…” Jenny drew her bottom lip into her mouth. “You’re not nearly as high-strung. If you had caught me looking at your work in New York, you would’ve lost it.”

  Samantha shook her head. “No, I’m still high-strung.” She patted Jenny on the shoulder and gave her a crafty smile. “Just not with you. More than anything, I think you made my day. Besides, I could never be mad at my best friend. The one who puts up with even my ugliest side—”

  “And it is ugly—”

  “Not funny. I’m being serious.”

  Jenny stood and rubbed Samantha’s arm. “I’m being serious, too. Your other side is pretty ugly. At least you realize you have one, though. That’s the first step in—”

  Samantha covered Jenny’s mouth with her hand. “Don’t shrink me.”

  Jenny laughed. The almost childlike sound barely echoed in the living room, but for some reason, it made Samantha smile and laugh.

  Once the giggles stopped, Jenny took Samantha’s hand in her own, and for once, Samantha didn’t have to fight the urge to pull away. There was no urge. Odd. Jenny’s warmth seeped into Samantha’s skin, and she found it comforting. “I was just trying to say you look happier here. Almost content.”

  The happy tears in Samantha’s eyes made her want to turn and run away. She hated looking like she couldn’t control herself. Then again, Jenny had seen every high and low point of Samantha’s personality, so what difference did a few tears make?

  “Thanks,” Samantha said. “But do me a favor and remember this moment when you’re with me this weekend. I’m bound to lose it on someone. It’s been pretty stressful around here, so I don’t really know how I look content. And my book—I don’t even want to get into that.”

  “You know,” Jenny said, “I don’t know how you could be stressed with that hunk of man strolling around.”

  “What?”

  “The guy who’s doing the work on your grandmother’s house. I met him.” Jenny tapped a finger to her lips. “I must say, wowza! I mean, have you looked at him?”

  Samantha’s stomach twisted and a ping of something stabbed at her heart. “Yeah, of course,” she choked out. She wasn’t surprised that Jenny found Lance attractive, but she hadn’t expected to feel like she was going to lose the breakfast she hadn’t even eaten yet now that she knew.

  Jenny drew her brows together. “Then why aren’t you drooling? I would be drooling if I had to share personal space with a guy like that. I mean, he’s all rough-and-tumble, make-your-body-ache-to-be-touched, kiss-me-in-all-the-right-places gorgeous.”

  Samantha tried to hide her cringe at Jenny’s description. Really, she shouldn’t care what Jenny thought. “Yeah,” she agreed.

  “And his voice—yum.” Jenny arched a seductive brow.

  “You talked to him?”

  “Sure. Right before he left. If I’d known there were men like that outside the city, I would have moved out here a long time ago.”

  Another twinge of discomfort settled in Samantha’s stomach. She needed to say something, anything. Hell, she just needed to change the subject. “Ready to go?” she finally spit out.

  “Uh, sure. Where to?”

  “To visit Gram and then to the antique shop. Is that okay?”

  Jenny eyed Samantha carefully. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Samantha nodded. “Fine, fine. I just need to get some breakfast.” She didn’t know if she was fine at all; jealousy had reared its ugly head, and Samantha couldn’t believe she was actually jealous because her best friend thought Lance was good-looking. Samantha had always known others found him attractive, so why did Jenny’s interest bother her so much?

  “Here you ladies go. The Friday morning special.” Candice set down two huge plates of pancakes in front of Samantha and Jenny. Samantha took one sniff of the fluffy hotcakes and fought the urge to cry. Blueberry. Samantha always made Ava blueberry pancakes on Saturday mornings. Ava loved them, and would always get the cutest smears of blueberry juice across her rosy cheeks.

  Samantha sighed heavily. “Thanks, Candice.”

  “You okay?” Jenny asked when she looked up from her own steaming plate.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about Ava.”

  Jenny took Samantha’s hand, and Samantha didn’t try to take it back.

  Candice set the glass syrup bottle down in the middle of the table. “Who’s Ava?”

  Samantha looked up through her lashes. Candice’s morning smile was enough to push the lump of grief down Samantha’s throat. She couldn’t hide forever. Dr. Wade had told Samantha it would be better to talk about certain aspects of her life.

  “She was my daughter.”

  Candice’s jaw dropped. She quickly slid into the seat next to Jenny. “You have a daughter?”

  Samantha shook her head and rearranged things on the table, grouping items by size. “Not really. I didn’t give birth to her. She was my ex-husband’s daughter. I raised her, so she was like my own child. I loved her.” She moved the salt and pepper shakers around for the fourth time, stopped, then scrunched the napkin in her free hand. “No, I do love her.”

  Candice’s concerned expression made Samantha’s chest tighten. She hadn’t had the chance to deal with the loss of contact with Ava. Well, she hadn’t wanted to. She’d kept it bottled up, hoping that the circumstances would somehow change and allow her to see Ava again. Samantha didn’t want to deal with that loss in the middle of a busy diner, but with her new best friend and old best friend both staring sympathetically at her, Samantha decided it was as good a time as any. The ache would never go away, but she believed Dr. Wade when she said it would be better to talk about it rather than hide it away.

  “What happened?” Candice asked.

  Samantha smoothed out the napkin between her hands. She took her time and tore the fragile paper into equal strips, laying them out side-by-side on the table as she told Candice all about Ryan, the fighting, his cheating, and the subsequent painful divorce. She told her all about her relationship with Ava and how it tore her in two when Ryan refused to let Samantha see her anymore. She didn’t know what got into her, but as the story started to flow from her lips, she just couldn’t stop. She went on about how men weren’t suited for her. How her marriages and relationships had failed, and how she knew she was part of them problem, but also how she knew men weren’t worth her time. Or how maybe she wasn’t worth theirs. She wasn’t worth anyone’s, apparently. When she was done, she glanced down at her napkin, which was now artfully torn into pieces.

  “I didn’t even see it coming, not from Ryan. I thought he loved me,” Samantha concluded. “I was so oblivious to it all. Too caught up in my love for him—or Ava—I guess.” She blew out a loud breath. “Marriage is tough. I learned the hard way—twice. You can’t make someone love you, and you can’t make them stay if they don’t want to. You can change yourself and everything you are, like I always did, to please the one you love and hope for the best—but it doesn’t stop the inevitable. I gave Ryan my all, and he took it without sparing my feelings in the end. It was my fault for not seeing it and not understanding love, I guess.”

  “Don’t start blaming yourself, Samantha,” Jenny said. “We’ve been over this. You didn’t do anything wrong. You loved Ryan with all your heart, and cherished Ava like she was the last thing on earth. You couldn’t have done anything else to stop it. It was all Ryan. He was slime and didn’t value who you are. He didn’t deserve you.”

  Samantha shrugged lifelessly. “I guess.”

&
nbsp; “No, Samantha,” Candice said. “Jenny’s right. I didn’t realize you’ve had such a hard year. My heart goes out to you.”

  “And Ava…” Samantha allowed the tears in her eyes to flow down her cheeks. “I want so badly to see her. Hug her. Play with her.”

  “Oh, I know, sweetie.” Jenny caressed the back of Samantha’s hand. “Don’t worry. Ryan will let you see Ava.”

  “No, he won’t. He’s made that perfectly clear.” Samantha pushed her untouched plate of pancakes away. “He’s such a jerk, and one of the reasons I hate men.”

  “One?” Candice asked.

  Samantha’s face hardened. “Yes, there’s more than one.” She cast a glance in Jenny’s direction, remembering what she’d said about Lance. “Your brother had a hand in my lack of willingness to trust the opposite sex.” Samantha snapped her jaws shut.

  To Samantha’s astonishment, Candice’s face didn’t waver from the serene expression. She didn’t even flinch. “That’s between you and him, and absolutely none of my business.”

  Relief flooded Samantha, not only for Candice’s statement, but the ease with which the weight lifted from her chest. Maybe Dr. Wade had been right? Sure, it hurt to know she couldn’t see Ava like she wanted and to know she’d been tossed aside like yesterday’s trash, but it felt good to get those feelings off her chest.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that,” Samantha said, taking a new napkin from the holder on the table. She folded, unfolded, and refolded it. “I guess Dr. Wade was right.”

  Candice’s brows knitted together. “Dr. Wade?”

  “Oh, that’s my therapist.” Damn, she’d done it again, speaking before she could think. “It’s nothing—I’m not crazy or anything.” Dig yourself a deeper hole, Samantha.

  Jenny and Candice both laughed at the same time. “Of course you’re not crazy,” Jenny said. “We know that. But we also know people need to talk about things sometimes, and we promise what we share doesn’t leave this table. Agreed?”

  Candice nodded. “Agreed.”

  Samantha allowed herself a small smile. It did feel good to talk about stuff. She should have taken Dr. Wade’s advice earlier. Well, she always had been stubborn. “Thanks for breakfast, Candice. We’ve got to run and see Gram.”