Sweet Home Carolina

by Rice, Patricia

  * * *

  Sheets like silk slid along Zack’s skin as he turned to reach for the warmth he’d cuddled all night.

  She wasn’t there. He groaned into his pillow.

  He could feel the glare of sunlight against his eyelids, but he left them closed, preferring to listen for telltale sounds that would give him an indication of what to expect. He was accustomed to waking alone, but he was abnormally disappointed to do so this morning.

  One little night should not be so dangerous.

  Perhaps Amy was the wiser of the two of them. They should not let themselves get used to cuddling or expecting romance.

  A door clicked, and he lifted one eyelid to peer toward the bathroom, praying that its door was the one he heard and not the one to the suite. The bathroom door was wide open, and Amy wasn’t in sight.

  Panic rising, he flipped over to observe the other side of the room.

  Looking adorable in the short-waisted jacket and draped skirt she’d worn to work yesterday, Amy stood beside a table tray containing hot dishes, teapots, and a pitcher of juice. At his movement, she poured a glass of juice and brought it to the bed.

  “I only have the weekend to work on the house. Hurry up, sleepyhead, it’s time to get moving.”

  “Incredible!” he muttered to himself as he threw off the bedcovers and ignored her offering of juice. Stark naked and still half aroused, Zack stalked across the carpet to snatch a pastry from the tray. It wasn’t a substitute for the sweetness of woman that he preferred. “You are the least romantic woman in the world!”

  Even as he bit into the pastry, he was startled to realize he didn’t mind that she wasn’t romantic. This was pure Amy smiling back at him in the mirror, undeterred by his reaction. Here stood the practical woman who disguised the seductress underneath — the seductress only he knew.

  With Amy, he didn’t have to be charming. In return, she didn’t have to play at being what she wasn’t to entice him. He loved just watching happiness radiate from her.

  “Said the grasshopper to the ant,” she replied tartly, as only Amy could do and not give off rancor. “It was your idea to shop.”

  “Not at the crack of dawn.” His body ached for more lovemaking before returning to the grim realities of her world, and he wasn’t ready to let her win this argument. “There is a reason for weekends.”

  “Of course! Weekends are for doing everything a working mother can’t get done during the week,” she replied as if he were simpleminded.

  Zack swung around and caught her openly admiring his physique, and he had to slam his libido to a halt and rethink. She obviously wanted him, just as much as he wanted her, but did a hint of wariness linger behind her admiration? That she still doubted him hurt, and it shouldn’t. He knew she was the settling down kind and needed to be wary.

  Why was he the one resenting that Amy was headed back to her life as if this were a casual affair? As he usually did.

  “I work hard and I play hard. That does not make me a grasshopper,” he said gruffly, grappling with his odd resentment.

  “So do I,” she replied. “But my idea of playing is with my new house. And since that was the purported reason for my coming here, you shouldn’t be surprised if that’s what I want to do.”

  He wanted to stage a scene where they either both walked off in a huff or ended up in bed again. That was normal in the world he’d occupied these last years.

  He was tired of the scenes, he realized. He was tired of waking up in strange beds to women he didn’t even like.

  He liked Amy, in his bed and out of it, even when she was at her most exasperating, as she was now. She was running from him because she was scared and testing his staying power.

  He didn’t entirely know what to do about it. Not yet. He needed to go home and set his head straight. Was that how Amy felt, too? No wonder she was keeping her distance.

  Thunderstruck by the realization that he could have a woman he enjoyed beyond sex, he almost dropped into a nearby chair.

  It would appear that they might be on the verge of a real relationship — whatever that might be. He didn’t know what to do about it. Only one thing was certain — he had just gone beyond fighting it.

  Was that how Amy felt? As if she’d been smacked on the head by a two-by-four and knocked under a steamroller? He would have to sort through the maze of that possibility as soon as he picked his rolling head up off the floor and set it on straight. He knew what “relationship” meant to Amy.

  He was only mildly terrified and not quite shaking in his boots. Yet.

  For the moment, he must deal with the impossible female waiting for his response. She was tapping her foot and starting to frown.

  Zack miraculously discovered a desire to knock down ceilings and paint walls.

  “Sit. Eat,” he commanded. “I will shower. You will not run away.” Smiling broadly, he planted a kiss on her cheek — anything more and he’d have her undressed in seconds — and strode off to the shower whistling.

  Amy held a hand to her cheek like an infatuated teenager and tried not to melt through the floor as Zack’s beautifully muscular ass disappeared into the bathroom.

  She’d been doing fine until that confident gleam had returned to his eye, and he’d started giving orders. She’d felt very woman-of-the-world climbing out of bed, washing, and dressing while a handsome man slept sprawled across the bed they’d made love in. She’d thought ordering room service on her own a brilliant idea to establish her independence and the casualness of their relationship.

  It was one thing to look to Zack for a job. That was business. But depending on him to feed her and plan her time off, that was scarily intimate and spawned thoughts of planning days around him….

  And mornings.

  She’d faltered there for a minute when he’d actually sounded hurt and uncertain. He was the experienced one, wasn’t he? She was the one who should expect more of an affair, right? Which was why she had to prove she didn’t expect anything.

  Now she was just plain confused. This was the reason she had resisted the idea of an affair for so long. She couldn’t separate sex from commitment. And commitment with jet-setting Zack was out of the question.

  She finished her glass of orange juice and poured tea. The kitchen apparently already knew Zack’s requirements, because they’d sent up a real teapot and real tea leaves instead of hot water and herbal tea bags. She nibbled pastry and listened to him shower and was relieved she was dressed so she wasn’t tempted to join him for a repeat of last night.

  Last night had been…. She couldn’t think of words to describe how she’d felt, or she’d cry, knowing she’d never have another night like that again. Zack was ruining her for any other man.

  Well, fine. She didn’t want any more men.

  She flipped on the television and half listened to a weather report about another hurricane barreling into the Gulf Coast. She flicked it off when Zack emerged smelling of sandalwood, wearing blue jeans and a worn work shirt, with his hair still wet and curling from the shower. Before she could say a word, he gathered her into his arms and drowned her in a kiss so hungry that he jump-started her stuttering heart and left her gasping.

  “We are good together, yes?” he demanded, releasing her to press her into a chair at the table.

  All she could do was nod. It was the truth, after all.

  “Regrets, Amy?” he asked softly.

  Her heart stumbled at the gentleness of his voice, and that he even considered how she felt. “No,” she replied in a whisper.

  “Then we will enjoy the day as we choose colors for your new home.” Apparently satisfied with his decision for her house, he uncovered the hot plates and ravenously consumed the breakfast she’d ordered for him.

  How did one pound a whirlwind over the head?

  One didn’t. One went to ground and didn’t come out until the tornado had spun past.

  Twenty-six

  “You need a nanny to keep up with this one,” Zack
declared the Monday evening after their brief sojourn in heaven. He captured Louisa and pulled her down from the furniture the movers had stacked in the dining room of Amy’s cottage.

  The contractor had ripped out the living room ceiling over the weekend, revealing deteriorating plaster and oak crown molding. Tired of the Motel 6 and eager to explore the possibilities of the Craftsman cottage, Zack had decided to move in.

  “I need a million dollars and a yacht, too,” Amy replied through a mouthful of pins. She tugged fabric more tightly over a rod and pinned it in place to provide privacy for the windows.

  “No, I mean it, seriously,” he insisted.

  The day she’d stripped him down to his grief, he’d known that she was more than the women in his past. He’d proved to himself that he could deal with children again. He’d tried the usual path of seduction, and she’d stood him on his head and bowled him over with her passion and joy. She was one woman in a million, the one with the power to return him to reality. The one with the potential to cause serious pain.

  He’d been thinking hard for days, trying to find some way of having this woman he wanted despite all the obstacles bobbing ugly heads in their path. The question of what to do about the children was one of many, many arguments they must overcome if he had any hope of building a relationship. He knew she didn’t like to leave the children, but his business involved travel, and he didn’t like to do it alone. They must find a compromise.

  He’d had lots of experience in argument and didn’t want more. He had a feeling he had only one chance for happiness and it had Amy’s name on it. “She is too young for day care. She needs personal attention.”

  “Uh-huh, as soon as I have that million dollars,” she agreed, jabbing another pin into the material.

  “So, you do not mind nannies?” he verified with delight.

  “Nope. When I have a million dollars, I’ll stay home and won’t need one. Or maybe we’ll all go sailing on that yacht.”

  “You are not being serious,” he protested. “You cannot take children with you everywhere without help. Traveling is difficult for little ones.”

  Standing on a crate, she eyed him warily while jabbing the last pin into the end of the makeshift curtain. “Maybe I should have the house tested for mold. It can have the same effect as drugs. Unless you’re on drugs,” she suggested, helpfully. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, so nannies are not a concern.”

  “But what about the sample shows? Do you not want to see how people like the fruits of our labor? There are shows everywhere. We could go to Paris, to Hong Kong….”

  “You are definitely on drugs.” She climbed down from the crate. “There are plenty of more qualified people for the shows. Did you ever find out what’s holding up the silk thread for the floral tapestry? That fabric is the key piece for the show.”

  The children were in the room. Zack couldn’t grab pragmatic Amy and kiss her and make her see what he saw. There were still too many questions to be settled before he could tell her his plans. He had to rein in his impatience before planning their future.

  Their future. He was thinking in terms of a future, with building excitement and too many terrified questions. Most of the questions were his, he could admit. Was he capable of making a woman happy for longer than two nights? Could he handle children who got sick and injured on a regular basis? Was he too old to settle down? The last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt Amy.

  The next-to-last thing he wanted to do was lose her. Sometime this past weekend, he’d realized he had to think about tackling the largest challenge of his lifetime — marriage. Amy would settle for nothing less.

  He’d already failed the challenge once.

  So he tested the waters as he had not the first time around. This time, they were both settled into certain lifestyles, and the obstacles were larger than if they’d been young and unburdened. His goal was to encounter, explore, and remove the impediments one by one —

  Not he — they. He’d lived on his own too long. Amy was accustomed to being part of a unit. He was not. He needed to start thinking in terms of both of them.

  “The silk manufacturer’s production is running behind,” he said in answer to her question, trying not to think of failure of any sort. At least in business matters, he and Amy were of like mind. “We’ll have to do without the tapestry for the show.”

  “Perhaps we could substitute the cotton prints?” she suggested. “Those are simple.”

  His cell phone rang, and he automatically carried it to the window for better reception while Amy checked the hem of her makeshift curtains.

  “No, no,” he shouted into the mobile clamshell. “Where are the mechanics? We cannot afford to waste the thread.”

  Amy winced and tried not to listen. The one machine had been jamming all day. They had precisely two weeks to get the samples ready for the High Point market.

  Government grants took months. They needed cash now, and the market would generate it…if all went well.

  She’d almost rather dream of traveling to shows in Paris and L.A. than think about broken machinery. What on earth had sent Zack off on that tangent?

  He bit off a curse and snapped his cell shut, then paced the floor of the dining room. “The loom needs a new part,” he growled. “We cannot make more of the brocade until it is fixed.”

  They needed variety to impress the buyers at the show. Their booth wouldn’t be noticed among the thousands of other booths unless they had something exciting to catch the attention of jaded buyers. “How long will it take to fix the machine?”

  “Maybe a week,” he said with irritation.

  “Then we need to start on the prints and the jacquard,” she suggested. “The cotton isn’t as rich, but the design is exquisite. We’ll need flyers, brochures, maybe a direct-mail campaign to get out the word about the rarity of the historical design. If you would quit being so bullheaded and use more contemporary colors — ”

  “Bullheaded? You think I am bullheaded? You are the one refusing to go to the show, the one with the brilliant mind who would bury herself in this place and never venture beyond — ” He shut up abruptly.

  Amy glanced over her shoulder to see both Louisa and Josh watching him with dread in their eyes. They had heard her arguments with Evan too many times. And Zack had been observant enough to understand that. She breathed a sigh of relief at his wisdom.

  In recompense, she offered what she could. “If you need me in High Point, I will go. I’m not afraid of travel, but I can’t leave the children for long.”

  Zack ran his hand through his hair, gazed at the children with doubt in his eyes, then nodded. “We will discuss business at work. Tonight is for the little ones. You need a room you can play in while we work, do you not?” he asked them.

  Josh shouted his agreement and Louisa imitated his shouts.

  Amy could have kissed him. But kissing was way too dangerous. She’d avoided it ever since Saturday. It was bad enough hiding how she felt about Zack from the kids, but pretending to be no more than a corporate drone at work all day today was excruciating.

  “The upstairs room?” Zack suggested. “We can set up Josh’s train tracks there.”

  Accompanied by Josh’s cheers, they hunted through the stacks of furniture and cartons for the toy boxes.

  “You have so many beautiful pieces, it is a shame to bury them like this.” Zack lifted an elegantly curved Mission rocker from the stack to uncover a box Amy thought might contain the train set.

  “That’s the rocker I’d love to use the brocade on.” She gestured at the wide oak seat. “A lovely thick pillow for the seat and a few loose pillows for the back, maybe in the floral silk. We ought to use a few of my pieces at the show as design ideas.”

  She’d just cast out the idea as a stray thought, but she sensed Zack’s alertness instantly. He tensed, and began examining the stack of furniture with renewed interest.

  “It is the wrong period,” he murmured.

&
nbsp; “People save what is good and use it in different generations,” she suggested. “What are you thinking?”

  She located the train box and Louisa’s doll box while he frowned and poked through her antiques.

  “I am thinking you are brilliant.” He untangled a walnut settle with the slender back slats and arms of the early colonial period. “I am thinking we will need two booths at the show and some seamstresses. Do you know what shape the sewing machines are in?”

  “In her day, my mother could take the machines apart and put them together faster than the mechanics. Do you mean this? I don’t want to raise hopes, but Mom ran the samples department for years.”

  She tried to breathe normally, pretend this was just an impersonal business discussion, but she thought she would burst her lid while she watched Zack pull out furniture and rub his jaw thoughtfully.

  Jobs, even temporary ones, would add much needed cash to pockets throughout town. With Christmas coming up….

  “Call her,” Zack said decisively. “Ask her to come in tomorrow to see if the machines can be made to operate immediately and how long it will take to produce pillows. I think we need at least one bed to display a jacquard coverlet.”

  He paced up and down, thinking aloud, pulling out more furniture when his gaze fell upon other useful pieces. Amy was willing to sacrifice everything she owned to make this work. She grabbed his cell and dialed her mother.

  “Mom, don’t say anything to anyone yet,” she said as soon as Marie answered, “but we need you at the mill first thing in the morning. We have questions.”

  Ending the call after arranging transportation, Amy hugged Zack’s neck as if doing so were the most normal thing in the world. “It’s going to work. I know it is!”

  He wrapped both arms around her, hugged her close, and kissed her hungrily, as though he’d been starving since last they’d touched. Her heart soared with her hopes, and it was a giddy few minutes before she could extricate herself. Josh attempting to tug his train box to the stairs was sufficient warning that they couldn’t mess around in front of the kids.