It was a question, a polite request, hanging between them.
~ ~ ~
Rachel blew out a breath. She didn’t want to go with Sam, but she was impressed by his dedication to his children. And hadn’t she said she’d do what she could to help him?
He looked at her expectantly, one brow raised. “No dice, Rachel?”
It was a dare, a not-very-subtle reminder of her promise, a taunting challenge.
“All right, you certainly know how to make a woman feel guilty, Sam,” she said with a sigh. “But I don’t get off work until four o’clock, and I’m not leaving early today even if you are Grayson Lumber. I work until the day is done.”
Sam’s wicked smile caused the breath to freeze in her lungs. “Four o’clock,” he agreed, his words so low that they felt like a caress. “It’s a date, Rachel. I’ll pick you up then.”
Not a date, Rachel thought, as she watched Sam’s broad back move away from her. A date was when a man chose a woman because he wanted her, and it would never be that way between her and Sam. He’d already told her what he was looking for, and it was not the pleasure of her company. Still, she’d be waiting just like she’d said she would.
She hoped to heaven she didn’t regret this.
Chapter Three
Rachel was just beginning to finally get a grip on herself and settle back to business when she looked up to see one of the men who worked in the yard standing beside her desk. He was holding a package from the only florist in town. He was also grinning ear to ear.
“Somebody sent you flowers, Rachel,” he said smugly. “Wonder who these could be from.”
Well, he wasn’t the only one wondering, Rachel thought, but she had a sneaky suspicion she knew the answer to his question. It had been a while since she’d gotten flowers. Bob was just way too shy, and no one had ever even commented on the blossoms she trucked to work daily, until Sam had asked about them this morning.
Thanking Tom, she waited until he had reluctantly shuffled out before peeling the paper back. Bright white blossoms with yellow centers revealed themselves to her. Dozens of daisies, crowded in an exquisite crystal vase, pure and white and lovely.
Her hand shook as she reached for the card. She had to force herself to open it.
“Thank you, Rachel, for offering your time and for not spitting in my eye the way I know you wanted to. I hope you’ll accept these daisies as a sign of friendship and appreciation. Sam,” was written in bold, black letters.
Spit in his eye? Had she really looked like that? Most likely, Rachel thought with a smile as she pushed her face up against the soft, gentle daisies. Sam always did bring out her defenses. Still, he’d sent her daisies, her favorites. She somehow thought that the choice of blossoms hadn’t been coincidental. Most men would have sent something more exotic automatically, never suspecting how much the innocent freshness of fragile white daisies appealed to her—but Sam had zeroed in on her favorites.
A niggling suspicion formed in the back of Rachel’s mind. Sam had said that he would do anything for his child. Did that include bribing her with flowers? She looked at the blossoms that shivered delicately with each waft of air that passed. Yes, she decided, these flowers were probably a bribe.
But a nice one, she admitted with a shrug. Leave it to Sam to hit her hard right where she was the most vulnerable. She would just have to learn to ignore the man.
And that’s what she was still trying to do when he showed up at exactly four. Shoving the last scrap of loose paper inside her drawer, Rachel picked up the daisies and headed for the door before Sam could even open it.
“Thank you for the flowers, Sam,” she said, helping herself into his truck before he could move to her side, “but they really weren’t necessary. I don’t spit in people’s eyes. At least not on Fridays.”
Sam chuckled and took the flowers from her, placing the heavy, leaded vase carefully on the floor beside her feet.
Looking up from his position near her left knee, he smiled up into her eyes.
“And what do you do with your Fridays, Rachel?”
His lips were dangerously near her skin and she felt a crazy, dizzying urge to push closer. But that was silly, foolish, impossible. She thought of the last few Fridays that she’d spent with Bob Engalls. Pleasant evenings when she hadn’t felt dizzy at all. Rachel frowned at the thought.
“I bite people’s heads off on Fridays, Sam,” she said, quickly sliding her knee away from temptation. “So just don’t do anything to get me riled.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said quietly and with a smile, and it was clear he was making every effort to be nice as they moved on, finally arriving at the big two-story house with the wraparound porch.
Getting out of the truck, Rachel could feel Sam’s every move as he came up behind her and followed her in the door. She masked her reaction by paying attention to the details of the big house that sat on a full acre of land.
“Sam,” she whispered. “I’ve never been inside here before. It’s—wonderful, a kid’s paradise. Just look at the window seats and all the cubbyholes for little people to hide in. And that staircase. I can just see a little girl playing dress up and walking down these stairs in a dress that’s three sizes too big,” she said, moving up two steps.
When she turned to look, Sam was closer than she’d thought, nearly on eye level. He was staring at her openly. She felt her breath catch in her throat.
“Lady,” he whispered. “Kate was right. You’re the one. Come—be with us. You—I could help you get that flower shop you want to open.”
Rachel let her mouth fall open. An indignant little gasp slipped from her throat. “How did you know about that?”
Sam shrugged, a slight trace of red creeping up from his white shirt collar. “I was grilling Cynthia over at the flower shop about your tastes when I was there earlier. I’m sure she didn’t mean to drop your secrets.”
“I’m sure that you didn’t have anything to do with her spilling the beans,” Rachel admonished, not sure whether to tell the man off or to laugh at him. He looked so absolutely guilty.
“I might have,” he conceded, tucking his thumbs in his jeans. “But now that I know, I could help you. I’d pay you well for your time, Rachel, better than I’m paying you now, and well enough that you could open up your own shop in a nearby town in a few years.”
“You think I’d sell myself for a flower shop, Sam?”
Sam frowned, raking one hand through his hair till it stood up in places, making him look frustrated—but still sexy as hell. “Dammit, Rachel, I’m not talking about selling yourself. I’m talking about working for me, staying with my children while they need you, then retiring to the kind of life you truly want. I could make that happen for you. I’d be willing to negotiate the terms.”
Rachel closed her eyes. “Sam,” she said. “I don’t think—”
But Sam reached out and placed two fingers over her lips. “Don’t—don’t decide right now, Rachel. Wait. Please.”
Waiting would be a mistake. Rachel knew that. The thing to do right now was say no, firmly and clearly, and then move far away from Sam so that she couldn’t take back her answer. Because she knew the dangers of waiting and spending more time with this man. He always affected her so. She should say no. Immediately.
But when she opened her eyes, she found herself much too close to Sam. And when she opened her mouth, she felt the sensitive flesh of her lips dragging against the pads of
Sam’s fingertips—and she found she couldn’t breathe. There was no way she could talk.
Still, she managed to shake her head. She read the disappointment in Sam’s eyes, and she knew what he was thinking. He didn’t want to fail his children again. He was so worried for his kids.
Sam and babies—she turned away from that thought once again. She needed to say something, something that would end all this once and forever.
Stepping away from his touch, Rachel opened her mouth. She looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever k
nown. Sexy eyes. Worried eyes.
“You’ll need help if you’re going to whip this house into shape,” she whispered, “but we could probably get it livable in two or three days.”
Sam’s smile was like a touch. Rachel dragged in a deep breath as he moved closer.
“You’re an angel,” he said in that soft, husky voice of his.
No, she was an idiot. An absolute idiot. But at least if she did this much for Sam, it would be enough. She could walk away from him and get on with her own life without a backward glance.
~ ~ ~
Sam hammered the last nail into the loose piece of molding around the living room door, then glanced through the doorway into the kitchen. Rachel had finished scrubbing the chrome trim on the stove and was arranging a long drift of philodendron, lifting the heavy rope of leaves and trailing it up and over the front of the plate rack. She’d washed down every visible space, polished every surface, until the place nearly sparkled. She’d also silently slipped out of the room every time he’d entered it.
He watched Rachel as she raised her arms over her head. She fussed with the uncooperative strand of green, hummed a perky little tune. Her hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail earlier, but the long, dark strands had almost all worked free by now. She had a smudge of dirt the shape of a fuzzy handprint right across her blue denim bottom that was swaying to the music. Grinning, Sam wondered what she’d do if he went over and dusted off her perfect little backside, then mentally swatted himself for the thought.
He was still trying to win Rachel’s cooperation for his children’s sake. He’d sent her flowers again today. Violets. But that didn’t mean he wanted to get close and personal with the lady. Besides, she’d probably just walk away, ignoring his existence the way she had when she was a kid. But, of course, she wasn’t a kid anymore. Not even remotely close, Sam thought, studying the curve of her hips as she moved. No, she was clearly an achingly lush and lovely woman now.
Sam shoved his errant and unwelcome thoughts aside. “Let me give you a hand with that,” he said, watching as she tried to loop one part of the plant around the edge of the shelf and still keep the rest from falling. “It looks like a two-person job to me.”
Rachel stopped moving. She stood frozen for two whole seconds, then turned her head and looked back at him, her gray eyes large and wary. Slowly she raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m fine, Sam. Really.”
But as she went back to her work, Sam could see her suck in a long breath of air. That confirmed what he had already suspected. Rachel hadn’t known that he’d been watching her—and she didn’t feel good about it, either.
This was the way it had always been with her. Always had been...and still was. Everyone in town had been glad to see him come home and had told him so—all except for Rachel. She was still ducking around corners where he was concerned, still trying to pretend he didn’t exist—and he was damn sick and tired of being the invisible man.
Strolling into the kitchen, Sam came up behind her. Easily he framed her body and reached up to take the plant from her slender grasp.
She stiffened in front of him, becoming ramrod straight, like an icicle in his arms, but he could feel her heart pounding like a sledgehammer. It echoed through her body and resonated into his chest.
“Sam, I told you—”
“Shh, Rachel,” he whispered, stilling her attempts to slip away by placing his hand on top of hers. Instantly she froze. “I know what you told me, but I can’t stand by and watch you struggle when I can help. You’re one hell of a stubborn woman, Rachel Allyn,” he declared. “Do you know that?”
She let out a long puff of air. “Well, I guess I do now, Sam.” Rachel took another deep breath, still locked in the bracket of Sam’s arms. “So,” she finally said, turning her head slightly so that the silk of her hair brushed against his lips. “Are we going to just stand here or are we going to get this plant in place?”
It would have been a tough choice if Sam hadn’t heard the panic in her voice. Left to his own devices, he might have stood there a few moments longer. The slide of Rachel’s hair across his skin, the feel of her slender curves pressed to him—well, it had been a long time since he’d felt raw desire. It didn’t make sense to feel this way, since it was Rachel he held in his arms, but it was good to know he could still feel something, even if it was the wrong woman and the wrong time.
“Sam?” Rachel wiggled, trying to get free, and pressed her tight little bottom right up against him. Only a stone man could have controlled himself—or been able to mask the results.
Sam sucked in air, dragging it into his suddenly depleted lungs. Quickly he stepped back and away. “Let’s get this done,” he said, clearing his voice.
As he held the plant in place and Rachel made sure that it was secured, Sam watched the way she touched the plant, careful not to tear any of the leaves.
Suddenly she stopped what she was doing and stared him straight in the eye. “You’ve got to stop sending me flowers, Sam.”
She had propped one hand on her hip, thinking no doubt that it made her look stern and no-nonsense. In truth, Sam admitted, it only made him think that she had a deliciously curved hip, one made for the fit of a man’s hands. He could see, though, how telling her that would be a major big-time mistake. She’d never say yes to his plans if he chased her away by giving in to this damn itch she was calling forth in him. Instead he simply raised one brow and grinned.
“You don’t like violets, Rachel?”
Rachel lowered her other hand to her hip. She tried to frown, but he could see the smile trying to peep out from underneath. “You know darn well that I love violets, Sam Grayson,” she said, staring him down. “Cynthia admitted that you specifically asked what my favorites are, but that’s not the point. The point is that you are clearly trying to bribe me when I’ve already told you several times that I can’t do what you’re asking.”
“So my attempt at bribery—it’s not working?”
Lowering her hands from her hips to run them down the legs of her jeans, Rachel shook her head slowly. “Sam, you know that it’s just not possible. It would never work. So you can stop now. You don’t need to send me any more flowers.”
“You like them though, don’t you? Even if they come from me?”
Rachel reached out and touched the tail end of the philodendron. “I like them,” she whispered, turning her head away.
She did. Sam knew that much even if he didn’t know anything else about Rachel. He didn’t know how to convince her to care for his children. He’d never had to work much to win a woman, not even Donna. His wife had sought him out, not the other way around. The flowers had been the only way he could think of to coax Rachel. They were the only power he could wield in any form. Any fool could see that she loved green things. A man who wanted to win her to his side would naturally woo her with blossoms. But she’d already said that it would be impossible for him to win this battle, so...he should stop trying. He really should, but he knew he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.
“When will you be back with the kids?” Rachel asked, stepping back a space.
“Tomorrow. I’m leaving just as soon as I finish up here. I’ve called Annie ten times in the last two days, but if I don’t get there soon...well, I think Mrs. Nelson’s ready to walk out the door. Annie decided yesterday that she wanted to learn how to cook. I don’t think the first lesson went all that well.”
Rachel raised her brows. “Well, she’s only six, Sam.”
Sam twisted up one side of his mouth and shook his head. “Oh, the problem wasn’t with Annie. Not at all. I guess she did just fine for a six-year-old intent on learning it all in one day. But while Mrs. Nelson was explaining the fine points of making a blueberry pie to my six-year-old, the twins got into the containers of blueberries. Major food fight,” he concluded.
“Major mess?” Rachel guessed.
Sam nodded. “Annie told me that we now have pretty purple-polka-dotted curtains instead of whit
e ones. Mrs. Nelson’s in a bit of a snit. Besides, I miss them. It’s time to bring them home.”
Realizing he was in danger of opening up more than he’d meant to, Sam started to turn away and go back to his repairs. Rachel’s voice at his back stopped him.
“Tell me about them, Sam. You’ve shown me pictures, but tell me what your children are like. I—I thought I’d get their rooms ready while you’re gone. It might be hard for them coming into a strange place. They might be scared or homesick at first. There should be something special here for each of them.”
She was right. Of course, she was right, and Sam understood once again why he had chosen Rachel. She had a way of anticipating a child’s feelings and reactions that many adults had somehow lost over the years. It was almost a shame that she didn’t have kids of her own. She should have them. From what Hal had said, it was a wonder she didn’t, given all the guys panting around her.
Sam frowned, then kicked that thought away. Rachel’s personal life was none of his business. Besides, she was waiting
Shrugging, Sam struggled to find the words that would describe his children and found that it was impossible. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Janey...she’s this chubby little butterball who waddles around the house. Her chief interest is still her toes and how many of them she can cram into her mouth. She loves to be tickled and cuddled, and she has this ratty pink teddy bear she calls ‘Baby.’ She never lets Zach out of her sight. And Zach, he’s like a little cannonball, rushing everywhere, never slowing down. He’s hot into the topic of dogs, ‘woofs’ as he calls them, and he’s extremely protective of Janey. That doesn’t mean they don’t fight all the time. They do. Take one of Janey’s toys and she’ll beat you with her teddy bear until you let go. Zach steals her things on a regular basis just to rile her, I think. They love to sing with the radio. Loud. Really loud and off-key.”
Sam had to smile, remembering his two budding performers.
He looked up to see that Rachel was smiling back at him. “And Annie?” she asked. “What does she like to do?”
Babies and a Blue-eyed Man Page 4