by Ginny Glass
“Sam.” Everything went silent. He took a single step toward her. She took a single step back and fainted dead away.
*
Merrit woke slowly. She had the sharpest, most painful sense of longing as Samuel’s face swam into focus. He was kneeling beside her. Two things occurred to her—one, Samuel Thrasher wasn’t a teenage boy anymore. Two, he had his fingers curled oh-so-shiver-givin’ gently behind her neck, and his face was close.
“Hi.” His voice was hesitant but warm, his eyes full of concern. God, those eyes. A clear and stunning blue you could see miles into, fringed in dark lashes that were tipped a feathery blond. Longer than any man’s eyelashes had a right to be. Those eyes were mesmerizing when they were out of focus, when she was the cause of his absolute and utter carnal distraction.
He grinned. That mouth could easily become the center of her universe. The way it had been their one and only night, the hours after their first awkward encounter, sliding over her skin, making her catch fire, coaxing her and reassuring her and catching the moans he’d wrought from her. The same mouth had called her beautiful just before she’d come apart under him. Fireworks, he had given her the fireworks. The same mouth had unapologetically announced his intentions to leave.
“I skipped breakfast,” she blurted, and the lines that crinkled at the corners of his eyes were decidedly grown-up. This face was sharply familiar but also so, so very alien. Merrit’s stomach did a little flip.
The hardwood floor was cool at her back, but her hair, in disarray from her exertions at the barn, stuck in random strands to her sweat-damp forehead. Sam combed the strands back behind her ears, his eyes roaming her face.
“You feeling okay?” When she nodded, he helped her sit up. Her mother came out of the kitchen with a bowl of ice water and a washcloth.
“Mer! Honey, here.” Her mom got down on creaky knees and started to dab at her face with the cloth. Merrit pushed her hands away after a few seconds, getting to her feet, mortified. Sam helped her mother up.
Merrit wiped her palms on the thighs of her dusty jeans. “I’m okay. Really, I just overdid it unloading those bales.”
“You’re working the ranch?” Sam’s disapproval was more than evident.
Merrit narrowed her eyes at him and took the glass of tea her mother magically appeared with. “Yeah, well, not all of us can live the high life, giving high colonics to Pomeranians. What are you doing here?”
“My dad died, I have affairs to settle,” he said flatly, and Merrit was secretly pleased to know that she could still rile him.
“They don’t have phones in California?” She watched a muscle tic at the corner of his eye as she sipped her tea.
“They have plenty.”
“Funny, because I assumed you’d been without one for the past fifteen years.”
Sam crossed his arms. His fingers dented the fabric of his jacket as he flexed them. His eyes snapped with a fire she hadn’t seen in years. “The phones here work just as well as the ones in California, and I notice no one here picked one up.”
“Merrit, Sam, I’m gonna go get lunch up for the boys. You both take it easy.” Both of them ignored Hattie, who slipped into the kitchen with a sly smile that Merrit noticed but was pretty sure Sam had missed.
“I didn’t want to have to do this, Mer.”
“What? See me?”
His silence was answer enough.
“You come back here with your nose in the air, Doctor Thrasher, and you want to slip in and sneak out, no collateral damage? You left a hell of a lot of complications for that.”
“Nice to see you too, Mer. You look good.”
“What the hell are you here for? You want to talk to my daddy? Maybe he’ll let you buy him out, you can sell the land off. Must still have a good chunk of student debt.”
“You’re wrong.”
“And to hell with all the memories that are here. They’ll be gone.”
“What memories, Merrit? The ones of my father driving the baler so piss drunk that he didn’t even realize it when he crashed it into the grain silo? Or maybe of all the happy times I spent patching holes in my bedroom wall after he’d destroyed the drywall? Or, wait, the assumption that after being raised by a complete asshole, I was going to stick around and let him deign to leave all of this to me?”
He smiled, but it was a slow, humorless expression. He pushed off the wall and stepped so close to her that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. She wanted to sink into it, that warmth. She wanted him to be the easygoing, carefree boy she’d once known. Instead, she was standing in front of a stranger who wore Samuel Thrasher’s face. He had Sam’s solid, tempting body and Sam’s voice—kept deceptively level as he reached out to graze the tips of his fingers over her cheek. Merrit’s entire body went rigid.
“You’re wrong. I’m not here to sell off the ranch. If I was going to get rid of it, I’d rather burn it all down. And you don’t remember me the way I was, you remember me the way you saw me. And it’s a wonderful fairy tale, darlin’, but it’s not real.”
She shoved his hand away. “Bullshit, Sam. I remember everything about you,” and the waver in her voice betrayed her, and she felt the tears welling up, traitorous. “You left me, you son of a bit—”
Sam cut off her words and her breath with a rough hand through her hair and the most deliciously furious kiss she had ever been given. He practically carried her backward with the force of his mouth on hers, and Merrit felt the chair rail on the wall as it thudded against the small of her back. She raised her hands as they both stumbled—raised them to do God knows what, because she didn’t want him to stop. Sam ate at her mouth, leaving her no choice but to open for him, take the harsh velvet stabs of his tongue, acquiesce to the anger that fueled him.
It was anger that was short-lived—it had always been that way between them, emotions that ran high and hot and raced a million different ways. Her anger was melting in the heat of their kiss, and Merrit knew it was being tempered by the one thing that had never wavered or changed about Samuel. She loved him.
Don’t leave me, Sam.
Too many echoes in her head—a replay of the words she’d said so many years ago. Her body wanted this Samuel now with a startling ferocity. She wanted the ghost of the old flame out of her head and wanted a no-strings-attached version of new Samuel naked in her bed. Why was her stupid heart trying to mash the two together?
Regardless of the catalyst, Merrit’s body hummed instantly to life at the crush of his lips, at the taste of him. He nipped and sucked at her lower lip wildly, pressing his hips into hers. Her hands skipped across his shoulders, his shirt an irritating barrier between her and his bare skin. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, curled her previously uncertain fingers aggressively at his nape. He tightened his own at the back of her head and the small, sharp pain of her hair tangling in the tight grip made Merrit whimper into his mouth.
Samuel’s hand in her hair loosened. He pulled away slightly, staying close so that his lips brushed hers. She could feel him breathing against her mouth and she knew his eyes were open. She couldn’t look at him. The hot azure depths of those eyes were too much for her to bear.
“This was what we had, Mer. Just this.”
“Because I was convenient, a way to dispense with your first time before you left.”
He didn’t respond.
“There could have been so much more between us than just sex.” Her voice still shook.
His reply was husky, rough. “How do you know? You never even really knew me.”
She hadn’t let go of Samuel, her fingers were still tangled in the soft hair at his nape. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, the same warm smell that she remembered. If this was déjà vu, it sucked, big-time. She disentangled from him, the quiet of the house oppressive and suffocating.
“You should go, and you should do it now.” She felt stupid, like the same naïve little girl getting her heart broken all over again.
“I still have to talk to your dad—”
Her voice rose. “Leave, Sam! You hate this place, you always have. Everyone knows and, God forbid, loves you.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “I have other responsibilities, Merrit.”
She wanted to scream, to stomp, to land a good right hook into Sam’s handsome jaw. “Your father missed you so much when you left, but he was so damned stubborn, so prideful, that he never said it. He threw away his chance to make amends with you, and now you’re damned close to doing the same thing.”
“My father wasn’t the type to miss anyone. He worked too hard, drank too much and couldn’t have cared less if I was happy. He never gave me anything that I didn’t work my ass off for.”
“He gave you this.” She gestured outside. Sam’s derisive snort was quick, the expression that followed rueful.
“Funny, because right now it doesn’t feel like a gift.”
Silence fell, stretched. There was so much to be said, but Merrit suddenly lost the strength to fight with him. When the sound of dirt crunching outside signaled her father’s return, Merrit simply pushed past Sam and walked out the front door, letting the silence say everything.
*
Hours later, as the sun settled low, Sam sat on Hoss and Hattie’s front porch, sipping tea and watching evening fall. Merrit still hadn’t returned. Sam picked up the letter that was sitting on the wicker table beside him, unfolding it and rereading it for what must have been the twentieth time. Written in his father’s blocky script, it proved that everything he’d said to Merrit had been wrong.
Dear Sam,
If you are reading this letter, it means that I’m gone. Never expected my heart to hold out forever, especially after the way I treated it all my life. I hope you’re back at the Bow, and I hope you’re gonna stay awhile.
I owe you an apology. I never told you how much it hurt when you left, but even running off like you did, you did it for all the right reasons. I was too hard—on the outside and especially on you.
I guess I never quite knew the right way to handle things when your ma passed. I knew how to work and how to distract myself—drinking, women. You were always smarter than me, gentler, more sensitive. A lot like your ma.
I came to UC Davis when you graduated, just to watch. Didn’t want you to feel like I was intruding, so I hung back—but I’m so proud of what you accomplished, I’m so proud of you. Doctor Sam Thrasher.
I’ve told Hoss to give you this letter in the event of my passing, and not to read it. If the envelope’s been opened, give him a good sock in the jaw for me, for snooping. Then keep reading, because what I’m about to say is important.
Merrit loves you, Sam. When you left, it crushed her, and I’ve never seen a broken heart so poorly disguised. If you don’t stay at the Bow, that’s fine, Hoss and Hattie will take good care of it, but don’t leave without knowing that as much as this ranch is in her veins, Merrit stays here because you are part of the ranch, too.
Don’t make the same mistakes that I did, son.
I Love You.
Dad
It was short, to the point, but that was typical of his father’s personality as well. For the first time since Richard had passed, Sam let himself feel regret, let himself feel guilt for not coming home, for the stubbornness that had kept him away. He was like his father in that respect—stubborn, intractable once you’d pushed him too far.
The tears came, a few that spilled over as Sam wiped at his eyes and tucked the letter into his jacket. He was lucky, that he had what his father hadn’t—time. A second chance.
He’d sent Hoss out into the fields with a message for Merrit. Checking his watch, Sam smiled. He had just enough time for a quick run into town before it was time to execute his plan.
*
Merrit finished tying her hair back into a ponytail, leaning in to examine her face in the mirror. She glanced over at the clock on the wall—fifteen minutes, just enough time to get to the east barn. She had no idea what Sam was planning, but she hadn’t liked that he’d sent her father as his messenger. Her family was supposed to be on her side.
Mer, Sam says he needs your help fixing something in the east barn?
Talk about a flashback. She left her truck parked, opting to walk instead. She made the trip in just about ten minutes, the path so familiar that her feet took her there almost on autopilot.
The east barn—more specifically, the hayloft—was glowing. Not a fluorescent glow, but a softly flickering incandescence that drew Merrit in, hypnotized. The east barn was mainly equipment storage on the main level, livestock long since moved to newer, bigger facilities closer to the main house.
She made her way through the darkened lower stalls, stepping up onto the ladder that led to the loft. The bottom step, which hadn’t gotten fixed the night before Sam’s departure, was newly repaired.
She ascended, hesitated before she reached for the handle of the trap door. It hadn’t been opened in years. She expected it to stick, to have to give it some shoulder. It opened easily. Pulling herself up onto the lip of the opening, she swung her legs clear of the door and let it drop back into place.
Her breath caught. The middle of the hayloft was cleared out. The remains of the old bales that had taken up the bulk of the room’s center were gone. Hundreds of tea lights circled the space where they had been, perched on islands of coiled tack rope.
Merrit stood, drawn toward the warm, dancing light. The space that was left in the middle was piled with yards and yards of red fabric. She knelt to run it between her fingers. Silk.
“You came.”
Merrit jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, scrambled to her feet. The sight of him made her heart clench and her mouth water. He was dressed simply in a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt. A weathered cowboy hat crowned his head. He wore the same boots that he’d spent years trekking acreage in.
“Where’d you find those?” She crossed her arms, an intentionally defensive move.
“My old room. Lots of things here still that belong to me. One thing I really wanted, though…”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
“Oh.” It was all she could muster.
“I was wrong, Mer, I spent way too long being angry at my father and saddling you with the fallout.”
“Look, Sam, if this is some lame attempt to reconcile before you go back, you can save it.”
“Just hear me out.”
She nodded curtly, and he continued.
“I wanted you to be my first, Mer, not because you were convenient, but because I cared about you. I wanted to be with someone who understood me, who knew me, and no one knew me better than you.”
“Funny, because you were of the opinion that I never knew you all those years ago.”
His shoulders fell, he rubbed at his eyes. It struck Merrit that he looked tired, and she felt a pang of guilt for being so defensive. “Sam, I know you always felt bigger than this place, better than us—”
“No! I never thought I was better than you. Merrit, you don’t get it. I spent all these years trying to find something that made me feel as good as it felt when you and I were together. No amount of work, no other woman, nothing has ever made me as content as that night.”
“And you ran from it anyway.”
His face was stark. “I got scared. I didn’t know until that night how important you were, how much I loved you. It was selfish, but my plans were set for UC Davis, and it was my only out. I’d been getting up the courage for ages. I would have taken you with me, if I’d thought your father wouldn’t have tracked me down.”
A slow, reluctant smile pulled at her lips. “He would have, too.”
He stepped closer to her, and she didn’t retreat. “I wasted so much time, Merrit. I didn’t know that what I’d done would hurt you so much.”
Her chin rose, and she blinked back a sudden sting in her eyes. “Well, thanks for the explanation. I’ve heard you out, so can I go no
w?”
“I want you to stay. I want to prove to you that I treasured that night just like you have.”
“Okay.”
He laughed, low and full, a sexy baritone vibrato that turned her insides to jelly. “That’s what you have to say? Okay?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Sam was moving across the faded wooden floorboards, taking her hand, leading her into the circle of light. “Say,” he said, tilting her chin up, “that you will spend the night here with me, Mer.”
Her head spun. “I can’t handle it again, Sam, making love to you and then watching you go.”
“Then don’t.”
“Make love to you?”
“Watch me go. Make me want to stay.”
He pulled her into him and she went, more than willing. This time, their kiss wasn’t angry—it was a sweet, slow, soft melding of lips that stretched for endless seconds in the warm candlelight. Sam sank to his knees, and Merrit followed him.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she gasped between kisses.
“Mmm. I’m going to try real hard to make you forget.”
Their kisses turned from sweet to fiery, and soon they were pulling at each other’s clothes, fighting with buttons and waistbands.
“I do have other memories,” he said, his eyes dark and hungry, “of that night, of the way you tasted, the way you felt.”
Sam pressed her back, and her eyes rolled in pleasure as he peeled away her bra and covered one of her nipples with his hot, damp lips. As he laved her with his tongue, rolled her flesh in his mouth, she squirmed, trying to focus on something beyond her suddenly overwhelming need for him.
“Let’s do it again, Mer, let’s see if I can make that night happen again.”
He took his time, more skilled now than he had been in youth. She didn’t want to know how he’d gotten so damned good. She let her head fall back into the mass of silk, let his name fall from her lips. He alternated breasts, going back and forth until she was writhing, panting, begging silently for more.
“Lift up.” She tilted her hips at his request and he fought briefly with her zipper before pulling her jeans off, then her panties. Somehow she had ended up naked, when the only thing he’d shed was his boots.