“You, too,” Ian said, marveling once more at the resemblance as Rand went back into the house.
He went back to his own lair, sat back down in the computer chair, certain he would be able to work now.
He wasn’t.
Still he sat staring at the screen, unable to focus. He rose and paced for a while, although it hadn’t worked earlier. Nor did it work now, and with a sigh he walked through the entry and into the den.
He looked at the clock on the cable box atop the television—12:45. He picked up the remote, had a thought and reached for the newspaper. A quick glance sent him to the stereo instead, and he turned on the radio receiver. It took him a moment to find the station, tune it in and set the volume. Then he sat down on the sofa, wondering what the hell he was doing, sitting here listening to a baseball game he never would have thought of turning on, if his long-legged blond neighbor wasn’t somewhere in the crowd.
And if he wasn’t trying to convince himself Rand had seemed so familiar because he looked like Samantha, not because he’d seen him somewhere before.
When the ball game ended, he glanced at his watch. An hour and fifteen minutes later he heard her car. Almost involuntarily he walked to the window. After a few minutes he saw the two of them on the porch, saw how incredible the resemblance really was.
When Rand leaned over and gave her a distinctly brotherly peck on the cheek, he felt a spurt of satisfaction. When she gave the man a sour look, as if she were exasperated with him, that satisfaction grew. As did his chagrin as soon as he realized that was what he was feeling.
Samantha went back inside, and Ian watched Rand walk out to the truck. He was empty-handed. He must have taken the laundry and the book out earlier, while Ian had been listening to the game.
He watched the blue truck leave. Then he walked to the back patio where he had a comfortable patio chair and table, an arrangement he’d been taking advantage of on nights when he had thinking to do, which seemed to be happening a lot of late. He was still feeling a bit of satisfaction that Rand had clearly been telling the truth when he’d said they were only friends. And still feeling that chagrin that it had become so important to him.
But most of all he was feeling uneasy. Uneasy because he was now certain he’d seen Rand before, even if the man didn’t seem aware of it. He couldn’t remember exactly where, or when, but he knew the information was tucked away somewhere in his memory. And he knew he would find it eventually.
He wondered if, when he did, he would wish he hadn’t.
“That,” Sam said to the showerhead, “is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
She nodded her head sharply for emphasis, and wound up with soap in her eyes. Another annoyance to chalk up to Rand’s apparent loss of his tiny mind, she thought.
But his words came back to her yet again as she rinsed off.
I don’t believe it. You’re falling for the professor.
“You’re an idiot, Singleton,” she muttered to her absent partner as she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She dried off hastily, rubbing with an energy that reddened her skin, and pulled on a terry robe.
Grabbing up her detangling comb, she trotted over to the window to make sure nothing had changed next door, and breathed a sigh of relief when it hadn’t. She’d been going to ask Rand to stay while she washed off the thick layer of sunscreen she’d had to use to avoid cooking in the full sun of a daytime baseball game, but he’d been in such a weird mood, with this craziness about her having a thing for the professor…
Funny, she never thought of him as the professor anymore. He was Ian, his own man, with his own strong personality. Different, perhaps, but certainly nothing like that nickname would make you think. A good man, as Josh had said. And a nice one. And certainly cuter than any professor she’d ever had, she thought with a grin.
And sexier.
The grin faded as that vivid image, a half-naked Ian in his wild garden, seared through her mind once more.
Fighting off the vision, she plopped down on the window seat and attacked her wet hair with the comb. Rand was totally, completely, utterly wrong, she insisted silently. He thought he knew her so well, but if he thought she would do something as stupid as falling for somebody on the job, he was nuts.
She could, she told herself firmly, appreciate that Ian was a sexy guy. Just as she could admire the depth of his intelligence. She could enjoy talking with him, be amazed at the way his agile mind worked. She could find his shyness endearing, and the way he came out of it admirable. She could envy his seemingly unflappable calm when the work he loved and possibly he himself was in danger. She could do all of that, had done all of that, without falling for the guy.
Yep, Rand was crazy. Had lost his mind. Didn’t know what he was talking about. No way she was falling for anyone, let alone Ian Gamble.
No way.
Chapter 8
“I met your friend,” Ian said, sounding oddly neutral.
Sam wondered if he’d had to work up to it; he hadn’t said a word about Rand’s visit this morning. She’d been thankful for it, because talking about Rand would remind her of his assessment of her feelings for Ian, which would have made sitting here in her car with the man awkward at best. But now she was back in control, the silly idea quashed, and there was no problem.
“He told me you two had talked,” she said as she changed lanes as they neared home. “He’s a good guy. A bit of a pain sometimes, thinks he knows more than he does.” She couldn’t resist the jab. So maybe she wasn’t totally back in control. “But he’s okay.”
“You didn’t mention the resemblance.”
Did he sound suspicious? She wasn’t sure, only that some undertone had come into his voice. She didn’t dare look at him now, in traffic.
“I guess I don’t think about it that much anymore,” she said, trying to keep her tone casual. “It is kind of amazing at first, though, isn’t it? First time I saw him I started wondering about lost branches of the family tree.”
“I can see why.”
He sounded better then, she thought, thankfully. “By the time we got done making sure we weren’t related, we were friends.”
“You are sure?”
He sounded nothing more than curious now, and Sam relaxed a little. “As sure as we can be, since I don’t really have anyone to ask.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look at her quickly, but before he could speak she assured him, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about reminding me. You don’t have to walk on eggshells.”
Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen and saw it was Billy’s counselor at the center. She grabbed the earpiece she used while driving and answered quickly.
“Sam? It’s Ellen Fortier.”
“Billy?”
“Afraid so.”
She sighed. “How bad?” she asked.
“Some agitation, but mostly withdrawal. Rocking. Refusal to eat.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You know we wouldn’t call you until we’d tried everything, but even Mario can’t get through to him.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be on my way in a few minutes.”
When she disconnected and unhooked the headset from her ear, she saw Ian was watching her.
“Problem with your brother?” he asked.
“Yes. Outings like the ball game sometimes have aftereffects. Overstimulation or something. But I don’t have the heart to deny him, he gets such joy from it.”
“You need to go to him?”
“Yes. I’ll drop you off and head over there.”
“Go now, if you want. I don’t mind.”
That surprised her. “But it may take a while. Sometimes it’s nearly an hour before I can get him calmed down.”
“Maybe I can help.”
She nearly gaped at him. He wanted to help her deal with Billy? “Are you sure about this?”
“Why not?”
She could think of lots of reasons, but one reason ti
lted her the other way; if he met Billy and reacted as most men did, she’d be safe. Nothing turned her off a guy faster than having him react with distaste to her brother. Meeting Billy had been the death knell for more than one relationship in her life. And, she realized with a little shock, if Ian was like the others who had run once they realized her little brother was part of the package, she didn’t want to know it.
And she nearly drove off the road when she realized she was thinking of Ian in the way she thought of other men she’d been attracted to.
No way, she repeated to herself once again. She was not falling for the professor.
When they arrived and headed inside the center, Ian looked around with every evidence of sincere curiosity. He was quick to understand the functions of the different activity areas, and asked many of the same questions she had when she’d first been considering the center for her brother.
When they reached Billy’s room, Mario, the boy’s favorite aide, was outside the door. The young man looked troubled, but cheered when he saw Sam coming.
“Ah, Miss Sam, it is good you’re here.”
He looked at Ian curiously, and Sam quickly introduced them before asking, “How’s Billy?”
“He is calmer, but still not right.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She glanced at Ian. “Should I wait here?” he asked.
“For the moment,” she said.
The boy barely looked up when she came in. He was huddled on his bed, backed against the wall, rocking gently back and forth. She sat down beside him. She reached out and touched his arm, carefully. The rocking continued, and he didn’t look at her.
So she began to talk, softly, soothingly, about whatever came to mind. Gradually the rocking stopped, although he still didn’t look at her. Finally she gestured Ian into the room, thinking he might be the distraction needed to draw Billy out of the chaos in his mind.
“This is my friend Ian,” she said. “He wanted to meet you.”
Not quite true, she thought, but it got the boy’s attention.
“Hi, Billy.” Ian knelt beside the bed.
Billy focused then, staring at Ian.
“Having a little trouble turning the brain off?” Ian asked gently. “That happens to me all the time.”
Billy said nothing, just kept staring, but he didn’t turn away as he often did when confronted with someone new.
“Sometimes,” Ian said, still in that gentle tone, “I’m up all night because I just can’t stop thinking.”
Amazingly, Billy lifted himself up on one elbow to get a better look at this stranger.
“I wonder if rocking would help me?” Ian asked.
“Might,” Billy said.
Sam’s heart leaped. Rarely, so rarely did Billy interact with a new person. Somehow Ian had known exactly the right approach, the right combination of understanding and gentleness.
For a few minutes longer, they talked with the boy, until he was calm and alert. A buzzer on the bedside clock sounded, and Billy scrambled to the edge of the bed. “Dinner!” he said enthusiastically.
A moment later Mario stuck his head in and smiled at the boy. “Hungry, Billy?”
“Yes.” He stood up and started toward Mario, then stopped and turned back to Sam and gave her a hug. And after a moment’s hesitation, he gave Ian a slightly less enthusiastic hug as well.
“Come back,” he said.
“I will,” Ian promised.
And when Billy had gone, his world back on its axis, Sam looked at Ian. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it with all her heart. “You were wonderful with him.”
Ian shrugged. “Different brains work in different ways.”
The voice of experience, she thought. She supposed he knew exactly how people who thought differently were treated. But for him to look at Billy that way, simply as someone who thought differently than most, was a startling—and very pleasant—surprise.
She was silent as they left the center and continued their detoured trip home. As she negotiated the sometimes tricky left turn onto the street that led to their cul-de-sac, Sam noticed the Bergs’ dog out in the yard as they passed and Mrs. Gerardi working in her garden.
They turned the corner onto their street. A moment later Ian groaned. “Oh, brother.”
Sam had seen the same thing he had, but still she asked, “Something wrong?”
“Do me a favor, don’t drop me in front like you usually do, just pull into your garage.”
She didn’t question him, just did as he asked. But she couldn’t resist a glance over at the long, bright-red luxury touring car now parked in the driveway of his house.
When they were safely inside the garage, she stopped the car, turned off the motor, set the brake and turned in her seat to look at him.
“Ian?”
“I just need a minute. I wasn’t ready for this.”
His words and tone answered her question. “Your parents?” she asked.
He looked at her then. “Yeah. It has to be. That’s just the kind of car dad would rent. ‘Your mother,’ he always says, ‘deserves to ride in style.”’
Sam thought that sounded kind of sweet but decided this wasn’t the time to say so. Ian was bracing himself, she could feel it. And for the first time, a heretical thought hit her.
“What was that?” he asked, clearly noticing some change in her expression.
“It just hit me that all my life I’ve thought how perfect my life would have been if my parents had lived. Now I’m seeing that we probably would have had moments like this, too.”
“It happens,” Ian said. “It’s the nature of the relationship, I think. Especially when the child becomes an adult, but the parents still see their baby.” He grimaced. “Even at thirty-two.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Shall I go with you? Would it make it any easier to get over the initial hump?”
He looked startled. “I…yeah. I think it would.” But then he shook his head. “No, maybe not. My mother would take one look at you and assume…”
“Assume what?”
“That you and I are…”
He lowered his gaze and seemed to be having trouble with the language all of a sudden. She thought she saw the faintest touch of color in his cheeks. She thought that was sweet, too. And wondered when shyness had become so attractive to her.
“That you and I are more than just neighbors?” she asked.
“Or that I’d want us to be.”
Something in his voice kept her quiet. That, and the little jump her heart seemed to take.
After a moment he said, “I mean, what man wouldn’t? You’re…even nicer than you look.”
To her it was the best kind of compliment. She had to take a quick, deep breath to steady herself before speaking. “Thank you, Ian. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said, sounding wry now.
“Believe it,” she said. “Shall we tackle this?”
He looked doubtful, but when she got out of the car he did the same. He sucked in a deep breath and grimaced, as if in a last-minute plea for whatever it took to get him through these encounters, and then they turned to leave her garage.
Moments later she was introduced to a couple who matched even her vividly imagined vision of them.
“Mom, Dad, this is Samantha Harrison, my new neighbor in the Howards’ old house. Samantha, Juliet and Hugh Gamble.”
Hugh Gamble had flair, it was clear: he was a thin, urbane-looking man dressed in a lightweight tan linen suit and wearing a Panama hat that should have looked silly but didn’t, not on him. But Juliet surpassed him for pure style in a tailored summer suit that fitted her still-trim figure like a glove, hair worn in an elegant upsweep—hair she had passed on to her son, judging by the thickness and shine, Sam thought—and the kind of heavy, rich, artfully designed jewelry only someone with a forceful personality could carry off.
They’re exotic, sophisticat
ed…two peacocks….
If anything, Ian had understated, Sam thought.
“You’re certainly a lovely addition to the neighborhood,” Juliet said, with an openly assessing look that Sam couldn’t mind because it was so honest. And when Juliet smiled, she felt enveloped in gracious warmth. “And I have a feeling you’ll contribute a bit of life this old house badly needs as well.”
“Indeed.” Hugh took her hand, kissed it with continental dash. “My dear, if I wasn’t already hopelessly in love with the most wonderful woman in the world, I’d be tempted to move back here just to see you every day.”
Sam laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Nicely done,” she said. “Flirt outrageously but stay out of trouble at the same time.”
Both Hugh and Juliet laughed, warm, genuine laughter that made Sam’s smile widen.
“Come in, come in, sit down. We were just having some iced tea on this warm day, waiting for our too-hardworking son to come home. We didn’t expect him to bring such delightful company with him.”
“Told you they were charming,” Ian said to her as they went inside, but without any rancor at all, with nothing but acknowledgment of fact in his voice and expression.
“That’s our sweet boy,” Juliet said, looking at her son with an expression that was as much bemused as loving as she led them into the dining area where a pitcher of tea and glasses were waiting. “Even if you have turned this house into one huge office.”
“It works for me,” Ian said mildly.
Juliet gestured Sam into a chair with a warm smile before she and her husband sat down. Ian waited until they were seated before he took his own chair, Sam noticed.
“Samantha’s been helping—well, doing most of the work, really—in the garden,” Ian told his parents.
“You’ve been working just as hard the last week or so,” Sam pointed out.
“I noticed it was beginning to look quite nice again,” Juliet said. “Thank you, dear, if you’ve gotten Ian out of the house long enough to do that.”
“Guilt,” Ian said with exaggerated glumness, “is a great motivator.”
One of These Nights Page 9