That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?
Her heart pounding and her palms sweating, Emma plodded along, the grip of dread lodged in her chest tightening its hold with each step she took. She had to hide her feelings from Sam. Had to, no matter what. Otherwise, she would end up making a fool of herself, and that she simply could not bear.
Chapter 5
Sam could all but feel the tension building in Emma as they wandered along the stone walkway edging the narrow river channel. At first, he had been puzzled by her sudden change in mood. Then, too late, he’d realized that he should have let well enough alone.
They could be in the car now, heading back to Serenity, their time together almost over. But they had been having such a nice time—much nicer than he had anticipated—and he hadn’t wanted to risk losing the new affinity they’d found for each other. Instinctively, he had known that once they returned to his mother’s house, they wouldn’t be able to ignore the shadows haunting their past quite so easily.
Sam hadn’t been any more enthusiastic about the trip to San Antonio than Emma. For her sake, however, he had been determined to make the best of it. Even without his mother saying so, he had seen that Emma needed a break.
She had taken a great deal of responsibility upon herself. More than she should have had to handle alone. And Sam had hoped that during this brief respite, he could convince her she wouldn’t have to struggle on her own any longer.
There was little enough he could say or do to change her low opinion of him. But he had thought that by spending a little time with him she would see he had some redeeming qualities. Maybe then she would be able to treat him more as a friend than an enemy.
After all, he was not only ready, but also willing to do whatever she deemed best for his mother. Only with her compliance, however, would he be able to lend the full measure of support she needed.
Since his mother insisted on being so secretive about the true nature of her illness, he needed to have Emma on his side. And up until the moment he suggested they linger on the Riverwalk, he had believed that would be possible.
Granted, they had avoided certain potentially painful topics of conversation. Topics one of them would have to broach eventually. But as if by mutual agreement, they had each sought out neutral ground that afternoon. Or rather, he had, asking first about the roses that had given her such obvious delight, then her friend Jane and the trip Emma had taken to Seattle to see her.
He had made only one blunder, but luckily it hadn’t resulted in any serious repercussions. He hadn’t known about the kind of life Emma had lived before she’d come to Serenity, and he had revealed his ignorance without stopping to consider how she might be affected by his probing. But she had spoken of her childhood so pragmatically that he need not have worried about upsetting her.
Instead, oddly enough, Emma’s responses to his questioning had unsettled him. Why should he care if she never wanted to leave Serenity? She certainly deserved to have the home she had worked so hard to make for herself.
He should have been happy for her, not…disconcerted. Nor should he have pressed her into admitting that—despite her claim to perfect contentment—she had been tempted by the thought of living in Seattle. Just because he had always craved wider horizons than his hometown offered didn’t mean she had to, as well.
And just because he had wanted more time alone with her didn’t mean he’d had the right to assume the feeling was mutual….
Sam knew that the camaraderie they’d been sharing had vanished at almost the same moment he suggested they stay in San Antonio a while longer. He had glimpsed the flash of consternation that had crossed her face just before she forced herself to smile up at him agreeably. After that, he had sensed her growing uneasiness and with it, a kind of grim determination.
As if she had made a decision to go forward with something she found distasteful. Something no doubt he, too, would rather not contemplate.
Unfortunately, there had been no going back. He could only walk along beside her and wait for whatever was to come, losing more ground with each step he took as she slowly, surely, distanced herself from him once again.
Desperate to avoid any type of showdown, Sam was fully prepared to pass by the coffee bar without suggesting a second time that they stop.
But as they drew closer to it, Emma asked offhandedly, “Still want to stop for a cup of coffee before we head home?”
“Do you?” he countered, hoping she would give some sign that she had only mentioned it to be polite.
“Sure,” she replied, glancing up at him with another strained smile.
“All right, then.”
Trying for an upbeat manner—why buy trouble, after all?—Sam reached around Emma and opened the door, then gestured for her to enter ahead of him.
A cool draft of air washed over him, carrying with it the deep, rich aroma of dark roasted coffee, tantalizing his senses. With luck, maybe a steaming cup of the daily blend would be just the bracer he needed for whatever lay ahead. Thankfully, that late in the afternoon the place wasn’t crowded, so they shouldn’t have to wait too long to be served.
They joined the short line at the counter, standing side by side without speaking, the murmur of other, barely audible, conversations floating around them. Reluctantly, Sam took off his sunglasses and stowed them in his shirt pocket.
Years ago, he had learned how much easier it was to hide his true thoughts and feelings behind a pair of dark lenses. But he also knew that some people considered wearing them indoors to be in poor taste, and he didn’t want to give Emma any reason for embarrassment.
“What would you like?” he asked as the line moved forward.
“Um, a mocha cappuccino sounds good.”
She glanced up, meeting his gaze, and Sam saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes. Then she turned her attention to the menu board behind the counter, a blush tingeing her cheeks.
He wondered what about him had her behaving so self-consciously. As far as he could tell, he was as neatly tucked and zipped as he’d been all day. And he was trying just as hard as ever to project a nonthreatening air.
He knew he could sometimes seem forbidding. But he only adopted that manner as a means of self-preservation. Of course, he was finding it almost impossible to let his guard down around her. Apparently, from the look she’d just given him, he wasn’t being as successful as he’d thought he was at disguising that fact without his sunglasses.
Whoever said that the eyes were the windows of one’s soul had been right. Unless you were skilled in the art of duplicity, you could all too easily give the game away.
Sam had always hated lies, especially lies of the heart. Yet with Emma, he had always felt the need to…deceive. And he couldn’t imagine how that would ever change—today, tomorrow or any of the days that followed.
Revealing his true feelings for her had always been and would always be completely out of the question. He had slipped only once—on that June afternoon two days before she was to marry his brother—and look what had happened. He simply couldn’t expose himself to the anguish he believed would be inherent in slipping again.
“What about you?” Emma asked, interrupting his reverie as they inched closer to the head of the line.
“I’m going to have a cup of the house blend.” He gestured toward the glass case filled with pastries. “Would you like something to go with your cappuccino?”
“How about an almond biscotti?”
“You got it.”
Sam ordered for both of them, adding a biscotti for himself, as well, and paid the cashier. Together they moved around the counter to pick up their order. Emma paused to add a packet of sweetener to her frothy drink, then they crossed to a table by one of the windows overlooking the Riverwalk.
As they settled into chairs across from each other, Sam caught a glimpse of Emma licking daintily at the whipped cream atop her cappuccino, and almost dropped his own steaming cup in his lap.
There had been no
thing provocative about her action, at least not intentionally so. Yet the swell of desire that rolled through him left him decidedly weak in the knees. He could remember—as if it had been yesterday—the taste and texture of her tongue. Could almost feel the velvet swirl of it against his own—
“So, tell me, has life as an air-force fighter pilot been everything you imagined it would be?” she asked with a bright smile, effectively curbing his lascivious daydreams.
Sam wasn’t sure exactly what he had thought she’d been mulling over on their walk, but his career had not been on the list. While it might be of interest to her, it certainly wouldn’t have put that wrestling-with-demons look on her face that he’d seen earlier.
“In some ways. Actually, in most ways,” he admitted. “I love to fly and I’ve seen quite a lot of the world.” He dipped his biscotti in his coffee, took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then added, “Guess I can’t ask for more than that.”
Under other circumstances, Sam would have elaborated. But the way Emma fidgeted with her coffee cup as her gaze roved around the room, he knew she wasn’t really paying attention. Obviously, she had something else on her mind. Something he would just as soon she spit out. He would rather have the other shoe drop and get it over with than engage in a round of well-mannered but meaningless conversation.
“No, I guess not,” she agreed, her gaze focused on something outside the window. “I just wondered if maybe you ever…missed being…home.”
“Sometimes,” he said.
True enough, but he would have been even more honest if he had said most times lately. Especially late at night, alone in his bed, when he thought of her there in Serenity.
“Yet you haven’t been back for four years now.” She hesitated, glanced at him, took a swallow of her cappuccino, then shoved her cup away. “Even considering all that happened when you were home last, that’s a long time to stay away.”
Suddenly aware of where Emma was leading, Sam said nothing. He wasn’t about to amble down that particular stretch of memory lane. Not if he could help it. Instead, he glanced at his watch, then reached for the brown bag holding his mother’s needlepoint supplies.
“It’s getting late,” he said. Pushing back his chair, he nodded toward the door. “We’d better go.”
“Not yet,” Emma replied, her voice firm.
The touch of her hand on his arm surprised him into meeting her gaze. Behind the lenses of her gold wire-rimmed glasses, her green eyes held steady, revealing her resolve.
She was going to say what she had to say regardless of how he tried to put her off. He could let her do it here in the relative privacy of the coffee bar or out on the sidewalk with crowds of people pushing past. But she was going to say her piece, one way or another.
Easing his arm from her hold, Sam sat back in his chair again and eyed her coldly. He refused to offer her any encouragement, verbal or otherwise. Talking about Teddy’s death, as he was sure she meant to do, couldn’t possibly help either one of them. Nothing would change how his brother had died. Nor could the part he had played be erased.
For one long moment, Sam thought maybe Emma would reconsider. As if cowed by his mutinous glare, she clasped her hands atop the table and lowered her gaze. He found himself wanting to lean forward, to cover her hands with his, and comfort her. But he couldn’t afford to aid her in even that small way.
Finally, she drew a breath and looked up at him again. The sorrow he saw in her eyes clawed at his heart, leaving him feeling raw…wounded. She was going to tell him again just how completely he had destroyed her life. She was going to say that even now she still hated—
“I owe you an apology, Sam. An apology I should have given you four years ago,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry for the things I said to you that day at the hospital after…after Teddy died. So very, very sorry. I had no right to accuse you the way I did. And I had no right to…blame you for my…grief. I knew the accident wasn’t your fault, but I…but I…” Blinking back tears, she turned her face away.
Sam stared at her, too shocked to speak. She was apologizing to him? But why? Why? She’d had every right to blame him. Every right in the world because he had been responsible.
“I should have never been so cruel,” she continued. “But that day, I just couldn’t—”
“Stop, Emma. Stop berating yourself.” In one swift movement, Sam stood, pushing against his chair so forcefully that it teetered behind him and would have crashed to the floor if he hadn’t grabbed it. Working hard to keep his voice even, he added quietly, “You don’t owe me an apology. You had every reason to blame me and you still do.”
She stared at him wide-eyed and shook her head.
“No, Sam, that’s just not true. The accident wasn’t your fault. I knew it. Everyone in Serenity knew it. That truck ran the stoplight—”
“Technically, no, Teddy’s death wasn’t my fault. But I was to blame, Emma. Believe me, I was to blame.” He glared at her angrily. “That is why I stayed away. Coming back here, facing what I’d done to Teddy and to you… I couldn’t—”
“But, Sam—” Emma began, fully prepared to argue further.
“There are no buts, Emma. None,” Sam cut in, then gestured toward the door impatiently. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She stared at him, obviously shocked by his heartless tone. Then, her lips thinning into a narrow line, she stood, too.
“Yes, let’s.”
She picked up her purse and walked away from the table, her spine stiff, her shoulders straight, her chin tipped up dangerously.
Good, she was angry, Sam thought. Better that than weepy. Had he made her cry, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Probably something stupid like take her in his arms and try to kiss away her tears.
There were things he would rather she never knew about the moments before Teddy was killed. Things he would have been all too easily tempted to reveal unless he remained aloof.
He could understand why she felt she had fences to mend. But her anger at him that day at the hospital hadn’t been the major reason why he’d stayed away. He could only hope he had made that plain. Then she wouldn’t feel responsible any longer, and in turn, wouldn’t bring up the subject again, forcing a showdown they would both end up regretting.
Outside at last, Sam dug his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on again gratefully. With the onset of early evening the sun had shifted, casting the riverside walkway in shade, but he didn’t care. At that moment, any barrier against Emma’s probing gaze was better than none, no matter how odd he appeared in the bargain.
The number of people jostling past them seemed to have doubled in the time they had been in the coffee bar. Concerned that they might be separated in the crowd, Sam took Emma by the arm. Predictably, considering her mood, she tried to pull away, but he held on to her gently but firmly.
“I don’t want to lose you among all these people,” he said as he looked down at her. “Heaven forbid that should happen,” she retorted sarcastically. “You might have to drive home alone.”
“And leave you here on your own? Never,” he vowed in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m responsible for your safekeeping, at least for today. And I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“I’m a big girl, Sam. I’ve been on my own for years. Why should today be any different? You haven’t had any reason to be concerned about my well-being in the past, and I can’t see that you have any reason to be now.”
“You’re wrong, Emma. I’ve been concerned about you for a long time,” he admitted, unable to let her think of him so ignobly.
“Well, you have a really strange way of showing it.” She glanced up at him, looking more puzzled than angry now. “Staying away for four years—”
“Maybe so, but it was the best I could do,” he cut in, hoping to throw her off track again.
“But that doesn’t make any sense to me,” she persisted, her voice gentling. “If you cared—”
More sure than ever that the time had come to nip this particular line of conversation in the bud, he responded in the tone he reserved for those under his command most in need of a dressing-down.
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you, Emma. Not as long as it makes sense to me.”
“What kind of answer is that?” she demanded, her anger coming to the fore again.
“The only one you’re getting.”
“Well, it’s just not good enough.”
“Tough luck, huh?” he drawled, not the least bit proud of himself for speaking so callously.
He couldn’t see that he had any other choice, though. Knowing that she cared about him enough to question his real reason for staying away stirred the stark, hungry need for her he’d buried deep in his soul. But revealing that reason would do her no good. And he would much rather have her angry at him than cause her more pain.
“You…you jerk.”
Her face flushed, she yanked her arm free and started up the steps that led away from the river.
Making no response to her caustic comment, Sam followed after her. Though he noted with relief that the street-level sidewalk was much less crowded, he lengthened his stride to keep up with her. But he didn’t attempt to touch her again.
Since they were no longer in any danger of being separated, he hadn’t any reason to hold on to her. But he also knew that if he maintained physical contact with her much longer, he might just do something stupid like haul her against his chest and kiss away her willfulness. When she got an idea into her head, she could try the patience of a saint, and he had never been part of that breed.
As she had so succinctly pointed out a moment ago.
You…you jerk.
She had that right…in spades.
Forced to hurry to keep ahead of him, Emma said nothing more. But Sam doubted he had heard the last from her on the subject of Teddy’s death. Sooner or later, she was going to bring it up again. Probably not on the drive home. The outraged look he’d glimpsed on her face all but guaranteed she wasn’t going to speak to him again that day even if her life depended on it. But eventually the piper would demand to be paid.
The Major and the Librarian Page 6