Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set: Through the StormHome for KeepsThe Firefighter's RefrainTo Catch a Wife

by Rula Sinara

  Her brow furrowed slightly, and Sam didn’t know whether to blame it on his idea or the stubborn packing tape that refused to break when she tried to open a box.

  “You know, that’s not a half-bad idea.” She met his eyes. “Were you a publicist in a former life?”

  He popped the tape securing the carton’s lid, then did his best cowboy impersonation. “There y’go, li’l missy.”

  She topped it with a less-than-perfect thank-you.

  “No way...you saw that old Western, too?”

  “Only ten or twelve times! John Wayne is one of my favorite actors.”

  Yet another thing they had in common. Sam pressed a palm to his chest. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating—where have you been all my life, Finn Leary?”

  He hoped her shy smile meant they were okay again. He rolled a low stool closer to the carton he’d opened and watched as Finn inspected a heavy ceramic mug for chips and cracks.

  “So, Finn. Tell me. How are things?”

  “Good. This one’s a keeper,” she said, putting it aside.

  “No, not the mug, you nut. What’s going on with Connor? And how’s Ciara? She looked a bit off when she left earlier.”

  She picked up another mug. “The drugs are helping, but she has a ways to go yet.”

  Sam already knew that, thanks to Connor’s surprise visit. But he couldn’t admit it to Finn. Not without upending what little progress the man had made, working his way back into his daughters’ lives. For Finn’s sake and Ciara’s, Sam hoped Connor wasn’t faking it just to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly.

  “Good to hear Ciara is holding her own.”

  She tossed two cups and three soup bowls into the trash bin.

  “And how about you?”

  She glanced up from a fluted sundae glass. “I’m fine. Why, do I look peaked, too?”

  “As a matter of fact, you do. I’ve pulled enough all-nighters to recognize the signs.”

  “Ah. I think I get it now.”

  He was almost afraid to ask, “Get what?”

  “You’re letting me off easy.” Finn sat back on her heels. “That’s really nice of you, but there’s no excusing what I said the other night. So let’s say I’m sorry for aiming my misplaced hostility in your direction and move forward.”

  “Not to steal your thunder, but I came over here to apologize. My reaction was uncalled-for.”

  Finn examined a sandwich platter and added it to the “keep” stack. “Well, well, well. Aren’t we a pair?”

  “A pair of what?”

  “Do-the-right-thing, my-fault-not-yours, mea culpa types, that’s what.”

  Sam smirked. “Yeah. I guess that sounds like us.”

  “Sounds like? It is us.”

  “At least we have sincerity going for us.”

  She believed him, and it was such a relief that he blurted out, “Maybe we should get married, ’cause who else would have us?”

  Sam tensed and held his breath, watching as she calmly put the next platter into the “toss” pile and picked up another. The calm before the storm?

  When he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he asked, “So what are your plans for announcing the reopening?”

  “Beyond making a few signs to hang in the windows? None.”

  “Signs are a good start. But what about posters to paste on telephone poles? Three-by-five cards for bulletin boards in libraries and grocery stores? Press releases to get the media interested in covering the grand reopening? The Right Note has been around for years. It’s become an icon. Who knows? Maybe WSNV or WKRN will send out a film crew. And there’s no telling how many people the videos might bring in.”

  She stopped working long enough to make eye contact. “Okay. ’Fess up. You were a publicist in a former life, weren’t you?”

  “No,” he said, laughing, “but I’ve worked on a few fire department fund-raisers and a couple for other charities.”

  “Fund-raising.”

  “Yeah...”

  “But the difference is my reopening will be blatant advertising. The only one who’ll profit from it is me.”

  “True, but it’s not as apples and oranges as you’d think. I’m no expert, but I’m happy to share what little I know. And I work free. If you’re interested in a few pointers, that is.”

  She thought about it for a moment, then buried her face in the crook of her arm. “Good grief,” she said, voice muffled by her sleeve. “How will it all get done by opening day?”

  Rolling the stool closer, he leaned forward. “Finn,” he said, relieving her of a small metal milk pitcher. “I know you’ve been on your own for a long time and that it isn’t easy for you to accept help from someone you barely know...”

  Taking her hands in his, he studied three work-induced blisters on her right palm. If she’d let him, he’d help carry her load, so they’d heal and never return.

  “But you can count on me.”

  Finn turned his hands, traced his heart line and life line and the burn scars that zigzagged across his palms.

  “Did it hurt much,” she asked, her voice a near whisper, “when you first started playing guitar? Before the strings caused these calluses?”

  “I’ve been playing so long that if it hurt, I’ve forgotten about it.”

  She nodded slowly. “Symbolic, isn’t it?”

  He rolled the stool forward an inch. “That the past toughens us up, to protect us from future hurts, you mean.”

  Turning his hands again, she inspected his fingernails and cuticles, then gently stroked each knuckle and slightly raised vein.

  “You should write a song,” she said, eyes twinkling. “‘There Are Calluses on My Heart.’”

  Sam slid his arms around her. “In junior high, I broke my left arm and—”

  “How?”

  “Fell off a horse,” he said, grinning. “Anyway, by the time the cast came off—”

  “How long was it on?”

  “Six, eight weeks?”

  “Wrist?”

  “Forearm. Both bones.”

  Her nose wrinkled in sympathy, and tenderness welled up inside him. “Anyway, by the time the cast came off, my fingertips had gone all soft on me, and I pretty much had to start over, rebuilding the calluses.”

  “Bet that took a really long ti—”

  Sam placed a finger over her lips and chuckled. “Hush. Let a guy get to the point, will ya?”

  She was so close to him that when she giggled, he felt her warm breath on his cheek.

  “If we’re patient,” he continued, “if we take our time, all the damage life has done to your heart will heal. And maybe,” he said, touching his forehead to hers, “just maybe, that wall you built around it will come down, too.”

  “Hmm...”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been told my heart is as big as my head.”

  “Oh, yeah? By who?”

  “By a lot of people.”

  “But my point is, your great big heart will heal, if we give it time.”

  “You said we.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So I thought you came here to apologize.”

  “I did.” Sam frowned. “You mean I didn’t?”

  Her soft laughter rumbled against his chest, and he pulled her tighter still.

  “Not in so many words. But then, neither did I.”

  Heart thumping with affection, Sam combed his fingers through her hair, stopping just above her ears.

  “I don’t mind admitting that I’m a little distracted here. Remind me exactly what I’m apologizing for?”

  “For coming over here looking contrite, promising to help, saying I can trust you...”

 
She got to her feet, and Sam had a feeling she was about to deliver a painful but.

  Finn bent at the waist until they were eye to eye. “But you haven’t proved it.”

  “No, I haven’t. But, Finn, I can’t prove it. Yet.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I nearly forgot. We have to be patient, don’t we, and give my poor broken little heart time to heal.”

  Was she being cynical? Sarcastic? Sam searched her face. Her beautiful brown eyes glowed with affection. For him.

  And that put him on his feet. “That’s right. We.”

  Standing on tiptoe, Finn pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth, and it warmed him from scalp to soles. What would Sophie say if she could see him now, caving to every emotion he’d tried so hard to smother?

  She’d say “What’re you waiting for? Kiss her, you big idiot!”

  And so he did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SAM HAD STAYED with Finn until every carton had been unpacked and every plate, glass and fork found its way into the “keep” or “toss” bins. He’d talked about the ranch and his family, and reminded her that the invitation to share in the big Marshall Thanksgiving feast was still open.

  Finn wanted to go, partially because the trip would let her see how he interacted with his parents, siblings and the cousins he’d grown up with. “You’ll learn everything you need to know about a man,” Pete had said, “by watching the way he treats his mother.” If she’d heeded the warning, there’d be two fewer scars on her heart.

  Her ex-boyfriend’s face flashed in her mind, but she blinked it away and concentrated on the task at hand: filling Ciara’s weekly pills container. “Too bad there isn’t a pill to make people reveal themselves as cheating liars.” And because she didn’t like the way that made her sound, she added, “And one to cure self-pity.”

  On the way to the coffeemaker, Connor kissed her cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What were you saying?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just counting out loud,” she said, adding a multivitamin to each cube.

  “So how’d it go last night?”

  “How’d what go?”

  He faced the other direction and filled his mug. “Whatever you did last night. It isn’t often you get a night to yourself...” Turning, he winked.

  Hearing that, Finn was more convinced than before that Sam’s surprise visit had only been a surprise to her.

  “So is Sam’s house nice?”

  He opened a box of cornflakes. “I, ah, I guess.”

  Finn placed Ciara’s meds beside her cereal bowl.

  “What do you think of it?” he asked.

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “Never been where?” Ciara wanted to know.

  “To Sam’s house.” Finn looked at Connor. “Or is it a condo?”

  “It’s a fourth-floor apart...” He stopped talking so suddenly that he sloshed milk on to the back of his hand. “I, ah, I’m just guessing it’s an apartment. Because he’s a bachelor.”

  “Fourth floor, eh?” Finn ripped a few paper towels from the roller and sopped up his mess. “That’s pretty specific...for a guess.”

  He sent her an awkward smile and sat beside Ciara. “So what’re you having for breakfast this morning? Crispy rice? Sugar flakes? Oatmeal?”

  “Can I fix myself some cinna-cinnamon toast?”

  Finn kissed the top of her head. “You can if you want to, but I’m happy to make it for you.” Not the most nutritious way to start the day, but she’d see to it her sister ate a hearty, healthy lunch to make up for it.

  “It’s okay.” Ciara crossed to the other side of the kitchen. “You—you do so much.” She popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

  “Did you get lots done last night?”

  “As a matter of fact, I finished going through all the serving pieces, and even some of the pots and pans. I only need to run them through the dishwasher and they’ll be ready for Rowdy’s rib-stickin’ recipes.”

  “Want me to help you put things where they go?”

  Finn gave her sister a sideways hug. “What would I do without you?”

  Connor topped off his coffee and added a splash to Finn’s mug, too. “What are your plans for the stuff you can’t use anymore?”

  “All the ceramic pieces are already in the dumpster. It’s decades old, and I’m worried that the clay or paint might contain low levels of lead.”

  “Ah, good point. I hadn’t thought of that. That’s too bad, though, because I was thinking it’d make a great donation for the homeless shelter off Seventh Avenue.” He scooped up a spoonful of cereal. “All of those places are lifesavers, literally and figuratively.”

  “I’m sure we can still find a few things to donate.” She handed Ciara a butter knife, got the sugar bowl out of the cupboard and put it near the toaster. Had Connor picked up that opinion of shelters from a news story or personal experience? And why hadn’t it occurred to her before now that he might have been desperate enough for a hot meal and a place to sleep that he’d gone to one for help?

  “I’ve known people who cooked or served meals over there,” she said, “but never met anyone on the other side of the counter.”

  Connor started to say something, then glanced at Ciara, humming quietly as she sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on her buttered toast. His eyes welled up—if Finn had blinked, she would have missed it—just before he lowered his head. He had a story to tell, all right, but did Finn want to hear it?

  “So what are your plans for the day?” he asked.

  “Ciara and I are going shopping for new curtains for the diner.”

  “Finn wants red-and-white checkers, because the floor is—is black-and-white checkers.”

  He smiled, but clearly his heart wasn’t in it. “It’s gonna look great.”

  Connor had too much time on his hands. If he had a job, he’d be too busy during working hours to dwell in the past. Staying busy had kept her own dark memories at bay, and she blamed the waiting around with next to nothing to do for the negative thoughts that crept into her head.

  “Would you like to tag along? We could have lunch at Puckett’s.”

  For a minute there, it appeared he might say yes. “I’d better not. I have an audition tonight, and I should probably tune up the old git-fiddle and croon a tune or two.”

  She sat beside him. “An audition?”

  “Yeah. Lead guitarist for a house band.”

  “That’s great news!”

  “Long time coming, too. Once I start pulling in a regular paycheck, I’m going to contribute more around here. But only until I save enough for a place of my own.”

  “Why can’t you stay here, Dad?”

  “Aw, honey, you know why. I can’t stay in Finn’s room forever. She pays the bills, and she shouldn’t have to sleep on that lumpy ol’ couch every night.”

  “It isn’t lumpy. I slept there before. It’s comfortable.” She glanced at Finn for corroboration. “Right, Finn?”

  “It’s perfectly fine.”

  “Hey! I have—I have a great idea! Why don’t we just get another bed and put it, put it in my room, and you and me could be roommates, and Dad could have your room. That way, nobody has to sleep on the couch, and Dad can stay!”

  “That would be fine, except there isn’t a spare inch of available floor space in your room.”

  “Bunk beds, then!”

  “Sweetie,” Connor said, grasping her hand, “we can’t do that. That slanted ceiling is too low, and poor Finn would conk her head every time she sat up in bed.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Ciara sighed. “I forgot about that.”

  “Quit worrying, okay? When I do move out, I promise to get a place nearby. And anyway, I don’t have the job yet.”

  “
Where’s the audition?” Finn asked. There were probably a hundred bars and pubs in Nashville. What were the chances he’d say—

  “The Meetinghouse. It’s close enough that if I get the gig, I can walk to work.”

  Unless he’d been putting on one terrific show for her benefit, Connor had been clean and sober for a week now. But was he strong enough to put himself in such close proximity to an unlimited supply of alcohol?

  “I didn’t realize they needed a guitarist. I mean, since Sam signed on as a partner, I naturally assumed he’d take the stage every chance he got.”

  How had he found out about that?

  “According to Mark, Sam’s too busy writing up lesson plans and putting future firefighters through their paces to take the stage.”

  Too busy? But what about the all-important meeting that had him worrying about the problem with Jasmine? Had she really grown so self-involved that it had never crossed her mind to ask him how things had gone? No wonder he’d taken her “so far” comment so much to heart!

  Finn licked her lips, remembering the sweet, eager kiss that had had her up half the night thinking that maybe, just maybe, time and patience were what the doctor ordered.

  “Can I ask you a huge favor, Finn?”

  Hopefully, he wouldn’t ask for cash, because until The Right Note reopened, every penny was spoken for.

  “I thought I’d wear that shirt you got me for Christmas last year. You know, the white one with the pearl snap buttons? But it’s been stuffed in my duffel so long that it’s one big wrinkle.”

  She’d hadn’t seen him in it, but if he looked half as fit and professional as the magazine model had, Connor would get the job.

  “I’ll set the ironing board up in the living room and press it for you before we leave for town.” She made her way to the hall. “What time is the audition anyway?”

  “Nine. I’m opening tonight.”

  Surrounded by booze and under real pressure for the first time in ages. Could he pass the test?