“You sure you’re all right?” he asked for the third time, determined to get to whatever was bothering her.
“Yes! Really. I’m fine. Why do you keep asking?”
With a pointed look in her direction, he said “One.” He walked to her pantry, retrieved the plastic baggie of leftover pizza she’d deposited there and crossed the room to put it in the refrigerator.
“Two.” He retrieved a chilled but empty soda can she’d placed in the fridge and threw it in her recycle bin on the porch.
“Three.” He resumed his seat across the kitchen table from her and stilled hands which were rapidly shredding a sauce-stained paper napkin.
She squeezed her eyes closed, and he imagined her counting to a furious ten. Beneath his hand hers was cool and silky-smooth, like satin. He resisted the urge to rub his thumb across the soft surface.
“I’m a good listener,” he offered before ending the physical connection. He didn’t want to bring more attention to his lame excuse to touch her last night, unless it truly was a problem. Another thought occurred. “Did your date end badly?”
“What?” She looked startled. “No. It wasn’t that kind of date. Claire Larkin and I try to have dinner together once a week. She’s a good friend and a health nut who occasionally indulges my passion for pepperoni deep dish.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You’ve never met her. Claire moved here a couple years ago. She works at the Curl Up & Dye, next door to my shop.”
“So, she’s not the problem, and it’s not guy trouble?”
Damn. He hated digging like this, but he needed to know whether she was currently involved with anyone.
“There’s no guy. It’s a work thing. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Hearing that, he relaxed against the chair. “I don’t doubt that. But if you need to talk, I owe you—big time. Remember?”
He wasn’t likely to forget all those hours she’d sat with him on the banks of Sweetwater Creek the summer after his parents were killed in a car crash. Whether he’d been silent or yelling and angry, she’d hung in there through his grief. Even as a young girl, she’d been loyal and unselfish.
She glanced up, eyes startled. “That was a long time ago. We were friends.”
“Still are, aren’t we?”
She averted her gaze. “It’s complicated.”
He waited, almost wishing she would refuse his offer. If it was advice or a second perspective she needed, that was easy. But what if it was more—big enough for him to negotiate a solution into a temporary marriage? He’d have to take advantage of the opportunity. Some friend he’d be, using her like that.
Too bad he had no choice in the matter. Not a half-hour ago, he’d tucked his daughter in for the night. Sweet-smelling from her bath and sleepy, she’d looked the picture of vulnerable innocence. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let her down again by providing Jasmine with another chance to mistreat Lorelei. The stakes were too high.
Rosie frowned and pursed her mouth. The action drew his attention to her fuller lower lip, pink and pouty, as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed. Had it always been that sensual?
She ran an index finger across it. “This is different.”
Huh? For a split second he thought he’d voiced the question in his head. Then he realized what she meant.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not important.”
“All right. But I’m warning you, this doesn’t exactly paint me in a flattering light. I’ve kinda gotten myself into a jam, financially. Counted my chickens before they hatched, so to speak.”
“Is your business in trouble?”
“It looks that way. If it weren’t for some recent expenses, I’d be okay. In another year, if the town keeps growing and business stays steady, I was planning an expansion. But now . . .” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have poured most of my profits into paying the purchase loan ahead of schedule. Now I’ve got a dead two-door floral unit and a delivery van needing constant repairs. I can barely afford one, if I pay for it in installments, but not the other. To meet current and future obligations, I can’t be without either.”
Sam smothered both hope and dread. Objectivity. That’s what he needed. To think of this like a contract to negotiate—if there was anything to be negotiated. First he needed more information.
“Can they be repaired?”
“The van, yes, but it would be a temporary fix. It’s been one breakdown after another over the last year. My refrigeration guy says no on the other.”
“What about a small business loan?”
Rosie sighed. “I could probably get one. I certainly qualify. Maybe even for the cost of a new van too. But for reasons I’d rather not go into, I don’t believe it would be a smart move.”
He didn’t question the statement, especially after a dark, faraway look stole across her features.
Secrets. They both had their share. He couldn’t exactly ask her to divulge all of hers when he wasn’t willing to talk about the devil’s deal he’d made to gain full custody of his daughter in the first place.
“What about a home equity loan?”
She shook her head. “Same reasons apply. Plus, I’d rather not involve the house. I’m the third generation Baxter to live here. My agreement with the family is to offer them a buy-in before mortgaging it and that would have repercussions you wouldn’t believe.”
Three generations. He could have had that too, if he hadn’t sold his grandparents’ old farmhouse to J.T. and Sara, but at the time he hadn’t thought he’d ever come back.
Find what she needs, and close the deal. Bill’s words broke into his thoughts as clearly as if he’d whispered in Sam’s ear. Make it a business transaction.
“How much money are we talking about?”
Rosie’s gaze challenged his rudeness for a few moments before she shrugged. “Forty thousand.”
A lot less money than the hellish deal with Jasmine had cost him, but the result was the same. Sole custody. He’d let her off easy, saving her reputation and career so that Lorelei wouldn’t have to endure hordes of paparazzi chasing them for weeks when she was already traumatized. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. “And if money wasn’t a problem? Say you won the lottery.”
“Well, if we’re playing fantasies here, fifty grand would be sweet. That would give me a small cushion.”
At least she wasn’t greedy. The figure was doable. He’d call his financial advisor tomorrow and make sure the funds were transferred.
“No sage advice or creative ideas? Aren’t you writers supposed to think outside the box?”
“After eight hours at the keyboard today, my creative well is running dry. I take it you need a fast solution.”
“Bingo.”
“I’ll give you the money.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t—”
“I can afford it. Besides—”
“No!” Rosie stood so fast her chair teetered on its back legs. “I didn’t tell you to solicit a private loan.”
“I know that. Just hear me out. I have a—”
“No. No. And no. We never had this conversation. I’ll handle the problem without you playing Daddy Warbucks.”
“You’re hardly Orphan Annie. It would be a—”
“End of discussion.” Rosie pushed her palm toward him like a cop stopping traffic. “We’re done here. Goodnight.”
Maybe he had come on a little strong. From the mutinous expression on her face, the subject was closed. He’d give her some space and approach her again after they’d both had time to think about things.
He walked toward the doorway adjoining their living quarters.
“Sam?”
Had she changed her mind already, the refusal merely a ruse? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been fooled by a clever woman. He stopped with his back to her, preferring not to see the calculated gleam in her eyes. When would he ever learn?
“Yes?” he answered through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry. That was pretty rude of me. You didn’t deserve the backlash. I do appreciate your willingness to help. It’s just that . . .”
He worked his jaw back and forth, preparing himself for the inevitable, surprised at the deep disappointment he felt.
“If my folks knew, they’d want to help and then they’d feel obligated to keep poking their noses in my business to make sure their little girl was financially secure. I want to do this on my own. Sink or swim, it’s my responsibility, my business, my decisions. Can you understand that?”
Okay, he’d play along.
“Sure.” He turned slightly, glancing back over his shoulder, wondering how she’d react to his conditions. “Anything else?”
“There is one thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this conversation between us.”
The fewer people who know, the better. “No problem.”
“Thanks, Sam.” Rosie raised her hand and waggled her fingers. “Goodnight.”
Look for a woman who’d make a suitable wife. Sam couldn’t think of anyone more so than Rosie. He stood there, blinking stupidly until Rosie cocked her head to the side with a confused frown.
“Did you change your mind about the leftover pizza?”
“Ah, no. I was just . . .” He scrambled for an answer, glad she hadn’t heard his asinine thoughts. “Ah . . . wondering if you’d like to go to the park with us tomorrow evening? I like to get Lorelei away from the house every other day, even if it means I have to put in another hour or so at the computer after she goes to sleep.”
“Are you that pressed for time? I remember you mentioned deadlines.”
“It’s like any other job. I have a designated amount of work to get done by a certain date. If I take time off, I have less days to get the same amount of work done.”
“And you took several days off to move, so you’re feeling the pressure.”
“Right. So how about joining us for a stroll through the park? By then, I’ll need the break.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“See you tomorrow, then.” He closed the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. For a brief moment there, he’d had a stab of conscience, but the thought of Lorelei in Jasmine’s care was enough to strengthen his resolve.
Somehow, he had to convince Rosie to save them all.
* * *
Rosie had no problem locating her lunch date inside the cool confines of the Health Nut. The short platinum fluff that passed for Claire Larkin’s hair was easily distinguishable in a gathering, if there had been one inside the small eatery. For most folks, the granola and organically grown fare offered here was looked upon as a fad and not to be trusted, which meant the petite stylist frequented it as much as possible.
From the pungent smell, Rosie deduced the drink of the day involved a mixture of carrot and celery juices. She preferred to get her veggies in their original form.
“Thanks for meeting me. I see your pink phase has run its course.” Rosie withdrew a triangular-backed chair and sat. Known for her outlandish hair colorations, Claire had started the pink phase with a deep burgundy and gradually lightened it to deep rose, then a pale pink with almost colorless roots.
“Yeah. I think I’ll stick with blonde for awhile. I hear they have more fun.”
Rosie lifted the menu, thinking that was a good thing, because pink hair would have been overkill with the neon pink tank Claire wore over a black miniskirt. “It amazes me the colors that you can wear and still look good. I’d resemble death warmed over if I bleached my hair.”
An odd look passed over Claire’s face before she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Rosie lowered the menu. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“We went for pizza last night, yet you ‘needed’ to have lunch with me, then you sighed when you sat down—”
“So?”
“And you never look at the menu. It’s always the veggie wrap for me and the free-range chicken salad for you. But you’re looking at the menu, which means there’s something rotten in Holland.”
“Denmark,” Rosie automatically corrected the mangled cliché.
“Wherever.” Claire shrugged. “Something’s not right. Spill, girlfriend.”
The waitress approached their table with glasses of ice water, droplets of sweat already beading on their outsides. Rosie waited until they were alone again before speaking.
“Actually—”
“Wait. Let me guess. You heard about Dean and Cass getting engaged, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that has nothing to do with why I needed to talk.”
“You sure? I thought you’d be upset. You know. Tiger not changing his stripes and all that.”
“I think it’s a leopard, and they can’t . . . Oh, never mind.” Rosie rubbed the furrow between her brows and chuckled without humor.
“Jeez. You really are uptight today.”
“I worry that Cass doesn’t know what kind of situation she’s getting into. Men like Dean get craftier with each mistake. More violent. But I don’t know that she’d listen to me, of all people. I know I wouldn’t have.” She sighed again, smoothing back escapees from her braid. “Don’t you see? If I try to warn her it probably won’t make a difference. Then I’ll have lost a wedding I can’t afford to lose.”
“I take it things aren’t going so well.”
Attempting a smile, Rosie gave a brief summary of her woes, ending with her attempt to discuss things with Sam. Funny how his offer didn’t seem so unthinkable now.
“Typical man.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t just listen and offer advice, right? He had to try to fix it for you.”
“Exactly. I don’t need his help.”
“Kinda sounds like you might, unless you’re gonna try the banks in Little Rock.”
“I called several as soon as they opened this morning. They all say I’ll need a secured loan, since I already have one against the business. Never mind that it’s practically paid off.”
“So what’re your options? With the Sweetwater Springs Savings and Loan, you have to go through Dean, right?”
Again, Rosie waited as the waitress plunked their standing orders on the table. They smiled politely and waited until she was out of earshot.
“I don’t see any way around it, Claire. He’s the loan officer.”
“Yeah, but are you willing to risk his getting a toehold in your life again?” Claire was the one person who knew most of the story behind her breakup with Dean. Her family only knew that he’d become increasingly controlling and violent until she’d called the engagement off.
“No, of course not.”
“Then you either go to your family, or let Sam help you.”
“He may not be an option after the way I turned him down. I’m afraid I got a little carried away with my refusal.” Rosie poked at the salad with her fork.
“Shades of Dean made you crazy?”
“Something like that.”
“But you’re not involved with Sam. It’s not the same situation.”
“You’re right. It was the sign I’d been looking for—that our friendship still means as much to him as it does to me—and I threw it right back in his face.”
“Doesn’t sound like he held a grudge. Didn’t you say he asked you out?”
“Not exactly. We’re going for a walk in the park with Lorelei. That’s all.”
“Sounds like a nice, quiet time to talk to him.”
So it did. Now all she had to do was find the perfect moment to broach the subject.
* * *
A sudden afternoon cloudburst dropped the summer temperature several degrees, making the idea of going to the park a popular one. Instead of quiet, the noise of happy children playing filled the park, punctuated by sudden bursts of cheering and whistles from a ball field at one end and laughter from the opposite direction. The picnic tables at that end swarmed with folks of all ages, apparently having a family reunion and heartily enjoying it.
Ho
w could she have thought this a fitting place to discuss a business loan? Her braid felt hot, lying heavy on her back, making her grateful she’d changed into shorts and a scooped-neck tee. Having Sam so close did nothing but intensify her heat levels.
Twice, Sam removed Lorelei from her stroller and encouraged her to play with other toddlers only to have her stand and regard them with solemn detachment.
Some children were more timid than others, but Lorelei appeared almost fearful of straying from Sam, sometimes clinging tightly to the hem of his khaki shorts above his knee. After the incident with the night terrors, Rosie worried the child harbored a deep-seated fear. But that was ridiculous. She was little more than a baby.
The same tepid breeze that danced wayward tendrils of hair across Rosie’s neck had dried the rain off the sidewalks and grass.
“That’s the third time you’ve sighed since we entered the park. Care to talk about it?” Sam neatly provided her with the segue she needed.
“Yes, but . . .” she glanced around at the bustling activity.
“Over here.” Sam hitched his chin toward an inviting bench under a huge Loblolly pine and motioned for her to precede them. Except for that aberrant moment outside Lorelei’s room, he never touched her if he could help it. Probably a good thing, since any contact with him tended to scramble her brain.
Once they were seated, and Lorelei was occupied with dry cereal and juice, Rosie couldn’t find the words. Unfortunately, she had to. Time was of the essence. If she didn’t get the money to pay for a unit she’d already ordered with a rush shipment, Rosie’s Posies would be in deep trouble. The idea of taking on a partner or—God forbid—having to sell the business depressed her.
“Does this have anything to do with our conversation last night?” Sam leaned forward slightly, gazing intently at her face.
“Yes. I may have been a little hasty in refusing your offer.” She met his gaze squarely. This was business, nothing more. She needed to be professional here, regardless of their surroundings or the attraction that was proving impossible to ignore. “Does your offer still stand?”
A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel Page 4