by Irene Hannon
Instead of responding, he covered her cold hand with his. He could feel the tremors in her fingers, could sense the shudders that rippled through her body. He debated whether to argue with her about driving, but he doubted they’d see any other cars at this hour, especially on a Thursday night. And maybe driving herself the short distance home would give her a needed boost of confidence.
“Yes. I’m parked at the end of the driveway.” With an encouraging squeeze of her fingers, he stood. After closing her door he strode away, disappearing into the shadows.
This time, Cara managed to turn the key, put the car in gear and ease down the inn’s driveway. True to his word, Sam was waiting. As she drove down the dark road, she had only to glance in the rearview mirror to know he was close behind. His presence calmed her, and she felt much more in control when they pulled into his driveway.
He joined her as she stepped from the car, scrutinizing her face. “Okay?”
“Yes, thanks. Sorry about this.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Cara. There was a good chance this would happen on your first attempt to go out alone at night. But that doesn’t mean it will become a pattern.”
“Is that why you waited? Because you thought I might have a panic attack?”
“That was one of the reasons.” He wasn’t about to go into the other one, that it would buy him a few precious minutes in his wife’s company. During the past couple of weeks, as she and Marge had plunged into preparations for the opening, he’d been delighted to watch her old sparkle return, and he was glad she seemed to be putting the shooting behind her. But he’d seen far less of her. And in two short weeks, she planned to leave Oak Hill.
Soon he’d have to share with her what was in his heart, despite the risk. Until he did, however, he’d steal whatever time she could spare, hoping that opportunity would knock and open the door to the conversation he knew they needed to have.
Her pensive expression told him that she was trying to figure out his enigmatic answer. To distract her, he once more placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her toward the house. “It’s late, and you’ve had a long day. Let’s go in.”
In silence, she followed his lead, speaking only when they entered the kitchen and he flipped the light on.
“Thanks again, Sam.”
“My pleasure. Any lingering effects from the little episode in the parking lot?”
“No. I think we headed off the attack at the pass. It never escalated past the first stage.”
“Good. Would you like something to help you sleep?”
“No. I’ll be fine.” Sam’s presence in the house, mere steps away, would do more than any sedative to ease her mind and relax her. She had no fears for her physical safety with him close by.
Her emotional safety was another story, however.
In the weeks she’d spent in his house, Cara had become convinced that Sam had truly changed. The arrogance and anger and bitterness that had driven them apart seemed to have been replaced by humility and kindness and compassion. As a result, she was falling in love all over again with her husband. But could she trust that the changes in him were permanent?
“Good night, Cara.”
Pausing at the kitchen door, Cara turned—and the unguarded yearning on Sam’s face took her breath away. If she was reading him correctly, he’d like nothing better than to close the distance between them and take her in his arms.
As unsettling as that notion was, her own feelings were even more unnerving. She, too, wanted to recapture the closeness they’d once shared, long ago.
Frightened by the powerful surge of longing that shook the foundation of her world, Cara took an abrupt step back. “Good night.”
Then she turned and fled down the hall.
And as she closed her door behind her and leaned against it, she knew that the pounding of her heart hadn’t been prompted this time by the beginnings of a panic attack. Nor did she expect it to subside soon. Not when the longing in Sam’s eyes was emblazoned on her mind.
Perhaps she should have taken him up on his offer of a sedative, after all.
Chapter Twelve
At the sound of the doorbell the following Monday night, Sam stopped scrubbing the pot in his hands and grabbed a dish towel.
“Would you like me to get it?” Cara looked up from some notes she was writing at the kitchen table for the second weekend’s dinners at the inn.
Eyeing his soapy hands, he gave her a hopeful look. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Peering through the side window as she approached, Cara was surprised to see Dale Lewis on the porch. Grasping the handle, she swung the front door wide and smiled. “Hello, Sheriff.”
“Cara. Sorry to bother you in the evening, but it was easier to stop on my way home.”
“No problem. How’s Jenna?”
“Doing much better, thanks. Dr. Martin did a great job sewing her up. It’s healing so well I doubt there will be any scar.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Would you like to come in? We just finished dessert, but I think I could manage to find you a piece of apple cobbler if you’re hungry.”
He flashed her a quick smile. “That’s a tempting offer, but I’m already late picking up Jenna. I wouldn’t have stopped, but I need to take care of some official business and I thought it would be better to handle this in person.”
“Oh. Well, let me get Sam for you.”
“Actually, it’s you I came to see.”
Turning back to look at him, her expression was quizzical—and cautious.
“May I come in for a moment?”
“Yes. Of course.” She stepped aside, giving him room to enter, then shut the door behind him. “Would you like to sit down?”
“I won’t be here but a couple of minutes. I wanted to let you know I had a call from the Philadelphia Police Department today.”
Cara felt the room suddenly tilt. Since coming to Oak Hill, she’d done a good job of burying the memories of the shooting in the far recesses of her mind. And there’d been nothing here to stir them up. Until now.
“Sheriff. This is a surprise.” Sam entered the room, wiping his hands on the dish towel. But his welcoming smile faded when he glanced at Cara. The color had drained from her face, and he could tell even from across the room that she was trembling, suggesting that a panic attack was imminent. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, putting a protective arm around her shoulders as he led her to the couch in the living room.
“What’s going on?” He directed the question over his shoulder to Dale.
“I had a call from the Philadelphia Police Department today. I wanted to alert Cara that they’d be contacting her tomorrow.”
Easing Cara down onto the couch, Sam sat beside her, keeping an arm around her shoulders. “About the shooting?”
“Yes.” Dale turned the straight chair in the living room at right angles to the couch, near Cara. Sitting, he leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “I know that was a very traumatic experience, Cara, and I’m sorry to have to bring this up. But there was another incident a couple of day ago, very similar to the one in which you were involved. This time they have a suspect in custody. They’ve asked me to moderate a conference call at my office tomorrow so that they can ask you a few more questions, in the hope that you might remember something that will link this person to the shooting and robbery at your restaurant.”
“I don’t know anything that can help them.” Cara’s voice came out tight and choked. “The man was masked. I never saw his face.”
“I know. The Philly police filled me in.” Dale kept his tone quiet and conversational. “But often, when people have recovered a bit from their trauma, they can be prompted to remember little details that might be helpful in identifying a perpetrator. That’s why they’d like to talk with you again.”
As Cara listened to Dale, memories of her one session with the Philadelphia police flashed through her mind in vivid,
upsetting detail. At their request, she’d gone to the station to talk with the investigating officers. Liz had accompanied her, though her friend had stayed outside during the official interview…such as it was. The officers hadn’t gotten much. As she’d begun describing the events of that night, she’d been gripped by such a severe panic attack that they’d had to send for a doctor. It had taken her days to recover.
Cara swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t do it,” she whispered.
His blue eyes intent, Dale leaned closer. “They need your input, Cara. It could help bring justice to the man who killed your coworker.”
Feeling trapped, she turned to Sam, her panicked expression telegraphing her fear.
He brushed the hair back from her face, his touch tender, his eyes filled with compassion. “You can do this, Cara. You’re strong enough to handle it.”
Was she? Cara didn’t think so. The odds were high that a discussion with the Philly police would induce another severe panic attack. Yet she wanted to do her part to bring justice to Tony’s killer. She just wasn’t sure she was up to it.
As the silence lengthened, Dale cleared his throat. “I need to be going. The only reason for my visit tonight was to alert you that they’d be calling. That’s not normal protocol, but knowing the background, I thought it would be better if you were prepared.” He rose, directing his next comment to Sam. “Why don’t you show me out?” He nodded toward the door.
Picking up the sheriff’s cue, Sam rose. “Sit tight, Cara. I’ll be right back.”
When Dale stepped outside, Sam followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“I’d feel more comfortable if you came along tomorrow,” Dale told him. “According to the Philly police, Cara fell apart during the last questioning session. They had to send for a doctor.”
Sam’s gut clenched, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “She’s been suffering from panic attacks ever since the shooting. I’ve witnessed one severe episode, and she’s come close to having attacks on a couple of other occasions. Forcing her to dredge up memories of the incident could very well bring on another one.”
“That’s why I’d like you to be there.”
His expression troubled, Sam raked his fingers through his hair. “Are they sure this is necessary? If the man was masked, what can she tell them?”
“You’d be amazed at what we can ferret out of people who think they don’t remember anything. But the key is to make them feel comfortable. And secure. I’ll do my best to create a safe environment tomorrow, and the investigating officers are aware that the questioning needs to be handled with kid gloves. Your presence would help a lot.”
“If Cara wants me to come along, I’ll be there.”
“Fair enough. She can expect a call first thing in the morning. And now I have a hungry four-year-old to fetch.” With a brief smile and a wave he turned and strode down the walk.
When Sam returned to the living room, Cara was still sitting on the couch, arms crossed in a closed posture, her complexion far too pale. Panic continued to lurk in the depths of her eyes, and when Sam took his seat beside her again she turned to him.
“I’ll have another panic attack if I pull up all those memories, Sam.”
Her agitated tone convinced him that she was close to having one now. And that there was a good probability she’d have one tomorrow.
“Would it help if I came along?”
Surprise—and relief—registered in her features. “Yes! If you can spare the time.”
“I’ll make the time.” His gaze locked with hers, and he reached out to trace the graceful curve of her cheek with a tentative finger. Her eyes widened, and he heard her soft indrawn breath, but she didn’t pull back.
A mere whisper away, he could see the gold flecks in her deep green eyes and the faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. His focus dropped to her lips, slightly parted and oh-so-appealing, and all at once memories of their first kiss came rushing back.
It had been late, after her shift ended at the restaurant. He’d picked her up and driven her home. After spending hours in the kitchen, she’d smelled of exotic spices, he recalled. He’d walked her to her door, planning to say a simple good-night, when she’d turned to look up at him with such warmth and welcome that he’d been left with no choice but to claim her lips.
Her lips still called to him, and the urge to claim them was as strong now as it had ever been. Dare he take the risk?
Sam looked to Cara for an answer to that question, waiting for some signal that she would welcome his kiss. Praying for it. When it came, in a subtle softening of her features, he knew that this was the moment he’d been waiting for. And despite the fear that gripped him like a powerful vise, he couldn’t turn back. The time had come to let Cara see what was in his heart.
The first touch of their lips was as sweet as the homecoming of a long-absent loved one. There was a sense of rightness, of completeness in it. Here, in Cara’s arms, he had come home.
The kiss felt like a homecoming to Cara, too. And reminded her that she’d been privy to a side of Sam he’d shared with no one else. He’d never been demonstrative in public. But in private, he’d exhibited a depth of emotion that had surprised—and delighted—her, revealing feelings that ran deep and strong. Love had brought out the best in him.
Until a few weeks ago, Cara had been certain that the damage to their marriage could never be repaired. But in suffering her own trauma, she’d learned about the depths of despair that such an ordeal could evoke. She’d begun to understand how desperation could drive a person to take extraordinary—and out-of-character—measures to escape, to find relief. To appreciate how despair and hopelessness could warp a personality. She’d begun to believe that his date with the waitress hadn’t been so much betrayal as desperation, driven by anguish and depression. And his contrition seemed real.
The ball was now in her court. Was she willing to forgive? To take the risk of loving, when there were no guarantees?
As the kiss moved from tender to powerful, Cara stopped thinking. In the arms of the only man she’d ever loved, she let her heart take the lead and gave herself freely to his kiss. There would be time enough later for her mind to deal with uncertainty. For this moment, she let her heart speak.
To her surprise, it was Sam who finally broke contact, easing back to rest his forehead against hers.
“I didn’t plan this for tonight, Cara. But I knew it was coming.” His voice was hoarse as he cradled her head in his hands, their foreheads touching, his fingers tangled in her hair.
“So did I,” she whispered, clinging to him like a sailor holding fast to the mast in a stormy sea.
They stayed like that for another minute, and then Sam backed up enough to search her face. “This isn’t the best timing, though. Not with tomorrow’s ordeal looming.”
He was right. She was scared and vulnerable and in need of comfort, and he’d recognized that. Her precarious emotional state wasn’t the only reason she’d sought shelter in his arms, however. But she wasn’t up to discussing the other reasons tonight.
Extricating herself from his embrace, she stood. “I think I’ll read for a while in my room before I go to bed.”
“Cara, I know you have the police interview on your mind tonight, but we do need to talk.”
She played with the cording on the edge of the couch. “I know. We will. I just…I need some time.”
“You’re leaving in two weeks.”
“I know that, too.”
“I don’t want you to go, Cara.”
His candid admission surprised her, and the trace of desperation in his voice tugged at her heart. But she couldn’t deal with their future tonight. She had to get through tomorrow first. And she needed to do a whole lot more praying. She’d been asking the Lord for guidance almost from the day she’d arrived in Oak Hill, and Marge’s story had been inspiring, but clear direction for her own situation continued to elude her.
&
nbsp; Yet she knew her thinking was undergoing a change. In view of Sam’s sincere remorse, she now knew that forgiveness was within her grasp. And that she still loved the man she’d married. Perhaps more than ever, considering the appealing changes in him. But love didn’t guarantee a happy ending, as their relationship up until now proved. And she couldn’t survive a second breakup. It was that fear that made her wary.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I need a few more days.” It was the best she could do tonight, but his disheartened expression told her he had hoped for more.
Nevertheless, he pulled himself together and managed to dredge up the semblance of a smile. “Does this whole scene strike you as a bit ironic? The last few years we were together, you were always the one who wanted to have deep discussions, and I was the one who pushed you off. All of a sudden I’m getting a sense of how frustrating that must have been for you.”
“It was very hard, Sam. A lot of things were.” She looked at him steadily, no answering smile touching her lips. “You know what was hardest to deal with at the end? Your anger. I didn’t know you were capable of such rage. Or such loss of control. I’ll never forget the night you broke the goblet. I was almost…afraid of you.” Cara’s voice shook on the last three words.
Shocked, Sam stared at the woman he loved. He, too, could recall that night in vivid detail. His clumsy hand had lost its grip on a fragile goblet he’d retrieved from a cabinet in the kitchen, and though he’d struggled to grab it, it had hit the edge of the counter and cracked. He’d exploded, uttering a word that had made Cara cringe as he hurled it against the wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. He’d sensed her shocked withdrawal, felt her self-protective mechanism slip into place. But he hadn’t cared at the time. Nor had he realized that his violent response would have such a lasting impact.
All at once, one of Liz’s comments from their phone conversation weeks before echoed in his mind. She’d warned him that Cara couldn’t handle his anger. The significance hadn’t registered then, but it did now. Cara must have shared her fears with Liz.
His wife had been afraid of him.