“That would be Ernesto’s. It’s an upscale Italian place, but other than that, you’d probably have to drive to one of the bigger towns.”
Brent filed the information away in case the opportunity arose in the future.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. Are you the Brent McKasson, the movie star?” The voice belonged to a pretty redhead in a yellow summer dress.
“I am,” Brent said.
The woman’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Do you think I could bother you for an autograph and a picture? I’m a huge fan.”
Brent glanced to Sam who shrugged and waved her hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture.
“Sure.” Brent looked back to the woman. “Do you have something to write with?”
The woman placed a napkin and a pen on the tabletop in front of him. “Can you make it out to Sandy?”
Brent smiled and shook his head slightly. Signing a napkin wasn’t a first for him, but he always wondered what people did with them. Did they really keep them? Frame them on the wall? He scribbled the pen across the surface and then pushed it back to her.
“Can you take a picture of us?” Sandy turned to Sam for the first time, the hopeful question dancing in her eyes.
“Sure.” Sam took the camera. Brent couldn’t tell if the smirk on her face was from amusement or irritation.
Sandy leaned in, a little too close for Brent’s comfort, and Sam tapped the phone. “Okay, here you go.”
“Thank you.” Sandy once again focused her attention solely on Brent.
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t think I’d enjoy that, the constant interruption.” Sam shook her head as Sandy spun and walked away.
“You get used to it,” Brent said.
Becky returned then and took their order, and then a silence fell.
“So, have you always wanted to be a mechanic?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, but a small shop like I have now wasn’t really my goal. I had a much bigger shop when I lived in Dallas.”
“So, why’d you leave it?” Brent asked.
Sam shook her head. “That’s a long story. Let’s just say there was a guy involved.”
Brent was curious for more information, but it was obvious from Sam’s demeanor that the subject was closed. For now at least.
After lunch, they returned to Sam’s place. Though he wanted to take her in his arms, he retired to the spare room to work more on his story. He feared too much time around her would make him unable to honor her request to remain just friends.
Chapter 8
Sam stared at the closed door wondering if she should knock. Brent had disappeared to the spare room after lunch to write, but that had been hours ago. After spending time shopping for food and straightening the house, Sam now yearned to see him again. Though he'd be leaving tomorrow, and the desire made no sense, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
The door swung open before her hand could hit the wood.
“Hi, I was coming to see you,” Brent began, surprise coloring his voice.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” Sam asked simultaneously.
The two paused and laughed, easing some of the tension that hung in the air. Brent broke the silence first. “I would love to. I've hit a wall with my writing, anyway.”
“Oh, sorry. Are you sure you don't need to keep going?”
Brent's eyes twinkled, the dimple appearing in his cheek. Oh, how she longed to touch that cheek, to experience the texture.
“No, I’m good as long as we don’t watch one of my movies. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, leading the way to the living room. Sam's lips curled into a small smile. Though it was her house, she liked the fact he took control.
After surfing the channels for a moment, Brent landed on a movie they could agree on—a romantic comedy from a few years ago. Though the movie was interesting, the distance between them fixated Sam’s attention. Should she scoot closer? She had been the one to push the friend issue, but the masculinity emanating from him was changing her mind. Brent's strong arms held the appeal of safety, and the woodsy aroma he exuded sent her heart racing.
With a sideways glance her direction, he shifted position, placing his right arm on the back of the couch as if inviting her to move in. Her racing heart overruled her brain's objection, and she closed the space between them. Though his lips curled into a knowing smile, his gaze remained on the television.
Brent's chest was strong, masculine, and Sam's vivid imagination flashed images of her hands splayed across it before her eyes. When his arm moved from the back of the couch to her shoulder, she did not object, but enjoyed the warmth and security provided.
When the movie ended, his face turned to hers. Desire flooded his eyes, and Sam's breath caught. Brent's left hand brushed a loose tendril behind her ear sending a tremor down her spine. Sam's lips parted of their own accord, and his eyebrow twitched as if asking permission to kiss her. She should say no, but her body seemed frozen in place, watching the moment in slow motion.
When his eyes closed as his face lowered, the trance shattered. With the last ounce of resistance, she pushed against his chest. “Brent, we can't. I'm sorry.”
With a sigh, his opened his eyes and nodded. “You're right. I should get back to work, anyway.”
As his arm dropped from her shoulders, Sam missed the warmth, and a part of her wanted to reach out, to tell him she changed her mind, but it was better this way. As she watched him walk away though she wondered if that were true.
When the alarm blared the next morning, Sam fought the urge to throw it across the room. Brent had worked the rest of the evening in the spare room, not even emerging for dinner, and she had lain awake half the night rehashing the afternoon.
After rubbing eyelids that seemed glued together, she managed a few blinks before struggling out of bed and into the shower.
The warm water proved invigorating, and by the time she was dried off and dressed, she felt almost human. The aroma of coffee woke her further as she padded into the kitchen.
“So, the part should be in today, huh?” Brent looked up from his coffee mug and caught her eyes.
Did she detect a hint of sadness in his voice? Was it possible he didn’t want to leave even with her pushing him away? She walked past him to the cupboard.
“Yes, the delivery email stated ten a.m. I figure it will take a few hours to get the new part installed and check it.” Sam kept her back turned to him as she spoke, afraid her emotion would show through. Though she’d insisted on only wanting to be friends, she hadn’t meant it. It was a defense mechanism to keep from getting hurt again.
“Oh.”
That one word carried so much emotion. After filling a coffee mug, she joined him at the table and glanced his direction. His gaze locked with hers. Brent turned his mug around in circles, fingers tapping against the side with each spin. “Thank you for a great weekend. For the festival on Saturday and church and the movie yesterday.”
“You’re welcome.”
The stare lasted a moment longer before he dropped his gaze. “You didn’t like me when we first met.” His eyes flicked back up. “Why?”
If he had asked on the first day, she would have told him it was none of his business, but over the last few days, he had opened up to her. It was time she did the same and shared her story.
“You remember the man I mentioned at lunch yesterday?”
Brent nodded.
Sam took a deep breath before allowing her mind to wander down memory lane. “I met Greg as I was finishing trade school in Irving. He lived in Dallas, and he helped me find a local shop that was going out of business. I took out a loan and opened up shop. Business was slow at first, but then it grew steady. The hours were long the first few months, but Greg was successful, wealthy, and driven. He claimed he didn’t mind.
“I thought we were happy, but one night he cancelled dinner saying he had to work late. I had already closed up shop, so I decided to
ride my motorcycle through town as it was a nice night. I saw him holding hands with his secretary. Evidently, he had been seeing her for months. When I confronted him about it, he told me that I was still too country, that city life didn’t look good on me.
“Two days later, my mom was killed. I took her death and the breakup as a sign to get my life right with God. Church hadn’t been a priority when Greg was in the picture. My dad took off to go find himself after Mom's death, so going home wasn't an option, and my brother was still serving overseas.” She shrugged, “I closed my eyes and pointed to a spot on the map, and I ended up here.”
Sam lifted the mug, taking a sip of the coffee before continuing. “When I met you, you reminded me of Greg. Rich and flighty with women.”
“You’re a good judge of people.” Brent stated the words simply and matter-of-factly.
She glanced up, surprised he would admit it.
“I was exactly that,” he continued. “I don’t even remember the names of some women I’ve dated recently, but I wasn’t always like that.” Brent's face tilted up as if recalling a memory. “I was married once to a wonderful woman, Rachel. She was a believer, like you, but a traditionalist. She wanted to stay home and raise kids. We never had any though because she was killed by a drunk driver coming home from the grocery store one day.”
Sam’s grip tightened on the mug. “Brent, I’m so sorry.”
A small, tight smile played across his lips. “Me too. There isn’t a day I don’t miss her, but I’m glad I met you. You helped me work through some anger I was holding onto about her death, and you helped me find hope again. You even made me realize that women are all different and talented in many areas. I’m sorry for misjudging you and for thinking you couldn’t fix my Porsche. I mean you even inspired me to write a story. I’m glad my car broke down here.”
As his eyes locked with hers, emotions flooded through Sam. She wanted to ask him to stay, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Why had she expressed she only wanted to be friends? She didn't want to be friends, at least not just friends. She wanted to tell him of her attraction, but what would be the point with him leaving later? Sam pushed the image of the two of them together from her mind, scooted her chair back, and stood, taking the coward’s way out.
“Speaking of your car, I should head to the shop to wait for that part.”
“Sam, wait.”
His hand stayed her arm as she passed. Heat swept up her skin at his touch, but before he could say anything, she shook her head. “You’re leaving, Brent. Let’s not.”
His eyes searched hers, asking if that was what she really wanted. With a nod, he released her arm and Sam continued out of the house, not looking back.
She held it together until she got in her truck, but as the door closed and the silence set in, the tears trickled down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure she was in love with him, but he had shone a spotlight on the loneliness in her life, and she enjoyed having him around. Returning to life the way it was before Brent McKasson showed up now held little appeal.
The drive to her shop was short, and after putting the vehicle in park, she ran a hand across her cheeks to clear away the wet tracks. She had work to finish and no time for the emotions roiling inside her.
Chapter 9
Brent stared at the door long after Sam shut it. She kept insisting she wanted nothing more than friendship, but her actions expressed a different story. However, his mother had instructed him to value a woman’s requests, and so he would leave, though every bone in his body wanted to stick around.
Not desiring to leave a mess, Brent washed out the mugs from breakfast and set them in the drying rack. As he turned to examine the rest of the kitchen, he wondered if Sam would revert to her previous ways. A week from now, would the odor of spoiled food permeate the air? Would her fridge include only condiments again?
As he thought back to Friday, the front porch steps flashed into his mind. Though no carpenter, he had taken shop in high school and had promised himself he would fix them before leaving, but time had gotten away from him. If he didn’t do it now, he might never get the chance, and they wouldn’t last much longer. The idea of Sam falling through and breaking an ankle or worse spurred him into action.
In the garage, he found what he needed—a hammer, nails, and a few pieces of wood. It wouldn’t be the total fix he would like to do, but it would reinforce the steps and make them safe to walk on.
The morning air still held a chill and the sun’s heat wasn’t overwhelming, which he was thankful for as attempting the job any later in the day would have been a nightmare. He set the supplies on the ground and then picked up the first sheet of wood. It fit neatly over the bottom step and he smiled as he picked up the hammer and a nail and pounded it into one corner. There was something to the rhythmic pounding that he found relaxing, and his smile grew as he picked up the second nail.
An hour later, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. He had pried off the sagging wood of the two middle steps and replaced them with the wood from her garage. The color didn’t match, but she could always paint it if it bothered her. At least this way he would rest easy knowing the steps were safer.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and checked his watch. There was still time to clean up before he figured Sam would call, so he carried the hammer, nails, and rotted wood back to her garage and re-entered the house.
He took a quick shower and had just gotten dressed when his phone rang. “Hello?”
“Brent? It’s Sam.”
He sank to the bed as she continued speaking. Was it too much to hope the issue was his engine?
“Your car is fixed. Lucky for you it was the AOS, so I can swing by and pick you up in a few minutes if you’re ready.”
Lucky. He didn’t feel lucky. His heart seemed weighted down. “Yeah, I’m ready whenever.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
Brent stared at the now silent phone. He should feel glad that he could continue to the cabin and relax in peace, but his feet drug as he packed up the last of his belongings. Would he be able to write without Sam’s presence? A sneaking suspicion she was his muse had wormed its way into his head.
As his fingers touched the photo of the two of them at the festival, he marveled at his emotions after knowing her only a few days. Then again, he’d only known Rachel for a week when he realized he wanted to marry her. Marriage wasn’t on his mind right now, but parting with Sam left a bitter taste in his mouth.
After packing the last item in his bag and zipping it closed, he spared one final look around the room, making sure he had missed nothing. Satisfied he had everything from the bedroom, he moved to the kitchen, scanning the rest of the house on his way. Her decorating was not his style at all, but he would miss having someone to drink coffee with in the morning. He’d forgotten that simple joy.
The sound of the horn shattered his daydream, and with a sigh, he hoisted his bags and opened the door to join Sam. It would be a short ride back to her shop, to his car, to the freedom he didn’t seem to want any more.
Sam’s smile was tight, almost forced as he climbed in the truck. Was she battling the same emotions he was? He perceived, after her story that morning, she’d never want to live in the city again, but could he move? Or could a long-distance relationship work?
Moments later the shop came into view, and Sam parked the truck. With feet that felt encased in concrete, he followed her inside.
As she stepped behind the counter, she cleared her throat. “So, the bill shows the cost for the part and the labor.” The paper slid across the surface, but her eyes flickered to his only briefly.
Payment. How had that escaped his mind? No wonder she appeared so uncomfortable. He picked up the bill, pulled out his platinum VISA, placed the card on the bill, and pushed it back her way.
In silence, she rang up the sale and pushed his card back. Then, from her pocket, she pulled out his keys and handed them over.
He took them, wishing he had mo
re to say; wishing he understood what he wanted, what she wanted. “Perhaps I’ll stop by on my way back through.” The words sounded hollow and trite to his ears.
“I’d like that.”
With a final, awkward handshake, he exited the shop and climbed in the Porsche. The leather still molded to his body, but something seemed different. Stella was different. No, not Stella, he was different.
The engine started without a hitch and no smoke billowed out from under the hood. With a sigh, he put the car in gear and pulled out onto Willow Street. After passing the market where he bought food for their first dinner together, he turned right on State. The elementary school appeared on his left, and before he realized it, he was passing the park and leaving Soda Spurs.
Sad country music crooned through the radio, and he flicked the station changer until he landed on an uplifting Christian song. A smile surfaced at the memory of standing next to Sam in church the day before. She had a voice like an angel though she denied it when he told her. Plus, she looked peaceful as she worshipped, eyes closed and hands raised. He wasn't even sure she comprehended doing it half the time. He’d have to find a church and get connected when he returned home. Of course, he wouldn’t have Sam standing beside him, and there would be no smell of strawberries and no angelic voice, which saddened him.
An hour later, he pulled up to the cabin, nestled among a small grove of trees. He parked the car and grabbed his bags.
Julia had given him the key to her family’s cabin, promising it would be quiet, and he’d be able to unwind and maybe write, but now it appeared too quiet. He wondered if he’d be able to find his inspiration here like he could at Sam’s place.
The second step creaked as he mounted the porch, reminding him of Sam’s rickety steps. Had she noticed he fixed them yet? With a shake of his head to dispel the image, he flicked through the keys on the ring for the one to the cabin.
The quaint main room held only a couch, a chair, a table, and a fireplace. Stairs at the back led up to the second story which Julia said housed two small bedrooms and a bathroom. However, since a master bedroom existed downstairs, he didn’t expect he’d need to use the upper level.
A Brush with a Billionaire Page 6