02_Groom of Her Own (14 page)

“Hi, Sam.”

She swallowed. She’d seen Brad in many types of attire, but today was the most casual so far. He had on those well-broken-in and oh-so-nice-fitting jeans he’d worn for their house hunting expedition, and a light blue golf shirt hugged his broad chest. The sleeves called attention to his impressive biceps, convincing her that he must visit a gym on a regular basis. A vee of brown hair was visible at his neck, and her eyes got stuck there just a moment too long as she completed what she hoped had been a discreet perusal.

But not discreet enough, she realized, when her eyes returned to his and he was grinning.

“So…do I pass?”

She blushed, but pretended to misunderstand his meaning. “I’m just glad you dressed down. I was afraid maybe my outfit was too casual.”

He gave her a thorough, lazy appraisal that didn’t even pretend to be discreet, and her breath caught in her throat “I’d say you look perfect,” he declared huskily, his deep brown eyes smiling into hers. Then he propped one shoulder against the door frame, crossed his arms and gazed directly into her eyes. “I missed you, Sam,” he said quietly.

Sam stared at him. He was acting…different…today. Undisguisedly interested. And not just in friendship, either, if she was reading his body language correctly. But she couldn’t be sure with Brad. She had plenty of experience picking up signals from men, but Brad wasn’t the type of man she typically dated. So maybe she was wrong.

“Um, thanks,” she said, finding her voice at last. “Let me just grab my purse and we can get started.” She turned away and reached for her shoulder bag on the hall table, willing her heart to behave and her lungs to keep working. Since she wasn’t sure exactly what to make of his behavior, the best plan for today was to act the same as always, she decided. Ignore anything that indicated otherwise. Then later, when she was home and alone and more rational, she could analyze the situation logically and consider what to do next. But the first order of business was to get through this day without giving away her own feelings to this perceptive, virile man.

Fortunately for Sam’s blood pressure, their conversation during the drive to the farm focused on “catching up.” She described some of the houses she’d looked at—and rejected—for him, and he told her about his visit to Jersey. By the time they arrived she felt much more relaxed and in control.

Her first view of the crowd behind the barn, however, made her step falter slightly. Sam didn’t mind crowds. She could schmooze and make small talk with the best of them. But this was a different kind of crowd. These were religious people, and this was a church picnic. What on earth would she find to say to them? And why did it seem that everyone was staring at her assessingly in the sudden hush that descended over the group at their appearance?

Brad’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly at the group’s reaction to their arrival. It had never occurred to him that Sam—as his date—would attract so much attention. But it should have. Most of these people were long-time members of the congregation. They had known and liked Rachel, watched in sympathy as he deeply mourned her loss and then spent the subsequent years alone and bereft. If he chose to bring a woman to a church event, they would correctly assume it was because she was someone special. As a result, she was bound to be scrutinized. Even Sam, with her outgoing personality and self-assurance, was bound to feel some unease in a, setting that was both awkward and unnatural for her.

He took her arm reassuringly, and she looked up at him with an uncertain smile. “Time to run the gauntlet, I guess,” she tried to joke, but he heard the underlying tension in her voice.

“It won’t be that bad,” he promised, praying his words were truthful. These were all good people. But they were human, too, and Sam might not fit their image of a suitable date for their minister.
Please, Lord, let them find it in their hearts today to practice Christian charity and make Sam feel welcome,
he silently implored.

Brad stayed close, acutely aware of her nervousness, his hand comfortingly—and possessively—exerting gentle pressure in the small of her back.

They made their way around the small groups clustered near the barn, and Sam tried to relax. She couldn’t fault anyone’s manners—they were all pleasant. But she sensed a reserve, a withholding of approval, as if they weren’t yet sure whether to accept this intruder who had caught their minister’s eye—and maybe his heart. Sam supposed she couldn’t blame them. Compared to Brad’s first wife, she was sure she fell short. Her spirits took a nosedive, and she suddenly wished that this picnic, which she had looked forward to so eagerly, was ending instead of just beginning.

As they made their way toward two older women, Brad leaned down. “So how are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.

Not so good, she thought. But she couldn’t very well say that. “Okay,” she replied. “They all seem nice.”

The two women looked at her pleasantly when they approached, and Sam summoned up a smile.

“Rose, Margaret, I’d like you to meet Sam Reynolds. Sam, this is Margaret Warren and Rose Davies. Rose is our wonderful organist. Her playing always inspires me to sing,” he said, giving Sam a conspiratorial wink over their heads. Sam stifled a smile at Rose’s pained expression, remembering Brad’s comment at Laura’s wedding about his lack of singing ability.

“It’s very nice to meet you both,” Sam said.

“Well, we’re certainly glad you could make it, my dear,” said Rose. “Do you by any chance sing? We’re always looking for good voices for the choir.” She emphasized the word good, and Sam tried not to grin, relaxing for the first time.

“I’m afraid I’m not much in the voice department,” Sam admitted. “I’m more the I - like - to - sing - in - the - shower - but - you’d - need - earplugs - if - I - sang - in - public type.”

“Well, I’m sure you have many other talents,” Rose declared, reaching over to pat her arm reassuringly. “And I always think it’s good when we can recognize our own limitations. For example, if you really can’t sing, then it’s better to just not sing. Don’t you think so, Reverend?”

Brad looked at her solemnly. “Oh, absolutely.”

Sam choked back a laugh at the look of defeat on Rose’s face, coughing to camouflage her smile. “Let’s get you some lemonade, Sam,” Brad said solicitously, his eyes twinkling as he took her arm. “Excuse us, ladies.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Sam laughed and shook her head. “You’re awful, do you know that?” “Why?” Brad asked innocently as he poured her a cup of lemonade.

“As if you don’t know,” she accused.

Now it was Brad’s turn to chuckle. “Poor Rose. I guess I do give her a hard time. I ought to just shut up and make her life easier, but I really do like to sing. I have toned it down, though. So I don’t think she minds quite as much.” “Sam! Brad!”

They turned in unison to see Laura heading their way, waving two pieces of paper with identical numbers on them, a burlap sack draped over her arm. “Will you two help me out? I’m supposed to be organizing the games, but nobody seems to want to be the first to sign up. So I put you down for the three-legged race. Do you mind? I think once I have a couple of names down, it will break the ice.”

Sam eyed her doubtfully. “The three-legged race?”

“Don’t worry. It’s a piece of cake,” Laura assured her. “We’re going to start in five minutes.”

“Laura, I’m not the athletic type,” Sam protested.

“But you don’t have to be. It’s a short race. Brad, talk her into it, will you, while I try to round up a few more people?” Laura implored over her shoulder as she dashed off to recruit two more victims.

Sam looked up at Brad, who seemed to be taking Laura’s strong-arming in stride. “I don’t know about this. What do you think?” she asked with trepidation.

He smiled and shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”

Sam bit her lip. She’d heard of three-legged races, though she’d never seen one, and she assumed that there was some physical proximity involved. She had a sudden suspicion that Laura had set them up, but her friend had long since made herself scarce. Purposely, no doubt, Sam thought grimly.

“So what do you think?” Brad asked, pulling her back to the matter at hand.

She frowned. If Brad could make her heart go into triple time with just a look, what would it do to her metabolism to actually be physically touching him? But it was just a race, an impersonal thing, in front of his congregation. Nothing could possibly happen. In fact, it was a safe context in which to get close to him. Maybe she ought to enjoy it. The opportunity might never come again.

“All right,” she capitulated. “But I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not the athletic type. If you want to win, I’d suggest you find another partner.”

“I’ll take my chances with you,” Brad told her with a smile. “Turn around so I can pin your number on.”

Sam did as instructed, but her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own when it was her turn to do the pinning. She’d never quite realized how broad his shoulders were, she thought, as she fumbled with the uncooperative piece of paper. And was it her imagination, or were the two of them once more drawing speculative glances from his congregation?

“Is it on?” he asked over his shoulder.

It was slightly crooked, but Sam didn’t trust herself to touch him anymore when the urge to run her hands over his back was so strong, despite the watchful eyes she felt riveted on her back. “Yes.”

“Okay, step in,” he said, leaning down to hold the burlap bag open. “Try your left leg.”

“What?” she asked blankly.

He looked up with a grin. “We each have to put one leg in the sack,” he explained patiently.

She swallowed convulsively at the unbidden image that flashed across her mind. But judging by his matter-of-fact expression, Brad was oblivious to the double entendre. With a determined effort she tried to stifle her overactive imagination as she silently followed his instructions.

He straightened up and put his leg in beside hers, and the next thing she knew he slipped his right arm around her waist and pulled her close, until they were touching along the entire length of their bodies, from ankle to shoulder. Sam drew in her breath sharply, vowing to seek revenge on her so-called friend Laura for making her endure this sweet agony.

“Can you hold on to this excess burlap?” Brad asked, apparently unaware of her distress and seemingly unmoved by their proximity. So much for her concern about his interest level, she thought wryly.

Sam reached down to take hold of the fabric, noting for the first time that his left hand was ringless. When had that happened, she wondered?

“Maybe we should practice a little,” Brad said easily. “I know there’s a trick to this. You have to be in sync, establish a rhythm, I think. You want to try it?” he asked

She was still staring at his bare left hand, trying to comprehend the significance, and it took a moment for his words to penetrate her overloaded sensory circuits. “Sure. Why not?” she replied helplessly, not at all certain that her legs would cooperate.

He grinned and gave her a squeeze that sent a hot wave shooting through her entire body. “Okay. Let’s give it a whirl.”

As it turned out, just staying upright demanded her full and undivided attention, and hormones quickly gave way to hilarity as they stumbled around awkwardly, giggling like teenagers at their uneven gait. She even momentarily forgot about their audience.

“Hey, you two, no fair!” Laura called as she passed. “If you practice ahead of time you’ll have an advantage.”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” Brad assured her as they dissolved into laughter after another misstep.

His words proved prophetic. They made a good start when the gun went off a couple of minutes later, but in the heat of the race Sam apparently pulled too hard on the edge of the canvas bag she was holding. The next thing she knew she lost her footing, and she clutched at Brad to regain her balance. Unfortunately, he was in no better shape, and suddenly they both pitched forward. As they fell Brad twisted toward Sam and yanked her against his chest, bringing her down on top of him to cushion her impact.

For a moment after they hit the ground, neither of them moved. Sam was sprawled over Brad’s firm body, her head pressed to his shoulder, his arms around her protectively. It took her only a moment to decide that she was just shaken, not hurt. But the trembling of relief she felt quickly turned to another kind of trembling as her mind—and body—absorbed their intimate position. Her heart seemed to stop, then race on, and her breathing became erratic as a surge of longing swept over her. She didn’t want to move. Not now. Not ever. It felt so good in his arms!

But they couldn’t stay like this. Reason told her that, even while her heart directed her otherwise. What would people think? They had to get up before his congregation suffered a collective heart attack.

Except that Brad hadn’t moved, she suddenly realized with a frown. Maybe he’d struck his head or something, she thought in panic. But at least he was still breathing. And she could hear the hard, uneven thudding of his heart against her ear.

Quickly she backed off, bracing her hands on either side of his head so she could look down at him.

It was immediately obvious that Brad wasn’t unconscious. Not even close. In fact, the ardent light in his brown eyes made her realize that physical injury was the
last
thing on his mind.

“Are you hurt?” she whispered, her eyes locked on his. His arms molded her even more firmly against him and his hands stroked her back ever so slightly. “No. Are you?”

Mutely she shook her head, her breath catching in her throat as his hands moved to frame her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. Sam stared at him in shock at the blatant intimacy of his touch.

Only a few seconds passed during the entire mishap. And Sam knew they’d only fallen a short distance and spoken barely half a dozen words. But she also knew that in that brief interlude they’d traveled to a whole new world. Because one thing was now very clear. The original ground rules for their relationship might have been based on friendship. But the rules had just changed.