02_Groom of Her Own (18 page)

While he waited for the wash cycle to finish, he made a makeshift bed on the living room couch and checked his voice mail at the parsonage. He also spent a few minutes in contemplative prayer, as had become his custom at the end of every day. He’d gotten into the habit after Rachel died, when that quiet time alone with the Lord had provided a special source of strength. But even in normal times he found the practice to be refreshing and renewing.

By the time Brad heard the washer shut off, he was beginning to fade. As he headed for the utility room and tossed his shirt into the dryer, he yawned hugely. Maybe he’d lie down and rest until it was done, he thought wearily, padding back to the couch to stretch out. Then he would follow Sam’s lead and get some sleep.

But half an hour later, when the dryer signaled the end of its cycle, there was no one awake to hear it.

Sam emerged from sleep slowly, feeling groggy and out of sorts. She squinted at the window, where bright light was trying to penetrate the blinds, then turned to peer at the digital clock on her nightstand, which said 8:30 a.m.

Her brain felt muddled, and she frowned as she stared at the ceiling. What on earth was wrong with her? Could she be coming down with the flu or something? In June? That hardly seemed likely. She threw back the sheet, preparing to rise, only to discover to her amazement that she was fully dressed. What was going on here? But as Sam sat up and swung her legs to the floor, the sight of the angry red welts and swelling on her ankle brought her memory back in a flash. She shuddered as she recalled yesterday’s nightmare.

She stood up carefully, grateful that the stinging sensation had finally disappeared. The swelling and redness might not look pretty, and the area around the stings was tender, but the worst of her discomfort seemed over, thank goodness.

Sam limped to the bathroom and leaned against the sink to peer cautiously into the mirror. The two stings on her face were more subdued today, though still quite apparent, and although she was naturally fair, her complexion was paler than usual. Yesterday was one day she never wanted to repeat! she thought ruefully. She just hoped the incident hadn’t completely disrupted the picnic. She’d have to ask Brad about that. The poor man…

Brad! Her eyes widened and she straightened up abruptly. He’d said he was going to spend the night. Had he? She held her breath and listened, but her condo was silent.

Sam moved to the door of her room and paused to listen again. Still no sound. Gently she eased it open and peered down the hall. Nothing. Walking slowly and stiffly, her feet silent on the thick carpet, she passed the empty kitchen, hesitating on the threshold of the living room. He must be on the couch, she thought. But it faced away from her, toward the fireplace, so she couldn’t tell for sure. Slowly, trying to still her suddenly rapid pulse, she moved closer and peeked over.

Brad was there, all right—lying on his stomach, one arm bent under his head, the other trailing to the floor. But it wasn’t his position that caught her attention—it was his attire. Or lack thereof, she corrected herself.

He didn’t have a shirt on. That registered immediately. Except for one shoulder partially hidden by a throw pillow, his broad back was totally bare. And totally masculine, she thought, her heart rate increasing dramatically. Her eyes traced its strong contours, down to the edge of the sheet which was draped over the lower half of his body, the edge of his jeans just visible.

He shifted slightly, dislodging the throw pillow, and Sam took a steadying breath. She forced her eyes back toward his shoulders, and that’s when the next impression slammed home, taking her breath away for another reason.

Sam had seen bruises. But she’d never seen one like Brad’s. It was almost totally black, with traces of purple at the edges, and it had to be four inches square. She knew he’d purposely taken the brunt of their fall, and she remembered seeing him wince as he flexed that shoulder yesterday when Laura asked if they were all right. She’d meant to ask him about it later, but events had taken several unexpected turns, and it had completely slipped her mind. But she couldn’t forget about it now, not when that bruise was staring up at her in living color.

Sam frowned. It looked really bad. Bad enough to need medical attention, perhaps. Maybe she should suggest that he get his shoulder X-rayed. But she couldn’t very well do that while he was sleeping. Should she go back to her bedroom and wait till he woke up? she debated silently. Or rattle around the kitchen a little to alert him to her presence? Or maybe…

The decision was taken out of her hands when he suddenly sighed, turned over and opened his incredibly gorgeous sleep-hazed eyes to stare directly up at her.

For the briefest moment he seemed disoriented, but Sam didn’t mind. She needed the time to recover from the powerful impact of his naked chest, with its T of curly dark brown hair, and to notice the day’s growth of stubble on his chin that for some reason made her pulse flutter even more than it already was. She was used to seeing him impeccably groomed, and his magnetism was strong then, but in this “natural” state it was almost overwhelming.

Unfortunately Sam was still trying to absorb the assault on her senses when Brad’s eyes cleared.

Her voice came out in a kind of squeak, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Good morning.”

He pulled the sheet off, swinging his jeans-clad legs to the floor and faced her, planting his hands on his hips.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his astute eyes not missing a thing as they raked over her.

“Better than yesterday.”

She did look better, he thought. She had more color, and the welts on her face weren’t quite as red or swollen. “How’s your ankle?”

She glanced down. It was a good excuse to tear her eyes away from his chest. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be entering any races in the near future. It’s still pretty swollen, and the stings are tender. But compared to yesterday I really do feel a lot better.”

Relief flooded his face, and she saw the lines of tension visibly ease around his mouth and eyes. “Thank God! And I mean that literally. You had a really rough day.”

“So did you.” She nodded toward his shoulder. “You’ve got an awful bruise,” she said, her eyes reflecting her concern.

For the first time Brad seemed to realize that his shirt was missing, and he glanced down with a frown. The last thing he remembered was putting it in the dryer. He gave Sam an apologetic smile. “Sorry about this,” he said sheepishly, gesturing toward his torso as he moved toward the kitchen. “I washed my shirt last night and I must have fallen asleep before it finished drying.”

“It’s okay,” she called after him. She heard him open the dryer, and a moment later he reappeared, tucking in his shirt as he padded barefoot back to her. “But what about your shoulder?” she persisted. “It looks bad. Maybe you should have it checked out.”

He shrugged aside the suggestion. “It’s just a bruise. Believe me, you got the worst of the deal yesterday. I think in the future we’d better include an ‘attend at your own risk’ disclaimer on the picnic announcement. The two of us look like the walking wounded.”

Sam smiled. He looked great to her, but she couldn’t very well say that without starting something that she wasn’t up to dealing with just yet.

“How about some breakfast?” he said. “You didn’t eat anything last night.”

“Yeah, I am kind of hungry,” she admitted. “I’ve got some eggs and cheese in the kitchen. We could have omelettes. And there’s juice and English muffins.”

“A veritable feast!” he declared with a grin.

“Let me just take a quick shower and change, and I’ll fix something,” she said.

“No hurry,” Brad replied. “My morning is free.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “But mine isn’t! I’m supposed to meet a client at ten-thirty!”

Brad frowned. “I think you ought to take it easy today, Sam. Do you really feel up to traipsing around, showing property?”

As a matter of fact, she didn’t. Her ankle was beginning to throb already and her right hand was still too swollen to be of much use. She sighed and glanced at her watch. “I guess I could try to cancel.”

“Good idea. Go ahead and make your call and freshen up. I’ll wait.”

Sam was able to reschedule her appointment, and by the time she showered, washed and blow-dried her hair and applied a little makeup she was feeling almost human. As she slipped into a short-sleeved knit top and denim jumper she realized that despite her hunger, she would gladly settle for a muffin and juice for breakfast. Her energy level just wasn’t up to par, and preparing even a simple meal seemed like far too much effort. But she owed Brad, after all his kindness. It wouldn’t kill her to make a couple of omelettes.

However, it appeared that Brad had taken matters into his own hands. By the time she stepped into the hall tantalizing aromas were wafting from the kitchen, and she paused in the doorway to find him slipping a huge omelette onto a platter.

He glanced her way and smiled. “I figured we could split this,” he said. “Go ahead and sit down. Coffee’s ready, and I just took the muffins out of the toaster.”

“But…but Brad, I would have made breakfast,” she said, surprised and deeply touched by the thoughtful gesture.

“I know. But I didn’t have anything else to do,” he replied easily. “Come on. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

He held out her chair, and Sam sat down carefully, giving him a crooked smile over her shoulder. “This is a first,” she said.

“What?”

“Being waited on in my own kitchen.”

He looked at her as he took his seat, his gaze direct and unwavering, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. “We’ve had a lot of firsts in the last twenty-four hours, haven’t we, Sam?”

Her fork was halfway to her mouth, and her hand froze for a brief second before continuing on its journey. It was a good thing they were eating eggs, which slid down easily, she thought, or she was sure the food would stick in her throat. As it was, she swallowed with difficulty and then stared at him, completely at a loss for words. She wasn’t up to a heavy discussion this morning.

When she didn’t speak, Brad took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving her face. “We have to talk, you know.”

She tore her eyes away from his and looked down at her plate. Denying the obvious would be foolish. They did need to talk. Only the talk wasn’t going to end the way Brad expected. And Sam just wasn’t up to the emotional scene that was sure to occur when she told him she couldn’t see him anymore.

She took a deep breath and toyed with her food. “I know. But—”

“But you’re not up to it today.” He completed the sentence for her, as if reading her mind, and she looked over at him gratefully.

“Right.”

“I didn’t think you would be. But I just wanted to make sure we both agreed that the topic of our relationship needs discussing. And the sooner the better.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied nod. “Now go ahead and eat my culinary masterpiece before it gets cold,” he added with a grin.

Sam smiled, relieved that he hadn’t pressed the issue today, grateful for the reprieve.

Brad kept the conversation light during the rest of the meal and then insisted on cleaning up when they were finished, despite her protests.

“It’s not a big deal, Sam. I’ve got another few minutes. Actually, I’d stay longer, but I have an appointment at one and I need to return some calls before that. And I have a church board meeting tonight. Can we get together tomorrow for lunch or dinner?”

Sam shook her head. “I’ll be swamped, considering I’m taking today off. And I have my volunteer work in the evening.”

Brad frowned. “Wednesday morning i’m driving down to see Dad, and I had planned to spend the night. How about dinner Thursday?”

Sam shook her head again. “I’m taking a class on Thursday nights.”

Brad looked at her in surprise as he rinsed the last dish. “When did that start?”

“About a month ago.”

“Something work related?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to tell Brad about the Bible class. He might think she was going to please him, and that wasn’t the case at all. It was just that she’d become increasingly aware of the emptiness and despair in her life, along with a troubling spiritual vacuum. And though she’d originally gone to the class more out of desperation than with any great confidence that it would help, surprisingly enough she now looked forward to the Thursday-night study group. But her reawakening faith was still too new and fragile to discuss. “No. Just…personal interest.”

Brad turned away and squeezed the dishcloth, then carefully hung it over the sink. He recognized Sam’s tone of voice. It meant Keep Out. So he did.

Sam looked at Brad’s ramrod-straight back. He was probably hurt by her refusal to discuss a seemingly innocuous subject, she realized. But she wasn’t trying to shut him out, and she needed to make him understand that. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. Why not invite him to dinner on Friday night? After all, she owed him big-time after everything he’d done for her in the past twenty-four hours. And maybe it would make up a little for her reticence just now.

“Brad, since we both have such busy schedules this week, why don’t you come over Friday night for dinner?”

He turned in surprise. “Here?”

She grinned. “Yeah.”

“You mean for a home-cooked meal?”

Actually, she planned to order dinners from a local gourmet shop. Cooking wasn’t her forte. It always seemed too much bother just for herself. But she couldn’t disappoint him, not when he had that look of hopeful anticipation on his face.

“Uh-huh.”

“That would be great! But are you sure you want to go to all that trouble?”

“Why not?” she said recklessly. After all, how hard could it be? There were plenty of cookbooks out there. She even had a couple in a closet somewhere. She could read as well as the next person, and cooking was just a matter of following a recipe, after all. It wasn’t rocket science.

“Do you think you’ll feel up to it?” he asked, a frown of concern suddenly marring his brow.