A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel (4 page)

“Someone special?” He tried to make the question sound nonchalant.

“Wha—Oh, no. It’s not like that. I’m meeting a friend. But I’ll take a rain check.” She gave him a tired smile. “The Sunrise Grill has a great Sunday brunch.”

Sam hesitated, surprised. Daylight, a crowd and Lorelei as a buffer. Perfect. “It’s a date. Oh, um, no. Not exactly a
date
date. More like a . . . ah . . .”

“Non-date?”

“That’s it. Exactly. Friends sharing a meal.” He nodded, feeling rather foolish now for making such a fuss.

“Fine. Sunday brunch it is.”

“Good night, Rosie.”

“Good night, Sam.”

As they turned to their respective doors, a child’s shrill scream pierced the night air.

* * *

T
oo stunned to react, Rosie froze until Sam darted around her, running toward Lorelei’s room.

As she entered the bedroom, Sam reached into the crib and swept the struggling child into his arms, repeating, “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. Daddy’s got you.”

He soothed his daughter, rubbing her back and murmuring in her ear. Soon her cries quieted to soft snuffles, and she raised her head off Sam’s shoulder.

She stared at Rosie, looking like a street urchin with perspiration-dampened hair and her tiny face tear-ravaged. Lorelei pushed against Sam’s shoulder, squirming to get down.

He lowered her until her feet touched the floor.

“Lo’lei go potty, Daddy,” she stated in a very matter-of-fact tone, and ran toward the bathroom with Sam not far behind.

Wide-awake now, Rosie leaned against the doorframe, waiting. Soon they reentered the room. She watched as Sam tucked his daughter back into the crib, talking softly to her. A part of her wanted to feel the sweet warmth of helping him. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

He leaned over his daughter, smoothed her hair back with a gentle hand and whispered, “Sweet dreams, baby.” He kissed each cheek, then her forehead.

Why did she have night terrors at such a young age? Rosie couldn’t imagine the pain it must cause Sam to see his daughter so distraught. But he’d covered it well, releasing her when the fear had passed. Who knew he would be so relaxed, so good with a child?

Seeing her city sophisticate friend as a dad made him even more attractive. Like she needed that added complication.

Lorelei’s eyes seemed huge in her small face as she studied Rosie from across the room, then turned to Sam. “Light, daddy?”

“Yes, baby. I’ll leave the hall light on.” He left the door open, and they slipped into the hallway. “It’s really too bright, but I don’t dare shut her door.”

“Why don’t you use a nightlight?”

“Hers broke during the move. Do you have an extra we could borrow?”

“Better than that. I have one she can keep. Wait here.” Rosie retrieved an extra from her laundry room that she’d bought and never used. Made of stained glass, it had delicate pink roses across the bottom with a fairy clad in blue and yellow flying overhead. She removed a safety plug and inserted the light where Lorelei could see it.

“Look at that, Lorelei. Rosie found you a new light. What do you say?”

“Ooh, pwetty.” She tucked tiny fists beneath her chin and grinned.

“Yes, it is, but what else do you say?”

“Tank you.”

Rosie smiled at the shy, but dutiful response. “You’re welcome, Lorelei. Good night.”

Solemn, unblinking eyes regarded her, then the little girl scrunched them tight and feigned sleep.

Rosie’s heart kicked into overdrive when Sam reached for her hand and tugged her a few feet into the hallway.

“Thanks,” he murmured close to her ear, the intimate sound sending frissons of delight down her spine. “I think you just made another friend.”

She turned her head and discovered he was closer than she’d imagined. “That’s good, er, nice, but I’ve got work tomorrow and so do you. I should go to bed now.”

Something flickered in his eyes as he watched her lips move, but he quickly shuttered it away. “Then you need a sweet dreams kiss too.”

Her tongue flicked over lips suddenly dry, her head screaming,
Say something
! “Sam, I don’t think . . .”

He stopped her with a finger to his pursed lips, his eyes full of amusement and that same shuttered look she couldn’t quite get a handle on.

Desire?

No. Sam is attracted to stick-thin super models, remember? Twigs.

Oh, Lord, what was happening here? She’d wanted to erase the strangers feeling, but this wasn’t exactly . . .

Everything shifted into slow motion.

Sam reached to smooth back her hair, like he had his daughter’s, and hesitated.

How many times had she dreamt of this happening again after that first gentle touch of his lips against hers? She’d desperately wished for a repeat at J.T. and Sara’s wedding, while slow dancing. Rosie’s eyelids drifted down and then closed. She waited with the odd combination of excitement and dread that accompanied the fulfillment of a dream.

His lips met her expectations, soft and warm.

But their touch was way too fleeting as he brushed them against one cheek, then the other, and her forehead—exactly as he had kissed Lorelei.

Dismayed and relieved at the same time, Rosie swallowed hard. Her eyes flew open. He gave her a big wink and a smile—which was exactly what she needed to bring her back to reality.

Of course Sam wouldn’t actually
kiss
her.

They were just friends.

Rosie smiled back, feeling foolish. She decided to act as if the last thirty seconds never happened and hope her pulse took the hint.

Sam followed her across his kitchenette to the adjoining door. She waggled her fingers in farewell, afraid her voice would sound breathless and bothered.

Before she could make a fool of herself, Rosie closed the door on the latest complication in her life.

* * *

“
I
s it dead?” Sara asked.

“Looks that way,” Rosie muttered, as if there was any doubt. Her stomach churned, making her a little queasy.

They stared at one very droopy rose sitting inside the refrigerated unit, which had seemed iffy the day before. The note Sara had left taped to it indicated she’d moved the rest of the flowers to other units, in case the unit wasn’t working properly.

“Thanks for saving our stock and taking care of the shop yesterday.”

“No problem. But what are you going to do? We’ve got three more weddings on the books, and Sassy Bing called yesterday to schedule a consult on her daughter’s upcoming nuptials. There’s no way the other two can hold the supplies we’ll need to stock, not even with the overflow unit in the back.”

“Cassandra’s getting married? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Um . . . Dean?”

Rosie turned from the deceased rose to blink stupidly at Sara, unease slipping over her like a too-tight glove. “Dean? As in Lassiter?”

“One and the same.”

“I hadn’t realized they were seeing each other.” She stepped to the register counter and pulled her rolodex from a drawer a little too forcefully.

“Sweetwater Springs is growing. It’s getting harder for the grapevine to keep up with everyone these days. Does it bother you?”

“What, the town growing?” Rosie shrugged, flipping through the cards until her fingers rested on Kool Katz Refrigeration. “It’s good for business.”

“I meant Dean. You know . . . marrying someone else.”

“No.” She supposed some might think differently, since she’d once been engaged to him. The queasy feeling grew into a knot of real discomfort. How well did Cassandra know the man she’d agreed to marry? Would she listen if Rosie tried to warn her about his past behavior, which she now knew to be classic companion abuse?

“You sure you’re okay?” Sara cocked her head to the side, a worried look on her face.

“About Dean getting married? Yes, although I pity the poor girl.” Boy, wasn’t that the truth. “About that unit conking out? Not so much. Let’s hope Mr. Katz can fix it.”

Please, please let it be a simple, inexpensive repair
.

“I’m sure he can. He’s done it before.” Sara squeezed her arm in sympathy, slipped an apron over her head and headed into the prep room to tackle the latest orders.

Rosie breathed a little prayer regarding her predicament, tacked on one for Cassandra Bing and reached for the phone, which rang before she could touch it. She pushed a button and lifted the receiver. “Rosie’s Posies.”

“Miss Rosie, we got a problem.” Ernest Throckmorton was a good twenty-five years her senior and the most reliable delivery driver a florist could want. He persisted with the “miss” as a sign of respect.

“What is it, Ernie? Did we give you a bum address?”

“No, ma’am. Van overheated. Radiator’s imitating a steam engine. I think she’s busted.”

Oh, Lord. What else could go wrong? Bad news usually came in threes, but she hoped it wasn’t the case this time. She turned her back to the prep room, sure her face reflected her anxiety.

Damage control, Rosie. You’re the boss, remember?
At least she still had the retired delivery van, it’s only service use these days to handle overflow during a big wedding. “All right. Give me your location. I’ll shuttle my van to you and arrange for the garage to tow that one.” Which meant she’d have to rent transportation for a few days.

Another expense she could ill afford.

She relayed the problem to Sara, jotted the phone numbers she needed in her planner and headed for her van. On the way to meet Ernie, she left instructions with the wrecker service, then dialed the number to Kool Katz.

Sales were steady, even good at times, but she wasn’t in a position to replace a three-grand unit, not after replacing the transmission and tires on the van last month. No telling how much a radiator would set her back. Automotive repairs were astronomical these days, but she might could convince the owner to let her pay installments.

The cost of a new van would be catastrophic. She didn’t even want to think about that possibility. This one had to stay in service at least another year.

Mr. Katz answered and she placed the repair order, startled when he reminded her it hadn’t been long since he’d serviced that particular unit.

Crap. Her apprehension, which began when Sara mentioned the Bing-Lassiter wedding, deepened dramatically.

She shouldn’t have socked the bulk of her profits into paying ahead on her business loan. Doing so had given her the peace of mind that Dean wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if he tried to cause her trouble financially, but it had left her with little ready cash for emergencies.

Going to Dean, the local bank’s loan officer, with her hand out? Not in this lifetime. Not even with her family around her for protection. Controlling bastard that he was, and with a grudge against her for dumping him, he’d take great satisfaction in trying to ruin her.

Rosie shuddered. Exposing herself to Dean’s abuse wasn’t an option. Better she pray that her mounting problems would develop silver linings.

CHAPTER THREE

E
ver since he’d come perilously close to kissing Rosie for real last night, Sam had been imagining her in the role Bill described, despite the fact there was no real reason for her to consider such a proposition.

She was practical, and except for the whole attraction thing he couldn’t seem to shake, she was convenient too. Dependable. Today she was mostly distracted and nervous. He’d be willing to bet that was his fault after that “sweet dreams” stunt he’d pulled. 

“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.

* * *

R
osie 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.