All-American Girl (6 page)

Samantha had promised Candice this breakfast, and with everything she had, she was going to show Candice there was more to her now. The only problem was, Samantha hadn’t managed to control any of her emotions thus far—so what would make this visit any different?

A rush of smells greeted Samantha when she stepped through the doorway: bacon, pastries, and dark coffee all mixed with perfume and sweat. A swarm of people bustled about and filled booths and chairs. Dishes and silverware clanged, people laughed and chatted, and cooks called out orders from behind the counter. Waitresses whizzed past. Someone bumped into her from behind. It was a far different scene from the night before, and she wondered if her timing was bad.

Just as she turned to walk out, Candice caught her arm in a light grip. “Hey, Samantha.”

“Umm, I was just—”

“I know it looks crazy, but don’t worry. We’ve got it under control.” Candice’s familiar carefree smile made Samantha want to reach out and hug her.

Where had that thought come from? Samantha hadn’t hugged anyone voluntarily in well over a year. She normally loathed just the thought. But the peaceful look on Candice’s face, despite the madness of the diner, calmed Samantha’s nerves about the meeting. How odd.

“Yeah,” Samantha finally said. “I thought I caught you at a bad time.”

“Nonsense.” She pulled Samantha through the crowd of people and placed her at an empty booth in the far corner. “I’m pretty good at multi-tasking,” she said with a wink. “Plus, I have good staff, which means I’m due for a break.” Candice slid into the seat opposite Samantha and gave her another one of those heartwarming smiles.

“Your staff?”

“Yes,” Candice laughed. “This is my diner.”

Her diner?
Candice couldn’t even cook s’mores when they were in Girl Scouts together. How in the world had she managed to open a diner?

“That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, well—it keeps me busy, but I’ve still got time for old friends.”

Samantha sheepishly gazed around the busy room. Dishes clashed and people bustled about. She brought her focus back to Candice, astounded at the coolness—and eagerness—she saw there. And control. Despite the chaos, Candice looked completely in control. A twinge of jealously jumped into Samantha’s mind.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Candice asked.

“Uh…yeah. Sure.”

“Let me run and get you a menu.”

As Candice walked away, Samantha noticed the proud and authoritative way she walked through the crowd. Yes, she mused, still a bit aggravated at the thought, Candice was very much in control. Candice returned to the table, and Samantha took the menu she held out.

A moment later, a little boy burst out from behind the counter.

“Roar!” He held the toy dinosaur in the air and ran circles through the crowd. He caught Candice and Samantha staring at him and made a beeline for their booth.

“Guess what?” he called out enthusiastically as he came to halt in front of them. “I’ve almost finished that project I started yesterday. It’s really good, too.” An adorable dimple appeared when he grinned. The boy shot her a glance and ducked his head toward Candice.

“That’s wonderful, Jax!” Candice said. “I would like to introduce you to Samantha Moore, an old friend of mine.”

His timid eyes met Samantha’s, cute and shy. Samantha held out her hand. “Hello. I’m Samantha. It’s nice to meet you.”

His small hand gripped hers, and she gave it a quick shake. A grin split across his face. Completely mesmerized by him, she couldn’t help but smile in return.

“I’m Jax!”

He was adorable, she had to admit. His dark hair was cut short on the sides and left in bouncy curls on the top, and his eyes, silver as the moon, seemed oddly familiar. Samantha did have a soft spot for children. They were helpless and innocent. She thought about her relationship with her stepdaughter, Ava, and all the fun things she missed doing with her, as well as the little angel’s soft laugh and bright smile. Her heart clenched.

“Well hello, Jax,” Samantha replied with a bright smile of her own. She turned her attention to Candice. “Is he your son, Candice?”

“Oh, no, this is…” Candice paused, and her expression showed a hint of uncertainty. “I’m babysitting.” She pulled Jax into her lap and gave him a warm hug. “This guy likes to hang out with me.”

“Because you make the best cookies in the world!”

Candice laughed. “Thank you, Sir Jax.”

“Can I have one?” he asked excitedly.

“Not until after ten. You know the rule.”

“Aw, Candy,” he said as he tried to put a pout on his too-cute face. “What time is it?”

“Ten minutes until ten.”

“But that’s almost ten!”

“Almost doesn’t really count, does it?” Candice replied.

Jax shook his head. “All right.”

“I was just about to get Samantha some breakfast. Would you like something?”

“Oh yeah! Bacon!”

“How about some milk to go with all the meat?” Candice asked.

Jax’s face scrunched up. “All right, milk, too. But do I still get the cookie afterward?” His eyes shot up innocently in Candice’s direction. It would be hard to say no to that face.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “You can still have the cookie afterward.”

“Yes!”

Candice turned her attention back to Samantha as she scooted Jax off her lap and rose from the booth. “So, what would you like for breakfast?”

Samantha hadn’t had time to look over the menu, so she opted for bacon and eggs. When Candice disappeared into the kitchen, Jax took the seat across from Samantha.

“How old are you, Jax?”

He bounced the dinosaur up and down on the table a few times, considering the question. “Ya’ know, Dad says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Aunt Candy said you were her friend, though.” He turned his big eyes to hers. “So…that means I can talk to you. Right?”

Had he called Candice his aunt? A knot formed in her stomach. Lance was Candice’s only sibling. Surely Lance wasn’t a father? She shook off that thought. Candice would’ve told her that.

“Yes, you’re right. Your dad sounds like a smart man.”

Jax nodded his head, another beaming smile spreading across his face. “He’s real smart. He knows how to build things and fix things. He’s trying to fix Mr. Johnson’s cat.”

“Hmm,” Samantha said, instantly intrigued. “Is he a vet?”

He giggled. “No, silly. I got red paint all over her. Dad promised Mrs. Johnson he would make her clean again.”

Samantha chuckled. She could picture a boy doing something like that. The cheerfulness she felt as she continued to talk to Jax wasn’t something she’d experienced in a long time, and she struggled to keep memories of holding Ava and sharing stories with her out of her mind. The Sunday brunches with pancakes in their pajamas. The long trips to the park to ride bikes. The endless hours reading stories at the library. The fun—the love. Samantha’s heart clenched painfully again, but she kept a smile on her face for Jax.

He told her all about his toys and the project he was working on for Candice, even telling Samantha he thought she was pretty. That melted her heart.

When Candice brought the food to the table, Jax was tucked into Samantha’s side of the booth. They were nestled close to each other, in a deep discussion about dinosaurs.

Candice set down the plates. “It seems you two hit it off.”

Samantha looked up at her before neatly lining her silverware up. “Yes, Jax tells me he’s quite the little handyman.”

“He is—his dad has seen to that.”

Samantha wanted to ask who the boy’s father was, but she bit her tongue. It wasn’t any of her business.

The three of them munched happily on their breakfast. The conversation flowed easily between them, from the beautiful Vermont weather to Candice’s diner. Jax had a lot to say as well. Samantha found it oddly comforting to have a conversation about nothing important. By the time Samantha was done with her meal, she felt somewhat happy. She hadn’t been expecting that.

Samantha looked down her watch. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late. I have a meeting at the shop in a few minutes with a carpenter. I have to go.”

Candice didn’t look surprised as she stood. “Are you having some work done somewhere?”

“Gram’s house. It needs some improvements before she can come home.”

Candice smiled mischievously at Samantha. “Oh, I know someone who could help.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this guy is great. I’ll give him your information and send him your way if that’s okay.”

“Yes, please,” Samantha said, relieved. The few people she had talked to on the phone weren’t helpful at all. She hated the way men thought they knew everything about everything. Up until now she had only found one carpenter who she even dared to invite for a quote, and based on the phone conversation, it wasn’t promising. Hopefully Candice’s contact would be a good one. “I’ve got to run.”

“That’s fine. It was good to sit and talk with you, Samantha.”

“Yes, it was. I mean—well, with you. Umm…” Saying thank you to anyone made her feel awkward. No one but Jenny had done anything for her in a long time, and Samantha hadn’t even thanked to her. God, she felt terrible for that. She had to start somewhere, so she forced out the words. “Thank you, Candice. Breakfast was nice.”

“Go ahead,” Candice said lightly. “We don’t want you to be late for your meeting.”

“Okay,” Samantha said as she turned to go.

“Bye, Samantha!” Jax called out.

“Bye, little man. See you around?”

“You bet!”

With that, Samantha straightened her shoulders and walked out of the diner, head held high. Although she still had a long way to go with her relationships and herself, she felt better than she had in a long time.

Baby steps.

“Fear, uncertainty and discomfort
are your compasses toward growth.”
~Unknown

L
ANCE
H
UNG
U
P
H
IS
C
ELL
P
HONE
and walked over to the hose at Mr. Johnson’s bungalow. He washed his hands for the tenth time and wiped them dry with a clean rag. Mineral spirits were a pain to get off. Traces of red paint from the cat lingered on his hands as well. At least Snowball was a light shade of pink now instead of bright red. Mrs. Johnson was still upset, but Lance promised he’d return tomorrow to try again.

Lance was glad Candice had called and mentioned how nice Samantha had been when she stopped in the diner. He would have to swing by and say thank you. His lips quirked—he would enjoy seeing her again. When he thanked her, he imagined the look on her face would be priceless.

Collecting his things, he walked to the curb and hoisted them into the bed of his truck. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Cole coming up the sidewalk. His limp made him easy to spot; he’d never gotten used to that prosthetic leg, even after so long.

“Well, if it isn’t the man himself,” Cole said, scratching the gut hanging over the cinched belt of his worn-out jeans.

Lance slammed the lid to his tool box and turned around. “Cole,” he acknowledged, not taking the bait.

“What?” Cole held his hands out to the side, his brown eyes narrowing into slits. “No warm welcome for me? No ‘how’s it been,’ or ‘glad to see ya’?” Cole jerked his arms up and stumbled, catching himself on the side of the truck.

Lance dusted off his pants and crammed the rag in his pocket. “When’d you get back in town?”

“Oh…about a week ago. I’m renting the old Harry place.” Cole jerked his thumb behind him.

Lance nodded. He hadn’t seen Cole in months, and he’d been wondering how he was doing, considering Cole was a heavy drinker. Cole looked okay, but by no means was he sober. What a shame. As a drunk, Cole was rude, overbearing, loud, and obnoxious. Cruel things no one should have to hear—ever—often came out of his mouth.

“Good to see you’re alive,” Lance replied. “I’ve been worried about you since you skipped out from the treatment center.”

Cole leaned against the hood. “Didn’t care much for it. Like the world better through my beer goggles.” He laughed, but Lance didn’t see anything funny about it.

“What?” Cole asked when Lance didn’t reply. “You too good to share a laugh with me?” He took a step forward and tripped over his own left foot. Lance caught him and helped him upright. “Get your hands off of me, damn it!” Cole squealed.

“Go home, Cole. You’re drunk.”

Cole shook it off and straightened his shirt. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’ve been doing that long enough.”

Lance shrugged. “I’ve only been trying to help. My stepfather was an alcoholic. I’ve seen what it does to people, to families. I don’t want to that to happen to you.”

“Bullshit. You think you know what’s best for me?”

“I didn’t say that. But—” Lance held his tongue. It wouldn’t do any good to fight with him. Lance had learned that lesson long ago. “If you don’t want my help anymore, fine. But I will ask you to do this: Your grandmother has been sick, and you should go see her at the recovery center on Grant Street.”

“Maybe.” Cole leaned against the truck again and cocked his eyebrow. “I stopped by Gram’s house late last night. There weren’t any lights on. A car in the drive with New York plates, though. Samantha back in town?”

Lance opened the passenger side door and grabbed a clean shirt off the seat. “Yup, she’s here to look after Dorothy.”

“’Bout time she came around to do something.”

“She’s not the only one who needs to do something.”

Cole slammed the truck door, barely giving Lance enough time to step out. He raked a hand through hair the exact auburn shade as Samantha’s. “What’s that supposed to mean? She’s been worthless for the past twelve years, hiding away in that penthouse or whatever she’s got, not caring about anyone but herself.” He poked a finger in his own chest. “Not caring about me. She left us because of you, you know.”

That opened the lid to Lance’s barely-restrained temper. “What did you say?”

“It’s your fault she left.”

“Yeah, you already told me that—remember? About how she thought I wasn’t good enough for her.” Lance yanked off his shirt and slipped on the clean one. “I remember it like it was yesterday, damn it.”

A dirty smile crossed Cole’s face. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how Samantha felt about you.”

“I know,” he ground out through clenched teeth. But it didn’t explain why she was so damn mean to him. He stepped toward Cole until only a few inches separated them. “But understand this: How Sam feels about me is none of your concern anymore. She’s a grown woman. I don’t want to hear you say things like that about your sister—your flesh and blood—ever again, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

Cole shrugged carelessly. “Fair enough. Maybe I’ll go by and see her later.”

“Make sure you’re cleaned up first,” Lance bit out.

Cole patted Lance’s shoulder as he limped back onto the sidewalk. “See you ’round, Lance.”

“Remember to go see your grandmother,” Lance called out. “And remember what I said about Sam.”

Lance jumped into the seat of his truck and rubbed his head, a dull ache looming behind his eyes. With Cole back in town and obviously looking to start trouble, Lance had more than Samantha to worry about. As much as Lance had tried to pull Cole back from the grips of the bottle, nothing had worked, and now Cole seemed ready to take his anger out on someone else. He hoped it wasn’t Samantha. Lance would hate to have to pound Cole into the ground for that.

Lance didn’t understand Cole’s frustration, but he understood the cause. Alcohol was an evil catalyst. He knew that firsthand.

The truck roared to life, and he headed toward the antique shop. He didn’t want to think much about why Samantha had left; the memory of Cole’s words alone tore his heart. To this day it didn’t make sense, and he guessed that’s what bothered him. Lance wasn’t blind. He remembered the years of longing he’d seen in Samantha’s eyes before that fateful night. He’d tried to block it out. The last thing he’d wanted to do back then was cause a rift between his best friend Cole and Samantha. Not only that, his sister was Samantha’s best friend. It was a recipe for disaster. So he did the only thing he could think of, calling her “Sam” and treating her like a brother. It had worked, until she grew up and filled out. Then, she started to touch him when she passed by, smile seductively and leave her sweet scent of lavender behind. It was more than a man could handle.

When she’d helped him get through one of the worst nights of his life, he’d caved, giving in to his need for her. It was wonderful, blissful, heat-inducing magic. Clumsy—but life changing. Until the
n, he’
d never known what it was like to be touched by someone who had wanted him for so long. He’d never known what it was like to touch someone
he’d
wanted for so long. He’d been looking forward to whatever the future had held.

When she left two days later without even saying goodbye, he’d been crushed. She’d left him with more questions than answers, and he’d been trying to figure them out ever since.

Samantha’s happiness in the aftermath of having breakfast with Jax and Candice hadn’t lasted long once she went back to the antique shop. Jason Newburg, the carpenter she had invited for a quote, was anything but polite. He was about her age, but his too-tight clothes were dirty and his two-day-old scruff made him look like a bum.

“Mr. Newburg,” Samantha said. She was already irritated with his lack of professionalism. The man wasn’t very smart or prepared for their meeting—he hadn’t even brought a pen or pencil. “I think you need to see the house before giving me some random quote, don’t you?”

They were seated on stools next to the counter. Mr. Newberg brushed his hand across Samantha’s leg. It wasn’t an accident. She gritted her teeth.

“Standard ADA guidelines,” he replied. “Three foot doorways, lowered kitchen counters, a front ramp, lowered stool with handle bar on the side—same type thing for the shower. I’ve done it all a million times. All I need to know is how many bathrooms and doors, and I can give you a
firm
estimate.”

Samantha chilled at the word “firm.” He made it sound foul. His eyes flickered, and his hand swept across her thigh again, making her jump up and take a step back.

“I think,” Mr. Newburg said, rising from his stool, “that you should come to dinner with me tonight. We could work out more of the details.”

Samantha did her best to keep her temper in check. All men were scum,
especially
overweight, stinky contractors who had no concept of boundaries.

“I’m a practical person, Mr. Newburg, but I find it hard to believe you can give such an estimate. Not only that, I’m a numbers girl. I need numbers—hard and real numbers—before making any decisions. If you can’t give me those, I’m afraid we won’t be working out any more details.”

“Go to dinner with me.” He stepped toward her.

Samantha moved back and found herself pinned against the counter. The stench of his chewing tobacco made her want to vomit.

“I think we could work well together.”

She put a hand on his chest, trying her best to maintain what little distance remained between them. “No thank you. I’m afraid dating is not high on my list of priorities while I’m in town. I just need the estimates. If you can’t give me those in a professional manner, then you need to leave.”

His face flashed a hint of confusion, quickly replaced by frustration. “I’m the only one in town who can satisfy your needs, Miss Moore.”

Her gag reflex twitched as statement brought some disturbing images to mind. “I highly doubt that. There are other carpenters in town. Back off.
Now.”

He leaned closer, and she clenched her hands into fists, perfectly willing to punch him if it came to that.

“But—” Mr. Newburg voice was cut off as he was jerked back by his collar. Samantha blinked. Lance stood a few feet away, the fat carpenter tight in his grip.

“Jason.” Lance’s deep voice echoed through the shop.

It gave Samantha the chills. The good kind.

“I believe Sam said to back off. You didn’t. I think you owe her an apology.”

Jason struggled against Lance’s hold but quickly fell still. “I was just asking her out. No harm, no foul.”

“I beg to differ. She obviously wasn’t interested and you kept pressing. That’s rude.”

“She would’ve been interested if you hadn’t interrupted.”

“Are you
insane?”
Samantha shot out.

“See?” Lance asked. “You’ve offended her. Apologize.”

Mr. Newberg rolled his eyes but obeyed. “I’m sorry.”

Jason stumbled the entire way to the door as Lance shoved him out. “Don’t bother coming back,” Lance said as the door closed quietly behind the man.

Lance.
His name echoed in her head as he turned back in her direction.

She tried her best for casual, but after one glance at his broad shoulders, tightly encased in a red T-shirt, her mind went to places it shouldn’t go. The way he stared at her made her want to double-check her appearance in a mirror. He tilted his head in a cocky fashion, intently gazing at her. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, and he looked smug, yet concern creased his brow. It was both intimidating and alluring at the same time.

Why did her legs feel so heavy? She was stuck in place, unable to take a step closer to him, which she suddenly wanted to do. What the hell had gotten into her?

“Lance,” she said. She forced her right foot to take a step back. Then her left.

“Sam,” he replied in an all-too-smooth tone. The hairs on the back of her neck instantly stood at attention.

His boots thudded on the wooden floor as he walked in her direction. Damn him for being in all the right places at the right times. He’d saved her butt twice now—yesterday at the diner and now from a brute of a man who couldn’t take no for an answer. God, would she actually have to thank him twice too? Not on her life.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she shuffled papers on the counter, making sure the corners and edges were lined up.

“Well,” he said lightly, though his expression reflected concern, “it seems I was saving you from a rather uncomfortable situation.”

His eyes gleamed confidently and made him look both ridiculously handsome and annoying at the same time. She hated the handsome part more; it was harder to ignore.

“What situation? I had everything under control.”

“Didn’t look like it to me.”

“Well, Lance, I don’t care what it looked like to you.” She stopped shuffling the papers and moved away from the counter. She needed to keep her hands busy, her eyes focused on something—anything but Lance. She was irritated he thought she actually needed rescuing. In New York, Samantha had dealt with much bigger slime-bags than Mr. Newburg. He would have been no problem for her. She moved to the glassware on the far wall and rearranged it, turning them so the designs matched up.