All-American Girl (8 page)

The nurse rushed in, took one look at Samantha’s hand, and called for the doctor. Samantha really hated being fussed over, and the feeling of a total stranger touching her hand made her antsy. She desperately wanted to pull away. When the doctor asked what had happened, Samantha spilled the fact that she’d also bumped her head. Before she knew it, his fingers were probing it, too. God, it hurt when he touched it. That flash of light in the eye thing really irritated her, too. The brightness made her eyes contract painfully, and she was barely able to bite back a curse.

With her hand and head stitched and prodded, Samantha also discovered she had a mild concussion. The doctor told her someone should keep an eye on her that night and that she’d need to be woken up every hour. Yeah, right. She’d been sleeping alone for over a year. Truly, it’d been longer if you counted the distance between her and her ex-husband before that. One more night wasn’t going to kill her.

“Dear,” Dorothy said after the doctor left the room, “maybe you should stay here tonight.”

The invitation touched a place in Samantha’s heart that she’d closed off long ago. It was begging to be opened, but Samantha couldn’t yet. She wasn’t ready.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have to some stuff to sort out at your house. We have to get it ready for when you come home.”

Gram nodded skeptically. “All right.”

Samantha took a seat next to the bed. “Gram, tell me about Cole.”

Gram’s face softened, and she smiled. “What about him?”

Samantha sighed. “What’s he been up to?”

“He’s been working at the shop for the last several months.”

“Did you stop working at the shop?”

“Yes, I did.” Gram face showed a hint of pain. Samantha once again cursed the fact that she hadn’t been around to help.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been here to help.”

“Oh, dear, don’t be sorry. Cole is quite the little worker. I stayed around for a few weeks to make sure he got good and settled in. He’s actually been helping me out for quite some time. About a year actually.”

That would be about the same time Gram added Cole to her bank accounts. Cole had been taking advantage of Gram for a year. Samantha rose and walked to the foot of the bed. She picked up Gram’s favorite yellow cotton blanket and folded it neatly, lining the corners up. Unsatisfied, she shook it out and folded it again. And again.

“Samantha, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, just making sure it’s perfect for you.”

“Thank you. Is something wrong?”

Samantha’s hands clenched tightly around the blanket. She folded it one last time, laid it down, and smoothed a hand over it. She bit firmly on the inside of her lip. “How long has it been since you’ve been to the shop?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it’s been a while. Don’t worry, though—Cole is taking good care of the shop. I’m certain of that.”

Tension flared, coiling Samantha’s already-tense muscles. As upset as she was, she was determined not to let Gram see the monster she’d turned into. She took ten deep breaths and repeated the mantra of needing finesse. And sympathy. And compassion. And anything else Dr. Wade had told her.

“That’s great,” she said, hitching a tight smile onto her face. “I would like to talk to Cole. Have you seen him lately?”

Gram smiled wavered. “No, actually. He mentioned something about having to visit a friend a while back. I think he took a short sabbatical to visit. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

Samantha groaned inwardly. Yeah, Cole took a vacation all right—with Gram’s money. He was back in town, and Gram didn’t even know it. What a jerk. “I hate to run, but I should go home and rest. I’d like to catch up some more and talk about Cole. I’ll come back to see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure, dear. I’ll be here.”

“Even if you stumble, you’re still moving forward.”
~Unknown

L
ANCE
P
ULLED
I
NTO
T
HE
R
ECOVERY
C
ENTER
and got out with Samantha heavy on his mind. She’d looked badly hurt and had blown it off like it was nothing; he’d wanted to shake some sense into her and scoop her up and carry her to the hospital himself. She would’ve screamed the whole way. She’d always been stubborn. A twinge in his gut made him want to work out whatever distance lay between them.

Lance walked into Dorothy’s room and smiled. She was sitting up, gently stroking a brush through her short hair. It may have seemed like a small act, but it was progress from previous weeks. He’d seen her at her worst, unable to talk or walk. A part of him was glad Samantha hadn’t had to witness that.

“Hey, Dorothy,” he said. She turned around at the sound of his voice and smiled brightly. He touched her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “You look well.”

“I feel pretty good.” Dorothy put the brush down and looked inquisitively in Lance’s direction. “Have you seen Samantha?”

He sat down. “Yes, why?”

She laid a frail hand over his. “She left here earlier, and she was hurt. She went home to rest.”

“I know. I was there when it happened. I’m going to check on her later.”

She patted his knee. “That’s sweet of you. But there’s something else wrong with her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I can see it in her eyes. I’m worried about her. She won’t talk to me about it.”

Lance grasped Dorothy’s hand. “I think she’s adjusting. It’s been a while since she’s been here. It’s probably not like New York.”

“Maybe you’re right. I hope it’s nothing else.”

“Don’t worry about Samantha, Dorothy. I’m trying to help her navigate her way now that she’s home.”

Dorothy squinted and tilted her head. “That’s good of you. I wish I was stronger. I could help her. She doesn’t seem to want my help, though.”

Lance shook his head. Samantha needed
a lot
of help. Dorothy, as good hearted and giving as she was, would have a hard time with this new Samantha.

“I think she feels guilty for being away so long. Give her some time to settle in. I’ll take care of her until then,” he said. The words came so easily, without thought to the implications. He’d wanted to help Samantha from the first moment he’d seen her. Sure, maybe some of it was for his own benefit—after all, he wanted to know why she’d left him and why she was spiteful to him now. But in the meantime, because he’d battled some bad things and gotten over them—with help from others—he wanted to extend that same courtesy to Samantha. For Dorothy. For Samantha. For himself.

“Thank you, Lance. You’re a good man. I’m a lucky old lady.”

“I just want to do right by you. I’ve got it covered.”

Samantha strode through the front door of her grandmother’s home, threw her belongings to the floor, and headed to the liquor cabinet. Cole had shown her the pains of being addicted to the bottle and she wasn’t much of a drinker, but at this moment, she needed a stiff one that burned all the way down her throat. And most importantly, one that would make the banging in her head go away.

This one night she would indulge. She flung open the glass doors to the cabinet, ready to forget her problems. And Lance.

She grabbed the whiskey decanter and glass out of the cabinet.

Where exactly did Lance fit into this picture? He was always right there: at the hospital, at the diner, in the middle of the damn sidewalk. She poured herself a larger amount than normal, put the glass to her lips, and downed the contents—enjoying the charring of her throat as she sucked in that first breath. Glass number two came quickly after the first when she remembered her head wasn’t the only thing that was throbbing because of Lance.

With warmth flowing through her, she cradled the decanter in one hand, the glass in the other, and headed for the living room. Her laptop and book notes were sprawled on the coffee table. She frowned when she saw the mess she’d made. She hadn’t made a dent in her manuscript since she arrived in Burlington, and that didn’t help her mood. Her therapist had once told her to
take it easy
and
everything will come naturally.
Yeah, right.

Wallowing in her own self-pity, which she knew would only lead to trouble, she shuffled through the paperwork, surfed the Internet, and briefly contemplated calling Jenny. Jenny always found a way to make Samantha feel better. Her head started to fuzz from a few more shots, and Samantha considered the fact she’d never told Jenny how much she appreciated her. She wondered how much of a mistake that was.

She’d also never told her grandmother, although the words were always on the tip of her tongue. She’d destroyed so many of her relationships in the past year. Well, not just the past year. In her lifetime. Could she not get anything right?

She pushed the laptop away and rose from the chair. The room swirled before her eyes. Bed. That was what she needed: to rest her aching head and relax her mind.

A loud knock at the door had her squinting. Her body felt good, like liquid, as she glided across the floor to answer the door. But her head throbbed and swam. She peered through the peephole and had to blink several times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

Flinging open the door, she placed one hand on it, the other propped lazily on the doorframe. She stared curiously at the uninvited guest, trying her best to find her suddenly missing balance.

“Stalking is illegal in all fifty-two states, Lance.”

He smiled at her, his dark eyes combing over the features of her face. “As you once said, don’t flatter yourself.”

Samantha huffed and moved away from the door with the full intention of slamming it in his face, but she fumbled. Before she could get it shut, he strode into the foyer.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He stood and stared at her with his legs slightly parted, one hand tucked into the pocket of his dark-wash jeans. All he must have in his closet were shirts a bit on the small side; this time he wore a blue one. She had to force her eyes back up to his face, where she found him looking intently at her. Chills raced down her spine.

She wondered if she could mend her relationship with him. She’d been trying with everyone else—really she was—so maybe, just maybe, she should try with him. Forgetting their past was not an option…but maybe forgiveness was? After all, he’d been cordial—mostly. Maybe he had been taking the high road, showing how much their past hadn’t affected him. Well, the past hadn’t affected her, either.

Liar.

In any case, maybe she should get on that high road, too.

“Candice said you were in need of a carpenter.” He thrust his longs arms out to his sides. “Here I am.”

Samantha narrowed her eyes. Sneaky Candice had left out an important part of her construction friend’s identity. “Am I supposed to bow at your feet?”

He took one step toward her, and a lump lodged in her throat. His lips were firmly set. It made Samantha’s mind flicker back the time they’d been pressed to hers. The heat intensified.

“Seeing as how you’re in need of help and I’m here to give it…yes,” he replied.

Oh, he could help her all right, but Samantha doubted he intended that kind of
help.
She wasn’t old enough to have hot flashes, was she? With her minded all fogged up and her body feeling as though it could fly, she actually thought about kissing him.

“Hello…” Lance waved a hand in front of her face. “Anyone home?”

Her eyelids fluttered as she focused on him. He looked sexy…touchable. The cocky, devastatingly wicked grin he always used on her flashed across his masculine features. This time, she didn’t want to say something rude—she wanted to throw herself at him and drown in her desires.

“Hello,” he said again. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, um—I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look…” He paused and took another small step in her direction. “Dazed. Are you hurt from this morning?”

“No, no—I’m fine.” Well, at least she hoped she was. Her brain was buzzing, and excitement prickled her skin. She strode past him to the living room. Her hand trailed across his forearm, and she gloried in the confused look that flickered across his face. “Come and sit down. We can talk about the house.”

Samantha made her long steps deliberate and as smooth as she could. She planted herself on the couch and patted the cushion next to hers. Lance shrugged and sat down in the chair across from her.

She propped her elbows on her knees, cupped her face, and tried her best to look like the world wasn’t tilting around her. “When Candice told me she had a friend who could help me—I’m sorry—but the last person I expected her to send over was you.”

He examined her face. “Do I bother you?”

She shrugged carelessly and leaned back against the cushions. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, it’s good to see you.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think my hearing is working. Did you just say it’s good to see me?”

She flashed a grin and nodded. “Don’t be so uptight. All right, I’ll admit it—I’ve been rude to you.” She waved her hands before loosely folding them in her lap. “But I’ve had a right to be.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. Samantha didn’t know if he was upset or relieved. He had a very good poker face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.” Dealing with the past and how hurt she’d been was nowhere on her to-do list. “So, you do construction?”

His eyebrows rose. “Changing the subject?”

She didn’t answer him.

“I get it. Yes, I own a construction company. I do some of the work myself, but I have a fairly large crew as well.”

Samantha didn’t miss the proud tone in his voice or the way his eyes shimmered when he spoke. “Did Candice tell you what Gram needs?” she asked.

“Not exactly.” He shifted his weight in the chair and brought an ankle up to rest on the opposite knee. “But that’s okay. I’ve been in contact with your grandmother, and I think I pretty much know what will have to be done.”

That made her pulse jump. “What do you mean, you’ve been in contact with Gram? Well, aside from the obvious lies you told while I was gone?”

He rose from the chair and headed for the foyer. “Don’t worry about that right now. Let me show you what improvements the house will need.”

He was hardheaded and stubborn, much like herself, but he took things seriously. If she let him do the work, she wouldn’t have to worry about anything. That settled her. As she rose from her seat, clutching the armrest so she didn’t fall on her face, she once again felt the urge to show Lance not only what Gram needed, but what she needed as well.

Lance walked around the house, talking about three-foot doorways big enough for a wheelchair, lowering the countertops in the kitchen, putting a new tub in the downstairs bath, converting the sitting room into a bedroom, and adding a ramp to the front porch. He measured and calculated as Samantha trailed behind him. She tried to follow what he was saying, but the heat scorching her senses garbled his words. She focused on the thickness of his arms, the strong set of his jaw, the broad width of his shoulders. And his hands. They were strong and powerful as he waved them around, illustrating his thoughts. Samantha licked her lips.

“Anything else you would like to add, Sam?” They’d stopped in the foyer, less than a foot apart. This time, Samantha didn’t feel constricted by the lack of space between them. Instead, she felt oddly content and wanted to close the distance.

“Stop calling me Sam.” That was the only thing her mind would spit out. She was confused and aching in all the right—no,
wrong—
places. She hated that she had an urgent need to sleep with the man she hated.

But her therapist had told her to mend old bridges, give people a first chance
and
a second. Come to think of it, her therapist had a lot of stuff she wanted Samantha to do.

“Yes, I do have something to add,” Samantha said. “How much is this going to cost? It’s a lot of work.”

“I’ll work up the bid and bring it by the store. Don’t worry, though—it will be less than you expect.” He was doing it again, giving her that brooding stare that made her insides churn.

It was less than one step. One step and she could ask for what she wanted. What her body needed. Feeling confident, she took that step and put her hand in his.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He tilted his head as an unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes. The gray darkened as his hand gripped hers. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. Yes—she was feeling better by the second. So what if her head was spinning, if the floor moved around her, if her vision wasn’t quite steady.

She touched her lips to his. It sent a shock through her body that tipped the room upside down. His lips were soft, smooth, and to Samantha’s surprise, eager. She enticed him
further, parting her lips
and leaning into him. When his arms wrapped around her, his lips parted and invited her in. She moaned.