Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1) (2 page)

Amy inadvertently glanced over at him, listening to his rhythmic breathing. In that moment, she took the opportunity to stare unabashed at Sam. There, in the soft shadows of this mysterious man, she could see the hints of his old self. Instead of offering her comfort the way she had thought it might, she found herself wondering what had given Sam this new callused and pensive roughness. It wasn't unappealing – to the contrary; Amy realized she was drawn to him more than she had ever been before.
It's just so startling
.

Over the next several days, Sam did very little of the relaxing he had claimed to want. From what Amy could see, he spent enormous amounts of time working out; running, doing push-ups, and lifting weights. She would have thought all the physical exertion would make him more tired, but he seemed to have a limitless supply of energy. He always awakened before she got up, and was still up long after she went to bed. His behavior concerned her, but she tried to dismiss it, assuming it was normal for anyone who had become accustomed to the active lifestyle of the military.

The first time Sam joined Amy for lunch, she had been surprised at his request to eat together. This quickly became a daily occurrence for Sam to join her for her mid-day meal. Along with this new routine, she noticed that he never really ate. He just fiddled around with his food, as though he lacked any appetite. It didn't seem to matter what they chose, he had no interest in food. As this habit persisted, Amy started to wonder if Sam's lack of sustenance was the cause of his haggard appearance.

When Sam wasn't engaging in some sort of physical activity, he was helping Amy with her work. She found this odd, but nice, particularly in the case of the cleaning. In the past, Sam had always been a bit of a slacker, avoiding any unnecessary chores or responsibilities. Now, he seemed to relish anything that occupied his mind and allowed his body to be in motion, no matter how tedious the task might be.

Part of Amy's job was to make sure the office areas were presentable in case a visitor showed up. This meant that every morning she swept and mopped the office floor, washed the windows, and cleaned the powder room. While custodial duties were not her favorite aspects of the job, she did them and did them well. No one would ever have cause to complain that she did not take pride in her work.

During this time, Sam really didn't talk much, which suited her quiet nature. He simply made himself available, carrying the cleaning supplies, holding the dustpan, and washing the upper windows so Amy wouldn't have to drag out a stool. She was struck over and over by how tense he remained, despite their easy companionship. Even the ringing of the telephone and the slamming of the door startled him. Overall though, he proved to be a pleasant companion, and she took pleasure in his company.

Amy enjoyed having Sam close, despite the awkward moments when she found herself taking a slightly deeper breath to take in his scent or fighting the impulse to run her hand across his bicep as he flexed the muscle, whether scrubbing a window or lifting weights. It might have been easier to be in such an intimate proximity to Sam if she hadn't been nursing a schoolgirl crush on him. She had been smitten with him since the age of fourteen and now had grown so used to experiencing that particular pang of yearning, she really wouldn't have felt right without it. Still, even she amazed herself with how much her attraction to him had grown.

Finally, Saturday evening arrived, and with it, over two dozen guests. Amy had tried to keep the number of party invitations small at Sam's request, but Dustin had overruled them both. There was no way to suppress his excitement at having his son home from the war, safe and sound, and he was determined to share his exuberance with everyone he knew. In respect to his dad, Sam just sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

Amy and Janie carried in trays of snacks to place on the buffet table while Dustin and Sam dragged in a gigantic cooler of sodas and beer. They were immediately mobbed by thirsty guests. Sam snagged an icy longneck and retreated to the sofa in the large open area that comprised of the living and dining rooms. Amy couldn't help following Sam with her eyes, acutely aware of where he was and what he was doing.

Several people joined him, some squeezing around him on the multicolored, geometric print couch. One bold young woman actually perched on the arm of the couch, hanging over Sam with her enticing cleavage exactly at his eye level. Amy felt uncomfortable and embarrassed by the overt display of sexuality.
Get real, girl. You're jealous. That's why you're so angry.
The feeling surprised Amy with its intensity.
And what right do you have to be mad? He can choose anyone he wants.

“Would you look at that?” Amy commented to the ranch chef.

Looking in the direction her friend had indicated, Janie responded in a carrying whisper, “If she leans over any more, she'll be feeding them to him.” She shook her head. “Glad I'm staff tonight. Good luck with the other guests.” With that she sprinted back through the cutout access way to the industrial kitchen, her crimson ponytail bobbing.

The overly friendly guest must have heard the comment because she slid off the arm of the sofa and moved to a more appropriate seat…on a chair. Of course, she still managed to position herself so she was seated as close to Sam as she could possibly be without actually crawling into his lap. Amy turned away in disgust and withdrew into the shadows to watch the party.
I hate crowds,
she thought with a shudder. Small talk and schmoozing weren't her forte, but no sooner had she found a place to hide out than her employer arrived, blustering as usual.

“Amy, my dear, splendid party. The place looks great,” he boomed. Amy winced as the noisy bellow drew several sets of eyes their direction.

“Thank you, Mr. Wallace,” Amy said in the quiet tone she always used with Dusty.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he continued more softly.

“Oh?” Amy wondered what her employer needed. She couldn't think of anything missing.

“Whenever I look for Sam, he always seems to be with you,” Dustin began, “so you've spent plenty of time with him. Do you think something's wrong with my son?”

Amy didn't even pretend to be confused. “Yes.”

“Well, find out what it is and tell him to get over it.” Dustin's insensitive blustering made Amy grimace. Her hand tightened on the neck of her soda bottle. “He's so gloomy I don't know what to do with him.”

“Don't forget, sir,” Amy murmured, drawing back a half-step from Dustin's proximity, “he's just come back from war. We don't really know what he's seen and experienced. It might have been very traumatic.”

“Nonsense!” Dustin bellowed, drawing fresh glances. “I spent four years in the military when I was his age, and I was never traumatized.”

“Was it wartime, sir?” Amy pressed.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, considering, before finally admitting, “Not really, no.”

Amy didn't say anything further.

“Well, talk to him, would you? Find out what's bothering him. He'll talk to you. He's sure spent enough time with you over the last week.” Dusty stomped away without another word, leaving Amy in a tizzy of embarrassment as she speculated what exactly he meant.

Surely, Dustin wasn't implying that Amy was taking up all of Sam's time. That would be ridiculous. Amy had done nothing to pursue or encourage Sam, though the truth was she would have liked to. Still, she would never dream of infringing upon Mr. Wallace's precious time with his son.
I should have told him to speak to Sam himself
, she thought and then she blushed deeply at the idea of being so rude to her beloved employer. No, as she always had, she would comply with the demands Dustin placed on her and she'd find out what was going on with Sam.

It wasn't unusual for Dusty to ask Amy to run interference between him and his son. Having grown up on the ranch, Amy was one of Sam's closest friends and there was no one Dusty trusted more than Amy, save for Janie. Since Amy was used to the rough rancher performing the role of 'father' in her life, she simply obeyed him, usually without question. Some times that tendency backfired, biting her in the ass by entangling her in matters she should never have been involved in, but she couldn't help it; she was her mother's daughter, after all.

Soon the party was in full swing. As the supply of beers dwindled, the energy of the crowd became self-sustaining. People were enjoying the party for its own sake, leaving the guest of honor more or less alone. However, they were becoming increasingly boisterous, and the noise level was rising. Amy was considering whether she could legitimately sneak away from the crowd when Sam caught her eye. He was as taut as a bowstring, almost quivering with tension.

Amy sidled over and laid her hand gently on his arm. Sam practically exploded from the slight touch, and Amy took a hasty step backwards. He noticed her retreat and his expression turned chagrined and flustered.

“I've got to get out of here,” he spat though gritted teeth.

Amy gave a slight nod in acknowledgement and said, “Come with me.”

Tentatively, Amy reached over to grab ahold of Sam, nervous about his potential reaction to her touch. When he gave no resistance, she applied a gentle pressure on his arm and led him out of the room. They hurried down the hallway, around several corners, and finally arrived at a tiny suite of rooms near the back of the house. There, a squashy black sofa waited invitingly in the sitting area, and Sam sank into it, burying his face in his hands.

Amy tucked herself in beside him and laid one of her hands on his knee. Sam looked up as though about to speak, and then scooped Amy into his lap. Sam's whole body was shaking, so she wrapped her arms around him and held him, wanting him to feel her presence.

Sam rested his forehead against her shoulder as he clung to her. Amy gently stroked his hair, making soothing, wordless noises. Eventually the moment passed and he lifted his head. His dark eyes glowed unnaturally bright and he had a hint of an apology in his expression.

“What's wrong, Sam?” she asked, her voice tender.

He shook his head. “I can't talk about it.”

“You might feel better if you did,” she urged.

His breath hitched. “No. I don't even want to think about what might happen if I let it out, Amy. Don't ask it of me.”

“What can I do then? I hate seeing you like this.” She trailed her fingers over his lips, accentuating the downward curve.

“Help me forget!” he exclaimed. Then he seemed to crumple, his face contorting in pain and anguish.

Amy trailed her fingers down his cheeks and under his chin, pressing upward so he met her eyes again. “How?”

In lieu of an answer, Sam cupped Amy's cheeks in his hands and brought her face close to his. “You know how,” he told her softly a moment before his mouth claimed hers.

It wasn't their first kiss. One long ago Christmas, Sam had caught her under the mistletoe, and, under the influence of far too much eggnog, had kissed her senseless, and more. If it hadn't been for that night, she might almost have gotten over him by now; at least enough to move on, date, something. Instead, she'd been trapped in him for years. And now it was starting all over again.

This time was different though. Sam tasted of beer, but he was sober as he held Amy's face captive and lavished her with the burning heat of his mouth. Amy felt the flames licking her, making her cheeks flush, her body temperature rise. And then it was more than flames licking her. It was Sam, pressing her lips with his tongue, tracing the full curving lines before pressing at the seam, urging her to open, to let him in. Instinctively, she knew he was asking for an invitation into more than just her mouth. Her acquiescence to his penetrating kiss would ultimately give him approval to any other openings he desired.

She pulled back, extricating herself from his grasp though remaining in his lap. “Sam, please.”

“What?” He gave her bewildered eyes.

She tilted her chin, pride finally overcoming shyness. “Don't do this. Not again.”

“Again?” he queried, one eyebrow quirked.

“Did you forget?”
And did I know such a sarcastic drawl even existed in me, especially where Sam is concerned?

His false smile faded, leaving the devastating bleakness behind. “No. I haven't forgotten. I took advantage of you that night and I treated you badly afterwards.” He lowered his head, but not before shame flashed in his eyes. He turned away from her.

That's going too far. I won't have him flagellate himself over an event so long past – an event I wanted.
Refusing to allow his self-berating, she spoke firmly. “No.”

He curled his lips in that parody of a smile again. “Yes, I did. Shy, pretty Amy, with the longing eyes. I kissed you, and touched you, and took you to bed with me, knowing I could have you.”

Amy gulped.
That memory has never faded.
Suddenly lost in herself, she asked the question she'd never posed before. “Why did you?”

He touched her mouth with hesitant fingers. She kissed them, rewarding the touch. “I wanted to. I didn't stop and count the cost to you. I should have. I should have done so many things differently,” he said with remorse. “You deserved better.”

His hands set her body on fire, electrifying wherever they made contact with her. As they slid along her torso, her desire mounted and the growing bulge against her thigh told her she wasn't the only one affected.
He wants me. But do I dare let him get so close?

“And how is this different? How is this better?” she demanded to know.

His caressing fingers trailed over her neck. “Maybe it isn't. I don't know. I'm not sure I know anything anymore.”

The dark shadow cast across his face threatened to break her heart. The weight of his sadness hurt Amy almost beyond what she could bear, but fear set her heart pounding in equal measure.

He looked at her with longing. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” she asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” he replied with genuine interest. “I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone ever again. So, I'm asking this time and not just taking.”

Amy took a deep breath and spoke the truth from the depths of her soul, as she stared deep into Sam's beautiful, haunted eyes. “Don't forget, Sam, I was willing then too. And you asking makes a big difference.”

His hand closed on her shoulder. “Are you, baby? Are you really willing? If I took you through that little door right now and into your bedroom, would you stop me, or would you welcome me?”

Amy bit her lip as his question smoldered between them.