Sealed with a Kiss (14 page)

“I'll never forget that bug collection.” She rolled her eyes and shivered.

“You didn't do anything but squeal and hold the jar,” he reminded her. “I did all the dirty work.”

“And God bless you for that, Sam. I'd still be in sixth-grade science if you hadn't taken pity on me.”

“I owed you one for getting me through freshman civics.”

“Michigan?” She quizzed him without warning.

“Lansing,” he fired back.

“Rhode Island?” she demanded.

“Providence,” he said with a smug smile.

“Wisconsin?”

“Madison.”

“See? I told you once you got them down you'd never forget.”

“You may have given me too much credit.” He laughed and shook his head. “Years ago I was on a ten-day ride with a dozen other bikers from Houston to Maryland and back. When we stopped in Atlanta, I made a comment to our waitress about
the gold-domed building downtown and asked if it was a museum. When she told me it was the capitol building, I hung my head like a fool. The guys wouldn't let me lead the ride for the rest of the day.”

She smiled at the story. “Sam, if I've ever known a man who didn't deserve to call himself a fool, it's you.”

His eyes twinkled with interest. “What makes you say that? I've made some pretty foolish choices over the years.”

“If you have, you seem to have learned from them and nothing's holding you back from success now.”

She reached for his empty dinner plate and stood to clear the table. He jumped to his feet and reached for the serving platter.

“Sit down.” She swatted his hand away. “You're a paying guest, not the busboy.”

“I want to help,” he insisted.

“Then come start the coffee while I glaze our crème brûlée. Would you like to have dessert in the library?”

His eyes revealed his appreciation of her suggestion. As a boy, he'd often expressed his fascination for the room filled floor to ceiling with hundreds of volumes. His love for knowledge was a perfect fit for the room and the room was the perfect setting for the confessions she was determined to make.

 

Tara used a mini blowtorch to crystallize the sugar atop their custard while Sam attended to the coffeemaker. As they hummed along with the radio, a shiver of déjà vu shot up his spine. How many times, as kids, had they experienced the same companionable quiet in this kitchen? Categorizing bugs, memorizing multiplication tables and gluing planets onto their solar system orbits.

From the very beginning, they'd been comfortable together, understanding one another's needs and fears without words. No wonder he'd been her primary candidate when her thoughts had turned to marriage. All these years later, Tara appealed to him for those same reasons. And so many more.

But the things they had in common were no match for the deceptions he'd committed. No shame she felt the need to confess could compare with the guilt he'd bear the rest of his life once his lies were exposed.

He'd begun to pray again. Selfish prayers for a way out of the web that held him fast. God had already spoken to Sam's heart and he knew what had to be done. Tonight was the night.

“That was delicious,” he complimented the sweet, creamy custard.

“You think so?” she asked, reluctant to accept his praise.

“The entire meal was excellent, don't you reckon?” He leaned forward to set his cup and sau
cer on the centuries-old sea chest that served as a coffee table in the private library. “Worth every penny of my donation.” He winked and held up a hand to stop her protest over the money. “Thank you for going to so much trouble.”

She twisted on the sofa to face him and modestly tugged the silky dress over her bare knees. “I need to finish what I started in the garden earlier and I hope it won't spoil your dinner.”

With his heart aching from the worried frown on her face, he smiled to put her at ease and took her hand gently in his. “Don't worry. Just say what's on your mind.”

She squeezed his fingers and stared with huge blue eyes. “What happened almost ten years ago was all my fault, Sam. You were like a big brother to me for years and I had no right to imagine our friendship could ever be more than that. I was so ashamed when you left Beardsly. I knew if I'd just kept my fantasies to myself you would have stayed here, living out your dream and I'd at least have had you for my friend. But because I was determined to have my say, it cost you more than anyone could have imagined. I realize that no matter how hard I try, I can never make it up to you.”

“There's no need to make anything up to me, Rusty. You were being true to yourself by following your heart. I understand that now, much more than you know.”

“I hope you'll be able to forgive me for doing it again, but I can't help myself.” Her gaze dropped to where their fingers were twined together. “I love you,” she whispered.

He couldn't have heard correctly. His heart ricocheted against his rib cage. The noise thundered in his ears, drowning out all sound. He ducked his head to make eye contact with Tara. Their eyes met and the message in her electric gaze sent a shock through his system.

“I love you, Sam,” she repeated. “I never stopped loving you. Not ever.”

He was light-headed with hope and fear at the same time. “I don't know what to say,” he muttered stupidly.

“Don't say anything yet, because that's not all.” She took a deep breath and hurried on. “Grandmother had this cockamamy idea that if we were thrown together again, we'd find true love and live happily ever after. I knew that was her intention the day the will was read.”

She looked down to where she squeezed his hand tightly, as if for the last time. “Instead of telling you this months ago, I went along with it, hoping she might be right, praying Grandmother's scheme would work. But I'm finally accepting the fact that anything built on a false foundation is doomed to fail.”

Tara lifted glistening eyes. “At the risk of hav
ing you reject me again, Sam, I had to tell you the truth.” She exhaled with a loud whoosh and gave him a lopsided smile as a tear trickled down her cheek.

He untangled his fingers from hers and lifted his hand to trace a gentle touch over the wet streak. He couldn't force words past the lump in his throat, stuck there since the moment of her timid “I love you.”

A faraway sound penetrated the bubble of emotion that encased the cozy study. The high-pitched whine became an annoying alarm as it grew closer. Finally a shrill siren pierced the air demanding attention. Flashes of red light flickered across the walls as the wailing engine streaked past Sycamore House.

Tara gasped when the phone jangled on the sofa table behind them. Sam turned and grabbed the receiver, placing it in her hand. All trace of color fled from her face and her eyes flew wide in horror as she dropped the phone and jumped to her feet.

“It's the Elliott Building!”

I
n the wee hours of the morning, the final smoldering heat was no match for the scalding tears that burned Tara's eyes. Sam had left her side moments earlier to accompany the volunteer fire chief in an effort to survey what was left of the gutted brick structure.

As they'd watched in horror, the floor of Bridges had crumbled with a ghastly groan, sending the charred contents of her store plummeting atop the remains of Sam's shop. There was no need to wait for the official report. Beneath the streetlamps of the town square it was evident to everyone that the building was a total loss.

“Let's get you home,” Lacey insisted. She stood with her arm wrapped around her friend, the position Sam had left minutes before. “There's nothing
you can do here tonight and tomorrow you'll need a clear head when you talk to your insurance agent.”

“That will be a very brief conversation.” Tara's heart, giddy with relief a few hours earlier, was once again heavy with guilt. And this time it was all hers to bear, all her fault, all of her own making. No grandmother had pulled the strings. No Board of Regents had rushed to interfere. The blame was hers and hers alone.

“What do you mean?” Lacey questioned.

“I never increased the insurance,” Tara admitted. “The building is covered under the old policy, but the contents are lost.” Hours ago, like a storm surge, the realization had hit as Sam stood with his arm around her, a shield of protection. If not for his strength and support, she'd have crumpled to the ground under the weight of the moment as sure as the landmark structure across the street was crumbling before their eyes.

“But you had the papers. I saw them myself on your desk in Bridges.”

“And Sam made a special trip to the house to remind me to notarize and file them. I know exactly where they are. Where they…
were,
” she corrected as she stared through gritty eyes at the remains of their joint inheritance.

Sam's shop. His last hope.

“He'll understand, Rusty. Together you'll find a way to work this out.”

“I can't tell him.”

“If you don't, the insurance company will. The chief said they'll be out from Dallas as soon as the investigator's final report is filed. Four days at the most.”

“That should be enough.” Tara mentally calculated the time she'd need for the dreaded task. As much as she hated even considering what she had to do, it was the only way to make things right.

“Enough for what?” Lacey stepped in front of Tara, placing a hand on either shoulder. “Tell me what you're planning.”

“I'm going to use the one asset I have left. Grandmother's collection is worth a small fortune. At auction they'd bring considerably more, but I don't have that kind of time. I'm going to offer them directly to that dealer in Houston who's been pestering me. I know he'll snap everything up and then I'll have the money to replace Sam's stock and get Bridges going again.”

“Listen to me.” Lacey gave Tara a brief shake. “Tell Sam everything. Together you may be able to find another way.”

“I can't,” Tara insisted. “It's taken me ten years to put things right between us. His bitterness has turned to contentment these past couple of months and he's come back to God. If he finds he's lost everything again, thanks to me, he may not get over it this time. I'm the one left with a house full of valuable antiques and he's left with nothing, so we're right back where we started.”

“I don't agree, but I see what you mean.”

“Sam's such an honest businessman, so full of personal integrity, he'd expect me to take responsibility for what I've done and handle matters myself. I pray to God that'll make it easier for him to forgive me…again.”

“This fire is not your fault. Anything could have caused it.”

Tara shook her head, recalling orange flames and black plumes of smoke escaping from the upstairs windows as they arrived on the scene. “I can't remember checking the espresso machine when I left. That could be it.” She turned her head toward the charred ruins.

“No matter how it started, it's still not your fault and the sooner you get that through your head the better. Don't waste energy on self-recrimination. It's going to take everything you have for the next few months to rebuild and start over.”

“I don't have a few more months.” Tara closed her eyes and massaged her temples as one more realization surfaced. “I have to be back in New York in a week.”

“Maybe Ethan will extend your leave.”

“That's not an option. He made it perfectly clear before he left. Time's up. They need me back at work or they're going to fill my position.”

Lacey pulled Tara into a comforting hug.
“Father, we know all things work together for the
good of those who love You,”
Lacey began.
“We ask You to use this painful time to strengthen the bond between Tara and Sam and to teach them a new and powerful truth that will bless them forever. Amen.”

“Thank you,” Tara whispered past the knot in her throat.

Heavy footsteps came to a stop at her side and a large, warm hand rested on the small of her back. She raised her head to stare into the steely depths of Sam's eyes.

“There's nothing we can do tonight,” he confirmed. “Let's go home and get some rest so we can start fresh in the morning. We have a lot to do.”

“Sam, I'm so sorry.” Her voice broke.

He opened his arms and she stepped from Lacey's hug and found herself folded in Sam's strong embrace.

“Don't apologize, Rusty. Accidents happen. It'll take some time but we'll rebuild. That's what insurance is for.”

 

The congregation spilled through the front doors of the church, squinting against the bright sunlight. Conversation was split between the pastor's message, the previous weekend's fund-raiser and the fire at the Elliott Building. The common thread was the grace of God and the many forms it takes.

The final tally for Texas Treasure Days had ex
ceeded everyone's expectations. Dean Grant was making the rounds of all the worship services, showing his appreciation to the citizens of Beardsly for their generosity and support.

Pastor Ryan gave heartfelt thanks that it was property and not lives lost in last night's fire. He reminded his flock, “Only treasures stored up in heaven will last. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Tara sat beside Sam, her eyes downcast during most of the service, her mind a whirlwind of mixed emotions. The pleasure of his arrival to accompany her to worship was clouded by the turmoil over her secret plans to sell her grandmother's possessions. The drama of the fire had so overshadowed her words of love that she'd begun to wonder if Sam even remembered them.

Out in the parking lot, friends expressed their support. As Sam stood tall and accepted handshakes, he insisted over and over that the loss of his business was just another of life's learning experiences. Tara noted his relaxed stance and confident smile. Even after the night's ordeal and their terrible financial setback he was calm and at ease.

Her stomach churned at the thought of destroying what little peace he'd found. The importance of her mission grew with each passing moment. There was one chance to make it right and she prayed fervently that she was doing God's will.

 

“You gonna be all right?” Sam asked as they walked the pathway from the garage to the front porch.

“After I take a nap and think all this through, I guess I will be.” She twisted the knob that was never locked and the screen door creaked open. “Would you like to come in?”

He'd like nothing better, but until this crisis was past, he couldn't risk time alone with Tara. Her declaration of love had almost been his undoing. He'd been about to fall to his knees and confess his own feelings when the call came from the fire station.

God was giving Sam a chance to fix things. If he rode to her rescue like a white knight, maybe he'd be forgiven for all his deceptions. He could keep a calm head, manage all the work to be done, make the building even better than before and see to it that Tara had everything she needed to get started again.

Somehow, he'd break the news to the town that he had significant resources of his own and wanted to share them with his lady love and his community. Everyone would forgive him. He was betting his heart on it.

“Thanks for asking, but I can see you need some rest. I have a lot of business calls to make and I'm heading back to Houston this afternoon to set the wheels in motion to replace my stock.”

“So soon?” He heard the panic in her voice. “I mean, don't we need to worry about the building first?”

“Once the investigation is complete and the insurance company releases the funds, you're going to be amazed at how soon I get that building restored.” He ran his hand down the back of her silky braid and pulled her to his chest.

“We'll need to be prepared to move back in right away.”

She tucked her head and sniffed back a rush of tears.

“I'm sorry, Rusty,” he soothed. “I've been all wrapped up in my own plans and you have a much tougher job ahead of you replacing the pieces you had in Bridges.”

He put his thumb beneath her chin and tipped her head back. “Tell you what. Give me a week to settle things and I'm yours for as long as you need my help.” He meant it from the core of his soul. If she'd have him, he intended to be hers and hers alone for the rest of their lives.

He placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Her eyes were huge in her pale face. “Listen, I'm going to follow your example and get to work contacting some antique dealers. So, I might take a day trip myself tomorrow.”

“That's a great idea,” he encouraged. “Sitting
around here won't accomplish much right now, so get busy and stay focused on the future.”

He dropped his arms to his sides reluctantly and backed away. “I'll check in with you in a couple of days.”

The screen door banged behind her as she let herself into the house. Even draped in black again, her figure took his breath away. She was a beautiful woman in every way possible.

“Rusty?”

She turned and stared wide-eyed at him.

“I remember what you said last night.” He admired the endearing blush that crept into her cheeks. “Can you give me a little time to think about everything?”

“I've waited ten years. What can a few more days possibly hurt?”

 

On Monday morning Sycamore House was a mess and Tara was exhausted, but she felt armed and dangerous for the day's mission. She climbed into the land yacht at daylight and headed for Houston. On the leather seat beside her a cardboard box was filled with facts on the Miriam Elliott collection.

Tara had spent Sunday afternoon updating her records with digital photographs to accompany the official provenance of each piece of furniture and artwork. Armoires were pulled away from walls,
tabletops were cleared, display cabinets were emptied and upholstered chairs were turned upside down to reveal intricately carved legs.

She prayed the collector who'd called three times since her grandmother's death would offer top dollar, but she was prepared to settle for less if it meant a sale. Today.

As the skyline of Houston loomed in the distance, she prepared her heart for the job ahead.

“Heavenly Father,”
she spoke out loud.
“I don't believe You brought me to this moment to let me fail. There is a reason why Sam is back in my life after all these years. I know Grandmother orchestrated things, but it is You who ordains them. As much as I want to be with Sam, I want Your will to be done in my life even more. Please give me the strength to handle whatever this day holds. Amen.”

She fed the sedan into the morning traffic that crawled through the sprawling city and followed the directions to the Westheimer Antique Gallery.

Over breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea she bonded with the gallery owner and wrangled the best possible price for her heirlooms. The gallery's fleet of trucks would arrive at Sycamore House by nine the following morning to take possession of the sale items. With a lump in her throat the size of the Astrodome, Tara climbed into her car and set the tiny black clutch that held the huge cashier's check close to her side.

She sniffed into the handkerchief the owner had insisted she accept as she signed the papers. Still clutching the linen square, she eased the car onto the new toll road, dabbing at bittersweet tears that slid from her eyes.

She allowed herself a deep breath and loud exhale. “Okay, that's it. No more crying. I should be celebrating.” She patted the purse beside her. “And as soon as I get north of the city and this dreadful stretch of traffic, I'm going to indulge in a cola. And not one of those diet things, either. Today I've earned caffeine
and
sugar.”

The radio blared lively country music as she took the interstate that would lead her east for four hours to Beardsly. Close to the city limits the traffic began to thin and she spotted a fast-food emblem on the upcoming exit sign. Her mouth watered at the thought of a double cheeseburger to go with that drink.

Pulling into the exit lane, she squinted to study billboards rising above the pine trees a hundred yards ahead. Too far away to make out more than a word or two, the massive signs advertised everything from motels to music stores. On the tallest tower of all the word
motorcycles
caught her attention.

As cars inched closer to the intersection, she continued to glance toward the familiar orange trademark on the sign. As the full force of the billboard's
message struck home, she stomped the brake. The pickup truck on her rear bumper screeched to a halt as the driver blew the horn and gave her an ugly gesture.