With This Ring (12 page)

Most importantly, Lark had a gut feeling about him. No matter what he'd said the other night at Seraphina's, she was sure he would eventually let Amy down. People couldn't just change their natures. They might change their behavior temporarily, but eventually they went right back to being who they were. "So where's this relationship going? You two talk about anything yet?"

"No, not yet."

Amy's complacency frustrated Lark. Sometimes she wanted to shake Amy. Lark knew it was futile, but she wished that just this once Amy would at least
think
about the possibility that things might not turn out the way she wanted them to. At least then, if Sam took off the way Lark expected him to, Amy wouldn't be completely blindsided.

"Quit worrying about me, Lark," Amy said. About to say something else, she stopped as their waiter approached with their food.

As soon as the man left, Lark said, "I know what you're going to say. You're a grown woman, you can make your own decisions, you don't need me or your parents or anyone else hovering over you. I
know
all that."

"So stop, okay? It's all going to be fine. You'll see. Now," Amy continued brightly, "tell me about your date Saturday night. How was it?"

Lark rolled her eyes. "Awful. I swear, I'm never going on another fixed-up date again. Never."

"That's what you said the last time," Amy pointed out. She took a small bite of her chicken salad.

"I know, but I mean it this time." Lark ground fresh pepper onto her omelet before sampling it.

"What was so awful about it?"

"What wasn't? He was one of those I've-done-everything-and-I-know-everything guys. You know the type. Anything you talk about, they've done it, only better."

Amy shook her head in silent commiseration.

"And you should have seen him when we got to my place. Suddenly he'd grown about six hands, which were everywhere. I finally wrestled him off me. Geez! I
hate
that. A guy takes you out for one lousy dinner and he thinks that gives him carte blanche to jump your bones. Or worse, he thinks he's so fucking irresistible you just can't
wait
for him to jump your bones!"

"Lark," Amy said mildly.

"I know, watch my language. But it's
true,
Amy. I don't know where all the nice, ordinary guys are. You know, the polite, sweet, considerate guys. The ones who don't even try to kiss you good-night on a first date. That's the kind of guy I want to meet. Not these idiots who think every woman is sexually frustrated and hot to trot." Lark expelled a noisy sigh. "I want an old-fashioned Prince Charming, that's what I want, and honey, he doesn't exist."

"Yes, he does," Amy said, her eyes going all soft. "Sam's like that."

"Oh, shit," Lark said. "I'm sick of talking about men, especially when you're so gooey-eyed and impossible. Let's talk about movies. Have you seen that new Daniel Day-Lewis movie yet? Now
there's
a guy to die for . . . "

* * *

Two days after Sam met Amy's parents, he got a call from Owen Church, asking him to come to his office whenever he got a chance. It was Wednesday of the fourth week of Sam's vacation. At the summons, a quicksilver excitement raced through his veins. Maybe Owen was ready to give him a new assignment.

Sam called Jeanne, Owen's assistant, who said Owen had time to see him at nine o'clock the following morning.

Promptly at nine, Sam presented himself.

Owen studied him for a few seconds before saying, "You look good, Sam. Rested. Relaxed."

Sam smiled. "I feel good."

Owen waved him to a chair. "You been thinking about our conversation?"

"Yes. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"Made any decisions?"

"Maybe." Sam hesitated. "One thing I do know is that I owe you an apology."

Owen's eyes widened slightly.

"You were right about me taking an unnecessary chance in Alaska. Trouble is, I don't know if I can change."

Owen studied him thoughtfully. "Let's put it this way, son. You
have
to change. If you don't, one of two things will happen. Either I'll have to fire you, or you'll get hurt . . . or worse . . . you won't live to tell about it."

Sam wanted to protest that Owen was exaggerating. Hell, he wasn't even sure he'd meant the apology, but he'd felt he had to offer it or Owen might start giving some other shooter the best assignments. So he wisely kept his lip buttoned.

"What's it going to be?" Owen said. "You going to begin playing by the rules?"

"I'll do whatever I have to do to keep my job, you know that, Owen."

The older man smiled. "That's what I wanted to hear." He lifted a file from his desk. "What do you know about the snow leopards of the Himalayas?"

Sam's heart leaped. He was almost afraid to believe what Owen was saying. "I know they're extremely elusive, that very few humans have ever been able to get close enough to study them and that very few photographs have been taken of them."

"We've contracted with Ira Morgenstern to do a cover story on them."

Ira Morgenstern was a wildlife biologist, the best in the business. Sam had worked with him once, a couple of years ago, on a big cover story about wildlife in the rain forests of Suriname. It had been the kind of experience a man never forgot. Morgenstern was the consummate professional, but he was also more daring than most, certainly more daring than other scientific types Sam had worked with. His willingness to push the envelope had challenged Sam and helped him produce some of his best work.

"He's asked for you to be his photographer." Owen tapped his fingers against the manila folder. "This is the file containing Ira's preliminary research. I suggest you study it carefully tonight and see if you want this job."

By now Sam could hardly contain his excitement. "Hell, Owen, I don't need to read the file to know I want the assignment. Any shooter worth his salt would want this assignment."

"This won't be an easy shoot," Owen warned.

Sam grinned. "So what's your point?"

* * *

Sam headed straight for Justin's office after leaving Owen's.

"Hey, look who's here," Justin said, looking up and grinning as Sam walked into the room. "I thought you were still on vacation."

"I am. I just came in to see Owen." Sam quickly told Justin about the new assignment. "Great, huh? This is the kind of shoot that only comes along once in a lifetime."

"When are you leaving?"

"As soon as Morgenstern can finish getting things set up. Owen said it'll take a few weeks, but I expect to head out sometime around the middle of August." He grinned like an idiot, the elation he'd tried to contain in Owen's office spilling over, making him feel like shouting. "I'm in the mood to celebrate. Let's go to Treebeard's for lunch. My treat."

Justin moaned. "If I eat that much at lunch, I'll be falling asleep by three o'clock, and I can't afford to do that. I've got too much work with end of the month ERs and billing. How about dinner instead?"

"Can't. I'm taking Amy to dinner—" Sam broke off. "But, hey, come with us. Amy won't mind." The thought of Amy sobered him momentarily. They still had not talked about the future, but now, with this assignment, Sam could no longer put it off.

Justin smiled. "I've been wondering if I'd ever get to meet her. Sure, I'd love to come."

"Good. Let's meet at Pappadeaux's about six-thirty, try to beat the crowd."

"Great."

"Uh, just one thing . . . don't say anything about this assignment of mine. I'd rather wait and tell Amy later, when we're alone."

"Sure," Justin said.

For some reason, Sam felt uncomfortable. There was nothing in Justin's steady blue gaze that was accusatory, but Sam couldn't help feeling that Justin didn't approve of something.

As Sam left his office, Justin shook his head. Poor Amy. Justin knew exactly what was about to happen to her. He'd seen it happen dozens of times. Sam was getting ready to shake loose, and he would probably do it tonight. No wonder he didn't want Justin to say anything about the Himalayan assignment. He didn't want to create a scene in the restaurant.

At least Justin wouldn't be a reluctant witness to the dumping scenario. Still, he couldn't help feeling sorry for the unknown woman. She had lasted longer than most of Sam's conquests, but Justin guessed that would be small comfort when she ended up in the same place.

Justin almost wished he weren't going tonight. His desire to meet Amy had had to do with the fact that he'd thought Sam might be getting serious this time—after all, Sam had passed up fly-fishing for her and he'd all but admitted he thought he'd fallen in love with her—but down deep Justin had really known better.

Sam had only one real love: his work, which, translated, meant adventure, excitement, freedom. A serious relationship would impinge upon the freedom and curtail the adventure and excitement.

Jessie was lucky, Justin decided as he turned his attention back to a report on second quarter advertising revenues. Getting involved with Sam ultimately meant only one thing to a woman—a broken heart.

* * *

Justin had arrived at the popular Galleria-area restaurant early, but the parking lot was already full. To the admiration and envy of other wannabe restauranteurs, the Pappas family had the Midas touch. All their restaurants were highly successful, and Pappadeaux's, their Cajun seafood entry into Houston's fiercely competitive market, was no exception.

Most of the wrought-iron tables dotted around the courtyard were already filled with casually-dressed patrons of all ages. After putting his name on the waiting list, Justin walked back outside and looked around. Spying an empty table near the back, he headed toward it.

The courtyard was a noisy place. Water splashed from a central fountain, Dixieland music blared from the loudspeakers mounted on the walls, and kids—sensing their parents wouldn't mind a little horseplay outside—giggled and chased each other.

Justin ordered a Bloody Mary and watched for Sam. A few minutes later, he spotted him and stood and waved. Sam grinned and headed for Justin's table.

Amy wasn't at all what Justin had expected. Sam generally went for tall blondes—the breezy California-girl type—the kind who, on the surface at least, generally knew the score.

Amy was completely different. And it wasn't just that she looked different. Justin could see the difference in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she looked at Sam, even in the way she talked.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Sam introduced them, she said how happy she was to meet him—her soft, green eyes glowing as she met his gaze—and Justin said something back, but he had no idea what it was because he was thunderstruck.

She was wonderful. She was perfect. She was exactly the kind of woman Justin had always dreamed of finding. No wonder Sam was acting so out of character. No wonder he'd thought he was in love. No wonder he was still seeing her, long past the point where he normally broke off a liaison.

She was also beautiful—not in a perfect cover-girl way—but in a fresh, girl-next-door way that was eminently more appealing.

After they were all seated at Justin's table, Amy turned her friendly gaze his way and said, "Sam tells me you two met when he was looking for a home for his dog. That's funny, isn't it, because he and I met when he was looking for a home for a cat."

Justin answered her in a daze. And that's the way it was for the entire evening. The three of them talked and laughed and ate and drank, but Justin wasn't really conscious of any of it. He was on autopilot, functioning like a normal human being, but his mind and senses were totally captivated by Amy.

He kept trying to direct the conversation back to her. Sam hadn't told him much about her, and Justin wanted to know everything. He found his opportunity after Amy had asked him what he did at the magazine and he'd told her. "So what do you do?" he asked.

"Me? I'm a teacher."

As Justin questioned her, and Amy answered, Sam listened, amused. It was obvious to him that Justin was completely dazzled by Amy. But, hell, that was no surprise. Why wouldn't he be? Amy was irresistible. She seemed to like Justin a lot, too, but then again, Amy liked everyone.

Watching her charm Justin, Sam felt a swell of pride. Any man would be proud to be with her . . . but she belonged to him.

She belonged to him.

In that instant, he knew there was no decision to make as far as Amy was concerned. The decision had been made for him.

She belonged to him. They belonged together. Always.

* * *

That night, there was an intensity and depth to their lovemaking that frightened Amy, because she wasn't sure what it meant. She had been trying not to think about Sam's going away, but she knew he soon would be. His vacation was nearly over. Only two more days, and then he'd have some new assignment and he'd be gone.

She told herself it didn't matter. He would be back. A temporary absence wouldn't change anything between them. It wasn't like he'd be leaving her forever.

But as their lovemaking climaxed, and he brought her to a shattering peak, Amy's response was tinged with desperation, and a silent prayer ran through her mind even as she shuddered in the throes of passion. And afterwards, as she lay in the warm circle of Sam's arms, his lips pressed against her forehead, one hand caressing her belly, she said the prayer over and over:
Please, God, don't take him away from me . . . don't take him away from me . . . .

* * *

The following morning, Amy's fears of the night before seemed groundless and silly, just the way childhood nightmares had seemed in the bright sunlight, and by the time she'd had her breakfast she was once more her normal, optimistic self.

Sam left at nine, saying he would be tied up most of the day with errands and shopping, so Amy filled her day with shopping and errands of her own.

She finished up early and still had enough time to give the apartment a fast cleaning and wash a couple loads of laundry before she had to get ready for the evening. By seven, she was showered and dressed in a cool, white eyelet sundress and white sandals and waiting for Sam. She sipped at a glass of wine and idly glanced through her new
Vanity Fair.
She'd barely gotten through the Letters to the Editor, when she heard his car in the driveway. The anticipation of seeing him brought a quickening of her pulse and a smile to her face.