With This Ring (29 page)

But no matter how many times she asked herself the same questions, the answer was always the same. She couldn't choose.

* * *

Sam didn't sleep well that night. His leg ached, and his heart ached. He kept remembering days gone by. He remembered the first time he'd ever seen Justin. It had been November, his second November since moving to Houston. He'd had Major for six months and had had to put the dog in a kennel four times. Major had spent more time in the kennel than he'd spent with Sam.

Sam had just gotten a new assignment. He was scheduled to leave for Kwajalein the following week for a story on the Marshall Islands. He had finally realized it was unfair to Major to try to keep him, and so, reluctantly, he'd put an ad on the bulletin board at the office.

He'd been sitting at his desk in the photography department, and his phone rang.

"Robbins," he said.

"You the guy who put the ad on the bulletin board about the dog?" said a male voice.

Sam sat up straighter. "Yes, I am."

"I might be interested. Can I see the dog?"

"Sure. Do you work here at the magazine?"

"Oh, sorry," He laughed. "My name's Justin Malone, and I'm in the business department. You're a photographer, right?"

"Yeah, right."

"Well? Could I see the dog tonight?"

"Sure. No problem. I don't live very far from here. We could go after work."

"Sounds good."

They'd met by the elevators. Sam had immediately liked Justin with his no-nonsense eyes and his no-nonsense manner. They shook hands and smiled at each other and there was a kind of instant rapport between them.

In his own car, Justin followed Sam to his apartment. After Sam showed him Major and Justin decided he liked the dog and wanted to take him, the two men had fallen into easy conversation, ending with Sam asking Justin if he wanted to go get something to eat.

"I'll bring Major over to your place tomorrow," he'd said. "Give you a chance to get things ready for him."

They'd spent the evening together, eating Mexican food and drinking a pitcher of margaritas and shooting the bull. Sam hadn't talked so much in years. Justin admitted he hadn't, either. By the time the evening was over, Sam felt as if they'd been friends forever.

And in the years since, that friendship had only grown stronger. They'd weathered bad times and good. Justin had been more than a friend. He'd been like the brother Sam had never had. His family had taken Sam into their hearts, too, giving him warmth and a feeling of belonging, including him in their holiday celebrations and their personal triumphs and tragedies.

Remembering all this, then remembering the look of almost-hate in Justin's eyes today, made Sam feel half sick. Amy was right, he thought as he fell into an uneasy sleep. He had to at least try to salvage something out of this mess.

The following morning, he debated whether or not to call Justin and see if he wanted to go to lunch. While he was still thinking about the possibility, the phone rang. Hoping it wasn't another reporter, he picked it up and said, "Robbins."

"Um, hello, is this Sam Robbins?"

It was a young, unrecognizable female voice. "Yes," Sam said.

There was silence for a moment, then the woman said, "I-I rehearsed what I was going to say, but now I—"

"Who
is
this?" he said irritably. He was tired of being hounded by these press types.

There was an audible sigh from the other end. Then, softly, she said, "This is Holly, Sam."

For perhaps three seconds, Sam sat there, uncomprehending. And then, in a blinding flash, realization hit. Holly! His heart made a crazy loop.
Holly!
His sister!

"Sam?" Her voice was uncertain. "Are you there?"

"Holly? Is . . . is it really you?"

Her laugh rang out joyously. "Yes. It's really me. I-I was afraid you might have forgotten me."

Sam's eyes stung, and his chest felt tight. "Forgotten you?" he said softly. "I could never forget you." As if it were yesterday, he was assaulted with memories. Holly, on the day she was born, a little wizened creature with a red face and tufts of bright hair and a lusty wail. At four months—fat and pink-cheeked, laughing up at him when he waved a rattle over her crib. Holly, with eyes the color of a stormy sea—a legacy from their mother. Holly, crying as if her heart would break when she and Sam were separated.

They talked for a long time. She told him all about her parents and her life and how she'd only found out about him a few days earlier. "Mom and Dad said they'd always intended to tell me about you when I got older, but somehow they kept putting it off. At first, I was really mad at them, but now, I guess I understand . . . see, they didn't know where you were or what kind of person you might be until you disappeared two years ago and they saw a story about you on some T.V. news program. And then . . . well, when I didn’t call them or say anything about it, they knew I hadn’t seen it or heard anything about it, so they decided not to tell me. I guess they didn't want to upset me. I mean, if you were dead, why tell me and make me sad?" And then she laughed. "But you're not dead! I have a real, live brother!"

"I can't believe I'm really talking to you," Sam said, still dazed.

She told him she'd just graduated from college. "I studied broadcast journalism at UCLA. I haven't had much luck finding a job, though. That's why I'm still at home."

"Do your parents live in San Diego?"

"No, La Jolla."

Her parents must be well off if they could afford to live in La Jolla.

"Sam? I'm dying to see you. I've . . . " Her voice trembled slightly. "I've always wanted a brother."

Sam's voice was gruff as he answered. "Well, you've got one now."

* * *

Two days later, Sam left LAX in a rental car and headed south on the San Diego Freeway. The drive was one he hadn't made in a long time, and he'd almost forgotten how stark the landscape was. People who had never visited southern California always thought of it as lush and green and filled with flowers and palm trees. That's the way it was in the cities, where the citizens planted and watered and tended, but the countryside from L.A. to San Diego was mostly ochre mountains and barren, sun-scorched valleys.

The drive to La Jolla only took a couple of hours, and it was still daylight when Sam parked in front of the small, Spanish style home a few blocks from downtown. In the near distance, church bells rang the Angelus as he got out of the car. The air smelled crisp and salt-tangy in this pampered enclave tucked into its sheltering cove and framed by the brilliant blue ocean beyond.

The Etheridge home was surrounded by a high wall. Scarlet and deep purple bougainvillea spilled over the tops and sides.

A beautiful place to grow up, Sam thought as he opened the wrought iron gate and entered the small front courtyard where hibiscus and oleander, jasmine and passion flowers vied for dominance.

Holly had been watching for him, because the heavy, carved door opened before he'd had a chance to ring the doorbell.

"Sam!"

He would have known her anywhere, because she was the image of their mother. She had the same heart-shaped face, the same big gray eyes, the same delicately arched eyebrows. Even her hair was same color—brown streaked with gold—although Holly's was fashionably cut and styled and gleamed with health, whereas Sally's had too often been lank and dull. The other difference was height and body shape. Holly was tall; Sam guessed about five feet seven inches and slender. Their mother had been shorter and rounder. His sister was dressed like a typical, twenty-something Californian in Guess jeans, body-hugging T-shirt, and flip-flops.

He managed a smile over the lump in his throat and opened his arms.

Without hesitation, she came into them. They held each other for a long time. He could feel her heart beating against his and smell the light, lemony scent of her hair, and all he could think was,
this is my baby sister.
Some of the heartache and disappointment that had surrounded his homecoming and the discovery about Amy and Justin eased away.

"Oh, Sam," Holly said in a muffled voice, "I'm so glad you're here."

When she looked up, he could see that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Me, too," he said. "Me, too."

They went inside where he met her adoptive parents—Jack and Sandi Etheridge. Sandi was a short, slightly-plump fifty-something matron with kind hazel eyes and a sweet smile, and Jack was a big, bearish sort of man with intelligent dark eyes, thick salt and pepper hair, and a cautious, more reserved manner than his wife. They were nice people. Sam could see that immediately. And they loved Holly. That was another thing he saw immediately. They were also thoughtful. After about fifteen minutes of conversation, Sandi turned to Holly and said, "Your father and I thought we'd go into town for dinner. I know you and Sam have a lot to talk about."

Holly smiled gratefully and hugged her mother and father in turn.

Once they were gone, she said, "Are you hungry? We could order a pizza or I could make us some sandwiches."

"Maybe later. Right now, I'd just like something cold to drink."

She got them each a beer, then suggested they sit out on the back patio. "It's my favorite place."

Sam could see why. This, too, was a courtyard, but a much bigger one than the front. It was mostly paved with terra-cotta tiles, with a three-foot wide border of shrubs and flowers around the perimeter. A bird feeder in the corner had attracted several swallows and goldfinch, who noisily flew away when he and Holly walked outside.

They sat in comfortable, cushioned redwood chairs.

Sam breathed deeply. He gazed around with pleasure. "Have you lived in this house long?"

"Ever since I was adopted."

Sam nodded. He couldn't help comparing his growing-up years to hers, but he felt no bitterness or envy. He was happy for Holly. Glad to know she'd been surrounded by such beauty and comfort and love. He turned to look at her and found her eyes on him. They were filled with sadness. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

She shrugged. "I-I just wish I could remember you, from before."

"You were only a year old when we were separated. How could you?"

"I know. But it's sad, don't you think? All those lost years?"

He reached for her hand. It felt good in his. "Don't be sad. We've found each other. That's what matters."

Her smile was slow and sweet. "You're right, of course. That's what matters."

They talked for a long time. She wanted to know everything he could remember about their mother, and Sam obliged, although he filtered out or glossed over the more unsavory details.

"I'm proud of you, Sam," she said much later. "You've made something of yourself without anyone else's help."

"No, that's not true. I had a lot of help." He told her about Gus and Peggy and Owen Church.

"Tell me about your life in Houston. Do you have a girlfriend?"

Sam found himself talking about Amy, and then about Justin and the whole dilemma.

"Oh, that's
awful,
" she said. "How could they do that to you?"

Even though this was exactly how Sam had felt when he first found out about Amy and Justin, he now found himself in the strange position of defending them. "To be fair," he said, "I understand how it happened."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"There's not much I can do except wait."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it if I were you," she said loyally. "It shouldn't take her long to come to her senses. I'll bet the two of you will be back together in no time at all."

"I haven't seen Sam around lately," Faith said. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"He's in California, Mother," Amy said. It was Friday night, and she'd just gotten home from school. Her mother must have been watching for her, because Amy had no sooner turned off her ignition than the back door opened and Faith emerged to waylay her.

"Oh? On a new assignment already? I would have thought the magazine would have given him some time to recuperate."

"They did. He's not on an assignment. Because of all the publicity surrounding his return, he got a call from his sister—the one who was adopted as a baby. He flew out to California to see her." Remembering Sam's happiness when he'd called to tell her what happened, Amy smiled. Although, in her fantasies about Sam eventually finding his sister, she had always thought she'd be right there with him, she was genuinely thrilled for him and eager to hear all about the reunion when he returned to Houston. He'd been gone almost a week now, but he was supposed to get back sometime tomorrow afternoon.

"How nice for Sam," her mother said. She pulled her cardigan sweater closer as the wind picked up.

Amy shivered herself. "If you want to talk, let's go up to my apartment. It's too cold out here." A front had blown in during the night, turning the late October day into an unseasonably chilly one. The gunmetal sky looked like rain, too. It would be a nice night to curl up under the afghan with a good book.
Or snuggle up to a lover . . .
Amy pushed the unwelcome thought away as she climbed the stairs. There'd been no snuggling for her in the two weeks since Sam's return. She had determinedly resisted all Justin's efforts to get her into bed and fought her own reawakened desire for Sam. Until she came to a decision about the future, she had to keep a clear head. Sex would only fog the issue.

Once inside her apartment, Amy dumped her satchel and purse and bent to pet the cats who one by one came to greet her. "I'm going to fix some tea," she called over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "Want some?"

"All right." Her mother walked around the living area, fingering things as she went.

Amy stifled the irritation that had lately become the norm when she was with her mother. What was Faith doing, anyway? Amy nearly bit her tongue to keep from calling out,
put that down!
when Faith lifted Amy's sketchbook and began leafing through it. She knew exactly when her mother saw the sketches of Sam, because Faith's shoulders stiffened, and her mouth got that set look.