With This Ring (3 page)

Maybe a lover was exactly what she needed. But there was a problem with that scenario. Unfortunately, there was no one she could even imagine filling that role. Not that she hadn't had her share of possible lovers. Even now, Glenn would be delighted to step in and do something about her sexual frustration—if that's what this current itchiness was.

Amy frowned. She had to do something about Glenn Wilhelm. She had mistakenly encouraged him when he'd first begun asking her out, because he was nice, a fellow teacher, clean-cut and attractive. She had talked herself into thinking he might grow on her.

But after a few dates, she'd known the relationship was doomed to go no further. There were simply no magic sparks, no sparks of any kind, when she was with him. She enjoyed his company. They had fun together, but when he kissed her good-night, it was like kissing a brother.

She couldn't imagine going to bed with Glenn. Just the thought of having sex with him made her cringe.

Yes, she definitely had to break it off completely. Glenn was gone this week—off to Idaho to visit his family—but when he returned and called her, she would tell him, as gently as she could, that it was best if they didn't see each other anymore.

She drained her cup and propped her feet up on the deck railing. Would she ever meet anyone who made her feel those magical sparks her mother had described?

Amy knew her parents' fondest wish was to see her happily married.

"It's true that your father and I want you to be safe and secure and that we want grandchildren before we die," her mother said the last time Amy brought up the subject. "But we also want you to be as happy as we've been. We don't want you to settle for just anyone. Be patient, darling. The right man will come along. And when he does, you'll know it."

Amy wanted all of that, too. In fact, she wanted a marriage exactly like her parents'. Faith and Alan Carpenter were the most in-love couple Amy had ever known.

She had heard the story of their meeting countless times: how it was "love at first sight," and how they immediately knew they were meant to be together always. "I took one look, and that was it," Faith had said, her eyes soft in remembrance.

The Carpenters had never spent a night apart, not even the night Amy was born. Her father had been by her mother's side throughout the birth, and he hadn't left the hospital until he could take her and their little daughter home with him.

Yes, Amy thought, her parents had set a shining example of what a marriage should be. Theirs was exactly the kind of relationship Amy wanted but had almost despaired of finding. Her standards were high, and so far no one had come close to filling them.

Amy continued to think about her deep yearning for someone to love, someone who would lift her to the stars and give her the children she wanted as much as her parents wanted her to have them.

Finally, as the sun began to climb, she realized it was getting late, and she'd better go inside and start getting ready for the day.

Although it was summer, and she wasn't teaching, she'd been doing some volunteer work at a nearby pet shelter. She'd started out by working two days during the week, but this past Thursday the director of the shelter asked her if she could possibly fill in today—Saturday.

"Beth moved to Tucson, so we're really shorthanded," she'd said.

Amy agreed readily. She had no plans to go anywhere or do anything until her parents returned from Europe, which wasn't going to happen for several weeks. Even then, she had no concrete plans. Lark had been trying to talk her into taking a cruise, but Amy wasn't sure she wanted to. Instead, she'd been toying with the idea of going to New York or perhaps Santa Fe for a week. She could immerse herself in the museums and galleries, which would give her some fresh ideas to bring to her art classes and would be more relaxing to her than the enforced gaiety and relentless activities associated with the kind of cruise Lark was pushing.

After making her bed, showering, dressing, and feeding her cats, she blew them all kisses and left her apartment a little before eight-thirty.

It was such a pretty morning, she decided to put the top down on her little white Miata—a twenty-seventh birthday present from her parents in March.

By the time she reached the shelter ten minutes later, her vaguely restless mood had disappeared, blown away by the fresh air and blue skies.

She smiled as she knocked on the shelter door and waited for Carl, one of the few paid, full-time workers, to open up.

It was a new day. Anything was possible.

* * *

At ten o'clock Saturday morning, showered and wearing clean army green shorts, an open-necked white cotton shirt, with his bare feet shoved into worn Docksiders, Sam put the kitten in a cardboard box and drove over to the shelter on Weslayen that Justin had recommended.

A few minutes later he reached his destination. The shelter was part of a seen-better-days, L-shaped strip center, the kind that proliferated in Houston. The sign proclaimed the shelter to be PET HAVEN and took up the entire short leg of the L. There were two doors, one leading into the adoption center, one leading into an accompanying pet supplies shop.

Sam opened the door to the adoption center, and a bell tinkled. The small reception area had a beat-up tile floor and a distinct animal smell. A symphony of barking greeted his arrival.

A few seconds later, a girl carrying a large black cat emerged from the back room. She smiled at Sam.

Sam took one look, and his fingers itched for his camera. His photographer's eye rapidly took in the details of her appearance. She looked about seventeen—small, with a heart-shaped face, enormous green eyes, and a flawless complexion with just the barest smattering of freckles across her nose. Her hair, thick and dark and curly, was loosely tied back from her face with a narrow green ribbon and she wore a jaunty green beret angled down over one eye. An oversized black T-shirt and black tights completed her costume. Long silver earrings in the shape of stars dangled from her ears and sparkled in the morning sunlight. She wasn't beautiful, Sam decided, yet she was totally captivating.

He was already imagining how he'd place her against a white backdrop with maybe a green park bench in the foreground. Maybe some bright red geraniums or azaleas to add a counterpoint of color. And that cat in her arms was perfect, too—a match with its black fur, green eyes and silver collar.

"Hi," the girl said. "What've you got there?" Her voice was surprisingly husky.

"It's a stray I found. I can't keep it, and a friend told me to come over here and you'd take it." He couldn't stop staring at her. She had a wonderful face—expressive and open and sweetly innocent. And that smile! Oh, man, he'd love to shoot her, even though he rarely shot people.

"Oh, sure," she said, her gaze connecting with his. "We'll take it." But for a long moment, she didn't move. Finally, with an obvious effort, she tore her gaze away and put the black cat she'd been holding on top of the counter separating her from customers, saying, "Now you stay there, Jasmine." She pulled a form from somewhere under the counter and looked at Sam again. "Um, okay. Name?"

"I don't know."

She frowned for a second, then gave a throaty little chuckle. "I meant you, not the kitten."

Sam grinned foolishly. She was enchanting. He liked everything about her. The way she looked. The way she talked. And he especially liked the way she laughed. Too bad she was jail bait. "Well, in that case, my name is Sam Robbins. What's yours?"

Her eyes sparkled with good humor. "Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Amy." She pointed to her shoulder.

Belatedly, he noticed she wore a name tag. It read:
Amy Carpenter
. "Carpenter, Carpenter . . . are you by any chance related to Jack Carpenter, the dentist?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Afraid not." She continued asking questions and filling out the form, and when she finished, she smiled again and reached for the kitten. She petted him, saying, "We'll find him a good home. Don't worry."

Sam knew it was time to say thanks and leave, but he didn't want to, and he didn't think she wanted him to leave, either. "You're doing good work here," he said, stalling.

"Thanks."

"Do you work here full time?"

"Oh, no. I just volunteer a couple of days a week."

He nodded. "Are you a student?"

"Actually, I'm a teacher."

"Really? You don't look old enough to be a teacher."

She eyed him for a moment, a smile hovering at the edges of her mouth. "I know. I get carded everywhere I go. But I'm twenty-seven. I've been teaching for five years."

Sam grinned. "In that case, I won't be considered a dirty old man if I ask you out, will I?"

"
Are
you going to ask me out?"

"How does dinner tonight sound? If you don't already have plans, that is."

She studied him thoughtfully. "I don't even know you. Maybe you're a serial killer."

"I'm perfectly harmless. Really. I'm a photographer, and I work for
World of Nature
magazine. Here. Look at my driver's license and my press card." He reached for his wallet. Suddenly, it was very important that she say 'yes.' He couldn't just walk away without seeing her again.

She shook her head. "That's okay, I believe you. Serial killers wouldn't bother to bring an abandoned kitten to a shelter."

"Ted Bundy did," he pointed out.

She grimaced. "You just
had
to say that, didn't you?"

Sam laughed. "Sure you don't want to see my I.D. Maybe check me out?"

"Well, after that remark, maybe I should." Then she smiled. "But I don't think I need to. I'm a pretty good judge of people."

"Well, then, what do you say?"

"Sure. I'd love to go to dinner with you tonight."

He knew his grin must look idiotic, but he felt ridiculously happy—out of all proportion to a simple acceptance of a dinner date. "What time are you through here?"

"We close at six."

"I'll be back," he promised.

"I'll be waiting."

* * *

Amy watched Sam Robbins fold his tall, muscular frame into a bright red Corvette. He waved before pulling out of the parking lot, and she waved back.

She knew what she'd just done—accepting a date with a man she had only met ten minutes ago, who really
could
be a serial killer—was foolishly impetuous, perhaps even dangerous.

Yet she hadn't been able to help herself.
He was the one.

She had known it the moment she'd gazed into those warm, golden-brown eyes. There had been an instant connection. An instant recognition. It was crazy. Ridiculously romantic. Totally improbable.

But it was also undeniable. It was just as her mother had always said; when she met the right man, she would know it.

Her mother was right. Amy did know it.
He was the one.

"You sound happy," Justin said. "Things must have gone well with Owen yesterday."

Sam broke off in mid-whistle. The reminder of the less than satisfactory meeting took some of the edge off his pleasure. "My good mood has nothing to do with work."

Justin held the back door wide, and as he did, Major, the part yellow Lab, part mutt that had originally been Sam's dog but had lived with Justin for the past six years, bounded into the kitchen and skidded to a stop in front of Sam.

The dog barked joyously, and Sam gave him an affectionate head rub and knelt so the dog could lick his face. Once Major calmed down, Sam stood and walked into the kitchen of Justin's Highland Village townhouse and thought again, as he had every time he was here, how much the place reflected Justin's personality. It was filled with carefully chosen, comfortable furniture and was almost painfully clean and orderly. Even Major's water and food bowls, which sat in the corner, were neat, with no spilled dog food or slopped-over water.

Without even looking, Sam knew the pantry was stocked with neatly-aligned food and so were the refrigerator and freezer. Sam thought of his own apartment—sparsely furnished with only the barest necessities, clothes thrown anywhere they landed, and the only food in sight a box of stale crackers and a few cans of baked beans.

Not for the first time, Sam pondered the phenomenon of their friendship—two such disparate personalities, opposites in every way.

"So what happened?" Justin said. "Did you win the lottery or something?"

"It's not that big a deal. I met someone new today, and I'm taking her out tonight, that's all."

"She must be quite a babe to put you in such a good mood." Justin walked over to the refrigerator. "You want a beer?"

"Sure." Sam pulled out a kitchen chair and straddled it.

Justin removed two bottles of Beck's beer from the refrigerator and handed Sam one. "So? What is she? A model? A dancer? An Oilers' cheerleader?"

Sam grinned sheepishly. "Nothing like that. She works at the shelter. I liked her, so I asked her out." It was weird. Normally he would go into great detail about the women he met, but for some reason, he was oddly reluctant to discuss Amy. He hoped Justin would drop the subject.

"So you did take the cat over to the shelter."

"Yeah," Sam said, relieved. "And you were right. They took him, no problem."

"Good."

"I just hope they can find him a home."

Justin nodded. After a moment, he said, "Since you've got a date tonight, I guess that means you're not going to Jessie's party."

Jessie was one of Justin's sisters, and Sam knew she had a thing for him, which was flattering, because Jessie was attractive as well as nice. But he'd never followed up on any of her hints, because even if she hadn't been Justin's sister—which was reason enough to keep his hands off—Jessie was the kind of woman Sam avoided the same way he avoided three-piece suits and management jobs. Jessie was the kind of woman who had marriage and picket fences written all over her. And that meant any entanglement with her would be doomed for trouble. "I forgot about her party," he admitted.

"She'll be disappointed."