More to Give (24 page)

“I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice,” Lucas said, taking a seat across the desk from Sam.

“You said you had good news,” Sam replied. He’d been struggling not to get his hopes up since he’d listened to Lucas’s message that morning. “So, you found something?”

Lucas grinned. “More like realized something that I believe means you’re free to go.”

Sam tensed. “You found a way to break the terms?”

“No,” Lucas said, nodding. “So long as your inheritance wasn’t contingent upon marriage, divorce, or a change of religion on your part, Morty’s request could be enforced.”

This didn’t sound like good news so far. “Then how am I free to leave the island?”

“ ‘Enforced’ is the key word. The executor of the will was Walter Trindle, correct?”

“Yes,” Sam answered, not sure what his uncle’s oldest friend had to do with anything. “But he died a year after I took over the hotels.”

“Exactly,” Lucas said. “So if you leave now, who would enforce the terms of the will?”

“You’re the legal expert here. Who would enforce it?”

“My guess is no one.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling for patience. “What do you mean, you guess?” he asked.

“That’s where I need a little more information,” Lucas said, leaning forward in his chair. “Besides Artie, you, and me, who else knows about the terms of the will?”

Sam and Walter had been the only people present at the reading of the will, and Artie had explained at the time that the preservation society would not be notified unless Sam refused the inheritance. “As far as I know, there isn’t anyone else.”

“Then it’s no longer a guess.” Lucas sat back with a look of certainty on his face. “If you walk away now, the only way to enforce the terms of the will would be for someone to bring legal action on behalf of the estate. Since Walter is gone, there’s no one left to file a challenge.”

Except the preservation society. There would be nothing to stop Artie Berkowitz from spilling the beans, and Rosemary would jump at the chance to take the hotels away from Sam. Especially when she’d be getting them for less than one-tenth of what they were worth.

“You’re forgetting someone,” Sam said.

“Who?”

The man who’d helped complicate Sam’s life three years ago. “Artie.”

Lucas looked smug. “I’ve already talked to Artie. He’s impressed with what you’ve done to improve the hotels. Says Morty would be proud and you deserve to have your life back.”

Sam wanted to believe it. To trust that his uncle’s lawyer would keep the secret if Sam decided to leave. But how could he be sure?

“And you believe him?” he asked. Lucas had known Berkowitz a lot longer than Sam had. “You take him at his word?”

“Artie has no reason to lie,” Lucas replied. “Besides, he never wanted to see Rosemary get the hotels. Let’s say they have a history, and it isn’t a positive one. I didn’t get the details out of him, but his dislike of the old busybody was clear.”

What Sam wouldn’t give to have known this bit of island history long before now. “All of this seems too good to be true. Ten minutes ago I was sentenced to two more years on this island, and now I’m free to go.”

“Consider the gates open.” Lucas rose from his chair. “But I want you to know, some of us
will
be sorry to see you leave.”

Sam exited his chair as well. “I hope you know how much I appreciate your help in this. You’ve given me a reprieve I doubted was possible.”

“Just earning my fees,” Lucas said, accepting Sam’s extended hand. “You’ve been a friend to our little speck of the world here. Thank you for helping us bring the place back to life.”

It was nice to have his contributions acknowledged. “Happy to do my part,” he said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. And he did like the island. The limitations it inflicted on his life were the real problem.

After Lucas took his leave, Sam returned to his desk, spun in his chair, and watched the boats bob in the harbor outside his window. His sentence had been revoked. He was a free man. The first thing he wanted to do was call Callie and tell her. But she didn’t know he’d been bound to the island in the first place.

Better to wait until they were off the island before he gave her the full story.

And then Sam realized what he was thinking. When Callie left after Christmas, he could go with her. He could find the perfect property, and she could help him make it into something special. They could do it together. And stay together.

When had he changed his mind about their relationship? Sam struggled to pinpoint the shift, the moment he’d gone from being anticommitment to wanting more. Running the last week over in his mind, Sam landed on the answer.

The winter festival. He could still see her standing there at the side of the tent, cheering him on, giving him unconditional support. That had been pride in her eyes that day, and not only for her talking parrot. Callie didn’t want him for his money, position, or power. She wanted
him
.

“How about that,” Sam said, a full grin splitting his face.

CHAPTER 24

S
am walked into the Sunset Harbor Inn wearing faded blue jeans and a well-worn Clemson Tigers T-shirt under his brown suede coat as the crew collected in the dining room for lunch. Callie had been discussing the history of the inn with Elder Wonnamack when the bell over the door jingled, drawing her attention. For a split second, her heart skipped a beat.

There was something different about Sam this morning. She could see it in his face. This wasn’t serious hotelier Sam, or the more casual, relaxed version who’d slept next to Callie every night for the last week.

The Sam Edwards standing before her was actually . . . happy.

“Hello there,” he said, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the already-overloaded coatrack by the door. “I see I made it in time for lunch.”

Jack had ordered fried chicken from Howard’s Café, and the aluminum trays were spread out along the now-faux-marble counter.

“You did,” she said, still distracted by the look on Sam’s face. “Are you okay?”

Flashing a smile she’d never seen before, Sam said, “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Callie narrowed her eyes. “You look different.”

“I’m wearing work clothes. I wore the same thing all last week.”

Which confused her more. “But I told you we have more people now. Why are you dressed to work?”

“You said we’re still behind.”

Callie hadn’t thought Sam was listening when they’d talked on the phone. “We are.”

“Then one more body is a good thing.”

This particular body was a great thing, Callie thought, admiring the width of Sam’s shoulders beneath the orange cotton shirt. Though his eyes were more distracting today. They were practically twinkling as he took in the scene around them. What the hell had happened in that meeting this morning?

“You’re freaking me out a little bit here,” she said, unable to ignore his new-and-improved demeanor. “Who are you, and what have you done with Sam Edwards?”

Leaning close to her, he whispered, “Can’t I just be happy to see you?”

Now she knew something was up. Sam only flirted when they were alone, and even then he never said things like that.

Pulling back to look him in the eye, Callie said, “You’re up to something.”

“And you are being annoyingly paranoid,” Sam replied, taking a step toward the counter. “Toss me a Coke, will you, Jack?” The clerk did as requested, and Sam popped the top. “What’s been done so far this morning?”

Finally, business Sam was here. This one she recognized.

“We now have three two-man crews installing hardwood down here on the first floor, and four two-person crews handling the painting upstairs. I had them skip the bigger suites at the far end for now so we can knock out the standards. With four teams, we can finish at least a color block a day, applying no fewer than two coats on each wall, three when necessary.”

“So the second-floor paint, minus the suites, should be wrapped up in a couple weeks?” Sam asked. “That will leave us only three weeks to install the floors and get the furniture loaded back in.”

Callie shook her head. “The plan is to start installing the floors while the painting is still going on. When a block is done, the painters will move out and the floor installers will move in. Every time one step is done, the next step will move in, cycling through until we’re adding the finishing touches days before the wedding guests arrive.”

Sam looked pleased but skeptical. “And you have enough bodies to do that?”

This was where hope came into play. “The goal is to pick up more workers as we go. Some people I spoke to on Saturday said they couldn’t help right away but would be available in a few weeks.”

“Let’s hope that’s true,” he said with an odd grin on his face. The look did funny things to Callie’s brain. And other parts of her anatomy as well. “Where are we on the furniture?”

Callie had to drag her wayward mind back to the work.

“Olaf is back and working on the dining room chairs. The nightstands we were able to save are finished and ready for installation once we’re ready to start setting up the rooms. The new pieces are still in boxes in the kitchen, along with all the décor and linens.” Callie stepped aside to let a member of the outside crew pass by. “We’re waiting on some specialty items, but those should arrive within the next two weeks.”

“Good to hear.” Sam pulled away from the wall and took Callie by the elbow. “Let’s duck into your office for a minute.”

Callie didn’t have a choice but to follow, and she almost tripped over several workers as they maneuvered through the lobby. Once they were inside the office, Sam shut the door and swung Callie into his arms. The kiss he planted on her mouth took her breath away and made her weak at the knees.

When Sam finally broke the kiss to allow both of them some much-needed air, Callie slumped against him. “What was that for?”

“I held out as long as I could,” he said, his voice husky. “But when you started rattling off the renovation details, the urge to kiss you got to be too much.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Renovation details turn you on?”

Lifting her chin with one finger, Sam said,
“
You
turn me on.”

And then he was kissing her again, stealing Callie’s thoughts and making her forget there was nothing more than a two-inch door between them and a room full of people.

“I’d give you some privacy, but you’re blocking the door.”

Sam ended the kiss, dropping Callie to the floor with a thud.

She’d completely forgotten that Henri was working in the office.

“Hello, Henri,” Sam said, still standing close enough to Callie for her to understand why he couldn’t turn around.

“Heya, Sam.”

Looking down at Callie, he asked, “Doesn’t she have a job to get home to?”

Before Callie could answer, Henri said, “I’m a writer. I can work anywhere.”

Why did she have to be such an agitator?

Callie gave Sam her most apologetic look, then slid to the side, taking Sam with her. “The door is clear now,” she said, praying that Henri would make a prompt and silent exit.

Of course, Henri took her good old time. When she reached the door, she looked their way. “I’m totally using that
‘
you
turn me on’ line,” she said, giving Sam a wink before walking out.

“I don’t want to know what kinds of books she writes, do I?” Sam asked.

Callie sighed. “Probably not.”

“Are we completely alone now, or is your mother hiding under the desk?”

“That isn’t even funny,” Callie replied, an involuntary shudder running down her spine. “We’re alone in
here
, but there’s a hotel full of people out
there
who will probably tell their friends that we had sex during lunch unless we go back out soon.”

Sam squeezed her hips. “They’re jealous.”

Flirtatious, making jokes,
and
shucking responsibility? This was definitely a new Sam.

“Be that as it may,” she said, pushing against his chest, “we need to get out there.”

Looking like a little boy who’d been told to come out of his fort and eat his broccoli, Sam stepped back. “Fine,” he said, sweeping an arm toward the door. “After you.”

As soon as Callie opened the door, Sam whispered in her ear, “But we’re going to continue this tonight. I like having you against a wall.”

Heat raced up her neck as Callie stepped into the lobby. He was going to pay for that one.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, then took a swig from his water bottle as he strolled into Olaf Hogenschmidt’s territory at the back of the dining room. The man was planing what looked to be a chair leg, intent on his work and oblivious to Sam’s presence. Or so Sam thought.

“You come to check my work?” the older man asked, as the whining hum of the planer died away.

Shaking his head in the negative, Sam said, “Nope.” He remembered Olaf from his childhood visits. The younger version had been ready with a smile and a piece of candy for his best friend’s nephew. “Just watching.”

Without looking Sam’s way, Olaf said, “Softening out the curves. Making it more modern, per Ms. Callie’s request.” He brushed shavings off the work in progress, and Sam had to agree the leg did look more modern.

“Looks good.” Sam examined a newly upholstered chair to his right. The dark veneer was gone, along with the dated fabric that had once covered the seat. “This thing looks brand new.”

“Supposed to,” Olaf said, bumping the chair with his knee. “Took a couple extra rounds to lighten the finish, but she’s sturdy and ready for another twenty years.”

A memory tickled at the back of his mind. “You built it, didn’t you?” He glanced around. “And several of these other pieces as well.”

“You ought to know. We hauled them in here during one of your last summers here.”

Sam’s head jerked up. “You remember me?”

“Of course I do,” Olaf scoffed. “I may be old and forgetful at times, but I’m not so far gone that I’d forget Morty’s only nephew.”

In his mission not to blend in with the local community, Sam had made a point to avoid Morty’s friends the most. He wasn’t even sure why he’d wandered into Olaf’s territory, considering he’d barely done more than nod at the man in the last two years. And that was only when they passed on the street.

“Well,” Sam said, not sure what to say. “It
was
a long time ago.”

“Say, do you remember that time we were all fishing off the pier and Morty started acting a fool, like he often did, fell in, and nearly ended up hooked?”

Sam chuckled. “He’d been trying to push me in, but I was too fast for him.”

“That’s right.” A semitoothless smile split Olaf’s face. “Swore up and down that he’d get you back. Did he ever do it?”

“Yes, he did. Two days later, I climbed into bed to find I wasn’t alone. Uncle Morty had put a big blue crab under the blankets, and that sucker was not happy to see me.”

Olaf let out a loud cackle. “That sounds just like the old coot. Morty had a sick sense of humor sometimes.”

“And a mean streak,” Sam added, memories washing over him like a tidal wave. “When I first started visiting, he’d wait until I was out near the water, then throw a handful of bread crumbs around my feet. The gulls went nuts and scared the crap out of me.”

“Holy moly, you could have lost a toe.”

“If I had, Mother would have taken a chunk out of his hide.” Shaking his head, Sam added, “I think that’s the only thing that kept him in check sometimes.”

As their laughter died down, a comfortable silence settled around them.

“He sure liked having you around,” Olaf said. “We all did, truth be told.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “You did? I thought you guys just tolerated me for Morty’s sake.”

“Nah,” he said, waving Sam’s words away. “You were a good kid. Smart as a whip. Outgoing and always willing to help. I suppose that work ethic of yours was always there. Even though it was your summer vacation, you were always looking for something to do. Hauling in crab nets or carrying suitcases for the hotel guests.”

Those summers had felt like a gift of freedom, out from under his mother’s constant badgering to do or be better. Even so, Sam couldn’t abide doing nothing. He needed to be moving. To have a purpose. Interesting that Olaf remembered that part but Sam hadn’t.

Maybe Callie had been right about him. Maybe his ambition and drive had been in him all along, regardless of his mother’s standards.

“And you haven’t changed a bit,” Olaf said, snapping Sam from his thoughts.

Feeling sheepish, Sam said, “Maybe not as outgoing as I used to be.” Callie was right. It was better to face things head-on. He’d been unfair to slight Morty’s friends, and he owed them an apology. “I can do better in that area.”

“Meh.” Olaf shrugged. “You’re an important man now. Got things to take care of. We’ve kept an eye on you,” he said, pointing at the ceiling above their heads. “It’s what Morty would have wanted us to do.”

The men exchanged a smile, and Sam felt as if Uncle Morty were standing right there with them. Nodding and flashing his big grin. Looking satisfied. And proud.

“I appreciate that,” he said, extending a hand in Olaf’s direction.

After wiping his own hand on the back of his overalls, Olaf took the offering. “And the same to ya,” he said. “You’ve done good by this island, just like Morty said you would.”

Sam had never entertained the idea that Morty felt the island needed Sam and not the other way around. As Olaf’s words pinged around Sam’s brain, Olaf returned to his task, filling the air with noise and wood chips.

And Sam returned to his painting with much to think about.