A Dream to Cling To (14 page)

“And it wasn’t quite as easy for you as it was for him?”

She shook her head. “No, I overestimated myself. It wasn’t easy at all. But only slightly because of him.
Choices like that—relationships—have consequences. And that’s what wasn’t easy for me.”

He wanted to pull her close and soothe the sadness in her eyes away. Wanted to shake the dreamer in her past for daring to hurt this woman. Wanted to make everything better. But he knew he couldn’t. Brittany needed to let that sadness out in her own way, to release it. So instead, he waited patiently, his hand gently rubbing the tenseness out of the small of her back. Her eyes told him there was more, but after a moment she turned and forced a smile to her lips. “You’ve played your tricks on me again. I don’t like to talk about myself.”

“Maybe you should talk about yourself more often,” he said. “Sometimes real demons are exorcised through words.”

She shook her head. “No demons, Sam. Nothing more to say. Except—Oh, my Lord, Sam. Look!” She set her mug down with a thud and pointed toward the window, her eyes wide.

The darkness beyond the window was now a flurry of dancing white flakes, flattening into a soft unbroken blanket against the windowpane.

He smiled calmly. “First snowfall. That’s good luck, you know.”

Brittany was off the couch and moving toward the window. “You’ll have to drive in this …” She turned back to him, her brows drawing together. “What do you mean, good luck?”

“If one is in the company of a beautiful woman during the first snowfall, one’s year will be blessed with much joy.” He was right beside her now, his hand resting on her shoulder as he watched the whirling mass of snowflakes beyond the pane.

“I have a suspicion you made that up, Sam. But I do hope it brings you good luck on your way home.…” She didn’t want him to leave, she realized suddenly. For once she didn’t want the solitude, the meditative
silence, the time to think. But she knew she couldn’t ask him to stay, either. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t talked so much, you would have left long ago.”

“Not a chance.” He rubbed her shoulders and continued to look out into the darkness. She had opened up a little, like a flower beginning to blossom. And he knew he couldn’t force the opening any more than he could with a flower. But there’d been a start …

“Brittany.” He gently turned her toward him. “I guess I had better go. I know you came out here to get away.”

She looked up at him and said nothing.

He smiled, then walked back to the couch and slipped the papers into his briefcase. “I do appreciate your doing this—”

With her back to the window, she watched him move purposefully around the room, putting on his jacket, preparing to leave.

“Maybe a cup of coffee to go with you …?” she asked, taking a step toward him.

He shook his head. “Nope. I wouldn’t mind a safe-driving kiss, though. They say it brings good luck.”

Laughing, she walked over to him. She kissed him on the lips, then pulled away quickly. “Drive carefully, Sam.” On these winding unknown roads, a little voice in her head said, in the dark, and with the snow settling on his windows … “Oh, Sam.”

“Yes, Brittany?” He had his hand on the door, his fingers turning the knob.

“You can’t go,” she said quietly.

Sam studied her face, trying to sort out the tangled emotions he saw there. Concern … desire … fear … But it was the concern, he knew, that made her ask him to stay. “I’ll be all right.”

“But I’d worry all night—and there’s no way you can call me to tell me you’ve arrived safely.” She was at his side now, her hand resting on his arm.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. There are four bedrooms upstairs, for heaven’s sake. And we’re certainly adults.”

“Certainly.” He slipped out of his jacket and flung it over the back of the chair. “Not only that, but I’ve proof of honor.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a card from it. “Here. You can keep this under your pillow.”

She took the thin card from him and looked at it carefully, then burst into laughter. “Sam Lawrence, an eagle scout?”

“Yes, ma’am. At your service.” He saluted, then took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the room. “But first things first, madame. I’m about to fall over from hunger. Lead me to the kitchen and I shall make you a feast most people only
dream
about.”

“And cooked by an eagle scout!”

“
And
an altar boy, but we didn’t get cards for that.”

She looked at him sideways. “Little did I dream …”

“And there’s more to come, my love. Let us feast and make merry. And let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

His deep baritone echoed through the room and Brittany followed him into the kitchen with wings on her heels, a gentle happiness blooming in every secret part of her.

“Oh, Sam,” Brittany moaned as she walked over to the refrigerator, her socks slipping on the smooth floor.

“No, don’t say it. You don’t have any food.” He and Dunkin were close behind her.

“I picked up some vegetables on my way in, and I was going to go to the store after I brought in the wood.” She pulled the door open and looked in dismay at the sparse contents.

“But you fell asleep.”

She nodded. He bent and looked over her shoulder into the cool interior, his chin tickling her shoulder as he did a quick inventory.

“Hmm. Well, don’t worry, my lovely Brittany. They don’t call me Improvisational Sam for nothing.” With great flair he swept her over to a high stool beside the large cooking island, then returned to rummage through the refrigerator with the finesse of a Julia Child. “Okay. Fine. Yes, this will do quite nicely. Perfect!”

She watched as he pulled things out of the refrigerator and plopped them on the counter. It was the only right and decent thing to have him stay, she told herself as he began chopping an onion. And it did feel
good to have a man in the house. No, face it Brittany. What feels good is having Sam Lawrence in the house.

Sam finished cutting the onion, several mushrooms, half a tomato, and a green pepper, then grated some cheddar cheese. He could feel Brittany relaxing by the minute, and that pleased him enormously. Her uneasiness and reticence crept in at odd moments, and he wanted nothing more right now than to assure her that there was no way on God’s earth he would hurt her. He’d keep the mood light, keep the worry from her eyes. Keep everything easy and relaxed … “Okay, Brittany, here we go. We have here, m’lady, the makings for Samson’s super omelet.”

“Samson!” She covered her grin with one hand.

He feigned hurt as he cracked the eggs into a bowl. “Of course. That biblical fellow with the strength and dashing good looks.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Should things get out of hand, all I need is a scissors to lop off that head of hair of yours.…” Her gaze fell on his thick brown hair falling askew over one eye as he stirred the creamy yellow mixture, then poured it into a frying pan. It was wonderful hair, wonderful to run her hands through. “And all strength will be gone,” she finished weakly.

He began tossing the other ingredients into the pan. “No, that’s where
that
Samson and I differ.” He looked over at her and smiled a slow, devastating smile. “My strengths are in all sorts of hidden places. But you’re more than welcome to look for them, Brittany.”

She choked. “That—omelet smells good.” She quickly uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

“Good? Brittany dear, this is a
magic
omelet, not adequately described by a mere adjective such as ‘good.’ This omelet is guaranteed to make you lust for it the rest of your natural days!” He flipped the omelet neatly onto one of the plates she had set out, cut it in two, and set half on the other plate. “I make the best omelet
east of the Rockies.” He paused for a moment. “Hell, probably west too.”

“Such modesty, Mr. Lawrence! Well, it better be good or the yolk will be on you.”

He laughed at her silly pun and helped her pile everything onto a large pewter tray. “I’ll properly ignore that. Now, dear Brittany, shall we retire to the warmth of the fire to savor these gourmet wonders?”

In minutes they were both settled comfortably in front of the leaping flames, their backs supported by plump, oversized pillows, their plates balanced expertly on their laps.

Sam watched her carefully as she slid a forkful of the rich, moist omelet between her lips. “Well? What do you think?”

“You’re absolutely right.” She wiped a trace of egg from the corner of her mouth. “Best in the east
and
west.”

He beamed. “Now I’m convinced you have wonderful taste.” He reached over and walked his fingers lazily across her hand.

She eyed him warily, then slipped her hand away to reach for her wineglass. She took a quick sip. “You know, Sam, we have a dog at Petpals who’s a lot like you.”

He laughed huskily. “He cooks?”

“No. He begs … for attention. And I usually throw him shoes.”

He grabbed her foot, rubbing the thick sock over her toes until she wriggled with pleasure. “Shoes … socks … anything will do.”

“You’re impossible.” She finished her omelet and set her plate down, then wrapped her arms around her knees. “But impossible or not, Sam, I’m still glad you stayed.”

He poured more wine for them both, then lifted his glass and clinked it lightly against hers. “Here’s to those who stay.…”

Their eyes met and held as they swallowed the wine. “To those who stay …” she repeated softly.

She glanced at the nearly empty bottle of wine and pressed one palm to her cheek. “Sam, are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked teasingly.

He shook his head, watching the firelight cast a glow on her cheeks. “Eagle scout … remember?”

“My brother Gordie was an eagle scout. And at the awards ceremony one of the older eagle scouts tried to squeeze my thigh underneath the punch and cookie table.”

“Did he succeed?”

She laughed. “No. I managed to lower my hand holding a chocolate eclair just as he made his move, and he got a handful of
it
instead.”

He poured the rest of the wine into their glasses. “Sounds like you’ve always been able to take care of yourself just fine, Brittany.”

“Most of the time I do all right.” A shadow passed over her eyes, but disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

“Brittany?” He slid closer and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. A little hazy, perhaps.” She leaned her head back and it settled naturally on his shoulder. “But otherwise just fine.”

Her lashes fell like butterfly wings onto her cheeks and she sat still for so long, Sam thought maybe she had fallen asleep. An angel asleep in his arms, he thought, his fingers gently combing her hair. And she fit just right. As he moved his hand slightly, her hair swept against his cheek, and the clean, fresh smell of her filled his senses. She was so soft and wonderful. So delicately sensual. So … He swallowed with great difficulty, then his whole body tensed.

“Brittany, wake up.” He shook her lightly but firmly.

“Sam!” Her eyes opened wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I think we ought to go outside, that’s all.”
Because if he didn’t, right this minute, he might burn his eagle scout card!

“Outside?” Was he crazy? she thought. She hadn’t been asleep at all, just quietly absorbing every small feel and smell of Sam Lawrence. Basking in it, tasting it in her mind, then carefully committing it to memory.

“Yes, outside.” He was already standing, pulling her to her feet. “That good-luck spell doesn’t work unless you actually touch the snow. Come on.”

She stared at his back as he headed for the door. The man was totally unpredictable. Wasn’t he enjoying the moment of closeness too? She slipped into her shoes and pulled on her jacket, then quickly went out the door after him. Maybe she just didn’t understand men.

“Ah.” Sam lifted his face and let the filmy snowflakes settle on his cheeks. “Wonderful!”

“Inside was wonderful too,” she whispered.

“The air feels so good.” He stretched his arms wide and breathed deeply, his lungs expanding and the cold air calming his body. He wrapped one arm around Brittany and held her close.

Brittany gazed out into the fairy-tale night. The snow was polka-dotted against the inky darkness and barely covered the tall pine trees and fence posts. Along the ground was a thin graceful wave of white. It
was
beautiful … a beautiful snowy night, and a wonderful man standing close beside her. As the cold air began to penetrate, her head cleared and the dreamy, foggy sensation lifted. But not the feeling of utter happiness that swept through her again and again, like a swiftly flowing river. It was Sam, standing there beside her. He was turning a lovely night into something far more. And with firm determination, she blocked out rational thought and refused to let its icy logic ruin the first snow.

“In the dead of winter the snow piles as high as a man’s head out here,” she said, looking out toward the dark woods.

“How high?”

“Up to here.” She reached up and rubbed one hand across the top of his head, her fingers touching the snowflakes that had settled there.