All-American Girl (12 page)

“Why did you bring Jax over tonight?” she repeated.

“Candice told me you met him the other day at the diner. She said you two hit it off, so I thought I would bring him by.”

She cocked her head. “So you thought you would use him to soften me up? Convince me to let you work on Gram’s house?”

He let go of her wrist. “Did you ever stop and think that maybe your grandmother means something to someone other than you?”

“Well…no, I guess not. But that doesn’t give you the right to push me around and manipulate me.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think after the way you’ve treated me since I arrived?”

“You mean trying to help you?”

“I wouldn’t call what you do
help.
”

His sardonic laugh rolled through the kitchen. She grabbed the washcloth from the sink and wiped down the counter again. And again.

“When was the last time you looked in the mirror?” he asked.

She gripped the washcloth tighter and scrubbed with all her strength, knuckles white. “What?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the problem is
you?”

She froze. Hell. She certainly didn’t need a therapy session from Lance.

“Get out.”

“No. You need to understand that I’m trying to help you, but you won’t let me in. There must be something wrong with you.” He crossed his arms. “If you’d had half the mind to ask me about some things instead of assuming, maybe you wouldn’t be so damn cold.”

“There’s nothing I need to know from you.”

“I find that hard to believe. Why not just ask and be done with it? Get out all the anger and move on?”

Move on? Unlikely. Since he’d crept back into her life she could hardly think, let alone move on.

Oh my God. That’s it.
He was the reason she couldn’t move on. He was the reason she couldn’t let go of the past. He’d been the catalyst of it all, and now that she was back, being constantly reminded of how he hadn’t wanted her, her temper flared just beneath the surface, ready for any moment to attack. In order to move on in Burlington and really start fresh, she would have to talk to him about it. Not forgive him, but lay the cards on the table so they each knew how much the past had woven part of their future. Surely she was strong enough to do that?

She threw the rag into the sink and turned to face him, a frown on her face. “Fine then. What’s the deal with you and my grandmother?”

“That’s it? That’s what you want to ask about?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, if that’s what’s really bothering you.” He eyed her, waiting for some sort of reaction.

“Fine. There are lots of things bothering me, but that’s between me and my therapist.” She cringed. Now he would think she was some loony.

One of his brows arched. “A therapist?”

“Forget it.”

“If you say so.” He dropped his arms to his side. “Your grandmother helped me a long time ago, and I’ve spent the last several years helping her in return.” He took a step to the side, giving her more space.

Every part of his body flexed with the movement, and her limbs went weak. She had to force her eyes to look at something other than his chest.

“Good enough?” he asked.

She swallowed, trying to make sure her inappropriate thoughts didn’t roughen her voice. “For now.”

“Anything else?”

A million other things, but they would have to wait. “Is that why you want to do the work on her house?” She had looked over the estimates. The labor cost was far less than it should’ve been.

His eyes searched her face. “One of them.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Should she ask what the other was? Or would that just be wishful thinking?

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I need to get Jax home and cleaned up before bed. I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow, and we can talk about getting started.”

“Wait—” And that’s all she had. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to know more. Much more. She finally wanted some answers and was finally ready to ask the right questions. She had some serious groveling to do for being such a bitch to him, but fresh starts had to begin somewhere.

“Yeah?”

She drew her bottom lip into her mouth. “Forgive me?”

He cocked his head. “For what?”

“Being me.”

He continued to study her without saying a word.

“Say something,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, his warmth swamping her senses. His hand came up to her face, his fingers skimmed down her cheek. “I’ve known since the day you got here that something was wrong; it’s not all just me. Because of our
history
, I’m a bit confused, but willing to take a chance I wouldn’t have taken before.”

His lips brushed across hers. Slowly. Softly. She nearly collapsed to the floor from the gentleness of it—gentleness that she didn’t deserve. His head lifted, and his eyes skimmed down the length of her body, making her shiver.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, breathless and confused.

He grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that since you got back into town. Only I wanted to do it while you weren’t yelling at me.”

She dipped her head, ashamed at her behavior toward him, but still mad at what happened between them. “You and I still aren’t friends, you know.”

“I know. And, thank you…for letting me do the work on Dorothy’s house.”

“Well, goodnight,” she said.

He walked past, his broad frame brushing against her shoulders. He stopped and looked down at her before bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. She froze as all her senses came to life again, a ripple of unwanted excitement skimming over her.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

Men
. That was all she could think when the door shut behind Lance. His rejection was still etched in her heart as though carved in granite. The same heart knew his touch, his taste, the way their bodies had fit so perfectly together. The way she’d loved him.

She almost smacked herself for that last thought, but why did the man who broke her heart still make her yearn for his touch?

Lance helped Jax up into the passenger side seat of the truck. “Did Doug like your T-Rex?”

“He sure did. He showed me a vellaceerapter he just got.”

Lance laughed.

“Velociraptors are cool,” he replied as he scooted into his own seat. “Did he show you the sharp claw they have?”

“Yeah! Man, it was huge.”

“Glad you had fun.”

“Yeah, it was all right.” Jax’s shoulder lifted and fell. “Dad, why don’t I have a mommy?”

Lance’s chest tightened. Jax had only asked that question once before, and Lance thought he’d answered it fairly well. Granted, the whole thing about having a super dad so Jax didn’t need a mom would only go so far. He’d known that, but he hadn’t expected a trip to Sam’s to raise the question again.

How could he even begin to explain to Jax that his mother left him just days after he was born? To burden a child with that knowledge would be cruel.

“You had a mommy.”

“Where is she?”

Lance blew out a breath. He needed to answer so Jax wouldn’t be crushed. “Do you remember when we learned about T-Rexes and their babies at the museum the last time we went?”

Jax perked up. “Sure, both the mommy and daddy take care of the baby until it’s big enough to take care of itself.”

“That’s right. Well, your mommy didn’t want me to help, so she left.”

“She didn’t want you to help?”

Lance shook his head.

Jax’s face scrunched as he considered that. Seconds stretched between them before Jax spoke again. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m glad I’ve got you.”

A twist deep in his chest told Lance he had said the right thing to help Jax understand. Lance didn’t know if he could ever give Jax a mother, but he could give him unconditional love.

With that thought, someone else came to mind.

Sam.

“Sometimes a little shift can change the big picture.”
~Unknown

B
ANG! BANG! BANG!

The jarring noise jerked Samantha out of unconsciousness. The hammering had interrupted a perfectly good dream—one about Lance, no less. She flung herself out of bed, ashamed for having such memorable and pleasurable dreams about a man she was still trying to get over.

Bang! Bang!

The sound was coming from inside the house. She looked at the clock; it was only seven a.m., so she went in search of the infuriating sound. The person causing it was going to suffer serious bodily harm.

She padded across her room, into the hallway, and paused, wondering briefly if she should be frightened. No, it was probably nothing. But if it was her schmoozing brother, she was going to kill him. She found a brass candleholder and snatched it up.

Samantha padded across the cool wood flooring toward the staircase. She put one hand on the rail and peeked over the edge, but saw nothing.

Bang! Bang!

The damn ringing in her ears made certain she was awake. She gripped the handrail and propelled herself closer to the noise. When she reached the bottom, she still didn’t see anything.

The sound of male groans and wood splintering echoed up the hallway followed by another loud thump. She edged down the hallway, candleholder at her side.

A light flickered near the bathroom in the hallway. Another thump. Another groan.

“Christ!” a voice roared. “For the love of—”

Samantha rounded the corner. A man loomed in the doorway, and she jerked the candleholder back.

“Whoa!” his deep voice rang out. He grabbed the ridiculous weapon from her as she stumbled in the opposite direction. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

She planted her feet and shook her head as anger trickled in. She was already pissed at being raised from her slumber by the sounds of the house falling down around her, and to discover Lance was the cause?

“What in the hell are you doing here at seven in the morning?” she demanded. “How did you even manage to get in?” She looked around. The bathroom was in total disrepair. “What did you do to the bathroom?”

He stared at her and said nothing, chest rising and falling as he took ragged breaths. His hair was damp with sweat and clung to his forehead; his eyes were so dark, they were almost black.

He held out the candleholder. “What were you going to do with this?”

“I—”

“Had I not turned around, you would have hit me right in the head with it.”

“Well you shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not every day that a man’s face comes that close to a solid piece of brass. What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that?”

Not able to take anymore, Samantha took a step in his direction and gave him a good shove on the shoulder. “Stop lecturing me, you brute.
You
are the one who’s in my house—uninvited, I might add—and for all I know you could have been a burglar. I was protecting myself. Just what the hell is wrong with
you?”

“Me?” He waved a hand in the direction of the mess. “I’m working here.”

Instant headache. Samantha pressed a hand to her head, willing it to go away. “We haven’t discussed the details yet.”

The half-smile that tilted his lips made her blood heat. “Just getting an early start.”

“How did you get in?”

His smile made her want to push him into the shower and flip on the cold water. Or maybe she needed the cold shower.

“I’ve got a key,” he said.

“You’ve got a key to Gram’s house?” She rubbed her tense neck. “Why?”

He shrugged as he bent over, picked up a tape measure, and hooked it to his belt. “I already told you. She helped me. I help her.”

“Yeah, that clears everything up doesn’t it? Geez, Lance.” She flung both her hands up in the air and let them fall lifelessly down at her sides. “It’s too freaking early for this. I
was
sleeping. Don’t you even care that people are trying to live here while you go making enough noise to raise the dead?”

“Actually, what I’m more concerned about is how you tried to knock my head off with your weapon of choice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to go running up behind someone who might have broken into your house?”

“With the intent of hitting them over the head? Yes.”

“Wrong answer.” He shook his head. She drew in a shallow breath. Sawdust and sweat—his scent was intoxicating, and it sent a tingle down her spine. She looked down at her skimpy cotton tank and pants—she wasn’t wearing her robe. Her midriff was showing. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, nipples erect and sensitive from the cool morning air. Lance looked away uncomfortably.
Interesting
.

“Okay.” She cocked a hip and crossed her arms across over her exposed chest. “First, I was pretty sure you weren’t an intruder. Burglars don’t make so much damn noise at seven in the morning. I thought you were my brother and I was pretty intent on hitting him over the head. Second, what would you expect me to do if a stranger came into my home? Play damsel in distress and cower in the attic until a big strong man comes to rescue me?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you from getting hurt, yes.”

“And what if he never shows up? Besides, why do you care what happens to me?”

For the first time since seeing Lance, pain flashed across his features.

She tightened her arms around herself. “God. Give me a second.” She huffed a breath. “I didn’t mean that, Lance. I’m not much of a morning person without my coffee.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your way soon. I just needed to get this sink out so I could take it down to the hardware store and get it retrofitted.” Lance bent down to mess with something on the floor. Once again, he had Samantha as a loss for words. “I’ll still stop by the shop later and talk about the estimates, if that’s what you want.”

“Um…sure.” Now where was her mind exactly? Hell if she knew. “I’ll be there after one or so. I’ve got to stop by and see Gram before heading in. Is that okay?”

His shoulders slumped, his long arms hung at his sides. “Doesn’t matter to me. You’re good at doing things your own way, so however you want to play it.”

What did he mean by that? Was he insulting her? How on God’s green earth could she crave intimacy from a man who…whoa, wait. What was she saying? She shook her head. She was losing her mind.

“Fine.” She whirled around to head back upstairs, when the doorbell rang. “Coming.”

Samantha swung the door open and was greeted with the fresh spring breeze and scent of flowering dogwoods. Thank goodness it overcame the masculine smell that drifted from the bathroom. Her best friend stood on the porch with a beaming smile on her face.

“Jenny!” Samantha snaked her arms around her and held on tight.

“Hmm…wow,” Jenny said in a muffled voice.

“Oh, sorry.” Samantha released Jenny and moved away. “I’m just excited to see you.”

“I’m glad.” Jenny straightened her shirt and eyed Samantha. “I’m not used to a Samantha who hugs freely. What’s gotten into you?”

Samantha waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. I’m just really happy you’re here.” Truthfully, she couldn’t believe she’d reacted like that either. It made her worry about her own emotional stability. “Come in.” Samantha ushered her inside. “I’m a mess, so let me go get cleaned up and I’ll be right down, okay?”

Jenny nodded as she looked around the room. “Sure, sweetie. I’ll just have a seat in the living room. What do you want me to do with my bags?”

“Bags?”

Jenny’s suspicious stare turned to concern. “Yes, I’m staying with you this weekend, remember?”

“Oh, right…right. I’m sorry. It’s been a long morning.”
It’s been a long week.
Samantha drew in a deep breath, trying to settle whatever had come over her. “I didn’t forget.” She winked at Jenny. “I promise.”

Jenny cocked her head. “Did you just wink at me?”

“Yes, why?”

“Are you
sure
you are all right?”

Why did she keep asking that? Samantha felt fine, except for the obvious problem banging around in her bathroom. “Yes, yes—I’m good. I’m just going up to change.” Samantha headed toward the stairs. “Make yourself at home. And ignore the guy in the bathroom.”

“Stop.”

Samantha froze and turned around.

“What guy?” Jenny asked as she arched a brow.

“Don’t give me that look. There’s a contractor doing some work on Gram’s house. Certain things need to be updated before she can come home.”

Jenny frowned. “Oh.”

“Be right back.” Samantha bolted up the stairs. It didn’t take her long to throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. She yanked a comb through her hair and put it back up in a ponytail. In less than five minutes she was ready to go.

Samantha rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and found Jenny hunched over the coffee table with Samantha’s unfinished manuscript in her hands. Irritation wormed its way into Samantha’s mind.

“What are you doing?” she asked, closing the distance between them.

Jenny’s head snapped up as she dropped the papers. “Oh, nothing…just…umm.”

Samantha fought not to smile at the hand-in-the-cookie-jar look Jenny gave her. She clucked her tongue. “You know I don’t let anyone read my work, Jenny.”

Jenny sank back into the couch, embarrassment all over her face. “I know. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

Samantha sat down next to Jenny and shot her a playful glare. “I’m not mad. Irritated, because you know the rule. But not mad.”

Jenny’s face twisted in confusion. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, what would make you say that?”

“It’s just…you’re…” Jenny drew her bottom lip into her mouth. “You’re not nearly as high-strung. If you had caught me looking at your work in New York, you would’ve lost it.”

Samantha shook her head. “No, I’m still high-strung.” She patted Jenny on the shoulder and gave her a crafty smile. “Just not with you. More than anything, I think you made my day. Besides, I could never be mad at my best friend. The one who puts up with even my ugliest side—”

“And it
is
ugly—”

“Not funny. I’m being serious.”

Jenny stood and rubbed Samantha’s arm. “I’m being serious, too. Your other side is pretty ugly. At least you realize you have one, though. That’s the first step in—”

Samantha covered Jenny’s mouth with her hand. “Don’t shrink me.”

Jenny laughed. The almost childlike sound barely echoed in the living room, but for some reason, it made Samantha smile and laugh.

Once the giggles stopped, Jenny took Samantha’s hand in her own, and for once, Samantha didn’t have to fight the urge to pull away. There
was
no urge. Odd. Jenny’s warmth seeped into Samantha’s skin, and she found it comforting. “I was just trying to say you look happier here. Almost content.”

The happy tears in Samantha’s eyes made her want to turn and run away. She hated looking like she couldn’t control herself. Then again, Jenny had seen every high and low point of Samantha’s personality, so what difference did a few tears make?

“Thanks,” Samantha said. “But do me a favor and remember this moment when you’re with me this weekend. I’m bound to lose it on someone. It’s been pretty stressful around here, so I don’t really know how I look content. And my book—I don’t even want to get into that.”

“You know,” Jenny said, “I don’t know how you could be stressed with that hunk of man strolling around.”

“What?”

“The guy who’s doing the work on your grandmother’s house. I met him.” Jenny tapped a finger to her lips. “I must say, wowza! I mean, have you looked at him?”

Samantha’s stomach twisted and a ping of
something
stabbed at her heart. “Yeah, of course,” she choked out. She wasn’t surprised that Jenny found Lance attractive, but she hadn’t expected to feel like she was going to lose the breakfast she hadn’t even eaten yet now that she knew.

Jenny drew her brows together. “Then why aren’t you drooling? I would be drooling if I had to share personal space with a guy like that. I mean, he’s all rough-and-tumble, make-your-body-ache-to-be-touched, kiss-me-in-all-the-right-places gorgeous.”

Samantha tried to hide her cringe at Jenny’s description. Really, she shouldn’t care what Jenny thought. “Yeah,” she agreed.

“And his voice—yum.” Jenny arched a seductive brow.

“You talked to him?”

“Sure. Right before he left. If I’d known there were men like that outside the city, I would have moved out here a long time ago.”

Another twinge of discomfort settled in Samantha’s stomach. She needed to say something, anything. Hell, she just needed to change the subject. “Ready to go?” she finally spit out.

“Uh, sure. Where to?”

“To visit Gram and then to the antique shop. Is that okay?”

Jenny eyed Samantha carefully. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

Samantha nodded. “Fine, fine. I just need to get some breakfast.” She didn’t know if she was fine at all; jealousy had reared its ugly head, and Samantha couldn’t believe she was actually jealous because her best friend thought Lance was good-looking. Samantha had always known others found him attractive, so why did Jenny’s interest bother her so much?