Love Came Just in Time (44 page)

“No.”

“You can stay at my place until you find something suitable.”

“I'm happy here.”

“I cannot imagine why.”

“Exactly,” Sam said, deciding that there wasn't any point in discussing things further. Besides, Marjorie hated the silent treatment, and he was enough of a younger brother to relish giving her a little of it.

Sam put his 4X4 back in gear and eased back out onto the road. He ignored Marjorie all the way home, then left her to bring in her own lug-gage while he ran up to the house and banged on the door. He owed it to Sydney to prepare her for what she would soon face. He should have done it sooner.

Sydney opened the door, then walked away before he could hug her. He followed her into the kitchen and pulled up short. There were at least a dozen egg cartons on the counter, as well as what could have been mistaken for a soufflé.

Had it risen, that is.

“Sydney?”

“I was trying to make a damn souffle, all right?” she snapped. “I couldn't do it. Satisfied?”

“Good heavens, what is this mess?”

Sam threw Marjorie a glare over his shoulder. “Shut up, Marj.”

“And this must be your country girl,” Marjorie said, extending her hand like she was a damned queen and holding a handkerchief to her nose delicately. “How quaint.”

“Marjorie,” Sam growled.

“Attempts at a soufflé, my dear? How charming. But don't you just eat grits and things up here? Or is it raw bear meat right off the bone?”

“Marjorie!”

Sydney fled from the kitchen. Sam threw up his hands in frustration.

“You
shrew,”
he exclaimed. “I love her, damn it!”

“Now, Sam,” Marjorie said, unperturbed. “Don't be so rude.”

“You're fired,” Sam bellowed.

“You can't fire me. I'm your sister.”

“You're a pain! Get out of my house.”

Marjorie peered out the kitchen window. “Oh, Sam, I do believe your little bumpkin is driving away. Does that mean I can stay for dinner? What time do we eat out here in the country, anyway?”

Sam ran out of the kitchen and back to Sydney's bedroom. On her bed was a note, along with an envelope. He grabbed the note.

“Marjorie!” Sam roared.

“Yes, darling,” she called.

“How are your clerical skills?”

“Nonexistent, my love. Why?”

“Better brush up,” he yelled. “You're going to have to get a real job when I get you blackballed in the city!”

Sam drove his sister/former agent into Flaherty and paid one of the Clan members a hundred dollars plus gas to take her back to Anchorage. He watched with narrow-eyed satisfaction as Marjorie bumped off in a truck that didn't look like it would get five miles without breaking down. Her luggage had been dumped in the truck bed and would probably be covered with dog hair and a nice thick layer of compost by the time it reached the airport. Sam couldn't have been happier about it.

After assuring himself that Joe had no idea where Sydney had gone, Sam retreated back to the house to plan.

And prayed that Marjorie hadn't ruined everything.

 

 

SYDNEY CREPT BACK to her house Saturday afternoon. Sam's car was gone. She knew she should have been relieved, but she wasn't. She was heartbroken. All it had taken was one look at Sam's “agent” to see that there was no hope of winning Sam away from her.

And so she'd run. She'd scampered off with her tail between her legs like the coward she was and spent three days licking her wounds. She had the feeling that no amount of licking would heal them.

The house was empty when she entered. She didn't bother to check Sam's room. She sat down on the couch and tried to cry. It was a futile effort. If she hadn't cried before, she certainly wasn't going to cry now.

She sat there until the darkness was complete. The days were growing shorter all the time. Soon there wouldn't be much light at all. Fitting. She would spend the winter in the gloom.

She flicked on the light in the kitchen and pulled up short.

There, on her very own counter, was the top of a wedding cake. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It must have taken Sam hours to finish. And there was a note beside it. She picked up the note with trembling hands.

Sydney pulled out the bowl of frosting, then closed her eyes briefly before she looked at the top tier of the cake. It said: Congratulations, Sam and ...

Oh, what did he mean? Why had he left the cake blank? Did he want her to fight for him?

Wasn't that what she'd been trying to do with the soufflé before she'd chickened out?

Sydney reached for the cake-decorating kit laid out conveniently close to the cake and spooned some frosting into the pouch. She could hardly spell her own name but that didn't matter. Her courage returned with a rush. She loved Samuel MacLeod and damn Marjorie if she thought to steal him away. A man didn't take his life in his hands to learn to fly-fish if he didn't love you, did he?

She carefully lifted the cake top and ran out to her car. Sam was waiting for her. She couldn't get to the reception hall fast enough.

And so, like clockwork, she got a flat tire.

It took her over an hour to fix it because she was so upset. By the time she was on the road again, she was filthy. And she was weeping so hard she didn't notice she was drifting off the road until her Jeep went front-end-first into the ditch. Sydney got out of the car, cursed fluently, then grabbed her precious cake top and started to walk.

And, of course, it started to rain.

It couldn't have been snow, so she could have died a very pleasant death from exposure. It had to be rain, which soaked through her coat, plastered her hair to her head, and left her with no choice but to tuck the cake top inside her coat.

She started to sob.

She wasn't sure how long it took her to get to town, but she felt certain it was half an eternity. She stumbled into the reception hall just as things looked like they were about to be packed up. Sam was standing in the middle of the room, looking defeated. And then he turned and saw her.

And he smiled.

Sydney didn't know where all her tears were coming from, but there was a whole new batch handy for this round of weeping. She threw herself into Sam's arms, squishing the cake top between them.

“I got a flat t-tire,” she hiccuped, “then the c-car slipped off the r-road.”

Sam wrapped his arms around her tightly. “It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you now.”

“I crushed the cake,” she wept. “I even put my name on it.”

“The rest of the cake is here, honey,” Sam said soothingly. “We'll eat it without the top. Or I'll make you a new one after we get home. Will that make you happy?”

She lifted her face and choked on her tears. “Y-yes, it would.” She clung to him. “Oh, Sam, I thought you loved Marjorie.”

“She's my ex-sister,” Sam said, wiping the tears and rain from her cheeks. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“She can make soufflés,” Sydney blubbered.

“I'll tell you a secret,” Sam said, bending his head to press his lips against her ear. “I hate soufflés. I think I even hate eggs.”

“Oh, Sam!”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I want a woman who can change the oil in my Jeep and can tell the difference between a flat screwdriver and a Phillips. Now, if you'll tell me you've been waiting for a man who could bake with the best of them, we'll go in and get married.”

She lifted her head and smiled up at him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Does that mean you'll marry me?”

“It does.”

“Then let's go.”

“But I have cake smashed on the front of my sweater.”

Sam unzipped her parka, then hugged her tightly.

“Now, we're both wearing it.” He grinned down at her. “You look wonderful. Let's go.”

She couldn't argue with a man who ruined his tux with wedding cake just to make her feel more comfortable. So she took his hand and let him lead her into the chapel.

And she became Mrs. Samuel MacLeod, wearing not only her cake but a smile that she was certain would never fade.

It matched Sam's perfectly.

SAM SIGHED AND stretched, then saved the last chapter of the second book in his espionage series. He turned off the computer and stood, wondering what Sydney was up to. He looked down at his calendar, just to assure himself that it really was the last week of August and all her little city boys and girls would be going home soon. He could hardly wait to have his wife to himself again.

He walked out on the porch and looked over the front yard. He couldn't see the new addition to the house on the opposite side of the garage, but he knew it was there. It was conveniently far enough away that he could work in peace, but close enough so the inhabitants could be rescued at night if the need arose. Which it did. Often.

Camp Alaska was Sydney's baby. Sam had encouraged her and funded her, discreetly at first, until the application checks had started to roll in. Joe had called in a handful of favors, and the addition on the house had been constructed in May and June, then filled with six city children who had come up for two months of the wilderness life.

Sam had also come clean about the life he'd left behind, but Sydney hadn't been all that impressed. As she said, all that money didn't mean much if it was just stuck in a bank. Sam suspected they would eventually do something with all his loot, but they were still discussing how best to use it. She promised to go to New York with him eventually, but neither of them was in any hurry to leave Alaska.

Sam leaned against a porch post and smiled as his very own wilderness woman shepherded her children across the lawn.

“Will Sam fry up the fish for us?” one of the boys asked. “We'll clean'em for him.”

“No, Sydney, you cook them,” one of the girls said, holding Sydney's hand. “Then maybe Sam will make us brownies. Do you think he will?”

“If you ask him, he just might,” Sydney said, looking up and catching sight of Sam.

A little blonde darted away and threw herself up the stairs and into Sam's arms. “Will you, huh, Sam? We let you write all day long, didn't we? We stayed out of your hair, didn't we?”

Sam laughed and gave Jennifer a hug. “Yes, you did, sweetheart. And I'll make you brownies if you run on in and get out all the ingredients. Doug, you're in charge. Don't let anyone mess up my kitchen.”

“Sure thing, Sam,” Doug said. He was fourteen and took his leadership responsibilities very seriously. “Come on, brats, let's get moving. No, Chrissy, you can't stay outside with Sydney and Sam. They probably want to do something gross, like kiss.”

There was a chorus of gagging sounds and childlike laughter that disappeared into the house. Sam rolled his eyes as he gathered his wife into his arms.

“How did it go today?”

“Nobody drowned. I call that a success.”

Sam laughed and kissed Sydney softly. “You're great with them. It's going to be very hard next year to choose from all the applicants. We may have to build on a few more rooms and bring some of these kids back as camp counselors or something.”

Sydney trailed her finger down the front of his sweater. “Yes, we might have to do that.” She looked up at him. “Build on another room or two.”

Sam kissed her, his heart full of love for the passionate, beautiful woman in his arms. He thanked his lucky stars that the men of Flaherty had been too stupid to see what was right under their collective noses.

“About the rooms, Sam,” she said, looking in the vicinity of his chin. “I know we've got the loft, but we're going to have to build something else too. On the ground floor.”

“Whatever you want, Sydney.”

She met his eyes. “Sam,” she said patiently, “don't you want to know why we need more rooms?”

“More campers?”

“No, Sam.”

“You aren't letting Marjorie move in, are you?”

“Sam, sometimes you really aren't very bright.”

He stiffened. “You aren't inviting any of the Clan in, are you?”

“Sam, I'm pregnant!”

“Oh,” he said, with a smile.

Then he choked. “A baby!”

Sydney smiled serenely. “A baby. Maybe two.”

“Oh, Sydney.” He gathered her close and hugged her tightly. “Oh, Syd.”

“Tell me you're happy about it.”

“I'm thrilled.”

“I didn't think you had enough headaches with just the kids during the summer,” she whispered in his ear. “I thought a few distractions year-round might make you happier.”

He lifted his head and looked down at her. “Did you say two?”

“The doctor in Anchorage says no, but Doc Bolen says he's sure it's twins. Sort of a variation on the spit-in-Drano test.” She smiled up at him serenely. “He's never wrong.”