Maxwell's Smile (2 page)

Sam twisted to high-five Maxwell, and her son moved to meet the man’s palm with his, but stopped when he caught Rachel’s condemning glare. Sam slid the offending palm down his sweatshirt, which was splashed with unidentifiable stuff she assumed must be related to the sawdust.

A carpenter? If she wasn’t so angry, she’d consider her luck at meeting the one person she could really use right now.

“Anyway,” Sam said, “the toaster saved the day, and the blanket got back home, along with the vacuum and the radio.”

“I…” Rachel didn’t have a clue what to say. While the man was disturbingly sexy, and certain parts of her were softening and wanting to stand there and take him in, the dedicated mother who protected her son at all costs was outraged. “I think you should leave, Mr. Jones, or I’ll have to report you to Security.”

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”

Sam glanced at Maxwell, and Rachel caught her son’s fading smile. The man had just wanted to see him smile?

“He’s okay, Mom,” Maxwell finally said. “Even if he does have a bad case of dandruff.”

Sam brushed off his shoulders. “It’s sawdust, buddy. Hazard of the trade. I’m a carpenter.”

“You are?” Her son’s own shoulders lifted. “But we need—“

“For you to get some rest,” Rachel interrupted, before Maxwell could explain the disaster in their garage that was in desperate need of elbow grease and new lumber. “I’m sure Mr. Jones has work to get back to.”

“Right. I do have a job this afternoon. Handyman stuff, mostly.”

“Oh.” Now that he’d said the word
handyman
, she remembered hearing about him. At least, she’d heard about the sexy guy who wielded a hammer and an easy smile. Seemed the entire female population in the neighborhood absolutely hummed when he was anywhere in the vicinity. “You’re Handy Sam? I’ve heard of you,” Rachel said, before she could tamp down her growing interest.

“Really?” He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and straightened proudly. “Good, bad or otherwise?”

She shrugged and made a show of considering the options. “Otherwise. I know some of the neighborhood mothers break things on purpose so they can call you over.”

And she completely understood that wacky compulsion now that her anger had subsided a bit and she could look at the man with a woman’s eye.

“No way. They break stuff?”

“Mrs. McTavish told me she shoved a
Reader’s Digest
down her toilet just last week, and blamed it on her three-year-old.”

Sam winced. “I thought it seemed a little suspicious when she greeted me at the door with martinis.”

“Yes, well, you said you had work to do,” Rachel insisted.

Sam got the hint. Grabbing the box of DVDs from the end of the bed, he strode to the door. “Nice to meet you, Maxwell. We had a good time with the toaster. And again, I’m sorry, Mrs. McHenry.”

Rachel was about to correct him that it was Miss—always had been—but instead she nodded stiffly and moved to close the door behind him. Sam Jones smelled like sawdust and looked like a man she would love to tuck in her purse and take home with her, just to watch the neighborhood ladies’ tongues wag.

She did have a legitimate reason to invite him over, so why hadn’t she?

“He was nice,” Maxwell commented, his attention focused on his homework.

Rachel made a dismissive, yet slightly positive response.

“You were rude to him, Mom. Do you know he was here to donate movies so kids would have something to do while stuck in these hard, uncomfortable hospital beds?”

“That was very kind, but he shouldn’t have assumed it was okay to invite himself in without first asking my permission. You understand I only want to keep you safe, sweetie?”

Maxwell sighed. “I understand. I should have told him I wasn’t allowed to watch movies. But you know, I was watching him more than the movie. His expressions made me laugh. But watching a DVD once in a while wouldn’t be so awful, would it? It made me forget about this IV I have in my arm. It’s starting to itch.”

“I’ll get the nurse. You shouldn’t have to have that anymore. Oh, Maxwell, how are you?” She kissed him on the eyelid, which always made him grimace comically. “I tried to make the closing quick but the clients wanted to take their time and read everything twice.”

“I’m fine. Got a lot of work done before Sam walked in. But now I think I have some new ideas, after watching the movie. Must have stirred my imagination, just like Sam said it would.”

She closed her eyes and nodded in agreement. Watching a movie once in a while wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She’d made the rule a few years ago, after he’d wanted to see a horror flick that was advertised on television. It was her responsibility to screen what her child watched, and it had been easier at the time to cut out everything.

Watching the film had made him forget the pain and had stirred his imagination? Such a simple solution.

But that didn’t dispel her uneasiness over finding a stranger sitting at her son’s bedside.

“Mr. Jones will forget my rudeness,” she said, dismissing the man, because if she didn’t erase him from her thoughts now, he’d linger there for the rest of the day.

Four days after Maxwell had been released with a thumbs-up from his doctor, he’d begged Rachel to take him to the local store for some paper for his printer. He’d been given strict instructions not to run and jump for two weeks while the incision was healing, but a quick trip would hardly tax him.

The grocery store was small, and Rachel knew half the staff, so she trusted Maxwell to wander the aisles on his own. He headed toward the one that featured everything from office supplies to baby wipes, while Rachel tucked some fresh veggies into her mesh bag. For tonight’s menu she planned a frittata stuffed with peppers, onions and cheese.

Reaching for a bright red pepper, she bumped knuckles with a fellow shopper who had spied the same prize vegetable. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Oh, hey, Rachel McHenry, right?”

It was Sam Jones, looking absolutely delicious in a soft blue T-shirt, and not a shred of sawdust to be seen. And yet Rachel impulsively stiffened and nodded toward the vegetable bin. “You can have it.”

“How’s Maxwell doing?” He nabbed the pepper and put it in a recyclable mesh bag very similar to her own. “Kid get his homework done?”

All right, he’d made his point. She was the evil mother, forcing her child to do schoolwork while laid up in the hospital. Didn’t she get the same guilt trip from her own mom?

“Maxwell happens to be the one who insists on spending two hours a day on schoolwork. He thrives on the pride that comes from getting straight A’s.”

“I know. He’s going to be a brain surgeon. I also know the cerebellum fascinates him.”

She gaped at Sam, not so much surprised that Maxwell and he had talked, but that he remembered a detail like that.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said. “An apology is necessary. I shouldn’t have figured it was okay to barge into your son’s room without your permission.”

“Apology accepted. A mother can’t be too careful nowadays. I hope you understand.”

“I do, and like I said, it was a stupid move on my part. My head was in a weird place that morning, being in the hospital and all. So, how you doing?”

“I…” She frowned, feeling uncomfortable under the man’s soft, seeking stare. His brown eyes were so clear and—were those freckles on his nose? “Why would you ask about me? I wasn’t the one in the hospital.”

Sam shrugged. “Single mother with a sick kid.”

“Last time we spoke you called me Mrs.”

“Yeah, I just—uh, Mrs. Hogan, the lady I did a job for the other day, mentioned her friend’s son was in the hospital, and I wondered if that was you. She said you were a single mother. With a wink.”

“I see.” Lucy Hogan tended to spill details best left unspilled to anyone who would listen, including the postman, cable guy and Rachel, on more than one occasion. “Winks are flitted about rather carelessly in our neighborhood.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“But apparently martinis go right under your radar.”

“Hey now, I didn’t have one.” He winced. “That was the most uncomfortable job I’ve been on. I was so glad to get out of there when I was done.”

Rachel laughed. “Mrs. MacTavish has a not-so-subtle vixen that comes out around the male species. She’s very needy.”

And you aren’t?
she wondered.

“Mrs. Hogan mentioned something about you being in the market for some repair work? Anything I can give you a hand with?”

So the queen of neighborhood gossip had filled Sam in on more than just her marital status.

“It’s a fallen ceiling in the garage. I’ve been so busy trying to sell houses, I haven’t had time to hire a carpenter to look at it.” Rachel turned and stuffed a green pepper into her bag, feeling a blush rise up her neck at his intense scrutiny. “Money’s a little tight right now with the medical expenses. I think I can tug down the Sheetrock that’s dangling from the ceiling, and stuff the electrical wiring back up into the framework.”

Sam whistled. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Handling electrical wiring is tricky. You could get hurt or even screw up the stuff inside the house. And there’s probably insulation that should be replaced. You have to be careful—the old staff could have asbestos in it. Why don’t you let me stop by and take a look and give you an estimate? Your neighborhood is on my usual route.”

“Sam!”

Rachel turned to admonish Maxwell for running in the store, but he had slowed by the time he reached them.

“Hey, Maxwell.” Sam ruffled her son’s hair. The two of them had the same color hair and both looked as though combs were forbidden objects. “You supposed to be out and about so soon after they cut into you?”

“It was laparoscopic surgery,” Maxwell explained with his usual droll condescension. “Do you know what that is, Sam?”

“No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me,” he said, with a wink to Rachel.

Who did the man think he was, nudging into their lives with his movies and chitchat in the produce aisle? It wasn’t that easy. The way to her heart was not through forming a friendship with her son. So he could take those winks and—

“It means the surgeons make a very small cut in the skin and go in with a device that has a movie camera on it,” Maxwell explained. “That lets them see what they are looking for without making a huge incision, then they take it out with precision instruments.”

“That sounds like science fiction,” Sam said. “Are you sure they didn’t stick an alien in there before they closed you up?”

Maxwell sighed and shook his head. “Aliens are hokum. Laparoscopic surgery has been around for decades, Sam. You should look it up online. Mom, can we get a smoothie on the way out?”

The store boasted a smoothie machine at the deli counter. Maxwell’s favorite was the mango banana.

“Of course. Nice to see you again, Mr. Jones.”

Rachel started toward the deli section, but was suddenly aware the conversation between Maxwell and Sam had not ended. In fact, Sam accompanied them to the deli counter, where she hastily dug out a steel canteen she always carried with her, and set it under the smoothie dispenser.

“So, Sam, I did some research online about donating movies to hospitals,” Maxwell said.

“You did?” Rachel asked abruptly.

Her son nodded.

“Cool,” Sam said. “What did you find out, buddy?” He leaned against the stainless steel counter right next to Rachel, arms crossed and brilliant white smile distracting her until the drink overflowed. Sam noticed and gave her another wink, then quickly returned his attention to Maxwell.

“You were researching charitable donations, Maxwell?” she asked, grabbing a handful of napkins. She was sometimes taken by surprise at her son’s enterprising behavior.

“Yes, last night. And I found the neatest organization. It’s called Kid Flicks. I read all about them. They’re legit. Wait, let me bring it up so I can tell you about it.”

Maxwell set down his backpack, which he never went anywhere without, and tugged out the iPad his grandparents had given him for Christmas.

“Maybe Mr. Jones has some grocery shopping to do,” Rachel suggested as she cleaned up the mess of bright orange frozen fruit from the counter with a couple of the inadequately thin napkins. “You shouldn’t bother him.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Sam argued. “In fact, I want to hear about this organization. If there’s a place that accepts movies for kids, I’m on it.”

Offering a wincing smile, Rachel wondered why she couldn’t just let the man talk to them. She’d gone manless far too long if this redneck carpenter could make her heart do flip-flops. He was handsome and kind and seemed like a perfectly normal guy, yet he was also a little too sexy for her vulnerable heart. It would be like combining mango with spinach in a smoothie. It just wouldn’t work because, well, because she had certain expectations and—hell, who was she kidding?

What was wrong with a little friendly conversation?

She’d focused on Maxwell and her career as a Realtor for so long, she wasn’t sure she’d know a good thing if it walked up and stole her red pepper.

“See here.” Maxwell moved beside Sam, who squatted to look at the website her son had brought up on the screen. “Kid Flicks was founded by four sisters, Lexi, Romi, Marni and Berni Barta, when a friend of theirs was being treated for leukemia and needed something to help her pass the time while she was in the hospital. This is a picture of the sisters. They’re pretty.”

“Pretty smart, if you ask me,” Sam said. “So the Barta sisters founded this organization all on their own? Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Me too. They were teenagers at the time. Now Kid Flicks sends DVD libraries all over the United States to hundreds of different children’s hospitals and pediatric departments.”

Whenever her son got excited about something, it lightened Rachel’s heart. She took a sip of Maxwell’s smoothie and got a brain freeze.

“I got to thinking about all the kids in the hospital,” Maxwell said thoughtfully. “I talked to Katie, the girl across the hall from me, when the nurse got our lunches mixed up. I walked over and traded Jell-O for her pudding. She has a brain tumor, and has been there for weeks. Other kids could be there for months. They can’t all have homework to keep them busy. And what if it’s summertime? No school, and they can’t go outside to play.”

“It’s got to be tough,” Sam agreed.

“Katie was sad, but also bored,” Maxwell said. “So being able to watch a movie to distract her from the treatment or take away some of the boredom would be a good thing.”

“That was a great idea those sisters had,” Sam said.

“They take donations,” Maxwell continued. “You can send cash or you can hold a drive to collect DVDs and then send them to Kid Flicks. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“Wait. What?” Rachel bent down beside the two of them and stroked her fingers through her son’s hair. “What evil plan are you concocting now?”

Maxwell gave her his patented evil villain laugh, complete with wiggling fingers about to clutch the mysterious weapon that would destroy the world.

“Sounds like Maxwell wants to hold a charity drive to collect DVDs for kids who are stuck in hospitals,” Sam said. “Did I tell you how smart you are, Maxwell? I bet your mom is super proud of you.”

That Sam could see how special Maxwell was meant a lot to Rachel. She didn’t know what to say, so she said the first thing that came to her. “Maybe you could come over tomorrow afternoon to give us a quote on the garage?”

Sam’s eyes met hers, and his smile worked its way into her heart with startling ease. “I’ll be there.”

Maxwell beamed from one to the other.

Sam shook hands with her son. “I’d better get the rest of my groceries,” he said, and left with promises to see them both tomorrow.

“He’s cool,” Maxwell said.

Cool
was not a word her precocious son ever used. But Rachel had to agree. Sam Jones was cool.