Missionary Daddy (10 page)

“Well, let’s see. My sister used to wear wigs quite a bit. I could probably find one. She won’t mind.”

“Perfect. But we need more. Anyone in his right mind is going to recognize someone as beautiful as you. Unless…”

Sam didn’t miss the compliment, finding it all the sweeter because Eric gave it so matter-of-factly. “Unless what?”

She set the glasses on the counter and scrounged around for the sugar bowl. She hadn’t used sugar in so long, she’d forgotten what the bowl even looked like, but like a good Southern boy, Eric took his tea sweet. Really, really sweet.

“Unless,” Eric went on thinking out loud, “they think you’re a tall, skinny kid. A boy kid. Got any old, loose clothes that might do the trick?”

“Mr. Pellegrino, you are a devious man,” she teased over one shoulder. “No wonder I like you. Are you certain you aren’t an international spy?”

“If I tell you—”

“I know, I know.” She raised both hands in the air, laughing at his silliness. “If you tell me, you’ll have to kill me.”

He feigned shock. “No way. Double-O-Seven never waxes the pretty girls. But he does take them out to dinner.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.” Metal clinked against glass as she stirred in the sugar. Forty-eight calories’ worth. “The attic is filled with old clothes and lots of other junk. I’m sure we can find something up there.”

“Excellent.” He took the proffered tea and swigged deeply, the muscles of his throat flexing as he drank. Sam felt silly to be so mesmerized by a man’s throat muscles.

To hide a sudden, uncommon self-consciousness, she carefully focused her gaze on Mother’s china cabinet and sipped the tea. The icy coolness concealed the flush of awareness.

“That’s good stuff.” Eric backhanded his mouth in that intriguing male manner. “Thanks. All this espionage business creates a powerful thirst.”

“Well, Mr. Bond.” Sam set her glass aside and wiped moist hands on a paper towel. “Ready to check out the attic?”

“I take it you’re eager to get this show on the road.” When she gave him a what-do-you-think look, he laughed, drained the last of his tea and plunked the glass on the counter. With a gallant sweep of his arm, he said, “Lead the way.”

Eric followed Sam down a long hall lined with fine art and sedate color. The Harcourt Mansion was every bit as stately as the Noble Estate. Sam had grown up in the lap of luxury.

A knot formed in his belly, briefly overriding the happy conspiratorial mood. He’d never told her about his background. Would she look down her famous nose at a blue-collar boy who’d grown up fixing old cars and working odd jobs?

What was he doing here anyway?

But he knew the answer to that. At least part of it. Samantha was a new Christian. In his experience, the first days and weeks after accepting the Lord were crucial to Christian growth and keeping the faith. He’d led her to the Lord himself and as a result had a certain responsibility to her.

Ah, why was he lying to himself? Responsibility or not, he would still be here. And that worried him. Even if she wasn’t the Style model with her face on every billboard and magazine, Sam’s life didn’t include two little orphan boys from Africa. For him, they were a gift. He didn’t expect any woman to share that ideal. He’d long ago settled on being a single dad. The decision had never bothered him before.

Eric shook off the thoughts. He liked her. She liked him. They were having a good time today. No use letting his own insecurities run wild.

With light feet, Sam trotted ahead of him. A curving staircase such as the kind he’d only seen in movies took them up to the third-story attic. All the attics he’d seen were creepy places filled with dust and wires and spiders, something straight out of a horror movie. The Harcourt attic, though a bit dusty, was tidy and organized. Through a single dormer window, sunlight splashed gold along the hardwood floor.

Hands on his hips to catch his breath from the long climb, Eric gazed around. “Don’t tell me the maid cleans up here.”

“Occasionally. Mother has allergies.” Sam’s answer came in between short breaths.

“The renovations must be giving her fits.”

“They are.” As if he’d asked, she explained, “Remodeling a suite of rooms for me was a gift from my parents, Eric. I didn’t even know about it until I arrived home a couple of months ago.”

“Sorry. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed my bad attitude. I know you better now.” And wanted to know her even better.

Jammed with covered furniture, the attic held boxes and plastic containers of every size, several large trunks and a long rack of hanging clothes.

Eric popped the lid off several boxes, finding Christmas decorations and a hodgepodge of home decor no longer in use.

“These on top must be the newest. Where is the older stuff?”

Sam glanced over the shoulder of a simple blue fitted T-shirt, her long dangly earrings catching the overhead light. Sam always looked pretty, but only she could turn a T-shirt and capris from ordinary to spectacular. She was too thin, but he still thought she was perfect.

The thought brought him up short. Perfect? Where had that come from? He knew better. She’d told him of her struggles with anorexia, and yet he admired her all the more because of them.

“Over in that corner, probably,” she was saying. “Oh, wait a minute. I know.” She moved around him, brushing close enough for Eric to catch a hint of her exotic fragrance. “There might be some of my uncle’s old clothes in this trunk. He died young. An accident, of some kind, and my grandmother could never turn loose of anything that belonged to him.”

Sam lifted the trunk lid.

“Well. Look at this.” Her voice went quiet. “My very first outfit.” As Eric peered over her shoulder, she took out a pink-and-white baby dress complete with pink shoes and bonnet. “I’ve seen it in pictures.”

“Pretty. Your mother must be saving it for your little girl someday.”

An odd look passed over Samantha’s face. She dropped the outfit like a hot potato and slammed the lid. “Nothing useful in there.”

She quickly moved away from the trunk toward yet another. “One of these trunks has to be the right one.”

Eric followed, wondering about the abrupt reaction to her old baby clothes. She and her parents shared a once-strained, still-struggling relationship. Could that be the reason for her odd behavior?

A puff of dust wafted up as Sam raised the lid of an age-darkened trunk and lifted out a long pair of camouflage overalls. “What is this?”

“Any hunters in the family? Or military men?”

“I don’t know. Probably not Uncle Joseph. He was only a teenager.” She held the coveralls in front of her. “Would these work?”

“Yep.” With a grin, he reached into the trunk, pulled out a ball cap and plunked it on her head. “We have to do something about your hair. It’s too blond and easily recognized.”

She cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowed in thought. “Ashley’s wigs. And maybe a few other little makeup tricks. You go downstairs and have another glass of tea. I’ll be down in a minute, ready to play—” she paused for dramatic effect and then wiggled all ten fingers toward him “—mission impossible.”

He slapped her a high five. “That’s what I’m talking about. Time to get the party started.”

B
reathless, laughing like a giddy teenager, Sam hopped up and down behind Eric as he jiggled a key in the front door of a tidy little cottage. In the long, heavy overalls she felt every bit of the ninety-plus temperature. The dappled shade of red and purple crepe myrtles flanking either side of the small wooden porch offered little respite from the stifling August heat. Regardless of the discomfort and the real threat of being followed by the scandal-hungry press, Sam was actually enjoying herself—and her companion.

With a mock scowl, Eric glanced over one shoulder. “So impatient.”

Fidgety, adrenaline still pumping from the wild escape, she gave him a playful push, eager to get inside before being discovered. “Hurry.”

Instead, Eric whipped around, hands raised like claws, to growl like a bear. Sam squealed and jumped away, laughing so hard she nearly tumbled backward off the porch.

With reflexes born of a good athlete, Eric caught her shoulders and yanked. The action propelled her into his sturdy chest, but Eric held steady, as close now as a whisper.

“Rescued,” she murmured.

“Or captured,” he replied with an ornery twinkle.

Closely matched in height, though Eric stood several inches taller, the appreciable difference in their bodies was in girth. Eric’s muscled athletic frame dwarfed her lean one.

“Captured could be nice,” she murmured, reluctant to move but knowing full well if they’d been followed, a reporter would spot them any moment.

A breath apart, they smiled into each other’s eyes. Eric had nice eyes, sort of milk chocolate, with flecks of gold and a solid black ring around the iris. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Eric’s soul was honest and kind and full of mischief.

The idea filled her with a strange sort of contentment. Here was a man she could trust and lean on and share good times.

She wanted to soak in every little detail about him. The way he looked, the way he smelled, the things he said and did. She wasn’t looking for a husband but if she were…

The thought brought her up short. Like most girls, she’d always expected to find her true love some day and have a family. After her modeling career waned or when she’d stumbled on to the right guy. But then had come the unexpected diagnosis from her doctor. Since then she’d only dated men as shallow as herself—men who were far too egocentric to share her with children.

She knew better than to get involved with a man like Eric. Yet here she was, close enough to admire the crinkled corners of his eyes and wish he would kiss her. He hovered, chest rising and falling from exertion, breath warm against her forehead. When he made no move, she tiptoed up and pressed her lips against his whisker-rough cheek.

“You’re a lot of fun, Mr. Bond.”

His hand went to the spot where she’d kissed him. “Wow, kissed by a girl with a beard. I’ll never wash my face again.”

Sam shook her head in pretend exasperation. “Are you going to open the door or stand here until that dog barks himself to death and the reporters come to find out what all the fuss is about?”

“Yes,” he said, still silly and playful. But he pushed the door open and waved her inside. Happy and filled with energy, she stepped into the cool, dim living area and looked around. It was what she expected in a single man’s house. Casual, comfortable, with more entertainment system than furniture. He wasn’t joking about the plasma. Boy, did he ever have a television set!

Eric’s dog bounded toward the entry. True to his name, Barker maintained a decibel level loud enough to scare the bravest burglar. But when Eric spoke his name, the big shaggy mongrel did a belly crawl, teeth displayed in a gratuitous grin.

“Hey, there, Barker.” Sam held a tentative hand toward the animal. “I’m Sam. Don’t bite me, okay?”

Barker sniffed her fingers, whined loudly and collapsed at her feet.

Eric groaned. “Come on, Barker. Have a little dignity. At least play hard to get.”

Sam scratched the dog’s ears and was rewarded with a contented groan. “How long have you had him?”

“Since about fifteen minutes after I moved in here. He arrived in my backyard as I unloaded my television, and no amount of searching ever turned up another owner. I think he fell for the HDTV.”

“What kind is he?”

Eric shrugged. “Pure unadulterated mutt.”

As if insulted, the dog leaped to his feet, shook himself, then stalked to the back door and whined. Eric pushed the door open and stuck his head out, looking left and right.

“No reporters in sight. I think we outsmarted them.”

“Thank goodness. Free at last.” Beneath all the coverups, her head was roasting. Sam yanked away the baseball cap and wig to shake her hair loose, relishing the rush of cool air. “I still can’t believe we ditched that SUV so easily. How did you do that? What are you? A NASCAR driver masquerading as a missionary?”

“Or a mad missionary motorist masquerading as a social worker?”

“Who is masquerading as a gardener.” For unfathomable reasons, Eric brought out a part of her character she’d thought lost in high school. Playful, upbeat and undeniably happy. “I’m starting to wonder who you really are.”

Whipping off the broad-brimmed straw hat, he slapped it over his heart and struck a pose. “I am a man of great mystery.”

“Yes, it’s a mystery we escaped my house. It’s also a mystery how anyone was fooled by that awful disguise.”

“Hey, don’t go dissing my disguise again. I think it adds an air of mystery and romance.”

“Oh, definitely. Very romantic. I nearly swooned at the sight.”

“Swooned, huh?” Eyes dancing merrily, he said, “Cool. Very cool. You hungry?”

“Starving.” A truth that surprised her. “Pretending to be an international spy whets the appetite.”

“Good. I grill a mean steak if you’re up to living dangerously.”

Her taste buds went on red alert while an internal calorie counter flashed numbers through her head faster than a Vegas slot machine gone wild. “Steak? As in beef?”

“No, silly. Steak as in green beans.” When she laughed, he said, “Hey, I’m a Texas boy. We eat beef. Lots and lots of beef.”

He tossed his gardening hat on a chair and moved toward a doorway.

“Texas, huh?” She tossed her cap and wig on the same chair and followed. “I’ve heard about you Texas men.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s all true,” he said. “Whatever you heard.”

“Let’s see. Macho. Arrogant. Stubborn.”

“Yep. That’s us.”

Sam didn’t believe a word of it. Eric was all man, but he wasn’t stubborn or arrogant. Not after he’d quickly apologized for misjudging her.

She followed him into the kitchen, a sunny yellow, country-style room with white tile and cabinets, and bright curtains at the double windows. “What a great kitchen.”

Eric took two steaks from the freezer and tossed them into the microwave. “The ladies at the agency helped me paint when I first moved here. The curtains were Anne’s touch. Kelly chose the yellow. Being a wise man with two sisters, I know the power of women on a decorating mission. I kept my mouth shut and let them have their way.”

“Do you like it?”

“Love it. I offered to let them do the rest of the house, but they disappeared on me after that.”

“What’s left to do? Everything looks nice to me.”

She supposed that sounded false coming from someone who grew up in a nine-bedroom mansion and owned a condo this cottage would fit in, but she was truthful. There was something warm and inviting about Eric’s place.

“The boys’ room mainly. I can’t decide what to do with it.”

“Matunde and Amani? I could help you, if you’d like.”

He turned serious eyes toward her. “Would you?”

“I’d love doing that. And if you’d let me, I’d like to send them packages, gifts, little things to encourage them until they come home.”

“If they ever do.”

This morning he’d spent an hour on the telephone wrangling with government officials in Johannesburg. International adoption was in constant flux; one day the news was good and the next he wondered if Amani and Matunde would ever come home to him. Even though they were well cared for in the orphanage, he missed the boys and knew they wondered why he hadn’t come to get them as promised.

“Don’t lose faith, Eric.” Not that she knew much about faith yet, but the more time she spent with Eric, the more she learned.

“You’re right. And the boys are crazy about getting little packages. Just don’t overdo and spoil them. I can’t keep up with your credit card.”

The words were spoken lightly, but Sam heard the concern behind them. Her money intimidated a lot of people. She was disappointed to know Eric was one of them.

The microwave beeped. Sam reached around and took the steaks out, gently pushing Eric out of the way. She wasn’t a cook, but she wasn’t helpless in the kitchen, either.

Feeling uncharacteristically domestic, she found jars of seasoning and sprinkled the meat while Eric dragged out potatoes, dishes and a loaf of Texas toast.

In the small confines, they edged around one another, brushing and bumping so that Sam was acutely aware of her companion. Tall and well-built, Eric filled the space with a masculine presence. There was something attractively male about a man and a grill and steaks. And though she was nearly as tall as Eric, Sam enjoyed feeling small and protected for a change.

The thought brought a smile.

“What are you grinning about?” Metal rattled as he dragged utensils from a drawer.

“You.”

Spatula upraised, he paused. “I like the sound of that.”

She didn’t satisfy his curiosity. “Want me to make a salad?”

He tried to look disgusted. “Women and green stuff. Always trying to do the healthy thing when all a man wants is steak and potatoes. And maybe a hunk of bread.”

She gave him a look and opened the fridge. “Aha!” she cried, whirling around with a bag of prepackaged salad in hand. “You do eat green stuff.”

His twinkling gaze slid sideways. “I think my mom must have come by.”

“All the way from Texas?”

“Maybe she mailed it to me?”

By now Sam was laughing again. With Eric, she seemed to laugh all the time.

With a playful flourish intended to keep her laughing, he tossed the steaks onto the grill. The sizzling scent rose and tantalized Sam’s nose.

While the steaks cooked, they leaned against the counter and talked, about the boys and the adoption, about outwitting the media and their exciting escape, about Eric’s work and scandals that wouldn’t die.

By the time everything was cooked and placed on the small square table, Sam’s stomach gnawed with hunger. Normally, she had to make herself eat, having tuned out natural hunger pangs for so long her mind didn’t recognize them. But not today. Today, whether from the adventure, the company or the food, she looked forward to the meal.

“This looks wonderful,” she said honestly.

As she moved to pull out a chair, Eric stopped her. “Allow me, ma’am.”

“Why, thank you, sir.” She gave a little curtsy, but in truth she was pleased by the courtesy. “Do all Texas men have such good manners?”

“They do where I grew up or their mamas will hurt them.”

Sam doubted very seriously Eric’s mama had needed to be too stern with him. “I’ll bet you were the spoiled apple of your mother’s eye.”

“How did you guess?” He took the chair across the table and reached toward her, palms up.

Without giving the action a second thought, Sam laid her hands in his. The rough warmth of his skin against hers sent a curious ripple along her nerve endings. She really, really liked Eric Pellegrino, and from all appearances, he felt the same. Since Sam had accepted the Lord, their friendship had grown to something more. Though she didn’t like the term
boyfriend,
she wondered if he was hers.

Eric’s strong fingers curled around hers and he bowed his head. Shame pricked her conscience. Here she was thinking about Eric as a man and all he wanted to do was pray.

While his voice rumbled quietly over the food, Sam said a prayer of her own thanking God to have met such a good and decent man. A man she could fall in love with if she wasn’t careful.

The thought froze inside her head like paused video. Would it be wrong for her to fall in love?

She didn’t know. Right now, she wanted to be with him, to laugh and feel like a normal woman. She’d worry about the other another time.

Eric watched with pleasure as Sam polished off half of a grilled-to-perfection club steak. He couldn’t remember a time he’d enjoyed a woman’s company this much. Sometimes she grew silent and introspective, and he wondered what she was thinking. And the thought crossed his mind that a woman who could have anyone wouldn’t be interested in an ordinary Joe like him, but Sam’s actions told him different.

Their escape from the reporters had been both fun and worrisome. Whoever wanted to stop the investigations was making life miserable for anyone involved with Tiny Blessings. The last person who had tried to silence the inquiry had turned out to be dangerous and insane.

“Have you ever considered that you could be in danger?” he asked when Sam mentioned the reporters again.

Laying her fork aside, she shook her head. A blond curl, in pretty disarray from wearing the wig earlier, brushed against her shoulder. “Not really. The harassment is annoying and embarrassing, but I’m not afraid, if that’s what you mean.”

“I wasn’t here two years ago when the mayor’s wife was willing to kill Kelly and anyone else to keep her husband’s indiscretions quiet, but we could be dealing with another psycho.”

Sam frowned and bit down on her bottom lip. Eric tried not to notice how full and pretty her mouth was.

“You don’t think Gabriel and Ashley could be in danger, do you?”

He had to consider the possibility. “Maybe you should go back to Chicago. Take them with you for a while.”

“Ashley’s in college and has a fiancé. She won’t leave.”

Shooting for casual, Eric asked a question that plagued him. “What about you? You have a career to get back to anyway. Wouldn’t you be safer in Chicago?”