Prelude: Prequel to The Lewis Legacy Series (5 page)

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Two Nights Later

Cleaning the tables at Perry’s Diner shortly before closing time, Sarah’s thoughts strayed to that long ago, humid August day when she’d first met Sam. Side by side with Tess, she’d marched down their street to the Lewis house, a modest but well-maintained, one-story ranch. She’d carried a homemade pie while Tess prattled on endlessly about her expectations for the new boy in town.

After ringing the doorbell, they waited on the front steps. The oven mitts were almost threadbare and the heat from the dish started to sting Sarah’s hands. “Please open the door sooner than later,” she muttered, tempted to put the pie on the ground.

As if on command, the front door swung open and Sarah raised her chin to meet the eyes of a very tall teenage boy with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Her favorite color of blue, reminding her of a robin’s egg. Wearing a San Antonio Missions T-shirt and shorts, he sported a mop of longish, dark curls.

“Wow,” Tess murmured under her breath.

Whatever. At least he didn’t have hideous acne and seemed cleaner than most boys. Uppermost in Sarah’s mind was getting back home to her puppy. “Hi. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Shifting the pie in her arms, Sarah stuck out one hand. “I’m Sarah Jordan and this is my old—old
er
sister, Teresa. We live four doors down. Can I please put this pie down somewhere?”

“Here, let me take it.”

“Watch out,” Sarah said as he took the dish from her, along with the oven mitts. “The dish is hot—”

“Yowza! You’re not kidding.” Darting into the kitchen, he called over his shoulder for them to follow. “Can you open that drawer and pull out a towel?” He used his foot to indicate which drawer. After Sarah yanked out a dishtowel and quickly spread it on the counter, Sam dropped the dish on it and yanked the mitts from his hands. “At least I know what to get you for Christmas.”

“Sorry about that. You can get some for our mom, but I don’t bake. I hope you didn’t get burned.” Without a second thought, she reached for his hands, inspecting them for any signs of burns. How embarrassing.
Welcome to the neighborhood. Sorry for almost burning your hands off
. Thankfully, other than being a pinky red color, his fingers apparently hadn’t suffered any permanent harm.

“I think I’ll survive. I’m Sam, by the way. Thanks for the pie. Is it peach?” Pulling out of her grasp, he handed the oven mitts back to her.

Tess brushed Sarah’s arm with more force than necessary as she reached for Sam’s hand. “It’s apple, actually, and I go by Tess.
Not
Teresa. Really nice to make your acquaintance.” She pumped his hand up and down.

“You too, Tess.”

Spying a trash can in the corner of the kitchen, Sarah aimed and tossed the oven mitts inside.

“Nice shot. Great eye-to-hand coordination. Ever play ball?”

“Thanks,” Sarah said. “Softball.” She nodded to his T-shirt. “My sympathies.”

At first, he seemed confused, but then he laughed. “Yeah, the Missions are destined for obscurity. I can’t believe you’re a girl and know about baseball.”

She smirked. “Right on both counts. Don’t look so surprised. Listen, we heard you had a little sister who died. I’m really sorry about that, too. What happened?” A sharp stab of self-remorse threatened to overwhelm her when Sam’s smile evaporated, replaced by a pained expression.

Tess gasped. “Sarah! I can’t believe you said such a thing. That’s no way to welcome our new neighbor. You must forgive her, Sam. My sister’s only ten.”

“It’s okay.” Looking Sarah straight in the eye, in an equally matter-of-fact manner, Sam told them their station wagon had been struck from behind by a drunk driver in San Antonio the year before. His younger sister, Rachel, had been thrown from the car and killed instantly. “At least she didn’t linger and suffer. As weird as it might sound, that was God’s biggest blessing.”

“Well,” Sarah said, “at least you have the comfort of knowing she’s with Jesus, right?” He’d mentioned God, after all. What boy actually talked about the Almighty if he didn’t have faith? She could already tell Sam was different from the other boys in Rockbridge. In a good way.

“Right.” Sam nodded. “That was the Lord’s greatest blessing for my family.”

“Enough of this sad talk,” Tess said. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“I’m sorry.” Feeling awkward, Sarah turned to go. “I need to get back to Hershey now.” Thank goodness Sam hadn’t shed any tears when he’d told her about his dead sister. That would have been horrible, and would have made her feel worse than she already did. The story was tragic enough, but she’d never liked cry baby boys. Sam took his loss like a man, and that impressed her.

“Hershey, huh? You must be a chocolate lover.” Sam trailed behind them through the house and back into the front room. Thankfully, their new neighbor didn’t seem to hold her lack of tact against her.

Tess laughed. “Sarah’s a dog lover. Hershey’s the name of her newest pet because his coat’s smooth and rich as dark chocolate.”

“Great name. I love animals, too,” Sam said. “Maybe you’ll introduce us sometime.”

“Sure. He’s a Labrador Retriever, four months old. I walk him every night. You’re welcome to join us.” From the corner of her eye, Sarah caught Tess’s glare as she waved and headed out the front door. Walking away from Sam’s house, she heard her sister telling him about school and offering to help him get acquainted.

Of course, Sam was all Tess could talk about for days afterward. “Sam Lewis is the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” she’d gushed. “He looks like one of those Greek gods come to life.”

Sam had joined her on many nights as she’d walked Hershey. Sometimes he’d bring along the newest stray dog he’d temporarily adopted. They’d talk about school and sports mostly. Sometimes they’d discuss books, but he preferred crime and war dramas while she devoured the classics.

“I can’t believe you’ve read some of those books,” he’d told her once, “much less understand them. I thought only old people read them unless it’s required reading for school. Are you sure you’re not really thirty years old?” She’d given him a good punch in the arm for that remark. “Hey, it’s a compliment when you think about it,” he’d protested with his customary grin.

As long as Sarah had known him, Sam had been straightforward without exhibiting any self-consciousness when he talked about God, as if the Almighty was his close, personal friend. That boldness was the way it should
be, but it was more than Sarah could say for most people. Other than some of the older female prayer warriors, deacons and elders in their church, she’d never known anyone else—male or female—who could talk about the Lord and make it sound natural instead of forced.

Hearing a shuffling noise and a grunt, Sarah snapped back to the present. She’d really zoned out, but at least it was quiet in the diner, giving her time to indulge in her memories. In the middle of stacking chairs upside down on the tabletops, she paused. Merle Smithers, son of the now-deceased legendary town drunk and seemingly destined to follow in his dad’s footsteps, rose from his table and lumbered toward her. For the past forty minutes, he’d sat quietly in a corner booth, the only customer.

“Gotta go outside since I can’t smoke in this joint,” he mumbled. “What’s wrong with you people? A little smoke never hurt nobody.”

“I disagree.” Sarah stood her ground, hoping he’d turn around and go back to his table. “I’m sure you know Myrna’s husband died last year from lung problems. The doctors said it was caused by all those cancer sticks he inhaled on a daily basis.”

“Spoken just like a nurse.” Holding onto the back of a booth, Merle swayed.

“His lungs were black, Merle. They did an autopsy. Ask Doc Meriweather.”

He waved his hand. “Ah, come on, Nurse Sarah. How about some mouth to mouth? Put that pretty mouth to better use than criticizing my vices.” When he stumbled forward, Sarah spied the top of a liquor bottle sticking out of his pants pocket. Usually he kept his bottles—and his inebriation—to himself.

“Oh, Merle.” What a sad figure he painted. Why did people seek solace in alcohol? Addiction was a foreign concept to her, but she’d heard from others how it could be all-consuming, fueled by anything from loneliness and heartbreak to a sense of hopelessness. Still, she’d probably never fully understand the reasons if she lived to be a hundred years old. Not that her heart didn’t break for those suffering from such addictions. She’d hoped his father’s death from alcoholism might have sobered up Merle once and for all.

“Just one little kiss. Be nice to old Merle. I’m not that bad lookin’, am I? Ain’t that old either. I still got all my working parts.”

Clutching the back of a chair, Sarah positioned it between her and Merle, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Why did it have to be one of those rare nights when Myrna hadn’t been feeling well and had headed home early? Considering she’d worked at the diner forever, Sarah knew the owner trusted her to clean up and lock the diner for the night. But how could either of them had known Merle would get drunk and act like this?

Jimmy was in the kitchen washing dishes, so she wasn’t completely alone. At thirty minutes before closing, she didn’t expect any more customers. Tonight, she wouldn’t mind if a group of kids decided to come in late for malts and fries.

“You’re the best lookin’ woman in Rockbridge,” Merle said. “Some of the guys might think that sister of yours is the fox, but that chick’s a-a big te-tease. You’re the special one, Sar-Sarah.” He moved closer and started to reach for her hair. “So pretty with all your blonde hair. Gorgeous”—his eyes scanned her figure—“everywhere. I bet you’d look—”

She had no intention of hearing the rest of that sentence. “That’s enough out of you, Merle. Sit down, and I’ll go pour you an extremely strong cup of black coffee. You have no business going out on the roads in this condition.”

“I’m fi—fine.” His gaze rest on her. “So are you.”

Sarah aimed a nervous glance in the direction of the kitchen. If she called out to Jimmy for any reason, he’d come running as best as his bum leg would allow. Not that she was afraid of Merle. She could handle him, but she’d never seen him so drunk that he’d slurred his words and made advances toward her. Although his words and insinuations made her uncomfortable, she didn’t believe Merle would ever touch her inappropriately. The man was all talk. Still, best not to tempt anything.

“Sit down. Now.” She infused her voice with as much authority as she could muster.

“Whoa,” he said, stumbling backwards. “Now you sound like my mama, God rest her soul. Don’t need you tellin’ me what to do, too. I’m the man, you hear me?” Merle’s voice had risen, and he glared at her.

Sarah’s eyes widened. Hearing the bell on the door as it closed, she glanced up to see Sam. Not that she needed a hero, but he’d shown up at a mighty opportune moment.

Sam’s tall frame swallowed the space as he stood just inside the door. How much had he heard? She breathed a silent prayer of thanks and hoped her glance conveyed her gratitude. Why he’d be near the diner at this hour of the night, she couldn’t imagine. With his black Stetson, well-worn jeans, boots, and a short-sleeved red shirt that revealed his well-developed upper arm muscles, Sam made her heart race. Much more so than even the twenty-year-old version of Sam she’d adored as a fanciful teenager.

Moving to stand between her and Merle, Sam slid his hands down to his hips. “Merle, you’ve had too much to drink. Time to go home.”

“Lookee he-here. It’s the bi-big hero man, S-Sam Le-Lew-wis.” Merle snarled the comment.

His features creased with concern, but Sam didn’t flinch. When he darted a glance Sarah’s way, brows raised, she nodded.

“Why’d you come back to this Podunk town, anyway? The only thing worth it would be this little lady.” Merle pointed to her and then his gaze traveled back to Sam. “Hey, you got something goin’ on with our beautiful Sarah? She’s quite the looker, ain’t she? Take a number, buddy. Half the men in this town—”

“I came back to Rockbridge because this is my home,” Sam said, thankfully interrupting Merle. “Home is where you’re going right now. Come on. Let’s go.” When Sam reached for him, Merle shrugged him off.

“Nah, man. Leave”—he burped loudly and stumbled a bit, slumping down into the closest booth—“me alone.” Merle hung his head and let out a loud, obnoxious belch.

“Would you prefer I call the sheriff? On duty or not, I’m sure Tommy will come collect you and give you a nice jail cell for the night. Your choice.” Sam’s voice was as firm and commanding as Sarah had ever heard it. She liked it.

Walking behind the counter, she glanced over her shoulder and then grabbed a mug. After pouring steaming black coffee into it, she carried it over to Merle along with a napkin. “Here, Merle. Drink up.”

Sam shot her a grateful glance.

“That’s mighty hospitable.” Tugging the mug closer, Merle lifted it to his lips with shaky fingers. A stream of the dark liquid spilled over the top and onto the table, but he seemed oblivious.

“Careful there.” She moved the napkin closer to him.

“I’ll be fine. You can go on now.” Merle slurped a longer sip of the coffee. “Always said you made the best coffee in town, Sarah.”

“Want a piece of blueberry pie to go with your coffee? It’s on the house.”