Resisting Samantha (Hope Parish Novels Book 10) (23 page)

“I do. How
many do you need?”

“Just one.”
He smiled. “Lottie wants one for supper tonight.”

We worked on getting
most of the seafood and bait cleared out, and all of the ruined
merchandise into trash bags. I caught a ride back to town, Chase’s
break-in and broken traps on my mind. This felt personal, and I
couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t about Chase. It
was about me. But I didn’t know why. Maybe I was just being
haunted by AnnClaire. Maybe she had me mixed up with her mother.
Maybe I wasn’t in danger at all.

My memory went back
to the day I thought I had seen Kyle Mayhew, and the missing flour.
Whoever had taken the flour, he would have known I would be at the
market that day.

I was probably
overreacting. Kyle was still in prison, but I would feel better if
the sheriff checked.

“Sheriff,
would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.
Anything for the pie maven.”

I explained to him
what had happened, who I had been in New York City, and the day I
thought I saw Kyle.”

“That is
something to be concerned about, but if this lowlife is still locked
up, doesn’t that rule him out?”

“I would feel
better if you did some digging and made sure for me. Could you keep
it quiet? There is no reason to upset Chase.” He nodded.

When we got back to
Imogene’s, I ran in and got him the pie and thanked him for the
ride. Unfortunately, I couldn’t talk to Chase, because he still
had to replace his cell phone, but he told me he’d be here to
pick me up after closing.

CHASE

While Ethan and I
worked on the traps, I called a salvage guy I knew to bring up my
boats and the plane. I hoped the fuel tank on the plane hadn’t
been damaged.

“So what’s
going on with you and the pretty Miz Wharton?” Ethan said, the
knowing light in his eyes telling me he knew exactly what was going
on.

“We’re
seeing each other, have been for over a month,” I said, unable
to keep the giddiness out of my voice.

“Yeah, and
you’ve got it bad for her, bro. That’s clear.”

I checked everything
that had been ruined off my list while I bagged it, the list getting
shorter and shorter until I noticed that three of the high-end
hunting bows weren’t anywhere in the trash.

“Chase?”
Ethan prodded when I didn’t answer.

“The bows are
gone. He must have taken them.” I called the sheriff and let
him know.

We went outside when
Scooter showed up with his salvage equipment and pulled up the boats
and my plane. Damn, it killed me to see my Cessna ruined. I loved
that damn plane.

I called all the
clients who were expecting deliveries and let them know I was out of
business for about a week. None of them complained. Said they would
do a workaround until I could make good on my deliveries. I was
blessed with the best kind of customers.

“What now?”
Ethan said as we sat on my front porch stairs and drank a beer.

I took a sip. Wiped
at my brow. “How would you like to do this full time?”

“Run boats,
man the register and fly a plane? Fish in the Gulf. Um…let me
think. Hmmmm. Hell, yeah. It’s a no-brainer. I love being
outdoors. I love to fish, and you can show me the ropes. I love the
idea. I can’t wait to get my hands on those charters over on
the Gulf. I saw them in your inventory book.”

“You have
experience hiring people and supervising them at Outlaws.”

“Yeah, and I
ran grunts ragged in the Marines, whipped them into shape.”

“I’d
like you to work out how much staff we need. Figure out a schedule
for us. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great.
I’ll work for you. What salary are we talking?”

I grinned and took
another swallow, the beer cold and crisp. “How about
fifty-fifty?”

“Fifty-fifty,”
he said his brow furrowed.

“I’m
offering you a partnership. You wouldn’t be working for me.
You’d be working with me. I’ve always trusted you. I’m
sorry about losing touch, and I’m not going to waste any more
time. You can buy in with cash, or we can work something out. You’ve
seen the profit margin, but I’ll get the lawyer in town to work
up a partnership agreement to make it all legal in case something
happens to either one of us. How does that sound?”

He just stared at me
for a moment. “You’re serious about this?” I
nodded, watching the smile spread across his face. “Working
with you? What a slacker. What? Do you put in ten-twelve hour days?”

“Something
like that. But I need to cut back.”

“You’d
probably give me all the shit jobs!” He laughed and slung his
arm around my neck and squeezed. “Hell, yeah! Where do I sign?”

When he let me go we
clinked beer bottles, and I was content. I couldn’t get what my
momma had said out of my mind. She was right. I wanted to fight. I
wanted to give Samantha a family, not drama.

I was in love with
her. That was a gut-deep given. With Ethan as a partner, I would be
freed up to give her the time she deserved. I wanted that. Days of
free time to make love to her, to take her over to the Gulf to fish,
to fly to New Orleans for dinner. I wanted a life with her.

Part of getting my
life back in order was settling my family matters. It was time for
action, and I knew exactly what I was going to do to get that on
track.

I left the shop
after making plans to meet with the lawyer the next day, to set up
the agreement, and for Ethan to buy in. He would also have to give
notice to Brax. Braxton would probably kill me for poaching his best
bartender, but Ethan was free to pick up shifts there if he wanted to
continue to work at Outlaws.

I pulled into
Imogene’s packed parking lot and got out, remembering the first
time I laid eyes on Samantha. She was clearing trash out of the
place, and I was struck by her beauty, the sad look in her eyes, and
the way the sun glinted on her soft brown hair.

I think I knew then
that she was going to be special to me. I’d been watching her a
long time, and I think it was because I was waiting for my opening,
which I believed would be when she had worked through the grief I saw
in her eyes. Now I knew she’d never get over it, but trusted
absolutely that she was strong enough to weather it.

I went up the stairs
and in the back way. She was just finishing up. “Ready to go?”
I said.

“Almost.”
She picked up her old-fashioned rolling pin and wiped it down,
setting it back in the special stand on the butcher block.

She turned me on
just walking around, busy doing her chef thing, and I sneaked up
behind her and wrapped my hands around her waist.

I had often
fantasized about coming into the kitchen and up behind her. Doing
what my dirty male brain wanted.

I ran my hand down
her back, my heart thudding.

“Hey,”
she whispered softly.

“Hey,” I
said, squeezing her breast through the silk of her shirt, kneading
it. I wanted to feel her skin against my palm, her hard nipple
pebbling, showing me how much she wanted this, wanted me to do this
to her.

I wrapped her up in
a tight, enveloping embrace. My fingers tangling in her hair, I
clasped her head against me as I brushed the back of her neck with a
soft kiss.

There was a trace of
humor in her voice. “Wow,” she murmured, massaging my
biceps. “If I’d known domestic chores would get you this
hot, I’d have done this sooner.”

I hauled in a
lungful of air and flattened my hand against her stomach, and it was
as if my touch had uncorked an even more fiery need in her. She
pressed her bottom into my groin, setting my dick to throbbing. But
this wasn’t about me. I slipped my hand beneath the waistband
of her jeans, thumbing the tab and releasing the zipper, my fingers
seeking and finding her wet, soft, core.

“
Chase
,”
she whispered in a voice that urged me on. “Oh, God.” Her
legs widened when I moved my hand, and she made a low sound. Her head
fell back and I brushed my mouth against hers, telling her exactly
what I wanted to do and how I was going to do it. My words made her
knees buckle, but I held onto her in a firm grip. Her entire body
vibrated with need, her hips moving with my rhythm. My breath was
ragged against her mouth, my fingers relentless.

She reached up over
her head and slipped her hand around the back of my neck, pulling at
my hair. I wanted her to get as much pleasure as she could from my
touch. I delved under her shirt and her bra, grasping her breast and
pinching her nipple. Then I covered her mouth in a hot, wet kiss, and
she groaned. I was the only solid thing in her spiraling universe. My
touch dragged her down deeper, and she gripped me, her nails dug into
my biceps, as I sent her spinning out of control.

I tightened my hold
on her, whispering dirty things in her ear as I urged her on. Her
hips jerked with one last stroke, and I took her over the top. She
stiffened and sobbed out my name as her release ripped through her,
turning her into raw energy in my arms. My hand still hard against
her, I whispered my approval, turned her so she was flush against me,
wrapping her up in a fierce hold.

“Let’s
go finish this at home,” I said.

We went at each
other again when we got home and, exhausted and replete, we lay in
bed afterward, the soft strains of classical music playing.

“You think you
can throw something together?” she said.

“I’m the
master of leftovers. Be right back.”

In her fridge I
found a white sauce chicken pizza, some leftover artichoke dip,
steak, and some asiago cheese. Opening the cupboard, I grabbed some
tortilla chips, dumped the bag of chips onto a plate, cut up the
pizza, dabbed on the dip, and cut up the steak, then sprinkled the
cheese. I popped the plate in the microwave and—violá—five-layer
leftovers!

I grabbed two beers
and went back upstairs. “That smells amazing,” she said,
breathing deep as I handed her the beers and settled in the middle of
the bed.

She rose and grabbed
my T-shirt from the floor and dropped it over her head. I unscrewed
the beer bottle top and took a swig, setting the bottle on the
nightstand.

She dug in and I
handed her a napkin.

“Oh, my God.
This is so good.” She leaned forward and kissed me. “You
are the master.”

I bowed and laughed.
“Living alone for so long, I got used to doing some interesting
combinations. You’d be surprised how good some of them taste.”

“I’m the
chef, and I’m blown away to discover so many flavors together
could be so tasty.”

“River used to
wake me up sometimes at night when she got hungry. That girl could
eat. We’d go downstairs and raid the fridge. Our cook was out
of this world amazing, so there was some high-end food. I especially
loved caviar. It goes with anything.”

“Oh, my God,
Jeff and I used to do that. Get up in the middle of the night and
throw together meals. He often cooked at the firehouse, and was very
good at it. One time we made margaritas and danced around singing the
‘Put the lime in the coconut’ song, laughing like fools.
I had Scottie on my hip and his laugh—”

She froze and looked
at me, her eyes a deep well of green. Inhaling deeply, I stared back
at her, my stomach dropping like a rock when I saw the stark,
distressed expression in her eyes. Then she covered her face and
started to cry.

I moved the plate
onto her night table and hauled her into my arms, rocking her through
the gut-wrenching sobs. It seemed like an eternity before she cried
herself out, her harsh weeping dwindling to the occasional ragged
sob. Her voice watery, her mouth pressed to my neck, she said, her
voice full of anguish, “Child loss is a loss like no other.
Even my ‘good’ days are harder than you could ever
imagine. I have tried to get over this grief, but after two years, it
never has abated.”

“There will
never come a day, hour, minute, or second when you stop loving or
thinking about your son. You’ll love him unconditionally
forever. You can talk to me about him whenever you feel the need.
Whatever you need, babe.”

She looked up and
met my eyes, and I wished I could take away her pain, take it on
myself to spare her, but I knew I couldn’t. “Only someone
who has lost a child can understand the agony of enduring his death.
He was the joy of my life. I loved Jeff, but—and I feel guilty
about this—the pain of his loss has faded. Scottie’s just
stays intense and steady.”

“Only you know
how long it takes to heal, to grieve. I can’t know your pain,
but I hurt for your loss.”

She took my face in
her hands, a sudden ache jamming up my throat at the tenderness in
her eyes, the solace and gratitude. “You are the most
compassionate, patient, sweetest man I have ever met. I’m
trying to manage this.”

“Darlin’,
take all the time you need. I’ll be here for you. I want to be
here for you.”

“I miss him so
much, Chase. So much.”

The tightness in my
throat made my jaw hurt. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m sure
you do. Hold onto me.” I would accept this gift she was
offering me. This beautiful, scarred woman, who had trusted me enough
with her vulnerability to talk about her little boy. “I’m
honored, touched, blown away that you could share any of it with me.”

I looked down,
trying to handle the sudden stinging in my eyes. God, but she could
turn me inside out. Finally managing to get a shaky breath past the
lump in my throat, I looked at her, saw how she was huddled in the
warmth of her own arms, aware of the dark pain in her eyes. That pain
stripped me to the quick, and I whispered gruffly, “Come here.”

With a choked sound,
she came into my arms, and I gathered her up in a tight embrace,
awkwardly tucking her face in the curve of my neck. I felt her take a
deep, tremulous breath, then she pressed her face tighter against me
as she slid her arms around my neck. I could feel her trembling, as
if she’d had a bad scare, and I pressed a kiss to her temple,
then slid my fingers along her scalp, cradling her head in a firm
grip. The heavy, silky weight of her hair, twisted around my fingers,
the loose fall like satin over her shoulders and I closed my eyes and
hugged hard, rocking her a bit, a swell of emotion making my chest
tighten.