The True Love Quilting Club (15 page)

“That’s right. Shake it off.” He was so patient with
her. “Don’t be fearful. But don’t be aggressive either. Be calm and assertive. Claim your space. You are the alpha dog.”

“You sound like the Dog Whisperer.”

“Hey, Cesar Millan is famous for a reason. He knows what he’s talking about.”

“Got it. Calm, assertive, claim my space.”

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Sam opened the back of the hatch of the Jeep. Patches looked ready to leap out. “He’s not calm enough yet.”

“What do I do?”

“Tell him to sit.”

“Sit,” Emma said.

Patches just looked at her.

“He’s not sitting.”

“Don’t complain like a big sister tattling on her little brother, take charge.”

“Is this your way of saying you have sibling issues with Jenny?”

“Stop avoiding the situation.”

“Okay, all right.” She drew in another deep breath. She was an actress. She could do this. “Sit,” she commanded.

Patches sat.

“Oh! Oh! He did it.”

Patches immediately hopped back up.

“He hopped back up. Why did he hop back up?”

“No high-pitched vocals with inflection. That gets him excited.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered.

“Try it again.”

“Sit.”

Patches sat.

She leaned in and snapped the leash to his collar. “This is amazing,” she whispered to Sam.

“It’s not that impressive. Most dogs know how to sit. Just wait until you see him with the sheep.”

The event she’d been dreading suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Now tell him it’s okay to get down.”

“Get down,” she said.

Patches jumped from the Jeep to the dusty ground and then looked from Emma to Sam.

“He’s questioning your authority,” Sam said. “Tell him, ‘Watch me.’”

“Watch me,” she commanded.

Patches immediately swung his gaze to Emma.

“Praise him.”

“Good boy.”

“Now let’s head on over to the registration table. Don’t let him pull you. Normally he walks well on a leash, but he’s not used to you and he’ll probably try to take over. He just needs to know you’re in control. Keep your shoulders back and your head held high and your grip loose. If you pull on the leash, he’ll feel your tension and it will make him tense.”

“This dog thing is complicated.”

“Not really. You stay relaxed and in control, then he stays relaxed and in control.”

“That relaxed-and-in-control thing?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the hard, complicated part. I’m more of a cat person.”

“Because cats couldn’t give a good damn whether you’re anxious or relaxed.”

“Exactly.”

“But dogs offer something cats cannot.”

“They fetch.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I was thinking about. They give unconditional love.”

“They’re dogs, they can’t feel love.”

“Clearly, you’ve never owned a dog.”

True enough. Throughout the exchange Patches had sat at their feet, the whole time his eyes trained on Sam’s face.

“We can argue about this later. Come on.” He put his hand to her back as if to guide her, but he didn’t touch her.

It didn’t matter. She could still feel the surge of sexual energy jumping from him to her and back again, an invisible force as solid as a steel band. All these years she’d tried to put him out of her mind. Tried to forget how much she’d loved him with the kind of passion known only to teenagers. But now, the feelings were back in a hot rush of memory, drowning her in wistful longing.

No, no. She would not, could not allow these emotions to gain a foothold. What was past was past. He had a life in Twilight and she did not. Her destiny lay elsewhere. And yet, no matter how much her mind argued, her body burned.

“This way.”

To Emma’s surprise, Patches followed at her side, but he kept looking up at her.

“He keeps looking up at me. Why does he keep looking up at me?”

“He’s trying to get a read on what you want him to do. Just proceed ahead. Don’t look at him, don’t tense up. Just walk with confidence.”

It was unnerving having a dog walking so close to her. A couple of times his tail brushed her leg, and that made her draw in a gulp of air. When another dog passed very close to them, she tensed and immediately felt the leash tighten.

“Easy, easy,” Sam soothed, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, he feels everything you feel.”

Emma forced herself to relax, and the leash loosened.

“No fear,” he whispered. “That’s the key.”

He’d proven his point. After they checked in at the registration desk and got their entry number, they went to stand beside a white wooden perimeter fence where the other entrants were lined up. A lush green rolling pasture stretched out in front of them. A tight herd of eight black-faced sheep grazed in the middle of the field. The early October sun was moderate, the breeze cool. A good morning for herding sheep.

As the first Border collie and her handler took their places at the starting point, Sam explained what was going on, filling her in on the terminology and the commands the handler issued to his dog. He spoke with authority and confidence. Sam loved all animals, but she could tell he had a special affinity for dogs in general and Border collies in particular.

Emma had to admit that, in spite of her fears, she was enjoying being with him out here. She watched him roll up the sleeves of his button-down, cowboy-style shirt to reveal muscular forearms sprinkled with dark brown hair and lean against the fence railing, his body nimble and marvelously sculpted. He turned his head to look over at her, his eyes welcoming, his smile gentle. A light breeze ruffled his hair, giving her
a silvery glimpse of his scar. She caught the aroma of him, a sexy combination of male pheromones, sandal-wood soap, and spray starch.

He kept talking about the dogs and sheepherding, but she wasn’t listening to the words. She was hypnotized by the sound of his voice, helpless against the tide of desire his soft, deep rumble stirred inside her. He was earthy, uncomplicated, genuine—so different from the status-seeking, social-climbing men she’d dated in New York.

“We’re up next.”

“Huh?” Emma blinked and forced her attention back on the sheepherding exhibition.

“You’re going out there with us.”

“Me?” She slid a sidelong glance at Patches. “And him?”

“If you’re involved in the herding, he’ll see you as a handler.”

“Instead of a sheep.”

Sam grinned. “Exactly.”

“They’re going to allow me out there with you?”

“If this were the finals, no, but this is just a friendly exhibition. You’re fine.”

“Next at the post,” said the announcer over a bullhorn. “Dr. Sam Cheek, accompanied by Emma Parks and his dog, Patches.”

“Here, you take the crook.” He handed her his staff and pulled a slender whistle from his shirt pocket. “Follow me.”

He led her down the grassy slope to where a small wooden platform had been erected. Patches followed at his side. Sam waved for Emma to step up on the platform beside him. Patches scanned the sheep gath
ered in a clump about five hundred yards away from where they stood.

Sam blew into the whistle. Emma didn’t hear a sound, but Patches was off like a shot, running to the far left. “This is called the outrun,” he told her. “Patches is running out to the sheep to gather them prior to bringing them to us.”

When Patches had reached the maximum extent of his outrun, he approached the sheep to move them forward.

“His first contact with the sheep is called the lift,” Sam explained. “He’s going to start moving them to us. This is an important step because it gives the sheep their first impression of Patches.”

“I remember my first impression of Patches.” Emma chuckled. “He made sure I did some high stepping.”

Sam blew on the whistle again. Patches came up behind the sheep, guiding them through two white panels erected in the field between the post and the place where Patches had first come upon the sheep.

“This part of the course is called the fetch, when he brings the sheep straight down the centerline of the course to us,” he explained.

She noticed the way he kept saying “us” instead of “me.” It made her feel odd in a nice way. Like he considered them a real team. Unnerved, she shielded her eyes with her hand and watched as Patches guided the sheep around the post.

Sam touched the whistle to his lips, blew twice more. Patches took the sheep away from them now, herding them through a triangular course bound by pairs of panels. “This is called the drive. He’s going to take them through the cross drive panels.”

Patches moved like a professional athlete and he never took his eyes off the sheep.

Another blow on the whistle from Sam. “He’s going to take them to the shedding ring. Now it’s our turn to get really involved. Keep your crook handy. Let’s move.” He started trotting the distance to the shedding ring.

Emma kept up, jogging beside him, her sneakers sinking into the plush pasture grass. “What’s happening?”

“We have to work with Patches in order to separate the sheep into two groups. You’ll use the crook to help guide the sheep where you want them to go.”

“What if I screw up?”

“You won’t screw up.”

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t,” he reiterated firmly. “Just stay focused on the sheep.”

Easy for him to say. He was born to this life.

Hey, you’re an actress. Pretend you were born to this life. You’re a sheepherder. This is second nature to you.

Patches heard the sound of Sam’s whistle even if Emma could not. The Border collie immediately went into action, cutting between three sheep and the remainder of the group.

While Patches was dealing with those three sheep, the rest of the herd tried to turn to follow the cutoff trio. Instinctively, Emma reached out with the crook to encourage them to stay back. With a bleat of surprise, they turned in unison, trotting off in the opposite direction from where Patches guided his batch.

“Excellent work,” Sam said. “Now comes the single shedding.”

They reunited the two groups of sheep and then this time, while Sam whistled instructions to Patches, Emma and the dog isolated one specific sheep from the herd. Then once that task was complete, they returned them all to the starting pen.

The crowd applauded.

Along with pride, Emma experienced a keen sense of accomplishment. “That was fun,” she told Sam as they walked off the field with Patches beside them. The dog looked the way Emma felt. Happy. Satisfied at a job well done.

“I told you that you wouldn’t screw up.” Sam rested an arm over her shoulder and cocked a sidelong grin.

An acute sensation of sexual attraction cut through her. Sam possessed an irresistible blend of quiet confidence, kindhearted generosity, and masculine protectiveness.

He guided her toward the spectator fence; the crowd shifted, letting them through as the next handler and his dog went for the post. “Would you like to grab something to drink while we wait for the scores?” He nodded toward the refreshment stands that had been set up near the registration table.

It was hot work. And standing this close to Sam made her feel even hotter.

They took Patches over to the watering trough set out for the animals, then stepped to the refreshment stands, where Sam bought two bottles of water that had been submerged in a tub of ice water. He lifted the cold bottle to the back of his neck and let
out a soft groan. Her toes curled in response to the sound.

“Aah, that feels good.”

Emma took a long swallow of her drink. It trickled wetly all the way down.

“So are you feeling less shaky around Patches?” he asked.

“Surprisingly enough, yes.”

“I knew you would.” He met her gaze and winked. “You’ve got a lot of courage, Emma.”

They stood very close together, off to one side of the refreshment stand, away from the crowd. A line of large pecan trees behind them offered shade from the sun. The irises of his eyes were intense and deeply brown, like cocoa beans steeped in black tea.
You’ve got a lot of courage
, he’d said, and as long as he was looking at her like that, she needed all the courage she could muster.

After finishing their water, they wandered back to the stands. All the seats were taken, so they stood in the back, watching the remainder of the trials.

“We have the results of the trials,” the announcer said several minutes later and rattled off the times, starting with the longest times first. He called out the third place finishers and then second place. “And in first place, we have Dr. Sam Cheek, his assistant Emma Parks, and their dog Patches.”

Their
dog. In that split second, she realized they’d won.

“We won?” Emma shrieked.

Sam nodded. “I told you that you were going to amaze yourself.” He sounded so proud of her. And his voice was husky too, as if something had abraded his throat.

“We won!” Without thinking, she launched herself at him. He caught her, spun her around. Emma locked her legs around Sam’s waist and ensnared her arms around his neck. A thrill coursed through her. Beside them, Patches picked up on the jubilant mood and turned in excited circles. “We won!”

“We did.” His eyes were so inviting, his smile so big, Emma couldn’t help herself. The next thing she knew, she was kissing him.

Sam tightened his arms around Emma, turning what she’d meant to be nothing more than a quick kiss of victory into something scorching hot and weighted with hidden meaning.

He held her tightly around the waist with one arm, and with the other, reached up to splay his palm against the back of her head, holding her still while he explored her mouth. He tasted far earthier than she remembered. Like great wine, he’d improved with age. His lips were firm against hers. Firm and hot and wholly masculine. Emma melted into him.

The electricity sparking between them had not decreased with time, but rather had heightened in intensity. Kissing him felt like a gathering storm filled with tornadoes.

She tried to break the kiss, but damn him, he wouldn’t
let her. Instead he pressed harder, plunging deep. She’d forgotten just how erotic kissing could be.

Emma felt Sam’s erection. She pulled back, her eyes wide. “Are you…is that…?”

“I’m sorry—” He started to apologize, but broke it off, with a daring gleam in his eyes. A gleam she’d never seen before. “No, I’m not sorry. You turn me on like a faucet, woman, and I’m not ashamed of that.”

“Wow, Sam, I never suspected you’d be so unabashed about your sexuality,” she teased, but secretly her blood churned.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be,” he said. “But when it comes to you, Trixie Lynn, I have zero control.”

Trixie Lynn.
On anyone else’s lips her old name would have sounded clunky, hillbilly. But when Sam said Trixie Lynn, it sounded like a Mozart melody full of complex notes and rich chords, plucking away at memories.

He kissed her again, apparently not caring that there were people around. That anyone could be watching. This was not the Sam she remembered. Not at all. Swept away, impulsive, heedless of consequences. She was the one thinking of backing off after her impulsive ambush, but she could not. She was kissing her first love all over again and it was wild and fresh and exciting.

No, no. She had to stop this. If she let this continue, things would only end badly. Emma wriggled in his arms, dropping her legs, sliding down the length of his body until her feet hit soft earth. She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling in tight, fast movements. She pressed the heel of her hand against his breastbone, staving him off. “No, you’re right. I’m the one who’s sorry. I never meant to start something.
I was just excited and…never mind. This wasn’t meant to happen.”

He ran both hands over her upper arms to her shoulders and stared into her eyes. Emma’s knees quaked, but she hauled in a deep breath to fortify herself.

Simultaneously, they reached for each other again. “Emma,” he murmured.

“Sam,” she answered.

He dipped his head.

She raised her chin.

Another shock went through her, more powerful than before, shoving her heart into overdrive. He kissed her over and over again, lengthy improper kisses, all slick tension and piquant spice. She delighted at the feel of his clean-shaven jaw against her chin, reveled in his tongue’s urgent inquiry.

Sam? Acting indecently in front of his friends, neighbors, clients, and colleagues. She had done this to him. Brought him down to her level.

And it felt wickedly delicious.

She reached up and cupped both sides of his face in her palms. His skin felt so masculine beneath her fingertips. She didn’t know if she was trying to break the kiss or deepen it.

He didn’t miss a beat, clearly taking her gesture to mean she wanted more. He increased the tempo, and from somewhere deep dredged up even more heat until she felt as if she was swimming in the fire of his soul.

Emma dropped her hands from his face and encircled his waist, pressing herself against the invigorating landscape of his hard body. Never had she experienced such craving. Such mindless, rushing need.

With one hand, he cupped her buttocks and pulled
her closer to him. He’d gone from simply stiff to marble-slab hard. Swept away on the rising tide of passion, Emma panted, curled her fingers around his belt. If they hadn’t been out in a field in the middle of the day surrounded by people, she would have ripped his clothes off and made love to him right then. Right there.

Stupid.

It was stupid and she knew it, but Emma couldn’t stop herself from straining against him. A riot of sensation rolled through her. Her muscles tightened. Her body grew slick and moist in the places where it counted. No dessert had ever tasted so sweet. No scent had ever smelled so intoxicating. No melody had ever sounded so alluring as the sound of their hungry lips.

The heavy coil that had settled low in her belly squeezed, sending ever-widening spirals of contractions radiating throughout her pelvis. Her nerve endings begged for release. This was what she’d dreamed of in the middle of the night, in her most secret fantasies, in the place where she hid her desires from herself. Reunion with Sam. Joined to him in every way possible. Fused. Welded. Linked.

And from the feel of it, he’d been having a few midnight dreams of his own if one kiss could unravel him as completely as it was unraveling her. She’d kissed all kinds of men in all kinds of places. A punk rocker backstage at a Metallica concert. A fast-track executive atop the Empire State Building. A minor celebrity on a roller coaster ride at Coney Island. But there was nothing…absolutely nothing…that compared to kissing her high school sweetheart in a lush field at sheepdog herding trials, for the first time in sixteen years.

A sudden panic swept through her. What was she doing? This couldn’t happen. She was trying to rebuild her shattered career and Sam had a child to raise, a life to lead. She could promise him nothing beyond a few weeks of great sex, and he deserved so much more than that.

She pulled back at the same moment Patches whined and stuck his nose between their legs, trying to nudge them apart.

“Someone’s jealous,” Sam said lightly, but she could see the turbulence in his heavy-lidded dark eyes, in his flushed cheeks and forehead. He was as concerned by what had just happened as she was. Maybe more so. He had more to lose than she did.

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded husky.

“One more for the road?” An eyebrow went up.

She shook her head, no, this was wrong. But damn her, she whispered, “One more for the road.”

He snagged her mouth again. This time he was fully, one hundred percent the leader. She slumped against him, helpless to resist the intense, deliberate pressure of his lips against hers.

Scent, taste, and sweet-hot rhythmic caressing yanked all her senses into one focused direction. Closer to Sam. She shuddered against him, gave a feral moan. The blast was so potent she couldn’t keep up with her own rampaging heartbeat.

Could a woman have an orgasm from a kiss? It seemed so unlikely, and yet she could swear she was on the verge of tumbling over that sweet abyss.

“There,” he murmured, breaking the kiss. His lips were shiny, wet. “That should give you something to think about.”

Then he stepped back, whistled to Patches, and turned for the Jeep. Leaving Emma feeling dazed, confused, and wildly, impossibly elated. Just what kind of game was this man playing?

Sam could have kicked his own ass. What in the hell had he been thinking? Kissing her like that and in front of everyone he knew. No doubt about it. The Twilight grapevine would be buzzing tonight.

That’s just it. You weren’t thinking.

He had never behaved like this. Never. Impulsive. Irrational. Out-of-control.

Um, what about when you were fourteen?

Okay, fine. He hadn’t acted like this since he was fourteen and the first time Emma—Trixie Lynn then—had blown into his life like gale force winds and turned him upside down.

Now she was back and doing it all over again.

So what was he going to do about it?

He sneaked a glance over at her. She sat on the passenger side of his Jeep singing along with Faith Hill on the radio, nodding her head in time to the music. The sight twisted him up inside. She was so expressive. So spontaneous. So alive. Beside her, he felt like a total dullard, mired in his ways, anchored to the earth.

Sam remembered her at fourteen. How she had a big imagination and loved playacting. She frequently got into trouble for making up stories and telling lies. What people hadn’t realized was that she had slipped under the skin of a pretend person, had burrowed into an imaginary world so deeply she’d forgotten the world she was really in. No one had truly appreciated how creative she was. She used to round up the neigh
borhood kids and announce she was putting on a play. She’d make costumes and design sets. He’d always refused to act in the plays. He’d been too quiet and introspective for that. But he’d eagerly made the sets. He’d wanted to please her, even back then. He’d never known anyone so colorful, original, and exciting. She brought him to life in a way no one else ever had.

“I want to thank you for today. It was wonderful. I feel completely relaxed around Patches now that I fully understand him,” Emma said.

“You’re welcome.” Suddenly, he felt a terrible need to run time backward to undo the kissing, to erase the intimacy they’d just shared. He wasn’t ready for this, didn’t know how to handle it. Something had shifted. In his mind, in his heart, and the sensations alarmed him.

“You know what?” she said.

He shook his head, increased his speed, eager to get her back home, and then get to his clinic so he could escape into his work and get away from these disturbing feelings bouncing around inside him.

“I think I’m going to take you up on your offer to teach me how to drive.”

Had he offered to teach her how to drive? He didn’t remember that. “Um,” he said. “I don’t know if my Jeep is the best vehicle for you to learn on. It’s got manual transmission. I’m sure Jenny wouldn’t mind teaching you how to drive in her Mazda.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to learn on a manual? I mean after that an automatic has got to be a piece of cake.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Unless you’re nervous about letting me get behind the wheel of your Jeep.”

“Well of course I’m nervous. You don’t know how to drive.”

“Don’t worry, I promise not to hit anything big.” She smiled brightly. “So how about tomorrow? It’s Sunday. You don’t have to work.”

He should have made an excuse. Come up with a good reason why he couldn’t teach her how to drive, but he was just so damn charmed by her buoyant effervescence that he couldn’t say no. “All right,” he heard himself say. “Does tomorrow afternoon at two
P.M
. work for you?”

That same afternoon Emma found herself at loose ends. She couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. She could still smell the grassy field, still taste him on her tongue. In an attempt to distract herself, she wandered the town square and ended up at Hot Legs Gym. But even half an hour on the StairMaster couldn’t chase her errant thoughts off Sam.

On her way out of the gym, she bumped into Beau Trainer. He stood in the doorway, looking at once uncertain and determined.

“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

She canted her head at her leading man. “What’s up?”

He ducked his head, splayed a palm at the nape of his neck. “I was wondering if you weren’t doing anything…”

Oh my gosh, he was going to ask her out.
She hadn’t seen this coming.

“I know you’re really busy helping Nina and the other ladies make those quilts and I know this is your day off but—”

“Beau,” she interrupted. “I’m really flattered but I’ve learned the hard way that it’s better not to date the person you’re working with. Acting has a way of stirring up emotions that aren’t really real and—”

“Wait a minute.” Beau held his hand up like a stop sign. “You thought I was asking you out? I’m sorry, I’m handling this badly.”

Now she felt like an egotistical jerk.

“Not that I wouldn’t mind asking you out,” he rushed to say, “but anyone with half a brain can see you only have eyes for Sam.”

Oh, this was just getting worse by the second. She figured it was better to let his comment slide instead of denying it.

“What I wanted to ask you was if you’d mind doing an extra rehearsal with me. I’m having a difficult time with the last act of this play. You’re so accomplished and I just want to be decent enough not to make you look bad up there come opening day.” He looked deadly earnest.

Emma thought about what Nina had told her about Beau. How this play was his redemption. It meant a lot to him, and it wasn’t as if she had anything else going on this afternoon. Plus, whenever she was acting, she was in another world. That transcendence was the thing she loved the most about her craft. How practicing it could sweep her away to another time, another place. “Sure,” she agreed, shrugged casually.

“Really?” A surprised smile inched across his face. “Would right now be okay? I’ve already asked Nina if I could use the playhouse for additional rehearsals and she gave me a key.”

“All right,” she agreed.

For the next three hours, she and Beau commandeered the theater stage. He was an apt pupil, soaking up everything she had to teach him, and she found herself enjoying the role of instructor.

“You really love acting,” Beau noted following their fourth run-through of the last act. He grabbed two bottles of water from the backstage fridge and tossed one to Emma. “The craft I mean, not just the accolades that come with it. You love acting even if you’re not in New York or Hollywood. Just as Nina does.”

His words gave her pause. The cravings for stardom had always driven her. Not so much for fortune, although having money would be nice. Not so much for fame, simply for fame’s sake. Rather, she wanted to be known for her skills, for her ability to make the audience believe she was someone else entirely. To create a world they could all inhabit together, if only for a little while. She was convinced that if she was just good enough at her craft, fortune and fame would eventually be hers. And along with the notoriety and money would come the feeling of being special, of being wanted, that she had never experienced as a child. This core belief had pushed her relentlessly for twelve long years. To have Beau point out that she loved acting simply for the joy of acting was a bit of a revelation.