The True Love Quilting Club (27 page)

But once filming wrapped for the day, once she was back in her trailer all alone, lying underneath the quilt that the wonderful, wise women of Twilight had quilted for her and presented to her before she left, all the emotions she’d denied and channeled into her acting came rising up with a vengeance.

All these years, she’d been struggling to live up to her mother’s prophecy for her. All she’d ever wanted was to be a star in order to impress her mother and win back her love. All this time she’d thought that her mother had believed in her. Everything she’d ever done had been with this goal in mind. To become a star.

But now she understood how she’d twisted things around in her childish head. How she’d allowed her misguided beliefs to dominate her thinking. Her whole life was built on a bed of lies. Who was she if she wasn’t Trixie Lynn Parks turned Emma Parks vying for stardom? What was she if she wasn’t striving to be an actress in order to regain her mother’s love?

Her impulse was to pick up the phone and call Sam, but it was two in the morning Texas time. Besides, what could he do? Yes, she considered him her best friend in the world, but how could he begin to understand the loneliness, isolation, and betrayal she felt? He had a big, happy, close-knit family. He had his own life to live and he’d made it clear enough that she couldn’t give him what he needed.

It was okay. She could get through this. She’d gotten through much worse. In all honesty, she’d lost her mother twenty-four years ago. But today, she’d lost her sense of self.

She tossed and turned. He’d told her she could call him anytime. But did he really mean it?

Emma got up, went to her purse, dug out her cell phone. Then put it back. It was selfish of her to expect him to assuage her fears and worries when she was the one who’d left him. She’d turned her back on Twilight for the glamour of Hollywood.

But she couldn’t stem the longing and sadness. She reached for the phone again, flipped it open. She switched it on. Switched it off. Switched it back on again, and then plunked down on the edge of the bed.

Her thumb accidentally brushed against the video feature on camera mode, and it started playing the segment that she’d recorded of Charlie when he and Sam had come to see her off at the airport.

The minute she saw his sweet little face, her heart cracked.

He was smiling at her, big and wide, revealing the priceless gap-toothed grin of a six-year-old. Charlie, the child who’d lost so much, was smiling at
her
like she was someone special. At the time, she hadn’t fully appreciated the significance of his smile.

She felt the sting of tears burn the backs of her eyes. She’d been his age when Sylvie had left her. The weight of it still haunted her. Empathy ripped through her, immediately replaced by deep guilt. She’d left him too; no wonder Sam hadn’t wanted her to get close to the boy. She wasn’t much better than Sylvie. Leaving a boy
and his father, who’d come to care about her, in order to chase a career.

She’d asked Sylvie how she could just walk away from her, and yet Emma had done the exact same thing. She turned off the phone, stuffed it in her purse, collapsed back on the bed, self-loathing eating a hole through her.

You deserve to be alone. You don’t deserve to have a child like Charlie in your life, a man like Sam in your heart.
In that moment, for the first time, Emma completely understood her mother and how she’d justified her choices, because the thought was in her own mind.
If you can’t give them what they need from you, then you better stay far away from them.

Sylvie wasn’t evil. She was just emotionally damaged. Unable to love others the way she loved herself. It was a genetic defect that apparently Emma had inherited.

Grief-stricken, Emma rolled up tight in the special quilt the True Love Quilting Club had made for her and softly cried herself to sleep.

She finished filming her role in Malcolm’s film three days before Christmas and caught the first flight back to Texas.

Anxiety had dogged her the whole way home but the closer she got, the more nervous she grew. Heart in her throat, Emma approached the Twilight Playhouse. She was ready to throw herself on the quilting club’s mercy and beg them to help her win back Sam. She’d pinned the star brooch to the lapel of her jacket, and she reached up to stroke her fingers over the jewel to bolster her courage.

She paced the sidewalk in front of the playhouse, working up the courage to go inside. The lights flickered on, glowing ghostly in the December fog rolling in off the lake. The square was adorned with twinkling blue and white Christmas lights. A lavishly decorated, twenty-foot-tall tree stood on the courthouse lawn.
Mistletoe and holly were strung from the Dickensesque streetlamps. Storefronts displayed nativity scenes and Santa with his reindeers. The smell of turkey and cornbread stuffing wafted over from the Funny Farm on the opposite corner. The town in
It’s a Wonderful Life
had nothing on Twilight.

Emma wanted to spend the rest of her life here. With friends and neighbors who cared about you, looked in on you. She wanted so badly to belong. Had she waited too late? Had it taken her too long to realize this was where she was meant to be? Would Sam still have her? Could she convince him that she truly no longer wanted fame and fortune? That the dream she’d been dreaming all these years had belonged to her mother, not Emma? That for her, Twilight was the real treasure. That yes, while she loved acting, it was the craft itself she loved, and she didn’t have to be in Hollywood or New York to practice it.

Too nervous to prance right in through the front door, she walked around the playhouse to the side entrance, the same entrance where once upon a time she and Sam had sneaked in and found a place to kiss in the loft. Remembering, she ran her fingertips over her lips.

She tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. She eased it open slowly and stepped into the short hallway that led into the theater. The sound of voices kept her rooted to the spot as the door whispered closed behind her.

“Thank you so much for helping us set up the nativity scene.” She recognized Nina’s smooth, cultured voice.

“No problem.”

She recognized that voice too. It was Sam. Her heart thumped restlessly, and she almost turned and
ran, but then she heard someone else say, “How are you doing, Sam?” in a way that suggested he hadn’t been doing well at all.

“I’m fine.” He grunted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Emma dared to shift her position, trying to peek into the theater from this vantage point. All she could see was the backs of two women’s heads. One was Patsy. The other was Terri Longoria.

“It’s okay to admit you’re hurting.” That sounded like Marva.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Patsy asked.

“Sure, I’m sure.”

“There’s no reason to hold it in.”

“I’m not holding it in,” Sam growled. “Just because you ladies all buy into the sweetheart myth this town perpetuates doesn’t mean I do.”

“You’re saying you don’t believe in the power of that first love?”

“I’m saying it’s all in your heads. If you believe it, then it’s true for you. If you don’t, well…”

Emma could almost see his dismissive shrug. Sam was fine. He didn’t miss her at all. Hurt rushed over her, immediately pursued by denial. Maybe he was just putting up a brave front. She’d discovered Sam was adept at tamping down his feelings. Or maybe she was just kidding herself that she’d meant more to him than a good time. She turned to leave, grateful she’d overheard the conversation before she made a fool of herself and confessed her undying love for him.

“Frankly,” Sam continued, “I think you obsess about this true love stuff. Plus, you feed into each
other. I mean, come on, Patsy, everyone knows you’re still mooning over Hondo after forty years. Give it up and release yourself from the torture.”

Several of the women let out a collective gasp at his audacity in bringing up Patsy’s failed romance with the only man she’d ever loved. Emma was amazed by his soliloquy. She’d never heard him string so many words together at once, or be so forthcoming with his opinions.

“But maybe I’m just kidding myself because the alternative is too painful,” he said.

The women murmured in agreement.

“I’ve already lost my one chance at lasting happiness because the woman I’ve loved since I was fourteen years old can’t love me back the way I need for her to love me. So I’m doing my damnedest to forget her, and I’d appreciate it if you’d let me stay surly and bitter for a while.”

The murmurs of agreement turned to noises of sympathy.

Emma splayed her palm to her mouth. A chill chased down her spine. Inside that room was a world she so desperately wanted to be a part of. Did she stand a chance?

Spurred by a need to fix everything she’d screwed up, Emma stepped from the darkened hall and into the lighted theater. Sam’s back was to her as he set up the manger. He was kneeling on the stage, the members of the quilting club surrounding him as they set out Wise Men, Mary and Joseph, and baby Jesus. No one had yet seen her.

“You guys need any help?” Emma forced the words from her throat.

Slowly, Sam turned his head. He looked at her, but he didn’t move, his hands frozen around the wooden leg.

“Yep,” she said. “It’s me. The bad penny returns.”

The True Love Quilting Club stared at her, looked concerned.

Sam said nothing. His face reflected no emotion at all.

Emma’s heart took the roller coaster ride to her feet. Fear pleaded with her to run, but she pushed herself forward, moving down the aisle toward the stage. “I’m back for keeps. What do you think about that?”

She raised her chin, looked at the women who’d befriended her—Nina, Patsy, Marva, Terri, Dotty Mae, Raylene, Jenny.

Still, Sam said nothing. Neither did the women.

She’d just put her ass on the line. Committing to a future in Twilight, and no one said a word of welcome. Had she been wrong about them after all? Had she been kidding herself about these women, this community, this man?

Emma tried to think of the appropriate character or actress to channel for this situation, a line from a movie that would break the tension, make it all okay, but her mind went blank. She was on her own.

Gulping, she soldiered on. She’d come this far. She wasn’t turning back. If Sam didn’t want her, he was going to have to reject her.

“Once upon a time,” she said. “I had no doubts. More than anything in the world, I wanted to be a star. I ate and slept and breathed acting. I avoided getting close to people because I didn’t want anything to stand in my way of stardom. I was going to do this thing or die trying. I worked and I hoped
and I prayed for my dream to come true. Every night before I went to bed I chanted, ‘I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a star.’”

She paused. Sam’s face remained unreadable. No one said a word. The silence deafened. If she was making a fool of herself, she wasn’t doing it halfway. It was all or nothing.

“But now…now I just…I’m not sure of anything anymore. Then I got a part in a major motion picture. It was supposed to be fulfilling.
I
was supposed to be fulfilled. It was supposed to make up for all the love I never had as a kid. But I didn’t feel in any way fulfilled or loved. Instead, I felt…
empty
.” She moistened her lips, blinked back against the tears threatening to trickle down her cheeks. “And it was because you weren’t there. I couldn’t touch you. I couldn’t bury my nose against your shirt and smell your puppy dog and spray starch scent. I couldn’t hear your voice or see your smile. I missed you so damn much, Sam.”

Sam straightened. His face gave away nothing. She had no idea what he was thinking. Whether he’d come down off that stage and gather her to his chest or tell her to leave.

Every muscle in Emma’s body tensed. She clenched her jaw, clenched her fists. “I’ve been so stupid and narrowly focused. So blind to what was right in front of me. I thought being a successful actress would make me feel like a star. It didn’t. I thought it would make me feel special. It didn’t do that either. The only place I’ve ever felt special was right here in Twilight with you.”

She couldn’t stop the tears now. They were streaming down her face. “It might be too little, too late, but I love you, Sam. You’ve made me whole.”

Sam shook his head.

Dear God, he didn’t want her anymore.
Her heart quivered.

“No?” she whimpered.

“No,” he said.

In that moment, her entire world hung in the balance as she felt all her hopes shatter.

“I won’t let you give up your dream.”

“But I want to give it up.”

“And I can’t let you make that sacrifice for me.”

They stared at each other.

“We can make our way through this,” he said. “Maybe if I moved to L.A. with you if that’s where you have to be. Or maybe we can live here in the winter and in L.A. when Charlie is out of school.”

“Sam…” She swallowed. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I want to be with you no matter where you are, but I can’t let you give up your dreams for me. Those dreams are what make you who you are. We can find a compromise.”

“So you love me too?” she asked, her heart overflowing with hope.

“Woman,” he said gruffly, “don’t you know that I’ve loved you since we were fourteen years old?”

Vaguely, she heard the members of the True Love Quilting Club applauding and cooing, “Awww.” She didn’t mind. This was, after all, their doing. They’d taught her how to take the pieces of her life and cobble them into a patchwork quilt of love. Because of these wonderful women she’d come to recognize that everyone was a star, each and every one special and unique in his own way.

Sam was striding off the stage as she was flying
up to meet him. He caught her around the waist. She linked her arms behind his neck. He twirled her in a circle, and his mouth came down on hers, urgent and salty.

She wrapped her legs around him as they kissed deep and hard. He carried her up the aisle and out the door. He didn’t let her go when they were on the street. He strode purposefully past tourists and locals alike who stared at them with curious interest. Grinning, she clung to him, watching the town square disappear behind them as he headed up Topaz Street to his house.

He marched up the porch. The same porch Patches had herded her onto the day she got off the bus. The bells on the Christmas wreath adorning the front door jingled merrily as he pried it open without putting her down.

“Where’s Charlie?” she asked as he carried her over the threshold.

“Spending the night with Belinda and her brood.”

“Oh,” she said. “What about Maddie?”

“Her sister had surgery, she went to spend the holidays with her.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Not too serious. She’ll be fine.”

“That’s good.”

He let her slide to her feet and then he pulled her against his chest and dipped his head for another kiss. He threaded both hands through her hair, holding her close. His heated lips melted every last vestige of doubt. He wanted her. He loved her.

After a long moment of teasing her with his maddening tongue, Sam took her hand and guided her upstairs to the bedroom. Frenzied, he tugged at her
clothes. She felt just as urgent, plucking at the buttons of his shirt, hungry to have him, fully, completely, totally hers.

“God, how I’ve missed you, Em,” his voice came out heavy, strained. “I need you
now
.”

“We don’t have to hurry. We’ve got all night.”

“Gotta have you.” He tugged her jacket off her shoulders, sent it sailing to the floor on the other side of the bed. “I needed you so bad that two weeks ago I hopped on a plane and flew out to L.A. to see you.”

“Why didn’t you see me?”

“I did see you. In your element, and then I couldn’t bear to let you see me. You were up there on that stage with those movie stars and I—”

“You were at the charity event.”

“I was.”

“I knew it! I knew you were there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I felt you. I looked up and I saw you walking out the door but I couldn’t believe it was you.” She chuckled. “You came to L.A. for me?”

“I was going to tell you we could find a compromise and then I realized I didn’t belong in your world. But that was just my fear talking. If you can come back here, prepared to give it all up for me, then I can get over my fears and let you show me your world.”

“Really?” She breathed, twisting the buttons on his shirt.

He kissed her again. “Really.”

They looked at each other in the darkness. Her shirt was off, his was unbuttoned. The fire rolled over them again, their self-control evaporated. They finished ripping their clothes off, leaving them scattered in a heap.
He laid her back on the bed, poised his body over hers, rested his weight on his forearms, and looked down into her face. She smiled up at him. His hair fell to one side, revealing his scar.

She reached up to trace it with her fingertips and he didn’t flinch. “Beautiful,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to the old wound.

And he let her, without pulling away or looking self-conscious. He kneed her thighs apart and she opened her legs, letting him in.

He moaned low in his throat, a wholly masculine sound of pleasure, and sank into her deep and sweet. His eyes were alight with a hot glow, his thrusts long, hard, and slow. He captured her lips, roughly, but lovingly. Their mouths clung as he increased the tempo of their mating.

He pushed harder, faster. Emma raised her hips, egging him on.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely, “more than anyone or anything I have ever known.”

His body stiffened, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could go. Release claimed them both in that instant and he called out her name in a rough, guttural cry.

Emma awoke sometime later to find herself cradled in the crook of Sam’s arm, his hand gently stroking her hair. Her head was nestled against his chest, and she could hear the steady thumping of his heart. Steady Sam.
Her
Steady Sam. The urgency of their previous mating had died down, and in its place was a gentle softness. His fingers massaged her scalp, sending shivers of delight skipping down her spine.