The True Love Quilting Club (8 page)

She bit into the heavy bread and almost moaned again at the succulent decadence of fresh butter. There were several local dairies in the area, and she had a feeling the butter must have come from one of them. Okay, so maybe food
did
taste better when you got it closer to the land.

Sam’s gaze was on her face. She could feel the heat of his eyes drilling into her. “You never did tell me why you were back in Twilight.”

“Didn’t I?” She wondered if he’d heard about her troubles in New York. If he didn’t already know, he
would soon enough. Gossip spread like a forest blaze in Twilight.

“No.”

“Nina Blakley hired me to play Rebekka Nash in the Founders’ Day skit.”

An odd expression crossed his face. “They skipped the skit last year, I thought…” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

“Valerie played Rebekka for the last five years before that,” Maddie explained.

“Valerie?” Emma arched an eyebrow.

“My late wife,” Sam said.

“Oh Sam, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was taking her place, I…”

He gave a sharp jerk of his head in Charlie’s direction. “No reason to apologize. I just hadn’t realized Nina decided to reinstate the skit.”

An awkward silence settled over the dinner table. Emma turned her head to see Charlie studying her as intently as his father. He might not resemble his father physically, but their mannerisms were the same, from the quiet quizzical looks, to their guarded body language. Both of these guys could use some lightening up.

“Nina must be paying you a lot to lure you away from Manhattan,” Sam said.

Emma shrugged, not sure how many of the details she should get into at this juncture. “She gave me the opportunity to get out of the city for a few months. Her offer made me realize I hadn’t left New York in over twelve years.” That was true enough.

Sam drank his iced tea and leaned back in his seat, studying her with a level gaze. “See, even you realize
you’d been in the city too long. Every so often you have to get back to nature, clear your head.”

If he only knew the real reason she was here, that she was a failure and this was her dying dream’s last gasp. Emma’s stomach tightened, and misery rolled through her. During all these years of wishing and hoping and struggling to establish her acting career, she’d been kidding herself. She should have done what Scott Miller wanted. If she had, she’d be on Broadway now. Instead she let her foolish pride and misguided sense of morality ruin her best chance at stardom.

She felt out of place here. She no longer belonged. If, indeed, she ever had. Her childhood had been nomadic, her ties few. She concentrated on the pot roast, but she couldn’t help slipping an occasional glance Sam’s way. His long fingers curved around his fork. They were the hands of a veterinarian, a vegetable gardener. Large and square, the backs tanned and riddled with little nicks and scars, the nails clean and clipped short.

In her imagination, she could feel those fingertips on her skin, roughly calloused, yet amazingly gentle, and she had to bite the bottom of her lip to keep from shivering.

A knock sounded at the front door.

“Who could that be?” Maddie frowned. “Interrupting Sunday dinner?” She laid down her napkin and moved to get up.

Sam pressed his palm downward, pushed back his chair, and got to his feet. “You sit, Maddie. I’ll get it.”

Compelled by some unseen force, Emma tracked his movements. Something about the way he carried himself made her feel calm and comforted, and she had
no explanation for it. Perhaps it was nostalgia. More likely it was simply because she found him dead sexy. He paused just before he left the room and turned to stare at her as if he could feel the heat of her gaze, his chocolate brown eyes cloaked, enigmatic.

The pulse at her throat fluttered.

His face remained unreadable. Sam disappeared into the hallway, and a second later she heard a feisty female voice say, “Your damn dog hijacked another one of my guests.”

“Why, come on in, sis, it’s great to see you too.”

Emma tilted her head toward the sound of Sam’s voice. She noticed Maddie and Charlie did the same.

A clattering noise—small wheels against a hardwood floor—echoed, and a slender woman appeared, dragging Emma’s suitcase behind her. Her coloring was lighter than her brother’s, and she wore her honey brown hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. She had on beige capri pants and a black V-neck T-shirt, with a frilly, full-length blue gingham apron tied over the ensemble.

“Hi!” She beamed at Emma. “I’m Jenny.” Then she wiggled her fingers at Maddie and winked at Charlie. “Do you remember me? I kinda remember you from when you were a freshman in high school, but I was a senior and you know how self-absorbed seniors are. Plus that’s the year I started going out with my husband…well, he wasn’t my husband back then of course, but you know what I’m getting at.”

“Emma, you remember my sister, Cyclone Jenny?” Sam came over to lean a shoulder against the wall of the entryway and folded his arms over his chest. He had a tolerant, brotherly smile on his face.

Emma got to her feet. She remembered Sam’s older sister because she’d been in awe of her. Jenny had been the most popular girl in high school—cheerleader, prom queen, Miss Twilight, the works. She was as chatty as Sam was quiet. No wonder he didn’t speak much. He’d grown up never being able to get a word in edgewise. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Jenny shook a finger. “Your name used to be something else. “Trixie Mae, was it?”

“Trixie Lynn,” she said. The name felt rusty on her tongue.

“But you prefer Emma?”

“I had it legally changed.”

“Then yes, of course you prefer it.” She smacked her forehead with a palm. “Duh, blabbermouth Jenny.”

Sam shook his head, grinned.

Jenny glanced at the remains of the pot roast. “I see they’ve already fed you. That’s a shame. I made chicken and dumplings from scratch.”

“For me?” Emma splayed a palm to her throat. She felt oddly pleased and flattered and yet distressed to think Jenny had gone to so much trouble and she’d already eaten.

“I’m sorry we fed her,” Maddie said. “We didn’t know she belonged to you.”

“I came as soon as I could. If I’d known Patches was going to round her up from the bus stop, I would have just popped right over, but I had no idea she’d arrived until Rusty called from the Grab and Go and told me there was a suitcase sitting in the middle of his parking lot.”

Confused, Emma frowned. “I’m not quite following this conversation.”

“Ohhh.” Jenny whacked her forehead again. “I didn’t tell you. My husband, Dean, and I run the Merry Cherub, the bed-and-breakfast where you’ll be staying. It’s just around the corner. In fact, the back of the inn butts up against Sam’s property.” She gestured in the direction Emma supposed was her B&B. “Honestly, little brother, you should teach that dog of yours to herd the guests to
my
house. He could be the official escort service.”

“The Merry Cherub?” Emma echoed.

“She collects angels,” Sam explained. “Wait’ll you see.”

Jenny leaned over to lightly punch her brother on the upper arm. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” He smirked.

“Like you think my angels are silly.”

“They’re not silly, they’re…” Sam paused as if trying to think of a polite way to phrase it. “Um…plentiful.”

“They make me feel good.”

“I’m sure they do.”

As she watched their exchange, Emma experienced a sense of sad longing and wistful loneliness. How many times had she wished for a brother or sister of her own to squabble with good-naturedly?

“You could do with an angel or two in your house.” Jenny eyed the kitchen.

Sam shot a glance at Charlie. “I have one.”

Jenny smiled tenderly at her nephew. “Indeed.”

Charlie looked at the adults as if he didn’t understand why he was suddenly in the spotlight.

“She does have some very lovely angels,” Maddie said to Emma.

“Thank you,” Jenny said to Maddie. Then she held
out a hand to Emma. “Come on, let’s get you over the Merry Cherub and get you settled. And, little brother, if you can’t keep that dog from herding home my guests, lock him in the backyard.”

Sam hadn’t expected to feel so…What the hell did he feel? Seeing Trixie—er, Emma—again had him feeling like he’d drunk too much coffee. He resisted the urge to pace. He was accustomed to being in firm control of his emotions, and this detour was unexpected. He needed something to do. He could better make sense of things, more easily organize his thoughts when he had something to keep his hands busy.

“Hey, buddy,” he said to Charlie. “Wanna go to the park and throw the baseball around?”

Charlie’s eyes brightened, and a big grin spread across his face. He shot upstairs after his ball and mitt. Sam watched him go, the familiar sadness settling on his shoulders. Was the boy ever going to speak again? When he was feeling optimistic, he thought, yeah, sure, of course. But it had been over a year now, and the kid hadn’t uttered a single syllable. Sam himself was quiet, pensive, and cautious. Maybe if he were more outgoing, it would help draw the boy out of his shell. Although the thought of changing his personality at this late date seemed daunting, he’d sure give it a try if he thought it would make a difference with his son.

He recalled the way Charlie had been with Emma. How he’d gone right up to her and stroked her hair. The boy was never so forthcoming with strangers. It had to be that her red hair and petite build reminded him of his mother.

Charlie clambered down the stairs, struggling to
carry Sam’s mitt, his own, and the softball. Sam’s instinct was to offer to help, but he knew he needed to let Charlie do things on his own. Sam opened the door, and Charlie followed him outside.

“You want me to take my mitt?”

Charlie nodded and handed it over. Side by side they walked the three blocks to the town square, and then cut catty-corner across the lawn, headed for Sweetheart Park.

Charlie was small for his age, and Sam couldn’t help wondering if that was an element of his shyness. Even before Sam had married Valerie and legally adopted the boy, Charlie hadn’t played with other kids much. He was more like Sam on that score as well, preferring to play alone or with animals. Charlie was who he was, and Sam was okay with that. He just hated to think that the boy was missing out by staying so much inside his own head.

Just like you.

“Stand over by the Sweetheart Tree,” Sam instructed, and took up his position near the gazebo a few feet away.

The Sweetheart Tree was a two-hundred-year-old pecan thick with sheltering branches. In the past, hundreds of names and hearts had been carved into the trunk. The oldest names were those of the original sweethearts.
Jon loves Rebekka
had been carved in the center of the pecan, faded and weathered now, but the etched lines were still visible. Sometime in the 1960s a botanist had warned that if the name carving continued, it would kill the pecan, so a white picket fence had been constructed around the tree, along with a sign sternly admonishing: “Do Not Deface the Sweetheart Tree.”

Sam smiled. He and Trixie Lynn…no, she was Emma now, he had to remember that. He and Emma had climbed that tree together once upon a time. Climbed high into the branches and carved their names with a pocket knife where no one could see.
Sam and Trixie Lynn were here
. He hadn’t been bold enough to scratch:
Sam + Trixie Lynn
, but damn, he’d wanted to. Then he’d fallen out of the tree and broken his wrist. He’d had to stay calm to keep her from panicking, and he told her to run home to get his mother. Even though his mother thought Trixie Lynn was a bad influence, she’d let her come with them to the hospital. Trixie Lynn was the first one to write her name on his cast.

Hey, what was past was past. Forget about it.

Sam slipped his hand into the catcher’s mitt and squatted down. “Let ’er rip, champ.”

Looking far too serious for a game of catch, Charlie drew back his arm and slung the ball as best he could.

“Good job.” Sam snagged the ball, pitched it back to him. Charlie wasn’t interested in joining T-ball. Valerie had tried to sign him up, but he’d quit after one game. He didn’t like the pressure of team sports. Sam couldn’t blame him for that. He was the same way. Which was why he’d run track instead of playing football or basketball or baseball. But Charlie did enjoy tossing the softball with his dad.

His dad.

Never mind biology, he loved the little guy more than he’d ever thought possible. Charlie was the glue that held Sam’s life together. He remembered the day Valerie and Charlie had come into his veterinarian office just after he’d first opened his practice, and not
long after Valerie’s first husband, Jeff, had died in a car crash. Charlie’s cat, Speckles, was lethargic.

“Please,” Valerie had pleaded with Sam in a whisper after drawing him aside in the exam room, while Charlie sat tenderly stroking the calico. “Don’t let the cat die. I don’t think he can handle losing the cat on top of losing his father.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised her. He’d gone on to discover that Speckles had a heart defect that could be corrected with surgery. He’d charged her only the cost of his supplies. Speckles had pulled through, thrived, and ironically had outlived Valerie.

They’d look so vulnerable, mother and son, that he’d taken to dropping by their place—the place where he and Charlie still lived—to check on them, mow the lawn, hang pictures, build shelves. A friendship had blossomed among the three of them, and when Valerie learned she’d been called up as a nurse in the Army reserves, he’d proposed. She’d had no family left. Although Jeff had parents, they were really old so she had no one to take care of Charlie while she was gone. By marrying her and adopting Charlie, Sam vowed to stay behind and look after her son, while she put her life on the line tending to America’s soldiers in Iraq.

She’d been a hell of a woman. He’d admired and respected her. And he’d loved her, even if it had been more like a dear friend than a passionate lover.