The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (24 page)

“Captain, what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

Her voice sounded neither frightened nor wary but as if she’d pretty well tagged who he was and what he had planned.

“Why don’t you tell me more about living in Chicago?” he asked in an even and—he hoped—fascinated voice.

“Because I don’t believe learning all about the scintillating life of Willow Thomas is your ultimate objective.”

“What do you believe that objective to be?”

“Oh, come on, Sam.”

Why was he so fumblingly obvious with this woman?

“I
have
known a few men before you. I know your objective.” She took a few steps back.

He had no idea where she planned to go. Outside? To the chair? Home? No, she began to tap her foot and continued to glare at him. Not a bit promising, but better than her leaving.

For only seconds, he considered playing the sympathy card, but he knew it wouldn’t work, not with her. Besides, he didn’t want to use it with her. He went for humor. “Maybe you could think of kissing me as therapy.”

As he’d known it would, the suggestion fell flat. He groaned—inside. He’d always been much cooler with women, had seldom needed to make an effort. Willow was tough. With her, he sounded like a lecherous idiot.

She studied him. “Great line, Captain, does that ever work?”

Crap. She’d called him “Captain.” “I liked it better when you called me ‘Sam.’”

She didn’t answer.

“And no, that never works because I’ve never used it.” He shrugged. Might as well be honest. “I’ve never used a line before.”

“Aah, women just usually fall at your feet.”

Could this get much worse?

Surprisingly, the situation improved. She sat down again. Sadly, she’d chosen the chair. “However, we could try a different kind of therapy.”

He couldn’t believe she’d agreed with him.

“You know, maybe more conversation.”

Great. At least she hadn’t suggested going home.

“Why don’t you tell me about your father?” She relaxed back against the chair.

“My favorite topic.”

She smiled. “You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

He didn’t bother to answer.

“He’s a handsome man, very military. I notice you call him ‘General’ instead of ‘Dad.’”

“Doesn’t take much insight to notice that.” He spoke with withering condescension in his voice, but the tone didn’t seem to bother her. She raised an eyebrow.

“That’s basically who and what he is—a general, not a father.” Not what he wanted to discuss so he said, “And your husband left you?”

Instead of the verbal slap he deserved, she said, “Aah, so we’re getting into the
who-can-hit-whose-hot-buttons
section of the conversation. My, we’ve come a long way and quickly. I believe, Captain, you’re hiding behind these attacks.”

He should have remembered she was a professional, trained in counseling jerks like him as well as how to work with damaged muscles and frozen joints.

“My ex-husband is a doctor, ten years older than me, separated but not divorced from his first wife when we met. We were married for ten years, had two great children. He met Tiffany at the hospital two years ago. She’s a drug rep. Imagine my surprise when I realized that, to feel manly and boost his ego, he needs a new, younger wife every ten years.”

“Idiot.”

“I agree.” She shrugged. “It hurt me, but the boys…” She glanced at him, serious. “I hated how much the split hurt them. A few months after that, I got this great job offer. We moved because Butternut Creek’s a great place for children to grow up.” She took a deep breath before she said, “It has been, thanks to you, Captain. You’ve been wonderful for them. They need a man in their lives.”

Great. She saw him as a good guy, a surrogate father, the man in the lives of her boys.

“But I don’t. Need a man in my life, I mean.”

He studied her. If she didn’t need a man in her life, why was she so uncomfortable with him? “But you liked that kiss.”

“Captain…”

She kept calling him that.

“I’m grateful to you… ,” she said.

Not what he’d hoped for. Grateful, personable—the words she chose made him feel pitiable.

“I went through a rough breakup, devastating because I didn’t know it was coming. We’ve moved, I started a new job. I feel as if I’m juggling so much that if I add more, I’ll drop everything.”

“It’s not like I’m looking for a relationship,” he said before he realized what a mistake those words were. Willow was a relationship woman if he’d ever met one.

She glared at him. “Oh, a quick hookup?”

“No, not that.” Sam shrugged. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s me. I’m no prize. I have no idea what my future’s going to be.”

“You’ve said that before, but I don’t agree. You have a degree from A&M…”

“In military science, hardly useful now, but that’s not the issue. I’m not interested in a relationship because I need to get some things straight before… before I can do anything with my life. I have to figure out what’s in my future, if I have one.”

As the words left his mouth, he knew he was lying. Yes, he needed to get his life back in order, but the rebuilding was happening, sort of on its own. It had started with the move here. He owed a lot to the friendliness of the Widows and the church, to Jesse and the weekly horseback rides, to Nick and Leo and Willow plus the staff in the PT department. He didn’t know what was ahead but he suddenly recognized he looked forward to it, a little. He’d thought about teaching, maybe math or science to kids Nick’s age. The idea had been nagging at him for weeks.

Not that he was ready to share any of that, certainly not with a woman who showed such a cold, aloof expression.

“Me, too,” she said with that determined lifting of her chin. “Then do we understand each other completely?”

No, they didn’t. Not at all, but he felt pretty sure they should leave it alone.

“Captain, I find you a very attractive man.”

A better word than
personable
. However, he knew there was a “but” coming.

“But…”

Yeah, there it was.

“I’m not ready. If I were…” She shrugged. “If I were and I weren’t your physical therapist, a relationship might be possible.”

“I find
you
attractive.” Hot, too, but this was
not
the time to mention that. Probably should stop now, but he’d never been good about recognizing that. “And you’re grateful to me for being friends with the boys?”

She glared and leaped from the chair. “Not
that
grateful.”

“Not what I meant.” He pushed himself to his feet because he felt at a disadvantage sitting while she stood. Like a pitiful cripple.

She really was gorgeous. He wanted her, but he had no idea what to say next to communicate his feelings when she looked so unreceptive. He repeated, his voice steady and as sincere as he could make it, “That was not what I meant.”

He’d really screwed this up.

Willow glowered at Sam for a few seconds until she felt her expression slowly softening. Could she trust him? He hadn’t made a move toward her. And yet, six feet away, she could feel his interest in her. No, more than that. He wanted her. His eyes blazed with desire that he did nothing to hide. The intensity of his need vibrated between them. Surprisingly for a woman who hadn’t allowed herself to feel for two years, she responded to that need.

“That wasn’t what I meant. Do you believe me?” he whispered, studying her as if searching for a hint of her feelings.

She nodded. “I believe you,” she murmured into the simmering connection that stretched between them.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” Sam said. “I can read your eyes. I know what that look means.”

“Confusion, that’s what you see.” She had to gather herself together. She didn’t want this, not at all.

She was, of course, lying to herself. “I have no idea where this… this
whatever
is going or even if it is going anyplace. I don’t believe we can call what we share a relationship. Maybe lust or interest or two lonely people searching for companionship.”

He gave a bark of a laugh. “Companionship?”

“I’m not ready for anything now. Nothing.”

“Not what I’d hoped to hear, not how I feel or want, but…”

“But?” She pushed him to continue.

“But if I say anything more, I’ll tick you off.”

He took a step forward. From his grimace and his whispered curse, she could tell he realized the action had been a mistake.

“I’m pushing again.” He stopped and shook his head in chagrin. “I can’t seem to stop myself.”

She took a step back, aware of how dangerous his proximity was to her peace of mind.

“I shouldn’t have moved.” He stood very still but still watched her.

With another step back, she ran into the wall. Unable to get farther away, she swallowed, lifted her gaze to his, and held her hand in front of her like a crossing guard.

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately because who knew what she might have said or done next—and before the silence lasted too long, the front door opened and the kids spilled into the house, Missy asleep in Mac’s arms. Sam took a step backward to drop onto the sofa and Willow turned toward the children. The movement broke the contact with Sam, easily done because the connection had been tenuous at best. Relieved, she hugged her boys and thanked the girls.

The seven of them—well, five of them, because Sam didn’t join in and Missy slept—chattered for a few minutes before the girls left. Willow hurried out with the boys before they could do much but wave toward the captain. The quick departure seemed unfair to the boys. Leo and Nick wanted to talk to Sam for a while, but Willow couldn’t stay in that small living room any longer, not with Sam there filling the air with, oh, the
Samness
that had become so toxic for her peace of mind.

Hours later, with the boys bathed and sleeping, Willow turned over in bed again and punched her pillow while thoughts tumbled through her brain. Had she made a mistake? Should she have accepted Sam as he was? Didn’t she deserve happiness?

That was, of course, pretty much the center of the problem. Could Sam bring anyone happiness in the shape he was in now? Could she accept it, as confused and broken as she felt? He wasn’t the only one dragging baggage with him.

Another huge part of the equation was Willow herself and what she’d refused to face in months. She tossed the sheet aside, turned the reading lamp on, and opened the drawer on the night table. Inside, under a couple of books, a pair of scissors, and a package of emery boards, lay a professionally taken photo of her family, all four of them, taken over a year ago. In the photo, Willow sat on a bench with one boy on each side. Grant stood behind her, his hand on the shoulders of the boys. He looked distinguished—which he was; wealthy—his tailored suit and perfect haircut witness to that; and like a good father and loving father, protecting his sons and sheltering his wife. At some time, he’d meant to be all that, probably, but even at the time the portrait had been made, he’d been in the midst of his affair with Tiffany. Not a smudge of remorse or shame for the deception showed on his face.

How could she still allow the man who had so easily shoved her aside to reach into her brain and control her life after all this time?

Carefully, she pulled the picture out of the frame, then picked up the scissors and snipped Grant out of the photo. The disembodied hands on the boys’ shoulders looked odd, but she felt better. Since she found out about Tiffany, she’d felt angry, both at herself for being so naive and at her ex for being who he was. With that action of removing Grant from the family circle, she realized anger no longer burned inside her and she no longer felt like a failure.

She had to admit she hadn’t accomplished that reconciliation by herself. Thanks to Sam, she felt like a woman again. What in the world could she do about the sensations he’d awakened? The awareness that zinged back and forth between them?

After placing the butchered picture back into the frame and tossing Grant’s head in the wastebasket, she stood and went to the dresser to pull her cell phone from the charger. She flicked through the pictures until she found the one she’d taken of Sam and the boys working in his yard. All three smiled. Nick and Leo looked up at Sam with admiration. Like Grant, he had a hand on each boy’s shoulder. His smile showed how deeply he cared about her sons. She knew he’d never hurt them.

And, good Lord, he was so handsome, so good with her sons it made her ache.

Did she love him? She was incredibly attracted to him, but did she feel more? Did she even know the man, the real Sam Peterson?

Why all the questions? When had she become such a dithering idiot?

She’d become a dithering idiot when she realized how close she was to making a decision based on little more than chemistry, exactly as she had with Grant.