With This Ring (11 page)

"What're you laughing about?" Her mother's green eyes, the exact shade of Amy's, shone with gentle humor.

"You," Amy said happily. "You never change."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to change in just three weeks abroad."

"Where's a broad?" Amy's father said, giving them both a mock leer.

Faith laughed. "Alan!"

Amy grinned as her father bent down to envelope her in a bear hug.

"Hi, sunshine," he said, using his childhood pet name for her.

Amy knew it was silly to get emotional, but she couldn't help it. There was a lump in her throat as she returned his hug. She loved both her parents, but her brilliant father, as tall and handsome at sixty-five as he'd been as a young man, was her hero. She adored him.

When, as a teenager, her girlfriends had complained about or made fun of their fathers, Amy had always remained silent. She had known her friends would not understand the way she felt, they would think she was a geek. Of all her friends, only Lark knew the depth of Amy's feelings for her father. Lark had once confessed that of all the differences between them, Amy's relationship with her father was the one thing Lark envied.

"We missed you," he said.

"I missed you, too," Amy said.

Faith watched as Alan and Amy embraced. She had always known her daughter harbored special feelings for her father, but that knowledge had never bothered Faith. On the contrary, Faith had always felt a deep satisfaction and contentment over Alan's and Amy's close relationship. It was comforting to know that if something should happen to her, Alan would have Amy.

Today, though, a shadow of concern clouded the pleasure she normally felt when she saw the love between her husband and daughter. She knew the concern would not be erased until she had met Sam Robbins and assured herself that his advent into their family would not cause problems or upset their close knit harmony.

Her worries niggled at the back of her mind all through the forty-minute drive from the airport to their home. She was careful not to let Amy know she was worried, though, even as Amy bubbled over about Sam.

"He's coming over tonight," she said, her eyes shining. "We're all having dinner together."

Faith gave an inward moan. As eager as she was to meet this young man, she wasn't sure she was up to it today.

"That's okay, isn't it?" Amy said, an anxious note in her voice.

"Of course," Alan said. He slanted a look at Faith.
Back me up,
it said.

"Well, I am a little tired from traveling, but yes, darling, of course it's okay," Faith said. "We're just as anxious to meet him as you are to have us, and I'll just squeeze in a nap before he comes."

In the flurry of unloading their luggage and getting it into the house, the subject of Sam was temporarily dropped. But once all the suitcases were carried upstairs, and the three of them were in the kitchen—Alan leafing through the pile of waiting mail and Faith drinking a glass of cold water—Amy said, "Now, dad, about tonight . . . I don't want you giving Sam the third degree, okay?"

Alan looked up and chuckled. "And why not? That's a father's job."

"Because I don't want Sam to feel uncomfortable. If there's something you want to know about him, ask me now."

Faith's concern deepened as she carefully studied Amy—the first chance she'd really had to do so. There was a radiance about her that practically shouted out how far Amy's relationship with Sam had progressed. If her daughter wasn't a woman who was deeply in love as well as completely and thoroughly fulfilled sexually, then Faith's name wasn't Faith Cameron Carpenter.

"Okay," Alan said with typical good nature. "Where's he from, who are his parents, how much money does he make, and are his intentions honorable?" He winked at Faith.

Amy grinned. "He's from San Diego originally, but he's lived in Houston for eight years, his parents are dead—well, his mother is dead—Sam's not sure about his father, he makes a
lot
of money, and as far as his intentions go—we haven't discussed that subject yet." Her eyes softened. "But I'm not worried, and I don't want you two to worry, either."

Faith fought to keep her face free of her thoughts. "But you're serious about him, aren't you?"

"Yes." Amy met Faith's eyes, then turned to her father. "Please don't worry, Dad. I know Sam loves me. He's just cautious, that's all. He doesn't have the example of happily married parents, like I do, so he's a little leery of that kind of commitment. But he'll eventually want to get married. I know he will."

Faith told herself to quit borrowing trouble. Perhaps everything Amy believed was true. So she returned her daughter's smile and prayed that Amy was right and that Sam Robbins would not let her down.

* * *

Sam wished he didn't feel as if he were a side of meat soon to be inspected by a government agent. He hoped Amy appreciated the lengths he'd gone to in getting ready for the meeting with her parents.

The first thing he'd done was go shopping for some new clothes. Normally he just went to Banana Republic or Oshman's or The Gap. Today he'd gone to Dillard's and bought a pair of ridiculously expensive DKNY slacks in a soft shade of honey and a collarless dark brown Ralph Lauren shirt. He'd even sprung for a new pair of shoes—supple brown leather Gucci loafers that he sure hoped he'd have a reason to wear again.

Next he went to a salon in the Galleria and had his hair cut and then—thinking, what the hell, might as well go the whole hog—he had a manicure, too. The entire time he was sitting at the manicurist's table, he hoped he wouldn't see anyone who knew him.

He was half-amused, half-disgusted with himself. Why he was going to so much trouble to make a good impression on Amy's parents, he didn't know. After all, if they couldn't accept him as he was, then they weren't the kind of people he wanted to be around, anyway.

So, showered, spit-shined, cologned, and dressed in his new threads, Sam drove to Amy's, arriving at exactly seven-thirty.

The security gates were open, and he drove to the back, automatically parking behind the door where he knew Amy kept her Miata. It felt odd to walk around to the front of the big house instead of climbing the steps to Amy's apartment. And for the first time since he'd met Amy, he did not whistle "Always," the song he'd come to think of as theirs.

Standing in front of the heavy double walnut doors that marked the entrance to the Carpenter home, Sam took a deep breath, told himself he had nothing to be nervous about, and rang the doorbell.

Amy opened the doors instantly, and he knew she'd been watching for him. As always, he experienced a little kick of pleasure as he smiled down at her. She looked beautiful in a softly flowered pink dress with a low scooped neck and full skirt. She smiled back and raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. He held her close for a brief moment, inhaling the subtle mixture of fragrances that clung to her: wildflowers and jasmine and sunshine. He released her reluctantly.

"You look great," she said.

"So do you."

She took his hand. "Come on. My parents are in the living room."

As Sam entered the elegantly furnished room, the first person he saw was Amy's mother. Seated in a yellow silk wing chair near the marble fireplace, Faith Carpenter was the epitome of grace and beauty in her simple black dress and double rope of pearls. She had a smooth, barely-lined face with classic bone structure. Her eyes were striking—large and luminous, and filled with intelligence. Her gaze stayed steadily on Sam's, and he had the unnerving feeling she was probing deep, unearthing all of his secrets in the process.

Amy introduced them, smiling proudly. Faith smiled and held out her hand but did not rise.

"Hello, Sam," she said. "I'm so happy to meet you." Her voice was cultured, soft, carefully modulated. The thought flashed through Sam's mind that if he were to look the world over, he would never find a woman more unlike his own mother than Amy's mother.

"It's nice to meet you, too." Because she made him feel uneasy, he did what he always did in like situations. He turned on the charm, flashing her his one-hundred watt smile, the one Claire Malone once said could charm even the wee people, who weren't easily beguiled.

Something flickered in the depths of Faith's eyes, but her expression revealed nothing except a pleasant welcome.

Then Amy turned to her father.

Sam's first impression of Alan Carpenter was that this was a man who would command attention and respect wherever he went. Even if Sam hadn't known the older man was an eminent cardiac surgeon, he would have known Alan was important. Everything about him—his stature, his expression, his shrewd brown eyes, his clothing, his handshake—said this was a man who was confident of his place in the world.

Alan was thinking along the same lines as he shook Sam's hand. Although he'd decided to take a page from Faith's book and reserve his judgment, he couldn't help being drawn to the boy. Sure, he was a bit on the cocky side, as evidenced by that brash smile he'd given Faith a few moments earlier, but he had a good, solid look about him, and he had a direct, honest gaze. Alan believed you could tell a lot about a man by his eyes.

"Nice to meet you, son," Alan said warmly.

"Thank you, sir. It's nice to meet you, too."

"We were just having a pre-dinner cocktail," Faith said. "Would you care for one?"

"Or you could have a beer," Amy interjected, looking at Sam with her heart in her eyes.

It almost hurt Alan to see that expression on her face. He wanted to tell her to be careful, to tread softly and slowly, but he knew she never would. Amy always jumped into every situation with both feet—eagerly and joyously. She put everything on the line and expected everything in return. And she'd rarely been disappointed, because it was hard for anyone to resist her. Alan had seen even the most jaded and disagreeable people brought to their knees by the sorcery of Amy's personality.

Once Sam was settled on the turquoise brocade sofa with a Baccarat tumbler of scotch in his hand and Amy sitting next to him, there was a long moment of silence, then both Alan and Amy started talking at the same time.

"Tell Sam about your adventure in Dublin—" Amy began.

"So you work for
World of Nature
—" Alan began.

They both broke off laughing.

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "I've worked for them since moving to Houston."

"That's a class magazine." The boy must be good, because
World of Nature
could afford to be choosy. Amy was probably right. Sam probably
did
make a good living. "What kind of assignments have you had?"

As Sam talked about assignments in Alaska, Argentina, and the Everglades, Alan listened with half of his brain and studied the way Amy and Sam related to one another with the other half. He liked the way Sam unselfconsciously held Amy's hand. He also liked the way the boy smiled down at her when she occasionally interjected a comment. There was tenderness in his gaze, a look that said his feelings for her ran deep.

Alan tried to catch Faith's eye, but her gaze remained fixed on Sam.

After about thirty minutes, the four of them headed for the dining room, where Elsa, their longtime maid, had been called in for duty.

Throughout Amy's excellent dinner, Alan continued to study and evaluate Sam. As the minutes ticked by, he felt more and more reassured. Several times, he exchanged glances with Faith, hoping that she, too, was being won over, but her eyes still contained a kernel of reserve. Well, she'd always been more cautious about people than he was. She'd come around, eventually. Alan was sure of it.

By the time Alan's favorite, banana creme pie, was served, most of his misgivings had disappeared.

"The pie's great," he said, smiling at Amy. "The whole meal was great."

"Yes, Amy, everything was wonderful," Faith said.

"Thanks." Her eyes twinkled with amusement as they met Sam's. "This is where I'm supposed to say I made everything from scratch and impress the heck out of you."

"I
am
impressed," Sam said. "My idea of cooking is opening a can of beans."

"I suppose," Faith said, "your rather nomadic lifestyle is the culprit because I would imagine an intelligent man like you could learn to do anything he wanted to. Just how often
are
you home, say, in any given month?"

Sam met her gaze squarely. "Depends. Sometimes I've had as long as two or three weeks between assignments. Sometimes only days."

"Only days . . . that must be hard on the men who are married . . . "

It didn't take a genius to see what Faith was driving at. With anyone else, Sam might have gotten his hackles up, but after all, this was Amy's mother. "I'm sure it is," he answered evenly, although the truth was, he hadn't thought about the subject much. Now he wondered how the married staffers—the ones who traveled a lot—
did
manage to keep their spouses happy and their marriages working.

Suddenly, Sam realized he had a lot more to think about than simply whether or not he wanted to marry Amy. He also needed to think about the way he lived and the work he did and whether he was willing to give it up or make compromises, because Faith's not-so-subtle message had clearly shown him that there was no way he could have both Amy and his current lifestyle.

"So how'd the big meeting go?" Lark asked the following day. She and Amy were having lunch at a favorite sandwich shop in the Montrose area. When the weather was cool, they always asked for one of the sidewalk tables, but today the temperature was hovering at one hundred degrees, so they sat in the cool interior.

"Wonderful," Amy said. "Dad really liked Sam. Of course, I knew
he
would. And Mother, well, I think she likes him, but you know her. She's more cautious where I'm concerned." She smiled fondly. "Dad tends to indulge me."

"No kidding," Lark said dryly. She wondered what the Carpenters really thought. Knowing Amy's parents—especially Faith—Lark was sure they had as many reservations about Sam Robbins as she did. Probably more. How could they not? Despite the fact that he was good-looking, charming and intelligent, he still wasn't in Amy's league.