Love Came Just in Time

  “Yes, well, it might.” Sam sounded positively hoarse. “We’ll see how it goes tonight. We might have to do this often. Just so you perfect your technique.”

  “Of course.”

  “And so you can please Sasquatch. Or whatever the hell his name is.”

  “Right,” she agreed.

  “I don’t want to know who he is.”

  “I wouldn’t think of telling you.”

  She felt the weight of Sam’s head come to rest against hers. “Are you comfortable, Syd?” he murmured, the annoyance gone from his voice.

  “Very,” she whispered. “This is nice. Thank you, Sam.”

  He sighed deeply. “It’s the least I can do for the woman who’s going to take her life in her hands and teach me how to change the oil in my Range Rover.”

  “You’ll do a great job.”

  He said nothing, but tightened his arms around her.

  Sydney closed her eyes and smiled. She didn’t think about whoever it was that Sam was interested in. She was the one in his arms at present, and if his embrace was any indication, he didn’t want to let her go.

  There was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind about the identity of Sam’s woman, but she pushed it away. There would be time enough tomorrow to be irritated and miffed.

  For the moment, Sam was hers.

  Chapter Eight

  SAM SWUNG THE axe down, and it split the wood with a satisfying crack. Yes, there was something therapeutic about chopping wood. Especially when you could do it and not worry about losing toes in the process. He didn’t need to chop any wood, but it was keeping him busy. And it was certainly the only positive thing in his life at present. His revisions were worse than the first draft, and his plan to woo Sydney was turning out worse than his revisions.

  And it had everything to do with her mystery man.

  He finished his stack, put the axe back in the shed, and walked into the house. Sydney was lying on the couch, her nose stuck in a book on trail guiding. He wished for once she would read something else. Something he’d written maybe. The woman claimed she wanted to learn how to cook. A little foray into a cooking magazine wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  She looked up as he clomped by. He glared at her. She returned his look coolly.

  “Ready for our lesson?” she asked, her tone as icy as her look.

  “I can hardly wait. Let me shower first.”

  “Please do.”

  He slammed all the doors he could on his way to the shower. It had been a week since their snuggling lesson on the couch. Sydney had awakened the next morning in a sour mood, one that matched his perfectly. He’d lain awake all night wondering just who the hell this man of hers was. Sydney didn’t know any men. Was he some New York investment jockey with plans to take Sydney to the Big Apple? The thought of Sydney Kincaid being yanked out of her native environment rankled. The thought of someone else besides him doing the yanking just plain infuriated him. If anyone was going to be doing anything with Sydney, it was going to be him.

  He had no idea why she was so angry. Maybe she was reacting to him being such a jerk. He didn’t know. He almost didn’t care. Damn her, she was the one making him miserable, not the other way around. She knew he didn’t have any ties. He never received mail or phone calls except from his agent. She sure as hell couldn’t imagine that he was after Majorie.

  He took a shower that used up every bit of hot water in the tank. Then he went into his room and scowled for half an hour.

  Love sucked.

  He finally walked out into the living room. Sydney was asleep. He hauled her up without warning. She threw her arms around him in self-defense, so he picked her up and carried her into the kitchen.

  “Cookbook,” he barked.

  She rubbed her eyes as she reached for it and handed it to him.

  “Pay attention,” he growled.

  “Stop being such a jerk,” she growled back, the sleep fading from her eyes, to be replaced by anger.

  “Me?” He threw up his hands. “Women! Go figure.”

  He grabbed his keys off the rack and slammed out the front door. Might as well go check the post office box while he was out acting like an adolescent. He drove to town and found nothing in his box. Frustrated, he made his way to Smith’s Dry Goods for a cold root beer. He thought about taking up smoking, then discarded that idea. No sense in taking more years off his life than Sydney had already taken.

  He leaned against the counter and sipped his root beer. “Joe, does Sydney date much?”

  “Reckon she doesn’t,” Joe said, polishing a shiny lure.

  “Has she dated much in the past?”

  “Once,” Joe said. “Frank Slater.”

  Sam gritted his teeth. Frank Slater. It figured.

  “Only one time, though,” Joe said conversationally. “Her pa wasn’t much on seeing her married.”

  “Just one time? You gotta be joking.”

  “I never joke.”

  Sam didn’t have any trouble believing that. “But she says she’s in love with someone. Some Sasquatchy mountain man.”

  “I reckon she’s lying,” Joe said, unperturbed.

  “Then who could she possibly be in love with? Some city boy?”

  Joe looked at him. “Now that’s a thought.”

  Sam frowned. “Do you know who she’s been taking around this summer? Names? Phone numbers?”

  Joe held the lure up to the light and buffed it a bit more. “I’d look a little closer to home if I were you, Sam.”

  “Then I’ll need a map of Flaherty and names of who lives where. And ages of the men, if you have them.”

  Joe gave an exasperated snort. “You don’t need a map, boy. Just go back home and see if you can’t figure it out from there.”

  Back home? Well, Sam supposed it wouldn’t take all that long to plow through Sydney’s copy of the phone book.

  Then the proverbial light bulb went on in his head.

  Home?

  “You’re joking, right?” he said in disbelief.

  Joe looked at him and pursed his lips.

  Sam held up his hands. “I know, I know. You don’t joke.”

  Joe took away Sam’s root beer bottle. “Go home, Sam. And don’t you dare hurt her. You are planning on staying in Flaherty, aren’t you? Permanently?”

  Sam thought about it for the space of ten seconds, then he realized there was nothing to think about. He didn’t have to live in New York to write. He could take Sydney down to Seattle or San Francisco for a few weeks every now and then so he could do his research. There was absolutely no reason to leave. His mother, his sisters, and his trust fund would survive quite nicely without him.

  “Yep.” Sam nodded. “I am.”

  “Then get on home, boy. And see what you come up with if you look hard enough.”

  Sam took Joe’s advice and headed home. He wasn’t quite ready to accept the fact that he was the one Sydney was interested in, but there certainly wasn’t anyone else in her neck of the woods. He’d go home and keep an open mind about things. Who knew what he would find out?

  HE ENTERED THE house quietly and immediately sensed that Sydney was in the kitchen. He followed the sound of her curses and walked in to find her in the middle of the biggest mess he had ever seen. Every bowl in the house was dirty. There was flour all over the floor, the counters, and the cook. And the cook was furious.

  “What,” he asked in a strangled voice, “are you doing?”

  “I’m cooking,” she snapped. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  It looked like she was making a mess, but he wisely chose not to point that out to her. He crossed the room and put his hand under her chin, tipping her face up. He gently wiped the flour from her cheeks.

  “What are you making?”

  “A cake. But it isn’t going well.”

  “Want some help?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s clean up first. It’ll be less stressful if you start with a clean ki
tchen.”

  Sydney wasn’t much better at cleaning than she was at cooking, but he had to admire her enthusiasm. He kept back the necessary bowls and put the rest in the dishwasher. Then he opened the cookbook, laid out all the ingredients, and proceeded to show her what to do.

  “It says ‘fold in the dry ingredients.’ What does that mean?” she demanded.

  “Here, turn the mixer back on,” he said, standing behind her. “Take the spatula in your right hand and the bowl of flour in your left. Just dump in a little at a time and let the mixer do the work.”

  “But that’s mixing, not folding.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Then why doesn’t it say the same thing?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t. All he knew was that Sydney Kincaid was standing in the circle of his arms, concentrating on something else, leaving him free to concentrate on her. The fragrance of her hair wafted up and forced his eyes closed. He breathed deeply, savoring the smell.

  “Now what do I do? Sam, are you falling asleep?”

  “No.”

  “The cake’s folded. What do I do now?”

  “Preheat the oven, then pour the batter into the cake pans.”

  He leaned back against the counter and listened to her hum as she poured the batter into two pans, then slid them both into the oven. She set the timer, then turned and smiled.

  “Now what?”

  “Now you come over here and listen to me apologize for being such a jerk these past few days.”

  Her smile faltered. “You weren’t, Sam. I’m not the easiest person to live with.”

  He reached out, took her hand and pulled her across the floor. “We’re going to practice making up now, Syd. An important part of any relationship. I’m going to say I’m sorry. You’re going to listen, forgive me, then hug me. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “Now, hug me.”

  “But ...”

  “Hey, I need the practice, too. For Miss Sasquatchette. It’s as easy as snuggling, only you can do making-up anywhere.”

  She moved closer to him, slowly. When she was close enough, Sam put his arms around her and drew her close. And he closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, he’d come home.

  “Where did you go, Sam?” she asked softly.

  “To have a root beer down at Joe’s.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  Sam smiled into her hair. “I’m sorry, Sydney. I won’t go like that again.” He stroked her back. “I’ll stay right here for as long as you want me to be.”

  “Miss Sasquatchette won’t be angry?” Sydney asked, her voice muffled against his shirt.

  “Somehow, I just don’t think so.”

  “Then you’ll hold me for a few more minutes?”

  “I sure will.”

  He held her for forty-five more minutes, to be exact. And he cursed the timer when it went off and pulled Sydney away from him. Her toothpick came out clean, and she grinned as two perfectly baked rounds were pulled from the oven. Sam showed her how to put the cake on a cooling rack, then she made frosting. They waiting for the cake to cool, then Sam leaned against the counter and watched her frost her chocolate cake. He had to smile at the concentration on her face.

  Then she stood back and admired her handiwork.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said reverently.

  “No,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her closer, “you are beautiful.”

  “Sam . . .

  He put his finger to her lips. “You’re going to practice taking compliments. It’s a skill I’m sure will come in handy in the future.”

  “You think so?”

  He nodded. “I do.” He put one arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, then smoothed his hand over her hair. And he tried to find the words to say to tell her just how beautiful she truly was and what fools the men of Flaherty were never to have seen that. How could they have overlooked those haunting eyes, or that exquisite face? Her hair was soft and luxurious, hair that a man could bury his face and drown in without too much trouble. He met her eyes and saw the hesitancy there.

  Or was it desire? He honestly couldn’t tell, but there was one surefire way to find out. He lowered his head until his mouth was a mere inch from hers.

  “May I kiss you?” he whispered.

  “More lessons?”

  “Definitely.”

  “If you think it will come in handy in the future.”

  His only answer was to cover her mouth with his own. He pulled her closer to him as he explored her lips. By the time he was finished, Sydney was shaking like a leaf. And it occurred to him, accompanied by the most Neanderthal rush of pleasure he had ever felt, that she had probably never been kissed before.

  “Are we finished?”

  Sam opened his eyes. Sydney’s teeth were chattering.

  “Do you want to be finished?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Me?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat. “I’ve faced down grizzlies bigger than you and not broken a sweat.”

  “Well,” he said with a smile, “that says it all, doesn’t it?”

  She rubbed her arms. “I think I’m cold.”

  “I’ll build you a fire. I’m getting pretty good at it, you know.” He took her hand and led her out into the living room. He built the fire quickly, then took off his shoes and pulled a blanket down in front of the fireplace. He looked up at Sydney.

  “Join me?”

  “Shouldn’t I start dinner?”

  “We’ll have sandwiches later. We’ll practice our cuddling tonight.”

  “Cuddling?”

  “A completely different technique than snuggling,” he said with a nod. “So get comfortable. We could be here a very long time.”

  The thought was singularly appealing.

  Chapter Nine

  SYDNEY PICKED UP the nail, then straightened, certain that Sam’s eyes were raking her from the heel of her cowboy boots to the waistband of her jeans. She doubted he got much further than that, but she didn’t care. She turned slowly, savoring the feeling of power she had somehow acquired over him in the past couple of days.

  “This,” she said, holding the item out for inspection, “is a nail. We don’t leave these lying around on the floor. Someone might step on them, and that would hurt. Oh, look. There’s another one.” She bent right in front of him and brushed his chest with her forearm on her way up. “We have to be careful out here in the workshop, Sam. Safety is no laughing matter.”

  Sam grunted in answer. Sydney smiled sweetly and turned back to the pegboard. She set about explaining all the various tools and giving him possible uses for each. In reality, she had no idea what she was saying. All she knew was Sam was standing only inches behind her and he was paying as little attention to what she was saying as she was.

  Three days had passed since he’d kissed her in the kitchen, and she was fast learning that he was determined that she practice kissing as often as possible. If he could be persuaded to work at all, he was never in his room for more than ten minutes without coming out to check on her.

  And Sydney loved it.

  She didn’t want to speculate on his reasons. He didn’t want to discuss Miss Sasquatchette, whoever she was. Sam never got personal calls, and Sydney was desperately hoping that he didn’t have anyone waiting for him in New York.

  “Oh, Sam,” she said, pointing at a crescent wrench to her right, “would you get that for me? I can’t seem to reach it.”

  He muttered something under his breath and reached out to take it down. Sydney slid her hand up his forearm and over his hand to take the wrench from him. She could have sworn she felt him shiver. She definitely heard him curse.

  “Oh, not this one,” she purred. “The one higher up.” She leaned back against him as he reached, thoroughly enjoying teasing him. Never in her life had a man looked at her with any
thing besides impatience or disdain. Sam looked at her with lust, plain and simple. Oh, there were those other looks, those looks that a less sensible girl might have mistaken for love. But Sydney was nothing if not sensible.

  “Maybe the one higher up,” she said, pointing. “Yes, I think that’s the one...”

  She jumped as Sam grabbed a rag, swiped it over the bench surface, spun her around, and plunked her down on the wood with enough force to make her teeth rattle.

  “All right, enough is enough. You can only tease me for so long before I snap. And I’m snapping.”

  “Tease?” she said, putting her hand over her chest and blinking in surprise. “Me?”

  “Your jeans are so tight that I doubt you can breathe, your shirt is unbuttoned far enough to give you pneumonia, and you’re wearing makeup. Which you don’t need, by the way.”

  “I don’t—”

  He covered her mouth with his and cut off her words. Well, he certainly was effective when it came to making a bid for a little silence. He kissed her until she forgot what she’d been about to say, then she forgot her name, and she came close to forgetting to breathe. She had only enough presence of mind to notice the last because the lack of air was starting to make her ears ring.

  She froze. That wasn’t her ears ringing. It was the doorbell!

  “Sam,” she gasped frantically. “Let me go.”

  “No,” he murmured, holding her more tightly.

  “Someone’s at the door!”

  Sam stiffened, then lifted his head. His eyes were wide.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, no, what?”

  “I invited the Ladies Aid Society over for lunch.”

  “Sam!” she wailed.

  “I forgot,” he said, releasing her and stumbling back. “You go answer the door. I’ll be right there.”

  “Me?” she screeched. “I look kissed!”

  “And I look aroused. Give me five minutes to let things, ahem, settle down.” He smiled at her hopefully. “Please?”

  She jumped down off the bench and tried to resurrect her hair. It was useless, so she dragged her fingers through it and straightened her clothes. Putting her shoulders back, she tried to recapture some of her dignity.