A Dream to Cling To (2 page)

She straightened up slowly. “Oh. Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.” A slight, embarrassed smile tipped the edges of her mouth. Who was this person? She glanced at the shadow of his beard covering a strong, square chin, and smiled to herself. He looked so … well, strong and
unregistered
. And his hair curled over the edge of his sweater. Mother must think him a hippie! She held out her hand and took a step toward the stranger.

“I didn’t realize we had a guest. I’m Brittany Winters.”

“The prodigal daughter,” Sam murmured, then strode forward to take the slender hand between his. He’d been right about one thing: Gordon Winters’s life
did
have color to it. But he’d been damn wrong about how he’d imagined Brittany Winters up to this moment. He knew from the brief family bio that she was the first born—late twenties, if he remembered correctly, although she seemed younger. And the woman lighting the room around him wasn’t any silver-spooned society girl, as he’d expected. He inhaled her clean, enticing scent and felt the tight cramp in his shoulders begin to disappear. No, this was no pampered girl, not with that shy smile that breathed of blue skies and wildflowers. He swallowed hard. She was a woodland creature, so soft-looking, with a tangle of thick curls in shades of dark spun gold and auburn. She was lovely. “I am happy to meet you, Brittany Winters.”

“Do I know you?” Brittany’s smile wavered as she found herself concentrating intently on the warm cave his hands made around her own. Tilting her head back, she gazed searchingly at his rugged features. Silly question, she thought. This face she wouldn’t easily forget. “You are …?”

“Sam Lawrence.”

“Oh.” Her gaze continued to explore the face that didn’t fit here in this elegantly decorated house. She
spoke slowly around the tightness in her throat. “Well, hello, Mr. Lawrence.” Quickly she slipped her hand from between his and curled it into a fist. The roughness of his fingers lingered, warm and tingly on her skin.

“Brittany,” Sara’s light voice intruded, “Mr. Lawrence is here to help with the company’s retirement gift for Father.”

“Retirement gift …” Brittany repeated, still unsure of Sam’s presence. She looked quickly around the room. “Where is Dad?”

Mrs. Winters leaned forward in her chair. “He’s in Boston, darling, settling a dispute in the plant there. That’s why we chose tonight to meet with Mr. Lawrence. He’s come up with a
wonderful
present for Gordon.”

“Oh, I see,” Brittany said, but she didn’t really see at all. What kind of gift could a Sam Lawrence possibly help with? “Well, that’s good. Heaven knows, Dad deserves a great gift.” When she looked back at Sam, she noticed his eyes, so brown and clear and bottomless, they seemed to look right inside of her. She shivered and rubbed her palms down the soft folds of her skirt. “Do you work for my father?”

“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Winters answered quickly. “Mr. Lawrence has been hired by the firm’s board to execute the gift.” She smiled gently, then shook her white head and looked up at Sam. “Mr. Lawrence, you explain it so much better.”

Sam nodded kindly at the gentle lady who was the reason he hadn’t walked out of the mansion a long time ago. Then he turned his close attention to the reason he was willing to stay on—indefinitely. “Ms. Winters—”

“Brittany, please,” she interrupted with a throaty laugh. Brittany slipped down into a chair near the fire and welcomed the firm support beneath her. When she
looked up, her gaze passed over Sam, from his well-worn boots to his face. She knew she’d never seen him before in her entire life, yet there was a strange feeling of connection, of association, that unsettled her. What was it? And
who
was he? Sam Lawrence looked like he’d be good at “executing” a hike up Mt. Washington, but a retirement gift? “Please go on, Mr. Lawrence,” she urged.

“Sure thing.” Sam nodded, then shoved his hands back into his pockets and watched the firelight dance off Brittany’s gold-flecked eyes. Or did the fire begin there …?

“Well,” he began slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, “as I told the others, this won’t be your ordinary plaque or gold watch or around-the-world-vacation type of retirement gift.”

“Good, Dad isn’t ordinary.” Brittany smiled, but she was puzzled. It was a sales pitch, not what she would have expected from the uneven-featured man with the shadow of a beard and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Sam noticed the hint of formality that had crept into her voice and continued, suddenly enjoying the silent game they were playing with each other, the unspoken assumptions, the subtle evaluations. As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, still gazing directly at her, he slid down onto the gold brocade love seat opposite her chair. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, which nearly brushed her own.

“What my company is putting together for your father, Brittany, is a tailor-made, personal board game of his life.”

Surprised, Brittany sat up, her back reed-straight and her face expressionless. “A game?”

Sam nodded. She was watching him so attentively, it nearly fogged his thoughts. “A game about Mr. Winters, using his life—your family’s life—as content. You know, kind of a
This Is Your Life
in game form.” He’d
given that explanation dozens, maybe hundreds of times, and this was when his listeners usually jumped in and told him what a terrific idea it was and my, oh, my, wasn’t he a creative son of a gun!

Brittany Winters was silent.

Sam smiled, and a dimple flashed in his cheek. Well, now, this just might be the challenge he needed to get the juices flowing! “Do you get the hang of it, Brittany?” He watched her carefully and fought back the urge to move closer, to slip his fingers into the soft mass of hair that framed her face and relieve her of the sudden tenseness that now lined her full mouth.

“A game about my father’s life?” Brittany asked softly, her gaze leaving his face, shifting down to ponder the herringbone pattern in her skirt. She studied the angled lines intently, rubbing along them with one finger, then slowly raised her head and looked questioningly at her mother.

“Isn’t it a lovely idea, dear? The board has already appropriated the money and now it’s up to Mr. Lawrence here to collect the information. It’s a fine present.” Katherine Winters smiled firmly. “Now, Brittany, will you tell us what you think?”

Brittany looked from her mother to Sam. She nibbled thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “A game, you say?”

Her voice was low but sharper now, Sam noticed, and the shyness in her eyes had disappeared.

“Yes. What
do
you think of the idea, Brittany?”

His voice was deep and unnervingly intimate. She stood and stared into the fire for a moment, then turned slowly back to him. “It’s a quaint idea, Mr. Lawrence, and I don’t mean any offense, but I’m not sure it’s the appropriate gift for my father’s retirement. He likes horses, fishing, books—things like that.” She smiled faintly, then looked apologetically at her mother.

She knew Sam was watching her carefully. He cocked his head and pulled his long, loose-limbed body up
from the delicate love seat; his dark eyes lit with curiosity and a hint of laughter. “So, Brittany, you don’t like the idea?”

“Like it?” The words tumbled out too quickly. No, she didn’t like it especially. And she knew it was an instinctive reaction that wasn’t the least bit objective. What people had done in their lives was a private matter—at least she’d kept her own life that way. And making a game out of someone’s life simply didn’t sit right. It was a unique idea, she admitted, but uncomfortable. Besides, she rationalized, her father didn’t even play poker. What would he do with a board game? No, it wasn’t just that, she told herself. Face it. It was this Sam Lawrence, a brown-eyed stranger sifting through her life. That was what was disturbing her. “No,” she said more firmly. “I don’t like the idea.”

Sam bit back a grin. This soft lovely creature had spunk as well as the magic of a goddess. And the longer she stood there like that with her eyes glinting gold from the firelight and her cheeks flushed, the higher went the stakes. It wasn’t just the job now—it was moving through just a bit of life’s winding stream with Brittany Winters beside him that he didn’t want to give up. His eyes lingered on her face while he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I see. Well, maybe if you’d give me a little time, Brittany, I could explain it better.”

Brittany forced a gracious smile and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s my opinion.”

“But not the board of director’s, dear,” her mother said softly. “They want this, and we shall all help it come about.”

Brittany took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. She could see the matter was settled, and probably had been long before she arrived. “All right.” The silent vow she took to stay as far away from this family project as she could was hidden behind the quick sweep of her lashes as she lowered her head. Why was she
fighting this so? she wondered. And why did Sam’s nearness disturb her? Things were usually so clear to her: her goals, her life, her likes and dislikes. But tonight she had walked directly into a thick fog, and the feeling was strangely disturbing.

“Hey, Britt, I think it’ll be fun,” her brother said. “Here, have a drink.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, Gordie. I have to leave now.” She edged her way toward the door, avoiding Sam Lawrence’s eyes. “Let me know if you want me to fill out a questionnaire or something.”

“There’s one more thing, Brittany dear.”

She looked back at her mother cautiously. There was a strange tone to Katherine Winters’s voice, and it made Brittany slightly uneasy. “Yes, Mother?”

“Mr. Lawrence needs one of us to work very closely with him in order to make sense out of everything. To be a ‘right-hand man’ as his brochure explained it.” Katherine Winters smiled.

Brittany choked. It was the same smile her mother had used years ago when she’d announced unexpectedly that arrangements had been made for Brittany to make her society debut. That had been one of the lowest moments of Brittany’s life, but she had a queasy suspicion it was about to move into second place. Oh, if only she’d stayed on for Mr. Fitzgerald’s birthday cake.

“And since you have such a flexible schedule,” her mother continued, “we’ve all agreed you’re the perfect choice to help Mr. Lawrence create this wonderful game.”

Brittany spun around and looked at Gordie and Sara. They smiled. Then she turned to the man who was stepping into her life.

He was leaning nonchalantly against the mantel, one elbow resting on its polished surface. His face was expressionless, except one brow lifted questioningly. “What do you say, Brittany?”

She bit down so forcibly on her lip that she nearly
jumped. She looked back at her mother, whose serene smile was still in place. She elected to answer her mother instead.

“Mother, I can’t. I have my job.” But she knew as soon as she spoke that no one was listening. Taking pets to old folks’ homes for visits—even if she was being paid for it!—wasn’t a job, not really. Getting married and planning for babies like Sara did, that was a job. Or studying for the bar exam, like Gordie was doing.

Sam was at her side now, his hand resting casually on her shoulder. A small intense circle of heat melted into her.

“Hey, Brittany, I understand. This was all kind of thrown on you. But I really do need your help. Honest. And I’ll try hard not to impose on your time.”

His eyes were so incredibly deep that for a moment Brittany couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and deliberate. “Oh, but you don’t quite understand, Mr. Lawrence. I don’t
have
any time to impose upon. My days are filled, you see.” She clasped her hands behind her back and feigned a calmness she hadn’t felt since entering the house. Would it be awful to shake his hand off of her shoulder so she could think clearly? She wet her bottom lip. “And I’m really not a very good person to work on a game. I play tennis, but not board games.” She laughed, and it sounded thin to her. “I never even played bridge in college.”

His rich laughter circled around her. “Ah, so it’s
games
you don’t like. Well, Brittany.” His fingers moved in slow circles on her shoulder. “You won’t have to
play
it. All you need to do is tug things out of your memory for me and help me collect and sort through the information. Be there when I get stuck, when I need you …”

Brittany’s head hurt from trying to concentrate on his words instead of on the growing warmth that was
dancing through her body, pinpricking up and down her arms and legs. Why did his simple, straightforward words sound like a proposition instead of a plain business deal? Where was that fine honed finesse-with-men she’d cultivated so carefully over the past few years? She was just tired. The long day … the birthday party at the senior citizens home … She needed to get home, that was all, and settle down with a glass of warm milk. Damn, why didn’t he take his hand off her shoulder?

His hand dropped to his side, but his smiling eyes remained fixed on her face.

She shivered. So, he read minds as well? she thought. Cheap parlor trick, that was all.

Sam felt her shiver and fought to keep his hands still. Shivers needed warming.…

Brittany backed toward the door. “I really do have to leave now.” She looked around the room. Sara and Michael were lost in each other, and Gordie had slipped out unnoticed.

Her mother hadn’t moved, just sat erect in the regal chair, her eyes half-closed, her gracious smile in place. As for Sam Lawrence, Brittany opted not to look. She walked briskly over to her mother and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I really do have to leave. The car …” She gestured vaguely toward the front of the house and the wide circle drive. “It’s chilly—and they’re all out there in the van. Spike and Dunkin. Oh, and Harry …”

She felt a hot blush coat her neck and creep upward until it covered her face.

“Harry?” Sam asked.

“A rabbit. Lop-eared,” she said quickly, then edged back toward the door.

“Brittany dear.” Katherine’s voice was so soft she could have been speaking in her sleep.