And Then Came You

E
XTRAORDINARY PRAISE FOR
M
AUREEN
C
HILD AND HER NOVELS

Loving You

“The boisterous Candellanos are back . . . in this latest heartwarmer.”

—
Romantic Times

“Packed with very strong characters and lots of emotion . . . an unforgettable story, and a romance to treasure.”

—
A Romance Review

“Maureen Child always writes a guaranteed winner, and this is no exception. Heartwarming, sexy, and impossible to put down.”

—Susan Mallery, bestselling author
of
The Sparkling One

Finding You/Knowing You

“An absolutely wonderful contemporary romance. A delightful blend of humor and emotion, this sexy love story will definitely keep readers turning the pages.”

—Kristin Hannah, author of
Distant Shores

“The Candellano family is warm and wonderful . . . you’ll get swept up in the lives and loves of these passionate and fascinating individuals.”

—
Romantic Times

“Delightful romances involving colorful and yet realistic characters make these two stories by Maureen Child a veritable feast for the eyes. The large Italian family of the Candellanos is very convincing and the characterizations are so mature and honest that the author is to be applauded for such skillful crafting and accurate portrayal . . . the heartfelt emotions leap from the pages, and the delicately blended humor and pathos render these stories memorable . . . after the exhilarating first story, readers will feel compelled to read the other one too, and neither disappoints. Maureen Child is an author to watch out for.”

—
The Road to Romance

“A fresh tale of family, conflict, and love . . . the characters are endearing.”

—
Old Book Barn Gazette

“Both of these novels are engaging contemporary romances with a warm ensemble that feels like the kitchen of many readers. The story lines will hook readers because the characters seem genuine and friendly.”

—
Harriet’s Book Review

“Fall in love with this delightful family with these two tales, and prepare yourself for the next installment.”

—TheRomanceReader.com

S
T
. M
ARTIN’S
P
APERBACKS
T
ITLES
BY
M
AUREEN
C
HILD

Finding You

Knowing You

Loving You

Some Kind of Wonderful

Sam’s Story

M
AUREEN
C
HILD

AND THEN CAME YOU: SAM’S STORY

Copyright © 2004 by Maureen Child.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

ISBN: 0-312-99752-3
EAN: 80312-99752-6

Printed in the United States of America

St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / July 2004

St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

10   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

For Mark
Always

The summer of hell was just getting started.

And Samantha Marconi was already dreading it.

“You’d think I could at least have some coffee,” she muttered grimly as she glared into her pitiful substitute for a morning beverage. Tea. What was the point? Without
real
caffeine, how could she be expected to face what was coming?

Outside the cluttered but clean kitchen of the Marconi family home, a summer storm raged. Tiny fists of rain battered the windows and raced down the gutters. Sam shivered.

Symbols of foreboding crouched in every corner of the room like medieval gargoyles waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Anyone with half a brain could see that the cards had been stacked against them. The wrath of the gods was about to fall. The boom was lowering.

As if nature were determined to prove her right, the trees were whipped by a wind that drove in off the ocean and slapped a loose shutter against the side of the house.

Have to fix that
. She jotted it down on the mental list of notes she was constantly updating. Of course, she’d made the same mental note during the last storm, but
that wasn’t really important at the moment. What was important was that she was the only member of the Marconi Construction Company who’d bothered to show up for the meeting.

She took another swig of tea, and made a face at the taste just as the back door flew open.

Sam jumped as the doorknob slammed into the permanent notch in the wall that had been carved by years of Marconi girls flinging that door open with enthusiasm. A tall woman dressed in a fire-engine-red rain slicker stood framed in the open doorway. Her blue eyes danced and a smile curved her wide mouth. Rain rushed in around her as if it had been perched on the porch waiting for a chance to sneak inside.

“Shut the door.” Sam inched her chair away from the fingers of wetness reaching for her.

“Hi to you, too.”

Under the big table, Papa’s huge golden retriever, Bear, whined and thumped his tail against the floor in greeting. Sam was feeling less enthusiastic.

She tossed a quick look over at her younger sister and snarled. “Don’t push me, Mike. I haven’t had coffee. Where were you?”

Michaela Marconi grinned and lifted a cardboard tray high, as if she were offering up her firstborn child to the gods. “Getting supplies. Crap, you’re still miserable in the morning.”

Sam’s gaze fixed on that tray and the three tall cups nestled within. Her nose twitched, blood pumped, and something close to awareness skittered inside. “If that’s coffee, I’ll consider letting you live.”

“Better than coffee.” Mike’s blond eyebrows lifted for emphasis. “Lattes. From Stevie’s.”

“There is a God and She loves me.” Sam sighed dreamily. Stevie Ryan Candellano, the mistress of the coffee bean, made perhaps the best latte in central California. Here in Chandler, Stevie’s shop, The Leaf and Bean, was a gathering place for the locals and a mecca for customers willing to drive in from Carmel and Monterey just for a taste of one of her cinnamon rolls. The woman was a wizard in the kitchen, give her an espresso machine and Stevie could light up your world like nobody else.

“Muffins, too?” Sam shoved her hated cup of tea aside and made a grab for the closest coffee cup just as soon as Mike set it on the table.

“Of course.” Mike shucked the rain slicker, shook it once, flinging droplets of icy water in every conceivable direction, then hung it on a hook by the door. Her blond hair was braided and lay in a single thick rope across her right shoulder. Her black T-shirt was stamped
MARCONI CONSTRUCTION
and the letters were faded. Her jeans were worn and faded, too, and her work boots looked as though she’d been kicking ass for generations. Plopping one hand on her hip, she said, “Cinnamon streusel and those blueberry ones with the crunchies on top. And,” she added, reaching into the bag, “a plain biscotti for Bear.” She tossed it under the table and grinned at the eager crunching sounds.

“You may live,” Sam muttered, taking her first sip and letting the magic slide deep inside her.

“Gee, thanks.” Taking a seat in her traditional spot at the wide kitchen table, Mike grabbed her own cup of coffee and shook her head. “I’m so glad you moved back in just to make my life a carnival.”

Sam was the first to admit that it felt a little weird to
be living in her father’s house again. After all, she’d been out on her own for five years. But while her new house was being tented for termites and having its scarred floor sanded and varnished, here she sat. Still, it could have been worse. At least the Marconi “mansion” was here, as always, just waiting to be
home
again.

The pale lemon-yellow walls of the kitchen were determinedly cheerful and most of the appliances were as old as Sam was. Despite its ragged-around-the-edges appearance though, it was an inviting house. A place that welcomed you in, then surrounded you with the good kind of vibes that attached themselves to homes where love lived. She’d grown up here. The middle daughter of three. She’d fought with her sisters, sneaked out of her room to go to parties and been grounded when she was caught. She’d laughed and cried and always known that this place . . . this one spot in the universe . . . was where she would always be welcomed.

Temporarily living at home wasn’t too bad. Of course, living with Mike again was a different story.

“Quiet,” Sam said. “I’ll need a minute, here.” She closed her eyes and took another sip, feeling every cell in her body slowly shudder and wake itself. Okay, maybe hell wouldn’t be so bad after all. She mentally sent all the little forebodings of disaster into hibernation and tried to focus on her little sister.

Mike continued to mutter to herself, but otherwise kept quiet. It was a comfortable thing, Sam thought. The crashing storm outside, the familiar warmth of the old kitchen surrounding her, and a hot cup of coffee
cupped between her palms. What more could anyone want?

“Good.” Another voice growled from the doorway leading to the living room. “You’re both here.”

Sam sighed.
Solitude would be good
.

“You’re the late one,” Mike pointed out, already tearing the crunchy top off one of the blueberry muffins.

Josefina Marconi tossed her head, sending a dark brown ponytail swinging back over her shoulder. Her T-shirt was bright red, also stamped
MARCONI CONSTRUCTION
, but naturally, on Jo’s shirt, the lettering was crisp and neat. As were her jeans. Dark blue denim that somehow or other Jo managed to keep clean despite the amount of work she did. Her work boots looked as though they’d been polished—and probably had been. Jo was the organized one. The one to whom lists were foreplay and a good filing system was damn near a sexual experience.

Sam shook her head. She herself fell somewhere between the two women—and not just in the birth order. Not as neat as Jo, nor as disorganized as Mike, Sam was the happy medium. At twenty-seven, she was the peacemaker, the one who jumped into the middle of any raging Marconi storm and spilled oil on churning water.

The Marconi girls never changed. And, Sam told herself as she half-listened to Mike giving Jo a hard time, there was a familiar comfort in that.

This was her place in the universe. The house where she was raised, here, in Chandler, California, would always be home. Chandler was small enough to be cozy
but big enough to avoid the claustrophobic atmosphere some small towns had that choked the life out of their citizens.

Chandler sat smack in the middle of California. Bordered on one side by the ocean and on the other by a stand of trees thick enough to actually be called a forest, it had the best of both worlds. The sea breeze drifted through town, easing the hottest days of summer, and the smell of the pines at Christmastime gave you the feeling of being trapped in a Currier & Ives lithograph.

Chandler was Mayberryesque. Heaven knew she’d heard enough of the tourists muttering just that to be aware of it. But it was more than that, too. The town had started generations ago as a cluster of houses springing up along the coast road.

People had lived here and gone to work at the canneries, on the fishing boats, or at the wineries that dotted the California landscape. A lot of those first settlers had been Italian, drawn to the climate which was so much like that of the country they missed so desperately. And little by little, over the years, Chandler had grown and blossomed until it was a small city in its own right and had no need to depend on outside jobs to support it.