Authors: Maureen Child
You never forget your first love?
Was that it? Sam
kept her gaze locked with Jeff’s. His eyes were unreadable, so she couldn’t be sure what he was thinking. But she had to wonder if he’d given any thought at all to that kiss a few nights before. Had it bothered him? Had he felt the sizzle and snap that had leaped up between them?
Or was it all in her imagination?
And oh God, remembering that kiss right now had a guilty flush rushing through her. Tearing her gaze from Jeff’s, Sam looked back at the blonde and smiled. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m just the ‘ex.’ ”
“Oh, but you’re so much more,” Cynthia said, and reached for Sam’s hand. Holding it in both of hers, Cynthia said, “You’re Emma’s
mother
. That will always link us. We’re family. We always will be.”
Ye Gods.
Sam hadn’t thought of it like that. Of course, she’d thought plenty about having her daughter back in her life. And how she was going to make sure that Emma
stayed
in her life. She’d realized that she would have to forge a new relationship with Jeff. One that meant they’d be able to be civil to each other over the coming years.
But she’d never once considered having to deal with Emma’s stepmother.
Family?
Could this get any more awkward?
Her silence stretched on and on until even
she
noticed the quiet hanging between them. She had to say something. Be nice. Be polite. Despite feeling like the ugly duckling standing next to a particularly beautiful swan. “That’s very kind,” she managed to croak.
“Oh, it’s not kindness,” Cynthia went on, with a smile for Emma. “It’s gratitude.”
“Huh?” Brilliant, Sam. Just brilliant.
“I want to thank you. For having had the courage to do what was right for your daughter.”
“I don’t—” Sam shot a look at Jeff, as if hoping for help, but he shrugged and looked at Cynthia in bemusement. Apparently he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about either.
“You had the strength to give Emma up—”
Sam swallowed hard and tightened her grip on Emma’s little hand as if someone were going to try to take her away again.
“—and that allowed Emma to be a part of
my
life.” Releasing Sam, she turned her face up to Jeff’s and positively
beamed
at him. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
Jeff smiled at Perfect Cynthia and it was as if both Sam and Emma had disappeared. They were invisible. Even Homer was being ignored and Sam knew darn well it was almost physically impossible to ignore Homer.
She felt like the intruder she was. Like a voyeur, watching a honeymooning couple.
And that kiss seemed even more nebulous now. How could it have meant anything when he was engaged to Perfection? And why was he kissing Sam anyway, if cool blonde was waiting for him in San Francisco? And why was she asking herself so many damn questions that didn’t have answers?
“Emma,” she whispered, “we’ve gotta go.”
“ ’Kay.” Emma squeezed herself in between Cynthia and Jeff and threw her little arms around Jeff’s knees. Cynthia skipped back a step or two and swiped the palms of her hands over her skirt.
Jeff hugged his daughter tightly, then when she slipped over to Sam’s side, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. When he began to rattle the keys in his pockets, Sam’s eyebrows lifted and he stopped, shooting her a nod and a wry smile.
“Great to meet you,” Sam said, backing away like a servant from the queen. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again while you’re here . . .”
“Oh.” Cynthia spoke up. “I’m afraid not. I’m heading back to San Francisco this evening—” She reached for Jeff’s arm again and leaned into him.
A spike of something not so nice flickered inside Sam as she wondered if the woman was incapable of standing upright.
“Already? Short visit,” Sam said, still inching her way closer to escape. Way past time to make herself scarce. After all, what did she and Cynthia have in common? They’d both slept with Jeff? She frowned to herself at that thought, not much caring for the images that had leaped into her brain.
“There are so many wedding details to be seen to, I really shouldn’t have taken today, either,” Cynthia admitted, like a sorority sister sharing a secret. “But I just had to steal away to see my Jeff. You know how it is.”
She leaned a little farther. If Jeff backed up suddenly, Cynthia would take a header onto the stone patio. Sam told herself she really shouldn’t enjoy that image so much.
“Sure,” Sam agreed. “I know how that goes.” She was almost out. Homer was already running down the walkway, headed back home, and Emma was tugging at Sam’s arm, trying to follow the dog. “Well, you two have a nice visit and—”
“I’ll see you and Emma tomorrow,” Jeff said, and his deep voice rumbled across the distance separating them and seemed to thunder deep inside Sam’s chest.
Weird sensation.
Even weirder situation.
“Right. Gotta go.” And Sam quickly became the first Marconi in history to run from a battlefield.
Jeff felt like a cheating husband.
Grimacing tightly, he shifted his stance, unconsciously pulling a bit farther away from Cynthia’s clinging grasp. Was it guilt that had him moving away? Or a yearning he didn’t want to acknowledge?
Hell. A few days with Sam Marconi and his world was once again spinning off its axis. But why should that surprise him? Nine years ago, Sam had jumped into his world and turned it upside down. No big shock that she could still do it without even trying.
“Are you all right?”
Cynthia’s voice snapped him out of the haze wrapped around him. Glancing at her, he plastered a smile on his face and reminded himself that Cynthia had been damned understanding about all this. And it couldn’t be easy, planning a wedding only to find out that your fiancée was still married to someone else.
He stared down at her. Cool and beautiful, she had her brown eyes focused on him and her mouth was curved into a concerned smile. Sunlight shone all around her, making the soft blond hair she kept short and tidy look golden. Her perfume, an expensive blend of flowers and citrus, lifted into the air and all he could think was how different she was from Sam.
Cynthia was candlelight.
Sam was
fireworks
.
Bastard
.
“Jeff? Honey? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He shifted his gaze back to Sam and Emma. Couldn’t help himself. The ugly little dog was running toward a rusty bucket of a boat and his daughter was right behind it. But it was Sam his gaze locked on. Even in a tank top, worn-out jeans shorts, and smelling like day-old fish, she
sparkled
.
Cynthia spoke up again, as if trying to wean his attention back to her. “Samantha seems to be connecting to Emma very well.”
“Yes,” he said, his mind wandering down dangerous paths. “She does.”
“Does that bother you?”
Bother him?
It worried him in ways he wouldn’t have thought possible. Yes, Emma and Sam were bonding and that was good. He knew his daughter needed that connection with her mother. But he could admit, if only to himself, that he felt as though he were losing small pieces of his daughter’s heart to a woman who’d turned her back on them both.
Jeff turned to face Cynthia again, and looked down into her deep brown eyes. She was close enough to him that he could feel her heart beating against his chest. She leaned into him, pressing her breasts to him and giving him an excellent view of her impressive cleavage.
Jeff waited—hoping to feel the buzz of awareness that always hit him when Sam was near. It didn’t come. In fact, that special something, that
spark
of need, of lust, had never been there between him and Cynthia.
Which was, he reminded himself sternly, one of the primary reasons he’d proposed to her.
Sounded stupid, he supposed, but he’d already done the buzz of attraction. The dazzling burst of need and passion and desperation. And it hadn’t ended well. He’d learned long ago that the “flash” wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Flash faded too quickly—turning lovers into strangers and flames into ash.
Sam and he had been combustible. Jesus, the passion and the memories were suddenly so thick, so strong, he actually felt the top of his head catch fire. And just as quickly, guilt wrapped cold fingers around the base of his throat and squeezed. He was standing beside his fiancée and thinking about his wife.
Wryly, he acknowledged that not many men could make that statement.
Shoving thoughts of Sam to one side, he concentrated on the beautiful, elegant blonde smiling up at him. No, there was no buzz here, but there was . . .
peace
. What he had with Cynthia was quiet. Comfortable. And it would, he knew, in time become love. The kind of love that two people of similar backgrounds could share over a lifetime.
That brought him up short.
Jesus.
Sounded way too much like his mother. Was he finally becoming the stiff little prig she’d always tried to make him into?
No, he reassured himself.
He’d simply grown up.
No more castles in the sky.
No more building hopes on passion.
This time, he was going to do it right. This time, he’d make decisions with his head.
“No.” He finally answered her question with a smooth lie and wondered if it should worry him, just how easy lying was becoming. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s important for Emma to know her mother.”
Cynthia nodded and slid her hand along his arm until she could take his hand in hers. Her scarlet fingernails drew gentle patterns on his skin, as if she were branding him in some way. Marking him as her territory. Why that made him a little uncomfortable he wasn’t willing to explore.
“And has she agreed to sign the divorce papers?”
“Not yet.” As soon as he said it, he saw the flicker of worry dart across her eyes. Well hell. There was no reason for both of them to be tied up in knots. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She will. Sam’s just as eager as I am to put our marriage behind us. We just have to work out the details.”
“She wants custody, doesn’t she?” Cynthia turned her head to stare down at the dock, where Emma and Sam were now lost in the wandering crowd of tourists.
“Yes, but she’s not going to get it.” Jeff knew that Sam would be willing to fight for her daughter. But if he had to pull out the big guns, use his wealth and connections to win this battle, then he would. He didn’t want to hurt Sam. But if it came down to it, he would do what he had to do to keep his daughter safe. To keep the family they’d built intact.
“Jeff,” Cynthia said, her voice hesitant, careful. “I know this is hard, but we have to think about what’s best for Emma.”
Irritation snapped inside him. “Emma’s my main concern in this, Cynthia.”
She shook her soft blond hair back from her face. “Oh honey, I know that. I’m just saying that we have to be fair. We can’t be selfish with Emma, no matter how much we love her. Samantha
is
her mother and—”
He cut her off. He wasn’t ready yet to be reasonable. He wasn’t willing to admit just yet that Sam might have as big a hold on their daughter as he did. If that made him a bastard, then he’d just have to learn to live with that. “Let me worry about Sam, okay?”
“Of course.” Her smile tightened, but that was the only sign that she was upset. Cynthia Fairwood would never even
consider
shouting at him. It would never enter her mind to pick up the object closest to hand and heave it at his head. She’d never think about kicking him in the shins and pushing him out of the house wearing nothing but his boxers.
His mouth twitched as he remembered Sam doing just that. Hadn’t been funny at the time, but damned if it wasn’t in memory.
Cynthia, though, wasn’t ruled by her passions. And that was a good thing.
“Oh sweetie,” Cynthia said, capturing his attention again. “I can’t find the key to your place. Could you give me your extra?”
“Sure,” he said, already reaching for his key ring.
“Good.” She smiled and held out her hand, folding her fingers over the silver key when he placed it in her palm. “I just want to bring over a few things from my apartment. No sense in waiting till the last minute, is there?”
“No,” he said, nodding, “guess not.” He and Cynthia had kept their separate places, since Jeff had wanted to wait until they were married before bringing her in to live with him and Emma. It had been important to him and Cynthia’d agreed. Which was just one more reason for him to stop and appreciate her for who she was—rather than wishing she were someone she wasn’t.
She looked up at him with absolute trust, with confidence, which was enough to make him feel like an absolute prick. She trusted him, had promised herself to him. And only last night, he’d
kissed
Sam. Cynthia was getting ready to
marry
him and his brain was full of Sam.
Cynthia, though, was concerned not only for his feelings, but for Emma’s welfare and for Sam. She was definitely a better woman than he deserved. “I’ll take care of it,” he assured her. “I promise.”
A slow minute ticked past before she smiled. “I know you will. Just remember, the wedding’s in five weeks.”
As she cuddled up to him, snaking one arm around his waist, Jeff muttered, “Now how could I forget that?”
Tapping her foot, Sam shifted impatiently and twisted to one side, checking to see if the line was even moving. She’d known the market would be jammed. It always was on a Saturday.
Should have gone to Monterey
, she told herself with an impatient glance at the Timex on her left wrist.
But she was pushed for time. As always. She’d left Emma at the house with Jo and Mike so she could make the emergency run to the market, before their appointment
at Castle’s. Her brain was racing, her heart full, and while she stood in line, Chandler buzzed around her.
Most small towns had an excellent grapevine, but here, the gossip chain was forged by the top three links. Abigail Tupper, Virginia Baker, and last but certainly not least, Rachel Vickers.
Abigail had sharp green eyes and the rumor was, she was so old, she’d actually had a ticket on Noah’s cruise. Virginia, at seventy-five, had once been a little girl (hard to believe) whom Abigail had babysat for. Now, she had gray hair, mud-brown eyes, and a strange fixation on the Mafia. Rachel, in her late sixties, was the baby of the group, which some of the more mean-spirited in town insisted was the reason she hung out with the other two. So she could be the youngest,
somewhere
.