Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
Though perplexed by his temperament and lack of
interest, Sam shrugged it off.
“I
thought we could have breakfast together before you left.
Everything is just about. . .”
“Not
this morning, baby.
It's my first day
back and I am going to be late.”
Fighting
off a pang of disappointment, she pressed on, “No one can work well on an empty
stomach.”
Suppressing increasing spasms of displeasure, Ted
managed an animated smile.
“I'm sorry,
doll, you see . . . I . . . I never eat breakfast.
I certainly didn't expect all this or I would
have told you.”
A flick of his finger
brushed the flower from her nose to enable dropping a light kiss upon its tip.
“Look Sam, I appreciate what you have done, honest, but we pay maids substantially
to cook and clean for us.
I would prefer
that you not work like this.
Enjoy
yourself, soak in the tub, fix your hair, and wear all the pretty things I've
bought you.
I want you to look beautiful
for me.
Smell exotic.”
Ted's words, as reprimanding as a
beating, instantly brought to memory how fatigued she was when awaking at six
to bake biscuits from scratch.
She gave
her appearance no thought. Her intention was solely to make a good impression
with her culinary art.
Even a dunce
would know Ted was miffed.
Tears crept
maddeningly from her eyes.
“I must look
a mess.
I'm sorry, I just
. . . “
With his mind elsewhere, Ted was
oblivious to her tears.
“Forget it,
sweetheart.
See you tonight, O.K.?”
Planting a peck on her forehead, as a father
would have done, he turned and left before she could muster another word.
Why didn’t Ted crush her against him and smother
her with kisses as he always did?
What
was wrong was it the way she was dressed, the messy kitchen, Sam fretted.
Plunking herself on a chair, she caught a
tear with a flour-coated fingertip managing to deposit additional white dust
across her cheek. “Let the damn stuff burn,” she cursed.
Fixing her eyes on the floral piece placed
earlier on the table, hoping to quell her urge to scream, she ranted, “Take it easy,
soak in the tub, and fix your hair.
God,
what am I, the Queen of England?
I am
not sure I can do this without going nuts.
I have to get out of here before I burst.”
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More distressed than ever over the news of Sam's
virginity and the unfavorable circumstances that had occurred, Brad wasted
little time moving back into the penthouse on Sunday.
Though wary of being alone with Sam, the
prospects of hotel living and leaving her at Ted's mercy were sufficient
persuasion.
Although the guest room he now occupied was
remote from Sam's bedroom, he wasn't sure he could sleep knowing she was within
reach.
He was right, the mangled
bedclothes proof he had combated memories of holding her all night.
At four in the morning he finally resigned
himself to the fact that if she was anywhere around him, he would never know
peace again.
Sprawled on his stomach, he continued to take his
frustrations out on the feather pillow burying his head beneath it and forcing
himself to remain in bed.
Certain sleep
had finally come he believed he was dreaming of home; heard his mother's
banging pots and pans, smelled the scrumptious aroma's making him believe he
could taste the delicious morsels she tirelessly prepared.
His mouth even watered in anticipation of her
homemade biscuits, a dream that seemed too real.
Wondering if he had gone crazy, he jerked himself
up.
Exasperated, he got up.
Wallowing in the thought that he didn't have
to shower, shave and dress for work, he pulled on navy blue sweat pants and a
white tee shirt before heading toward the kitchen.
Discovering Sam at the table was
like balmy spring sunshine and the clean scent of fresh air, her appearance
sent tiny thrills of currents shooting through his body.
Never had he known a woman who could wear a
burlap bag and look unequivocally bewitching.
Eyes soaking in her camouflaged face he tore his glance away to browse
the kitchen.
Sherlock Holmes was not
needed to decipher she was the kitchen culprit.
Looking precious, yet far from happy, he struggled to contain his
laughter.
Smiling, he lazily said, “Good
morning, sunshine.”
Wearing a mask of dejection, Sam's eyes remained fused on the flowers,
her reply abrupt and barely audible.
“Good morning.”
Knowing all her
efforts were for a person who detested breakfast, Brad imagined what took
place.
Plucking cheerfulness from thin
air he attempted to lighten the gloom, “Where is she?”
Looking
at Brad as though he was nuts, Sam answered, “Who?”
”The
new house cleaner, of course, it has been a nightmare-finding one who could
cook.
The exquisite aromas woke me from
a sound sleep. I'm starving.”
A
puckish glee instantly brightened Sam’s face.
“You are?
I mean you really eat
breakfast?”
Flexing
his muscles, “Now, you don't really think I got these by not eating breakfast
do you?”
Smiling,
Sam grabbed a plate and swiftly moved toward the stove barking an order, “Sit,
I'll get it.”
The radiation of her impish smile sent heat waves
to his bones.
As if he possessed x-ray
vision, with a mind of its own, his eyes envisioned every curve beneath her
shirt.
Aware of what dwelling on such
thoughts did to his anatomy, he stood and fetched the coffee pot.
Brad's manly smell wafted as he reached past Sam
mere inches away the air moving between them like a jolt of static
electricity.
Warmth touched her.
She had never seen him in anything but
professional clothes and, giggling inwardly, a bathrobe.
Somehow, she had missed entirely the well-
proportioned body boasting broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist where the
elastic band of jogging pants held a tee shirt snugly to a lean, washboard
frame.
How
was it possible for a man with tousled hair and a day old beard to look so
strikingly magnanimous? Surely, everyone look bad first thing in the morning,
quite possibly everyone except Brad, who perpetually looked disturbingly
magnificent.
As if erasing forbidden thoughts, the back of her
hand brushing her forehead removed the perspiration beginning to form from
simply looking at him.
Placing heaping
portions of omelet, bacon, and biscuits on a plate, she poured a tall glass of
orange juice and placed them beside him.
Poking at the small portions on her plate, she watched him devour each
morsel, his appetite equal to that of her fathers after working all day on the
ranch.
Homesickness shook her body.
When he could eat no more, Brad stretched and
patted his stomach,
“Fantastic,
Princess.”
Mouth twisting with
devilment, he added, “You are hired.
The last time I had anything that tasted this good was at home three
years ago.
I'd swear those biscuits tasted
just like moms.”
Compliments
causing bubbles to burst inside Sam made her chuckle, “Well, they should, it's
her recipe.”
With
a look of astonishment, Brad remarked, “You're kidding!”
“Don't
you and Ted talk?”
“Not
much recently.
I've been sleeping days
and working nights so we have been out of touch.”
“Didn't
Ted tell you about me?
You looked so
surprised when I arrived?”
“On
the contrary, you're all he's talked about.
He has not been the same since he returned.
He's crazy about you.”
A
mood swing dropped Sam's chin.
“Sometimes I wonder.”
Tilting her face toward him with the tip of his finger forced her eyes
to meet his, “Hey, Princess, Ted's one lucky guy.
What more could he ask for, you are not only
beautiful, but one hell of a cook.
I'll
testify to that.”
Picking up a napkin,
he gently dusted the flour from her face.
“I would recommend a darker powder next time though.”
Sam's untamed smile shot a hole through his
soul.
With a saucy tilt of her head,
her expression serious,
“Why do you call
me, Princess?”
Raising his eyebrow, a dangerous glint came into
his eyes as if to conceal a secret.
“Because you remind me of what a Princess should look like, remarkably
beautiful.
Do you mind all that much?”
Flattered, shaken to the quick of her, Sam
swallowed the breath caught in her throat.
Men say women were confusing creatures, well, men were worse.
First, Ted thought she was an absolute mess,
and now Brad perceives her to be a beautiful Princess.
I give up.
“Not really.”
“Settled, now, why don't you tell me all about you and Ted including
how you got my mom's recipe?”
The dam broke.
Sam's spirits soared as she rambled on.
Three years ago, her parents purchased the abandoned deteriorating Clyde
ranch bordering the Peterson and Johnson homesteads.
Her fathers’ dream, which yearned to own
cattle.
With Frank and Bart's help, the ranch gradually
refurbished, cattle now grazed in the fields.
While the men worked the long-hours necessary, the women became
acquainted striving to make Sam and her mother comfortable and welcomed in
their new surroundings.
When Ted returned home the first of
August, they met unexpectedly while horseback riding.
Ted said he had been so taken by her he did
not notice the tree branch in front of him.
Naturally, she came to his rescue.
Thereafter, they were inseparable.
Days and evenings spent either going into
town for movies and dancing, swimming in the man-made watering hole bordering
the ranches, or pitching hay and horseback riding over acres of pasture.
Ingesting every word, increasingly captivated
Brad became by Sam's considerable charms noticing how the mere mention of home
made her complexion glow.
Her habits of
talking with her hands, cocking her head, and playing with her hair were
endearing.
Envy infested his soul.
Sam's reminiscing reminded him of the many
telephone conversations he had with his mom.
How she went on and on about the beautiful young woman who moved in next
door.
How delightful and intelligent she
was.
How much she wanted him to meet
her.
She would be a perfect wife she
carried on.
Inevitably, Stella never
ended a conversation without reminding him, she missed him terribly, loved him
and that he should settle down and, raise a family before it was too late.
That he should come home.
Brad felt a sudden gnawing catch in his chest as
he recalled how Ted spent days trying to convince him to take time off to
accompany him.
Now, wondered would he
have been the lucky man in Sam's life.
Brad's
trance like appearance made Sam pause.
“I must be boring you with all this nonsense.”
Quickly evading the subject, “Not at all,
Princess, you have just made me a little homesick.
What would you like to do today?”