“I walked over to Jake’s house this afternoon to ask if he has any idea what’s going on with her, and he said Dani’s rebellion isn’t unusual for an adolescent from a broken home—especially a girl who has health issues to compound her emotional problems.”
“What would you like me to do? I try calling her every day.” Even when he did manage to get a hold of Dani, the one-sided conversation elicited only monosyllabic answers from her, indicating she was angry at him.
“I know you do. I’m not saying it’s your fault. But Jake also explained that girls who feel neglected by their dads tend to develop low self-esteem, which often results in promiscuity to get the male attention they miss.”
He’d recently read a newspaper report that a girl his daughter’s age had been caught at a local suburban high school selling her favors during school hours. Nick had already laid down the law that Dani couldn’t date until she was fifteen, but evidently that might not be enough to protect her. “She obviously needs more supervision than she’s getting.”
“I’m only one person, Nick. I can’t watch her every second.”
Someone had to.
“And you may not want to hear this, but Jake also said girls like Dani frequently act out to punish their absent fathers.”
Okay, now he was pissed—even if he did respect his neighbor’s psychoanalysis of his child. “If I’m
absent
, it’s because you made sure my daughter and I were separated. This is exactly why I wanted you to move with me. So if it’s anyone’s fault—”
“I’m not pointing a finger. I simply want to know what you think we should do about it.”
He released a humorless snort. “There isn’t a hell of a lot I
can
do from here, is there?”
“Well, we’d better figure something out. The last thing I want is her falling into some boy’s arms because she’s starved for your affection. We both know how that can turn out.”
“Now you’ve crossed the line, insinuating I don’t love my daughter!”
“I never said that. We’re talking about how Dani perceives your relationship.”
“And why do you think her perception is warped, Sam? Have you told her
you
filed for divorce, or that I took the promotion because I hoped you’d come with me?”
In Dani’s mind, he was a heartless bastard who’d left his family for a glamorous life in Hollywood. Of course, passing off a hotel suite as his home when she’d visited hadn’t discouraged that impression. Except he hadn’t wanted her to see the dump he really lived in.
“No, you never
hoped
I’d go with you, Nick. You
assumed
I’d jump right on board, without giving me any say in the matter. Feel free to enlighten your daughter at any time.”
“You know I’d never do that,
cariño
. Besides, it wouldn’t fix anything at this point. The only practical solution is for me to move back to Pennsylvania and spend more time with her.”
The phone line was silent for several seconds before she asked, “Can you simply transfer back here?”
“Probably—now that the new store is opening. I’ll talk to Ethan and be there as soon as I can wrap things up here.” And then maybe—just maybe—he could get his family back.
When Sam became mute again, he frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t do cartwheels over the prospect of you coming back and butting into my life.”
“Hey, you’re the one who claimed our daughter is
starved for my affection
.”
“You’re right. Dani needs you.”
The subtext
and I don’t
rang in Sam’s voice like a death knell.
“You used to need me too,
querida
,” he whispered, trying to remember when he’d last held her. It had been more than three months before he moved out. If he’d had any idea it would be the last time she would lie in his arms, he never would have let her go.
He might have given up praying after God took their son from them. But if it would help get his wife back, he’d say a hundred novenas—even a thousand, if necessary.
By all that was Holy, with the help of Saint Jude and any other saints who handled lost causes, Sammy would need him again very soon. Even if only in her bed.
~*~
Samantha’s hand quivered as she hung up the phone with Nick’s parting words reverberating in her head. “I’ll see you soon,
Abejita
.”
If the infuriating, never-put-off-until-tomorrow man ran true to form, his definition of
soon
meant weeks, rather than months.
She definitely needed to have her head examined. If she truly wanted to be independent, Nick should’ve been the last person she turned to for help even if her problem was with their daughter. She could’ve asked Justin or Adam for advice.
Heck, she should’ve called Haley’s dad, Marc Simmons, seeing as he was also a single parent, and his daughter was usually in the middle of Dani’s escapades.
But, no-ooo. That would’ve been intelligent. Instead, she’d stupidly fallen back into her old pattern of depending on Nick for a solution. She’d practically demanded it, which hadn’t left him many options. Now the big butt-in-ski was coming back.
Although, it was probably for the best. It would kill her if their daughter ended up pregnant the way she had.
What really hurt to admit, if only to herself, was she would be overjoyed if Nick was returning because he’d realized he couldn’t live without her. Regrettably, his reasons were all about duty and honor—exactly like when he’d married her.
Casey Olson, her boss and founder of the preschool where Sam worked, insisted actions spoke louder than words. She believed any man who doted on a woman the way Nick did on Sam must be crazy about her. For years, Samantha had told herself the same thing. They’d been reasonably content aside from her suffering a devastating miscarriage when Dani was seven. Even though Sam had only been in her first trimester, she spilled a river of tears. A long stretch of unexplained secondary infertility followed and produced more tears each month when she found the telltale spot of blood in her underwear announcing she’d failed to conceive yet again.
She’d been ecstatic when a plus sign finally appeared on the pregnancy test stick, but the discovery of Dani’s leukemia squelched Sam’s joy. In the months that followed her daughter’s diagnosis, while Nick spent every waking moment he wasn’t working entertaining their child or surfing the Internet, Sam prayed their unborn son’s cord blood would be a match for Dani—unfortunately, her prayers went unanswered.
Michael was born at only twenty-seven weeks and died.
Nick promptly tossed out every bootie and rattle, Sam had bought for their baby, before she was even released from the hospital. He’d said it was to spare her, but then he threw himself into his job, working nonstop and leaving her to mourn their loss alone without a single receiving blanket to soak up her tears.
That’s when it became crystal clear that Nick’s promise—during his marriage proposal—to provide for her and their child had referred to their
physical
needs. He’d never said a word about satisfying Sam’s emotional needs, which a nice home and mind-blowing sex couldn’t begin to fill.
Although she really missed the latter.
She heaved a sigh, recalling how he’d always left her gasping her pleasure. She’d cherished the tender way he’d held her afterward—despite the absence of any declarations of love aside from a few Spanish endearments.
Sam slid off the bed and stomped into the bathroom for a shower. Leave it to her to be dumb enough to divorce her
sexpert
husband right when she reached her sexual prime. At thirty-two, she finally understood her husband’s perpetual state of arousal. If Adam’s kisses evoked even half the fireworks Nick’s did, she would’ve slept with Dani’s doctor weeks ago.
After shucking the denim shorts and T-shirt she’d changed into after work, she pulled off her undergarments and twisted around to study her bare fanny in the mirror. At only five-foot-three, she wasn't one of those lucky women who carried her weight all over her body. At least eight of the twelve pounds she’d gained since her divorce were glued to her dimpled butt and boobs. She stepped on the scale and gasped, shifting her weight several times in a vain attempt to make the number drop.
Make that fifteen pounds.
That would teach her to substitute peanut butter cups for sex. Even if she lived on celery and lettuce, she’d never be able to lose the added weight before she saw Nick again.
Maybe there was a grain of truth in the trivia he’d loved to quote that ‘
a daily romp in bed burned enough calories to lose ten pounds a year
.’
Her celibate lifestyle had certainly piled on that much weight and more. Meanwhile, Nick, though he tried to deny it, was probably turning himself into a skeleton, playing fitness trainer for Bimbo Bethany. After all, a man with the drive and stamina that only a polygamist needed would hardly be content to remain abstinent the rest of his life. And a man who made Zorro seem downright average would have had no problem finding a pretty young volunteer to cater to his Latin libido.
Sam swallowed hard, clearing the giant lump of envy from her throat.
Unlike a lot of men only interested in gratifying their baser needs, her virile ex reveled in the prelude to sex as much as he did the grand finale. He’d loved ratcheting up her anticipation and teasing her into a wild frenzy. Of course, his fondness for making her beg in bed was probably another facet of his Svengali complex.
So why, after all this time, did the idea of him introducing
El Capitán
to another woman eat at her insides? She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to blot out the memory of Nick’s lovemaking. Every time he made her climax, he grinned like a proud fool, as if he owned the patent on orgasms. No doubt, he was doing a lot of smiling these days, sleeping with a stacked teenager. Of course, that was assuming he had the energy left to lift the corners of his mouth.
Sam stepped into the shower stall and slammed the glass door. Why should she care? It wasn’t as if she still loved him, right? Her jealousy had to be simply a matter of pride.
When Nick saw how fat she’d grown without his so-called nightly workouts, he would probably laugh what was left of his hunky butt off. Of course, if the arrogant oaf dared to say a single word about her pudgy tush, she would point out that living with a little extra padding was far preferable to the 190 pounds she’d lost in their divorce.
First, however, she had to convince herself.
CHAPTER 3
Ten days later, Nick drove through Bucks County, singing a duet with Rod Stewart and enjoying the riot of autumn colors decorating the rolling countryside. As he entered the scenic borough of New Hope, overlooking the river on the road to Redemption, Chewie bolted upright in the SUV’s back seat almost as if sensing they were nearly home.
While cruising past the odd mixture of quaint and trendy stores along Main Street, Nick waved to a few familiar locals scattered among the out-of-towners, who, on nice days like this, flocked to the picturesque village only a few miles from where Washington crossed the Delaware. The town had become a mecca for artists and craftsmen.
Chewie stuck his head between the front seats whimpering. Nick totally sympathized with the animal. They’d been in the car for so many hours the past few days, his knees felt like they’d frozen in the bent position. He scratched the dog’s neck. “I know, pal. Only a little while longer, and you can run.”
The dog’s tail wagged in approval as he barked at several of the tourists who were eager to escape Manhattan and Philly. Every weekend, sightseers invaded the numerous bed and breakfasts to enjoy the natural beauty of the historic area and its wineries, covered bridges, and antique shops that his neighboring town also boasted.
Ten minutes later, he heaved a sigh as he stopped for a moment next to the familiar
Welcome to Redemption
road sign that read
—A stone’s throw from New Hope, less than two hours from Paradise
. It was a running joke among the residents that to get to Paradise, located in the middle of
a large Amish community in Lancaster County, they might have to go through
Intercourse
.
He glanced at the rearview mirror and caught his reflection grinning like a fool. He’d forgotten how much he loved this town.
A few minutes later, he turned onto their country road. After parking his silver SUV in his driveway, he sat for several minutes studying the house’s paint job he’d shelled out for six months ago. The pale yellow Sam had chosen suited the old Victorian and made the house look homier than ever.
Except.... He frowned. Where were the pumpkins, mums, and Indian corn Sam always decorated the porch with in the autumn? Apparently, she either hadn’t had the time or the money to do it this year.
The grass needed cutting, and soon the leaves would be falling. At least he’d have something to do for the next month while waiting to start his new position.
He opened the vehicle’s rear door and let Chewie out. In the months since adopting the dog, he’d taught his pet to obey numerous verbal commands so he could be trusted off his leash to play fetch in the park.
The dog bolted to the nearest tree and sniffed it for a nanosecond before christening the trunk. Afterward, he raced around the front yard several times, pulling Nick’s attention to a stately English Tudor that had sprung up in the adjacent meadow where Sam and Dani had enjoyed picking wildflowers for the last seven years. Samantha had mentioned the construction next door, but he never dreamed the house—or rather, the mansion—had already been completed.
The dog followed him onto the porch to the front door. “Ahh, shit!” Nick winced, remembering his key no longer fit. “I forgot about the new locks.” He petted the dog’s head. “I’m sorry, pal. It looks like you’ll be stuck in the SUV a little longer.”
Chewie’s stance widened as he woofed twice in his
Stranger
-
Danger, please protect me
, bark.