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He took a step closer and her heart started a different sort of thrumming. Earlier she’d taken great care to make sure she didn’t touch him as they passed in the crowded hallway. She stood her ground. She didn’t want him to know she was afraid. Goodness, she was a strong, capable, resourceful woman. It was ridiculous that one person could make her forget all of that just by breathing. She tried to remember what it was that Amy had said. That Sam Diamond took what he wanted until he was done and then he tossed it away like yesterday’s garbage. Amy’s words were completely opposite from Sam’s pledge, so which should she believe?
“You’re tired,” he noted, and to her shock he lifted his hand and ran his thumb along the top of her cheekbone. She knew there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Makeup had concealed it for most of the day, but it was growing late and as the makeup faded, her fatigue came to the surface.
But more than that—he was touching her. She flinched slightly at the presumptuous yet gentle touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. His thumb was large, strong and just a little rough. She was tempted to lean in to the strength of his hand for just a minute, but she held her face perfectly still instead as her insides quivered with a blend of attraction and fear. “I’ve been putting in long days,” she breathed. “There’s a lot to do.”
“I won’t keep you, then,” he replied, dropping his hand. She missed the warmth of his thumb and took a step backward, shocked at her response. No one ever touched her. Ever. And certainly not in such an intimate way.
“I’m sorry about Morris. He’s a very naughty cat. Did he get you very badly?”
And then it happened. Angela saw the barest hint of a smile touch his lips. Not the smooth, charming grin from this afternoon. A conspiratorial upturning of his lips that Angela couldn’t resist. It sneaked past all her misgivings and lit something inside her. She found herself smiling in return and chuckling. He joined in, the warm sound filling the kitchen.
Angela sighed as the laughter faded, looked over at Sam’s face, now holding a spot of devilishness that made her understand why the women of this town all swooned in his presence.
“I’ll live,” he said, the earlier hostility gone. “It was more of a surprise, really.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Just as well I have a tough skin. Maybe he smelled our dog or something. Buster has a way of putting cats on edge.”
Was he teasing her now? The idea made an unfamiliar warmth curl through her. She had to admit, knowing he was a pet owner added to his appeal. She had a momentary image of Sam on a huge horse with a dog following at their heels….
Dangerous. And trouble. At the very least, Amy had that part right.
“Don’t take it personally,” she offered weakly. “It’s not you …”
“If you say so.”
“I couldn’t just leave him,” she continued, not knowing why it was important that Sam understand about her cat but feeling compelled just the same. Another meow sounded behind the door. “He was hurt, and just a baby.”
Sam’s face was inscrutable. “Do I strike you as the kind of man who kicks puppies, Ms. Beck?”
Did he? Lord, no. He might use charm as a weapon, and he might have a ruthless streak—that single-mindedness he’d mentioned—but she found it hard to believe he’d be deliberately cruel. There was something about the way he’d touched her face …
She shook her head, not quite trusting her judgment.
“Well, that’s something, then.”
He turned to walk down the hall, back toward the front door, around the bags of home-renovation supplies and paint and everything else that would take up all her waking moments for the next several days. Perhaps weeks.
Maybe she could sweet-talk someone local into donating their time. School would be out for summer soon. Maybe a couple of students at loose ends … There was so much to do before the open house. The logistics of organizing that alone were taking up so much time and energy, and she’d already drafted the press release and sent it out….
The press release. The media was going to expect to see Molly at that, too. New nerves tangled as she thought of dealing with the press alone. She looked up at Sam. Getting more from him would be like getting blood from a stone. She’d figure something out. She had a little bit of time.
“I’d better let you get back to your dinner,” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob.
Her dinner. The tasteless glazed chicken that she’d popped in the microwave in lieu of a real meal.
“I trust that I’ll see you next month at the board meeting, then?”
His hat shadowed his eyes in the dim light of the foyer, so when he nodded briefly Angela couldn’t read his expression. Something between them hesitated, seemed to keep him from opening the door, made it feel that there was more to her question than she’d voiced—and more to his answer.
When she finally thought he must be able to hear her heart beating through her chest, he opened the door. Angela let out a deep sigh of relief, until he turned and tipped his finger to his hat in farewell.
A gentleman.
She shut the door behind him. Perhaps. But not like any gentleman she’d ever known. And maybe that was the problem.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE’D been kidding herself.
Exhausted, Angela sank down on the lopsided front step and put her head in her hands. For ten days she’d worked her tail off, and there was still so much to do her head was spinning. Having to do the renovations herself meant no time for working on the embellishments, the little special touches she’d had in mind. The basement was littered with used paint cans and rollers, and she’d missed a stud trying to install a curtain rod and ended up having to do a substantial drywall repair in the yellow room. Yards of material gathered dust waiting to be sewn into curtains and duvet covers. Boxes of supplies were still taped up, needing to be unpacked. The carpet was torn up in the living room but the local flooring business had postponed installation of the new hardwood until tomorrow. The place was a mess.
The open house was only four days away. She needed Molly’s help. Molly had been on board to look after feeding the crew from the youth center on Saturday. She was also supposed to be a spokesperson to the media so Angela could stay in the background, where she liked it. Angela had been so annoyed by Sam’s attitude that she’d squared her shoulders and determined she’d show him and do it all herself.
But she’d been wrong. She needed help. And she needed his help if Molly wasn’t able. It wasn’t just about a pair of spare hands. The press release had gone out before that horrible board meeting and the local angle had been playing up Diamond involvement. To go ahead with the day and have the Diamonds conspicuously absent … to stand in front of a camera and have her picture taken, her words put into print …
Her stomach tied up in knots just thinking about it. This wasn’t about her, it was about them—the women the foundation would help. The last thing she needed was anyone digging around in her past. She closed her eyes. It was truly a bad state if she was relying on the likes of Sam Diamond to be her ally!
She wiped her hands on her overalls, resigned. It came back to the same thing every time, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it.
She needed Sam Diamond’s help.
She found him coming down a beaten track on horseback, sitting a trot effortlessly while a golden retriever loped along behind. Growing up in the city she hadn’t really believed that cowboys and ranchers, like those in storybooks and movies, really existed. But they did. The Diamondback Ranch sprawled over the foothills, dotted with red-and-white cattle. The house was a huge log-type mansion that reeked of money and Western tradition at once. Just beyond a gigantic barn was a paddock where half a dozen gleaming horses snoozed in the warmth of the summer sun. And Sam Diamond was getting closer by the second, all six foot plus of him in his own über-masculine element.
She’d never felt so out of place in her life, and she’d been in some pretty uncomfortable spots over the years.
“Well, well. Must be important to tear yourself away from Butterfly House on such a gorgeous day.”
She had to squint against the sun to look up at him. “You manage to compliment the weather and antagonize me all in the same sentence,” she said. She forced a small smile. “And I might get mad, except for the fact that you’re right. It is important.”
He’d slowed to a walk but she still had to hustle to keep up with him.
“And it has to do with me … why?”
With a slight shift of the reins, horse and rider came to a stop. The dog, sensing home, bounded off in the direction of the house. Angela held her breath as Sam turned in the saddle and looked directly at her. On horseback he was an imposing figure, and he had a direct way of looking at a person that was intimidating. She wasn’t comfortable being one hundred percent of his focus, but she made herself meet his gaze. He looked far too good for comfort in his jeans, boots and dark Stetson, and she took her sunglasses out of her hair and put them on, shading her eyes.
The horse Sam rode was big and black, and the way he tossed his head made his bridle hardware jingle. He was exactly the kind of mount she’d expect Sam Diamond to ride—big and bossy and used to having his way. But Angela refused to be intimidated.
When she didn’t answer, he grinned. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Good mornin’, Ms. Beck. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
There was a mocking note to his words and Angela felt his gaze drop over her clothing and back up again. She’d considered changing out of her paint-streaked overalls and sneakers but decided not to. She felt safer in the shapeless garment rather than her work clothes that skimmed her figure more closely. Besides, the scale of work that had to be done was enormous. Fixing herself up would have taken valuable time she couldn’t afford to lose.
“I need your help.”
There, she’d said it, and it only hurt a little. Mostly in her pride.
“My help? My, my. That must have been hard to say.”
“Yes. I mean no. You see … I had counted on your mother’s help and without it I’ve fallen behind. I know it couldn’t be helped,” she rushed to add. “I don’t blame Molly. She belongs with your father, of course. I’ve tried for the last week and a half to keep pace on my own, but we’ve got a press opportunity happening this Saturday and I’m not ready.”
“As you can see, I’ve got my hands full here.”
“Surely you can spare some time? I’ve been doing the renovations myself but there are some things I’m just not equipped to do. The front step is a hazard and the furniture needs to be moved into the living room before Saturday and somehow I have to have refreshments on hand for a dozen teenagers who will be at the house. Not to mention the press.”
She was quite breathless at the end and felt a blush infuse her cheeks as Sam merely raised one eyebrow until it disappeared from view beneath his hat.
“Come to the house. I’ll write you a check and you can hire some help for a few days.”
Her blood began to simmer. For most people she would have said put your money where your mouth is. But for Sam, writing a check was an easy way to rid himself of the inconvenience of her and of Butterfly House. Her annoyance temporarily overrode her personal discomfort.
“You don’t understand. This isn’t just about slapping on some paint. It’s about perception.”
“Perception?”
“Yes, perception.” She sighed. “It’s not even so much the renovations. When you replaced Molly on the board, the press releases had already been sent and the arrangements made. You’re the foundation’s biggest sponsor, Sam. And everyone expects to see a Diamond presence this weekend. If there’s no one there …”
“If it’s perception you’re worried about, I’m not sure I’m the image you want to present to the public. You’ll do fine without me.”
He laughed, but Angela wasn’t amused. This project was about more than helping women reclaim their lives. It was about changing attitudes. And Sam Diamond, with his money and swagger, was the perfect test case. If she could bring him around, she figured she could accomplish just about anything.
“I won’t say no to the check because the foundation needs it. But we need more than that, too. We need a showing of support. We need the backing of the community. I don’t like it any more than you do. I wish I didn’t need your help. But I sat on the step this morning trying to figure out how I was going to manage it all and I kept coming up blank.”
“Maybe I can spare a man for a day or two, but that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
But that wasn’t all. How easy was it for Sam to solve a problem by scrawling a dollar amount and washing his hands of it? “All I’m asking for is one day. One day for you to show up, be charming, give a visible show of support. As much as it pains me to admit it, the people of Cadence Creek follow your lead.”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. You don’t give up, do you? Do you ever take no for an answer?”
She gritted her teeth. If he only knew how much she hated confrontation! She lifted her chin. “Do you?”
A magpie chattered, breaking the angry silence. “From the look of the house, it needs more than a slap of paint. It needs a demolition order. You’ll never get it fixed by Saturday.” Sam adjusted the reins as his horse danced, impatient at being forced to stand.
Angela got close enough that she had to tilt her head to look up at Sam. She wanted him to see what was at stake. It wasn’t enough for him to sit atop his ivory tower of privilege—or his trusty steed—and bestow his beneficence. It was too easy. And the women she wanted to help hadn’t had it easy. Their lives couldn’t be fixed by a blank check.
“I have to. The house has been neglected, that’s all. It just needs some TLC.”
“Ms. Beck.” He sighed, looking down at her from beneath his hat. “Do you want me to do everything for you?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “Of course not. But, for example, I was going to look after the painting and minor renovations while your mother lent a hand with some of the aesthetic needs—like window fashions, linens. On Saturday she was not only going to represent your family to the community and press, but she was in charge of all the refreshments. That’s all fallen to me now. I do need to sleep sometime, Sam. And then there’s the issue of what to say to people on Saturday when they ask about our biggest sponsor and their conspicuous absence.”
“You tell them we’re busy running a ranch. You tell them we’re occupied with adding a new green facility to our operation. Or that we’re busy employing a number of the town residents. All true, by the way.”
“Have you heard of volunteering, Mr. Diamond?”
His dark eyes widened as his brows went up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Volunteering—offering one’s time with no expectation of reimbursement.”
“I know what volunteering is,” he replied, impatience saturating each word.
“Millions of people volunteer every day and still manage to work their day jobs. Most of them also have families of their own—and you don’t have a wife or children that I can see. You can spare Butterfly House the cash, but can you spare it the time?”
Angela swallowed, took a breath, and stepped forward, grabbing the reins of his horse with far more confidence than she felt. She stood in front of the stallion’s withers, her body only inches away from Sam’s denim-clad leg as it lengthened into the stirrup. “What are you so afraid of, Sam?”
He slid out of the saddle and snatched the reins from her hands, his movements impatient. “You can save the holier-than-thou routine. I’ve made up my mind.”
She could sense success slipping away from her and frustration bubbled. “You go to great lengths to avoid personal involvement. Why is that? Maybe it’s true what they say about you.”
“And what’s that?” He stood before her, all long legs and broad chest. She felt incredibly small and awkward next to his physicality, dumpy in her overalls next to his worn jeans and cotton shirt that seemed to hug his shoulders and chest. She felt a little bit awed, too, and it irritated her that she should be so susceptible to that because, despite the fact he was a pain in the behind, Sam Diamond was also drop-dead sexy. The sad thing was she was nearly thirty years old and had no idea what to do with these feelings. She’d gotten very good at presenting a certain image, but inside she knew the truth. She had no idea how to be close to anyone.
“Never mind.” She turned away, hating that he was able to provoke her without even trying.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Not so fast. I think you’d better tell me.”
Her heart seemed to freeze as her breath caught for one horrible, chilling moment. Then, very carefully and deliberately, she reached down and removed his fingers from her wrist and stepped back. She wasn’t sure which emotion was taking over at the moment—anger or fear. But either one was enough to make the words that had been sitting on her tongue come out in a rush.
“That you’re a cold-hearted …” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. She kept her gaze glued to his face for several seconds.
Finally the hard angle of his jaw bone softened a touch and he said quietly, “Where’d you hear that? Let me guess, Amy Wilson?”
She had, and her lack of response confirmed it.
“You shouldn’t judge someone by what you hear.”
“I don’t.” At his skeptical expression, she sniffed. “I don’t,” she insisted. “I form my own opinions. I deal with people all the time, you know. And I judge people by what I see them do.” And right now he wasn’t scoring many points. Her wrist still smarted from the strength of his fingers circling the soft flesh. She touched the spot with her fingers.
His gaze caught the movement and then lifted to meet hers. There was contrition there, she realized. He hadn’t really hurt her; he’d merely reached out to keep her from running away. It was her reaction that was out of proportion and she suspected they both knew it. Awkward silence stretched out as heat rose once again in her cheeks.
“And so you’ve judged me.” The horse got tired of standing and jerked his head, pulling on the reins. Sam tightened his grip, uttered a few soothing words as he gave the glistening neck a pat. “I suppose you won’t believe me if I say I’m sorry about that.” He nodded at her clasped hands.
It was a backward apology, and did nothing to change the situation. That was what she had to remember. “Sam, you give from your pocketbook if it means you don’t have to get involved. I just haven’t figured out why. Is the ugliness of real life too much for you?” She kissed her last hope of success goodbye, knowing she was crossing a line but needing to say it anyway. How many times over the years had people turned a blind eye to someone in trouble? How many people had avoided the nasty side of life because it made them uncomfortable? How many people had known what was happening in front of their faces and hadn’t had the courage to make the call? Angela’s life might have been very different. It was the only thing that kept her moving forward in spite of her own fears.
“That’s ridiculous.” He turned his back and started leading his horse across the barnyard.
“Then prove it. Try giving of yourself.” She went after him, desperately wanting to get through. “These women have been through it all, Sam. They’ve been beaten, degraded, raped …” She swallowed. “By the men who professed to love them. Despite it all, they got out. They sought help, often leaving everything they owned behind. This house will help bridge the gap between overcoming an old life and building a new, shiny one. What in your life is more important than that?”
He didn’t answer. But she sensed he was weakening, and she softened her voice. “All I’m asking for is a few hours here and there. You have a gorgeous house, food on the table, a purpose. I just want to give these women the same chance. If you show the people of Cadence Creek that you support these women, doors will open. They’ll have a chance to be a part of something. People look to you to lead. Lead now, Sam. For something really important.”
She took a step back, uncomfortable with how impassioned her voice had become. For a few seconds there was nothing but the sounds of the wind in the grass and the songbirds in the bushes.
“You realize how busy this ranch is, right? And that I’m going it alone now that Dad’s sick?”
“But you have a foreman, and hands. Surely they can spare you for a few hours?”
“You’re forgetting one important detail.”
“I am?”
“If I help you, we’re going to be seeing more of each other.” He made it sound like a prison sentence. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re kind of like oil and water.”
She felt her vanity take a hit before locking it away. Her personal feelings weren’t important here. It shouldn’t matter if Sam liked her or not. She only needed his support.
