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Still, she had to do what was best for everyone, even if that included calling a truce.
“I’m past my resentment, Sam.”
“But you’ll never forgive me, will you?”
“I have forgiven you.” To a point, but she would never be able to forget.
His eyes took on the cast of satisfaction. “I’m pleased by that, Andrea. I only hope that I can earn your trust.”
That would be a bit harder, in Andrea’s opinion. She still feared that Sam might change his mind and try to take her son back to his country, especially after he got to know him. Yet she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being. “So where are you staying?”
“Here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tess told me it would be best if I remain nearby, and I agree. She wishes to reside in the bunkhouse during my stay, though I argued against it. But she insisted. I’ve brought a few of my things and I’ll send Rashid back to the hotel in Lexington to wait for me until I’m ready to leave.”
Andi fought the bite of apprehension. If Sam stayed under the same roof, she couldn’t avoid seeing him on a daily basis. And with their son away at camp for two weeks, she worried that she might not be able to resist him. “I think you should wait until Chance returns before you move in.”
“I have promised Tess I will help do some repairs while I’m here, before Chance comes back.”
Tess. Always thinking of everything, darn it. “I guess I could use the help,” Andi admitted. She could also use some courage. Right now it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him, send her fingertips over the fine lines framing his mouth, his incredible lips that now formed a grim line as he studied her. Be brave, she told herself.
As if he intended to test her nerve, Sam took her hand into his, creating pleasant warmth that flowed through her whole body. One simple touch, and already she was battling for control. But she had to remain in control, prove to herself, and to him, that she was much stronger than before. Prove that her memories were colored by the fantasies of a young girl, dreams that no longer existed in a woman’s reality. She intended to conduct her own test.
Putting her best smile forward, she pulled her hand from his grasp and opened her arms. “Welcome home, Sam.”
His gaze roved over her from head to toe in a long, lingering look of appreciation, then finally he accepted her embrace. He felt good against her, strong and solid and warm. She remembered how wonderful it had been to hold him close, remembered his exotic scent, his overwhelming heat. Remembered how she had missed having him in her life, left only with her hopes of his return and memories of one night when he had been completely hers.
Trembling with the force of her reaction, she pulled out of his arms and stepped back. Her greatest fear was now realized.
Nothing had really changed, even after all these years.
Sam brushed a tender kiss across her cheek and studied her with those damnable mysterious eyes, dark and intense and capable of bringing her to her knees.
“Thank you, Andrea. It’s good to be home.”
If only it was home, Sam thought as he stood in the middle of the aged barn. He had chosen to come to the stable first, his favorite place. A place where he had spent many an hour with Paul and Andrea, assisting with the daily chores, shoveling manure, unloading feed, watering the remaining two horses that had belonged to Paul and Andrea’s father before his death, and any others that had happened upon the premises, thanks to a young woman who couldn’t say no.
Even then, Andrea would bring home someone’s colt or filly to break, most of the time solely for the thrill of it, not for the pay. Today, out of the dozen or so stalls, only four were occupied, one by Chance’s pony.
This would never do, Sam decided. He needed to help Andrea acquire some horses to train immediately. Most of those he owned belonged to a syndicate, but that did not mean he couldn’t purchase one that belonged solely to him. He had a gift for choosing good prospects, the reason why he had come to Kentucky to attend the sales. In fact, he had been approached at the auction regarding a promising two-year-old filly. One phone call and the mare would be his, though she was priced at half a million U.S. dollars. That didn’t matter. After all, he had paid for Andrea’s training expertise; he might as well put that investment to good use. But first he must repair a few stalls.
After rummaging through the tack room for a hammer and nails, Sam set out to make the barn more serviceable. Unfortunately, he pounded his thumb on more than one occasion, yet he welcomed the pain. For seven years he had done nothing more than paperwork, since manual labor was considered demeaning for royalty. But Sam was in America now, in a barn, not Barak, therefore he could labor to his heart’s delight.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He turned toward the entry to find Andrea staring at him as if he had grown fangs. He had no fangs, only two nails in his mouth. He spoke around them. “I’m repairing these stalls before an injury occurs.” Considering his deplorable skills, an injury could very well occur. To him.
She took a few steps forward and braced her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a horse in that stall, and I doubt there’s going to be one anytime soon.”
Turning away from her, he removed the nails from his mouth and hammered one into the wooden slat.
“You’re wrong, Andrea.”
“What are you talking about?”
He faced her again and swiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm. “I’ve recently purchased a filly.” Or he would by day’s end. “If you recall, I bid an obscene amount of money for your services, and I expect to collect.”
At the moment he would like to collect on several things, none having to do with her training skills. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the ragged white T-shirt she now wore or the faded jeans that adhered to the bow of her hips like a second skin. His body stirred, calling attention to a need that had been denied far too long. Reminding him that Andrea could still affect him without attempting to do so.
She strolled to his side and leaned a shoulder against the stall, facing him. “You mean to tell me that you actually intend for me to train your horse.”
“That’s precisely what I’m telling you.” He should be telling her that, if she knew what was best for her, for them both, from this point forward she would wear a bra.
She frowned. “And when is this horse supposed to be here?”
“I will arrange for her to arrive in two days. That should give me time to repair the stall.”
Andrea smiled, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. “You intend to do this in your good clothes?”
Sam looked down at his slacks and shirt, then back up again. “I’m afraid this is all I have at the present. I’ll go into town and buy something suitable tomorrow.”
“Can’t you have Mr. Rashid do it for you?”
“I’ve sent him back to the hotel to field calls. I prefer that no one knows where I am.” Then perhaps he could avoid his father’s questions.
“You don’t need his protection?”
Only from his desire for Andrea, and he doubted Rashid could aid him in that regard. “I am relatively safe at the moment.” Yet still in danger of losing his control in her presence.
“You really don’t have to buy anything, at least not today,” she said. “I’m sure I can find you something to wear.”
He let his eyes travel down the length of her—very much at his own peril when he noticed her nipples had hardened beneath the thin shirt. “I doubt that I will fit into your jeans.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, much to his disappointment and relief. “Not mine. Yours. You left some jeans here. They’re in the cedar chest in the attic.”
“And they are still intact?”
“I’m sure they are. Of course, there could be one major problem. You were much skinnier then.”
“Skinnier?”
She sent a long glance down his body, much the same as he had hers. “Yep. You’ve filled out quite a bit.”
He was definitely filling out in some very obvious places. To avoid embarrassment, he turned back to the stall and surveyed his handiwork. “Give me a moment and we can go to the attic.”
“Why can’t we go now?” she asked, sounding confused.
Obviously she was still somewhat naive. He took in a deep draw of air but refused to turn around. “As soon as I’m finished with this board, I will join you. At the moment I prefer not to stop what I’m doing.”
He, as well, preferred to stop his craving for her, but he doubted that would happen soon—if ever.
Chapter Three
Sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, Andi pulled the jeans from the cedar chest where she’d kept them along with other special mementos—Chance’s baby clothes, his first shoes, a few of Paul’s things, treasures that she couldn’t bear to part with. She fought back more tears, already missing her son and he’d only been gone a few hours. Admittedly, already missing Sam even though he wouldn’t leave again for several weeks.
She set the jeans aside and rummaged through the pile in the chest, coming upon Paul’s high school football jersey sporting the number seven. Lucky seven, Paul had said. If only his luck had held out, before he’d been ripped from her life, never having children of his own, never knowing Chance.
How Paul would have loved his nephew, love playing uncle. If he hadn’t died, maybe things would have been different. She probably wouldn’t have made love with Sam. And she wouldn’t have Chance.
She couldn’t imagine not having her son in her life. She also couldn’t turn back time and she couldn’t keep wondering about what might have been. Even if Paul had survived, Sam would have returned to his country, his duty. Hadn’t he all but admitted that to her?
Dropping the jersey back into the chest, she grabbed up Sam’s jeans and held them against her heart. Clung to his old clothes as if they were a replacement for the man.
“You’re so stupid, Andrea Hamilton,” she muttered. “Still pining away over a man you can’t have, so stop thinking about him. Stop it!”
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
Still clutching the jeans in her arms, Andrea stiffened. With her back to the door, she could only hope Sam hadn’t witnessed her foolishness, hadn’t heard her declaration.
Glancing over her shoulder, she thankfully found his eyes focused on the open cedar chest, not her. He strolled over with hands in his pockets, then hovered above her like some dark, imposing monument to sheer male beauty.
He nodded toward the jersey laid out on top of the other items. “I remember Paul wearing that often.”
Andi tossed the jeans aside and shifted to where she could get a better look at Sam, his reaction. He hid his emotions behind that steel facade, those impenetrable eyes. Tearing her gaze away, she leaned forward again and produced another keepsake. “Do you remember this?”
Sam crouched beside her and took the baseball from her grasp, turning it over and over with his strong fingers. His expression mellowed with remembrance. “I recall this very well. My first major league game. Cleveland Indians. In April, the year Paul and I met.”
“And Paul caught the ball after a two-run homer.”
Sam grinned. “The ball rolled from two rows above us and landed at his feet. It was a foul, not a home run. Paul thought the other story sounded more favorable.”
Andi laughed. “That was just like him, making up something that sounded more exciting.”
“Yes. Exactly like him.” Sam’s tone turned weary and so did his eyes.
When he tried to hand the ball back to her, she said, “Keep it.”
“I could not—”
“He’d want you to have it, Sam. Besides, you two didn’t bother to take me along, so why would I want it?”
His smile reappeared. “We did not take you because Paul worried that you would distract me from the game.”
“He did not!”
“Perhaps he was not worried, but I was, the reason I didn’t encourage your attendance.”
Andi’s face flushed hot as a summer sidewalk. “Always the charmer,” she murmured.
“It’s the truth, Andrea. You were very distracting. You still are.”
Determined to move away from that topic, Andi patted the wooden floor next to her. “Have a seat. There’s something else I need to give you.”
Sam joined her on the floor, his long legs crossed the same as hers, and set the ball beside him. Andi reached into the corner of the chest and found the present in the same place she’d left it years before. The newspaper was yellowed, the blue bow tied around it somewhat flat. Tucked underneath the ribbon was an envelope that read “Sam, The Man.”
She offered it to him. “It’s Paul’s graduation gift to you. I found it in his room when we were converting it to Chance’s nursery.”
Sam took it from her and placed the present in his lap. Andi noticed a slight tremor in his fingers when he slit open the envelope and withdrew the card. While he read to himself, his expression took on a pain so intense it stole Andi’s breath.
“What does it say?” she asked.
He handed her the card and she, too, read in silence.
Hey, Sam. Just a little something for you to take back home. I’d send Andi with you, but she’d just give you grief. So I’m keeping her here for the time being, unless you decide to come back and take her off my hands. Seriously, if anything should happen to me, take care of her. She deserves to be happy.
Remember me.
Your bud, Paul
Tears burned Andi’s eyes. Her throat ached and her chest contracted with the sorrow that she’d kept at bay for more days than she could count.
“He knew,” she said, her voice shaking with the effort to hold back the threatening tide of emotions.
“Knew what?”
She raised her eyes from the card to Sam. “When we were cleaning out his things, we also found two Christmas presents, one for me and one for Tess. Paul never shopped until Christmas Eve. I think he knew what was going to happen.”
Sam sighed. “Andrea, I refuse to believe that Paul would drink himself to death, take his own life.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Tess calls it ‘angels’ intuition.’ The ability to know your fate.”
“And you believe this?”
“I think anything’s possible.” Or she had at one time.
Andi glanced at the unopened package still resting in his lap. “Are you going to see what’s inside?”
He carefully tore away the paper, revealing a framed photo that Tess had taken of Andi standing between Sam and Paul, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, all three sporting bright grins on their dirt-spattered faces, the result of a mud-slinging contest after the boys had dumped Andi in the trough.
They all looked so happy, carefree. If only they’d known what the future held. If only they’d played a little longer, clung to each other a little tighter, told each other what they were feeling inside…
Andi could no longer hold back the tears. They fell at will, rolled down her cheeks and onto her T-shirt. Sam wrapped his strong arms around her, absorbing her sobs against his solid chest. He rocked her back and forth as she had rocked his son so many nights. She didn’t want to need his consolation, his strength, but she did. She needed him, more than she should.
Tipping her face up, Andi brushed a kiss across his jaw, knowing that he could very well refuse this kind of comfort. But the possible benefit outweighed the probable rejection. Yet he didn’t push her away. Instead, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. All the sadness melted away and desire took its place, as it had before.
Oh, how she remembered this, his gentle persuasion, the soft glide of his tongue, the velvet feel of his lips, his extraordinary skill. Those memories had served her well. No one had kissed her this way before or since. No one.
