Читать книгу The Texan's Honor-Bound Promise - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 9

Having lived in other areas of the world for the last several years, Sam had forgotten how hot Texas summers could get. In a matter of hours, the temperature in the garage rose from a slow simmer to a rolling boil, leaving him drenched in sweat and struggling for every breath.

After two days of sweltering in the garage, he decided a change of venue was necessary if he hoped to make any progress on the car. He scoped out possible locations, then raised the garage door and pushed the Mustang out onto the driveway. With the sun beating down on him like a blow-torch, he pushed and strained some more until he’d maneuvered the car beneath the shade of the breezeway.

Deciding that the new location was a bit more bearable, he fetched tools from the garage, then lay down on the creeper and pushed himself beneath the car to examine the underside.

After a careful inspection, he decided, considering its age, the undercarriage wasn’t in too bad a shape. Not that it was going to be easy to repair the damage that thousands of miles and years of neglect had inflicted. He tapped a wrench against a brace and was rewarded with a shower of powdery rust. No, he thought, dragging a hand across his eyes to clear them, this wasn’t going to be easy.

He used his boot heel to push the creeper along, following the line of the exhaust pipe to the rear of the car, and noted that rust corroded the entire system from the connection at the engine all the way to the rear bumper. Pulling a pencil stub and scrap of paper from his jeans pocket, he scribbled muffler and tailpipe on the growing list of parts he would need.

He was wheeling himself from beneath the car when he heard the scrape of footsteps on the drive. Hauling himself to his feet, he glanced in that direction and saw Craig heading up the drive.

Smiling a welcome, he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “Hey, Craig! How’s it going?”

Craig shrugged but didn’t slow down. “All right, I guess.”

Sam gestured toward the car. “You’re just in time to help remove the exhaust pipe.”

“Got homework,” Craig mumbled and passed him by.

Sam watched him in silence, surprised by the kid’s refusal, as he specifically remembered Leah telling him the kid wanted to help with the restoration.

Shaking his head, he hunkered down in front of the rolling tool cart and selected a couple of wrenches from one of the drawers, then stretched out on the creeper again and wheeled himself beneath the car.

He wasn’t going to push, he told himself. If the kid wanted to help, he’d let him.

And if he didn’t…well, Sam would figure out a way to rope him into getting involved.

Leah braked to a stop on the drive, her eyes widening in dismay at the mess that blocked the breezeway and her normal path to the garage. In the middle of the destruction sat the Mustang, its hood up and its doors propped wide, looking like a bird preparing for flight. Tools of every description were scattered over the drive and along the car’s fenders. A muffler and a twisted tailpipe lay in the flower bed that ran along the side of the house, crushing the blooms of her geraniums.

Incensed, she leaped from her car and marched to the partially dismantled Mustang and the man whose head was hidden beneath the hood.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she demanded angrily.

Sam drew his head from beneath the hood only far enough to look at her. “Working on the car. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Destroying my yard, that’s what!” She flung out an arm. “Just look at this mess! You’ve turned my driveway into a junkyard!”

“What the hell did you expect?” he asked impatiently. “A car has to be dismantled before it can be restored.”

Pulling a rag from his hip pocket, he straightened, dragging it down his face and chest. Her jaw dropped when she saw that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Glancing quickly around to see if any of the neighbors were watching, she grabbed him by the elbow and hustled him into the backyard. “You can’t parade around half-dressed,” she whispered angrily. “What will my neighbors think?”

He jerked his arm from her grasp. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn what your neighbors think. It’s hot as hell out here. Wearing a shirt makes it that much hotter.”

Flattening her lips, she folded her arms across her breasts. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t take off your pants.”

He reached for the first button on his jeans. “Now that you mention it—”

She slapped his hand. “Don’t you dare!”

In the blink of an eye she found her hand in his grasp and her body thrust up against his, his face inches from her own.

“I’ve never struck a woman in my life,” he informed her coldly, “but slap at me again, and I might consider it.”

She gulped. “I—I just wanted to stop you from taking off your jeans.”

His scowl deepened. “Believe it or not, I have a few scruples, one of which is not bearing my ass in public. So there’s no need for you to worry that pretty little head of yours that I’ll strip naked and flash your snooty neighbors.

“And as far as the mess on your driveway goes,” he continued, “it’s too damn hot to work in the garage. I pushed the car out here, where I could get some air. But if having all this junk, as you call it, scattered around upsets your anal-retentive personality, you didn’t have to jump me about it. All you had to do was ask and I’d have moved it to the back and out of sight.”

He released her and took a step back. “Now,” he said, and used the rag to wipe his hands, “is there anything else bothering you?”

She gulped again. Swallowed. “N-no.”

“Good.” He stuffed the rag back into his hip pocket. “So? How was your day?”

Thrown off balance by his quick mood change, it took her a moment to find her voice. “B-busy.”

“Yeah, mine, too.” He picked up the wrench he’d set aside and returned it to the tool cart. “You ought to do something about that tension in your shoulders. It’s bad for your health.”

She started to roll her shoulders, then squared them instead. “I had a stressful day.”

“I take it Mrs. Snotgrass dropped by.”

She blinked, surprised that he’d remembered her client’s name. “Snodgrass,” she corrected. “And yes, she was in the shop this afternoon.”

He rolled the tool cart closer to the car. “I noticed there’s a spa attached to your pool. You ought to put it to use. Let it work out some of the kinks in your shoulders.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If it’s all right with you, I might use it later.” He dropped a wrench into the drawer, then flexed his arm. “I used muscles today I haven’t used in a while.”

She stared in fascination at the play of sinew beneath his sweat-slickened skin. “F-fine with me.”

“Appreciate it.” He stooped and picked up a pair of pliers, tossed them into an open drawer.

“Craig’s home.”

At the mention of her nephew, she glanced toward the house, then back at Sam and frowned. “Why isn’t he helping you?”

“Said he had homework.”

Her scowl deepened. “He pulls that card when he doesn’t want to do something.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I thought you said he wanted to help with the car?”

“He does—did.” She lifted her hands, then dropped them helplessly to her sides. “I don’t know what he wants anymore. The last couple of weeks he’s withdrawn more and more into himself, refuses to talk me. I was hoping that restoring the car would pull him out of whatever funk he’s in. Breathe some life back into him.”

“Where’s his mother? Why doesn’t she do something to help him?”

She shook her head sadly at the mention of her sister-in-law. “Patrice is buried so deep in her own grief half the time she’s not even aware Craig’s around.”

He frowned thoughtfully as he wiped the grease from a wrench. “I could have a go at him if you want. See if I can get him back on track.” He tossed the wrench into a drawer, bumped it shut with his knee. “He might respond to a man quicker than he would a woman.”

She looked at him in puzzlement, surprised by his offer. “Why would you want to do that? You don’t even know Craig. “

He shrugged. “Losing a dad can screw with a kid’s head. Having a man to talk to, hang out with, might help him open up, share what’s on his mind.”

She opened a hand in invitation. “If you think you can help him, be my guest.”

“You may not like my methods. If you don’t, you have to promise not to interfere.”

She’d done her own research on the subject of troubled teens and was familiar with some of the commonly used methods—tough love, wilderness survival training, behavior modification—and the names alone were enough to terrify her. “He won’t be in any danger, will he?” she asked uneasily.

He gave her a droll look. “I wasn’t planning on torturing the kid.”

She didn’t find his assurance all that comforting, considering his earlier rough treatment of her. But she feared if something wasn’t done soon, she was going to lose Craig, either to drugs…or, worse, to suicide. Chilled by the thought, she drew in a steadying breath. “Just the same, I don’t want him hurt.”

He stripped off the pad he’d used to protect his stomach while working on the engine and turned away. “Too late. He’s already hurt.”

The sunroom at the rear of Leah’s house was her favorite room in the house. Shortly after moving in, she’d painted the walls a soft buttery yellow and the ceiling with a mural of a cloud-filled sky. She’d chosen wicker to fill the space and positioned the chairs in front of the casement windows to capture the best views of her pool and landscaped backyard.

In the daytime sunlight flooded the room, creating a sunny and cheery nook in which to relax. At night it was no less restful, with lamplight washing the room with a soft golden glow.

But on this particular night the sunroom failed to work its magic charm for Leah.

Seated in a wicker chair, her feet propped on the matching ottoman, her thoughts were anything but restful as she stared at the apartment over the garage, considering the man inside.

She didn’t know what to make of Sam Forrester. He both baffled and intrigued her. She didn’t particularly care for the rough way he’d treated her earlier when she’d confronted him about the mess he’d made of her yard. But, in retrospect, she supposed she’d had it coming. She had slapped at him, as he’d accused her of doing.

Yet, in spite of now knowing that he could become physical when provoked, she wasn’t afraid of him. That knowledge was simply something she’d keep in mind the next time she decided to go toe-to-toe with him.

But she was still a little miffed about the “anal-retentive” comment.

She wasn’t obsessive, she told herself. She simply appreciated order. She supposed growing up in a home in which disorder reigned might have influenced her desire for neatness. But she certainly didn’t consider that a personality fault. To her it was a virtue, a method of survival.

She frowned thoughtfully as she considered again his offer to serve as a mentor of sorts for her nephew. A man who was willing to befriend a troubled teenager couldn’t be all bad, she told herself. But what she couldn’t figure out was why he would want to do something like that. He didn’t know Craig, had no ties to him. Why would he care one way or the other what happened to him?

As she continued to stare, the door to the apartment opened, and her thoughts shattered as Sam stepped out. She gaped when she saw that he was wearing swim trunks and carried a towel draped over his shoulder. Sliding farther down in her chair, she watched him cross to the spa. The lights in the backyard were off, but the lights in the pool and spa were on, offering enough illumination for her to see his movements…as well as his physique.

A slow shiver chased down her spine as she remembered being held against that body that afternoon. The damp heat that had seeped through her blouse, the muscled wall of chest crushed against her breasts. She shivered again at the memory as he tossed the towel onto a chair and sat down on the spa’s stone edge. He dipped his fingers into the water, testing the temperature, then glanced toward the house.

She froze, realizing that with the lamp on she was clearly visible. A smile spread across his face as he spotted her, and he motioned for her to join him. She considered ignoring the invitation, planning to tell him, if questioned later, that she had dozed off in the chair and hadn’t seen him.

He robbed her of that excuse by rising and striding toward the house. Prepared to send him on his way, she met him at the French door that opened to the outside.

He greeted her with a friendly smile. “Come on out and join me. The water’s just right.”

It was an effort, but she managed to keep her gaze fixed on his face and not let it slip to the magnificent view of his chest. “Thanks, but I was just about to head upstairs for the night.”

“It’s too early to go to bed,” he chided. “Besides, you’ll sleep better after relaxing in the spa for a while.”

“No, really, I…”

He leveled a finger at her nose. “You have exactly five minutes to change into a swimsuit,” he warned.

“Then I’m coming after you.”

Before she could refuse again, he turned and walked away. Frowning, she closed the door. She considered locking it but knew that would be a waste of time, since she’d given him a key to her house in order for him to have access to the kitchen and laundry room.

Surely he wouldn’t make good his threat, she told herself.

“Four minutes, thirty seconds,” he called loudly.

Convinced that he would, she ran for the stairs and raced up to change into her swimsuit.

Breathless and with only seconds to spare, she hurried outside to find Sam already sitting in the spa. Chest-deep in the bubbling water, his arms spread along the spa’s stone edge, he watched her approach.

Feeling uncomfortably conspicuous, she unwrapped the towel she’d cinched at her waist and carefully folded it before placing it on the chair with his.

As she turned for the spa, she saw the amusement on his face and stopped. “What?”

He tipped his head toward the towel. “Are you sure you got all the wrinkles out? You might have missed one or two.”

She jutted her chin, remembering his anal-retentive comment. “Just because I’m careful with my things doesn’t make me anal.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” Water sluiced down his body as he rose and offered her a hand.

“You’re going to thank me for this later,” he assured her as he helped her into the water.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she muttered and snatched her hand from his. She sank onto the circular bench opposite him. Jets churned the warm water around her, making her skin tingle and the underwater lights dance beneath the surface.

With a contented sigh he dipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Heaven, huh?”

“It does feel good,” she said, willing to concede only that much.

“Nothing eases sore muscles faster than a good soak in a spa. Other than a full-fledged massage,” he amended, then lifted his head to peer at her through one eye. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me one?”

The smile she offered him was saccharine-sweet. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

“I’d return the favor.”

She shook her head, then couldn’t help but laugh when he slid beneath the water, his face a mask of dejection.

Moments later he reemerged, slicking his hair back from his face.

She lifted a brow. “Kind of shallow for swimming, don’t you think?”

He blinked the water from his eyes. “Wasn’t trying to swim. I was checking out your legs.”

She snatched her knees up and hugged them against her breasts. “If I’d known you’d invited me out here to ogle me, I would’ve stayed inside.”

His smile smug, he reared back, splaying his arms along the spa’s stone edge again. “Honey, me ogling you is the least of your worries.”

She tried to frown but couldn’t help but laugh. Pushing out a hand, she shot a spray of water at him. “You’re incorrigible.”

“No,” he corrected, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m just a man who recognizes a pretty woman when he sees one.”

“Much more of your bull, and I’ll need boots.”

He shot her a wink. “No bull, ma’am. Just fact.”

Deciding it best to ignore him, she slid farther down the wall of the tub and propped her feet against the bench opposite her, wanting to take advantage of the spa’s therapeutic effects. The new position aimed jets of water at her upper back and shoulders, pulsing away at the tension knotted there. She would have purred her pleasure, but she refused to give Sam the opportunity to say I told you so.

“Tell me about your family,” he said after a moment.

She opened her eyes wide enough to narrow them at him. “Why?”

“It might give me some insight into what’s troubling Craig.”

At the mention of her nephew she sat up, frowning thoughtfully as she swept her hair up to knot it on top of her head. “We don’t have much family left. You already know about my father and brother. My mother died about five years ago, which just leaves Craig, Patrice and me.”

“How did your mother die?”

“The official ruling was suicide, but I prefer to believe she grieved herself to death.”

“Over the loss of your father?”

Uncomfortable with the subject, she plucked a leaf from the bubbling water, trying to think how best to answer.

He lifted a brow at the action.

“That’s not being anal,” she informed him and dropped the leaf over the side of the tub. “It would end up in the filter anyway, which I have to clean out. I was just saving myself some time.”

“Uh-huh.”

Flattening her lips, she directed the conversation back to his question. “And yes, my mother never got over losing my father. She never gave up hope, either. She always believed he’d come home some day.”

“Was Craig close to her?”

She shook her head. “No. Mom was so consumed with finding my dad she didn’t have time for much else.”

“She searched for him?”

“She didn’t go to Vietnam, if that’s what you mean. But she spent hours and hours combing through reports about POWs and MIAs, hoping to find some mention or reference of my dad.” Knowing what most people thought of her mother’s obsession, she grimaced. “You probably think she was crazy.”

“Not in the least. A woman who loved her husband as deeply as your mother obviously did deserves my admiration, not my scorn.”

Though surprised by his response, she didn’t pursue it, as she preferred not to talk about her parents. “Tell me about your family,” she said instead.

“Not much to tell. I’m an only child. My parents divorced when I was fifteen. Dad moved to Atlanta, remarried and has three kids.”

She gave him a chiding look. “And you said you didn’t have siblings.”

“Since I’ve never been allowed to see or talk to them, I don’t consider them siblings.”

“You’ve never even seen them?” she asked incredulously.

“Nope. My stepmother’s rule. She likes to pretend I don’t exist, that my dad’s life began when he married her.”

“And he puts up with that?”

“Not entirely. He and I get together a couple of times a year. At a neutral location,” he added.

“Never at their home.”

Stunned, she sank back against the tile wall. “What a bitch.”

“You won’t get an argument out of me.”

“What about your mother?” she asked after a moment. “Where is she?”

“In Seattle. Moved there after I graduated from high school. According to her, that was as far away from Dad as she could get without falling into the ocean.”