Читать книгу Sea Glass Island - Sherryl Woods, Sherryl Woods - Страница 8

2

Samantha wandered into the kitchen at her grandmother’s on her first morning back home wearing Ethan Cole’s old football jersey and nothing else. Since the jersey reached practically to her knees, she considered it perfectly respectable to wear around the house, even if a little dangerous given the message it sent confirming her fascination with the man.

At least no one else was home at the moment and she was in serious need of a caffeine fix to jolt her out the lethargy she’d been feeling lately. The coffee would be better over at the restaurant, but it would take her at least a half hour to get there—even longer since she’d have to walk—and would require getting dressed, two huge strikes against that idea.

She’d just reached up into the cabinet for a mug when she heard a muttered curse. It came from a very masculine source, judging from the sound of it. It scared her so badly she dropped the mug on her foot, yelped as it shattered on the tile floor and then danced around the kitchen before even casting a glance toward the wide-open back door where none other than Ethan Cole stood with a dumbstruck yet surprisingly irritated expression on his face. It might have been years since she’d laid eyes on him, but she’d know those broad shoulders, that square jaw and those deep blue eyes anywhere.

“Well, this is awkward,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around her middle in a probably futile attempt to keep him from identifying her nightwear as something that had once belonged to him.

He stepped closer and ordered tersely, “Sit.”

Samantha couldn’t believe the audacity, first for walking in uninvited and now for giving such abrupt orders. “Excuse me?”

He gave her an impatient look. “There are chips from the mug all over the floor.” He adjusted his tone with apparent effort. “Please sit before you cut your feet and I have to stitch you up.”

“Oh,” she said, chagrined. As he stooped down and picked up the shards of china, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

He gave her a wry look. “According to Boone, I’m here to pick up something that Emily left for me, something that absolutely has to be delivered to downtown Sand Castle Bay this morning. He gave me Cora Jane’s address. He also told me to come on in, that I’d probably find it in the kitchen. Just so you know, he neglected to mention that anyone might be home. Otherwise, I would have knocked.”

“No problem,” she said, despite the racing of her heart. “No other clues?” she asked, glancing around for a package of some sort. There was nothing in plain sight.

“He said I’d recognize it when I saw it,” Ethan said, regarding her pointedly.

Samantha’s mouth gaped as she put the pieces of the plot together. She was going to kill her baby sister. She really was. “You think he meant me?”

“I’d lay odds on it, if you’re who I think you are.”

“I’m Emily’s sister,” she said. “Samantha Castle.”

Ethan sighed heavily. “Of course you are.”

She frowned at the attitude, even though her own mood was deteriorating rapidly. “Meaning?”

“It’s just that Boone gave me a heads-up about the meddling,” he said. “I rather emphatically warned him and, through him, his bride-to-be and your grandmother, to stay out of my life. Apparently I didn’t get through to any of them.”

Just great, Samantha thought wearily. She had no doubt at all about exactly the sort of meddling Boone had described. She just didn’t want to believe that Emily would do anything this outrageous to embarrass her.

She opted to try to put a better spin on the situation, even though she was pretty sure it would take someone with Gabi’s PR skills to pull it off successfully. Then, again, she hadn’t lost all her acting skills, even if they weren’t in much demand lately.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of crazy idea you have about me,” she said earnestly. “The truth is that I turned in my rental car yesterday, and everyone had to leave the house at some ungodly hour this morning, leaving me without transportation. Emily said she’d take care of it. That’s all I know.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Ethan said, his tone resigned as he dumped the remains of the mug into the trash can. “Meddling works most effectively when neither of the affected parties has a clue what’s going on.”

“In my experience it doesn’t matter if they know,” she said wryly. “In this family, we seem helpless to stop it.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry, Ethan, especially if you’ve gone out of your way. As you can see, I’m nowhere near ready to go anywhere.”

“I see,” he said, his gaze raking over her in a thorough survey that heated her blood by several degrees. “Mind my asking how you wound up with my old high school football jersey?” He looked into her eyes. “It is mine, isn’t it?”

She feigned surprise. “Is it? I picked it up at a yard sale down here years ago. I thought it would make a great nightshirt.”

“It definitely makes a fashion statement of some kind,” he confirmed, his gaze now frankly traveling up and down her very long, very bare legs. “So, are we going to do this or what?”

Samantha blinked and swallowed hard at the question. “Do this?” she asked, imagining every one of her teenage fantasies finally coming true.

An unexpected grin transformed his face. “Not that,” he scolded, “though I might be open to negotiations down the road. I meant get you over to wherever your sister wants me to deposit you.”

“A dress fitting,” Samantha said, trying to hide her disappointment. She also saw the sense in taking him up on his offer. “Can you give me ten minutes?”

“Ten? Seriously?”

She laughed. “Trust me. In my world ten minutes for a wardrobe change is an eternity. Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be right back.”

Of course, changing into something more presentable was only half the battle. She also had to catch her breath. That was going to be a whole lot trickier.

* * *

So this was what Boone had warned him about, Ethan thought as he watched Samantha practically race from the kitchen. Just the first tiny step in some campaign to hook him up with the maid of honor. Right this second he was having a little too much trouble seeing the downside of that. It had been a lot easier to rail indignantly when there had been no face—or body—to go with the name.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it definitely hadn’t been the sight that greeted him in Cora Jane’s kitchen. Samantha Castle was a delectable handful. Even caught off guard with no makeup, tousled hair and wearing his shapeless football jersey, she’d been take-his-breath-away stunning.

Suddenly he’d been assailed by tantalizing visions of her crawling from his bed looking just like that after a night of passion. It was a rude awakening to realize any woman could still get to him like that, especially after he’d dismissed this one so thoroughly as not his type. Shallow, he reminded himself staunchly. She was bound to be shallow. Egotistical, too. Wasn’t that a trait of all actors? They had to have monumental egos to survive.

He glanced at the clock, noted that ten minutes had elapsed and was about to smirk when Samantha sailed into the room, dressed as if she’d just stepped out of some fashion magazine ad for wildly expensive resort wear. Her highlighted blond hair had been swept back and caught in a clip at the nape of her neck, her makeup had been so skillfully applied it was almost impossible to tell she was wearing any, and her eyes were hidden by a pair of chic designer sunglasses that probably cost more than he’d taken in at the clinic last week. He had a feeling if he could have seen those eyes of hers, they’d be filled with mirth at winning her bet with him.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted. “That’s quite a transformation, and it was accomplished in record time.”

“Theater training,” she explained. “You get used to quick wardrobe changes. They really hate to stop the play while the actors jump into a new outfit.”

Ethan chuckled as he led the way to his car, Samantha keeping up easily with her long-legged stride. Only as he was about to close her door did he hear her soft gasp. It was enough to tell him she’d seen the prosthetic, or guessed. It was impossible to tell which. He also had the distinct impression no one had warned her.

His friends said his movements looked a hundred percent normal to them, but they would say that. They were all so darned careful not to offend.

He got into the car, put the key in the ignition and glanced her way, waiting to see if she’d bring it up or sit there in embarrassed silence.

“Iraq?” she asked simply.

“Afghanistan,” he responded.

“You manage very well.”

“Not well enough to keep you from noticing,” he commented wryly.

“I just caught a glimpse of the prosthetic,” she said. “Otherwise I’d never have figured it out.”

“And your sister and Boone neglected to mention it?”

“Not a word,” she confirmed.

He wondered, as always, if it changed anything, but he wasn’t about to ask. He’d figure that out soon enough. His radar was finely tuned these days. There’d be a pitying look or a faint expression of distaste, quickly hidden, but detectable since he’d learned to watch for the signs.

Worse, sometimes, there was the curiosity, the undue fascination that seemed to stem from a desire to figure out just what else might have been affected by the explosion that took his lower leg. Lisa’s most crushing impact had been to make him so self-conscious that the prospect of intimacy was far less appealing than it had once been to someone with his healthy libido.

“Did it take a long time to adjust?” Samantha asked.

“Physically? Sure, but I was highly motivated. I worked at it,” he said with a shrug, minimizing the months of painful rehab that had threatened to shatter his normal optimism more than once.

“And emotionally?”

He was surprised that she’d dared to ask that. Most people didn’t risk going there.

“Still a work in progress,” he admitted. “I don’t want anyone pitying me.”

She smiled at that. “I wouldn’t think they’d dare. Not in this town, which still has a memorial wall dedicated to your extraordinary feats on the football field.”

“It’s not a wall,” he said, flushing. “It’s a couple of pictures outside the gym.”

“Have you been back to the high school recently? It’s a wall,” she insisted, then grinned as she acknowledged, “Which is not to say you don’t deserve it. Leading the team to two state championships is nothing to sneeze at. A record number of touchdown passes both years. Not too shabby, Cole.”

Ethan regarded her with surprise. It wasn’t just her up-to-date awareness of his football achievements and the school’s embarrassing tribute, but her cut-to-the-chase insights. “You’re not at all what I expected,” he told her.

“Oh?” She gave him an amused look. “Something tells me you were thinking vain and shallow.”

He winced at the accurate guess. “Something like that,” he admitted.

“It’s a common curse in my profession,” she conceded. “But I try never to be predictable.”

“So far you’re doing a good job,” he said. In fact, she was so unpredictable he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, and that really, really worried him.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of the new art studio being run by her sister Gabriella. He’d been to the opening a couple of months back, mostly as a favor to Boone. His knowledge of art was limited to recognizing a van Gogh when he saw one...as long as it was a painting of sunflowers. Beyond that he’d been hopeless in art appreciation classes.

“You’re having your dress fitting here?” he asked, puzzled by the choice.

“Gabi can’t get away. Emily’s freaking out that we’re running out of time. Since everyone’s goal these days is to calm the bride’s jittery nerves, we do whatever she asks.” She grinned at him. “You might want to keep that in mind. I’m pretty sure Boone is living by the same rules. He could probably use a whole lot of moral support from his best man.”

“Not a doubt in my mind about that, and I plan to do my best,” Ethan said, then grinned. “I’m under strict orders from Cora Jane.”

Samantha laughed. “Yes, she can strike terror into the hearts of most people I know, but she is amazing.”

“No argument from me about that.”

She studied him for a minute. “I know you’re older than me, and that also makes you older than Boone. How’d the two of you wind up as such good friends?” Her gaze narrowed. “Or are you? Please, God, tell me that Emily didn’t pressure Boone into asking you to be his best man just because of me, did she?”

Ethan laughed. “I have no idea when the diabolical plotting started, Samantha, but Boone and I have been friends for years. Our families were close. The age difference never seemed to matter much. We bonded over sports. We’ve been there for each other through some tough times.”

“When Boone lost his wife,” Samantha guessed.

Ethan gave her a long look. “And when he lost Emily before that. I was mostly away back then in med school, but I was around enough to know she broke his heart. I hope she’s not going to do it again.”

“Not a chance,” Samantha said, not even trying to deny that her sister had made a terrible mistake years before by choosing her career over Boone. “She knows how lucky she is that they have this second chance.”

“Second chances are hard to come by,” Ethan said.

“Voice of experience?” she asked him.

“You could say that.”

She looked as if she wanted to probe a little more deeply, but Ethan forestalled her questions by asking, “You’ll have a way to get back home from here?”

Though she was clearly disconcerted by the change of topic, she merely nodded. “Sure. Emily, if I’m still speaking to her after this morning’s turn of events. If not, I’m sure Grandmother will take pity on me and let me use her car.”

“If that doesn’t work out, give me a call. I have a light morning at the clinic, unless some big emergency crops up. I can always run you back home.” Even as the offer came out of his mouth, he was mentally kicking himself for making it. Spending any more time with this woman than absolutely necessary was probably emotional suicide.

She grinned at him. “You almost made that sound like a sincere offer,” she said.

“It was,” he insisted.

She shook her head. “Something tells me we shouldn’t be giving them any encouragement. I’ve seen how my family works, Ethan. One tiny little hint that their meddling is working and they won’t let up. Do you really want the aggravation?”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, surprised to find that a part of him was actually disappointed at the prospect of running across her only when their wedding duties required it.

“Okay, then,” she said breezily. “Thanks for the lift. See you around, I’m sure.”

“See you,” he mumbled, and watched her go. He told himself his inability to tear his gaze away was purely masculine appreciation of a gorgeous woman, but the truth was, there was also just the tiniest twinge of regret.

* * *

Unfortunately the clinic was even quieter than Ethan had predicted, which made his determination to keep his mind off Samantha Castle much harder to achieve. If he closed his eyes for so much as a second, he could see that old football jersey of his riding up her bare backside as she stretched on tiptoe to reach into a kitchen cupboard. The fact that the image had stuck with him was troubling. Then, again, it had been a while since he’d seen a sight that provocative.

He grabbed the running clothes he kept at the clinic, changed into them in the bathroom, then stopped to let his partner, Greg Knotts, know that he was taking a break. The other Afghanistan vet gave him a knowing look.

“Something on your mind?”

“More like someone,” Ethan told him.

“A woman?”

Ethan nodded.

Greg’s expression lit up. “Well, hallelujah! It’s about time you moved on. It was a crying shame you let an idiot like Lisa keep you from having an active social life.”

Ethan grinned. Greg, along with Boone and his other friends, had been fiercely united in their dislike of his former fiancée. Unlike some of them, Greg had never been shy about expressing his opinion. That straightforward talk, while annoying at times, was one of the reasons they got along so well. Ethan knew he could trust Greg to have his back. Boone was the only other friend about whom he felt the same way.

“Lisa is old news,” he told Greg. “I try not to think about her.”

“But the woman’s still in your head,” Greg said. “I’ve seen you show a spark of interest in someone new a time or two, and then in a flash I can almost see the wheels in your head turning and that tape of her dumping you playing again. I think that’s what I hate her for the most, not that she left, but that she ripped your soul to shreds in the process.”

It was true, Ethan thought, but refused to admit. The fact that he let a woman like Lisa control his life, even a little, was crazy. Rationally, he knew that. That didn’t make it any easier to burn that stupid mental tape Greg was talking about.

“No more,” he insisted, more wistful than convinced that it was true.

“I hope so,” Greg said. “So, who is she? The woman who’s got you in a dither this morning?”

Ethan knew he wasn’t going to get out of the clinic without filling Greg in. Unlike Ethan, Greg was a happily married father of three, who yearned to live vicariously through someone else’s exciting social life. He’d pester Ethan until he spilled details.

“A woman named Samantha Castle,” he told him.

Greg whistled.

Ethan regarded him with surprise. “You know her?”

“I used to admire all of the Castle sisters from afar. They were way out of my league. Samantha was something, even back then. I’ve spotted her a few times on TV, mostly commercials, but she was in an episode of Law and Order not too long ago. Barely a walk-on, but I recognized those incredible long legs.” He sighed. “What she did for a pair of high heels ought to be outlawed. It probably is in some states.”

Ethan chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that. Of course, she wasn’t wearing shoes when we met. Or much of anything else, for that matter.”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me!”

“I walked into the kitchen over at her grandmother’s this morning and there she was, wearing nothing but an old football jersey, reaching up into a cupboard.”

“How’d you know it was all she was wearing?”

“It was evident,” Ethan said, unwilling to describe the glimpse he’d gotten of her delectable bottom. Some things a man didn’t share, not even with his buddies.

“Holy mackerel,” Greg said, his voice tinged with reverence. His expression suddenly turned speculative. “You said an old football jersey. Yours, by any chance?”

Ethan frowned. “How’d you know?”

“I remember hearing way back that she had a crush on you. A couple of guys we hung out with asked her out, but she turned them down flat. She was maybe fifteen, sixteen. You were a senior and all caught up with your adoring horde of beauties. If you ask me, not a one of them held a candle to her, but you were oblivious. I watched her stand on the fringes of a few beach parties, her heart in her eyes.”

Since Boone had mentioned something similar about an old crush, Ethan couldn’t dismiss the comment. “I’m surprised you didn’t rush in to console her.”

“Like I said, she was out of my league. And I had enough issues living in the shadow of your popularity without risking rejection by one of your adoring fans.”

Ethan knew perfectly well that Greg’s ego had been healthy enough to withstand most anything back then. If Ethan had been a star on the offensive side of the football, Greg had been equally outstanding on defense. He’d even played both college and pro football briefly while studying medicine, a taxing combination that proved he had both brains and athletic skills, to say nothing of a whole lot of grit and determination.

And yet with all that potential to choose either a well-paying career in pro football or an equally successful path in medicine, he, just like Ethan, had opted for tours in the military. Unlike Ethan, though, Greg had come back in one piece, physically at least. Only a handful of people knew of the nightmares that tormented him, nightmares that left him emotionally exhausted and his wife and kids shaken.

Ethan’s understanding of the toll PTSD had taken on his friend and Greg’s insights into Ethan’s struggles to cope with his physical disability had made them the perfect partners for this medical practice in a quiet, familiar community.

Ethan noted the signs of exhaustion on his friend’s face and realized that all this focus on his social life was masking another of Greg’s bad nights.

“Change and come running with me,” he suggested, knowing that physical exertion could help them both. “Debra and Pam can hold the fort here and call us if there’s a sudden rush of patients. It’ll do you good. I might even let you beat me for a change.”

Greg laughed. “Let me? Just who do you think you’re fooling? If you’re brave enough to put a little money on this, I think we’ll see that you’re no match for me.”

“You believe that?” Ethan mocked. “You’re even more delusional than I thought.”

“Oh, it’s true. I might just give you a head start to even up your chances,” Greg taunted. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair to take your money.”

Ethan scowled at that. “I’m faster these days, even on one good leg, than you are on two. You’ve gone soft, Knotts. Now, come on. Change those clothes and lace up your running shoes. I’ll wait.”

“Two minutes,” Greg said, accepting the challenge as Ethan had known he would. “Loser buys lunch.”

“Works for me,” Ethan agreed.

“And I have a hankering for a burger at Castle’s,” Greg said, his expression gloating. “Just so you know what’s at stake.”

Ethan stared after him. Oh, he knew, all right. Lunch where there was every chance he’d catch another glimpse of Samantha? So much for clinging to whatever hard-won peace of mind he accomplished on this run.