you give me a break. You’re the one who’s had all the time to get used to this. I’ve just had it sprung on me—”
“There was nothing stopping you coming back any time in the last seven months,” Josie pointed out with saccharine politeness.
“I thought I was making both of us happy staying away!”
“You were.”
He heaved a harsh breath. “And now I’m not. But I am being responsible. I am ready to do the right thing and—”
“And you’re so sure you know what the right thing is?”
He opened his mouth. He hesitated.
The hesitation was all it took. Josie folded her arms across her breasts. “You don’t want to marry me, Sam. You don’t want a child. You want to sell the inn and get the hell out of here and you never want to look back. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you came for?”
“I came because Hattie left me holding the bag!”
“Exactly. And I’m telling you, you don’t have to hold it any longer. Hattie wanted you here. Not me. It was a mistake, like you said earlier today.” She started toward the stairs, then turned back and faced him squarely. “It was, as you said earlier, ‘the whiskey talking.’”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. You were honest. And now you’re lucky. I’m not holding you accountable for what you did under the influence of whiskey.”
“What if I want to be held accountable?”
Their eyes dueled once more.
Then, “Go to hell, Sam,” Josie said, and stalked up the stairs.
Footsteps came after her. “Don’t you walk out on me!”
Josie turned halfway up, color vivid on her cheeks. “Don’t you yell at me,” she said, in a voice quieter than his, but no less forceful. “Not if you want The Shields House to keep a good reputation.”
“The hell with The Shields House!”
Josie shrugged. “Well, suit yourself. It’s your house. Your business.”
“I offered to share it with you.”
“And I said no. Thank you,” she added, the polite afterthought as damnably annoying as her refusal. “Don’t slam the door when you leave.” She turned then, and left him standing there.
Sam glared at her back until she went around the corner. Then he stomped into the kitchen, flung open the door to the entry hall and stalked out. He managed—barely—not to snarl at the guests in the parlor. But that was as far as his good behavior went.
There was no way, he thought as he banged out furiously, that you could have a satisfying argument if you couldn’t even slam a door!
It had been every bit as bad as she’d feared it would be.
Worse.
He’d asked her to marry him. Because he was a gentleman. A responsible man. A kind man.
All the things she wanted in a husband—and couldn’t have.
Because he didn’t love her.
And he was honest enough not to lie and say he did. That was what made it worse.
Josie stood behind the curtain and stared out across the lawn. She could see Sam now, standing on the edge of the bluff that overlooked the city, his shoulders hunched, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. The wind ruffled his short hair. He looked miserable.
He ought to be rejoicing.
She’d told him no, hadn’t she?
Maybe it hadn’t sunk in yet. When it did, he’d be glad.
Even then, though, he’d still feel responsible. He’d want to make things right. It was the way Sam was. The way he’d always been. Hadn’t he come to console her the night Kurt had stood her up?
She shoved the thought away. She had done nothing but think about it for seven months. She’d hoped...she’d dreamed...she’d wished...she’d been the fool she’d promised herself she would never be. She had not been able to squelch the hope that he might have fallen in love with her.
He hadn’t. And now it was over.
Tomorrow would be better for both of them. He would still try to do the right thing, of course, but it would be a reasonable right thing this time. He would offer child support, acknowledgement, a trust fund, perhaps. Her child would be weighted down with trust funds, she thought with a rueful smile.
Being Sam, he might ask for two weeks in the summer when he could see their child.
She wouldn’t argue. It was his right. She would be polite and properly grateful. And he would be concerned and secretly relieved at having escaped the need to follow through on his proposal, but far too polite to let it show. It would all be very civilized.
And she would be tied to Sam Fletcher for the rest of her life.
It would be hard, but she would do it—for her child.
“Not for yourself?” she mocked herself now as she rocked back on her heels and looked down at the only man she had ever really loved.
If she was going to be scrupulously honest—she would admit that she didn’t dislike the idea of having Sam still a part of her life.
It wasn’t the same as marrying him. She didn’t want any part of forcing him into a relationship which ought to be based on love.
But to know how he was, where he was, what he was doing...
Just to know...
She’d said no?
No?
Sam still couldn’t believe it.
Or maybe he could. Women seemed to be developing a history of not wanting to marry him. First Izzy, now Josie. Was it getting to be a trend?
His jaw was clenched so tight he had a headache. He forced himself to take a deep breath. But he didn’t relax. He paced along the bluff overlooking the downtown and didn’t see any of it. He saw only the disaster the evening, the day—no, his whole damn life—had become.
He didn’t think he was that hard to get along with. He certainly could keep any wife in the manner to which she’d never yet become accustomed. He wasn’t all that bad-looking.
Was he?
No, damn it, he wasn’t.
So what was the problem?
“‘I
