savor her shoulder-length, springy red curls. Burnished by the late-afternoon sun, the color was as glorious and full of life as he remembered. Then she reached for her handbag, slung it over her shoulder and moved around the front of the car.
When she started up the curving stone walkway toward his front door, Sam shifted back a bit into the shadows and continued to scrutinize her. Black slacks hugged her trim hips, and her soft, black-and-white-striped knit top hinted at her curves. A smile whispered at the corners of his mouth as he recalled the way he used to tease her about being a slender chef, suggesting that a slim figure wasn’t a good advertisement for her culinary skills. She’d always countered by saying that it demonstrated her remarkable discipline, yet never failed to lament that she could afford to lose a few pounds.
Well, she couldn’t afford to anymore, he realized, his smile fading as the setting sun backlit her, emphasizing her too-willowy five-foot-six silhouette. She’d lost more than a few pounds since he’d last seen her. Too many, in fact. And as she drew closer, he saw other indications of the toll the stress had taken on her. Her face, though a bit pale, was as beautiful as always, the smooth forehead, pert nose, soft, full lips, and strong, determined chin just as he remembered. And her startling green eyes were still fringed by those amazing long lashes. But the shadows beneath them, along with the tense line of her jaw and her taut lips, provided clear evidence of the lingering effects of her recent trauma.
Thanks to Oak Hill’s sheriff, Dale Lewis, Sam now had a better handle on the incident that had triggered Cara’s visit. After years on the police force in L.A., Dale had law enforcement contacts all over the country—including Philly. At Sam’s request, he’d been able to get a police report on the incident and recap it for Sam.
According to the investigating officer’s write-up, Cara and her coworker, Tony, had been the last to leave the restaurant that night. As they crossed the parking lot, a masked gunman had accosted them, demanding their money. While Cara had handed over her purse at once, Tony had balked. As a result, the perpetrator had grabbed Cara, put the gun to her head and told Tony to toss his wallet on the ground or she’d be history. Tony had complied, but as the robber pushed Cara aside and reached for the wallet, Tony had lunged at him. The man had shot Tony, then run off.
A passerby heard the gunfire and called the police, but by the time they arrived Tony was dead. No suspects had yet been arrested. Cara had been questioned but could remember few details of the shooting, and the assailant’s mask prevented her from making an ID. However, with her purse in hand, he could identify her.
Dale’s summary had left Sam with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If the gunman had been high, or desperate for a fix, or worried about witnesses despite his mask, he could have shot Cara, too. Killed her. The very possibility caused Sam’s blood to run cold. And strengthened his resolve to do whatever it took to let her know how much he cherished her, and how sorry he was for the mess he’d made of things.
As Cara stepped up to the door, Sam rubbed his hands down his jeans. Even before the highest-stake surgeries, he’d never gotten sweaty palms. He’d been sure of his ability to save lives. But he wasn’t anywhere near as confident in his relationship skills as he was wielding a scalpel. Especially when his future was on the line.
Moving to the door, Sam took a steadying breath and pulled it wide, forcing his stiff lips to curve into the semblance of a smile. “Hello, Cara. Welcome.”
Her finger poised to ring the bell, Cara froze.
When the silence lengthened, Sam spoke again. “I’m glad you made it safe and sound. Come in.” He stepped aside.
“I left my things in the car, and I didn’t lock it.” She cast an uncertain look over her shoulder.
“They’ll be fine. You’re not in Philly anymore. I’ll get them in a few minutes.” Though she appeared unconvinced, she stepped over the threshold. “Did you have any problem finding your way?”
“No. You were always good at giving directions.”
But not other things. Sam almost voiced that thought, then restrained the impulse. It was too soon to get so personal. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No. I’d prefer to get settled in and unpack.”
“Of course. You’ve had a long day.” He’d worried how she would cope with the stresses of the trip, but aside from her slight pallor, she seemed okay. “Let me show you around, then I’ll get your things.”
He gave her a quick tour of the house—the sunny kitchen with attached breakfast room that overlooked a private backyard; the back porch, inviting but bare; an empty dining room; an underfurnished living room featuring a lone couch in front of the fireplace with a table, lamp and straight chair beside it; his uncluttered office. He identified a closed door as his bedroom when they passed, but didn’t pause until they reached the last room at the end of the hall. Stepping aside, he ushered her in. “I hope this will be okay.”
Based on the sparse furnishings in the rest of the house, Cara wasn’t expecting much. Certainly nothing like the exquisite room waiting for her when she stepped over the threshold.
The walls were washed in her favorite shade of aquamarine, the smell of fresh paint still in the air. A queen-size brass bed sported an ivory dust ruffle and a comforter in a Monet-like print in shades of blue, green and lavender. A matching valance hung over the large window. There was an overstuffed chair, a reading lamp, a small TV and an antique walnut dresser with a large oval mirror above it. A cut-crystal vase of old-fashioned pink roses graced the nightstand, their fragrance wafting through the room.
“There’s a private bath, too.” Sam followed her in and swung open a door to reveal a spacious, modern bath replete with granite countertops and fluffy towels.
Stunned, Cara could only gape at the lovely suite she knew he’d prepared just for her.
“If there’s anything else you need, I hope you’ll feel free to let me know.”
After living with Sam for ten years, Cara was familiar with every nuance of his voice. She heard the uncertainty now, sensed his tension and trepidation. This couldn’t be easy for him, either, she realized, whatever his motives might be. There was too much history between them to allow a comfortable co-existence. At the very least her presence would disrupt his life, alter his routine. Yet he’d gone out of his way to make her feel welcome.
She looked around again, troubled by something about the arrangement. Then it hit her. Considering the attached bath, this had to be the master suite.
Frowning, she turned to him. “Was this your room?”
A dismissive shrug preceded his words. “It was more space than I needed.”
“I can’t take your room.”
“It’s done, Cara. These aren’t my colors. I’m more an earth-tones kind of guy.” A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Just enjoy it.”
At his unexpected generosity, her throat tightened with an emotion so long absent from her life that it took her a moment to identify it.
Tenderness.
And that wasn’t good. Sam could be charming; he’d demonstrated that early in their relationship. But she knew about his other qualities, too. The self-absorbed preoccupation that had changed into bitterness after his life was turned upside down, and an anger so cold and hard, so close to violence, that it had frightened
