Chapter 7

Sam had been sure the long, evenly paced run he’d taken through the deserted streets of Serenity would be just exhausting enough to allow him to sleep. But then, he hadn’t considered the possibility that Emma would be up and around when he finally crept back to his mother’s house.

Even when he’d spied the half-finished, still-cold-to-the-touch glass of milk on the kitchen counter, he hadn’t thought of Emma first. Rather, he had been concerned about his mother, fearing she might be suffering through a bad spell brought on by her illness.

Only when he had reached the entryway and seen Emma on the steps had he realized his mistake. He had halted in midstride, as unwilling as she obviously had been to initiate a confrontation. Then she’d tripped on the hem of her robe, and he’d had no choice but to save her from a nasty fall.

Just as he had done four years ago…

Cursing under his breath, Sam shut off the shower, grabbed a towel from the rack and scrubbed none too gently at the droplets of water trickling down his body. Talk about bad luck. He couldn’t have chosen a worse thing to have happen if he had tried.

As he’d caught her in his arms, he had been inundated by a wellspring of unwanted memories. Memories that had brought with them a pain so sharp he had almost cried out.

He had never thought he would hold her in his arms again. Had never thought he would feel her melt against him, her heart fluttering as wildly as his, her eyes filled with a longing that surely matched his own.

He’d had no right to hope for such a moment, and so he hadn’t. When it came out of nowhere, it astonished him. But swiftly, surely, dismay had followed, halting him before he could compound the mistake he had made that June afternoon so very long ago.

Sam hadn’t been able to stop himself then. He’d had to try, just once, to let Emma know how he felt about her. As he had told himself that day, he had made one last-ditch effort—born of desperation—to stop her from marrying his brother before it was too late.

Though kissing Emma hadn’t been his very last effort. That had come on the winding road outside Serenity when he’d finally had Teddy all to himself—

Cursing again, Sam hung his damp towel on the rack, then pulled on clean shorts and a T-shirt. He had always prided himself on his self-control, but four years ago he had acted on impulse twice in three days. And in one way or another, he had destroyed everyone he’d ever held dear.

He couldn’t go back and change that. But at least tonight he had managed to rein in his lustful urges before he did any more damage.

Four years ago, he had wreaked more than his fair share of havoc in Emma Dalton’s life. Now, in spite of everything he’d done, she seemed to have found a small measure of peace and happiness. He wasn’t going to spoil that by inflicting himself on her again.

He could have kissed her tonight. Could have teased and tempted her with ease. He had seen the willing look in her eyes and had felt her yearning as she’d swayed against him. But he had caught her unawares, her defenses down. He had taken advantage of that situation once before, only to have her turn away from him. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. No matter how he ached to claim her as his own.

More than once while he had been with Emma Sunday afternoon, Sam had allowed himself to consider possibilities—all sorts of possibilities. But over and over again, he had reminded himself that there was too much standing in the way of their having any kind of future together.

His own lack of integrity topped the list.

He had no right to hope for a reconciliation where Emma was concerned. Not as long as he kept from her the truth about what had happened the day Teddy died. He couldn’t allow her to believe he had been blameless, then try to be a part of her life.

But neither could he come right out and tell her what he’d done. She would loathe him as much as he loathed himself for revealing—in a way—what she herself had chosen to keep secret.

There could have been only one reason for that. Their kiss hadn’t meant anything to her. Not compared to what Teddy had had to offer her. They had been together for years. He had simply stolen one kiss, then imagined she had been touched as deeply and completely as he was.

Unable to face himself in the bathroom mirror, Sam ran a comb haphazardly through his damp hair, then switched off the light. He eased the door open as quietly as he could, glanced up and down the hallway, assuring himself that Emma wasn’t anywhere nearby, and hurried back to his bedroom. Only when he was safe inside with the door shut did he draw a calming breath. One late-night encounter with Emma Dalton was about all he could bear.

Sam didn’t expect to get any sleep during what remained of the night. But for want of anything better to do, cooped up in his bedroom, he stretched out on the narrow twin bed and pulled the old patchwork quilt up to his waist. Lying on his back, one arm under his head, he turned and gazed out the window.

He knew it wouldn’t be much longer until the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn. And soon after that, he could get up and start another day.

Mentally he reviewed the list of small repair jobs that needed to be done around the house. Those would keep him busy, at least for a while. He could begin with the garbage disposal that wouldn’t grind and take it from there….

What seemed like only a short time later, Sam awoke with a start. Bright sunlight spilled through the window and spread across the bedroom floor. He had slept, after all. Much more deeply and, according to the alarm clock on the bedside table, a good deal longer than he’d expected he would.

Unfortunately, he didn’t feel the least bit refreshed by the rest he’d had. Instead, he was so groggy it was all he could do to stumble down the hallway to the bathroom. And that, in turn, made him grouchy.

Much to his relief, neither Emma nor his mother was still upstairs at that late hour of the morning. Since they had left their doors open, he could see that both of their rooms were empty, the beds neatly made.

Good thing, too, he thought as he stalked out of the bathroom a short time later, tissue paper dotting the razor nicks on his cheek and chin. He was in no mood for feminine wiles, whether intentional or not.

Dressed in khaki shorts, a faded navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off and a battered pair of leather deck shoes, Sam finally headed for the kitchen.

The house was as blessedly quiet downstairs as it had been upstairs, and there was no sign of Emma or his mother in the living room, the dining room or the kitchen. However, the front door was open, which likely meant at least one of them was out on the porch.

He helped himself to coffee from the pot on the counter and a cinnamon roll slathered in icing from the bakery box on the kitchen table. Then, much as he would have preferred to be alone, he retraced his steps.

He hadn’t come to Serenity to sulk in solitude. He had come to find out exactly how ill his mother really was, then make sure she was getting the care she needed. He couldn’t do that unless he confronted her or Emma, face-to-face, and insisted one or the other of them answer his questions in a forthright manner.

So far, he had allowed his mother to avoid the subject rather than spoil her pleasure in his homecoming. But she had to realize he knew she wasn’t quite as hale and hearty as she pretended to be. No matter how brightly she smiled or how busily she bustled about, she couldn’t hide her fatigue or her fragility. He had seen the way her hands trembled when she thought she was alone. And he had glimpsed the weariness in her eyes on the rare occasions when she forgot herself and met his gaze head-on.

He knew she was only trying to protect him, but he wasn’t a child anymore. Hard as it had to be for her to accept, their roles had changed in a way neither of them had ever anticipated. Now he was responsible for her well-being. And, without the least bit of resentment, he intended to fulfill that duty to the very best of his ability.

They might not have been as close as they could have been in the past, but Sam had never doubted the depth of her love for him. She alone knew the whole truth about the moments leading up to Teddy’s death, and still she had refused to blame him. Though he had yet to be as forgiving of himself, her belief in him meant more than he could ever say.

As he opened the screen door, Sam spied his mother sitting in one of the rocking chairs out on the porch. He also noted that she was alone. His footsteps on the porch floor drew her attention from the book open on her lap. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled up at him, her cheerful expression not quite masking the fatigue shadowing her eyes.

“Well, sleepyhead, it’s about time you rolled out of bed. I was beginning to wonder if you were all right. Then I figured maybe the jet lag had finally caught up with you.”

“Something like that,” he hedged as he sat in the rocking chair across from her. Setting his mug on the table between them, he bit into his cinnamon roll. “Mmm, good…”

Her smile fading, his mother gazed at him thoughtfully.

“I hate to say it, but you don’t look like you slept twelve hours,” she murmured after a moment.

“I didn’t,” he admitted, licking icing from his fingers, then reaching for his mug.

“So you had a restless night, too?”

“You had trouble sleeping?” Sam eyed his mother with concern. “Were you—?”

“Not me. I slept like a log,” she cut in. “But when she came down to the kitchen earlier Emma mentioned she was up half the night.”

“Oh, really?”

Avoiding his mother’s increasingly avid gaze, Sam took another sip of his coffee. He had no intention of mentioning his early-morning rendezvous with Emma on the stairs. And though he wanted to ask where she had gone—since she seemed to have left the house—he wasn’t about to let on that he cared. Considering the way his mother had thrown them together yesterday afternoon, he knew better than to offer her even the tiniest bit of encouragement.

“I wanted her to stay home from work, but she insisted on going in,” Margaret explained. “Said she had a lot to do before we left for Galveston on Friday.”

“You and Emma are going to Galveston on Friday?”

Unable to hide his surprise, Sam swung around and stared at his mother. Telling himself avoiding Emma’s company was one thing. The prospect of actually having to do without it was something else altogether.

“Oh, you’re going, too,” she assured him blithely. “I’ve rented a house right on the beach so we can all be together, but still have lots of room to spread out.”

“Nice of you to let me know,” he muttered, irked with himself, as well as with his mother’s high-handed manner. Apparently whatever he thought about a weekend on the island wasn’t of interest to her. “Any idea how long we’re going to be there, or are you planning to reveal that information at a later date?”

“Until Monday,” she stated matter-of-factly, ignoring his sarcasm. “We’ll have to be on the road by eight-thirty. I have an appointment with my doctor at the medical center in Houston at eleven. There’s a slim chance that I’ll have to spend a few days in the hospital undergoing another round of chemotherapy. Otherwise, we can drive back to Serenity that afternoon.”

Sam gazed at his mother wordlessly, his earlier annoyance forgotten. He had wanted to talk to her about her illness, but he hadn’t been prepared for such pragmatism on her part. He hadn’t any idea how to respond.

“Unless I’m mistaken, Emma has already mentioned that I have a chronic form of leukemia and the prognosis isn’t good,” she continued. “I went into remission for a few months, but since the end of April…” Smiling slightly, she shrugged, then reached across the table to take his hand. “That’s the real reason why you came home, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Clasping her hand tightly in his, Sam turned away as an unexpected rush of tears blurred his vision. “Emma wrote to me a few weeks ago. I came as soon as I could.”

“I’m glad Emma told you. It was unfair and very selfish of me to ask her to keep my secret so long. And I’m really glad you’ve come home.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly, then continuing in a conversational tone, changed the subject. “Galveston Island has always had a special place in my heart. Probably because that’s where I met your father. And because we always had such fun there—your father and I and you and Teddy—the summers before Caleb…died. I wanted to go back once more with you and Emma. I love you both so much, but we haven’t spent much time together, the three of us. We need to do that, Sam, and I can’t think of anywhere better than the beach.”

“You make it sound so…final. As if…as if you’ve given up hope,” he protested.

Surely the chance that she would benefit from additional treatment wasn’t as insignificant as she seemed to believe.

“There’s always hope, Sam. But I’m not fooling myself and I won’t fool you, either. Unless my condition has improved considerably in the past four weeks, chemotherapy could do me more harm than good. And if I only have a few months left, I want to have the strength to make the most of them.” She gave his hand another squeeze, then changed the subject yet again. “Now…let me get the brochure the real-estate agent sent. The pictures of the beach house I’ve rented are just lovely.” Standing, she reached for his mug. “More coffee?”

“Yes, thanks,” he replied, his voice rough.

“And another cinnamon roll?”

“Sure.”

Watching as she moved toward the door, her steps surprisingly brisk, Sam realized that she had made peace with whatever the future held for her. But he wasn’t quite that accepting. Until he had proof to the contrary, he wasn’t about to believe that nothing more could be done for her.

He would talk to Emma first, he decided, rubbing the moisture from his eyes with his fingertips. As close as she was to his mother, she had to know a lot more than she’d revealed in her letter. Then he would contact his mother’s doctor and hear what he had to say. And he wouldn’t stop there, either. He would read every article he could find about chronic leukemia and the various treatments for it. Emma could help with that—she was a librarian, after all. At the very least, she would be able to guide him in the right direction.

“Here you go.” His mother joined him again, two steaming mugs and a plate of cinnamon rolls on the tray she carried.

“You should have told me you planned to transport half the kitchen,” Sam chided, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table. “I would have gladly given you a hand.”

“I’m not completely helpless yet,” she retorted with a testiness he remembered well from his boyhood.

“I wasn’t implying you were. But I don’t expect you to run yourself ragged waiting on me, either.”

“I know.” She smiled fondly as she offered him the brochure she’d mentioned. “That’s why I enjoy doing it.”

Shaking his head in exasperation, Sam took the brochure from her and eyed the contemporary glass-and-wood-and-stone house set back behind the dunes edging the beach.

“Very nice,” he murmured approvingly as he reached for his mug.

“Emma thought so, too,” Margaret said. She settled into her rocking chair, helped herself to one of the cinnamon rolls, then added, “You know, along with satisfying my yen for the beach, I think going to Galveston will also be good for the two of you. You need to spend a little time together somewhere besides Serenity. Getting away from here for a few days will give you a chance to put the past behind you and make a fresh start.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible for us regardless of where we are,” Sam stated, edging his words with an attempt at finality.

From the moment he’d made the decision to return to Serenity, he had wondered how Emma would respond to his presence there. But no matter how he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to convince himself that she’d be happy. So far, it seemed he’d been right.

“Anything’s possible, Sam. Unless you’re the one who’s given up hope.”

“Not any more than you. But I’m not fooling myself, either. Not after what I did…”

“Despite what Emma said to you at the hospital, she’s never blamed you for Teddy’s death.”

“Only because she doesn’t know the whole truth.”

“Then tell her,” his mother insisted none too gently. “You didn’t act with malicious intent. You simply said what you believed you had to say to your brother that day. There was no way you could have anticipated how he would react. I’m sure Emma is capable of understanding that.”

“And if she’s not, she’ll end up despising me more than ever,” Sam countered angrily.

He wished he had as much faith in Emma’s compassion as his mother did. Then he wouldn’t hesitate to try to set things straight between them. But he hadn’t the courage to count on gaining her forgiveness—at least not yet.

“I don’t think that will happen,” Margaret said.

“But there’s no guarantee, is there?”

“There are never any guarantees in life. Sometimes we just have to believe….”

Aware of the futility of arguing with his mother any longer, especially when she had right on her side, Sam rocked slowly back and forth, nibbling on a cinnamon roll and sipping his coffee. Maybe he had given up too easily. Maybe he should trust that Emma was capable of giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe…maybe he should go soak his head.

Better yet, he could get started on the repairs he wanted to make. That would get his mind off Emma.

But the sunny summer day held him in its thrall. Aside from the twitter of birds in the trees, the buzz of insects over the flowering shrubs and the occasional whoosh of a car passing by, all was quiet. Quieter than he remembered, but then most of his mother’s neighbors were elderly—

“I was wondering…” his mother began, interrupting his reverie.

“What?” Sam prodded reluctantly when she seemed to hesitate.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be stationed in Italy?”

“Actually, my tour of duty there is officially over. I’m being transferred back to the States. In fact, I’ve done all the paperwork already. I’ve requested an assignment at one of the air bases in Texas. I should find out exactly where I’ll be stationed within the next week or so.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” She turned to him, her eyes filled with concern.

“I know,” he assured her, aware that she wouldn’t have wanted him to make such a request on her account. “But I’ve been away a long time. I meant it when I said I was ready to come home for a while.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Smiling again, she patted his hand.

“I do,” Sam replied, realizing he spoke the truth.

He had spent years trying to avoid the pit into which his father had fallen, feeling trapped in a small town, weighed down by a growing sense of futility. He had realized—too late—that everything he wanted was in Serenity, after all. And then, the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death had sent him into exile once again.

But he had a duty to his mother—a duty he’d been determined to fulfill. That had made it impossible for him to stay away. Now, having finally come home, he couldn’t imagine leaving again, especially for good. Not when his mother could be terminally ill.

And not when he hadn’t yet accepted that all had been lost with Emma. As his mother had said, anything was possible. But what chance would he have of making things right between them from half a world away?

More than anything, Sam now knew he wanted that chance. He had already admitted more times than he cared to count that there was too much standing between him and Emma and a future together. Yet he couldn’t seem to totally discount that possibility, either. And he wouldn’t… couldn’t. Not until he found the courage to be truthful with her. And surely that would come with time.

Filled with a sudden, inexplicable sense of exhilaration, Sam pushed out of his rocking chair.

“I thought I’d take a look at your garbage disposal and see if I can get it running again,” he announced. “Then I’m going down to the hardware store to buy some new washers for your faucets.”

“Oh, Sam, I’d really appreciate that.”

“While I’m busy, why don’t you decide whether you want the wooden fence across the backyard up or down. Unless there’s something else you’d rather I do first, I’ll work on that tomorrow.”

“But you’re supposed to be on vacation,” Margaret protested.

“That starts Friday when we leave for Galveston. Until then, try to think of all the work around here you’d like to have done and let me play handyman.”

“Well, if you insist…” she demurred.

“Absolutely.”

She considered him thoughtfully for several moments, then grinned at him, a wicked gleam twinkling in her eyes.

“Well, in that case, I’d better get a pad of paper and a pencil.”