Chapter 8

After the sleepless night she’d had, Emma wasn’t sure how she made it through Monday, but she did. Necessity coupled with sheer determination helped a lot. She couldn’t go off to Galveston on Friday with a clear conscience unless she did her utmost to make sure the Serenity Public Library ran smoothly in her absence.

Luckily, Marion Cole proved to be quite capable. Not only was she eager to learn, but she also caught on quickly. And with her cheerful personality, she got along well with the other members of the library’s small staff. Emma soon realized she couldn’t have found anyone better suited to help out over the summer.

With Marion running interference for her, Emma was also able to make a sizable dent in the new book orders that had piled up while Margaret had been in the hospital. By the time five o’clock rolled around, however, she felt like a zombie. It was all she could do to gather her things together and walk out to her car.

The lingering heat of the day dragged at her, increasing her weariness even more, and made the short drive to Margaret’s house—a distance she often walked in nice weather—seem interminable. What she really wanted was to go back to her house, but she knew that would cause Margaret more concern than it would be worth. Thanks to her friend’s efforts, she and Sam would be thrown together again anyway at the beach house Margaret had rented on Galveston Island.

They had talked about a long-weekend getaway, but with Sam’s return Emma had assumed the trip would be postponed for a while. Having been presented with a veritable fait accompli, she’d had no choice but to go along with it enthusiastically. Especially since she’d been too weary to put up any kind of argument.

But she had promised herself that once they returned from the island, she would go back to her own home until Sam left again. She could hold off that long for Margaret’s sake, but only for Margaret’s sake.

At the Griffin house, Emma paused in the kitchen only a few minutes to tell her friend that she wanted to lie down for an hour or so before dinner. On her way upstairs, she saw no sign of Sam, for which she was grateful. She changed out of her skirt and blouse into soft knit shorts and a T-shirt, stretched out on her bed and ended up sleeping straight through till morning.

She awoke just before seven, feeling more refreshed than she had in weeks. As she blinked the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes and stretched luxuriously, she realized someone had come in during the night and covered her with a quilt. Margaret, Emma assumed. She had been sleeping too soundly to know for sure, but she doubted Sam would come within five feet of her unless ordered to under pain of death.

Shoving away all thoughts of him almost as swiftly as they came to mind, Emma crawled out of bed resolutely, headed for the bathroom with only the slightest glance at Sam’s open bedroom door, showered and dressed for another day at the library. She still had a lot left to do. Allowing herself to be sidetracked emotionally, even for a few minutes, was a waste of much-needed time.

In the kitchen, Margaret sat alone at the table, dressed in a denim skirt and bright red shirt that set off her silvery hair. She looked up from the morning paper, smiled and gestured toward the coffeemaker on the counter.

“I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“Thanks—for the coffee and for looking in on me last night.” Emma helped herself to a mug, then put a slice of bread into the toaster. “I must have been more tired than I realized.”

“You’re welcome—for the coffee. But it was Sam who checked on you. When you didn’t come down to dinner, he offered to go up and make sure you were all right. When he came down again, he said you were fast asleep.”

“I must have been,” Emma muttered, momentarily flustered by the thought of Sam entering her bedroom and covering her with the quilt, all without her knowledge.

Just doing his duty—looking after her at his mother’s insistence, she told herself, recalling how resolutely he’d distanced himself from her on the staircase Sunday night.

“You should have something more than that,” Margaret said as the toaster popped. “Especially since you missed dinner last night.”

Though no easy task, Emma brought herself back to the present moment.

“You’re right,” she admitted, patting her growling stomach as she crossed to the refrigerator. “A piece of toast just isn’t going to be enough this morning. How about some scrambled eggs?”

“No, dear. Don’t fix any for me. I had a bowl of cereal earlier with Sam. Then he took off for the lumberyard north of town.”

“The lumberyard?” Emma eyed her friend questioningly as she whisked eggs and milk together in a small bowl.

“He’s going to replace those rotten boards in the fence across the backyard for me today. Yesterday, he repaired the garbage disposal, put new washers in all the faucets that have been leaking and ran something called a snake down the drain in my bathroom so it won’t keep clogging up.”

“He’s been busy, hasn’t he?” Emma commented, stirring the egg mixture into a pan on the stove.

“And he will be the next few days, as well. He insisted that I make a list of things I need done around here, and I did just that. Told me to let him play handyman, so I figured, why not? No sense letting him sit around getting bored.”

“No sense at all.” Smiling, Emma spooned her scrambled eggs onto a plate, added the slice of toast and joined Margaret at the table.

“I’ve got enough to keep him busy around here for the rest of the week. But when we get back from Galveston, he’s going to have some time on his hands. Maybe he could give you a hand with some of the work you’ve been wanting to do around your place. Painting and wallpapering goes much faster when you have a little help.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask him to do that,” Emma protested, hoping she didn’t sound as dismayed by the idea as she felt.

She had already decided she didn’t want Sam anywhere near her house. Not even for the few minutes it would have taken to unload her rosebushes Sunday evening. How could she possibly have him there for days on end while they worked closely together hanging new wallpaper or painting the woodwork? Talk about letting him invade her space. She would never be able to forget him—as she knew she must—if she allowed him into her home in such an…intimate way.

“Nonsense,” Margaret replied, waving her hand dismissively. “He appreciates everything you’ve done for me. He’s said so several times already. He certainly wouldn’t mind doing something for you in return. Especially something you’ve had to postpone because I’ve needed your help.”

Try as she might, Emma couldn’t think of a way to respond as she wanted without sounding churlish. She had never expected any kind of payment from her friend, but Margaret was a proud woman. Emma knew she had worried about taking advantage of her. And now she obviously saw a way for her son to cancel the debt she seemed to feel she owed.

“Well, let’s see how things go next week,” Emma finally said as she finished her breakfast. “We may end up spending several days in Houston, you know.”

“Perhaps,” Margaret murmured noncommittally.

Emma glanced at her sharply, but suddenly Margaret seemed engrossed in the day’s headlines.

Had she begun to lose hope? Emma wondered, gathering her dishes and crossing to the sink. She had seemed so much better the past week or two—more so after Sam’s arrival. Had she actually been feeling worse than she’d let on? Or was she simply afraid of going through another round of treatment after the problems she’d had last time?

Emma knew better than to press for answers. Margaret believed in putting on a brave face regardless. And she would never say anything that might cause those she loved what she deemed to be needless worry.

Pausing by the table on her way out to give her friend a quick hug, Emma decided she had better ask Sam what he thought. He was her son, after all. Maybe she had confided in him in a way she didn’t feel she could with her.

“Full day again today?” Margaret asked, reaching up to give her hand a squeeze.

“I’m taking off at three this afternoon. Thought I’d let Marion work a few hours on her own while I’m within shouting distance—so to speak. And I really need to get my rosebushes in the ground, too.”

“Ah, yes. Can’t let them sit in those containers too long, can you?”

“Not at this time of year,” Emma agreed. “And the sooner they’re planted, the better they’ll do next spring.” She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, then added, “Call if you need anything and Sam’s not back, okay?”

“I will, dear. Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

Since Tuesday was the day the library hosted a series of story hours for children of various ages, there was lots of activity throughout the morning and early afternoon. The previous summer, Emma’s friend Jane Hamilton had taken over the read-aloud duties while staying in town. This year, Emma had hired a couple of college students, home for the summer, and so far, thanks to their boundless enthusiasm, they had been a big hit with the children, as well as with Emma. Though she still had some supervising to do, they had helped to lighten her workload considerably, much as Jane had done.

As she returned to her office on the second floor of the library, Emma wished Jane were still living in Serenity. With her friend close by, she would have had an easier time asking her advice about Sam. But Jane was in Seattle, happily married and mothering her young son.

Burdening her from a distance with a problem that had no real solution—at least as far as Emma could see—didn’t seem fair. Especially when Jane had gone through such a hapless time herself only a year ago.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of women dealt successfully with the effects of unrequited love, Emma reminded herself. She might feel like the only one facing heartache on a daily basis, but she wasn’t. And she had dealt with so much grief already. As long as she put her mind to it, she could deal with her feelings for Sam, as well.

She had no doubt he was just as eager to stay out of her way as she was to stay out of his, and that would certainly work to her advantage. Since she was going to be away over the weekend, she had good reason to spend time at her house the next few days, battening down the hatches. And the house on Galveston Island was huge. They would hardly have to cross paths at all except at mealtimes.

By three o’clock, Emma was on her way home, confident that Marion would be able to cope on her own during what was usually the quietest time on a summer weekday. Eager for fresh air and exercise after her long, deep sleep, she had walked to work that morning, and she enjoyed the walk back to Margaret’s house equally despite the increased afternoon heat.

Half a block away, Emma slowed her pace and scanned the front yard for any sign of Sam. Margaret’s Volvo was parked in the driveway, so he was probably home. Emma hoped he was still working on the back fence. That would make it easier for her to slip into the house, change clothes, load her rosebushes into her car and get away without a hassle.

Not that she expected Sam to go out of his way to cause her any problems. But just running into him would leave her feeling…flustered.

Emma let herself into the cool, quiet house, made a detour to the kitchen to see if Margaret was there and found it empty. After a glance out the window into the equally empty, but newly fenced, backyard, she quickly headed upstairs.

She paused at the partially closed door to Margaret’s darkened bedroom, noting that her friend was napping peacefully on the bed as she had been doing most afternoons lately. Otherwise, Emma had the upstairs all to herself.

Relieved, she wasted no time changing into faded denim cutoffs and a lemon yellow tank top. She slathered sun lotion on her face, arms and legs, grabbed her straw hat, purse and keys and hurried down to the kitchen again.

She couldn’t help but wonder where Sam had gone, especially without the car. She doubted he would be out running at that time of day. Maybe he had walked into downtown Serenity for the same reason she had that morning—for the fresh air and exercise.

Telling herself she didn’t care where he was or what he was doing as long as he wasn’t anywhere around the house, Emma left a note for Margaret detailing when she would return, then exited through the back door.

The containers holding her rosebushes should still be lined up along the side of the house. All she had to do was pull her car into the driveway behind Margaret’s, load them into the trunk and she could be on her way.

Only the containers weren’t where Sam had left them Sunday evening, Emma realized as she rounded the corner of the house. Halting in midstride, she stared at the grassy spot, a grimace tugging at the corners of her mouth. Surely they hadn’t been stolen. Theft wasn’t unknown in Serenity, but who would want her rosebushes besides old Mr. Bukowski? And he would never stoop to stealing them. Maybe Sam had moved them for some reason.

Uncertain what to do, Emma looked up and saw Sam leaning against his mother’s car, arms crossed over his chest, watching her. He was dressed in worn khaki shorts and a dark blue, sleeveless sweatshirt that had seen better days. As usual, his mirrored sunglasses hid his expression.

She hesitated, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Recalling her talk with Margaret that morning, she had a pretty good idea of why he was there.

“Ready to go?” he asked as if their meeting were not only prearranged but also mutually agreeable.

Emma didn’t appreciate the casual way in which he assumed his assistance would be welcome. But how could she turn down his offer—such as it was—without being rude? Obviously, her rosebushes were already loaded into the trunk of Margaret’s car. And he had a determined-to-do-my-duty look about him that warned her arguing would be a waste of breath. By sheer force of will, he would end up getting his way, and she would come across as a thankless wretch.

So go along graciously, she told herself. Let him help with the rosebushes without making a big deal of it. She had already given him too much power over her as it was. And no matter how much she would have preferred to keep him away from her house, allowing him to dig a few holes in her back garden certainly wouldn’t traumatize her for life.

Yet she couldn’t just…give in.

“As soon as I find my rosebushes,” she quipped with a slight smile, choosing to play dumb.

“They’re in the car.” Straightening, Sam gestured toward the Volvo’s trunk, then opened the passenger’s door for her. “I’ll drive you over and give you a hand with them.”

“That’s not really necessary,” she began in a last-ditch effort to dissuade him. “I know you have a lot to do around here—”

“I want to talk to you about my mother,” he cut in. “And I thought it would be…easier at your house.”

“Was she feeling bad today?” Emma asked, making no effort to hide her sudden concern as she walked toward him.

“Not really. But there’s a lot she isn’t telling me about her illness. I figured maybe you could fill in some of the blanks.”

“Of course,” Emma agreed, feeling foolish as she slid onto the car seat.

Talk about jumping to all the wrong conclusions. He wanted to ask about his mother’s condition somewhere where they could speak freely—nothing more, nothing less. She should have suggested it herself, but she had been so self-involved…

“You’ll have to give me directions to your house,” Sam said, sliding in beside her and starting the engine.

“It’s not far. Just about three blocks. Turn left at the corner, go down to Bay Leaf Lane, then turn right.”

They made the short drive in silence, arriving at her house within a few minutes.

“Where are you going to plant the rosebushes?” Sam asked as he pulled into her driveway.

“In the back garden by the gazebo. Let me open the gate, then I’ll help you carry the containers into the yard.”

“Why don’t you get your gardening tools while I do the heavy lifting,” he suggested instead.

“All right,” she agreed after a moment’s hesitation.

She could manage the containers as easily as he could, but they would finish the planting much sooner by dividing the tasks. And the less time they spent together, the better for her fragile peace of mind.

While Sam transferred the containers from Margaret’s car to Emma’s back garden, she gathered the necessary equipment from the little shed behind her garage. With the two shovels she had, they could each work on digging the holes, then Sam could help her set the bushes in the ground.

“Now what?” he asked as he set the last container on the grass edging the garden.

“Have you planted rosebushes before?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s fairly simply. The holes should be about twenty-four inches wide and eighteen inches deep—large enough to accommodate the container. We want to give the bushes plenty of room to grow and we don’t want to crowd the roots.”

“Okay. Where do I start?”

“How about here?” Emma indicated one of several sparsely planted sections alongside the steps of the gazebo.

Sam nodded agreeably.

“Let me know when you’re finished, and I’ll tell you where to dig next. I’ll be working on the other side of the steps.”

Sam nodded again, then dug into the dry soil with obvious ease.

They worked quietly for several minutes, Sam doing most of the digging since he was stronger and faster. Considering the heat, even in the shaded area where they were working, Emma was more grateful for his help than she had anticipated.

When all the holes had been dug, she showed him how to remove a bush from the container, loosen the soil at the bottom of the root ball, then plant the bush with the top of the root ball at the same level as it had been in the container.

Sam followed her instructions with care, handling the rosebush gently. Emma knelt beside him in the grass, watching as he set it in the hole, then scooped the loose soil around it.

The caressing way in which his long, lean fingers moved under the thorny stems caught and held her gaze.

Around them, birds twittered and insects buzzed. A slight breeze ruffled her curls and cooled her heated skin. Her thoughts drifted lazily, and suddenly, unaccountably, she found herself imagining Sam’s clever, capable hands deftly skimming over her, stroking her—

“How’s that?” he asked, interrupting her reverie with a questioning glance.

“Fine. Just…fine,” she replied as she stood quickly and took a step back, desperate to put some distance between them.

What in the world had come over her? He had been planting a rosebush, for heaven’s sake. But she’d had something entirely different on her mind—something that likely would have appalled him if he’d been able to read her thoughts.

“Why don’t you plant this one here,” she said, gesturing to one of the remaining containers, then to the spot where she wanted the bush to go.

Still looking somewhat bemused, Sam nodded.

As he set to work, Emma lugged another of the containers to the opposite side of the garden and began to work the root ball loose, mentally chastising herself all over again.

Really, she had to get a grip.

They finished the planting, exchanging no more than a few words. Emma kept waiting for Sam to ask about his mother, but he seemed interested only in the task at hand.

When all the bushes were in place, Emma set out the water sprinklers and turned them on while Sam gathered the gardening tools and took them back to the shed.

Emma wished she could simply send him home now, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that crass. He had spared her a lot of hard work—not without his own good reasons, of course. Still, he had to be as hot and tired as she was. The least she could do was offer him a cold drink and give him one last chance to ask about his mother. Even if it meant inviting him into her house as she would have to do so he, too, could wash the dirt from his hands.

“How about a beer?” she asked as he joined her by the garden’s edge.

He glanced at her, his surprise obvious, then nodded once.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Just let me get my keys and we can go inside.”

Leaving him by the back porch, Emma hurried out to Margaret’s car and retrieved her purse from the front seat. As she joined him again, she noticed that he’d tucked his sunglasses in the pocket of his T-shirt.

She met his gaze for a moment, then looked away uncomfortably as she fit her key into the lock and opened the door. Whether intentional or not, his scrutiny made her feel as if she were lacking in some way.

“There’s a bathroom in the downstairs hallway,” she said, gesturing toward the doorway on the far side of the kitchen. “In case you want to get cleaned up.”

“That would probably be a good idea.” Smiling slightly, he moved past her.

“I need to get a couple of things upstairs, then I’ll meet you back here, okay?”

“Okay.”

“The beer is in the refrigerator. Just help yourself.”

Feeling oddly breathless, Emma trailed across the kitchen after him. He seemed so at ease, as if he’d been there a hundred times before. And belonged…

She should have offered to bring him a beer, then let him wash off at the faucet outside, she thought ruefully, just a tad too late.

Oh, well, they didn’t have to linger long. They could drink a beer, talk a bit about Margaret, then he could go on home while she erased all trace of his presence as quickly as she could. Or at least tried, she amended as she took the stairs two at a time, the sound of water running in the bathroom below echoing in her ears.