But despite Sam’s self-admitted flaws, he was an honest, caring man. God knew she’d had too few of those in her life. The problem was that forever did not apply to a relationship with a man like Sam. He’d been nothing but clear about that.
Instead of focusing on what she couldn’t have with him … maybe she should try to discover what was possible. She’d never had a relationship based on friendship and pleasure without the entanglement of emotions. Could she do that? What would she gain from it?
A chance to feel alive, and let go. A chance to have some pure, unadulterated fun before she went on with the next part of her life.
Making the decision, Lucy looked at him resolutely. He had asked what he could do for her, and she had the answer.
“Have sex with me,” she said.
Eighteen
Sam stared at her for so long, and with such a flabbergasted expression, that Lucy began to feel somewhat indignant.
“You look like you just swallowed one of Renfield’s heartworm pills,” she said.
Tearing his gaze away, Sam raked a hand through his hair, leaving some of the dark brown locks standing on end. He began to pace around the room, each step infused with agitation. “Today’s not a good day to joke about that stuff.”
“Dog medication?”
“Sex.” He said the word as if it was a profanity.
“I wasn’t joking.”
“We can’t have sex.”
“Why not?”
“You know the reasons.”
“Those reasons don’t apply now,” Lucy said earnestly. “Because I’ve thought about it, and … please stop moving around. Will you sit next to me?”
Warily Sam approached and sat on the coffee table, facing her. Bracing his forearms on his spread knees, he gave her a level stare.
“I know your rules,” Lucy said. “No commitment. No jealousy. No future. The only things we exchange are body fluids, not feelings.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Those are the rules. And I’m not doing any of that with you.”
Lucy frowned. “You told me not long ago that if I wanted to have revenge sex, you would do it with me.”
“I had no intention of going through with it. You’re not the kind of woman who can do friends-with-benefits.”
“I am, too.”
“You’re so not, Lucy.” Sam stood and began to pace again. “At the beginning you’ll say you’re fine with casual sex. But that won’t last for long.”
“What if I promise not to get serious?”
“You will anyway.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because my kind of relationship only works when both people are equally shallow. I’m great at shallow. But you would throw the whole thing off balance.”
“Sam. I’ve had bad luck with relationships. Believe me, there is no man on earth I couldn’t live without, including you. But this morning when we were upstairs together … it was the best feeling I’ve had in a long time. And if I’m willing to try things your way, I don’t see why you should have a problem with it.”
Sam had stopped in the middle of the room. He stared at her with baffled annoyance, having clearly run out of arguments.
“No,” he eventually said.
Her brows lifted. “Is that a definitive no, or an I’m-thinking-about-it no?”
“It’s a no-way-in-hell no.”
“But you’ll still have dinner with my parents and me tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
Lucy shook her head, dumbfounded. “You’ll have dinner with me and my parents, but you won’t have sex with me?”
“I have to eat,” he said.
* * *
“There’s a simple rule for managing stairs on crutches,” Sam said later in the day, staying close behind Lucy as she approached the front steps of the house. “Up with the good, down with the bad. When you’re going up, always lead with the healthy leg. When you’re going down, lead with the bad leg and the crutches.”
They had just returned from the doctor’s office, where Lucy had been fitted with an Aircast brace. Having never needed to use crutches before, Lucy was discovering they were much more difficult than she had assumed.
“Try not to put any weight on your right leg,” Sam said, watching Lucy’s wobbly progress along the path. “Just swing it through and take a hop with your left.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Lucy asked, puffing with effort.
“I fractured an ankle when I was sixteen. Sports injury.”
“Football?”
“Bird-watching.”
Lucy chuckled. “Bird-watching is not a sport.”
“I was twenty feet up a Douglas fir, trying to get a view of a marbled murrelet. An endangered species that nests in old-growth forests. Naturally I was climbing without rigging. I caught sight of the murrelet chick and got so excited I slipped and fell, hitting just about every branch on the way down.”
“Poor thing,” Lucy said. “But I bet you thought it was worth it.”
“Of course it was.” He watched as she hopped forward on the crutches. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way. You can practice later.”
“No, I can do the stairs. It’s a relief to be moving around again. This means I can go to my studio tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow or the next day,” Sam said. “Don’t push too hard, or you’ll reinjure that leg.”
Lucy’s smile turned quizzical. His mood was difficult to interpret. Ever since her proposition, he’d been back to treating her with the impersonal friendliness of the first two days at Rainshadow Road. But it wasn’t precisely the same. At certain moments she had caught him glancing at her in a way that was both preoccupied and intimate, and she knew somehow that he was thinking about what had happened—or almost happened—between them that morning. And he was thinking about her claim that she would be fine with a no-strings affair. She knew that even though he hadn’t believed her, he wanted to.
By the time Lucy had made it into the house, she was sweaty and tired, but triumphant. She accompanied Sam to the kitchen, where Holly was having an after-school snack and Mark sat on the floor with Renfield.
“You’re upright,” Mark said, glancing at Lucy with a brief smile. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” she said with a laugh. “It’s good to be moving around again.”
“Lucy!” Holly hurried over to admire the crutches. “Those are cool! Can I try them?”
“They’re not for playing, sweetheart,” Sam said, bending to kiss his niece. He helped Lucy onto a stool at the wooden worktable, and leaned the crutches next to her. He glanced at Mark, who had pinned Renfield to the floor and was attempting to open his mouth while wearing a pair of heavy-duty gardening gloves. “What are you doing with the dog?”
“I’m trying to give him his third antiseizure pill.”
“He’s only supposed to have one.”
“What I meant was, we’re on the third attempt.” Mark scowled at the stubborn bulldog. “He chewed up the first one and sneezed the powder into my face. The second time I pried his mouth open with a dessert spoon and shoved the pill in. He managed to spit out the pill and eat the spoon.”
“He didn’t really eat the spoon, though,” Holly said. “He coughed it up before it went down.”
Shaking his head, Sam went to the refrigerator, took out a piece of cheese, and handed it to Mark. “Hide the pill in this.”
“He’s lactose intolerant,” Mark said. “It gives him gas.”
“Trust me,” Sam replied, “no one will notice.”
Looking skeptical, Mark shoved the capsule into the cube of cheese, and offered it to Renfield.
The bulldog gobbled down the cheese and plodded out of the kitchen.
“Guess what?” Holly asked Lucy, crouching on the floor to inspect her Aircast brace. “Dad and Maggie are getting married in two months. And I’m going on the honeymoon with them!”
“You finally set the date?” Sam asked Mark.
“We’re doing it in mid-August.” Mark went to the sink to wash his hands. “Maggie wants to get married on a ferry.”
“You’re kidding,” Sam said.
“Nope.” Mark blotted his hands. Turning around, he told Lucy, “A significant portion of our courtship occurred on the Washington State ferry system. It forced Maggie to sit with me until she finally realized how magnetically attractive I was.”
“Must have been a long ride,” Sam said, and ducked a fake jab Mark threw at him. Laughing, he added, “I can’t believe they’ll let you have a wedding ceremony on one of those tubs.”
“Believe it or not, we wouldn’t be the first. But the ceremony won’t be on an active ferry—there’s a retired antique one on Lake Union, with a great view of the city and the Space Needle.”
“That’s romantic,” Lucy said.
“I’m going to be the maid of honor,” Holly said, “and Uncle Sam’s going to be the best man.”
“I am?” Sam asked.
“Who else has such ample story material for the reception speech?” Mark asked. He grinned at his brother. “Will you be my best man, Sam? After all we’ve been through, there’s not even a close second. I actually almost like you.”
“I’ll do it,” Sam said. “But only if you promise to take the dog when you move out.”
“Deal.” They exchanged a brief, back-slapping hug.
As evening approached, Mark and Holly left to pick up Maggie from work and take her out to dinner. “Have fun,” Mark said as he and Holly walked out hand in hand. “Don’t wait up for us, we’re going to be out late.”
“Par-tay!” Holly exclaimed before the door closed.
Lucy and Sam were left alone. Sam kept staring in the direction his brother had gone in, absorbed in some private reflection. Then he glanced at Lucy, and something changed in his face. The silence turned electric.
Sitting on a stool at the kitchen worktable, Lucy asked casually, “What are we having for dinner?”
“Steak, potatoes, and salad.”
“That sounds great. Let me help. Can I chop vegetables for the salad?”
Sam brought a cutting board, a chef’s knife, and raw vegetables and greens. As Lucy chopped cucumber and yellow bell peppers, Sam opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
“No jam jar?” Lucy asked with a faux-wistful expression as Sam gave her a crystal stem filled with dark, glittering Cabernet.
“Not for this wine.” He clinked his glass with hers and made a toast. “To Mark and Maggie.”
“Do you think Alex will mind that you’re going to be the best man?” Lucy asked.
“Not at all. They don’t typically have much to do with each other.”
“Is that because of the age difference?”
“Maybe in part. But it’s really more of a personality issue. Mark’s the typical older brother. When he gets worried about someone, he gets bossy and overbearing, which sends Alex up the wall.”
“What do you say to them when they argue?”
“When I’m not running for cover, you mean?” Sam asked dryly. “I tell Mark that he’s not going to change Alex or stop him from drinking. That’s up to Alex. And I’ve told Alex that at some point, I’m going to drag his ass to rehab. Not the kind of rehab with celebrities and spa treatments. The kind with an electrified fence, where they give you a scary roommate and make you clean your own toilet.”
“Do you think it would ever get to that point? Where you could convince him to … get help somewhere?”
Sam shook his head. “I think Alex will stay functional enough to avoid ever having to deal with it.” He studied the depths of his wineglass, swirled the deep garnet liquid. “He won’t admit it, but he’s angry at the whole damn world because our family was such a screw job.”
“But you don’t seem to feel that way,” Lucy said quietly. “Angry at the world, I mean.”
Sam shrugged, his gaze turning inward. “I had it a little easier than he did. There was this old couple who lived a couple of houses away from us. They were my escape. They had no kids of their own, and I used to go hang out at their house.” He smiled reminiscently. “Fred would let me take apart an old alarm clock and put it back together again, or show me how to replace the kitchen sink drain pipes. Mary was a teacher. She gave me books to read, helped me with homework sometimes.”
“Are either of them still alive?”
“No, both gone. Mary left me some money to use as part of the down payment for this place. She loved the idea of the vineyard. She used to make blackberry wine in a gallon jug. Godawful sweet stuff.” Sam fell silent, his expression hazed with memories.
Lucy realized that he was trying to make connections for her, explain himself in a way that wasn’t easy. He wasn’t the kind of man who made excuses or apologized for who he was. But on some level he wanted her to understand the person who had been formed by the bitter implosion of his parents’ relationship.
“On my twelfth birthday,” Sam said after a while, “I came home after school and Vick had taken Alex somewhere, and Mark had disappeared. My mother was passed out on the sofa. Dad was drinking something straight from the bottle. Around dinnertime I started to get hungry, but there was nothing to eat. I went to look for Dad, and finally found him sitting in his car in the driveway, shouting some crap about suicide. So I went to Fred and Mary’s house, and stayed for about three days.”
“They must have meant a lot to you.”
“They saved my life.”
“Did you ever tell them that?”
“No. They knew.” Recalling himself to the present, Sam leveled a wary glance at Lucy. She knew that he’d told her more than he had meant to, and he wasn’t certain why, and he regretted it. “Back in a minute,” he said, and went to set the steaks on an outside grill at the back of the house.
* * *
As the steaks cooked on the grill, and a pan of red potatoes roasted in the oven, Lucy told Sam about her parents, and the recent discovery that her father had been married once before he’d married her mother.
“Are you going to ask him about it?”
“I’m curious,” Lucy admitted, “but I’m not sure I want to hear the answers. I know that he loves Mom. But I don’t want him to tell me that he loved someone else more than her.” She traced her fingers over the scarred surface of the worktable. “Dad’s always been distant from the rest of us. Reserved. I think his first wife kept a piece of his heart that he couldn’t give to anyone else after she died. I think he was permanently damaged, but Mom wanted him anyway.”