“Then I guess he’s going to be disappointed in me, too,” Sam said, shaking the doctor’s hand. “I have no clue.”
“No clue about what?” Madeline Pruett materialized at Sam’s elbow. Luke was right behind her, clapping his hand on Sam’s shoulder in greeting, and speaking to Dr. Levitt.
“Wow, Madeline, you look gorgeous,” Leo said. “Hubba hubba, if I weren’t in this chair . . .”
“If you weren’t in that chair, you’d be down at the Rocky Creek Tavern, buying cheap wine for cheap broads and you know it,” Madeline teased him, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “What is it that Sam has no clue about?” she asked, looking around at the men.
“Who was the first quarterback to catch a pass in a Super Bowl,” Sam said with a chuckle.
“Oh,” Madeline said with a flick of her wrist. “As if the answer isn’t obvious to everyone here.” She snorted. “Give him a tough one, Leo.”
Sam looked from her to Leo.
“Come on, Sam!” Madeline said, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “It’s John Elway, 1989!”
“There’s nothing that turns me on more than a woman who knows her football,” Leo said gleefully, “but it was 1988.”
“Was it?” Madeline said, and frowned a little as she tapped her finger to her lip. “You’re right, Leo. 1988.”
Sam and Dr. Levitt exchanged a look of surprise at Madeline’s knowledge of useless football facts. Madeline tried for at least a minute to seem very nonchalant about it, but then Luke sighed, and she burst into laughter.
“Hey, I can’t help it!” she said to Sam’s confused look. “This week is John Elway week at the Kendrick house, and it’s mandatory participation. Now that you’ve had your fun, Leo, I’m going to go say hello to Dani,” she said, and excused herself, walking past the men and down the deck steps onto the lawn, where Dani Boxer was chatting it up with Sherry Stancliff, who ran the Tuff Tots daycare.
Leo whipped his chair around to watch Madeline. His hands curled like claws, but he could maneuver that chair like a champ. “Dad’s making his famous shoe-leather brisket tonight,” Leo announced. “Dad! Sam wants chips and dip!”
“No, I—”
“Just go with it,” Leo advised, wheeling past Sam to the ramp. “We were giving Dad the business about his culinary skills, and I think his feelings got hurt. Excuse me, gentlemen, but I see ladies,” he said, and sailed down the ramp at what seemed like a breakneck speed to Sam.
“My feelings did not get hurt,” Bob Kendrick said, appearing at the kitchen door with a big red bowl full of chips. “All I said was that I would shove that dip down his throat with my fist if he didn’t knock off the food talk.” He handed Sam the big red bowl. “The kid’s got a mouth on him.”
“As if that is news to anyone in Pine River,” Luke added cheerfully. “Hey, Dr. Levitt, could I talk to you a minute?” he asked the doctor. “I’ve got a couple of questions.” He and Dr. Levitt moved to one side, leaving Sam standing alone on the deck with a big red bowl of chips in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.
He looked down at the lawn and the people gathered there, wondering what to do with it.
“Is that your own personal chip stash, or are you sharing?”
The sound of Libby’s voice slipped through Sam like a soft whisper and swirled around in the pit of him. He glanced over his shoulder; she was standing just outside the kitchen door in skintight black pants and a pair of leopard-print high heels. She wore a loose white pullover that swung around her hips, and had piled her wild curls into a loose bun on top of her head. A charge ran through him—Libby looked sexy as hell.
“Want some?” he asked, extending the bowl.
She shook her head as she walked across the deck to him. As she neared him, Sam could see that she was wearing makeup. He’d always liked the natural look Libby generally sported, but tonight, the dark, smoky lining around her lids had the effect of making her pale-blue eyes seem to leap off her face. She settled her weight on one curvy hip, holding a glass of white wine in one hand.
Sam’s blood rippled through his veins. She looked spectacular, and that did not help Sam’s muddied thinking. He did not want to think of Libby as “spectacular” or “attractive.” He didn’t want to think of touching her or kissing her. He didn’t want to think of her at all. He’d spent the last two days working very hard not to think of her.
Her gaze fell to the tub of chips he was holding. “You sure?” he asked, shaking the bowl a little before putting them aside on a table. Libby casually sipped her wine as she eyed him over the rim of her glass.
“You look nice,” he said, and instantly regretted it, because her eyes sparked with pleasure.