Loving Again

chapter Six


Sam and Amanda had quickly fallen into a regular pattern of seeing each other. When he was with his sons for the weekend, Sam picked her up at her studio during the week for dinner and they had take-out Sunday evening at his apartment after the boys went back to their mom. The weekends when he was kid-less, they spent as much time together as his job allowed. They went to the symphony. They rode horseback. They took Chihuly to the dog park and played Frisbee with him.

Amanda loved being with him. He was constant in his attention and affection. He made her laugh. She found herself thinking of him often during the days she wasn’t with him. Her heart beat faster when she saw him. All the signs of falling for him.

But she wasn’t sure she was ready to get more involved. Not until she was standing securely on her own two feet. As a result of this reluctance, she changed the subject every time the conversation got within two states of any comment that could lead to a discussion of where the relationship was going.

It had been her bad judgment in getting involved with Tom Webster that had gotten her in trouble, trouble she couldn’t get out of without a lot of help. She was determined never to let that happen again. Not that Sam was another Tom Webster. She knew that wasn’t true. But she had to prove to herself that she could manage her life without help, even if that help came in the form of the sexy cowboy-turned-cop she was half in love with. So, she tried to keep their conversation light. Distracted him when it looked like it was getting too deep. Whistled for her dog who adored Sam to come play with them. Whatever worked to change the subject.

It worked. Until the beef bourguignon evening.

Amanda had spent the afternoon making the dish using Julia Childs’s recipe. It had been a long time since she cooked anything that complicated and she’d forgotten how much work it was. But when all the ingredients had blended together, it was sublime, rich and beefy with just the right amount of garlic and herbs. Well worth the effort.

“What smells so great?” Sam asked when he arrived with a bottle of wine and a kiss for her and an ear scratch for Chihuly.

“Boeuf a la bourguignon.”

He circled her waist with an arm. “I saw that movie. So, Julia’s helping you cook this evening, is she?”

Looking up at him with a smile, she said, “Not a movie I’d have thought you’d pick.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Ah-ha. A woman chose it for you.”

“Yeah, my sister dragged me to it when she couldn’t get her husband to go.”

“I didn’t know you had an older sister.”

“How do you know she’s an older sister?”

“I have a younger brother. I understand how us older sibs work.” She held up the bottle. “Shall I pour this for both of us or would you prefer something else?”

“Wine’s good. But let me.”

He went in the direction of a corkscrew and glasses; she disappeared into the kitchen where she added crackers and grapes to a plate of softened Brie.

The wine was poured and her CD of the Grieg piano concerto was playing when she returned. Sam was ensconced in his favorite place on the leather couch. Joining him, she spread cheese on several crackers and handed one to him, then settled back, nestling next to him.

“Dinner’s ready any time we are but it’ll hold for a while,” she said.

“Let’s wait a few minutes. I haven’t seen you all week.” He touched his glass to hers. “I’ve missed you. Maybe we should … ”

She handed him another cracker and interrupted. “Did you see Pink Martini’s playing with the symphony in a couple weeks? I tried to get tickets but they’re sold out.”

He let the interruption go although his expression was more frustrated than usual when she changed the subject to something less intimate. “I have tickets for the Saturday night performance. I was going to ask if you’d like to go.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I bought them when I renewed my symphony season tickets.”

“Season tickets? I thought you just had those two we used a couple weeks ago.”

“Nope. Whole season — well, part of the whole season. But you don’t need to know the intricacies of the Oregon Symphony’s ticket options. All that matters is … ”

“I get to hear Pink Martini! I love you!”

“So, that’s what it takes. I wondered.”

Thanks to her outburst, the conversation was back to where she wasn’t comfortable. To top it off, she couldn’t tell how serious he was.

But he let her off the hook. “I can’t sit here any longer smelling that wonderful smell. How about I help you get dinner on the table.” Picking up their glasses and the bottle of wine, he headed for the dining room.

She’d dodged the bullet. For the moment.

When the Brie and wine, beef bourguignon, salad and chocolate mousse were finished, they stayed at the table drinking coffee, exchanging horse stories. Hers were about competing in dressage and jumping at her private high school in Ohio, his about his Appaloosa, Chief, and his rodeo experiences in Eastern Oregon when he was young. She bragged about her ribbons and medals on her horse Tiger Lil. He allowed that he’d won a belt buckle or two.

Then the conversation veered again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask — are you still getting false alarms from your security system?” he asked.

This was one of the subjects she’d tried to keep Sam away from. Even in her most paranoid moments, when she was afraid that the repeated alarms from the security sensor on her basement door meant the intruders from the year before had returned, she hadn’t given in to the temptation to tell him about it. She was not going to be one of those women who ran to a man the first time she heard a strange noise.

But she wasn’t going to lie to him either.

“I’ve had a couple more. I’m beginning to wonder if the sensor is faulty and maybe I should have it removed.”

He was quiet for a moment, seeming to think about what she was saying. “There’s nothing in your basement worth stealing, is there? If these aren’t false alarms, if someone is trying to break in, they’re trying to get in the house, aren’t they?”

“I guess so. I never thought about it. What could anyone want in the basement? I don’t keep anything valuable there. It’s all dust and old clothes and boxes of stuff I can’t quite part with.”

There was another pause before he spoke again. “No one else has ever put anything there that you know of?”

“Who would … do you mean Tommy?”

“The men who broke in last year, they said Webster had something that belonged to them. They must have thought something was here.”

“I told you then — Tommy never left anything in my house except the occasional disposable razor.”

He flinched and she realized she probably shouldn’t remind him that Tom Webster had slept with her in this house, too.

“You told me he had a key to your house. He could have gotten in when you were in your studio, couldn’t he?”

“Yes, but … ”

“Would you mind if I took a look around down there?”

“Didn’t your colleagues do that last year?”

“It can’t hurt for me to do it again. If I don’t find anything suspicious, maybe it might be a good idea to have the sensor taken off the back door and put on the door from the basement to the kitchen.”

She reluctantly agreed. “Okay. But I don’t want to muck around down there. I hate being in the basement. It creeped me out before all this happened and last year only made it worse. I’ll sit on the steps while you look around.”

While she sat and sipped coffee, he looked through the small rooms that were the remnants of half-completed remodeling projects left by former owners. He poked at the ceiling in a few places and had just started knocking on a few walls when she said, “This is silly. There’s nothing here. And Chihuly’s scratching at the door behind me. He wants to be let out and I don’t want to waste any more time here. I’m going to attend to my dog and start doing the dishes.”

Sam looked like he wasn’t convinced but he went back upstairs with her. As they cleared the table he brought up the other subject she’d been trying not to discuss.

“The other thing you haven’t talked about is Eubie Kane. What’s happening on that front?”

“Nothing.” She avoided his eyes, picked up their wine glasses and headed for the kitchen.

He persisted. “Nothing? No response from him or his attorney?”

“That’s right. Nothing.” She had her back to him so didn’t know how close he was until she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing? Or nothing you want to talk about?” He turned her around and lifted her chin with his finger so she had to look at him.

“I’m taking care of this, Sam. I don’t need to be saved.”

“I’m not trying to save you. I care about you, about what’s bothering you. And I have some experience in this area, you know. I might be able to … ”

“Help. Yeah, of all people in the world, I know that, Sam. You bailed me out once. Big time. I can’t let you keep doing that. I have to stand on my own.”

“Amanda … ”

“No more. We had this discussion before and nothing’s changed since then. I need to take care of myself. Without being rescued like some stupid damsel in distress in a tower someplace.”

He folded her in his arms and held her. “No one would ever mistake you for Rapunzel, baby. Just don’t lock me out. Talk to me. At least let me be a sympathetic ear. Promise?”

“If you’ll promise not to try to solve my problems.”

“If that’s what you want, sure.” Then he kissed her softly and sweetly, a gentle, almost imperceptible touch of his lips on hers. When he outlined her lips with his forefinger, a yearning washed over her. In spite of her brave words, she loved his strength, felt safe with him. She had to fight the urge to dump it all in his lap so she could run away, lose herself in her work, maybe.

Instead, she tried to lose herself in his attention to her mouth as his warm breath feathered across her lips. Her breath stopped, the world stopped, while she waited for him to kiss her, really kiss her, as she knew he could. Finally, blessedly, he did. He tasted of chocolate and coffee and kissed like an angel. It was heaven to kiss him.

He drew her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair. Angling his head, he took her mouth with his. This time it was no angel who kissed her but a man who showed her how much he wanted her with his mouth, with his tongue, with his body as he turned her insides to liquid fire.

His lips never moved from hers even when he adjusted his head to have better contact so he could steal the breath from her lungs with a gentle suction. Desire flamed over her as his tongue explored her mouth. At the same time his hands moved from the small of her back up her sides straying to her breasts, his thumbs grazing the hardening tips of her nipples.

She drew her head back, trying to catch her breath but that only gave him access to her throat. He kissed down the side of her face to the rapidly beating pulse in her neck and sucked gently at it. She could feel heat swirl around her belly and moisture pool between her legs.

“Let’s take this to bed,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer, just moved to the stairs.

• • •

For a couple days, Sam chewed on the conversations they’d had about the basement and Eubie Kane. He didn’t know what to do about the push-back he was getting from her when he asked about either subject, didn’t know how to make her see that he wasn’t trying to run her life, just be part of it. Hell, more than that. He was falling in love with her. He wanted her safe, happy. Wanted to help her make that happen.

But he’d been relegated to spectator, at least in the parts where she had any problems. He didn’t like being useless. So to shake off that feeling, he did a couple things. He ran a background check on Eubie Kane, just to see what he could find out, which was nothing, not even a traffic ticket.

Then he asked around about the attorney Kane had hired. He was legit and high-priced, which led Sam to wonder where Kane was getting his money.

He also called the alarm company and found out exactly how many times there had been a false alarm at Amanda’s. It was considerably more than he was comfortable with. He asked them to call him directly if it happened again after they notified her but without telling her. And he got a patrol car to swing by in the evenings just for good measure.

She’d be pissed as hell if she knew what he’d done. He’d have to take that chance. Because he couldn’t just stand by and watch, even if she wanted him to.

• • •

“How come you’re not with the sexy cowboy this weekend?” Cynthia asked as she hugged her old college roommate.

“He’s got his two sons with him,” Amanda said. “How come you’re not with Josh?”

“He’s at some political thing in Olympia.” She extracted herself from the hug. “So we have a chance to talk about them both! Have you met his sons yet?”

“No, I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“How come? You’re clearly in love … ”

“Can we do this later? I’d rather see the new work you’re bringing for Liz’s gallery.”

So, they talked glass and art for a while, then delivered Cynthia’s jewelry to The Fairchild Gallery. Finally, back at Amanda’s house, they cracked open a bottle of wine and began cooking dinner.

“Is this later?” Cynthia asked.

“Meaning … ?”

“You said we could talk about you and Sam later. Is this later?”

“I don’t know, Cyn. It’s complicated.”

“As best I can figure out, that pretty much describes every male/female relationship on the planet. Why did you think yours would be different? Is he … ?”

“It’s not him. It’s me. I’m just not sure I can pull off a successful relationship.”

“For heaven’s sake, why? I mean, your last one was a disaster, but you had good relationships before.”

“Really? Jim Warden?”

“Okay, not him.”

“Bill McClain?”

“Or him.” Before Amanda could add to the list, she said, “I get your point. But those were college guys. You’re way past college now.”

“And last year I got involved with a guy I was doing business with who turned out to be a cheating, crooked scum-bag. That’s even worse than I did in college.”

“Surely you don’t put Sam in the same category?”

“Dear God, no. He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met. He’s sweet and kind; he’s smart and funny; he’s … ”

“Sexy as hell and great in bed.”

“Sexy as … wait, how do you know what he’s like in bed?”

“Because your face just told me. So, you’re in love with him. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just … I don’t know. I’m just not ready for it.”

“Not ready or scared?”

“Both, maybe. Not ready to admit what I’m feeling because I don’t want to make another mistake. Scared I’m feeling this way to avoid taking care of myself.”

“You’ve taken care of yourself since you were in college.”

“Yeah, me and a huge trust fund I did nothing to deserve.”

“Okay, you’ve had stable finances. But moving half-way across the country from your family, following your dream, establishing yourself as an artist … isn’t that taking care of yourself?”

“I seem to be able to manage it in my professional life. I just suck at it personally. But,” she pulled a pan of cornbread out of the oven, “I’m going slowly with Sam. Until I figure it out.”

Cynthia ladled chili into bowls. “You’ve figured it out. You just haven’t been brave enough to admit to yourself — and to Sam — that you’re in love with him. That’s all.”

• • •

In the following weeks, Amanda’s life seemed as golden as the remaining autumn leaves on the trees in her backyard. She heard nothing from Eubie Kane, who appeared to have crawled back into the weeds. The lawyers continued to negotiate, burning money she was happy to spend from the trust fund she knew could keep her in attorneys for decades. She wasn’t sure that Eubie was in the same position.

Her professional life was blooming. The details of her solo show in Tacoma had been nailed down. A gallery owner from San Francisco contacted her about placing her work with him there. With her work in Liz’s gallery as well as the Erickson Gallery in Seattle, she was in the happy position of worrying whether she could produce enough to meet the demand.

And her personal life? It was off the charts. Dinners, movies, and nights with Sam made the weeks rush by in glorious bliss. Cynthia was right. Soon she’d have to admit she was in love — first to herself and then to Sam.

• • •

After dinner one Saturday night, Sam said, “Are you ready to talk about something personal about us?”

“How personal?” She was sure she sounded wary.

“Meeting my sons. They’re getting pretty curious about you.”

She was sure she looked startled. “How do they even know about me?”

“They always ask what I’m up to on the weekends I don’t see them. They’ve noticed that I’m going out more and Sammy, the older one, asked what the name of the woman was who was going with me. He prides himself on being a good detective.”

“Like his dad.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure. How’ve you handled this before when you’ve dated someone?”

“They’ve never met anyone I’ve gone out with. After the divorce, their mother and I agreed we’d be careful about introducing them to people who would float into their lives and then walk out when the relationship ended. We didn’t want to add any more stress than they were already under from the split.”

“You get along better with your ex than some people do with their spouses.”

“I don’t know about that but we do have the same ideas on how to parent our sons. We agreed, no overnight guests when the boys are around and, like I said, no introductions to anyone unless it’s more than a casual relationship. And this isn’t a casual relationship any more. At least, not for me. But you have to decide if you’re up for it. I haven’t said anything to them but if you’re okay with it, I thought maybe next Saturday you could have lunch or something with us.”

She took a deep breath and made the leap. “Okay, I guess it’s time. How about meeting at the dog park? If they hate me on sight, at least Chihuly will interest them enough to get us through an hour. But if everyone gets along, you could all come here for lunch.”

“They won’t hate you on sight but the dog park’s a great idea. Jack wants a dog so bad he can taste it but their stepdad has serious allergies and I won’t have one shut up all the time because of my hours. He’ll love Chihuly.”

The following Saturday Amanda sat on a bench in Normandale Park, her dog at her side. She wasn’t sure who was antsier: her about meeting the boys or Chihuly because he was being made to stay while all the animals around him were chasing balls and Frisbees. But Amanda wanted him with her until Sam and his sons arrived.

She didn’t get her way. At about the time Sam said they’d be there, Chihuly’s ears perked up and, slipping out of Amanda’s control, he took off running. When he ignored her calls to stop, she gave a long, sharp, shrill whistle and he came to an abrupt halt at the feet of two boys and a man who looked at Amanda in amazement.

“Christ, who knew you could do that?” Sam said as he circled her shoulders with an arm and kissed her.

“Sorry. Chihuly must have heard your voice. I didn’t. That’s the emergency signal that always makes him stop.”

“Him and everyone else in the park.” Sam gestured to the two boys. “Amanda, this is Sammy and this is Jack. Boys, this is Amanda St. Claire. And you’ve already met Chihuly.” Sammy put his hand out to shake hers and looked at her with his father’s brown eyes and serious expression. Jack had knelt to get to Chihuly’s level and barely acknowledged the introduction until Sam asked him to stand up and be polite.

After his “hello,” Jack said, “He has a funny name. What kind of dog is he? He’s wooly, kinda like a sheep.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Amanda said. “He’s a curly coated retriever. And he’s named for a glass artist who has curly black hair.”

“Does he do tricks?”

“He sits and stays although not today, I guess. And he fetches and rolls over. Mostly he likes to play Frisbee.”

“Can we play Frisbee with him, Dad?” Jack asked.

Sam glanced at Amanda who nodded. “The Frisbee’s back at the bench. I’ll get it.”

Sammy decided he didn’t want to play, so Sam and Jack went off to entertain Chihuly — or vice versa — while Sammy sat on the bench beside Amanda. He stared straight ahead, legs swinging, saying nothing.

After a few moments, Amanda said, “You look even more like your dad in person than in the photos he’s shown me. Do many people tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“Does Jack look more like your mom?”

“I guess.”

“And do I remember right that you’re ten and Jack is seven?”

“Yes.”

“Does this feel as awkward to you as it does to me?”

No response although she was sure she knew the answer.

“Okay, how about you ask the questions. Surely there’s something you want to know about me.” Amanda faced him, trying to read his expression.

“Are you going to marry my dad?” he asked without turning toward her.

“You don’t mess around with the little stuff, do you? You are like your dad.” She shook her head. “The answer is, we haven’t talked about it. There are things that have to get settled first.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the first one is, do his sons and I get along.”

Sammy finally looked at her. “Jack will like you just because you have a dog.”

“So you’re the one I have to impress. Good to know.” She smiled at him and got a half-smile back. Progress, she thought.

“Will you spend the weekends with us from now on when we’re with Dad?” He’d turned away from her again.

“No, you guys don’t have a lot of time together so I don’t want to intrude. Although I wondered if you’d like to visit my studio sometime to see the two glassblowers I share space with work. I haven’t said anything to your dad yet because I wanted to see if you were interested first.”

“Dad said you’re an artist.”

“Yup. I work with glass but I don’t blow it. The kind of work I do, you might be interested in doing yourself.” As she went on to describe how she did her work, Sammy finally gave her his full attention.

• • •

It was killing Sam. He was trying to keep his mind on the Frisbee game but he really wanted to know what was going on with Amanda and Sammy. So far, Amanda was doing all the talking and his older son’s face was set in a familiar stubborn expression.

Sammy was a hard sell. Jack had been so young when the divorce happened he barely noticed that his parents didn’t live together any more. Sammy, on the other hand, had been old enough to be hurt and unhappy. He’d made it clear he wanted his parents back together. The first blow to his plans had been his mother’s remarriage. Amanda, Sam knew, would be the last nail in the coffin, consigning his hopes for reconciliation to the flames.

Sam wanted this meeting to work out because he had his own plans. They included things he’d never believed in until recently, like sappy, “happily ever after” movie shit. And then there was this image that flashed through his mind of a little girl with his brown eyes and her caramel-colored curls, sitting in front of him on an Appaloosa, her fingers laced through his as they guided the horse around the corral at the family ranch.

All his plans depended on the woman on the bench. But before he could work on her about the plans, he had to know she and the boys were comfortable with each other.

Suddenly Sammy smiled at Amanda and started talking, his hands moving in explanation of something. Maybe he shouldn’t have worried. She seemed to have charmed Sammy almost as fast as she’d charmed Sammy’s father.

Sam signaled to Jack to wind down the game, and headed toward the bench, his younger son running before him.

Jack raced right to Amanda. “Dad said we could go to your house and have lunch and play with Chihuly some more. Is it really all right?”

She nodded.

“But Sammy has to want to go, too. Say yes, Sammy. Please?” Jack begged.

Amanda stood up. “How about I go clean up after my dog, who seems to have left a little present over there while you three decide?”

“No,” Sammy said. “You don’t have to leave. Going to your house for lunch is okay. And maybe we can go see your studio. Dad, Amanda says if you and Mom are cool with it, she’ll teach us how to cut glass and make things like she does. Can we?”

Sam smiled at his son. “I’ll talk to your mom and see what she says but, yeah, I think that sounds like a great idea. Today, though, we’ll just watch Leo and Giles.”

“I’ll meet you there, Sam, as soon as I clean up after Chihuly,” Amanda said. He nodded and kissed the top of her head.

“The guys blow glass, you know,” Sammy said as they walked to where Sam’s truck was parked. “Amanda does a different kind of glass art. She cuts up sheets of glass into designs and fuses them in a kiln.” He continued, repeating almost word for word what Sam knew Amanda had told his son. Knew because she’d once explained it exactly like that to him.

• • •

That night, as he usually did after herding his sons to bed, Sam called Amanda, eager to find out how she felt about the day.

He broached the subject first. “You were a big hit. Not only is Jack in love with you because you have a dog, but you managed to charm Sammy, which is considerably harder. He says if I want to invite you for one of our Friday pizza nights or a Saturday green-eggs-and-ham dinner, it would be okay.”

“You don’t really make green eggs and ham, do you?”

“Close. When we eat in, we make odd combinations of food often dyed with a lot of food coloring to make up for the fact than none of the three of us can cook anything other than breakfast.”

“I’m honored and scared, all at the same time.”

“You’re not only beautiful but wise.” He was silent for a moment. “It went okay today, didn’t it?”

“I think so. I hope so. I really liked your boys. Jack is adorable, so open and loving. And Sammy is so much like you it almost made me cry. You and your ex have done a great job raising them.”

“Think you’d be okay with this more often, maybe even regularly?”

She hesitated a moment then said in a soft voice, “Yeah, I think I would.”

In that admission, he heard the first sign that she might be ready to talk about some of his plans for their future.

• • •

The plan was moving but not fast enough. The money hadn’t panned out yet. Turned out, getting into the bitch’s house wasn’t easy, between the security system, the dog, and the f*cking cop who was almost living there. By convincing that idiot Kane he’d be better off letting the lawyers work it out, he’d slowed down one half of the operation while he kept trying to get around the complications.

Lucky he had this bolthole. No one knew he kipped here except the owner, a guy he met last year who was still away. The place was a pile of shit, hardly any furniture, bad plumbing, no electricity. But using this place got him out from under the supervision of the people who were keeping track of him. He needed to get away sometimes, so he didn’t get squirrely.

The whole thing was making him crazy. All he heard was how important patience and persistence were. F*ck that. He was running out of both. One last try to get in the house and he’d force the issue with phase two. He’d make her pay for the murder she’d gotten away with. And when they locked her up, he’d be able to find what he was looking for and leave town. This waiting was getting on his nerves.