Finding His Lone Star Love (Harlequin Special Edition) Read online

  He drove his new buddy up to the house and got out, letting the dog loose. Glad no one appeared to be home, Sam unloaded the boards and supplies he’d bought and set to work. Tessa had said Lucy would be in the office all afternoon, catching up, and Shiloh had gone to help out with a friend’s children, so he planned on finishing before they returned.

  He didn’t want any resistance. The project was necessary and long past due. It was that simple. He knew he was stepping outside of his bounds since he’d only just met his daughter and her aunt, but he’d seen the two of them from the road the day before on his way into town, and he knew the finished product would be accepted on Shiloh’s behalf.

  Whether it should have or not, his heart had broken as he’d stood there watching Lucy lift his daughter out of her wheelchair to carry her inside, the girl’s slim arms wrapped around the woman’s neck. Lucy’s body language had spoken her unbridled love and serenity in the action, and Sam had melted.

  It should have been him carrying his daughter.

  Regardless, even if she was annoyed at first, he was certain Lucy would appreciate the repairs.

  Lucy.

  The woman couldn’t be over thirty and yet she had the inner soft nature of someone far older, as though she had experienced every brand of pain and hardship the world had to offer and resigned herself to it. What he couldn’t tell, and what tugged at him as he began measuring the wood, making marks with his carpenter pencil where to cut, was whether Lucy had experienced enough joy.

  It shouldn’t matter to me.

  He sawed through the wood with the handsaw he preferred to an electric version. Thinking about her like that was selfish and thickheaded. The only thing that should matter was whether or not she could be convinced to let him spend time with his daughter.

  He’d thought it would be easier somehow—that perhaps if Shiloh was being cared for by someone with a family of her own, that the help of a real parent might be, if not wholly welcome, then possibly some relief, financial or otherwise. He hadn’t considered that she’d be living with an incredibly dedicated and, admittedly, alluring young woman whose presence had an intense, unwelcome effect on him.

  Sam put the saw down to measure another piece of wood, working as fast as he could while maintaining precision. Soon enough he’d be done cutting the lumber, and he could begin to pound nails into boards. Maybe the sweat and hard work in the Texas spring sun would remind him of the potential storm ahead, brought on by his sudden appearance in his daughter’s life, and he’d forget the way his heart raced at the mere sight of Lucy Monroe.

  Chapter Four

  “What in the—”

  Lucy pulled to a stop and grabbed her purse before stepping out of the car, squinting against the sun as a man she recognized as Sam set down a hammer and stood up, taking a few steps forward to greet her. His white T-shirt was damp with sweat and clung tightly to his skin as he stretched out his solid arms, temporarily distracting her from her surprise at his presence. Thor bounded up and licked at her hands with abandon until she gave in and knelt to pet him.

  “I should have asked first, I know, but I got a little carried away,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair in such a nervous way that Lucy had the bizarre urge to comfort him, even though he was the one who’d startled the tar out of her. He moved aside and pointed a thumb behind him and for the first time since pulling into the drive, she understood exactly what he’d done to her house.

  Lucy scanned the new, fresh wood, the carpentry skill evident even from several feet away. She walked straight past Sam toward the front porch, unable to take her eyes off the sight before her. As she dropped her purse and bent to run her hands over the smooth, expertly polished wood, tears, sudden and wild, sprang to her eyes and she was powerless to stop them.

  Oh my goodness.

  “You built this?” she asked, turning back to Sam, forgetting to care that the emotion on her face must be as obvious as the Milky Way on a clear night.

  “I did,” he said, his voice warmer than the afternoon sun as he met her eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you, though. I planned to finish before you got home from work, but your dog here decided to help me, and well, things took a little more time than I thought they would.” Sam held open palms out to his sides. “I hope you’re not upset. I hope this is okay,” he said, a hint of apprehension tingeing his words, even as he held her gaze with confidence.

  Lucy choked out a laugh around the meteor lodged in her throat. “Yeah, Thor tends to involve himself in any project that goes on around here, whether his assistance is needed or not,” she answered, suddenly embarrassed as she wiped at her tears with shaky hands and struggled for composure. Sam nodded, picking up the hammer, and Lucy watched, enchanted, as he drove in a couple of more nails and finished up by wiping away a few traces of sawdust.

  Sunlight baked the wood’s freshly sanded surface as Lucy studied Shiloh’s beautiful new wheelchair ramp. She could have searched the entirety of Peach Leaf’s Yellow Pages and not found a better carpenter—not to mention the materials and labor would have cost a small fortune. But when she turned around to thank him, instead of beaming with pride or waiting for praise, the craftsman responsible was loading tools into his truck as if nothing significant had happened. As if he hadn’t just made Lucy’s life a hundred times easier.

  She retrieved her purse and slid it onto her shoulder, Thor following close as she picked up Sam’s saw and a few stray rags, joining him at his truck. Sam took the supplies from her and deposited them in the bed of his truck. He jumped up to sit on the gate for a break and wiped his hands on his jeans, reaching down a hand to help Lucy do the same. She set her purse down and took the offered hand, the warmth from Sam’s touch melting over her skin like hot maple syrup. It was like being a kid again, sitting in the back of a truck, swinging her legs over the edge. Sam leaned back, resting on his elbows, and they sat like that for several minutes, enjoying the end of a workday, the silence sweet and comfortable between them.

  Lucy tucked her knees against her chest and studied the dirty green Chuck Taylor sneakers she’d traded her heels for after the observatory had closed for the day. When she finally turned, she found Sam contemplating her, his eyes calm but curious, as if trying to discern her thoughts. Lucy realized with sudden horror that she hadn’t even thanked the man. His presence was so tranquil, so relaxing that she’d lost track of anything that had previously cluttered her mind. She hadn’t felt any pressure to fill the air with words as she usually did when she met new people. In an odd way, it seemed as if she’d known Sam far longer than she had in reality.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. A smile glowed in his eyes before it spread to his lips.

  “You’re very welcome. Do you like it?” he asked, his smile fading a little as he waited for her response.

  Lucy coughed. “Do I like it?” she repeated. “I can’t even—” she raised her palms up “—I don’t even know how to...yes. Yes, I like it. Very much. It’s amazing, but—” She paused.

  “But...”

  “But why did you do this for me—I mean, for Shiloh? You hardly know us.”

  His eyebrows folded together, turning his expression serious. His shoulders lifted up and then dropped. “I had the time and the tools and it needed to be done.” Sam moved to sit up, his knee briefly grazing Lucy’s thigh as he moved closer to the edge of the truck bed; she felt the warmth of his skin all the way up into her belly. The quick, innocent touch, combined with the intensity of his hazelnut eyes, made her turn her attention to Thor, who was curled up under her feet.

  It wasn’t as though Lucy was a stranger to kindness. When she’d gained custody of Shiloh, and then again when she lost her father, the whole town had rallied around her, filling her fridge with endless casseroles and taking care of all sorts of chores that would have otherwise piled up and overwhelmed her, things she’d been in too much pain to notice until later, when she’d finally written and hand-delivered thank-you notes that couldn�
��t begin to express her gratitude. But that was different; those people were her friends and she’d known them her entire life. Sam Haynes was a complete stranger, yet he’d spent hours building her something that would serve her and Shiloh for years to come. Did he have any idea what that meant to her?

  The question was...why?

  Maybe she should be experiencing something other than appreciation, like suspicion. But the thing was...she didn’t. Maybe it was his gentle nature each time he’d spoken to her when she’d stopped by the café for a quick breakfast the past few days, and the kind, open friendliness he showed the other employees. Maybe it was the way he seemed to dote on Shiloh, giving her his full attention where other new people often chose to ignore her as a result of their own discomfort.

  Or maybe it was just that Sam seemed to expect nothing in return for his simple act of kindness.

  Lucy mined her brain for some way to express how much the project meant to her and came up short by a mile. But then she had an idea. Her culinary skills were pitiful at best, but the Southern hospitality ingrained in her from birth meant she couldn’t let the man leave without at least offering him something to drink.

  “Sam,” she said, and he trained those gorgeous melted-caramel eyes on her again, “I can’t begin to thank you enough for what you’ve done, but...would you like to stay for dinner?”

  A mischievous grin tickled the corners of his mouth and he crossed his arms over his chest as he scrutinized her. “That depends,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “On who’s cooking.”

  Lucy laughed, grateful for the distraction from Sam’s attractiveness, which she noticed more and more by the minute. “It’s not going to be me.”

  Sam raised his chin. “Can I get that in writing?”

  Lucy feigned a pouty face and shoved him gently with her elbow. “Hey now,” she said. “I’m not that bad.”

  He raised his eyebrows, challenging her faulty statement.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, her tone mocking. “I promise not to cook for you if you promise not to perform any more miracles on my house.”

  Sam sat back, resting his hands on his thighs. Lucy’s eyes were drawn where they landed, and she couldn’t pull away as she watched his fingers spread over taut, generous muscles under the worn denim of his jeans.

  What was wrong with her?

  She hadn’t noticed a man’s physicality in ages. She just needed to remind herself that her response to Sam was purely biological. It was natural for a woman to feel some physical attraction to a man who looked like Sam—those clear eyes, that perfect smile with the charming dimples, those handfuls of sandy brown hair—so it didn’t make sense to chide herself for feeling drawn to him. But just because her body reacted to his in such a way did not mean she had to act on it. That was what separated humans from animals, wasn’t it? She could make a conscious decision to ignore what her body wanted.

  Even though she’d never finished her degree, Lucy had gone through plenty of scientific training, so she knew that the best course of action would be to follow through on her original plan. She’d sworn off the opposite sex completely after her last failed foray into dating, and her decision was best for both her and Shiloh. She had more than one heart to look after, and she would not waste time on another guy when she knew the probable outcome in advance.

  Still, there he was, looking delectable in the afternoon sun, teasing her in a way that made her feel special...wanted.

  “I don’t think I can make that promise.” His response brought back Lucy’s attention and she glanced up at his face, which was maybe not the best idea, because his mouth was just as diverting as his thighs.

  Geez. Fabulous idea, Luce, inviting him for dinner.

  Right—dinner.

  “Guess I’ll have to accept that for now,” she said, “but, to save us both, I’ll stick to my end of the deal and not cook.”

  Sam smiled and jumped down from the truck bed. He stood planted in front of her and there was no way to get out except to hop down right where he was standing. She didn’t have much time to plan an alternate exit, though, because Sam wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the ground, leaving very little space between them. There was the slightest twinkle of humor in his eyes as he stared down at her, but the tight line of his lips and the clench of his jaw made her feel an urge to do something she would regret. Lucy’s mouth was suddenly dry as the dust beneath her sneakers and she couldn’t move her feet.

  “I’ll, um...I’ll just order pizza,” she said, squeezing her body out from between Sam’s and the truck’s gate. Thor looked up from his perch and thumped his tail against the dirt, and she was almost sure the darn dog was laughing at her. She couldn’t work up the nerve to glance back at Sam, so she just headed toward the house, desperate for a cool drink of water to chase away some of the heat coursing through her body.

  * * *

  Sam finally picked up his leaden feet and followed Lucy into her home, where she instructed him to sit on the couch and handed him the best glass of sweet tea he’d ever tasted. It was a Southern favorite, he’d quickly learned over the past few days in the small Texas town, and he was happy to accept every ounce offered his way. But Lucy’s was amazing—dark, strong, with just the right amount of honeyed sweetness and a subtle hint of peaches. Sam could expertly analyze a good merlot or sauvignon blanc, but never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined himself discerning flavors in a simple glass of iced tea.

  He grinned at the unexpected turn his life had taken, landing him in the cozy living room of this odd, beautiful woman who was doing a fine job on her own of raising the daughter he’d never known he helped create.

  An itchy feeling stuck in his chest like a burr. He’d been in Peach Leaf for three whole days and had yet to say anything about who he really was. He knew he needed to tell Lucy soon—the longer he waited, the worse it would make him seem when he opened up about being her niece’s father. If he didn’t speak up, his omission would look more like an intentional lie than careful timing, and he would lose any credibility he’d built. So why was it so hard to just open up his mouth and let the words spill out?

  The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Lucy called out from the kitchen a few feet away. She smiled at him as she passed and Sam’s chest closed tight around his heart.

  He’d almost kissed her back at the truck. Just recalling her body lodged between his and the warm metal gate was enough to set off a pleasant but unwelcome chain of thoughts.

  There had been a spark of something between them, and the way Lucy had rushed away let him know he wasn’t the only one who’d felt it. He was glad she’d got out of there though, and saved him from doing something he shouldn’t. But how long could he keep it up? He’d come to Peach Leaf with a single purpose—he couldn’t possibly have anticipated being blindsided by a sweet, redheaded beauty—but there wasn’t room for any distraction from getting to know his daughter. Somewhere inside, though, he knew the two were a package deal, and he had no intention of coming between them. He just wanted to fit in there somewhere, too.

  Sam was just going to have to face the challenge of becoming a dad to Shiloh while ignoring his attraction to Lucy. He would never have one without the other, so he might as well learn to manage by pushing aside Lucy’s increasing appeal.

  He would start by keeping her curves a safe distance away from him, and his lips to himself.

  Easier said than done, of course.

  He jumped up from the couch and hurried to get the door before Lucy. There was no way she was going to pay him for installing the new ramp for Shiloh with dinner. It was a pathetically minuscule act when he thought about the years Lucy had spent caring for a child who wasn’t even her own—how many sacrifices must she have made for his daughter? There was nothing in the world he could ever do to repay her selflessness, so pizza was definitely off the table.

  He made it just in time, tugging a few bills from his pocket and shovin
g them into the delivery girl’s hand before Lucy had a chance to object. He thanked the teenager and as soon as the girl turned to walk away, he practically slammed the door behind him.

  “What was that about?” Lucy asked when he spun around. Her eyes were huge and full of confusion.

  “What?”

  “That,” she said, crossing her arms. “You nearly ran me over to beat me to the door. At least let me pay you back.” Her nose wrinkled in a cute way and Sam couldn’t tell if she was more angry or amused, but he hoped the latter.

  “I’m not letting you buy me dinner,” he said, waving his free hand as she opened her wallet.

  “Why not?” she asked, following him down the hall to her kitchen.

  Sam situated the pizza in the center of the table, noticing that Lucy had set out napkins and more of that obscenely delicious tea. He turned to face her and, no thanks to the size of the tiny dining room attached to her galley kitchen, there she was again, only inches away.

  “Just call me old-fashioned,” he answered, though the thoughts running through his mind were anything but.

  “How very gentlemanly of you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  The images flashing behind his eyes—of his mouth on hers, the pizza forgotten, her green eyes filled with a desire to match the level mounting in him—were pretty damn ungentlemanly. Good thing she couldn’t read his mind or she’d kick him right out the door and he’d lose any chance of accomplishing what he’d come here to do.

  “But, no. Not a chance.” She moved around him and opened the pizza box, grabbing two slices and plating them. She set the plate next to the napkin in front of him and pointed to it. “Sit. Eat. And tell me why on earth you won’t let me buy you a few slices of pizza after building that stunning new ramp for my niece.”

  Sam saw little choice but to obey, so he did as he was told and sat down, taking a long sip of the tea before speaking. “I already told you. I had the time and the know-how, and it needed doing.” He took a bite. So maybe Peach Leafers owned iced tea, but this wasn’t a New York pie by any stretch of the imagination.