“It was nice of you to cook for her again tonight. Thank you.”
CHRISTY WONDERED WHY Sam Solomon acted so amazed every time she prepared a little simple food for the evening meal. She only wanted Meggie to start eating something besides McDonald’s. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress him. She doubted Sam Solomon had even noticed that his pantry was now well stocked.
In any case, for Christy, cooking was no trouble. Preparing a meal simply added more zest, more creativity, to her day. For her, it was as natural as breathing.
In her hand she had already singled out the key to her little Ford Contour. She clutched it between thumb and forefinger, staring down at it.
She glanced up and saw that he was frowning at her outfit again. Christy got the distinct impression that Sam Solomon did not approve of the way she dressed. She never discounted these intuitive vibes of hers. But who was Sam Solomon to judge? A man who lived in a cold black house? Sam Solomon had been an easygoing, fun guy in high school. What had happened to make him so dour?
He was still handsome. If anything, he had grown more handsome, more interesting, with the years. And every time Christy looked into Sam Solomon’s deep-blue eyes, she felt like biting her lip. But she didn’t. She stood there, smiling calmly like a good nanny.
He loosened his tie. “Can you stay a minute? I’ve been so busy the past few weeks that I haven’t had time to get to know you at all. I know it’s Friday night, and you’ve probably got plans.”
“Not really. In the summer, I usually try to go for a run before the sun goes down.”
“Then why don’t you stay for dinner? In fact, would you join me for a little glass of wine? We can discuss Meggie’s schedule.”
“Uh, sure.” Christy shrugged, surprised by his invitation.
As chance would have it, she didn’t have a date with Kyle tonight—her boyfriend was on duty—but she couldn’t imagine that a man as good-looking as Sam Solomon was content to sit here without a date on a Friday night. She supposed with Meggie around maybe he’d been forced to alter his lifestyle a bit.
He led the way into the kitchen and removed a bottle of red wine from a small wrought-iron—black, of course—wine rack. “This okay?” He held the label out for her inspection. It read pinot noir, which meant nothing to Christy.
She shrugged again. “I don’t drink much wine. Anything’s fine.”
“Have a seat.” He indicated a high black leather bar stool pushed up under the counter. He reached into a tall cabinet with glass doors and took out some crystal stemware.
She climbed onto the stool and slid her lumpy red calico bag off her shoulder and onto her lap, gripping the thing to her front. She told herself not to act nervous. He was only being nice to the baby-sitter who had worked so hard to make his busy, high-powered architect’s life a little easier these past weeks. It wasn’t like he was really interested in her as a person, or anything.
“So. How was your day today?” he asked as he drove the corkscrew into the cork with brisk, muscular twists.
Sheesh, Christy thought. He hadn’t bothered to ask that all week. And now, today of all days, he decides to ask how their day was. Of course, she could conceal the truth from him, gloss it over. But that wasn’t Christy’s style. She held firm to her policy that the parents of her charges deserved the truth about every detail of their children’s daily lives. The absolute truth, the good stuff and the bad stuff, the cute and the worrisome stuff. “Uh. Well, actually we had a little…an incident.”
“An incident?”
“Yeah. I took Meggie to an art showing—they had some cute black-and-white photographs of animals at the Philbrook—and…and she…well, she got upset and knocked over a small statue.”
Abruptly, he stopped twisting the corkscrew. His shoulders slumped. “Oh, no. What kind of statue? Was it damaged?”
“No.” Christy held up a palm in a gesture of peace. “No damage. It was a sturdy bronze.”
“Even so, that must have been difficult for you.”
“And for Meggie,” she reminded him.
“Yes. For Meggie. Of course. I’m sorry.” He sighed as his shoulders slumped even farther. “I seem to be saying I’m sorry a lot these days.”
She frowned. “Why’s that?”
“Long story. Things are behind schedule out at Moonlight Grove—my job site. And I haven’t been able to help Andrea at all. I dunno. I just feel like I’m—tell me about Meggie. What did the museum staff say?”
“Oh. They couldn’t see any damage. They even called a curator to look at it while we waited in a little office. Still, I felt we had to leave the premises right away. I didn’t want that security guard following Meggie around all day.”
He pulled the cork and poured some wine in each glass. “Did you explain to them that Meggie is special?”
“Of course,” she answered quietly. Christy studied his movements, seeing it all so clearly. How it was, how it had always been, for Meggie’s parents. Every day, she imagined, they hoped for progress, or a least a little bit of normalcy, in the life of their little girl. But every day this is what they got. It was worse than two steps forward, one step back, because it was always one step back. As Meggie grew physically older but remained in her limited mental state, they were continually losing ground.
“Here.” He handed her a wineglass. Then he dragged the other bar stool around the bend of the counter and settled himself up on it with his muscular thighs spread wide, facing her. An undeniably masculine pose that stretched the fabric of his expensive wool trousers across his pelvis.
Christy turned squarely toward the bar and leaned forward so she wouldn’t be so aware of him. She clutched her bag tighter to her middle and took a tense sip of her wine.
Sam watched her for a moment, then said, “How long do you think she’ll sleep?” He jerked his head toward the stairs before sipping his wine.
“I don’t know. She needs a good nap, today of all days. All in all, it was—” Christy tasted her wine “—kind of a stressful day.”
“Yes, I imagine that kind of thing would wear her out.” He twirled the base of his wineglass on the counter. “Poor little Meggie.”
He looked so defeated that Christy felt driven by compassion, by a fierce protectiveness almost, to give him some tidbit of joy about his daughter to hold on to. “Some nice things happened today, too.”
“Oh?”
“After we left the museum, we went by your mom’s to pick up some more food for Brutus. Meggie perked right up when she saw him.”
Sam couldn’t believe his mother had given Christy Lane a key to her luxurious home only four days after he employed the woman. Then his mom had zipped off to Belize, leaving her beloved pet in Christy’s care, to boot.
“Meggie certainly loves that dog.” Christy smiled.
“She certainly does. Good old Brutus.” He eyed the spoiled dog, who answered Sam with a belligerent chuff.
Christy giggled, and Sam did smile then, warmly and genuinely, and Christy relaxed.
Outside, the sky was turning charcoal gray and the wind was kicking up, buffeting the tree branches outside the kitchen windows.
“It looks like it’s going to storm.” Sam clicked the power button on a small TV next to them on the kitchen counter and found the local weather.
Areas of the map around Tulsa were highlighted in bright orange, signaling a tornado watch.
“Is it coming this way?”
“Looks like it.” Sam tapped