Still, a few evenings spent together didn’t mean a lifetime commitment.
Only—Sam had left with no way for him to contact her. Had it been deliberate? Had he misread the signs? He would have sworn she had enjoyed herself.
Yet she’d waited until he was occupied with Peter and Cindy and then cut out. If she’d felt any connection between them, wouldn’t she have made sure he knew how to contact her?
As he pulled into his driveway, the full situation hit him. He wouldn’t be going out for quite a while—not until he had a live-in nanny who would be home with Tommy. Until then, Mac had to be home each evening by six, the time Alice Horton left per their agreement when he hired her because Mrs. Horton taught an adult education class and had to be at her school by seven Monday through Thursdays.
Just as well. Dating had not played a big part of his life since Chris died and he liked spending time with his son.
But it would take a while to forget that kiss with Sam. He had tried to move on after grieving for Chris, only no one had come close to replacing her in his life. Sam was nothing like his wife, yet he could almost taste her on his lips. He remembered the warmth that had crashed through him when she’d returned the kiss. Another one or two of those wouldn’t hurt. It would prove he was still living and capable of moving forward. Chris would have wanted that.
“So, how was it?” Charlene asked as soon as Sam entered the kitchen the next morning.
Sam smiled at her sister and went to pour herself some hot coffee. She’d slept later than normal because it had taken a long time to fall asleep after her magical evening. Thankfully today was a holiday, or she’d be a zombie at work. Home before one, it was actually after three before she stopped reliving every precious memory of Mac McAlheny.
“It was fabulous, how else?” she replied, turning and leaning against the counter. She glanced down at her bunny slippers, a fun Christmas offering from her sister. She sighed softly. She was much more a bunny-slipper kind of gal than elegant socialite.
“For one evening I felt like Cinderella,” she said slowly.
“You looked so marvelous,” her sister said.
“You told me that before I left,” Sam commented, grinning. She had felt marvelous. “The hotel was fabulous. I saw lots of people who are in the newspaper all the time. The mayor was there, and our representative. The food was to die for. And I had the best dance partner in the world. Tall, dark and handsome—and he could dance better than Fred Astaire, I believe.” She ended, mentioning one of Hollywood’s most famous dancers she and her sister enjoyed watching in old black and white movies.
“Ooooh, do tell all!”
Sam put some bread in the toaster and began to relate every delicious memory of the previous evening to her sister. She ended with her dances with Mac.
“We danced, then I left.”
“That’s all?” Charlene clearly wanted more.
“Actually the tall, dark and handsome stranger turned out to be the man from whose office I got the ticket. What are the odds of that happening? Once I realized that, I left before he figured it out. I consider that a lucky break. I was worried half the evening that someone would spot me as an imposter and have me thrown out.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. The ticket had been thrown away. You were just recycling,” Charlene said.
“Which was the argument you used to talk me into going. And I’m glad I did, but the longer I stayed, the more chance there was of someone asking how I came to acquire a ticket.”
“No one would have been so rude. And your dress fit in, didn’t it? You’ll have to tell Margaret all about it.”
“You should have seen the designer creations there. But I held my own. It’s a lovely gown and I’m so glad she trusted it to me. What if I had spilled champagne on it or, worse, caviar?”
Charlene laughed. “My sister, the champagne and caviar girl.”
“Well, champagne maybe. I don’t think I’ll be eating caviar again.” Sitting at the table, she finished her toast, still feeling the warm glow from the night before. She’d had a fabulous time. If only she could have afforded to buy a ticket on her own and gone without a care in the world. The party had ended too early for her and would never be repeated.
She’d relished the sensations she experienced wearing that shimmery satin dress. It would take a long time to forget the feelings of elegance and sophistication. A magic beginning to the New Year.
And a kiss to welcome it in. She hadn’t had that in a few years, either.
She glanced up, at the coat hanging from the nail on the plywood at the back. She’d hung it on one of the nails last night to let the dampness dry.
“At least that’s good for something,” she muttered.
“Hey, we’re warm and dry,” Charlene said.
“Dry anyway. It’s drafty in here. And I’m so tired of using a camping stove for cooking instead of our old gas range. It’ll take weeks to finish paying off the roof before we can start saving for this repair. It’s already the worst part of winter. Do we want the back wall open to the elements now? The house is hard enough to heat in winter without losing a wall for a few days.” She sighed. She was back to reality with a vengeance.
Charlene gazed at the damaged space patched by panels of plywood. “It could have been worse—we could have been in here when the tree crashed through.”
“We were too busy trying to stem the flood of water coming in through the attic when parts of the roof blew off,” Sam reminded her. The hurricane that had freakishly blown into Georgia last September had wreaked havoc in a wide swatch of the state, including this southside of the state capital. Their roof, more than a hundred years old, had not stood up to the gale force winds. Nor had the huge old oak trees that fell beneath that force when the soil became saturated with all the water that rained down for days. Only one fallen tree had damaged the house, thank goodness. But it had done a tremendous job of taking out most of the back wall.
Insurance covered a portion of the repair costs but it was up to Sam to earn the extra money needed to finish the repairs and get their home back in order. Charlene did the best she could, but there was a limit to her work as a transcriptionist.
“Happy New Year, Sam,” Charlene said, raising her mug.
Sam clinked hers against her sister’s and smiled. “Happy New Year, sis.”
She felt her eyes fill with tears and blinked, looking away. Only a short time ago she’d been kissed into the New Year.
“So are we going to make New Year’s resolutions?” Charlene asked.
“We do each year, why should this one be different?” Sam asked, hoping her sister didn’t see her distress.
“Then, I resolve to make a push to sell some of my quilts,” Charlene said.
Sam laughed. “You say that every year.” There was nothing wrong with her life. She should be grateful it was as full as it was.
“This time I mean it. I’ll force myself. It’s not right that you have to do everything for me. I’m capable. The damage from the hurricane shows me how close to the edge we live. I need to do something to contribute to the unusual expenditure, not be a drain.”
“You’re not a drain. You have your job and I have mine.”
“Face it, Sam. If I can get some of these quilts sold, it would help a lot and make your time working that second job shorter.”
Her sister had been confined to a wheelchair