Chapter Three
After a nearly sleepless night spent contemplating his options, AJ decided to honor the contract with Sam’s company. Getting out of it would take time, and money. Hiring someone else to do the work would take more time. There was also a chance that firing them would raise Sam’s suspicions, and he couldn’t risk that.
Not that it should matter. She had abruptly and cold-heartedly ended their relationship, neglected to tell him she was pregnant and then decided to put their baby up for adoption as though he had no say in the matter. It was purely by coincidence that, months after Sam had broken things off with him, he happened to see her. He’d been sitting in the glass-walled boardroom of the law firm that handled Harris Marketing and Communications’ contract negotiations and had been stunned to see Sam Elliott—a very pregnant Sam Elliott—walk out of Melanie Morrow’s office. Melanie practiced family law. AJ had met her at a handful of social gatherings and didn’t know her well, but well enough to know she wanted to get ahead and make a name for herself, mostly by handling high-profile divorce cases.
He’d never had much interest in contracts—he much preferred the creative side of the business—but his father had insisted he take an active role. That day he had suffered through the meeting and while the lawyers argued about costs and compensations, he had pondered Sam’s protruding belly, performed some mental calculations of his own and quickly came to the conclusion that what was inside that belly could very well be his. Was it possible that the woman he had been so in love with could be carrying his child without telling him? It was impossible to believe she was that coldhearted, and having another man’s baby would certainly explain why she’d given AJ the brush-off. And now she and that other man were already headed for a divorce, or so it would seem. If that was the case, it was none of his business, but he needed to know.
By the time the meeting was over, he’d come up with a plan to stop by Melanie’s office on his way out, invite her to join him for a drink after work and figure out a way to direct the conversation around to Sam. He’d never been much for small talk but that hadn’t mattered because two wine spritzers had been all it took to loosen Melanie’s tongue.
What he learned was something he’d never imagined possible, and it hit him harder than anything up until then, even harder than his brother’s suicide all those years ago. Sam wasn’t married. Her baby was due in two months, the father wasn’t “involved,” she didn’t want the baby and she was setting up a private adoption. Counting back from her due date showed the baby had been conceived when they were together. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Sam at that moment, but he was absolutely sure of two things. She didn’t sleep around, and she was having his baby. A baby she didn’t want. The realization cut him to the core. It had taken a week to come up with a plan, then he’d asked Melanie out for dinner, and the rest was history.
A history that yesterday had crashed into his life like a steamroller. He had always intended to get away from Seattle before this could happen. Now that it had, and as bizarre as it sounded even in his head, keeping Sam around to do the work was safer than sending her packing. Claire DeAngelo, who seemed to be the one in charge although she insisted the three of them were equal partners, thought the work would take several weeks and she’d have the house on the market before Christmas.
He’d been up since before dawn, moving everything from the sunroom he used as an office to his bedroom. Satisfied that his temporary work space would provide a welcome escape from the past and present, he went downstairs to join Will and Annie for breakfast and wait for Sam’s return.
After an early-morning run, Sam dawdled over her cornflakes and coffee while she watched her mother study the jigsaw puzzle pieces strewn across the other side of the table. For the first time in forever, she was tempted to join her. The notion of withdrawing from reality and into her mother’s fantasy world had never held any appeal—until this morning. There’d be no puzzles in Sam’s dreamworld. It would also be a world devoid of lying, cheating, two-timing ex-lovers.
In spite of the psychiatrist’s diagnosis, years ago, that Tildy Elliott had an illness, a mental illness, Sam had always wondered if some past event had caused her to retreat into a fantasy world. Maybe something Sam’s long-absent and now deceased father had done, or something another man had done. Until her run-in with AJ yesterday, Sam had never thought of it in exactly those terms, but now as she watched this delicate woman intent on finding the puzzle’s flat-edged border pieces, Sam had a hunch that a man had to be behind her mother’s illness. Men were nothing but trouble.
On the weekend, Tildy had been as delighted as a child on Christmas morning when Sam brought the six new puzzles home. This one—a photograph of a castle somewhere in Europe—had immediately captured her mother’s interest. It also had a thousand pieces and would easily keep her busy all day while Sam was at work.
Sam dismissed the guilt pangs. When she wasn’t working, which was rare these days, she tried to get her mother out of the apartment or at least encourage her to do something other than puzzles, playing solitaire or watching television. But when she had to leave her here alone, she worried less knowing she was occupied, and she knew Tildy would work tirelessly on the puzzle until it was finished.
This morning Sam’s very existence felt a lot like those scattered bits of cardboard. Broken pieces of what had been, until yesterday, a whole picture, albeit a tenuous one. Much as she disliked puzzles, she would give almost anything to stay here and lose herself in the mind-numbing activity of putting that picture back together. Instead she had demons to face, and AJ Harris was one hell of a demon.
He’d inherited an incredible house but it needed a lot of work. Still, if she worked long hours and brought in a couple of assistants to help with the painting and wallpaper removal, she should be able to finish in three weeks. Barring any unforeseen problems. To her question about potential problems like mold or termites or faulty wiring, AJ had given one of his silent shrugs. Huh. The privileged pretty boy with the perfect home and an adorably cherub-faced, at least according to Kristi, little boy knew nothing about construction. No surprise there.
There might have been a time when she could have forgiven him for getting his father to do his dirty work, but knowing he’d then gone ahead and had a child with another woman while she’d had to give up hers? That was unforgivable. That was the agony she’d have to endure every day for the next three weeks. To make matters worse, he worked at home now. Somehow she would have to guard against drowning in the depths of his dark, soulless gaze. Keep her heart from hammering its way out of her chest every time she watched him cross a room, because to save her sanity she couldn’t stop picturing his magnificent male form, completely unclothed.
She jumped up from the table. Do not think of him naked. AJ Harris is not the most heart-stoppingly handsome man in the universe. He’s the arrogant jerk who ruined your life. An arrogant, adulterous jerk who’d been screwing her while he’d been busy getting his wife pregnant. Well, to hell with him. Sam had coped with a lot of crap in her life, and she would find a way to cope with this, too.
She gathered up the breakfast dishes. The soggy remains of her mother’s cereal went down the drain—she’d eaten a few mouthfuls, at least—and then Sam quickly washed her breakfast dishes and put them in the drain rack on the counter. Her mother’s head was still bent over the puzzle pieces. “More coffee, Mom?”
“No, thank you, dear.” She snapped another puzzle piece into place. “Look at this. The top edge and one side are almost done.”
Sam dried her hands on a towel and hung it on the handle of the oven door. “I see that. You’re doing great.”
“It’s always best to start with the outside edges and work your way in.”
While Sam pondered that as a possible metaphor for her life, she packed two bottles of water, a sandwich and an apple in her insulated lunch bag. “I left some tuna salad in the fridge for you, and Mrs. Stanton said she’d drop by to see you at lunchtime.” Mrs. Stanton was the neighbor across the hall. Years ago Sam had given the woman a key so she could come in at lunchtime to make sure Tildy had something to eat. Sam so often dreamed of moving into