Sterling’s smile slid away to be replaced with a dark scowl. Sammi sighed. All it took was the mention of Robert Barclay to put that look on Sterling’s face. Oh, she knew Mr. Barclay could be difficult, but she was sure in time father and son would overcome their differences. It’d been her attempts to build that bridge when Sterling had moved back home last year that had brought her and Sterling together.
Someday, Sterling would appreciate his father for the great man that he was. As far as Sammi was concerned, Mr. Barclay had saved her life. It was thanks to Mr. Barclay that she’d gotten out of the trailer park and had made something of herself.
She owed him a lot.
The least she could do was try to help smooth things out between him and his only child.
But sometimes, the smoothing was a lesson in frustration.
“If you don’t want me using your computer, just say so.”
His words were stiff as he turned to greet the perky brunette waitress as she set a basket of minimuffins and pastries on the table. Darla refilled his coffee, asked Sammi if she wanted more tea and took their order before sashaying away again.
Sammi waited until she was out of earshot.
“I don’t have a problem with you using the computer,” she said quietly. “I can finish up my work this evening after my shift.”
Sterling took a moment, but finally gave a brief nod.
“So what silly ideas are the ladies coming up with?” His tone was somewhere between placating and cheerful, but the expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t happy. “Are they fussing about the dress choices?”
Sammi started to tell him about their silliness over Laramie, but found herself leaning closer instead and saying, “There are rumors that you’re having an affair.”
Again. The unspoken word hung in the air for a moment as Sterling blinked, then gave a deep sigh. He looked around as if to ensure nobody was listening, then reached over to pat her hand.
“First off, we’re not married yet. Whatever we do between now and the wedding is our own business, isn’t it? Besides, we’ve talked about this, Sammi. We’re perfectly compatible in so many other ways. Just not that one. Why is this an issue?”
How did he know they weren’t compatible sexually if they’d never had sex? Sammi pressed her lips together to keep from asking. Because he was right. Theirs wasn’t a love match. They were friends—good friends—with respect and affection for each other. They’d agreed that their marriage was going to be more of a partnership than anything else.
Still...
“We’ve also talked about how essential respect and consideration for each other is, and why it’s important to both of us to do our best to keep up appearances. We’d agreed that for all intents and purposes, we would give the impression of a love match.” Despite the nerves clenching tight in her belly, Sammi managed to keep her words steady. “Rumors that you’re sleeping with a cocktail waitress three weeks before the wedding are at odds with that impression, don’t you think?”
Sammi held her breath, carefully watching his expression. Because those rumors would be nothing compared to the ones that’d explode if Sterling called off the wedding. She could just see the pitying looks and knowing nods. Those were the kind of rumors that could ruin a woman’s life.
After a long moment, Sterling’s remote expression shifted into a rueful smile.
“You’re right. Totally right. That was my bad.” He shrugged. “I promise, you won’t hear any more gossip like that.”
Sammi could only stare, and wonder. Did he mean he was done fooling around and that once they were married he’d only have sex with her? Or did he simply mean he’d be more careful about the gossip?
Before she could ask, they were greeted by a booming voice.
“Sterling, you old dog. And Sammi Jo. Aren’t you a pretty thing.” As big as his voice, Ben Martin grabbed a chair from an empty table and, without asking, joined them. “Gotta talk business, my friends. I hear you’re looking for a discount on some long-term ads in the newspaper.”
Sterling slid an apologetic look toward Sammi, then, of course, started talking business. She frowned at the irritation spiking through her system. It wasn’t the first time one of their meals had been interrupted. Actually, it was rare that one wasn’t. And it wasn’t as if she could call Sterling out on his comment here in public.
She’d simply wait until after breakfast and go with Sterling to her office. They would talk in private. They’d hash it out and settle the issue like two reasonable adults. Because that’s what they were. That’s why they were marrying each other.
Some of the tension she’d been carrying since yesterday finally loosened in her shoulders as Sammi smiled her thanks as Darla set her huevos rancheros on the table. While the men talked business, she ate her breakfast while mentally rehearsing the best way to approach their discussion.
“Excuse me, Sammi Jo. Julio needs you in the kitchen.” From the frantic edge to Darla’s smile, Julio was having one of his tantrums. The man was simply not a good enough chef to be worth the drama, but Mr. Barclay insisted on keeping the guy.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but now my business calls,” she said, rubbing her napkin over her lips before sliding to her feet.
“Nice chatting with you, Sammi Jo.”
“I’ll see you up in the office when you’re finished,” Sterling said, lifting his hand to squeeze hers before she left. Her heart warming at the sweet gesture, Sammi squared her shoulders and prepared to do battle with a spatula-wielding diva.
Two hours later, she’d handled the kitchen emergency, fixed the reservation snafu, checked in three guests and had approved housekeeping’s request to call the repairman to look at the leaking washing machine.
And she still couldn’t get into her office. The last time she’d tried, Sterling had growled from his position hunched over her computer. She stood at the top of the stairs, debating going into her office to try again, or down to the lobby to find busywork.
“There you are. Let’s go to the bridal suite right away.”
For a brief second, Sammi considered opening a side window and jumping. But she had a feeling that even broken bones wouldn’t save her. Not bothering to hide her reluctance, she turned to face Mrs. Ross.
“This isn’t a good time to discuss wedding plans. How about tomorrow.” Or never.
“This can’t wait for tomorrow. Come, come, let’s do it now.” Dressed in eye-searing orange, Mrs. Ross gestured for Sammi to hurry up. “This will only take a quarter of an hour.”
Knowing the woman would nag her for longer than that, Sammy cast one last longing look toward her office where Sterling was probably still happily ensconced in front of her computer. Then, as she did with all distasteful things, she got on with getting it over.
As soon as she stepped into the still-being-remodeled bridal suite, her frown deepened to a scowl.
“What’d you do to my wedding dress? Did you cut it in half,” Sammi exclaimed. But after a second, her scowl faded. About three-quarter length now, without the yards of petal-like chiffon layers it might be a lot easier to move in.
Relief battled joy. She liked it.
“Of course not. This is the second dress.”
“Second... No.” Sammi shook her head. “I’m not wearing two dresses.”
Completely ignoring her, Mrs. Ross continued to roar around the room like a steamroller, bustling from the dress to her sewing basket and back again like a wide orange blur against the elegant blue room.
“You