Gently, Lilah interrupted. “Guys, we need to speak to your dad alone. So why don’t you all see what you can do about cleaning up the kitchen?”
Sam waited until the boys had left, then shut the door to his study before turning back to John and Lilah. “Thanks for coming over. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
Sam shook his head grimly, wondering what it would take to get a housekeeper who was reliable and responsible enough to handle all five of his boys even half as well as Ellie. “You’d think Mrs. Grunwald could have waited to quit until I got back from California.” Instead, he’d had to cut short his Silicon Valley business trip and grab the first flight back to Dallas, then drive to Laramie, where John and Lilah had been holding down the fort, awaiting his return.
“We’re glad to help you with the boys anytime, you know that,” John said sincerely.
“But this is out of even our scope,” Lilah added as if worried.
Sam didn’t like the sound of that. It seemed as if John and Lilah were planning to quit on him, too. “What do you mean?” he demanded tensely.
John clapped a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder and led him over to the leather sofa. “Your aunt Lilah and I both grew up in large families and reared our own. So we know firsthand how chaotic households with a lot of children can be, even under the best of circumstances. But what’s happening here, Sam, in the aftermath of Ellie’s death, is not routine.”
“Which is why we’ve arranged for Kate Marten to talk to you tonight.” Lilah sat on the other side of Sam. “She’ll be over as soon as she finishes with her grief group at the hospital.”
Sam grimaced. “You know how I feel about that little busy-body.” He and the boys had barely moved back to Laramie a month ago when she’d started bombarding him with literature—none of which he’d read—and phone calls—none of which he’d bothered to return—about her professional counseling services.
Lilah and John exchanged a pointed glance. “We know you haven’t given her a chance.”
What would have been the point in that? Sam wondered, even more exasperated. “She’s just a kid.”
“No, Sam, she’s not,” Lilah said firmly as she patted his hand. “And if you took a good look at her, gave her just a few minutes of your time, you’d realize that.”
Sam shook his head and pushed to his feet. “Even if I wanted to meet with Kate—” which I don’t, he amended silently “—I don’t have the time. I’ve got my hands full with the boys tonight.”
“No. You don’t,” John corrected. “Lilah and I are taking the boys to the ranch for the evening.”
Lilah added helpfully, “That’ll give you time to talk to Kate alone.”
Sam knew his aunt and uncle meant well. It didn’t mean they were right. “All I’m going to do is tell her I don’t need her.”
Lilah paused. “If that’s really what you think, then tell her that face-to-face. But at least hear her out, and listen to what she thinks you and the boys need to get your lives back on track.”
Sam knew what they needed—they needed for the damn cancer to never have taken hold in his wife’s body. They needed their family intact, with everything just as it was. But none of that was possible. Much as he and the boys wanted to, they couldn’t turn back the clock. They couldn’t make anything happen any differently than it had. They couldn’t bring Ellie back.
SAM WAS ALREADY two shot glasses into a bottle of Scotch when the doorbell rang. He was pouring himself a third when he heard the front door open, followed by the staccato sound of high heels crossing the foyer and heading his way. From beneath hooded eyes, he watched as Kate Marten paused in the portal, and squinted in his direction.
“Sam?” Her voice filled the dark room as she carefully made her way toward his desk. It was a you-can-tell-me-anything-and-I’ll-understand kind of voice. Soft, seductive, incredibly pleasing to the ear—and the last thing he wanted to hear.
Sam propped his elbows on the desk and cupped his hands over his ears. The last thing he needed right now was Kate Marten’s perky, professional presence.
Too late. As she neared he couldn’t help but catch sight of a pair of long, slender, sexy legs that would have put a swimsuit model’s to shame. Stopping his glance at her dimpled knees—he didn’t need a woman this beautiful around, never mind one of her incredibly aggravating persistence—Sam felt a familiar bitterness seep into his veins. “Go away.”
“Sorry,” Kate responded with a nauseating amount of good cheer. “No can do, Sam.”
Muscles tensing, Sam leaned back in his desk chair and lifted his head. Usually when he told someone to clear out, they went. Double time, when he used that particular tone of voice. Not pesky little Kate. She had to be—what?—thirty-one years old now, to his thirty-six—and still she pursued him with all the unending cluelessness and vigor of a love-struck teenager.
He glared at her, momentarily tabling his urge to punch something—anything—to smithereens. He didn’t care if she thought she was helping. He wanted her gone. Now. For good. “Which of those two words don’t you understand?” he demanded in a voice that wasn’t anywhere near cordial.
“My vocabulary’s fine, thank you very much.” Kate smiled. “As for the rest…” Stepping closer yet, Kate leaned over in a drift of citrus scent and turned on his desk lamp. “I understand you all right—maybe more than you think.”
Grimacing at the glow of the light hitting him in the face, Sam reached out and adjusted the shade so that the beam exposed less of him and more of her. She was dressed in a figure-hugging yellow dress that stopped just above her knees. The matching jacket clung to her breasts and fell away slightly at her midriff. Sam glared at her. Swore. He didn’t want to be this physically close to any woman, never mind a crusading little innocent like Kate. “When did you turn into such a pest?”
Kate’s lips curved into a wry smile. “If I were to believe what you think…the moment I was born.” Her light blue eyes softening, Kate perched on the edge of his desk. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
Sam lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “My house. My choice.”
“I see.” Kate continued to regard Sam steadily.
Sam turned his eyes to the framed picture of Ellie, half buried in a pile of papers on his desk. “You don’t see anything.”
Kate lifted her manicured left hand—which sported a very nice diamond engagement ring—then let it fall back to her lap. “I might if you gave me half a chance.”
“Then see this.” Sam knocked back another shot of Scotch. He set the glass back on his desk with a thud and stared at her. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need you.”
Refusing to back down in the slightest, Kate lifted her delicately arched brow. “What makes you think this is all about you?”
Stung, Sam shifted his gaze away from her, anything to avoid the faint hint of derision in her blue eyes. “What is it about then?” he asked gruffly.
“Your boys.”
Sam lifted his glance to Kate’s. Held it there with effort. “My boys are doing fine,” he said flatly.
“Are they now?” Kate’s goading smile widened as she casually reached over and recapped his bottle of Scotch. “I suppose that’s why they’ve just chased off their sixteenth housekeeper in six months.”
“Tenth.”