As for her… She had thought she’d buried her feelings for Sam Griffin so deeply they could never be resurrected. But she had been mistaken. Just seeing him again had set her heart pounding, her palms sweating and her tummy turning somersaults. A longing unlike any she’d ever experienced had welled up inside her, and she had wanted—more than anything—to see him turn to her with outstretched arms, as well.
Of course, after the unforgivable way she’d treated him four years ago, she was probably the last woman on earth he would ever choose to hold close. And that meant she couldn’t risk giving herself away—not by word or by deed. If he shunned her, she would be crushed.
And if he didn’t…?
Emma shivered as an altogether different kind of dread—a dread long nestled deep in her soul—reared its ugly head.
She would give herself to him without a second thought. And when boredom set in—as it surely would for a man like Sam Griffin—she would end up like her mother, grieving alone for a man who could only find happiness living dangerously close to the edge.
She couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that. She needed safety and stability in her life, the kind of safety and stability she had found here in Serenity, first with Teddy, and then, on her own—
“Emma! Can you believe it? Sam’s here,” Margaret called out, interrupting her reverie.
Swiping futilely at her hair, Emma once again pasted a smile on her face and crossed to the porch steps.
“Yes, I see,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded, then risked a glance at Sam, barely meeting his penetrating gaze. With his iron jaw and eagle eyes, he had always had a tendency to look…severe. The expression she glimpsed on his face assured her that hadn’t changed. “Hello, Sam. It’s nice to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you again, too, Emma,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Well, come on up to the porch and have a seat,” Margaret urged. “How about a glass of iced tea?”
“Sounds good,” Sam agreed as he started up the steps.
“I’ll get it.” Emma made the offer gladly, eager to have a reason to retreat, at least temporarily.
“Why, thank you, dear.” Margaret patted her arm gratefully, then turned back to Sam. “You really should have given me some warning,” she scolded.
“Then you wouldn’t have been surprised…”
Relieved by Sam’s bantering tone, Emma slipped into the house. She had no idea how he planned to explain his unexpected arrival. But for the time being, he didn’t seem inclined to reveal the part she had played in it. That would mean he’d have to mention his mother’s illness, as well, and he wouldn’t spoil her happiness by doing that just yet.
Catching sight of herself in the hall mirror as she headed for the kitchen, Emma winced. The parts of her hair not plastered to her skull by the straw hat she’d been wearing stuck out in all directions. Her ratty T-shirt and shorts were sweat stained, bits of grass clung to her bare arms and her face was smudged with dirt and grime.
“Delightful,” she muttered as she continued down the hallway, then laughed ruefully.
Had she put her mind to it, she probably couldn’t have thought of a better way to put Sam off than she already had in her current state of dishevelment.
In the kitchen, she filled glasses for Margaret and Sam only, put them on a tray along with the tea pitcher and a fresh bowl of ice, then returned to the porch.
“Here you go,” she said, interrupting their murmured conversation as she bumped the screen door open with her hip.
They glanced up at her, but she avoided meeting either of their gazes. Even when Sam stood and, his fingers brushing hers, took the tray and set it on the wicker table.
“You didn’t fill a fresh glass for yourself,” Margaret noted.
“I thought I’d let you two visit on your own while I get cleaned up,” Emma replied as she turned to go back into the house. “I’ll pop that casserole in the oven, too. Unless you’d rather eat a little later tonight…”
“Oh, no, Emma. The usual time will be just fine.” Margaret touched Sam’s arm. “How does King Ranch chicken sound to you?”
“Like a slice of heaven.” He smiled at her with unabashed affection.
Feeling even more like a fifth wheel, Emma yanked the screen door open.
“Come out and join us as soon as you’ve had your shower,” Margaret called after her.
“I will,” Emma said, letting the screen door slap shut behind her.
Actually, she had no intention of hanging around now that Sam was home. She would shower, dress, then pack up her belongings, make her excuses and return to her own house a few blocks away. Her presence here was no longer necessary. Sam would be available if Margaret needed anything. And Emma could always return once he’d left again.
She put the chicken casserole Margaret had prepared earlier in the oven, then scurried upstairs to the guest room she had been using for the past three weeks. Margaret’s bedroom was right next door. The bedrooms Sam and Teddy had used as children were on the opposite side of the landing, their doors closed.
Emma supposed she should take a few minutes to air out Sam’s room, but just the thought of invading what had always been his personal space made her uneasy. She could only hope Mrs. Beal had changed the linen and dusted recently. If not, Sam could do it himself.
Right now, all Emma wanted was to get away from him before she said or did something stupid. She could only pretend to be cool and calm in his presence for so long. Then anything could happen. Could, and with her luck, probably would.
Chapter 3
“I wonder what’s taking Emma so long,” Margaret said, glancing at her watch for the third time in less than fifteen minutes.
Sam had been asking himself the same question as he eyed his own watch surreptitiously, and he already had a pretty good idea of what the answer could be. He’d seen how steadfastly Emma had avoided his gaze despite her courteous manner. As if she could barely stand the sight of him. Why, then, would she go out of her way to seek out his company?
He couldn’t say as much to his mother, though. She would pretend not to understand. Just as she’d already pretended not to understand why he had expressed concern about her well-being. He couldn’t come right out and tell her Emma hated his guts any more than he could come right out and tell her how shocked he was by her frailty.
She had aged to a frightening degree since he’d seen her last. But when he’d asked outright if she had been ill, she hadn’t said anything specific about having been diagnosed with leukemia.
Instead, she had hedged, admitting only that she had been a bit under the weather the past few weeks, thus finding it necessary to ask Emma to stay with her. Then she’d also insisted—rather hurriedly—that she was feeling much better, especially now that he had finally returned to Serenity.
“It was time you came back,” she had said. “But why now?”
“Because it was time,” he’d replied, hedging in his own way.
He couldn’t admit that Emma’s letter had been the real catalyst without also revealing why she had written to him. And what would that do for his mother other than spoil the thrill of his homecoming for her?
There would be more than enough time in the days ahead to confront her about the true nature of her illness.
“Maybe I ought to check on her,” Margaret continued. “Or, better yet, you could do that while I get started on the salad.” She nodded purposefully. “Yes, that’s a better idea. You can get your bags out of the