Love Everlasting (Isle of Hope series Book 2) (7 page)

Chapter Eight

“So … what’s the problem with this little angel here?” Sam returned to squat before them.

Well, Doc, she’s nauseous and has a fever, and I’m just plain nauseous.

“Miss Shannon won’t let me ride my horsy,” Evie said with a sad sniff, no hesitation at all in throwing Shannon under the bus for trying to do the right thing.

Shannon sighed.
Again.

Sam smiled up at Shannon, and her stomach plunged at a mottled yellow and purple bruise around his eye. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling like a despicable human being. “Oh no, did I do that?” she whispered, nodding at his shiner.

His twitch of a smile was in perfect sync with the sparkle in his eyes. “Afraid so, Teach, but trust me—it’s a lesson I learned well.”

Shannon punished her lip with her teeth. “Sam, I am
so
sorry.”

He peered up with that rare gravity she’d seen before despite the curve of his lips. “I’m not. I had it coming, Shannon, and besides” —he winked— “my patients think I look like a pirate, striking fear in the hearts of both maiden and man.”

“Are you?” Evie asked, eyes wide.

Sam’s gaze lingered on Shannon, the sober apology in his eyes at odds with the playful tone he just used with Evie. “Not anymore,” he whispered before refocusing on his patient with his killer smile. “So … what’s your name, pretty girl?”

“Evie,” she said softly with a sweet smile, and Shannon could have sworn the little dickens fluttered her lashes.

“Wow, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl!” He rose and placed a palm to her forehead. “You’re definitely warm, so what hurts, sweetheart?”

“My tummy and my head.” Evie gave him a sad-eyed gaze.

“And she threw up,” Shannon said sweetly, satisfied when Sam took a step back.

“Okay, then.” He turned around, dimples working overtime as he grinned at Evie over his shoulder. “How about I give you a horsy ride over to the table, Evie, so we can take a better look?” Butting up to the bed, he scooted low so Evie could climb onto his broad back, looping his arms to brace her legs. “Ready? Hold on tight, sweetheart, because here we go.”

Shannon battled a smile when he galloped to the examination table yelling, “yee-haw!” and all sorts of cowboy jargon, unwilling to give him a chance to soften her heart. Yes, he was a kind and decent individual when it came to children, but when it came to women? She issued a silent grunt, her guard going up with a tight fold of arms as she followed behind. He was little more than a Casanova, and she wasn’t about to give him a chance to con her again.

“Don’t let him bamboozle you, Shan. The man has a masters in roguery, so it might be good to lend him an ear, but nothing else.”

Another grunt made it to her lips, only this one slipped out, braising her cheeks when it drew the bamboozler’s gaze with a curious smile.

“Okay, cowgirl,” he said to Evie after he’d finished his examination, whipping a Tootsie Roll Pop out of his pocket like it was a gun. He aimed it at her with a Clint Eastwood squint. “I reckon you’ve got a touch of cowgirl virus, ma’am, so I’m gonna give you a swig of this here cowboy juice to help you feel better …” He paused to measure out some cherry-looking medicine that Evie gulped down, then handed her a Pedialyte juice box from the fridge. “I need you to drink as much of this here cherry juice as you can, little lady, then bunk down here for a while to get some shut-eye. Nurse Serena and I need to keep an eye on you for a while, okay?”

The Tootsie Roll Pop bulged one of her cheeks as she nodded, garble coming out when she tried to talk. Sam calmly removed the pop for a moment while Evie blinked up at him. “But when am I going to get to ride my horsy?” she whispered, a glaze of tears starting to form.

Sam popped her sucker back in with a kiss to her head. “A day or two, sweetie-pie, I promise, but first you gotta get better, and a nice long nap will help that along.” He picked her up and deposited her on one of the several beds tucked back in a dark corner of the room, placing her drink box on her nightstand and removing her shoes. “Finish up that lollipop, ma’am, and I’ll be back to read you a story before you get some shut-eye, okay?” Fluffing the pillow behind her, he placed a kiss on her head and returned to where Shannon stood, thinking what a great guy he would be if he wasn’t such a player.

“She’s going to be out of commission for a couple of days, but I want to keep her in sick bay for a few hours to see how she handles the Tylenol and Pedialyte.” He glanced toward the room where Evie was sucking on her Tootsie Roll Pop, the serious concern in her eyes in total contrast to the twinkle that always resided there. “And I want to watch her fever for a while because it’s tipping close to 103. I don’t like the look of her throat either, so if you can let her dorm mom know, Shannon, I’d appreciate it.” Gaze connecting with hers, his caring and responsible air almost disarmed her.

Almost.

“Will do, Doc, thanks.” She spun around and dashed for the door, anxious to put as much distance between her and Sam Cunningham as she possibly could.

“Shannon, wait—”

But she didn’t. Miss Myra and her Southern etiquette would have had her head if she’d seen her bolting down the hall like one of the kids, as if she were fleeing for her life. But in a way, she was. Sam Cunningham had not only put the fear of God in her that night, he’d put something else far more sinister and dangerous.

Desire. Attraction. Longing.

A deep-seated longing for something she would never have with the likes of him.

Correction. She’d have the desire and attraction all right—that’s what players like Sam did best—but the longing for something more, something real, something that would last forever? It wasn’t in the DNA of a player who had no use for God, and Shannon had no desire for a relationship of any kind with a man like that.
Especially
one who had turned her world upside down with a single kiss. Something cold slithered her spine as she hurled the front door open. God help her, imagine the damage he could do if he stole her heart …

Ooomph!
Shannon bounced off Serena on the other side of the door, almost spilling the two Cold Stone milkshakes the young girl carried in a cardboard caddy. “Serena, I’m so sorry,” she said as she steadied the student nurse who volunteered in sick bay, noting the freshly applied lipstick and potent scent of perfume.

“No problem,” the young girl said with a bright smile, sidestepping Shannon to hurry down the hall.

No doubt to ply Dr. Love with a milkshake as cold as his heart.

A heavy sigh parted from Shannon’s lips as she scurried down the steps, suddenly ashamed of her attitude toward Sam. Heaven knows that wasn’t the type of person she wanted to be nor usually was, but Sam just brought out the worst in her it seemed—a sharp tongue and point-blank honesty aimed right at his heart. The corner of her mouth tipped. Because he was a man who tempted—not only with physical desire—but with the hope of bringing out the best in him. And that was a hope she couldn’t afford.

Not with a player.

“Hey, Shannon, wait up.”

She whirled, her stomach doing the exact same thing as she spied Sam on the porch of the plantation house, waving his milkshake to get her attention. Spinning back around, she picked up her pace to the stables, head down and jaw tight.
Lord, I don’t want to be mean to him, so please, can you just make him go away?

“Hey, wait up, please? I just want to clear the air with you ...”

“And I just want to clear my head
of you
,” she muttered, ducking into the stables to hide in the first stall.
Your face. Your smile. Your stupid kiss that won’t let me alone.
She slid down the planked half wall hunched to her knees, closing her eyes while she held her breath and prayed he wouldn’t come in.

She squealed and jumped when something touched her head, jolting her so much, she toppled into the corner, legs sprawled and pride as flat as her butt against the wall.

Right next to a pile of poop.

Which pretty much described her sentiments as Sam Cunningham grinned from above, leaning on the stall while he sucked on a straw. “Hey.”

Giving up the ghost, she went slack with a groan, eyes closed as her head clunked against the wood. “What do you want, Sam?” she whispered, realizing she’d have to give him his say before she gave him the boot.

“I’m not sure, Angel Eyes, but I think I may be a tad wounded that you’d rather hide in a smelly stable than talk to me.”

“Sorry, Doc, but I just prefer this type of manure.”

“Ouch.” Setting his milkshake on the ledge, he rounded the wall with a husky chuckle, extending his hand to help her up. “Come on, Shannon, don’t sugarcoat it—why don’t you say what you really mean?”

“I’d like to,” she muttered, ignoring his palm to pop up on her own. Huffing out a noisy sigh, she proceeded to brush bits of hay from her jeans.

He stilled her with a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Me too,” he said softly, the humility in his tone drawing her gaze. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll go first.” He’d ditched the Superman coat, so he slid his hands into the pockets of his Dockers while he took a step back, shoulders hunched as he stared at his feet. “I’ve … been wanting to apologize to you ever since that night. I was a jerk, Shannon, and I’m really sorry.” He finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a solemn one of his own. “And I’d” —he cuffed the back of his neck while a knot jogged in his throat— “I’d like to be friends if you’ll let me because I really enjoyed talking to you.”

She cocked her head, lips flat. “Sure you did.”

“I did,” he said with a crooked smile. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Well, most of it anyway, so I’d like to do it again. You know, shoot the breeze so I can pick your brain as a woman, maybe to glean some advice on how to get Jazz back? So, what do you say, O’Bryen? Friends?”

Her heart softened. And then her mind went into alert mode. Sam was the kind of guy who would be a great friend, she was certain, but he’d ruined that possibility when he’d made a pass in the front seat of her car. Not just because she didn’t trust him, but because she didn’t trust herself. That pass, that kiss had ignited something in her that made her want far more than a friendship, and for her, the temptation just wasn’t worth the risk. “Apology accepted,” she said quietly, “and we can certainly be friends, Sam, but …” Her heart squeezed at the look of vulnerability in his eyes, so foreign to the player she knew him to be. It took her back to the night he’d disarmed her in his kitchen with his sincerity and candor, making inroads into her heart that were never meant to be. “As far as shooting the breeze …” She paused, not wanting to hurt him, but not willing to give him the chance to hurt her either. “I don’t think Jack would like that, and frankly, I’m not comfortable with it either.”

He cocked a hip, hands perched on his thighs and a pinch in his brow. “You don’t trust me,” he said with a hint of hurt, his words a statement rather than a question.

Not even a little.
“I … just don’t think a friendly relationship would be wise.” She tried to temper her words with a gentle smile, fighting the urge to just blurt out the truth like before.

Slashing a hand through his hair, he walked away, blasting out his frustration with a noisy breath before facing her once again. “Come on, Shan, I make one lousy move, and suddenly I’m a danger to your health?”

Yes.

He forged on, apparently stirred by her lack of response. “Look, I’ll admit I tend to get pushy when I drink too much, but it’s not a common occurrence, Shannon, and I promise it won’t happen again, at least not with you. So please don’t let one stupid misstep on my part ruin the really great friendship we could have.”

Arms clutched to her waist, she stared at the ground instead of his face, wishing there was some way she could just end this whole conservation with a smile instead of a scowl. All at once her gaze sharpened on his expensive brogues, polished to a gleam as he stood in a pile of manure. Chewing on the edge of a smile, she lifted her eyes to his, unable to thwart the shy grin that grew on her face. “Uh … not one stupid misstep, Sam,” she said, gaze darting to his shoes and back. A giggle bullied its way past her lips. “Two.”

Chapter Nine

How the devil did this happen?

The question blistered Ben Carmichael’s brain as he sat in the shadows of his front porch at the inane hour of eleven-thirty on a Wednesday night, an O’Doul’s in his hand and a scowl on his face. The
same
question that had badgered him for the last 48 hours.

When he saw Tess for the first time in eight months.

When he’d lost his violent temper for the first time in eight years.

And when he got into a fistfight for the first time ever.

Taking another belt of his non-beer, he winced, jaw still sore from the clip his ex-brother-in-law had landed at the marina.

Right
after
Ben had called him a questionable name and blackened his eye.

And right
before
Tess tore out of the marina office, madder than a hive of hornets.

Upending the can, he crushed it while the last dregs slid down his throat, groaning when he realized he’d just used the sore fist that had busted Cam’s chops.

Even so, his lips curved in a satisfied smile.

Never liked him from the get-go.

Guilt instantly wormed its way past his gloat.
Real mature, Carmichael.
Now the woman you love thinks you’re a street punk with a short fuse instead of her knight in shining armor, home to rescue her from her grief. Thoughts of Cam’s arm around Tess’s bare shoulders, of the sparkle in her eyes as their laughter filtered into Marv’s office, suddenly flashed, and Ben’s anger reignited all over again.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Tess,”
he’d told her the night she’d put their relationship on hold over eight months ago,
“and I will wait forever, if that’s what it takes.”

He grunted, the sound harsh in a night filled with the heavy groan of a bull frog, obviously as unhappy as he. “Yeah, well looks like I was the only one …”

Dropping his head on the back of the chair, he closed his eyes, his newfound faith suddenly niggling at the back of his mind.
You didn’t even give her a chance to explain. Just popped your cork like she wasn’t the most important person in your world other than Lacey.
Self-condemnation sandpapered his conscience.

Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.

The mangled can dropped from his fingers as shame curdled in his gut along with the warm beer.

Nope, he just went off half-cocked, spewing jealousy and bitterness like a sewer gone awry.

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger … be put away from you, along with all malice.

“Okay, okay, I blew it,” Ben snapped, “and I’ll fix it, I promise. As soon as I can talk to Tess.” He stared into the dark, his dock lights winking at him in the distance. “
If
I can talk to Tess,” he muttered, painfully aware she’d been avoiding him since the incident. Not coming home till late that night with Bozo, then gone all day today and again tonight. She was obviously still ticked because she hadn’t answered or returned his calls, texts, or emails, and with Jack and Lacey out of town, he couldn’t bug them to help him out.

No, he’d have to wait her out till he could catch her alone to apologize and grovel if need be. After all, he’d made his bed and now he’d have to lie in it. His mouth compressed.
Problem is, I want Tess lying right next to me when I do,
the thought came, the feel of the engagement ring he’d bought last year a lumpy reminder in his pocket.

Lights swept onto the street to indicate the approach of a car. But when they disappeared at Tess’s house, along with the sound of an engine that eased to a stop at her curb, Ben knew she was avoiding him still. Tess never parked in the street, always in the back of the house. Which meant she expected him to be lying in wait in his backyard for her to pull into her free-standing garage.

Wrong.

Lips flat, he strode to the corner of his eight-foot, Japanese privet hedge—the one he’d paid big bucks for eight years ago to shut the world out—painfully aware his temper had erected an even bigger barrier between him and Tess. Sucking in a deep draw of air, he attempted a casual stance as he leaned against the light post, hands in his pockets while he watched her retrieve her briefcase from the backseat. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she carefully closed her car door with nary a noise, then turned toward her driveway.

And
froze—body taut with surprise and stiffer than the wooden lamppost gouging his hip.

“A little late to be working, isn’t it, Tess?” He pushed off from the post and ambled forward.

She visibly sagged. “Oh my goodness, Carmichael, you scared the living daylights out of me!” Hand splayed to her chest, her rib cage physically depleted like a blood pressure cuff releasing its air. “What on earth are you doing?”

Hands still plunged in his pockets, he approached with extreme caution, wishing more than anything he could just reel her into his arms and kiss her like he used to. “Waiting up for the woman I love since she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

She buffed the sides of her arms as if she were cold, a noticeable duck in her throat. “I’ve been busy, Ben, but we’ll talk soon, I promise.”

He reached to take the briefcase from her shoulder, and his chest cramped hard when she jerked away. “Yeah, I know—busy avoiding me. But I learned from the best not to take no for an answer, Tess,
and
how to deal with my problems head-on, so I’m afraid ‘soon’ doesn’t cut it.”

“I’m not ready, Ben,” she whispered, clutching the strap of her briefcase like a lifeline.

His smile was gentle. “I wasn’t either, Tess, but I don’t remember you cutting me any slack.”

“Tomorrow.” She took another step back. “We’ll talk tomorrow, when we’re both fresh, okay?”

“Nope, tonight,” he said calmly, tugging the briefcase from her shoulder, “or I won’t sleep and neither will you.” He nodded toward his dock across the street. “My dock or yours—take your pick.”

“And you call
me
‘pushy,’” she muttered, reminding him of all the times he’d accused her of being a rammy neighbor. Heaving a cumbersome sigh, she nodded toward his dock and slid by to head in that direction.

He followed, lips twitching in a near smile at the way she marched with head high and shoulders square, reminding him just how much he’d missed her humor and stubborn resolve. When she reached his dock, she sat in one of the Adirondack chairs with hands folded on her lap, gaze fixed on the moon-striped river, which rippled and rolled as much as his stomach.

Setting her briefcase down, he claimed the chair next to hers, shifting it to face her directly. “Words can’t express how sorry I am, Tess, for losing my temper,” he said softly. “I was completely out of line, and I apologize.” He paused, ducking his head to force her gaze to meet his. “Will you forgive me?”

She warded him off with a tight clutch of arms to her waist, the glaze of tears in her eyes twisting his gut. “Of course I forgive you, Ben, but I won’t deny it worries me. I knew you had a temper because Lacey always alluded to it, but I honestly didn’t believe it until I saw what you did to Cam.”

He fought the need to grind his jaw, slowly easing back and resting his arms on the chair to keep his temper in check. “I haven’t lost my cool since that night Lacey jumped off my boat over a year ago, Tess, and before that it’s been years. But you have to understand that coming home after eight months of missing the woman I adore, only to see her in the arms of a man I can’t abide, tripped an anger in me I didn’t even know was there.”

“Cam and I are friends, Ben, nothing more,” she whispered, her tone mellowing even if the intensity in her eyes did not. Her chin tipped up in challenge. “And frankly, after barely hearing from you weekly for almost two months and not at all the last two weeks, how on earth was I supposed to know you were even home since you never bothered to tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he ground out, forcing a tranquility to his tone even though his gut was in knots. “I came straight to your house, but nobody was home, so I took Beau out on the boat to kill some time.” His jaw notched up, even with hers. “The last few months of the trip were grueling, Tess, with 18-hour days and very little sleep, so I didn’t always have the luxury of writing.” His voice softened along with his heart. “The only luxury I did have, however, was thinking of you—which I did day and night.”

Gaze tender, he leaned in to hunch on the edge of his chair, hands in a loose clasp over his knees while he zeroed in on the dark circles under her eyes. “How are you, Tess?” he whispered, suddenly worried that her overly perky letters hadn’t revealed the depth of her mourning. After Adam had passed away in January, Ben had written her almost every day and called as much as he could, given the demands of his schedule and time zone. And although she’d seemed to struggle at first, the spunky and perky personality he’d fallen in love with had re-emerged quickly, both in her letters and phone conversations, much to his relief.

Until now.
Now the woman before him not only appeared tired and worn, but so tightly coiled, she looked spring-loaded, ready to pop from the chair. He grazed her arm with a gentle touch. “You’re still grieving, aren’t you?” he said quietly, distraught that she hadn’t let him know. “Why didn’t you tell me, Tess? You know how much I wanted to be there for you.”

She pounded the sides of her chair with her fists, jaw quivering as she seared him with a soggy glare. “Oh, don’t you dare go all tender on me now, Ben Carmichael,” she hissed, looking so much like a little girl throwing a tantrum, he couldn’t refrain from a faint smile. “And you can just wipe that silly smirk off your face, too, because we have serious issues to discuss, mister.”

“I know.” He reached to glide the pad of his thumb along the curve of her face, grateful for the shiver his touch produced because heaven knows she was setting off Richter-scale tremors in him. “The most important of which is—I love you, Tess.”

She slapped his hand away and jabbed a tight-fisted finger right under his nose. “Don’t you dare try to sidetrack me, Dr. Doom, because I am serious here.”

“I know that, too, babe.” He gripped her wrist so fast, she caught her breath, smile soft as he slowly reeled her in. “Seriously beautiful, seriously perky, seriously perfect …”

“I’ll-show-you-perky …” she bit out with a flurry of smacks that only made him chuckle as he scooped her onto his lap, grinning when she bucked like a catfish out of water.

“And I’m seriously crazy about you, too, Teresa O’Bryen,” he said, burying his head in her neck to feather her skin with kisses before trailing up to suckle the lobe of her ear. “Marry me, Tess—please—and I’ll even consider inviting your annoying friend to the wedding.” He suddenly thought of Phillips touching her like this, and his jaw went to iron as he staked his claim with a possessive kiss that lured a soft moan from her throat.

Then again, maybe not.