The Major And The Librarian

“That’s all right,” she murmured, glancing at him, then away again.

As she lowered her gaze, Sam spied the open suitcase on her bed, and frowned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, though the neatly folded clothing already packed inside the bag made his question rather redundant.

“Now that you’re here…” She paused, then tipped up her chin, her gaze finally meeting his head-on as she continued, “I thought maybe I ought to go back to my house.”

So she had chosen to cut and run after all. Sam knew he should consider that a lucky break. If she went home, he wouldn’t have to deal with her dislike on a full-time basis as he had been dreading he would. But oddly enough, what he felt was disappointment—deep disappointment.

While Emma hadn’t greeted his arrival with any great joy, she hadn’t gone out of her way to show any animosity toward him, either. Obviously he made her uncomfortable. Hell, she made him uncomfortable. But that didn’t mean there was no hope for them.

Hope for what, he wasn’t quite sure. Reconciliation, perhaps? He wasn’t sure about Emma, but he wanted that, he realized. Wanted it and needed it. Only he couldn’t come right out and say as much. At least not yet.

“Going back to your house?” He eyed her questioningly, trying to buy the time he needed to come up with a good reason for her to stay put. “Why?”

“Because you’re here now,” she repeated in a slightly exasperated tone.

“What difference does that make?” he asked, intentionally acting obtuse.

“With you around, Margaret’s not going to need me anymore.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sam countered, finally hitting upon a fairly good excuse for her to stay. “From what she said after you left us, she loves having you here. But she’s afraid she’s been taking advantage of you. If you rush off, she’s going to think she was right, and she’s going to be really upset.”

“I’ve tried to tell her that wasn’t so,” Emma insisted, her brow furrowing.

“For her sake, I wish you’d stick around. And for mine,” he admitted honestly.

“Yours?” She eyed him uncertainly, her confusion evident.

“My mother hasn’t said anything about the leukemia yet. When I casually asked about her health, she mentioned—just as casually—that she’d been ill, but not how seriously. I didn’t want to press her my first day home, so I didn’t say anything about your letter. I know we’re going to have to talk about it eventually, and we will. But until then…” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid she won’t ask for my help if she has a bad spell. And if I’m the only one here…” Again he allowed his words to trail away before adding, “At least she would have you to turn to if you stayed a while longer.”

“How long are you planning to be here?” Emma asked, her frown deepening.

“A minimum of four weeks, longer if necessary.”

“She has an appointment a week from Monday with her doctor in Houston. Since she won’t be able to keep that a secret, I suppose I could wait until then to go home,” she conceded, albeit reluctantly.

“I’d really appreciate it,” Sam said.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to upset Margaret.”

With a look of resignation on her face, Emma tossed the nightgown on the bed, gathered an armful of clothes from the suitcase and turned back to the open dresser drawer.

Feeling as if he’d been summarily dismissed, Sam said nothing more as he backed out of her bedroom doorway and collected his bags.

“What’s going on up there, you two?” Margaret called from the foot of the staircase. “Dinner’s been ready for almost twenty minutes now.”

“We’ll be right down,” Sam assured her.

“You said that once already.”

“This time I mean it.”

“What about Emma?”

“I’m on my way now,” she replied.

Stepping out of her bedroom, she paused to exchange a wary glance with him, then started down the steps.

Sam eyed her thoughtfully a moment longer, then crossed to his bedroom, opened the door and dumped his things on the floor. He noted that his mother had changed the bed linens and curtains since his last visit home. But much to his dismay, the room still had the look of a shrine about it—a shrine to his boyhood. Fortunately, that could be remedied in the time it would take him to pack everything away in a couple of cardboard boxes.

By the time he reached the kitchen, Margaret was ready to serve. Since they were all hungry—or at least seemed to be if the way they filled their plates and set to eating was any indication—they managed to get through most of the meal without having to exchange more than the minimum of polite conversation.

Sam relished every bite of his mother’s old-fashioned home cooking, helping himself to another serving of both the salad and the casserole. Emma ate heartily, as well, though she declined seconds. And though Margaret’s appetite seemed somewhat diminished, she, too, finished everything on her plate.

“Sure you’ve had enough?” she asked when he finally sat back and pushed his empty plate away.

“More than enough,” he replied, smiling gratefully.

“I hope you saved room for a slice of fresh peach pie.” As his mother stood, she picked up his plate. “Emma baked it yesterday—homemade from scratch.”

“There’s vanilla ice cream, too,” Emma added, helping Margaret clear the table.

“Sounds tempting, but I really stuffed myself with the King Ranch chicken.”

“Then I’ll make it a small slice,” Margaret said.

“All right, but no ice cream…please.”

“Coffee?” Emma appeared at his side, holding out a steaming mug. “It’s decaf.”

“Thanks.”

Sam took the mug from her, but she turned away before he had the chance to add a smile.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Margaret began as she returned to the table with his pie.

“About what?” Sam asked, eyeing with chagrin the slice she had cut for him.

He had forgotten that his mother’s idea of small would be twice the size he’d had in mind. But the first bite was so luscious, he doubted he would have any trouble finishing it.

“That car you rented,” Margaret replied as Emma returned to the table with mugs of coffee for herself and his mother. “You don’t really need it. You can use mine instead and save yourself a bundle of money.”

“It’s not that expensive. And returning it to the San Antonio airport would be a hassle. Someone would have to drive over in another car and give me a ride back. Someone other than you,” he stated bluntly, hoping to ward off what he fully expected would be her next volley.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she wasn’t up to making a long drive, especially on her own.

“Well, yes. Someone other than me,” Margaret countered with a faint tinge of sarcasm, then faced Emma with a beguiling smile. “You wouldn’t mind following Sam in my car and driving back with him, would you? Tomorrow. After church, of course.”

Trying hard to mask his dismay, Sam glanced at Emma. She stared at Margaret for a long moment, a stricken look on her face, then bowed her head and gazed intently at the contents of her coffee mug, saying nothing.

“I’m sure she has a lot of things she’d rather do with her Sunday afternoon,” he said.

“Oh, no,” his mother said. “She’s been wanting to go to San Antonio for ages. Haven’t you, dear? To visit that nursery where they sell those Old Garden roses you like so much. You could stop at the needlepoint shop on the Riverwalk, too. Dolly called to say the canvas and yarn she ordered for me finally came in. I’m fairly sure both places are open on Sunday afternoon, so you could make a day of it. Unless you do have other plans…”

“Not really,” Emma admitted. “But what about you? Don’t you want to ride along with us, too?”

Sam couldn’t help but hear the desperation in her voice.

She didn’t want to go off on her own with him any more than he wanted to go off on his own with her. But his mother seemed oblivious to that fact. Seemed being the operative word, since she had always prided herself on being highly perceptive.

What was she up to? he wondered. Surely not match-making. She, of all people, had to realize how impossible any union between him and Emma would be.

“I think I’ll just stay here and take it easy,” Margaret replied, then turned her gaze on him again, her eyes laser sharp. “So that’s settled. We’ll go to Mass at nine, have breakfast at the Serenity Café—they still make the best pecan pancakes in town—then you can hit the road.”

“Only if Emma is sure she doesn’t mind,” Sam said.

“I don’t.” Without looking at either of them, she stood quickly, her jerky movements belying her words, and took her mug to the sink.

Sam could think of at least a hundred things he would rather do the following day, and he imagined Emma could, too. But she obviously wasn’t any better at defying Margaret’s wishes than he was. He could almost feel sorry for her, but he was already much too busy feeling sorry for himself.

Damn it, he should have let her go back to her house when he had the chance. Now he was going to be stuck with her all day tomorrow, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. What would she say to him once they were away from his mother’s house?

And what in heaven’s name would he say to her?

“Emma, dear, you look tired. And no wonder after all your hard work today. Why don’t you make an early night of it. Sam can help me clean up the kitchen. Can’t you, son?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stood, his empty plate and mug in hand.

“You know, I think I’ll do just that,” Emma agreed, her relief evident. “See you in the morning.” She gave Margaret a quick hug, then barely glanced his way and added, “Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Emma.”

As he watched her leave the kitchen, Sam caught himself thinking about the frilly white nightgown she’d held against her chest when he’d intruded on her earlier.

Thought of her slipping into it, then climbing into the big, old-fashioned four-poster bed in the guest room, and wished—

“You wash and I’ll dry,” his mother instructed, diverting his attention not a moment too soon.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Stepping up to the sink, he turned on the hot-water faucet, then reached for the liquid soap. Wordlessly, his mother moved to his side, reached up and curved her palm against the side of his face, surprising him.

“Have I told you how glad I am that you’ve come home?”

“At least once already,” he assured her, putting an arm around her slender shoulders. “But I don’t think I’ve told you how glad I am to be here.”

“Are you really?”

“Yes, really.”

Sam hugged his mother close, aware that he had spoken the truth. Despite everything that had happened there, coming back to Serenity had been the right thing to do. And he was glad he’d realized it before it was too late.

“I’m glad.” She hugged him back, then eased away. “Now let’s get this mess cleaned up so we can sit out on the porch awhile and talk. I want you to tell me all about those young pilots you’ve been training.”

Chapter 4

With each mile that spun by beneath the whirring tires of Margaret Griffin’s stately Volvo, the dread that had first settled into Emma’s soul the night before blossomed anew. She sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, clutching the steering wheel with sweaty hands, her eyes locked on the dark blue sedan traveling at a sedate pace a couple of car lengths ahead of her.

Sam seemed in no more of a hurry than she was to reach their destination, but that inevitable moment would be upon them very soon. They had long since left the winding country roads outside Serenity for the four-lane freeway leading into San Antonio. Now they were less than a mile from the airport exit along which the car-rental agency’s lot was located.

Emma couldn’t remember the drive to San Antonio ever seeming to go by so swiftly. But a glance at the clock on the dashboard assured her they had been on the road the requisite hour and a half such a trip normally took.

Apparently, time could also fly when you weren’t having fun.

Not that the drive had been unpleasant. Quite the contrary, in fact, since the weather was nice and the traffic light. What had her quailing wasn’t the journey itself, but rather what awaited her at its end.

From the moment Margaret had first suggested she and Sam spend the afternoon together, Emma’s stomach had been tied in knots. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had been alone with him. And she could recall in all too devastating detail the last of those blessedly rare occasions.

The memory of what had happened on that late June afternoon—only two days before she was supposed to marry Teddy—had seared itself into her mind and heart in such a painful way that any attempt to disregard it proved to be utterly futile. And though she knew better than to imagine there was any chance of a repeat performance, the mere thought of finding herself in a similar situation had been more than enough to unnerve her.

Sam, too, had seemed just as dismayed as she was by his mother’s proposal, which—in a perverse way Emma refused to contemplate too closely—had not only annoyed her, but offered her a small measure of consolation, as well. At least she hadn’t been the only one thrown for a loop.

Yet there had been little either of them could say to dissuade Margaret from the course she had set. Arguing with her would have been a waste of time. She’d had right on her side, and she’d known it.

Allowing Sam to pay for a rental car when he could use hers would have been foolish. And since Margaret really wasn’t up to making the drive to San Antonio on her own…

Of course, she could have ridden along as a passenger and served as a buffer of sorts, Emma thought as she pulled to a stop behind the sedan just outside the rental agency’s office.

Actually, she had been counting on Margaret to do just that up until the moment they had finally said their goodbyes outside her house. The chance to spend some time with Sam had to have appealed to her. And hadn’t she often said how restful she found it to ride in a car?

Not that she had seemed in need of a nap. In Emma’s opinion, she had been in fine fettle that morning. Standing proudly beside her son, she had sung the hymns during the church service in a vibrant voice. Then she’d polished off a tall stack of pancakes at the Serenity Café with obvious relish.

Her decision to take to her bed once they’d returned to her house hadn’t rung true. And Emma had been hard-pressed not to remind her of her oft-stated disapproval of sleeping the day away. Especially when she’d caught the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. A twinkle Emma sincerely hoped Sam hadn’t seen.

Bad enough that she had an idea of what Margaret seemed to have had in mind when she’d sent them off alone. She didn’t want Sam getting wind of his mother’s machinations, as well. Too much had happened for them to be friends, much less anything more…intimate.

For Margaret’s sake, they could try to tolerate each other in the days ahead. But expecting either of them to do more than that would be like asking for the moon. Or, more accurately, expecting any more of Sam.

In all honesty, Emma had to admit it wouldn’t take much for her to succumb to his masculine appeal. After all, she had spent the past four years mourning his absence, as well as Teddy’s, albeit in a very different way. But she knew without a doubt that she had destroyed any feelings he might have had for her. Otherwise, he would have never stayed away so long.

Only his concern for his mother had brought him back to Serenity—his very obvious and deeply felt concern.

As Emma shut off the Volvo’s engine, Sam—looking cool and confident in navy shorts and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows—stepped from the sedan. He glanced back at her a moment, his expression unreadable thanks to the mirrored sunglasses he wore, lifted a hand in acknowledgment, then turned toward the rental agency’s entryway.

With a pang of longing that was almost laughable under the circumstances, Emma watched him pull the door open and disappear inside.

She had always prided herself on her ability to face facts head-on. And she had certainly never considered herself a masochist. So how could the mere sight of one man—especially the one man who had every reason to spurn her—still have such a devastating effect on her?

Her reaction to seeing him just now had been only slightly less unsettling than the reaction she’d had when she’d seen him yesterday afternoon and again when she’d first come upon him early that morning.

At Margaret’s request, he had dressed in uniform for the church service. Seeing him standing tall and handsome in the living room, Emma had felt her breath catch in her throat. She had halted in the doorway, staring at him as a rush of emotion engulfed her. The urge to walk up to him, put her arms around his waist and rest her head on his shoulder had been almost overwhelming.

Until he had glanced at her, his chin up, his blue eyes cold and distant.

Then she had wanted to turn on her heel and run as far and fast as she could. Her pride alone had held her still. Lifting her chin, she had somehow managed not only to hold her ground, but to meet his icy gaze with her own brand of hard-won reserve, as well.

She had stayed on in his mother’s house because the argument he’d made in favor of it had been a valid one. But she hadn’t been about to let him intimidate her.

Now Emma wondered if that might have been the wisest course of action, after all.

Had she simply walked away, she wouldn’t be sitting here, her heart racing, waiting for Sam to finish his business. She wouldn’t be dreading the moment when he joined her in the close, quiet confines of his mother’s car. And she certainly wouldn’t be making herself crazy trying to decide what she could say to him, what she should say to him and what she actually would say to him in the hours ahead.

He would probably want to discuss his mother’s illness. But there was only so much she could tell him about that. Then what? she wondered.

In an effort to pull herself together, Emma grabbed her purse, exited the Volvo and locked the door, then walked into the rental agency. A sideways glance assured her Sam was still waiting to speak to an agent. He stood third in line, his head bent, studying the rental contract. Moving quickly, she went on to the ladies’ room without attracting his attention.

When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. The expression on her face was one more suited to a woman on her way to her execution.

She couldn’t afford to let Sam see her looking so grim. Not when he was capable of cloaking himself in such utter dispassion. That would give him even more of an edge than he already had. If she was to have any chance of getting through the afternoon without making an idiot of herself, she was going to have to try to level the playing field. And she could only do that by at least pretending a nonchalance equal to his own.

She took several deep breaths as she dried her hands on a paper towel, then refastened the banana clip holding her curls away from her face. Forcing herself to think no further than the present moment, she faced the mirror on the wall by the door, smoothed a hand over her narrow, calf-length denim skirt and adjusted her white, sleeveless blouse.

It would do no good to anticipate the worst. In fact, she would only be buying trouble. Better to paste a smile on her face and hope for the best. No matter how blasé Sam might seem, he couldn’t be looking forward to the next few hours, either.

As she left the ladies’ room, Emma saw that Sam had finally made it to the counter. Pen in hand, he was signing a paper while the young female agent stood by, eyeing him appreciatively.

Emma imagined he garnered lots of looks like that from women everywhere he went. Why, she would smile at him that way, too, if she thought it would do her any good.

Realizing that she was frowning again, Emma went on to the car. She unlocked the passenger’s door and slid onto the seat. Reaching over, she stuck the key in the ignition, started the car and turned up the air-conditioning in readiness for Sam’s arrival. Then she took out a map of San Antonio and the article about the nursery she wanted to visit, and tried to pinpoint its location.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sam leave the rental agency. He crossed to the driver’s side of the Volvo, opened the door and leaned inside.

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer to drive?” he asked. “You know your way around here better than I do.”

“Not really,” she admitted, glancing up at him, then away again. “I don’t get into the city all that often, and the traffic near the downtown area can get kind of hairy.” She gestured at the map spread open in her lap. “I’d just as soon navigate. Unless you’d rather not…”

Realizing that she was rambling, Emma allowed her words to trail away. She stared at the map, her grip on it tightening until the edges crumpled in her hands.

“No problem. I don’t mind driving,” Sam replied, his tone matter-of-fact. Slipping behind the steering wheel, he adjusted the seat to accommodate his height. “Where would you like to go first—the nursery that specializes in Old Garden roses or the needlepoint shop down on the Riverwalk?”

“You know, we could just…head back to Serenity,” Emma ventured, looking out the windshield.

Beside her, Sam turned in his seat so that he faced her, but he said nothing. Acutely uncomfortable, Emma hastened to fill the silence stretching between them.

“I mean, you just got into town after traveling for several days, and here you are, on the road again. You must be exhausted. Now that we’ve taken care of the car business…” She waved a hand at the rental-agency office. “I can always go to the nursery another day, and the needlepoint shop can send your mother’s supplies the way they’ve always done in the past.”

When several moments passed and Sam again made no comment, Emma finally turned to look at him. The darkened lenses of his sunglasses made his expression hard to read, but there was a grim twist to his lips as he eyed her quietly.

“I don’t mind going to the nursery and the needlepoint shop as we planned,” he said at last. “But if you want to go back to Serenity, Emma, just say so, and we’ll go back.”

“We didn’t plan to go to the nursery and the needlepoint shop, Sam,” Emma argued as calmly as she could. “Your mother planned that for us. So why go through the motions if we don’t want to?”

“I’ve already said that I don’t mind,” he reminded her reasonably. “But I also said if you do, we can head back right now.” He shifted in his seat again, released the parking brake, put the car in gear, then added almost as an afterthought, “Of course, if we get back earlier than expected, she’s going to wonder what made you change your mind. And more than likely, regardless of what you say, she’s going to hold me responsible for spoiling the day.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Emma protested.

“I’m afraid she would.” Sam pulled to a stop at the rental agency’s exit and glanced at her again. “She warned me two, maybe three times before we left to mind my manners and behave like a gentleman so you’d have a nice time. She said you deserved a day away, and she wanted me to make sure that it was as pleasant as possible.”

Emma groaned inwardly as she bent her head over the map again. She could almost hear Margaret saying the words. And she now knew without a doubt that she’d been right about that mischievous twinkle in her friend’s eyes.

She wished she had kept her mouth shut. Her only intention had been to spare Sam, and in all honesty herself, from several hours of strained silence punctuated by odd intervals of stilted conversation. But all she had actually succeeded in doing was putting both of them in an even more untenable position.

Had she just gritted her teeth and gotten with the program, they could have pretended to make the best of the situation. Now they each knew that the other would rather be anywhere but there. Margaret wanted to give Emma a respite of sorts, and she had elected Sam to do the honors in the hope that something more might come of their spending time together.