Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (12 page)

Sam’s mouth went dry. It was a photo taken right before they’d left for the prom.

“It’s my dad, isn’t it?” Caden asked.

Sam had given Caden a picture of her father when she was old enough to ask about him. It was cut from the yearbook Sam had taken from the island, and Caden kept it in a silver frame on her nightstand.

Caden’s lips curved into a wide smile. She looked back at the photo taken in Landon’s front yard. Caden’s father stood between the two of them, his arms curled around Landon and Sam.

“Did Landon know my dad?”

Sam’s mouth worked silently. She was unprepared for this. In the photo, Caden’s father wore his wide, charismatic grin as easily as he wore the black tux. He stood as tall as her in the flats she insisted on wearing. After the photo, they went their separate ways.

“Mom?” Caden’s brows were pinched. “Did he grow up here with you? Did he live around here? Do I have grandparents here?”

Caden’s questions came too fast, a tidal wave in speed and intensity, and Sam wondered if there was any way of stopping it now. If she told Caden, Landon would find out, and she couldn’t stand the thought of that. Maybe she couldn’t stop what was happening, but she could put it off.

“I want to answer your questions, Caden. But I’m going to ask you to wait. Wait until we leave here. When we get back to Boston, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

Her face fell. “That’s not fair.”

“I have my reasons. Good ones.” Sam ached inside and wished she’d left Caden in Boston so they wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma.

Tears flooded Caden’s eyes and spilled over. “I deserve to know about my dad! Why won’t you tell me? You’re just being mean!”

“Caden, if I told you now, other people would—” She stopped, not wanting to say too much.

“Other people would what?”

“No one else can know. If I told you, it would be too hard for you to keep it a secret.”

“I can keep a secret.” Just then Caden reminded Sam of herself at her age, with her wet blond hair hanging in strings around her face. She’d kept secrets at her age. Things she still had told no one.

“I’m not a baby.”

“I know you’re not.” Sam wet her lips, giving herself a chance to back out of this, not at all sure she wasn’t being foolish. If Landon found out . . .

Sam saw the sincerity in Caden’s expression. “All right. There’s something I never told you because—well, I didn’t think you’d ever need to know. I never planned to come back here, never planned for you to meet Landon.”

“What? Tell me, Mom.” Fear glimmered in her eyes, dread of what her mother was about to say.

“It’s nothing bad; it’s just . . . you have to promise you won’t tell Landon.”

“Landon?”

“I know that’s a big thing to ask of you. We’ll be here for a couple of more weeks. Do you think you can do that?”

She nodded, wiping her tears. “Was my dad a bad person?” She looked at the photo.

“No, Caden. He was a good guy. The best. He . . . he was Landon’s brother. We grew up together, just like Landon and me.”

“And you were in love?”

Hope brightened her face, and Sam couldn’t dispel it. “I loved Bailey very much.” Caden needn’t know Sam had only loved him as a dear friend.

“Then Landon is my uncle?”

Her childish delight brought a smile to Sam’s lips.

“And his parents are my grandparents!”

Fear stabbed Sam. “Wait, honey. Yes, Landon and his dad are related to you, but his mom passed away, and his dad doesn’t live here anymore. And don’t forget what I said about it being a secret.”

“I don’t understand. Why don’t they know about me?”

“I have my reasons.”

She glared and shoved the box away. “That’s not fair.”

She was right. So much surrounding her life hadn’t been fair. Bailey’s death hadn’t been fair, either—to any of them.

Caden rose to her feet. “I finally have a family, and you won’t let them know about me!”

“You already have a family, Caden. We’re a family.”

Her daughter blinked hard, but a tear escaped. “Some family.” She ran to her room and slammed the door.

Sam closed her eyes and sighed. It had been a mistake to tell her. But it was too late to take it back. She knew better than anyone that second chances were a myth.

Fourteen

“H
ow was Saturday?” Scott asked Landon on Monday afternoon.

Landon pulled off his white overcoat, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Like the date from hell.” When Scott chuckled, Landon wanted to slug him. Scott had been around a long time, but sometimes Landon wondered if they were too different to remain friends.

“Sorry, man. I tried to warn you.”

He’d about had it with Scott’s warnings. He picked up the file for his last patient, a golden retriever named Jackson. “I can take care of myself.”

“It’s real simple, Landon. Just stay away from her. You keep going over there, helping her, and she’s just playing you.”

“You don’t know her, Scott.”

“I know her better than you think. You’re too good for her.”

Landon pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t say something he regretted. His friend didn’t understand Sam like he did.

Scott laughed. “I don’t know what you think you see in her, but you didn’t see her at the tavern last week.”

Landon’s breath caught in his lungs. He opened his mouth to ask.
Don’t ask. Maybe you don’t want to know.

“She was flirting with all the men. Including Phil Henderson. Sat talking to him for a good hour. You know he’s married, right? Has like six kids.”

“It’s not a crime to talk to someone in a bar.”

“Open your eyes, man. She’s interested in every guy who isn’t you. You’re getting hung up on her again, and she’s going to leave just like she did last time. I don’t want to watch you go through it again.”

His words bounced around in Landon’s mind. He remembered the way she pushed Melanie on him, and the way Sam rejected him, and the way she accepted Tully’s kiss. But he also remembered the way Sam looked at him when he smoothed his thumb over her lower lip.

And he remembered things Scott didn’t even know about. Like the way Sam stood stoically at her dad’s funeral, and the way she stared vacantly across the water the day her mother left. Sam’s young heart was shattered, and she built a thick wall around it to protect herself. He loved her like no one else could, and she knew it. If only she would let him in, he would spend the rest of his life proving he would never leave her.

Amber called the next day and invited Caden over for the afternoon. Judging by the glare her daughter leveled at her over her bowl of chicken noodle soup, she was happy to escape Sam’s company.

After she left, Sam tarped the kitchen floor and pushed the table and chairs away from the wall. Paint fumes from the day before still hung in the air and filled her nostrils. At least the potent smell covered the odor of Emmett.

With the trim work done, she figured she could roll all the walls today and apply a second coat tomorrow. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get the house on the market and escape this cursed place. The thought of Caden’s stricken face the night before worried her. What if she told Landon? Sam couldn’t bear it if he found out she’d run straight into Bailey’s arms after Landon told her he loved her.

Even now, she wondered what she’d been thinking. It was stupid to leave Landon’s party that night, but a tidal wave of pain crashed into her, driving her to run.

She pried off the paint lid easily and set it on the kitchen counter. The roller and pan still lay in a bag in the shed, so she went after them. Outside, the air was thick with the smell of rain, and dark clouds gathered. The wind whipped her ponytail against her face, stinging her cheek.

She jogged the rest of the way to the shed, hoping to make it back inside before the rain fell. In her hurry, she tripped on the rock they used to prop open the door, jamming her bare toes. She limped the two yards to the back of the shed.

She strained to see in the darkness. The familiar odor of dirt and old garden tools took her back fifteen years. Her hand fumbled along the rough shelves, and she made a mental note to buy lightbulbs on her next trip to the store. The cheap beach ball she’d bought Caden bounced away as the back of her hand connected with it, then she touched the cool, hard edges of the paint tray.

Just as her fingers closed around the aluminum pan, the door slammed shut. Darkness enveloped her. She whipped around, her thoughts flying fast. She’d kicked the rock just far enough to move it out of the door’s path.

Sam took two steps and groped for the knob. Her hand grasped it and turned, but it didn’t give. She jiggled the knob frantically, straining to see in the darkness. She shoved her body against the door fruitlessly.

Think, Sam, think. Don’t panic.

But the darkness of the small space took her back to days she’d spent her life trying to forget. Days when she sat huddled in the corner of her closet, waiting for Emmett to let her out.

Sam put her hand over her heart as if she could still it.
You’re inthe shed, and Emmett is gone. You’re fine.

She looked around at the windowless walls, hoping for a sliver of light that would reveal a possible escape. Emmett had built the shed himself, and she cursed his meticulous carpentry. She could imagine him looking at her now from beyond the grave, taking malicious delight in her predicament. She could almost hear his drunken laugh.

Stop it, Sam
. She put the brakes on the thought, but her legs trembled. Outside, the wind picked up, howling across the ocean and shaking the tree limbs.

Maybe she could bust the door open with something. Her vision had adjusted to the darkness as much as it would, but she still had to grope to find the sawhorse that sat in the corner. She grabbed it, heedless of the sticky cobwebs, and pulled. Everything that sat on top of it clattered to the cement floor.

With the sawhorse braced in her arms like a battering ram, she drove the wooden end into the door as hard as she could. The steel door seemed as sturdy as a brick wall, and the force of the impact rattled her. She swung the sawhorse back and rammed again. Nothing.

The rough wood cut into her palms, but she kept driving the sawhorse into the door. Finally, she set it down and leaned heavily against the wall, her chest heaving. It wasn’t going to budge.

Sam straightened and reached for the shovel that was propped against the wall. Her fist closed around a handle, but when she slid her hands to the bottom, she felt the sharp tines of the rake. She set it down and moved on. The heaviness of the next rod told her she’d found it.

She carried it the two steps to the door and felt for the knob. Judging its approximate location, she brought the shovel’s blade down, and it connected with a clang. Without pausing, she lifted the shovel and brought it down again and again.

Sam stopped when her heart threatened to burst from her chest. She threw the shovel to the floor and dug her hands into her hair. She wasn’t going to be able to get herself out of here. The place was as sturdy as a mausoleum, and it was beginning to feel like one.

If only Caden were home. Melanie said she’d call later in the afternoon before she brought Caden back, but Sam wouldn’t be inside to answer the phone.

Miss Biddle was her only hope. A very slim hope. If she was home, she’d be hard-pressed to hear Sam even if the wind wasn’t howling. If Miss Biddle hadn’t heard the clanging of the shovel against the doorknob, what were the chances of her hearing anything? Still, what other choice did Sam have?

Sam pressed her mouth into the corner of the doorsill, sucked in a deep breath, then yelled for her neighbor as loudly as she could. She called out several more times, then stilled, her ear pressed against the door. Somehow the screaming had sent a surge of panic through her veins. She was hyperventilating, and the beating of her heart shook her body.

Outside, the branches of a tree scraped the side of the shed and sent a shiver up her spine. She turned into the wall and slid down it until she crouched on the cement floor. The cool hardness of it took her back to the first time Emmett locked her in her closet.

It was the night after her mom left. Sam waited all day for him to come home. She wondered what would happen if he didn’t. She’d heard about orphanages and foster care, and the thought of leaving home was scarier than the thought of staying.

Emmett got home after dark, and when he walked in the door, it was as if he didn’t see her sitting on the couch. He went straight to the refrigerator, and she heard the sucking sound of the door opening and the clanking of bottles.

Sam pulled her knees to her chest and held them tight. It seemed like an hour before he came back into the room. He stopped short when he saw her, like he’d forgotten she lived there.

He cursed. “She’s not back, but you’re still here. She probably ran off with some man, but she left her spawn, didn’t she?” He gestured toward her with the brown bottle.

Sam pulled her legs closer and looked down at the white fabric of her long T-shirt stretched across her knees. She had sat on the porch as it got dark and wished on the first star she’d seen. A futile wish, probably. Still, she asked.