Samantha's Gift (8 page)

Because you asked him, dummy,
her heart answered.
You're a terrible softie who doesn't know enough to keep her mouth shut.

That much was true. It was also true, however, that at least a portion of her empathy was a gift from God—a sensitivity that she knew He expected her to use to His glory.

Which didn't mean she was supposed to climb on her soapbox and start to preach, she reminded herself as she started back toward the porch where Sean waited.
Too bad.
It would have been a lot easier for her to lecture him, then walk away, than to continue to befriend him. Friendship meant personal involvement. Commitment. It also meant she'd probably have to reveal a portion of her inner self that few people ever saw, in order to show Sean it was safe to do the same.

“Why?” she muttered, casting her eyes heavenward. “Why me?”

Sean was already on his feet, waiting, as she approached the porch. “Sorry. I didn't catch that. What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing important. I was just talking to myself.”

He chuckled. “Do you do that often?”

“All the time.”

“I suppose you answer yourself, too.”

“Uh-huh. Doesn't everybody?”

“No, but I promise not to tell the school board that you do it.”

“Thanks.” Rachel made a silly face at him and sighed. “Well, here we are. What now?”

To her surprise, his cheeks reddened as if he were blushing. Was that possible? She faced him boldly, fists on her hips, her head tipped to one side.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“No way.” His color deepened.

“That bad, huh?”

“You'd probably think so.”

“Maybe not. You never know,” she said.

Sean's resulting smile reminded her of the one Craig had displayed in church. That was
not
a good sign.

Rachel had remained at the top of the porch stairs. Sean approached her slowly, then passed by and took one step down. When he turned to face her, they were close to the same height.

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” he said. “And I'm not talking about your looks.”

“Hey, thanks a bunch.”

He gently clasped her arms, holding her so she couldn't turn away. “I'm trying to give you a compliment, Rachel. You have the sweetest nature of anyone I've ever known.”

Awed, she was speechless. Her eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity. There was none. Sean Bates might like to kid around a lot of the time, but right now he was being serious. Too serious.

Rachel managed a smile. At least, she thought she did. Given the charged atmosphere between her and Sean she wasn't positive of anything, least of all her own reactions. The sensation of his warm hands caressing her upper arms reminded her of the first time they'd accidentally touched—when he'd tried to open the office door for her. That unexpected encounter had nearly destroyed her composure, just when she'd needed her wits about her for Samantha's sake.

This time, however, there was no one to consider but herself. And Sean, of course. The intensity of his gaze made her toes curl, her pulse hammer. It took her breath away. Without giving the action any conscious thought she parted her lips. They were trembling slightly.

Sean saw the telling reaction and his heart overruled his head. He bent slowly, purposefully, giving Rachel time to order him to stop. She didn't. On the
contrary, she closed her eyes, raised her chin and leaned closer.

Before he could change his mind and behave sensibly, he followed through and kissed her.

R
achel's eyes popped open the moment he ended the kiss. She stared up at him, dumbfounded.

If Sean hadn't kept holding on to her arms, she knew she would have crumpled into a little pile of nothingness at his feet the instant their lips met. Wouldn't
that
have impressed the neighbors! From intelligent schoolteacher to inert dust bunny in three seconds flat. Imagining that vivid illustration made her giggle.

Clearly puzzled, Sean studied her expression. “I've had my face slapped before, but this is the first time a woman has laughed at me for making a pass at her. Was I that funny?”

“No!” She tried to compose herself and failed. The giggles continued. “I— I think I'm just stressed. You know, with school starting, and my mother making
waves, and Samantha's awful situation, and Craig showing up in church this morning, and, and…”

“I get it,” Sean said. There was a tinge of wounded pride in his voice. “One little kiss pushed you over the edge and now you're going to blame me if you end up getting hysterical.”

“Something like that.” Rachel's grin was so broad her jaw ached. The hurt look on his face helped her decide to reach out and gently pat his cheek. “Hey, don't sulk. It was a very, um, nice kiss. Really.”

“‘Nice?' Is that all you can say?”

“Well…” Once again, Sean's perturbed expression tickled her funny bone. “Oh, all right. I liked it, okay? It was great. Stupendous. So wonderful I'm about to keel over in ecstasy.” Which wasn't all
that
far from the truth.

He frowned as he released her. “You don't have to exaggerate. I get the general idea.”

I'm grateful you don't,
Rachel thought. She said, “Well, good. I'm glad we have that all settled. Now, as I was saying before you got carried away—what next? Can I fix you a glass of iced tea or something?”

Sean took another step backward down the porch stairs, his hand sliding down the railing. “No thanks. I think it's high time I left.”

It's long
past
the time you should have left.
Instead of voicing that opinion she offered a plausible pretext. “I do have quite a few chores to do before nightfall. Stopping at Linden's after church kind of messed up
my schedule. I usually catch up on yard work Sunday afternoons.”

“I meant to tell you what a beautiful place you have,” he said.

One more step took him to the level of the lawn, where he paused to casually scan her yard. There were low, lush flower beds lining the front of the house. Two shade trees between there and the street were ringed with bright pink and white blooms that stood out boldly against the strong green of the grass. If there were weeds hidden among the plantings, he certainly couldn't tell. The only chore he could see that looked like it needed doing was to mow the lawn.

“I suppose it does take quite a bit of work to keep everything looking just right,” he said.

“Thank you. Yes. It does. But I enjoy puttering. Flowers never sass me like some kids do, or argue with me the way Mom does.”
Or kiss me when I'm

not expecting it.

Sean struck a nonchalant pose, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. “So, what's on today's agenda?”

“I have to mow the—” Rachel stopped herself the moment she saw an eager glint in his eyes. It was too late.

“That's what I figured. I'm a whiz at pushing a mower. Since it's partly my fault that you're late getting started, let me cut the grass for you.”

“I don't push my mower,” she countered. “I ride around on it. Actually, it's lots of fun.”

“Great!”

“I mean, it's fun for
me.
I like mowing the lawn.”

“Honest?”

Rachel raised her right hand, palm out, as if taking a sworn oath. “Honest.”

“Okay.” Sean shrugged and started to turn away. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

Watching him saunter to his car she was struck by how strongly she wanted him to stay. It wouldn't do to reveal that urge, of course. Now that she'd finally gotten him to agree to leave, she'd be twice the fool to ask him to change his mind and hang around longer. Still, the idea was appealing. Foolish, but appealing.

Sean wasn't sure why Rachel seemed so determined to get rid of him but he could tell when he wasn't wanted. Clearly, he'd overstayed his welcome—and then some.

He was getting into his car when a mud-splattered, red pickup truck came roaring down the middle of Old Sturkie Road and skidded to a stop at the end of the driveway, blocking his only exit. He tensed. Unless Rachel had other former jealous boyfriends he didn't know about, there was little doubt who had just arrived.

Staying focused on the truck for only a few sec
onds, Sean glanced back at the porch. Rachel was no longer smiling. She was standing her ground, yet clearly not thrilled to see Craig Slocum. One hand was clamped tightly to the stairway railing and the other was squeezed into a fist at her side.

Sean hesitated. There was no way he was going to drive off and leave Rachel at the mercy of the angrylooking man who was now climbing out of the red pickup and heading his way. Besides, as long as his car was penned in, he couldn't make a graceful exit even if he wanted to.

Slamming the car door, Sean welcomed his rival with a smile and an amiable “Hello, again,” his right hand extended.

Slocum didn't respond verbally. He merely closed the distance between them, gritted his teeth and swung.

The unexpected punch caught Sean off guard. He grabbed his chin and staggered back against the side of his car. Before he could gather himself for the melee he was sure was coming, Craig had spun around and stalked back to his pickup. The truck's tires squealed, throwing loose gravel, then caught.

Rachel ran up and grabbed Sean's arm as Craig sped away. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He gingerly wiggled his jaw. Surprisingly, it still worked.

“I can't believe he did that!”

“I can. I kept trying to tell you he was jealous.”

“I know, but… Why hit you? That's not fair. We've never given him any reason to…” She took a ragged breath. “Somebody must have seen you kiss me!”

“News travels
that
fast? I doubt it. Not even around here.” Sean glanced up and down the narrow road. “I have an idea he was watching us himself.”

“That's ridiculous.” Shaking her head she studied Sean's face. “Move your hand and let me see your chin.”

“I'm not sure I should let go of it until I decide if I'm still in one piece,” he quipped, wincing. “Your boyfriend packs quite a wallop.”

“I told you…”

“I know, I know. He's not your boyfriend. He means nothing to you. Maybe you should tell
him
instead of me. I don't think ole Craig has figured it out on his own.”

“He should have. We had a big enough argument the night we broke up.”

“Then, it's probably an ego thing. Most men are like that. We aren't exactly rational where our women are concerned.” His eyes met Rachel's and darkened. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Of course.” She looped her arm through his. “Come on. You and I are going into the house to put some ice on your face. Otherwise, you're liable to look like you were in a fight.”

“I was,” Sean gibed. “I just didn't find out about it in time to participate.”

Looking up at him with a smile she said, “Oh, I think you participated plenty.”

 

Seated at Rachel's kitchen table, Sean held a cold pack to his jaw as he watched her preparing fresh lemonade. She'd kicked off her shoes and was standing with her back to him, giving him the opportunity to enjoy looking at her without embarrassment.

He'd always thought of petite women as delicate, which she was, in a way. Yet she was also strong. Any lack of size was more than made up for by her spunky attitude and obvious intelligence.

When he started to grin, the pain in his cheek muted his good humor. If he was going to convince Rachel he was fine, it was apparently going to have to be done straight-faced.

“I could squeeze those lemons for you,” Sean said. “The guy didn't cripple me, you know.”

Rachel turned, pitcher in hand. “I know. But there's no need. I'm all done. If we finish this batch, you can squeeze the lemons for the next one, okay?”

“Sure.” Sean tried a lopsided smile and was happy to find it didn't cause undue pain.

“What's so funny?”

“You are. The way you say things sometimes. I know you don't mean to, but it comes out sounding like you're talking to little kids.”

“It doesn't!”

“Oh yes, it does. There's a kind of cajoling tone you use that reminds me of the way you deal with Samantha when she's pitching a fit.”

“Oh dear.”

Rachel placed the pitcher on the table, went to the cupboard to get tall glasses, then filled them with ice from the freezer before returning. She stood till she'd poured them each a glassful of lemonade, then sat down across from him.

“I think it's kind of cute,” Sean told her.

“And I think I've been spending too much time exclusively with children.”

“Possibly. You've definitely found your niche, though. I admire that. You know what you want to do and you do it. There are times when that can take a lot of courage.”

“No kidding.” She smiled over at him. “Speaking of courage, how's your face?”

Sean chuckled. “I hardly notice it.” In order to drink he'd had to lay aside the towel they'd wrapped around the ice cubes to pad them. Now, he canted his chin toward her. “How does it look?”

“Kind of red. Could be from the cold instead of a bruise. We'll have to wait and see.”

“Suppose it's too late for me to grow a beard to cover it?”

“Probably. Although I did notice a little stubble when—” She broke off, suddenly all too aware of the
intimate way she'd caressed his cheek when she'd been so worried about his welfare.

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hand over the unhurt side of his face. “I guess I do need a shave. Too bad my hair isn't darker, like my brother Paul's. He can go from clean-shaven to looking like a bum in a day.”

Rachel had noticed a definite stiffening of her companion's posture as soon as he mentioned his brother. That was the second time. Whatever had distanced Sean from his family clearly had left hard feelings that he had yet to deal with.

“I like the color of your hair,” Rachel said. “It's kind of brown and kind of red at the same time. Very unusual.”

“My genealogy is part Irish and part German with some unknown ancestors thrown in for interest. Guess you could say I'm a mutt.”

“We all are.” She took a slow sip of her lemonade and licked her lips before continuing. “According to family legend, one of my great-great-great-grandmothers escaped from the Trail of Tears.”

“When the Cherokees were marched across to Oklahoma?”

“That's the time. There were actually several different trails. The one that came through northern Arkansas was called Benge's Route, named after the army officer who was in charge of that detachment.”

“How interesting.”

“I thought so. There were supposedly about twelve-
hundred Cherokees in that particular group, although nobody kept very accurate records of the tribes back then.”

“So, what makes you think your grandmother escaped?”

“Family legend. In those days, folks didn't talk openly about things like that, so there's really no way I can prove it—but I'd like to believe the story is true.”

“Can't you trace the genealogy somehow?”

“Not without more details. I don't even know her original name. I'm assuming she anglicized it. Supposedly, she hid out on a local farm till the army gave up looking for her. Later, she married a boy from around here and they lived way back in the hills where nobody bothered them.”

“That's fascinating.”

“I always thought so. And she wasn't the only one to break away from the band. Folks around here say that's why there are so many dark-haired, blue-eyed natives. There were a lot of blue-eyed Cherokee.”

“Really?” Studying her face he noted—not for the first time—the striking effect of dark lashes shadowing the vivid blue of her eyes. “I had wondered why your eyes aren't brown like your hair.”

He'd paid that much attention? Oh!

Rather than admit to herself that she was flattered, she continued with their discussion of history. “I just wish the Native Americans hadn't been forced to hide
their origins in order to live away from the reservation. Think of the stories they could have told.”

“They probably did pass on their oral history to some extent. Otherwise, you wouldn't have known anything about your ancestor.”

“That's true. So, tell me more about your family.”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“No skeletons in the closet? No big secrets?”

Sean huffed, gave her a derisive look. “The skeletons in my family are more likely to be found in a bar than in a closet.”

To Rachel's dismay he abruptly got to his feet and carried his half-empty glass to the sink.

“I'd better be going.”

“You should keep ice on that bruise,” she cautioned.

“I have ice at home.”

“I know. But you still have to get from here to there. Where do you live, anyway?”

“East Serenity, in the new apartments. That's why I was eating at Linden's when we ran into each other. It's close to home.”

“I see.” Rachel rolled the kitchen towel more tightly around what was left of the ice cubes she'd given him and held it out. “Here. Take this with you.”