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what to do now."

She sat unmoving, and part of her actually expected to hear some sort of answer. Her eyes

brimmed with tears as she listened to nothing but the deafening roar of a departing plane.

Chapter Twenty-four

SAMANTHA GRIMACED AS she took another sip from her fourth glass of wine. She hated

red wine. Especially dry varieties like the one she was drinking now. Unfortunately, it was the

only bottle left in her wine rack...obviously a gift from somebody, as she would never buy

Merlot for herself...and she desperately needed a drink after the day she'd had.

The sun streaked through the picture window in the living room, but she had no desire to be

out in it. The bottle of wine was on the floor, more than half empty. Sam lay sprawled on the

couch, the hand holding the wineglass dangling precariously over the carpet, allowing her

depression to completely surround her, cradling her in its cold and lonely arms. Today,

Samantha Richter had been forced to take a good, honest look at herself.

She had not been impressed.

Rob, the bastard. He'd actually expected that they'd stay with his ex-girlfriend once they

arrived in Vancouver and Sam wouldn't have a problem with it. Truth was, she didn't have a

problem until she came back from a quick trip to the drugstore to pick up tampons and found

them in bed together. Just like old times.

She'd used the credit card her father had given her to get a bus ticket so she could come

home. To her advantage, the long, tedious ride had given her ample time to collect herself and

put her unshakable facade back into place. She couldn't have her adoring baby cousin thinking

she'd been humiliated by yet another one of her scoundrel boyfriends.

Truth be told, she didn't know why she'd been surprised at Rob's betrayal. He was no

different than any of the other men she'd dated. He certainly wasn't that far removed from

the loser she'd actually married. Screwing around was just part of his character.

They were all the same. She had known that going in. For some reason, though, this one hurt

more than the others. She wasn't sure why.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," she muttered at the ceiling.

And what the hel was going on with Melanie? She rolled her eyes and drained her glass when

the thought popped into her head. God, I real y fucked that one up. Even Samantha had the

good sense to feel remorse for her behavior that morning. She had completely lost it. She had

been trying so hard to put on a happy face after the Rob fiasco. Then she'd walked in to find

her half-naked cousin in the kitchen and her equally-as-naked new female lover in Samantha's

own bed. The blonde hadn't known how to handle it, so she'd snapped, plain and simple.

Something of which she was not proud.

Apparently, she didn't really know Melanie at all. Had Samantha really spent her life so self-

absorbed that she failed to notice something as important as her closest cousin's penchant

for women? Nah, she decided. That was definitely new. And she had to admit that if Melanie

was going to pick a woman to fall for, Taylor was an excellent choice. Samantha herself had

entertained the thought more than once of taking her harmless flirting with the brunette a

step further, just to see what it would be like.

And fall for Taylor was exactly what Melanie had done. That much was glaringly obvious. Much

as her little cousin had tried to keep her emotions in check, Samantha had seen her as if she

had been an open book. It was right there in her eyes, as apparent as if she had written it in

black marker on her forehead. Melanie was in love with Taylor. She also seemed to be pretty

aware of the fact, which only caused her more anxiety. Samantha may have been considered

selfish by a lot of people, but she did pay attention to how Melanie acted when they were

growing up, and she was surprised when the redhead ran. Her cousin had never been one to

avoid anything.

Sam pressed the heels of her hands tightly to her eyes. Four glasses of wine on an empty

stomach worked quickly with her.

Unfortunately, all the messes of the day still stared her in the face. Who was it that came up

with the bril iant idea to drink away your problems? They just seemed bigger now that she was

inebriated.

She had wanted to stop Melanie from leaving, but she had still been smarting from the news

of the bookstore. She knew, deep down inside, that Melanie would have much better luck than

she would have, but still. Yes, she had flippantly told Melanie to tel her father to sell it, but

Melanie actually buying it felt like a betrayal of sorts. The reasonable adult in Sam's mind

understood that it was strictly business, that Melanie would be a terrific owner, but the little

girl inside was stomping her feet and scowling, mad that she'd lost something to her younger

cousin.

A shadow interrupted the sunlight shining warmly on her closed eyelids for a brief second.

She furrowed her brow, sitting up and blinking at the window.

She stood abruptly, too abruptly and had to reach out to the arm of the couch for support,

when she heard the distinct sound of the scraping of shoes against the cement stoop at the

front door. She surprised herself, as well as the person standing there, when she pulled it

open.

Samantha and Taylor blinked at each other for several seconds. The brunette spoke first.

"I...um. I was just...uh, looking for Melanie," she stammered, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in the present company. "But her Jeep's not here, so I wasn't going to knock."

"She's gone." Sam waved her hand as if batting away a fly and turned back into the house.

Taylor followed her, well aware of the poorly disguised weaving in Samantha's step. "Gone?

What do you mean, gone?"

Sam plopped back down to the couch and poured herself another glass of wine. "Gone. Outta

here. Bye-bye. Back to Chicago."

"Back to—" Taylor felt her stomach lurch, panic seizing her.

Melanie had gone back to Chicago? Just like that? Without so much as a goodbye? "I was going

to go with her," she murmured, the softness of the voice doing nothing to hide the pain it

held. She glanced about the room, noting Sam's indifference, as well as the nearly empty

bottle of wine. "Sorry to have bothered you," she whispered. Swallowing audibly, she turned on her heel and left the carriage house without another word.

Sam watched all this with rapt attention, feeling mildly disappointed to see Taylor go. Part of

her knew she needed to talk to her friend, to apologize, but she just couldn't bring herself to

do it.

"Ah, maybe tomorrow then," she said aloud, bringing the glass to her lips. For the moment, she was content to consume her wine and wallow in her own self-pity.

BEN WAS SEATED at the kitchen table eating a late lunch when Taylor entered the house. He

glanced up at her, immediately concerned by the expression on her face, his earlier anger and

humiliation automatically kicked aside by his fatherly instincts.

"T.? You okay?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she replied, not looking at him, crossing through the kitchen to the doorway leading to the rest of the house.

At the doorway, she stopped, her hands resting on the moulding on either side of her. Both

father and daughter were quiet for several minutes. He watched her. She stood in the

doorway, her back to him, her head hanging forward. She spoke without turning around.

"I'm sorry, Dad." Her voice was barely audible, but Ben heard it and was surprised by the pain it held.

"It's okay, T."

"No." She turned to face him, and he saw the tears brimming in her dark eyes. She looked so much like Anna, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest...he could never stand to see Anna

cry either. "No, it's not okay. I need to explain."

Ben wasn't sure he wanted to hear what she had to say, but he remained quiet as she pulled

out the chair across from him and sat down, her arms on the table, her eyes studying her

hands.

"I should have talked to you about Melanie." She took a deep breath. "I knew you were interested in her, but by that time, so was I, even if I didn't want to admit it."

Ben nodded, said nothing.

"I wasn't even sure...which...whom she...preferred," she stammered. "Men or women."

"You didn't ask her?"

"Did you?"

Ben shook his head, taking his daughter's point in stride.

Taylor met his eyes, softening her gaze, speaking as sincerely as she could. "I'm not sorry for what happened between her and I, but I am sorry for not talking to you when things got

complicated. We've been through too much together. You deserved more respect than that,

and I apologize. I didn't mean to hurt you. Neither did she."

Ben was quiet for a long time, thoughts swirling around in his head so rapidly, he had trouble

grasping hold of just one. Finally, he addressed his daughter.

"So, can I assume then that she's...that she prefers women?"

Taylor fought hard to keep the smirk from her face at the childlike quality of the question. "I think we'd have to ask her that," she responded carefully, uncomfortable with the fact that

she herself didn't quite know the answer to that one.

"Mm." he nodded. He was struggling. Taylor could see it on his face. "What happens now? Are you two... um... an item?"

Taylor's face fell slightly, but it was enough for her father to catch. She turned her eyes to

gaze out the window at the late afternoon sunlight. "I don't know. Sam says Melanie's gone

back to Chicago. I think this morning may have been a bit too much for her to handle."

It still amazed Ben how quickly parental instincts took over. His immediate concern was to

smooth away the worry lines on the face of his beloved child...to say something to make her

feel better. She'd been there for him during the lowest point in his life, and she'd done

everything she could to ease his pain. It was time to return the favor.

"Don't you worry about Melanie," he ordered, patting her hand. "You know as well as I do how tough she is. Don't underestimate what she can and cannot handle."

A tear finally spilled over and tracked down Taylor's cheek as she looked at her big, strong

daddy, trying so hard to take away her pain, despite his own. She felt like she was eight years

old again and wanted nothing more than to crawl up in his lap and let him protect her from all

the hurt in the world.

"What if she doesn't come back?" she whispered.

"She owns the bookstore now," he reasoned. "She has to come back."

"Maybe she doesn't own it yet. What if she puts a halt to it?"

"She owns it. Trust me. I've seen the paperwork." He wiped the tear off her cheek. "She'll be back, and then you two can sort things out, okay? Just give her a little time. Maybe she's...

struggling with this." He couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. He was not

the heart-to-heart type, he never had been. But, it seemed to be working, he noticed, as

Taylor's face brightened just the slightest bit.

"I love her," she said softly, swallowing the lump in her throat, a little embarrassed about the vulnerability she was suddenly showing her father.

"I know you do," he replied, and it was the truth. "And that makes Melanie Larson one very lucky lady." She looked at him in surprise. "Now come here and give your old man a hug, then go wash your face."

She didn't hesitate as she went around the table to wrap her arms around him, squeezing as

tightly as she could. It was a game they had played when she was little. Ben wasn't a big

talker, but hugs had been his specialty. He would always tease her, instructing her to hug him

as tightly as she could. "Are you squeezing yet?" he'd rib her, knowing full well she was

squeezing as hard as her little arms would allow.

"T.," he wheezed now, chuckling at the same time. "I'm an old man now, remember? Go easy.

You're gonna break my ribcage."

She laughed, loosening her hold slightly but not letting him go. "Thanks, Dad." She kissed him lightly on his cheek, remnants of his Old Spice after shave tingling on her lips. She left the

kitchen and headed upstairs. Although she didn't feel great, she felt a lot better than she

had twenty minutes ago. Melanie would come back eventually, right?

Chapter Twenty-five

MELANIE KNEW AS soon as she set foot in her apartment that she didn't really want to be

there. It looked exactly as it had when she left it, only covered with more dust. She dropped

her suitcase on the hardwood floor and sifted through three weeks worth of mail. She tried

valiantly to pretend she was actually paying attention to the return addresses for a good two

and a half minutes before throwing the envelopes angrily to the floor. She'd managed to make

the entire ride from Rochester to Chicago without shedding a tear, but now that she was so

far away from the one person she wanted to be near most in the world, she was unable to stop

the flow of emotion and it washed over her like an ocean wave, forcing her down against the

couch with its intensity.

How had this happened? How had something that felt so right suddenly become so wrong?

Why was it so hard for her to accept that she loved another woman? She didn't understand, a

fact that was making her crazy, because understanding was something she normally did very

well. She plodded to the bathroom to grab the box of Kleenex, then returned to the couch,