“Where’s Violet tonight?”
An odd sort of twinge pulled around her chest at the sound of her daughter’s name crossing Sam’s lips. She fiddled with a loose piece of cardboard on one of the boxes to try and distract herself. “At her dad’s. Ryan has her every other weekend and a couple nights during the week. I won’t see her until Sunday evening. I miss her like crazy when she’s gone, but I know she loves—and needs—the time with her dad.” She shook off the conflicted feelings and glanced up. “Do you want a glass of wine? I have pinot noir and merlot. Maybe a white, too.”
She was rambling again. But she couldn’t help it. It was nerve-wracking having Sam Fratto standing so near her. In her kitchen.
“Whatever you’re having is fine. I’ll go get the last couple of boxes.”
He stepped out onto the porch, pausing to take in the view of the Wasatch Mountains as the waning sunlight bathed them in purples and pinks. She could almost imagine his eyes crinkling at the edges as he squinted in appreciation of the view.
As did she. But not of the mountains.
His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, then he strode to the car. She came to stand at the doorway on the chance he might need her help. Something moved off to her right. Startled, she tur
ned in that direction, scanning the area for what it may have been. Nothing. She broadened her scope to the rest of the neighborhood, but it was quiet, save for a couple of birds chirping up in a tree. The evening air was pungent from the spring rain that had hit the valley a little earlier.
No doubt she’d just been imagining things and was possibly a little tightly strung from her earlier adventure. She went back inside. Sam seemed to have the boxes under control, and she could definitely use a glass of wine. She headed to the kitchen to remedy that situation.
She was taking a third sip of merlot, trying not to think about the strong, acrid odor of smoke that clung to her hair, when Sam settled two more boxes on the table before joining her at the counter. Even now, after being in his company the past couple hours, her belly still flipped at the sight of him. She took another gulp, glad for the calm that finally settled over her.
“Don’t know about you,” she said, “but I don’t think I could muster up any energy to look through those boxes tonight. I’m exhausted and starved. Maybe after I’ve had some pizza, I’ll be thinking differently.” But she doubted it.
“That sounds like a good idea to me.” He picked up the glass of wine she’d set out for him and took a sip. “How you holding up?”
“I think I’m still processing it.” She grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard. “Let’s go in the other room.”
Seated comfortably on the couch, one leg tucked under her, she took a long pull of wine, mulling over the evening’s turn of events as Sam dropped down uncomfortably close next to her. Strange how going through something so life threatening could make her feel so much closer to him—even if still electrified to be in his presence—when just this morning she’d been devising ways to avoid him. “Seeing as how my life is usually pretty predictable, I can’t seem to wrap my head around what happened to us tonight. Have you ever had anything like that happen to you before?”
“I had a couple uncomfortable encounters during my days as a journalist. Back when I was doing some investigative work into a drug cartel in Philadelphia.” He pulled a couple slices of pizza out and set one on each plate. “Meeting sources in the most disreputable areas of town led to a few chases of my own.”
She stared at the pizza he’d served her but couldn’t take a bite. “I know this whole thing probably lasted no more than three or four minutes, but it seemed like much longer. And you know the biggest concern that flashed through my head the entire time we were down there?” She met his gaze. “That I didn’t want to leave my daughter alone.”
Sam didn’t say anything, but he looked as if he got her mood and her need to talk. She was grateful to him—and the wine that was easing her anxiety—and found herself willing to share a little more. Something that she didn’t usually do with people until she knew them better. But she wanted him to understand why she was acting so emotional.
In a quiet voice, she continued. “I lost my mom when I was a little girl. I was five at the time, and it took me a long time to accept she wasn’t coming home. At night, I’d wait and wait for her to come in and tuck me in, to tell me a story like she always did. I hoped she would change her mind and come back to me. I thought it was my fault. I couldn’t understand that her death was…final.”
Sam settled his plate on the coffee table and moved closer, leaning forward to touch her cheek, a brief, feather-light touch that sent a shiver of pleasure through her body. “That’s tough. I’m sorry, Allie. How did she die?”
She caught her breath when his hand dropped back to his side. “Car accident. She was coming home from the grocery store when another car slid across some black ice. She was killed instantly. I think it was the unexpectedness of the whole thing that made it so hard for us. No warning. No time to say goodbye.” She sensed his steady gaze on her, probably waiting for her to cry, which she wouldn’t do. At least not in front of him.
He spoke softly. “Your reaction is perfectly normal. I had the same thoughts run through my mind with every dangerous assignment I took, the possibility I’d orphan my son. And today, too. It probably gave me the strength to kick that steel door in.”
She blinked up at him. “You…have a son? I didn’t know.” She snapped her mouth shut when she realized it had been hanging open.
Sam granted her a slight, lopsided smile. “Josh is twelve.”
She paused to process that information. “How did you do it? Put yourself in danger, knowing what could happen?”
“Believe me, it bothered me a lot. What would happen to him, who would take care of him? Even without getting locked in burning buildings, I have those moments of fear.”
“What about his mother? Wouldn’t she be there to raise him?”
His smile turned grim. “Hardly.” He stared at the wineglass still gripped in his hand, as if trying to decide something. Finally, he took a swallow of wine, and said, “Linda and I met our first year of college. She was pretty and smart, and she seemed crazy about me. Or, at least, the Land Rover my parents had given me for graduation,” he added dryly. “She assured me she was using protection, and being nineteen—well, I was young, stupid, and horny. What can I say? It was easier to believe her. I only had myself to blame when she ended up pregnant. She thought I would marry her. Expected it. But I had already seen what a disaster marriage could be without love. Bring a kid into that? No way.”
Wow. Had his parents’ marriage not been the picture of perfection she—and probably everyone else—had assumed? “What happened?” she asked.
“Linda stuck around for a while, until Josh was two. Then she took off to ‘find herself.’ I didn’t hear from her again until five years ago when she dropped a line mentioning she’d gotten married and moved to San Francisco. Said how sorry she was for abandoning us and that she wanted to see Josh again. Be part of his life. Long story short, Josh and I moved to San Francisco a few years ago so he could see her more often. Fortunately, Linda had grown up and meant what she said. In fact, Josh is staying with her now. It’s been tough at times, but I don’t regret it, not for a minute. Having Josh is the best thing that’s happened to me.”
A thick lump formed in her throat as she saw the warmth in Sam’s face as he talked about his son. “I feel the same way about Vi. And I think it’s amazing you raised your son all by yourself. Really. I’m a single mom, and that can be hard at times, but I can’t say I’m ever…alone. Far from it. Ryan is as much a part of Violet’s life as I am. And I have my sister, my dad, my Grandma Molly, and even Peg—my stepmom.” She laughed. “There’s support, is what I’m trying to say. Although… There’s something to be said for not having that same support follow your every move, letting you know what you’re doing wrong each step of the way.”