And Then Came You Read online

  “She moved to L.A.,” Mike said around a mouthful of muffin. “She’s working with the Literacy Foundation. Really loving it.”

  Jo nodded, waved one hand at her. “And Paula?”

  “Oh, I know this one,” Sam said, perking right up. “Paula’s living in Chechnya now. Working for a foundation that arranges adoption for war orphans.”

  “Cash Hunter must be stopped,” Jo muttered darkly. “This guy is like a master hypnotist or something. Is he drugging them?”

  “Oh,” Mike said. “That’s good. Now he’s an evil scientist.”

  “Well, he’s something. I don’t get it. Just don’t get how a man can make a woman come all unglued.”

  Mike snorted. “Apparently you have not been meeting the right men.”

  “Funny.” Jo shifted a look at Sam. “Seriously though, what is this guy up to? What is he doing that’s so fabulous it makes women want to turn their lives around?”

  “I volunteer to find out,” Mike said, grinning.

  “You stay the hell away from him,” Jo said, offering some of her muffin to Bear.

  Sam laughed and shook her head. “No wonder that dog’s getting fat. And stop taking Cash so personal, Jo.”

  “The dog’s not fat. And the Cash thing is just weird.”

  “Fine,” Mike offered. “You want me to stay away from him, you go sleep with him. But report back to us before you run off to join a convent.”

  “You just get funnier and funnier.”

  “I try hard.”

  “Not hard enough,” Jo muttered, then ignored Mike to shoot a look at Sam. “We’re gonna need a new secretary.”

  A curl of worry unwound in the pit of Sam’s stomach. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Why not? You’d be great.”

  Sam glared at Mike. “Thanks, I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, you’re perfect for it. You’ll be dealing with Grace anyway and—”

  The imaginary gargoyles Sam had entertained earlier perched on her shoulder and howled. “Why’m I going to be dealing with her?”

  Jo and Mike exchanged a quick, secretive look that told Sam that this had already been discussed and she’d been chosen. She choked on a gulp of coffee and coughed hard enough that she was pretty sure her eyeballs were going to pop out of her head and roll across the table. And still she managed to croak, “No way.”

  “She likes you,” Jo said.

  “Because I almost never argue with her like someone”—she glanced at Mike—“I could mention.”

  “Hey, I have opinions.”

  “Too many.” Jo glared her youngest sister into silence, momentarily. “You worked well with her last time, Sam.”

  “That was three years ago.”

  “And it’s our turn again,” Jo said. “We all know it. We all deal with it. You get to handle it.” She took another bite of muffin and, now that the matter seemed settled, acted as if she were really enjoying herself.

  “I don’t get a vote in this?” Sam was sputtering now and she knew it.

  “Sure you get a vote,” Mike put in. “But you’re one vote, we’re two. Majority wins. Congrats.”

  “Ain’t democracy grand?” Jo asked no one in particular.

  “My own family turning on me.”

  “Damn straight.” Mike grinned and took a long drink of her coffee. “And,” she added, “let’s not forget the Home Show in July.”

  The Home Show.

  This just kept getting better.

  Every year, the San Jose Convention Center hosted the Home Show, giving local contractors, designers, and suppliers a chance to show their wares to the thousands of people who lined up to see the latest in home improvement. And like everyone else in the county, the Marconis would have their own booth where they’d demonstrate home repairs, painting techniques, and solicit new clients for the business.

  It was three solid days of making nice and answering dumb questions—with the added fun of keeping Mike from losing her temper while answering those dumb questions.

  Sam shuddered. “Can’t I please forget?”

  “Not a chance,” Mike said, laughing. “But Jo’s taking care of the booth setup since you’re gonna be dealing with Grace.”

  “And what’s your job this summer, then?” Jo said, gaze narrowed.

  “Watching you guys.” Mike shot a look at each of her sisters and gave them a slow grin.

  Jo wadded up a napkin and threw it across the table at her.

  Sam groaned.

  Trapped like a rat.

  No way out.

  The summer of hell was just getting started and already she felt the flames licking at the soles of her feet.

  “Hey,” Jo said, “could be worse.”

  Rain blustered against the windows and the wind howled. That loose shutter slammed into the house with the rhythm of a heartbeat and the light in the kitchen dimmed, then brightened as the power flickered. As signs went, not that dramatic.

  “Never say that,” Sam warned. “It’s a direct challenge to the gods.”

  “Really, Sam.” Mike shook her head slowly. “Way too much like Nana.”

  Maybe, she thought. But it didn’t hurt to cover your bases. Besides, Sam’d noticed over the years that once things started going downhill, more often than not, they just picked up speed.

  By afternoon, the sun was shining and water was dripping off the trees in the front yard. In fact, she’d just about convinced herself that maybe they’d survive the summer of hell after all.

  Until the doorbell rang.

  With a fresh fight brewing between her sisters, and Bear snoring under the table, Sam gratefully escaped the kitchen where they’d been working for hours, and headed through the living room. She hardly glanced at the big, square room with its overstuffed sofas, magazine-littered coffee table, and rose-colored walls decorated with years’ worth of framed family photos.

  She grabbed the brass knob, turned it, and yanked the door open. Good thing she still had a grip on the doorknob. It gave her something to hold on to while her world rocked.

  He was taller than she remembered.

  It had been nine years since she’d seen him. Since he broke her heart. And he hadn’t even had the decency to get bald and fat.

  “Hi, Sam,” the voice from the past said. “Been a while.”

  Chapter Two

  “Oh, my God.”

  She’d expected the UPS guy, delivering her new paintbrushes. The one person in the world she hadn’t expected was Jeff Hendricks. Her lying, treacherous, backstabbing, no-good, son of a bitch ex-husband.

  Now maybe people will listen to me when I talk about signs of foreboding.

  For one wild, weird moment, Sam was eighteen again. Pain glanced through her body like sunlight bouncing off a mirror. His ink-black hair was still just a little too long, grazing the top of his shirt collar. His deep blue eyes were fixed on her and the mouth that had once done some amazing things to her body was nothing more than a grim slash across his features.

  He didn’t look any happier to see her than she was to see him. Small comfort.

  So why was he here?

  “A while?” she echoed finally. “Not long enough.”

  “Good to see you, too,” he said tightly.

  She still hadn’t let go of the doorknob and she thought about giving it a hard push, slamming the door in his face, and pretending she’d never opened it. As if he could read her mind, he spoke up again quickly.

  “We have to talk.”

  Sam laughed shortly. Couldn’t help it, really. It blew out of her throat and scraped the air. “Oh, that’s a good one, coming from you.”

  When she’d tried to talk to him nine years before, he hadn’t even bothered to answer her letters. Now he wanted to talk? She didn’t think so.

  He sighed, then swept the edges of his brown sport coat back and shoved both hands into the pockets of his slacks. If he started jingling the coins in his pockets, she just might hit him.

 
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said.

  “Sam?” Jo’s voice, coming from the kitchen. “Who is it?”

  She stiffened. Her sisters wouldn’t be real pleased to see the man still referred to in the Marconi household as the Bastard standing on the porch. Best to just get rid of him before a bloodbath could erupt.

  Man, how could a day go from crappy to downright rotten in the time it took to open a door?

  “Nobody,” she called back and wished it were true. Instead, her day was still racing downhill and the speed was blinding.

  Stepping out onto the porch, Sam pushed past him, pulling the door closed behind her. It was as if the morning rain had never happened. The sky was a blue so clear it almost hurt to look at it and the wind carried the fresh scent of the sea. From down the street came the sounds of kids playing at the park and she caught a whiff of smoke in the air, telling her that Mr. Bozeman was firing up his back-yard grill.

  Everything was as it should be.

  Normal.

  Except for the fact that a man from her past was suddenly crowding her present. Dammit, a woman shouldn’t be distracted when trying to deal with someone like Jeff. She needed all cylinders firing. All thrusters up and moving.

  All bullets primed and pointed.

  Sam walked across the porch and stomped down the five steps to the brick walkway leading to the street. She didn’t bother to look behind her. She knew Jeff was following her. Not only could she hear his footsteps on the worn brick, she felt him.

  And how weird was that?

  He reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her around to face him. A bolt of something hot and completely inappropriate sliced through her like lightning spearing through storm clouds. For one heart-stopping second, she was eighteen again and feeling that electric charge that only happened when Jeff touched her.

  It had always been that way between them. Right from the first. And in that eternity-filled second, she remembered everything she had spent nine years trying to forget. Heat poured through her, boiling her blood and clouding her brain.

  Instinctively, Sam yanked free of his grasp and took a step back. “Do not touch me.”

  “Sorry.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender and nodded agreement to her terms. “It’s just—” He stopped, glanced around, then shifted his gaze back to her. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

  Something cold and tight squeezed Sam’s heart, but she steeled herself against it. She’d wasted too many nights crying into her pillow over him. She’d buried her dreams, surrendered her innocence, and she wouldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. Whatever he had to say to her didn’t matter. He wasn’t a part of her life anymore. He was just . . . a life lesson learned. “Say what you came to say and then leave.”

  She hadn’t changed.

  Somehow, Jeff had expected . . . hell, he wasn’t even sure of that. But he hadn’t counted on taking one look at her and getting slammed in the chest with what felt like a hammer blow. He should have known this wouldn’t be easy. Nothing about Sam had ever been easy. That was part of her attraction all those years ago.

  Until Sam, no woman had ever refused him. Sounded cocky as hell to admit, but it was the simple truth. Some of those women had been more interested in his bank balance than him, but still. He’d never struck out with a woman until the first time Sam had said no to an invitation to dinner. And damned if her resistance hadn’t made her all the more appealing. They’d come together in a rush of heat and want and need and they’d convinced themselves it was love. But if it had been, it wouldn’t have burned out like it had, right?

  Yet here he was again, standing next to her, looking down into those same, pale blue eyes and feeling too damn much.

  Nine years was a long time. And God knew he had plenty of reason to resent Samantha Marconi—although he had one very good reason to be glad they’d been together, no matter how briefly. She stood there glaring at him, and damned if a part of him didn’t enjoy it. Her blue eyes flashed with sparks and the demented part of him found it both annoying and arousing.

  Her long, reddish-brown hair fell down her back from a clip at the nape of her neck. It looked as soft as ever and he was half-tempted to reach out and touch those tumbling curls, just to see. But he figured she’d take his hand off at the elbow in the attempt, so he let that one go.

  She wore curve-hugging jeans that were faded and decorated by splotches of dried paint in a rainbow of colors. Her dark blue T-shirt, proclaiming MARCONI CONSTRUCTION in faded white letters, fit her way too well and the toe of her heavy work boot tapped against the bricks like a clock ticking off the last remaining seconds before a bomb blast.

  Her blue eyes were wary and the jut of her chin told him that she hadn’t mellowed any over the years. Fine. Just as well.

  “Sam, there’s a problem.”

  “A big one as far as I’m concerned,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re here.”

  “Just as sweet as ever, I see.”

  “Why would I change?”

  “Dammit, do you always have to immediately go on the defensive?”

  “Hello? When being attacked, defending yourself is pretty much standard operating procedure.”

  “Who’s attacking?”

  “You.”

  “I haven’t said anything yet.” Stupid. He knew it was stupid and he still couldn’t stop himself. They were sliding right back into the same kind of arguments they used to have. The circular kind. Where there was no beginning and no end. It just was. Like mold on bread. It was a fact of life that defied description.

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “To tell you something.”

  “Write me a letter.” She started past him for the house and he had to risk losing a hand by grabbing her arm again.

  “Dammit, Sam—”

  Her gaze fixed on his hand for a long minute, then she lifted it and looked directly into his eyes. “Move that hand or lose it.”

  He was desperate, not foolish. He released her. “We have to talk.”

  “We have nothing to say to each other.”

  “Wanna bet?” He was following her, his long legs keeping pace with her quicker steps.

  “We’re divorced,” she reminded him.

  “Wanna bet?” he asked.

  She stopped dead.

  At least he had her attention. He hadn’t planned on blurting out the truth like this, but trust Sam to make any conversation the beginning of World War III. “Finally. A breakthrough.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Her voice was hoarse and now that he was looking a little closer he could see that the gleam in her eye was more of a glassy look.

  “Are you sick?” he asked.

  “Getting sicker by the minute,” she shot back. “Now, are you going to explain the whole ‘divorce’ statement or not?”

  He pushed one hand through his hair, then shoved that hand in his pants pocket again. Old habits kicked in and he started to jingle his keys nervously until he saw her left eye twitch. Then he remembered how she’d always hated that habit of his and decided he didn’t need to infuriate her even further, so he stopped. “The divorce never went through,” he said bluntly, figuring there was no easy way to say it. “We’re still married.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a time or two. She blinked, then stumbled backward and plopped down hard onto the third step. Tipping her head back, she inhaled sharply, blew it out again and said, “What?”

  “You heard me. Dammit, I can’t believe it, either, but it’s true. The county clerk who handled the paperwork? He never filed the papers.”

  “He never—” She pushed herself up from the step, walked a few paces, then whirled around to stare at him. “What do you mean, he didn’t do it? It was his job.”

  “Apparently, he didn’t much like his job.”

  “So he just didn’t do it?”

  “Right.” He watched her face, noted each emotion as it played over her fea
tures and understood completely. Since he’d gotten the call from the county seat a week ago, he’d been going through the same thing. “No consolation, but we’re not the only ones.”

  “Huh?” She shook her head as if trying to clear her vision while she looked at him.

  “There are fifty other couples out there, still married when they thought they weren’t.”

  She held up one hand. “Color me selfish, but all I’m thinking about at the moment is us. We’re really still—”

  “Married. Yeah.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “That about covers it.”

  Behind her, the front door opened. Jeff shot a look at the woman stepping outside. “Hi, Mike.”

  “Oh crap,” Sam muttered, and he thought that summed up the situation pretty well.

  Mike didn’t smile, just called out over her shoulder, “Hey, Jo. The Bastard’s here.”

  “Great,” Jeff muttered.

  “Shut up, Mike.” Sam shot her sister a warning look that Mike paid no attention to at all.

  “What’s he doing here?” Jo demanded, pushing past her younger sister to come down the steps and stand beside Sam.

  “Hi, Jo,” he said, despite the frigid atmosphere suddenly swirling around him.

  There was a time when the Marconi girls had actually liked him, Jeff remembered. Now, he’d be lucky if he left here with all his limbs attached. They weren’t happy to see him? Well, tough shit. It’s not like he’d been looking forward to this little reunion, either.

  “I thought we weren’t speaking to him.” Jo’s voice, soft.

  “We’re not.” Mike walked to the edge of the porch and picked up one of the hammers out of an open toolbox. Slowly, she slapped the heavy metal hammer head into her palm as she kept her gaze on Jeff.

  He could take a hint. Besides, he’d done what he came here to do. And it was plain he and Sam wouldn’t be talking any further right now. Not with her sisters ready to rip his lips off. He was only surprised that Hank Marconi, his genial ex—or not so ex—father-in-law wasn’t out here, demanding his head.

  “You need to go, Jeff.” Sam’s gaze, still locked with his.

  “I’m going.”