All-American Girl (4 page)

Lance huffed out a loud breath as the elevator door slid shut behind him. He inhaled slowly, thankful the spicy scent of Sam hadn’t lingered.

After twelve years of silence from her and nothing but questions as to why she left,
that
was not what he had been expecting.
That
being a seriously bad attitude. What the hell was wrong with her? And why the hell did she look like she wanted to gouge his eyes out?

He shook his head as the elevator door creaked open. Stepping out, he couldn’t help but think of not only how mad Sam had looked, but how broken as well. The glimmer in her eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow stare. Her thin shoulders were hunched, and she wore droopy clothes and no makeup, like she didn’t care how she looked. That wasn’t like her, and neither was the attitude. She wasn’t the bubbly, fun-loving woman he’d held in his arms. Instead, she was a bomb, ready to explode at whatever upset her. And apparently that was him.

“Hey, Lance,” said Grace, the elderly, petite receptionist at the welcome desk. “Leaving already?”

He nodded and gave a tight smile. “Yeah, Samantha’s up there visiting for the first time. I wanted to give her some space.”

The receptionist frowned. “It’s nice that one of Dorothy’s grandchildren finally came in.”

Small town. People talk. Lance had known people would discuss Sam and her brother’s absence since Dorothy had fallen ill. “Some people take a while to track down, Grace. As soon as we found her, she came. That’s what matters.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Grace wiggled her wrinkled brow. “You gonna bring Jax by so I can get a good look at him? I haven’t seen him since you finished the remodel on our house.”

“Sure will. Will you be here tomorrow?” He asked, and she nodded. “Good. We’ll come by and see Dorothy and stop by here, too.”

“Take this for him in the meantime.” Grace shoved a handful of hard candy into Lance’s hand.

Lance put the candy into his pocket. “He’s not allowed to have sweets very often, so he’ll appreciate these. Thanks.”

“And make sure you don’t let Samantha keep you away from here. This old lady likes to have some eye candy of her own every once in a while.”

He laughed and put his hand over hers on the countertop. “With compliments like that, how can a man stay away?” He winked at her. “So you’ve talked to Sam?”

Grace waved her free hand frantically. “My, my, yes. When she first got here she burst through the doors like a raging bull. Practically knocked down ol’ man Herbert who’d come to see his wife. She pounded on my desk and barked out a million different things before we had to have a security guard calm her down.”

Lance drew his brows together. “She was that wound up?”

“More than wound up, I’d say. What do you young-uns call it? Freaking out? Yes, that’s what she was doing. Freaking out.” Her thin lips curved into a wan smile. “We thought she might hyperventilate right here in the reception area. Thank goodness ol’ Mel got her under control.”

He drummed his fingers counter. Maybe it wasn’t just him she was mad at. Maybe she was mad at the entire world. How was she going to be level-headed enough to take care of Dorothy? “Yes,” he finally replied. “Freaking out sounds about right. Tell Mel I said thanks, all right? I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Don’t keep a lady waiting.” She grinned at him.

He smiled back. “I won’t.”

Lance made his way down the entrance corridor and through the glass doors. Being worried about Dorothy was one thing, but now
he was
even more concerned about Sam. He would have to figure out what her deal was before her attitude pushed everyone away. That was the last thing she needed to do right now. She would need help with Dorothy, the house, the antique shop, and her brother—
if
he ever swooped back into town.

Lance shook his head as he jumped into his truck. It looked like his responsibilities just cranked up a notch, not that he minded. He and Sam still had some unfinished business of their own he’d been itching to take care of.

“One of the most important phases of maturing
is that of growth from self-centering
to an understanding relationship to others.”
~Sir Walter Scott

A
FTER
G
ETTING
G
RAM
S
ETTLED
in the recovery center the next morning, Samantha traveled to Gram’s antique shop in the heart of Burlington. Church Street Marketplace was a strip filled with quaint shops and eateries, everything from diners to trinket shops, and rows of park benches and flowering trees.

She wanted to see if anything needed to be done before Gram returned. It would be a while—Samantha understood that—but she could handle the shop for a bit and clean it up. Samantha didn’t want to disappoint Gram
again
. It was the least she could do.

Samantha parked her car along the street lined with Bradford pear trees and stepped out into Queen City air. She drew in a deep breath, amazed at the sweet smell of grassy countryside and spring daisies. The bright sun was mid-sky, and she shaded her eyes as she crossed the street to the antique shop.

Her phone rang, and she dug it from the pocket of her jeans. “Hello?”

“Oh, hey! How are you? Did you make to Vermont okay? Is everything all right? Your grandmother?”

“Whoa, Jenny.” Samantha laughed. “Take a breath.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was worried about you, and since you haven’t called…”

“Everything’s fine.” She leaned up against the limestone building that held the antique shop. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and I’ve already got stuff I could talk about over an entire night of chocolate and sappy movies.”

“Uh-oh. Is your grandmother worse than you thought?”

“Actually, no. Gram is going to fully recover with some therapy, thank God. She could’ve died, and I wouldn’t have been here. I left her. And then there’s the incompetent hospital staff I had to deal with—and an infuriating thorn in my side who’s decided to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Stop. Remember what your therapist said.”

Samantha cringed. She
always
remembered what her therapist said. Dr. Wade was, after all, one of the people helping Samantha overcome her
issues.
Anger issues. Patience issues. Control issues. Hell, if there was an issue, Samantha had it. And she hated it.

“Yes, I remember,” she replied, frowning. The last time she’d seen Dr. Wade, she’d given Samantha an in-depth talk about self-determination and how problems weren’t really “problems”; they were stepping stones in this journey called life—and not life-ruining setbacks.

Samantha really hated all that self-discovery crap. She’d never really grasped the concept. But now…just maybe…

“Well then, take what you learned and use it,” Jenny said cheerfully. “I’m worried about you, Samantha. I was hoping your trip back home would help you settle some of the things bothering you.”

“I’ve only been here a day.”

“I know. I worry, and it sounds like you haven’t gotten off to a good start. I swear one day you’ll die of a freak heart attack or stroke caused by abnormally high blood pressure or something. You’ve got to learn to deal with things.”

“You’re starting to sound like Dr. Wade. Please don’t shrink me.” Samantha flattened her back against the cool limestone wall and closed her eyes. Was it her fault that everyone who shared the earth with her was incompetent? And was it her fault that those people made her life miserable?

Yes.

Underneath it all, Samantha knew the problem was her. She made her own life miserable by not being compassionate or understanding. She hadn’t quite figured out how to combat her anger with patience and sympathy, and this past year certainly hadn’t helped.

Her eyes glanced up and down the street, catching sight of couples—young and old—holding hands, laughing, and kissing. The people here looked happy; they looked in love. Cherished. Why couldn’t she feel like that anywhere?

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jenny asked, snapping Samantha’s attention back to the present.

She faked a smile, glad Jenny couldn’t see how pathetic it was. “Yes. Like I said, it’s only been a day. New things take some adjusting. I’ll be fine. I’ll remember my lessons from Dr. Wade, and I’ll work on keeping my blood pressure down.”

Jenny laughed. “I’d feel better if I knew you weren’t lying through your teeth.”

“You know me too well.”

“With your grandmother and everything, how are you going to get your novel finished? You’ve only got what, four weeks or something?”

Samantha bit her lip. “Two months, actually. But I’m not sure if that’s enough time. I don’t know what I am going to do about that. I have to get it done. My career depends on it, but I can’t worry about that right now. Gram is priority number one. I’ll call you in a few days and let you know how things are going. Talk to you soon.” Samantha clicked the phone off and pushed herself away from the wall.

She was lucky to have a friend like Jenny, although she was a little jealous of her friend’s sparkling, playful attitude and overall positive outlook on life. Samantha used to be like that. She was well aware she didn’t deserve Jenny’s kindness after how hateful she’d been over the past year, but she hadn’t burned that bridge completely down yet, and she was determined not to let it happen. If anything, she would make everyone, Jenny included, see that the old Samantha was still there, buried deep inside and begging to come out.

With the key Gram had given her, Samantha unlocked the door to the antique shop and swung it open, prepared for the scent of old leather, greased grandfather clocks, and old china. Samantha froze as she crossed the threshold and caught sight of cluttered, dirty antiques. The faint smell of mold floated in the air, and she almost turned around and ran. Garnering all her will, she took several more steps inside and flicked on the lights.

For a brief second Samantha thought maybe her grandmother’s store had been ransacked or robbed, but after closer inspection of the trinkets and tables lying about, she found it was only severely neglected. And it smelled awful, like someone hadn’t cleaned in months…or years. Good thing she’d worn old clothes. Well, she’d worn her standard jeans and cotton shirt. Since the clothes had no real value or appeal, they would do fine as she cleaned up the monstrosity Gram’s shop had become. What had happened?

Samantha guessed that her grandmother had let some of the more important tasks of running an antique shop slip through her fingers. With that thought came another pang of guilt—Gram hadn’t been well for quite some time. Her misdiagnosed dementia could easily have been the cause of the antique shop’s demise. If only her grandmother had called her. No—
she
should’ve called. She should’ve been the one to look after Gram.

After setting her things down on a table covered in an inch of dust, she surveyed the space once more. She would start with the main gallery. The office, storage room, and second floor showing gallery could wait for another day.

As she started to clean off the furniture, Samantha tried to remember that things happened for a reason, as Dr. Wade had told her. But in this instance, she felt as though she had let the most important person in her life down. It made for a long afternoon.

When Samantha looked at her watch some five hours later, she was pleased with the progress she’d made. She had rearranged the furniture and put it into groups based on style and dates. The glass counters were now cleaned and filled—along with the back wall of shelves—with the trinkets, dishes, and stemware that had been scattered about. She’d scrubbed the floor once, twice, three times. All in all it was a pretty decent job, considering what she’d started with.

Samantha made a quick mental note to stop by the store to get additional, stronger cleaning products so she could make the main gallery shine as it once did. She put away the remaining items and stretched. It had been a while since she’d exerted so much energy, and she felt out of shape.

On her way out, she walked past the mirror by the front door and dared to give herself a glance.
Yuck.
Her ponytail had made it through the long day, but a few strands of her frizzy, auburn hair had escaped. Her clothes hadn’t fared as well, evidenced by the dark stains on her jeans and the dirt that encrusted her red T-shirt.
Oh well.
It wasn’t as though she had anyone to impress. Without giving it a second thought, she opened the door and locked it behind her. She had just a few more stops to make before going to Gram’s house. Samantha hadn’t managed to make it to her grandmother’s house the night before, having been too exhausted from the trip and emotionally drained from everything else. Instead, she’d just tucked herself in next to her grandmother’s bed at the hospital.

Down the street hung a sign for the Queen Diner. Samantha hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, and now her stomach was loudly protesting; a quick bite to eat wouldn’t throw her schedule off too much.

Lance walked into the Queen Diner with his son, Jax, at his side. At the sound of their entrance, Candice glanced up from cleaning the counter.

“Hey, boys.” She smiled, dropped a wet cloth into a bin, and walked around the edge of the counter. “Stopping in for a bite to eat after a hard day’s work?”

“Aunt Candy!” Jax called out, running up to Candice and wrapping his dirty arms around her neck. “Guess what we did today!”

She peeled away from his tight little grip and took a good look at his clothes. “Let me guess. You battled warriors in the forest and slayed the big dragon?”

Jax’s grin made Candice laugh. “No, silly. But that sounds like fun! I was helping Dad put a new stoocoo on the Wilson’s house.”

“Stoocoo? Sounds dangerous from the looks of your clothes.”

“Stucco,” Lance corrected as he kissed Candice’s cheek. “And as you can see, he got very
involved.
”

“Ha, yeah. It’ll take you days to get that stuff out of his hair.”

“What can I say? He’s going on six and likes to get his hands dirty.”

She arched a brow at him. “Like father, like son.”

“Aunt Candy!” Jax interrupted. “Can I stay here with you while Dad goes out to the Johnsons’? Mr. Johnson doesn’t like me much. I dropped his cat in the paint bucket.”

Candice laughed. “Sure, sweetie. I think there’s something here I can have you work on, if you don’t mind.”

Jax’s eyes lit up. “What, Aunt Candy? What do you need me to fix? I’ll do a good job.”

Candice ruffled the boy’s thick, black hair. “I know. Run along into the storage room, and you’ll see the dilemma sitting on the floor.”

“Great!” Jax bounced through the doors to the storage room.

Lance took a seat on a bar stool, smiling lazily. Candice turned a curious gaze to him. “Did he really drop Mr. Johnson’s cat in the paint bucket?”

“Yup. Bright red.” He chuckled. “Mrs. Johnson was cursing about she would never get Snowball white again.”

“Seems to me Jax is turning out to be an awful lot like his father. Can’t seem to keep himself out of trouble.”

“Hey,” Lance said with a hint of amusement, “I wasn’t ever any trouble.”

“Nothing you could be blamed for.”

“Ha. I shouldn’t be too long, just some finish work. I’ll pick him up at your place after I’m done, okay?”

“Sounds fine. He likes hanging around with his cool Aunt Candice anyway.”

“Thanks, sis.” Lance walked to the storage room door.

“By the way, did you give Samantha my number?”

Lance rubbed his hand over his face, remembering the tight knot in his thigh where she’d kicked him. “Yeah, I gave it to her. I don’t know if she’ll actually call, though.”

“Well, at least she knows I’d like to see her. That’s what matters.”

“People change, sis,” Lance said reluctantly. He hadn’t told her about Samantha’s behavior and wondered if that was mistake. He’d seen the dazed and distant look in Samantha’s eyes firsthand—the same look he’d seen in the mirror several years before. “Just try and remember that when you see her.”

“All right,” she said, clearly blowing off the warning. “Go say bye to Jax so you can get out of here.”

Lance walked to the back room and found Jax sprawled out on the floor with square blocks of wood and nuts and bolts surrounding him.

“Whatcha got there?” Lance asked as he bent down.

Jax wrinkled his nose. “Not sure yet. Gonna find out.”

“Well, have fun. I’ll be back to pick you up later. Be good.”

“I will.”

Lance kissed his son’s forehead. As he made to leave the back room, he heard Samantha’s unmistakable voice. Soft, sweet, with a hint of irritation. The spot in his thigh where she’d kicked him throbbed at the sound, as did the strange knot in his stomach.

He pushed the door open a hair and peeked into the diner. Candice had her arms wrapped around Samantha, who looked like a raccoon caught in a trap. Samantha twisted free and took two steps to the side. She smoothed out her surprisingly dirty shirt, shook her head and said, “Oh…wow, I wasn’t really expecting that.”

She wore the same strained expression now as when he’d gotten close to her at the hospital, as though she didn’t like people or didn’t want them near. He could sort of understand why Samantha would shy away from him. After all, she’d run away from Vermont—away from him—twelve years before. But shying away from Candice? That didn’t make much sense. They’d been best friends. He’d hoped Samantha would’ve welcomed her with open arms.