Amy Woods - Finding His Lone Star Love

Lucy was accustomed to people catching themselves staring when they saw a child in a wheelchair. It wasn’t that they meant any harm—it was just a human reaction to someone who was different than most. But there was something odd and unusually powerful about the way Sam’s mouth straightened, and his eyes clouded. Surely the man had seen a kid with a disability like Shiloh’s before.

“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked. She hoped Sam would be honest. People usually tried to skirt around the subject, but she’d found she preferred if they asked questions or talked about what they felt, rather than try to ignore what anyone could see with their own two eyes.

“No, no, nothing at all,” Sam said, shaking his head. He turned to grin at her and the strange, concentrated expression she’d seen a moment ago was gone. “It’s just that I didn’t know that your niece used a wheelchair to get around. You didn’t say anything about it.”

Lucy searched his eyes.

“Of course, you didn’t have reason to,” Sam said, understanding the question in her features. He turned and smiled as Mrs. Stevens pushed the lever to lower Shiloh down from the bus. Shiloh raised both hands as though she were on a roller coaster and Lucy melted at the old inside joke they shared, glad there was a trace of the sweet little girl in there somewhere.

“Who’s this dude?” Shiloh asked, sizing up Sam.

Shiloh had a knack for saying exactly what she was thinking, just like her mom, Jennifer—Lucy’s sister. People had always joked that neither mom nor daughter had been born with a filter.

“Well, hello to you, too, sweetheart,” Lucy said, brushing a strand of hair out of Shiloh’s eyes, before her hand was promptly swatted away, just as she’d suspected it would be.

“Shiloh, meet Sam, our new...trial chef.”

Shiloh stared up at Sam, hooding her eyes with her hand. “Hi, Sam,” Shiloh said, her tone completely unreadable.

Sometimes Lucy understood her niece, and other times she couldn’t remember ever having been as nonchalant about everything as Shiloh was, though she knew most of that was just Shiloh trying to hide any kind of emotion, like a normal teenager.

“Hi, there.” He grinned and held out a hand, not in the slightest fazed by her lack of care at his presence. “I have to say, that’s a pretty sweet ride.”

Shiloh cracked a genuine smile, the first Lucy had seen in a long time. It was a nice sight. Maybe Sam would earn his place after all.

“So,” Sam continued. “How long have you had it?”

Shiloh stared at him, skepticism suddenly taking over.

Lucy bristled, bracing herself for whatever words might come out of her niece, though she was glad that Shiloh spoke her mind most of the time. Lucy had spent plenty of her own time keeping her words to herself at Shiloh’s age, and it hadn’t necessarily served her well. She would have loved to have Shiloh’s confidence when she’d been young—heck, she could use a dose of it now.

A fierce need to protect Shiloh from the world was in her blood, despite the fact she hadn’t brought her niece into the world herself. Lucy loved Shiloh as though she had carried her in her own womb, and part of that love—that parental love—she guessed, was constant worry.

* * *

Sam’s heart fell to the bottom of his stomach with such force that he was surprised he couldn’t actually hear a thud. He kept his expression as neutral as possible as he tried to process everything in front of him.

There was no mistaking that this girl, Shiloh, was his daughter.

She didn’t look like him at all. She took after her mother and Lucy. The same copper hair, except wavy rather than curly, the same eyes, and the same freckles, like fairy dust across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. But all the same, he knew she was his as sure as he knew his own name.

Shiloh looked at Lucy, her expression insecure, and then back to Sam.

“Do you mean how long have I had this specific chair? Or how long have I been...like this?” She pointed at her legs.

Sam swallowed. He wasn’t sure which he meant, actually. He wanted to know every single thing about her down to the tiniest detail, and it didn’t matter where she started—as long as she did.

“Both,” he said, deciding that the best way to navigate the new waters he found himself in was to just be honest.

Shiloh studied him and shrugged her shoulders, seeming to decide that this was okay with her.

“Well, I got this chair last year from Dr. Blake for Christmas,” she said, pointing out the bumper stickers with the names of popular bands she had stuck all over the back. “But, I’ve been like this—” she pointed down at her legs again “—for a long time.”

Shiloh tossed her long strawberry hair over her shoulder. Sam was impressed at her openness, and, though he knew he had no right to be, he was proud of her confidence and straightforward answer. “Ever since the accident,” she continued, before Lucy interrupted.

“So how was school today, Shi?” Lucy asked, obviously eager to change the subject.

Shiloh looked up at Sam as though he and she were in cahoots.

“She means, how was the math test?” she said, narrowing her eyes at Sam and tossing up her hands. “Math isn’t so good to me.”

“She can do anything she wants,” Lucy interjected, crossing her arms. “She just doesn’t apply herself in math because she doesn’t like it. But sometimes in life, we have to work hard at things, even if we don’t like them. Right, Shi?”

Shiloh rolled her eyes and tossed her head back with much dramatic flair, causing Sam to giggle. “Right, right, right,” she said, drawing out the words as though to illustrate her boredom with the whole concept.

“So you’re terrible at it, then?” Sam asked, smiling at Shiloh. Lucy’s mouth shot open and she lowered her eyebrows, as if offended on behalf of her niece, but Shiloh just laughed.

“He’s not wrong, Aunt Lu,” she said.

Lucy moved behind her niece’s wheelchair to push her home, but Shiloh’s fingers moved quickly over the controls and she zoomed over to Sam’s side, leaving Lucy behind in the cloud of dust in her wake.

“Just like me,” Sam said, grinning down at her.

Just like her father.

A million thoughts rushed through his mind, so he concentrated on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, to keep the surge of emotion from drowning him.

His daughter was beautiful, as her mother had been the last time he’d seen her all those years ago. And like her aunt.

He made a mental note to call the PI later, thank the man for his services and close out their contract. Sam had all the information he needed to take things from here. He would let his head New York chef, Jack, know that he wouldn’t be returning to the restaurant for a while, and to call if anything major came up. The other restaurants in LA and Seattle were doing great, and Sam needed only to fly in for occasional visits. He trusted his assistant could manage the rest with no trouble, freeing Sam to move to Peach Leaf temporarily.

He watched as his little girl drove ahead of him and Lucy, making figure eights in the dust, seemingly unfazed by her limitations.

He had questions, of course—thousands of them. But to his surprise, he was only mildly interested to know more about the accident she’d mentioned, the event she’d endured without him by her side. Instead of rage at the unknown entity responsible for her pain, Sam wanted to know more about Shiloh as she was now. He knew she wasn’t a fan of math, so then what was her favorite subject at school? What did she love to do in her spare time? What hopes and dreams filled her young mind as she slept through the night?

Did she know anything about her absent father? Did she want to? Or was her life more peaceful without an explanation for the missing man?