Laura Drake - Her Road Home

She couldn’t have seen his nod.

“When I came to, I was staring at the kitchen cabinets. I really saw them. The white paint was dingy, and worn around the handles. The section over the counter actually sagged in the middle. I looked around the room. The linoleum was worn almost through, in places. The porcelain sink was rust-stained and the white tile on the counters was chipped.”

He knew she wasn’t seeing the waves she focused on.

“So I wandered to the living room. It was so weird. This was the house that Dad and I had worn for years, like a pair of well-loved slippers. On the other hand, I saw the house as a professional. What a disaster! How could we not have noticed that?

“Anyway, I figured I owed it to the old girl to spruce her up. I quit my job to work on the house. I needed a goal. I was kinda lost after Dad....” She shook her head, a sad ghost of a smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “By the end of the year, that house was a jewel. Walk-in closets, bay windows, curved archways. Man, that was a sweet place.”

He watched emotion flick across her face, sensing this woman didn’t divulge her past often. Or easily. “Why did you leave?”

She shrugged. “When I finished the renovation, I realized the house wasn’t mine anymore. I could just see a young mom, cooking dinner in the kitchen....”

“And so?”

“So, I contacted a real estate agent about selling. The offer that came in floored me. It started me thinking. Maybe I could make a living renovating houses and reselling them. I looked for another run-down house, but then I realized—it wasn’t only my house that didn’t fit me. Ohio didn’t, either.” She straightened the silverware in front of her. “Maybe it never had.”

When the server brought their meal, he wanted to shoo her away, afraid Sam would abandon her story. The girl must have sensed it, because she laid out the plates and left with only a smile.

Sam sat straight and put her napkin in her lap. “So I hit the road. I saw a lot of the country, and took on projects in places I liked: Florida, Texas and the last in Colorado.” She looked from him to the plate. “So here I am, on the California coast, with a plateful of crab and no skills for eating it.”

He flexed his knuckles. “Ah, but you are lucky enough to be dining with a master crab cracker.”

Through the meal, they discussed getting-to-know-you topics: music, food, movies, books. They lingered, talking long after the dishes had been cleared. He’d had female friends, but he’d never felt this relaxed on a first date. Hell, on any date.

Sam’s nostrils flared, taking in the salt air. “It never occurred to me that I’d live within driving distance of the ocean. Do you ever get tired of the view?” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, her hair lifting on a stray breeze.

He couldn’t pull his eyes from those long legs. “No, and I don’t think I ever will.”

At his reverent tone, her brow furrowed. Turning her head, seeing his smile, her eyes narrowed.

Wrong move, Slick.

Her face settled into tight, polite lines. “Well. Just look at the sun—what time is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Does it matter?” Note for the future—don’t gawk.

If there was a future.

She tossed her napkin on the table, scooted her chair back and reached for her small slouch purse. “I need to get back. I’m right in the middle of a big project.” She opened her purse and pulled out some bills.

He rolled on one hip and pulled his wallet. “I’ve got it.”

“I’ll pay for my own, thanks.” Her formal tone matched the cool in her eye.

He knew better than to argue with that tone. Damn. He’d known she had strong boundaries; he should have known better. But she’d been so relaxed, and he’d been enjoying himself so much that he let himself forget.

Now he may have blown his chance with the most interesting woman he’d met in eons. Idiot. No wonder you’re alone on Friday nights.

* * *

SAM KEPT QUIET on the way back to the house. This was a bad idea. You knew it.

Just loosen up a bit, the little girl whispered in a singsong voice.

If you loosen up, stuff is going to fall out.

Sam gathered her hair into a ponytail with her fist, pulling tight the tender hairs at the nape of her neck. Maybe the pain would wake her up. She’d been in denial. The nightmares were the rumble of thunder, signaling an approaching storm. Now was the time to hunker down—find some shelter.

Because it’s surer than hell gonna rain bad stuff.

She snuck a glance at Nick’s profile. He looked like a bad boy thanks to an unlucky arrangement of features. But she learned today he was really just a small-town homebody. Sweet, but...

Too sweet to get sucked into the funnel cloud heading her way.

A shudder rattled down her spine. She didn’t know what was going to happen when that storm hit, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Nick slowed, and turned at her driveway.

She reached to the floorboard to pick up her bag, before the car stopped. “Thanks for lunch, and for the ride.”

He turned, the questions in his eyes grazing the skin of her face, as if looking for a way in. “I had a good time, Sam. It felt like I’ve known you a lot longer than I have. I’d like to find out why. Can I call you?”

So he’d felt it, too. Usually she didn’t relax so easily. Lunch with Nick had filled more than her stomach. She’d enjoyed him way too much. When had that ever happened to her? Exactly never.

But within her, a harbinger wind whipped the small hope away. She scrambled out of the car. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I’m going to be really busy.”

“What are you afraid of, Sam? Me?”

“Not you.” She felt her lips twist, but the result probably wasn’t a smile. “We’ve both got things to do, Nick, and my things aren’t in Widow’s Grove. Better to just let it go.”

“Better how? Look, Sam. I know you’re going back to the road as soon as the house is done, and I have no intention of leaving Widow’s Grove, ever again.” He lifted his hand from the passenger seat, turning it palm up. “Doesn’t that make me safe?”

“Safe?” She dropped her hands and stepped away from the car. “I don’t know that word.” She turned to trudge up the drive, hearing the throb of the car’s engine, and feeling the familiar throb of separateness in her chest.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SAM SPENT A RESTLESS night awash in dreams that were complex and dark. She’d struggle almost to the surface of consciousness, only to be pulled under by another black wave. At dawn, sleep’s undertow pushed her onto the beach of Wednesday morning. Her muscles ached, as though she’d spent the night swimming against the current.

After brewing a pot of coffee, she sat on the front steps to strategize. Once the basic task of keeping the rain out was complete, maybe she’d install a porch swing. How great would it be to sit out here in the morning, watching the cloud shadows shifting over the landscape?

Besides, a swing would add a homey touch. Make it show better.

Later that morning, she drove into the packed parking lot of Widow’s Grove High. Much as she hated it, she had to face facts. She needed help.

The school was a cluster of single-story stucco buildings connected by covered walkways, outlined in flowerbed borders. Her alma mater in Ohio had been a stone block prison in comparison. Heading for the large double doors, she wondered if things would have been better if she’d attended a school like this.

Yeah, right. Like pretty scenery would have changed anything. Now, if you’d never met Mr. Collins, that would have made a difference.

She opened the heavy glass door and stepped into the past.