Love Came Just In Time Part 43

here a very long time."

The thought was singularly appealing.

Chapter Nine.

Sydney picked up the nail, then straightened, certain that Sam's eyes were raking her from the heel of her cowboy boots to the waistband of her jeans. She doubted he got much further than that, but she didn't care. She turned slowly, savoring the feeling of power she had somehow acquired over him in the past couple of days.

"This," she said, holding the item out for inspection, "is a nail. We don't leave these lying around on the floor. Someone might step on them, and that would hurt. Oh, look. There's another one." She bent right in front of him and brushed his chest with her forearm on her way up. "We have to be careful out here in the workshop, Sam. Safety is no laughing matter."

Sam grunted in answer. Sydney smiled sweetly and turned back to the pegboard. She set about explaining all the various tools and giving him possible uses for each. In reality, she had no idea what she was saying. All she knew was Sam was standing only inches behind her and he was paying as little attention to what she was saying as she was.

Three days had pa.s.sed since he'd kissed her in the kitchen, and she was fast learning that he was determined that she practice kissing as often as possible. If he could be persuaded to work at all, he was never in his room for more than ten minutes without coming out to check on her.

And Sydney loved it.

She didn't want to speculate on his reasons. He didn't want to discuss Miss Sasquatchette, whoever she was. Sam never got personal calls, and Sydney was desperately hoping that he didn't have anyone waiting for him in New York.

"Oh, Sam," she said, pointing at a crescent wrench to her right, "would you get that for me? I can't seem to reach it."

He muttered something under his breath and reached out to take it down. Sydney slid her hand up his forearm and over his hand to take the wrench from him. She could have sworn she felt him s.h.i.+ver. She definitely heard him curse.

"Oh, not this one," she purred. "The one higher up." She leaned back against him as he reached, thoroughly enjoying teasing him. Never in her life had a man looked at her with anything besides impatience or disdain. Sam looked at her with l.u.s.t, plain and simple. Oh, there were those other looks, those looks that a less sensible girl might have mistaken for love. But Sydney was nothing if not sensible.

"Maybe the one higher up," she said, pointing. "Yes, I think that's the one..."

She jumped as Sam grabbed a rag, swiped it over the bench surface, spun her around, and plunked her down on the wood with enough force to make her teeth rattle. "All right, enough is enough. You can only tease me for so long before I snap. And I'm snapping." "Tease?" she said, putting her hand over her chest and blinking in surprise. "Me?" "Your jeans are so tight that I doubt you can breathe, your s.h.i.+rt is unb.u.t.toned far enough to give you pneumonia, and you're wearing makeup. Which you don't need, by the way." "I don't-" He covered her mouth with his and cut off her words. Well, he certainly was effective when it came to making a bid for a little silence. He kissed her until she forgot what she'd been about to say, then she forgot her name, and she came close to forgetting to breathe. She had only enough presence of mind to notice the last because the lack of air was starting to make her ears ring.

She froze. That wasn't her ears ringing. It was the doorbell!

"Sam," she gasped frantically. "Let me go."

"No," he murmured, holding her more tightly.

"Someone's at the door!"

Sam stiffened, then lifted his head. His eyes were wide.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, no, what?"

"I invited the Ladies Aid Society over for lunch."

"Sam!" she wailed.

"I forgot," he said, releasing her and stumbling back. "You go answer the door. I'll be right there."

"Me?" she screeched. "I look kissed!"

"And I look aroused. Give me five minutes to let things, ahem, settle down." He smiled at her hopefully.

"Please?" She jumped down off the bench and tried to resurrect her hair. It was useless, so she dragged her fingers through it and straightened her clothes. Putting her shoulders back, she tried to recapture some of her dignity.

"Syd?"

She turned at the door. Sam was staring at her with a gentle smile.

"I love you."

She froze. Then she gestured to the bench. "Because of-"

He shook his head sharply. "No."

"Oh, Sam."

"Go answer the door, honey. This is going to be the shortest Ladies Aid meeting in history."

Four hours later, Sydney was ready to throw the Ladies Aid Society out of her house without any

regard to where they landed. Sam ushered them out with his usual charm, and Sydney went in to start the dishes. One thing she could say for Sam-he'd taught her how to keep a clean kitchen.

She jumped when she felt arms go around her.

"Only me."

She leaned back against him. "Did you mean what you said before?"

"Yes." He took the last dish out of her hand, stuck it in the dish-washer, then turned her around. He smiled down at her. "Let's go snuggle on the couch. I'm beat, how about you?"

"The Society is exhausting."

"But very impressed with your brownies."

"I couldn't care less."

Sam laughed. "I know. And that tickles me." He kissed the end of her nose. "Let's go."

She grabbed a magazine off the counter as they went into the living room.

"What's that future Pulitzer Prize-winning article you have there?" Sam asked.

Sydney smiled. "Yours, of course."

"I thought you didn't read cooking magazines."

"I lied. Joe gave me a copy."

"And do you like it?"

She smiled at the way he wouldn't meet her eyes. "I loved it. You're great, Sam."

He stretched out on the couch, then smiled up at her. "Those were the magic words. Come down here, gentle reader, and let me kiss you in grat.i.tude for preserving my delicate author's ego."

Sydney let him draw her down next to him on the couch and then sighed as he kissed her.

He lifted his head and smiled at her. "Come with me to the Ladies Aid Society dance Friday. I want to rub this in Frank Slater's nose. And Sasquatch's. Whoever he is."

"He's you, silly. Who did you think he was?"

"I had no idea. Joe told me to look close to home. I figured he was some mountain man, hiding in your woods."

"No, he's a writer, hiding in my kitchen."

"Speaking of kitchens, do you want dinner?"

"Only if I don't have to cook it."

He sighed and rose. "A man's work is never done. If I have to go, you have to come. The least you can do is praise me while I work." It seemed a fair trade to her.

Chapter Ten.

When Friday night arrived, Sam found himself pacing in the living room, waiting for Sydney to come out of the bathroom. He paced for other reasons as well. He'd spent Wednesday night snuggling with her on the couch while she'd slept contentedly in his arms. Yesterday they hadn't spent a moment apart. Sam had the feeling he was going to have to move to a hotel until the wedding.

a.s.suming, that is, that Sydney wanted to get married.

He stopped his pacing once he caught sight of her standing near the fireplace. His jaw went slack.

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "You aren't going anywhere dressed like that."

Her face fell immediately and she turned away. Sam strode across the room and caught her. He turned her around in his arms and tipped her face up.

"You're stunning. Breathtaking. Exquisite. And by the time the evening is over, I'm going to be bruised, bloodied, and broken from fighting off all those wilderness men who'll want you. Where is that gunny-sack I found for you?"

She smiled hesitantly. "You like this?"

"Sydney, you look s.e.xy in jeans, but this?" He stepped back and looked her over from head to toe. She was wearing a long navy blue dress and no-nonsense work boots. He was quite certain he'd never seen anything like it in New York. He was even more certain he'd never seen anything s.e.xier. He sighed deeply. "You knock my socks off."

She didn't look all that convinced. "I don't know how long I can take this whole dance thing. We don't have to stay long, do we?"

"We'll only stay as long as you want to. You say the word and we're out of there."

The town hall was filled with Flaherty folk of all ages, and the band was already warming up with a few golden oldies. Sam greeted the Clan and his Ladies Aid Society. Sydney greeted the Clan and Joe. And then she and Sam went out to dance and they didn't pay attention to anyone else.

Sydney was asked to dance by plenty of men. She refused each one. Sam avoided being pinched by Ruth Newark and made it plain to hopeful mothers that he was off the market. As if they couldn't have told that by the way he was holding Sydney as they danced. Even the Clan seemed to accept it. Grudgingly, of course. Joe was simply beaming.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off the woman in his arms, and he found that he couldn't let go of her either. But he'd already made up his mind that she deserved a wedding before anything else, so dancing with her in public seemed the safest way to hold her and not get carried away.

He geared himself up on the way home to pop the question. His palms were sweaty. His heart was racing. In fact, his chest hurt so badly he feared he might be having a heart attack. A man didn't make it to the ripe old age of thirty-five without having had a healthy aversion to that "Will you marry me?" question.

He took a deep breath. His chest pains were from something he'd eaten at the dance. His palms were sweating because he didn't want Sydney to say no.

"All right," he said, with another deep breath. "Sydney, will you marry me?"

There was no answer.

Did she have something stuck in her throat? Had her powers of speech been swiped by aliens? Sam scowled as he looked to his right to find out why in the world she hadn't answered him.

Her mouth was open. Her eyes were closed. Her head was lolling back on the headrest.

Great. He let out the breath he'd been holding and turned his attention back to the road. This probably hadn't been the most romantic way to do it, anyway. He would gird up his loins yet again the next day and see if he couldn't pop the question while the lady in question wasn't drooling.

And he hoped this wasn't a sign.

The next morning Sam stumbled out into the kitchen to find Sydney standing over the stove, making pancakes. She looked incredibly well rested. Sam felt his eyes narrow, which wasn't all that difficult since he hadn't slept a wink.

Sydney turned and smiled at him. "Sleep well?"

"No."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Would breakfast help?"

"I doubt it."

"What's your problem?"

Sam dug his fists into his eyes and rubbed vigorously. "Lots on my mind. It's nothing that concerns you."