hard to mask his dismay, Sam glanced at Emma. She stared at Margaret for a long moment, a stricken look on her face, then bowed her head and gazed intently at the contents of her coffee mug, saying nothing.
“I’m sure she has a lot of things she’d rather do with her Sunday afternoon,” he said.
“Oh, no,” his mother said. “She’s been wanting to go to San Antonio for ages. Haven’t you, dear? To visit that nursery where they sell those Old Garden roses you like so much. You could stop at the needlepoint shop on the Riverwalk, too. Dolly called to say the canvas and yarn she ordered for me finally came in. I’m fairly sure both places are open on Sunday afternoon, so you could make a day of it. Unless you do have other plans…”
“Not really,” Emma admitted. “But what about you? Don’t you want to ride along with us, too?”
Sam couldn’t help but hear the desperation in her voice.
She didn’t want to go off on her own with him any more than he wanted to go off on his own with her. But his mother seemed oblivious to that fact. Seemed being the operative word, since she had always prided herself on being highly perceptive.
What was she up to? he wondered. Surely not match-making. She, of all people, had to realize how impossible any union between him and Emma would be.
“I think I’ll just stay here and take it easy,” Margaret replied, then turned her gaze on him again, her eyes laser sharp. “So that’s settled. We’ll go to Mass at nine, have breakfast at the Serenity Café—they still make the best pecan pancakes in town—then you can hit the road.”
“Only if Emma is sure she doesn’t mind,” Sam said.
“I don’t.” Without looking at either of them, she stood quickly, her jerky movements belying her words, and took her mug to the sink.
Sam could think of at least a hundred things he would rather do the following day, and he imagined Emma could, too. But she obviously wasn’t any better at defying Margaret’s wishes than he was. He could almost feel sorry for her, but he was already much too busy feeling sorry for himself.
Damn it, he should have let her go back to her house when he had the chance. Now he was going to be stuck with her all day tomorrow, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. What would she say to him once they were away from his mother’s house?
And what in heaven’s name would he say to her?
“Emma, dear, you look tired. And no wonder after all your hard work today. Why don’t you make an early night of it. Sam can help me clean up the kitchen. Can’t you, son?”
“Yeah, sure.” He stood, his empty plate and mug in hand.
“You know, I think I’ll do just that,” Emma agreed, her relief evident. “See you in the morning.” She gave Margaret a quick hug, then barely glanced his way and added, “Good night, Sam.”
“Good night, Emma.”
As he watched her leave the kitchen, Sam caught himself thinking about the frilly white nightgown she’d held against her chest when he’d intruded on her earlier.
Thought of her slipping into it, then climbing into the big, old-fashioned four-poster bed in the guest room, and wished—
“You wash and I’ll dry,” his mother instructed, diverting his attention not a moment too soon.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Stepping up to the sink, he turned on the hot-water faucet, then reached for the liquid soap. Wordlessly, his mother moved to his side, reached up and curved her palm against the side of his face, surprising him.
“Have I told you how glad I am that you’ve come home?”
“At least once already,” he assured her, putting an arm around her slender shoulders. “But I don’t think I’ve told you how glad I am to be here.”
“Are you really?”
“Yes, really.”
Sam hugged his mother close, aware that he had spoken the truth. Despite everything that had happened there, coming back to Serenity had been the right thing to do. And he was glad he’d realized it before it was too late.
“I’m glad.” She hugged him back, then eased away. “Now let’s get this mess cleaned up so we can sit out on the porch awhile and talk. I want you to tell me all about those young pilots you’ve been training.”
Chapter 4
With each mile that spun by beneath the whirring tires of Margaret Griffin’s stately Volvo, the dread that had first settled into Emma’s soul the night before blossomed anew. She sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, clutching the steering wheel with sweaty hands, her eyes locked on the dark blue sedan traveling at a sedate pace a couple of car lengths ahead of her.
Sam seemed in no more of a hurry than she was to reach their destination, but that inevitable moment would be upon them very soon. They had long since left the winding country roads outside Serenity for the four-lane freeway leading into San Antonio. Now they were less than a mile from the airport exit along which the car-rental agency’s lot was located.
Emma couldn’t remember the drive to San Antonio ever seeming to go by so swiftly. But a glance at the clock on the dashboard assured her they had been on the road the requisite hour and a half such a trip normally took.
Apparently, time could also fly when you weren’t having fun.
Not that the drive had been unpleasant. Quite the contrary, in fact, since the weather was nice and the traffic light. What had her quailing wasn’t the journey itself, but rather what awaited her at its end.
From the moment Margaret had first suggested she and Sam spend the afternoon together, Emma’s stomach had been tied in knots. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had been alone with him. And she could recall in all too devastating detail the last of those blessedly rare occasions.
The memory of what had happened on that late June afternoon—only two days before she was supposed to marry Teddy—had seared itself into her mind and heart in such a painful way that any attempt to disregard it proved to be utterly futile. And though she knew better than to imagine there was any chance of a repeat performance, the mere thought of finding herself in a similar situation had been more than enough to unnerve her.
Sam, too, had seemed just as dismayed as she was by his mother’s proposal, which—in a perverse way Emma refused to contemplate too closely—had not only annoyed her, but offered her a small measure of consolation, as well. At least she hadn’t been the only one thrown for a loop.
Yet there had been little either of them could say to dissuade Margaret from the course she had set. Arguing with her would have been a waste of time. She’d had right on her side, and she’d known it.
Allowing Sam to pay for a rental car when he could use hers would have been foolish. And since Margaret really wasn’t up to making the drive to San Antonio on her own…
Of course, she could have ridden along as a passenger and served as a buffer of sorts, Emma thought as she pulled to a stop behind the sedan just outside the rental agency’s office.
Actually, she had been counting on Margaret to do just that up until the moment they had finally said their goodbyes outside her house. The chance to spend some time with Sam had to have appealed to her. And hadn’t she often said how restful she found it to ride in a car?
Not that she had seemed in need of a nap. In Emma’s opinion, she had been in fine fettle that morning. Standing proudly beside her son, she had sung the hymns during the church service in a vibrant voice. Then she’d polished off a tall stack of pancakes at the Serenity Café with obvious relish.
Her decision to take to her bed once they’d returned to her house hadn’t rung true. And Emma had been hard-pressed