pictures of you and Jeffrey, you mean.”
“Yes. Those were professionally taken.”
“So, you’re into photography?”
Dusting her hands, she turned to face him. “I dabble a bit. What I really like is covering the walls of my home with pictures of the people who mean the most to me. It gives me pleasure to look at them. Plus I find gazing through a lens relaxing.”
He eyed the cookies covering her counter. “Does baking relax you, too?”
She had to smile. “No. Baking helps me use up nervous energy.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
Her smile faltered at the unexpected question, and her heart started pounding. Thank goodness he didn’t realize exactly how nervous he did make her. At least she thought he didn’t.
“This whole thing with Jeffrey has my nerves frayed,” she said quickly. “I’ve been baking up a storm for months.”
He seemed to hesitate briefly before saying, “About the photos in the front hallway. I couldn’t help noticing there weren’t any pictures of James.”
As little as a few months ago, the mention of her late husband would have filled her with a rush of pain. Now she felt only a dull ache. And an emptiness that seemed to go on forever.
“There used to be dozens. Everywhere I looked. I took them down after…you know.”
“After he died,” Carlo supplied.
“Yes.” Sometimes she still found it hard to say the “d” word. “It hurt too much to look at them.”
And now, at night, when she closed her eyes, she had trouble picturing him. She was terrified that she was starting to forget James. The way she responded to Carlo Garibaldi wasn’t helping matters.
“How are you coping?” he asked.
She busied herself scrubbing down the counters. “I have my good days and my bad days. For months there was only pain. And denial. I simply couldn’t believe James was gone. I wondered if the day would ever come when thoughts of him wouldn’t consume my every waking minute. Then I got angry and screamed at God for letting James die, and I screamed at James for dying. When the anger faded, I moped around for another couple of months. Finally I accepted that James was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Somehow, I had to make a life for Jeffrey and me without him. Now that you’re here, I think more good days just might be in our future.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder and was surprised at the look of consternation on his face. Poor man. She’d made it sound like she was depending on him to solve her every problem. No wonder he looked terrified.
“I’m sorry, Carlo. I don’t know why I told you all that. What I meant to say is that I’ve been one of the lucky ones. My mother lives close by, as does my best friend. They’ve both been a wonderful support to me. So has Douglas Boyer. And now you. Jeffrey and I are doing just fine.”
“Except for the fact that he won’t talk to anyone,” he muttered.
She looked down at her hands. “Except for that.”
“I want you to know something.”
A quality in his voice she couldn’t quite define made her look up. “What?”
“If it were in my power, I’d wave a magic wand and make things the way they were before. I’d make it so that day never happened. I’d give you back your husband and your little boy.”
His sincerity was unmistakable. Why he should seem to care so much, she didn’t know. But he obviously did. And she was grateful for the sentiment.
“James was right,” she said.
He looked startled. “About what?”
“You really do take your responsibilities to heart.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“You’re a cop, and you can ask me that with a straight face?”
His smile was wry. “You have a point.”
“Actually, what I think James meant was that you take things too much to heart. When you agree to do something, you don’t take any half measures. You give it everything you have, and then some.”
“I believe in honoring my commitments.” His voice sounded stiff.
“And I’ve made you defensive. That’s not what I was trying to do.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“To say thank you. Thank you for helping me with Jeffrey, Carlo.”
He seemed to grow even more uncomfortable. “I don’t want your thanks, Samantha.”
What did he want? she wondered. Now wasn’t the time to ask. What it was time for was the truth. She had to be honest with him, or she’d never get rid of the guilt.
“I have a confession to make.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “I shamelessly manipulated you to get you to help me with Jeffrey.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I used what James had told me about you to get you to do what I wanted you to do.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to turn you down when you came to me.”
“I didn’t know for sure. But I hoped. And I definitely prayed. Thank goodness my prayers were answered.” She paused. “Are you angry?”
“I should be, I suppose,” he said on a sigh. “But no, I’m not angry. I understand why you did what you did. If Jeffrey were my son, I probably would have done the same.”
She was almost afraid to ask. “Does this mean you’ll be back next Saturday?”
Long, agonizing seconds passed before he finally answered. “Yes, Samantha. I’ll be back.”
Chapter 3
The Samantha Underwood who answered her door the following Saturday bore little resemblance to the woman who had bowled Carlo over the week before. The thick, lustrous blond hair that had gleamed like a badge in the sunlight was uncombed and hung lankly to her shoulders. Her eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, her lips chapped. In contrast, her cheeks were flushed with color. Though it was after noon, she wore a pair of flannel pajamas beneath a loosely belted, red terry cloth robe. It was a good thing the day was uncharacteristically mild, because she looked as if even the hint of a breeze would knock her off her feet.
Any other woman would have made an excuse for the way she looked. Samantha simply stood there, waiting.
And any other man—if he had a shred of decency, anyway—wouldn’t have found the sight alluring. But Carlo did. Heaven help him.
Guilt left a sour taste in his mouth. She was James Underwood’s widow. He had no business lusting after her like an awkward youth fumbling through his first crush.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She brought a tissue to her mouth and sneezed. “Just fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
She stood aside so he could enter. “I picked up a bug at work. The hazard of being a nurse, I suppose. It’ll run its course in a day or so.”
His gaze roved over her again. So she was a nurse. It seemed appropriate, given what he knew about her.
“Must be some bug, to make you look like that.”
Her smile caught him off guard. “Do you have to work at it, or are you naturally this charming? Much more of this flattery, and my ego will be