A Man Worth Loving

Her gaze turned wintry and she pushed past him. “Good luck with that, you arrogant jerk,” she muttered, moving by him so quickly he stumbled on unsteady feet. “You don’t deserve that beautiful boy. It’s probably a good thing your wife is dead. If she could see how you’re treating the child she died to give life…” She shook her head in disgust as she added, “So pathetic.”

And then stomped out the door.

ANGER VIBRATED HER ENTIRE BODY as she got to her car, intent on leaving as quickly as she could, but somehow Sammy managed to get those wobbly drunken muscles to work and he was running after her.

“Wait!” he called out. She tried to ignore him but there was a thread of desperation weaving its way through his tone that made her pause, if only momentarily. He reached the car and skidded to a stop. “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have said that…I’ve had too much to drink and my mouth got away from me.”

“And?”

“And it was completely out of line for me to bring someone home with you still at the house. I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, dropping his stare to the ground as if ashamed. She wasn’t sure if it was an act or not. She didn’t know him well enough to tell but she was suspicious on principle simply by his behavior so far.

She wanted him to admit that it was also bad judgment on his part to bring strangers into the house with an infant but she sensed she wouldn’t get that from him. Not yet, anyway.

“Fine,” she said tersely. “But your friend needs to leave. Now.”

“She’s not a bad gal,” he started to say but she cut him off with a glare. “Right. Gimme a minute.”

Aubrey moved past him, accidentally brushing him with her shoulder. The warmth of his skin through his shirt reminded her that it’d been a long time since she’d enjoyed the comfort of a man’s arms. Thankfully, there were no sparks that ignited at the incidental touch. She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t pause to offer any words of explanation to the woman sitting forlornly on the sofa and went to check on Ian while Sammy sent her on her way.

Treading softly into Ian’s room, her anger melted at the sight of the sleeping boy, so sweet in repose that her heart ached. Why did she have such a tender spot for children? Her life would’ve been so much easier if she’d been built more like her mother and sister. Arianna, although her twin, couldn’t be more her opposite. The idea of caring for a child, even her own, didn’t appeal in the least. It was a wonder Barbie had agreed to conceive. Aubrey could only imagine her mother’s dismay when she’d learned she was carrying not one, but two babies. She sighed softly and smoothed a lock of dark hair from the boy’s soft baby brow. If she were given the gift of motherhood…she’d never squander it.

IT WAS LONG AFTER HE’D regretfully sent Sherry on her way with an effusive promise to call her tomorrow and Aubrey had fallen asleep in his recliner in the living room that Sammy sank into a dark place that was often his resting stop after a long night. Usually he woke with a busty woman at his side and he had to sneak from her house before she woke. He rarely brought his dates home; the thought of letting another woman into his own bed made him shudder with shame. Yet tonight he’d been ready to screw that blonde in the bed he’d shared with Dana. Aubrey had hit the nail on the head when she’d called him pathetic.

He supposed he should thank his nosy and intrusive nanny for keeping him from making yet another huge mistake, but it rankled him that he gave in so easily. She treated him like he was lower than dirt—the looks she gave him could wither a flower on the vine—and yet, she seemed protective of Ian in a way that baffled him. She didn’t know the kid, not really. He was the kid’s father and he couldn’t muster up the appropriate feelings. Scrubbing his hands down his face as if he could wipe away all the guilt that weighed him down, he fell back on his bed, not caring that he was still dressed, nor that he was still wearing his boots. Honestly, what was there to care about any longer?

Dana…why’d you leave me? I’m so lost….

That mournful feeling followed him into sleep, filling the landscape of his dreams with sadness and pain, a vision of Dana dying on that table, giving her last breath as Ian gasped his first.

A tear leaked down Sammy’s face and stained his pillow.

“Dana…”

CHAPTER FOUR

SAMMY SHOWED UP ON THE JOB SITE surly and nursing an aching head, and certainly in no mood to deal with either of his older brothers when Dean barked at him.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Glad to see you can tell time,” Sammy grumbled as he buckled his tool belt into place. “I overslept.”

Both his brothers exchanged a knowing look and Sammy wanted to put his fist through both of their mugs. “How’s the new nanny working out?” Josh asked.

“Fine.” If you don’t mind the idea of being mothered by a woman who made you feel ten inches tall one minute and oddly turned on in the next. Yeah…it’s great. “She’s good with the kid,” he admitted, hefting a large cement bag onto his shoulder with a grunt. “That’s all that matters, right?”

He considered the strange twist of being attracted to her. Frankly, he was hot for anything in a skirt these days but his tastes were pretty predictable. In the old days, before Dana, the thrill of the chase was what got his motor running. Then he met Dana and everything he ever thought he knew about women went right down the toilet. Dana had been cool and distant at first but once he cracked that nut…she’d been fiery and passionate, a woman who could match his appetite bite for bite. An ache so sharp it made him suck in a wild breath almost caused him to drop his load but he recovered before either of his keen-eyed brothers—who continually regarded him like he was on a suicide watch or something—could catch it.

“You gonna stand there gawking at me like a bunch of girls or get to work?” he asked, annoyed when neither seemed inclined to return to their tasks. He dropped the cement bag and went to get another one. “You’re giving me the willies staring at me like that.”

It was Josh who spoke first. “We’re worried about you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You’re screwing up. And the way you treat Ian…” At Sammy’s scowl, Dean paused but then revved up again. “Annabelle is upset and if Annabelle’s upset then you’d better believe that I’m going to get involved.”

“Butt out,” Sammy warned, trying to walk away, but Dean grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him around to face him. Sammy eyed his brother and practically dared him to push the issue. “Watch it, Dean. The days where you can grab me like a snot-nosed kid are over. I’ll lay you out if you grab me again.”

Dean grinned. “Go ahead and try, Sammy. Might be the best thing for you to get your stupid head knocked around.”

Josh intervened. “Knock if off, both of you. Ma sees either of you with black eyes she’s going to give us all matching ones. Listen, Sam, we’re your brothers…we just don’t want to see you make a mistake you can’t take back.”

Sammy shrugged off Dean’s grip and bent down to grab another cement bag. He hefted it with a grunt. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got your own lives to worry about. Wives…babies…surely that’s enough to keep you out of my business.”

“It would be if you’d stop tomcatting around every honky-tonk bar from here to Coldwater. What’s gotten into you?” Dean asked, the disgust in his tone mirroring what Sammy had heard in Aubrey’s voice last night.

A pang of anguish reminding him just how screwed up he was made him grin like a jackal as he answered, “I’m grieving. Can’t you tell?”

Dean’s face darkened and Sammy knew he’d gone too far. He half hoped Dean would lay him out. He certainly deserved it. “You sure as hell don’t look like you’re grieving to me. How do you think it makes Annabelle feel to hear around town about all the women you’re nailing like the end of the world is around the corner when her best friend—your supposed beloved wife—died just six months ago? It’s killing her! The other day she burst into tears because of some story she heard about you and some former coworker of Dana’s getting it on outside the bar, in the damned alley! What is wrong with you!”

“Tell your wife to mind her own business,” Sammy said and turned to walk away.

And that was the final straw. But it wasn’t Dean who threw the punch.

It was Josh.

Sammy hit the ground and went into blissful oblivion.

AUBREY BUNDLED IAN UP AGAINST the chill so the boy could have some outside play time before it got too cold to enjoy the fall season. Walking the perimeter of the property, she drew a deep breath of the crisp air and smiled at the rustic beauty of the area, such a stark contrast from where she grew up. Here there were rolling hills of trees and brush, not a manicured lawn in sight, but it took her breath away. So gorgeous. She could imagine Ian running free, weaving in and out of the trees, playing cops and robbers, jumping in mud puddles, and ending the day covered head to toe in dirt. A warm smile followed. How awesome. Then she sighed. “Perhaps if fate hadn’t been so cruel as to take your mama and leave you with that self-absorbed man you know as your father, I’d say you were a lucky boy. But sometimes fate is cruel, sweet baby. That is something you may very well learn when you get older,” she murmured to Ian, whose cheeks had pinked to a rosy hue and his delighted smile seemed to say that he agreed with her. Impulsively, she bent down and pressed a quick kiss on his crown. Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, a voice warned inside her head, but she immediately pushed it aside, even though the advice was sound. But babies need love and affection, she protested. It wasn’t like the boy’s father was going to provide it. She rounded the back side of the house and gasped with pleasure when she saw the young apple tree, bursting with fresh apples, some of which had dropped to the ground to rot.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had an apple tree growing in your backyard?” she asked Ian playfully as he watched her with happy eyes. “I’ll bet your mom planted this tree when she and your dad got married.”

She moved closer and noted the variety of the tree was written on a small tag. “A self-pollinating Gala,” she read. She didn’t know much about apple trees but she was open to learning. Somehow she knew keeping this tree alive and blooming for the future would’ve been important to Dana. Plucking an apple, she took an exploratory bite. Juice dribbled down her chin and the crisp flavor was like manna from heaven. “Ohh, this is good,” she said. Then looked again to Ian, an idea forming in her mind. “I’ll bet your mom has a basket or a bucket we can find that she used to pick these apples. Let’s find it.”

Just as she figured, Aubrey was able to find a large basket in the laundry room, tucked into the far reaches of the cabinet above the washing machine. She brushed it out, then she and Ian headed back outside to ease the burden of that beautiful apple tree.

SAMMY WAS STILL IN A PISSY mood when he got home, in spite of stopping by the bar first for a beer. His jaw ached where Josh had clocked him and a bruise was beginning to shadow the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the fact that he’d deserved that punch or the low to which he’d sunk in his mind. It was as if he was in a downward spiral he couldn’t do anything to stop and everyone around him was trying to help but he was gunning for that fateful moment when he went splat against the concrete. If Dana were here she’d no doubt tell him to quit feeling sorry for himself. A sad smile lifted his mouth, but only for a moment. He couldn’t think of Dana. Maybe if Ian didn’t look so much like her….

He opened the door and was hit with the savory aroma of something he hadn’t smelled in a long time. Apple pie.

Entering the kitchen, the smell triggered a memory that nearly sent him to his knees. He slowed, let his eyes close and sank into the past.

Suddenly, it was September of last year, and Sammy had come home to that same tantalizing aroma.

“Damn, girl, what is that amazing smell?” he’d said, whipping his ball cap off and tossing it to the hat stand by the door. He saw Dana in the kitchen, pregnant, flour in her hair, the room looking as if a bomb had gone off, there was sweat dampening her forehead and one perfect apple pie cooling on the counter. He’d never been so conflicted by his desire to eat pie and make love to his wife. In the end, he did both. Right there on the kitchen floor.

“I thought you might like a pie made from our very own apple tree,” she’d said huskily, her voice retaining the warmth created by their lovemaking. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at him as he lay on his back recuperating. “I had no idea pie has this kind of effect on you,” she teased, her brown hair falling forward to tickle his face.

“You have this kind of effect on me,” he murmured, pulling her down to his mouth, savoring everything about his wife. “But I do love pie,” he added playfully.

“I love you,” she said softly.