Linda made a whuffling sound and put her forehead back on her knees.

Hank desperately wanted to do something. That was how hed been trained, how he lived his life. You helped, you ran toward the problem, you worked until it was fixed. You protected.

But Samantha caught his gaze, and as if reading his thoughts, gave the smallest shake of her head.

She was right. Linda gave off fear in huge, brittle waves. If Samantha could pull off helping this woman, Hank would have to marry her.

If shed have him.

Hanks heart was lost and might end up crushed, and he suspected his a.s.s was about to be kicked in their demo for the women.

And hed never been happier in his life.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

SAMANTHA PULLED UP in front of Hanks house. If he hadnt said the other night that he lived on Lowry, she wouldnt have even known where to look for his Mustang. It felta little stalkerish, maybe, to be driving up and down a street in the dark, looking under the streetlights for a mans car.

It didnt make sense. None of it did. It probably wasnt the right thing to do. Samantha should go to Graces house. Grace would take care of her. She had some hippie echinacea-mint tea that made you relax and feel alert all at the same time. Samantha had bought the tea herself, but somehow, making it for herself at the apartment didnt feel the same. Sure, it was nice taking it out on the balcony and watching the boats chug in and out of the marina, offloading things like crabs, loading up tourists and heading back out again, the mug of tea warm in her hands. But at Graces house, her sister took care of everything. She made Samantha sit in that perfectly soft chair in the kitchen where it was always warm and smelled of ginger.

Thats what she should do. She would show up, and like always, Grace would take care of her. It would feel good to be coddled, and then shed go home and sleep like the dead.

Instead, she was here. Searching for a guy who probably didnt even want her to find him. Before shed come back to town, if shed been asked, she would have said that she remembered Hank Coffee as a sweet man. Smart. Funny.

That was before shed learned that he was also the three things she always fell for"good looking, dangerous, and s.e.xy as h.e.l.l.

Which was why it was a very bad idea to be walking up the path in the dark to his front door.

A low-slung green house, it was a fifties ranch style, the kind of house Samantha and Grace had always wanted to live in when they were kids. The kind of house where the garage was built to be full of bicycles and cardboard boxes holding old crafts: G.o.ds eyes made of yarn and chopsticks, and snowmen made from cardboard and cotton b.a.l.l.s. The light on the porch burned brightly, welcoming. The doorbell was loud inside. She heard laughter and a womans voice from behind the door.

Whoa. What if he did have a girlfriend and no one talked about her? What if they had an agreement, and Hank was welcome to make out with other girls in his car, just as long as he didnt sleep with them? What if that was the real reason why he left the other night? What if a pretty, pet.i.te, well-mannered woman opened the door? What was Samantha's excuse going to be?

Training! Sure. They had a few more moves to go over before the next cla.s.s. That was it.

The door was opened by a woman, all right, but she most likely wasnt girlfriend material. Eighty-five if she was a day, Samantha knew her as one of the women who knitted in the back booths at Mabels Cafe. She was wearing a lemon-yellow sweater with an embroidered blue rocket on the front, and her gray hair was flying out of its bun.

Hi, Im Samantha Rowe.

I know, the woman said.

Then, without another word, she shut the door in Samantha's face.

Oh. Well, that was one answer to the question of whether this was a good idea or not. Samantha turned to leave, but her steps faltered when her foot was on the second step.

She turned back around.

This time she knocked instead of ringing the bell.

The door jerked open. Yes?

Is Hank home?

Yes. The older woman started to close the door again, but Samantha wedged her boot in the crack.

Good, said Samantha. Can you tell him Im here?

No.

Really? Thats what she got for s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her courage to find him? She probably deserved a lot, but as far as she knew, she didnt deserve this. Good grief, lady, what did I do to you?

The door opened a few inches wider but Samantha didnt pull her foot back. If she had, she knew the door would have been shut and locked again in a heartbeat.

You didnt do anything to me, said the woman.

I didnt think so.

You hurt my grandson. A long time ago. The woman scowled. Her eyelashes looked crooked and sparkly. But Im still mad at you for it.

That was totally fair. Yeah, well, me too.

A surprised look played across the womans face. Youre mad at yourself?

Completely. I was a stupid kid who didnt know a good thing when I saw it.

The door opened another eight inches. Youre right. You didnt. Hes the best boy in the world.

Samantha wrinkled her nose. I wouldnt call him a boy anymore. Would you?

The woman clutched the door jam. Of course. h.e.l.l always be my boy. You cant blame me for trying to protect him.

Hanks voice rose from somewhere inside. Gramma? Who is it?

No one, said the woman over her shoulder, but then she appeared to relent. Just that girl who smashed your heart into tiny little pieces when you were twenty-one.

Samantha?

Hank came into the hallway, and Samantha lost her breath. He was barefoot, wearing a white tank top that showed off every one of the sizable muscles in his upper torso and bulging arms. Faded black sweat pants hung from his hips. He was carrying a plate that looked like it had held pasta of some kind. A strand of too-long dark hair dropped over his eye, and Samantha wanted to rush him and kiss, grandmother notwithstanding.

And the way his eyes had heated to see her, she was pretty sure he might allow her to.

Gramma, let her in.

Over my dead body. But the words werent said as roughly as they could have been, and it was the woman who pulled the door all the way open, not Hank. Just for a minute. But then you have to go, girl.

My house, my rules, Grams. Hank bent to kiss his grandmothers cheek, and Samantha's heart grew two sizes. Samantha, this is Maureen, my pistol-packin grandmother. Maureen, this is Samantha.

Maureen trundled ahead through the hallway, grumbling something about pasta sauce and a waste of meat. Hank and Samantha let her go into the next room.

Samantha's newly huge heart pounded heavily.

Hank leaned against the wall, appearing comfortable in his own skin.

His eyes smoldered darkly. Whats up, trouble?

I thought What had she thought again?

Yeah? His voice was a purr. d.a.m.n him.

About cla.s.s. A thing. I, um, just wanted to go over a couple of things.

Uh-huh. He wasnt buying it, she could tell.

But I can just catch you up later. At the next cla.s.s.

Okay.

From around the corner came Maureen's voice. Are you two coming into the kitchen, or should I just go home by myself in the dark?

Never taking his eyes off hers, Hank stepped forward. He got so close to Samantha that her breathing hitched in her chest, and she could feel the heat coming from his body. He lifted her hair from where it lay on her shoulder and put his mouth on her neck, just below her ear. It was the softest touch, the lightest caress of his lips, and it made Samanthas legs tremble. He brought his mouth up slowly, so slowly, up the curve of her jaw, pressed a final kiss against the top of her cheekbone, right next to her temple. She could hear him breathing next to her, and his breath was as ragged as hers.

He dropped her hair back to her shoulder and stepped back.

Coming, Hank called, never taking his eyes off hers. His gaze heated to the point where Samantha thought she might melt into a puddle on the spot. His eyes promised something that, heaven help her, she was going to stick around to take. Hank was heated steel tension, his body taut, rigid with need.

If his grandmother wasnt in the next room, Samantha would have walked right past Hank, shedding clothes as she went, hoping to find the bedroom, and not caring if she didnt find it. The living room would be just fine. The kitchen. The laundry room would have been hot at this point.

How had she not slept with him back then? Had he looked at her this way? There was no way hed had that heavy-lidded gaze back then. Hed been just a kid, and so had she.

But the Hank Coffee who stood in front of her now was raw need, barely controlled l.u.s.t. A muscle in his jaw tightened. He was all man. One hundred and twenty masculine percent.

Excuse me? Can you hear me or not?

Sorry, he grated. Shes not going to stop calling us.

Didnt figure she would. Ill just see you later, okay? She doesnt want me in there.

Maybe not. But I do.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE KITCHEN WAS all male, dark green walls with deep blue accents. It also looked like a kitchen that was used. The two pots sitting on top of the stove looked well-loved, burnished with age and scrubbing. There was a clock made out of a record above the stove. Samantha tiptoed to read the disc label.

Princes Purple Rain, Hank said. And I make no apology for it.

Nor should you, said Samantha in admiration.

Hes stuck in the 80s, said Maureen, her back to them as she scrubbed a plate.

Shes stuck in the 90s, said Hank easily. He moved in next to Maureen, dropping his plate in the soapy water. He looked at Samantha. Have you eaten?

Oh, Im fine, said Samantha. Her stomach took that moment to grumble loudly. She put her hand over her belly. Whoops.

You like mostaccioli? Gramma makes the best.

Were out, grumped Maureen. All out.

Bull. Hank pulled out a foil-covered gla.s.s pan from the fridge. Still warm. Grab me a plate from that cabinet. He gestured with his chin.

Samantha complied, wondering how handy Maureen was with her needles. Was she going to stab her with them? Or was she handier with a knife? Samantha resolved to keep all her extremities to herself.

Hank dished out a huge portion.

I cant eat all that.

Were carbo-loading for cla.s.s, he said.

I teach. I stand there and yell. Youre the one who might want to eat a few more calories. Those women arent joking around.

Hank caught her gaze again, sending her that look, the one that sent a shiver of l.u.s.t through her body right down to her very toes. When he handed her the full plate, she caught his scent"he smelled faintly of wood shavings and pine, as if hed been sharpening pencils in the woods. It was both a comforting and heady scent.

Sit, he said. Eat.

It was easier to just comply.

Maureen, her hands dripping with soapy water, turned and fixed Samantha with a stare. Her fork stilled in mid-air.

You still drinking?

It felt like a slap. But it was a fair question. It just hurt that the recovery shed prefer to keep hidden was common knowledge for the whole town. She knew how gossip worked. She was"dimly"aware of the way shed acted in the Wooden Duck on the few occasions shed come back to town before getting sober. One Christmas Eve, shed walked to the bar and she hadnt made it back to Graces until the day after Christmas. The actual holiday itself was lost to her"shed met a guy during her blackout and if shed woken up to find out theyd gotten married, she wouldnt have been surprised. The feeling of embarra.s.sment was still so painful that she could almost not bear to think of it. But that was part of how she managed to stay sober. That pain.

No, maam.

Will you start again?

I hope not.

Can you promise you wont?