Love Came Just In Time Part 42

"I can hardly wait. Let me shower first."

"Please do."

He slammed all the doors he could on his way to the shower. It had been a week since their snuggling lesson on the couch. Sydney had awakened the next morning in a sour mood, one that matched his perfectly. He'd lain awake all night wondering just who the h.e.l.l this man of hers was. Sydney didn't know any men. Was he some New York investment jockey with plans to take Sydney to the Big Apple? The thought of Sydney Kincaid being yanked out of her native environment rankled. The thought of someone else besides him doing the yanking just plain infuriated him. If anyone was going to be doing anything with Sydney, it was going to be him.

He had no idea why she was so angry. Maybe she was reacting to him being such a jerk. He didn't know. He almost didn't care. d.a.m.n her, she was the one making him miserable, not the other way around. She knew he didn't have any ties. He never received mail or phone calls except from his agent. She sure as h.e.l.l couldn't imagine that he was after Majorie.

He took a shower that used up every bit of hot water in the tank. Then he went into his room and scowled for half an hour.

Love sucked.

He finally walked out into the living room. Sydney was asleep. He hauled her up without warning. She threw her arms around him in self-defense, so he picked her up and carried her into the kitchen.

"Cookbook," he barked.

She rubbed her eyes as she reached for it and handed it to him.

"Pay attention," he growled.

"Stop being such a jerk," she growled back, the sleep fading from her eyes, to be replaced by anger.

"Me?" He threw up his hands. "Women! Go figure."

He grabbed his keys off the rack and slammed out the front door. Might as well go check the post office

box while he was out acting like an adolescent. He drove to town and found nothing in his box. Frustrated, he made his way to Smith's Dry Goods for a cold root beer. He thought about taking up smoking, then discarded that idea. No sense in taking more years off his life than Sydney had already taken.

He leaned against the counter and sipped his root beer. "Joe, does Sydney date much?"

"Reckon she doesn't," Joe said, polishing a shiny lure.

"Has she dated much in the past?"

"Once," Joe said. "Frank Slater."

Sam gritted his teeth. Frank Slater. It figured.

"Only one time, though," Joe said conversationally. "Her pa wasn't much on seeing her married."

"Just one time? You gotta be joking."

"I never joke."

Sam didn't have any trouble believing that. "But she says she's in love with someone. Some Sasquatchy

mountain man." "I reckon she's lying," Joe said, unperturbed. "Then who could she possibly be in love with? Some city boy?" Joe looked at him. "Now that's a thought." Sam frowned. "Do you know who she's been taking around this summer? Names? Phone numbers?" Joe held the lure up to the light and buffed it a bit more. "I'd look a little closer to home if I were you, Sam." "Then I'll need a map of Flaherty and names of who lives where. And ages of the men, if you have them.' Joe gave an exasperated snort. "You don't need a map, boy. Just go back home and see if you can't figure it out from there."

Back home? Well, Sam supposed it wouldn't take all that long to plow through Sydney's copy of the phone book. Then the proverbial light bulb went on in his head.

Home?

"You're joking, right?" he said in disbelief.

Joe looked at him and pursed his lips.

Sam held up his hands. "I know, I know. You don't joke."

Joe took away Sam's root beer bottle. "Go home, Sam. And don't you dare hurt her. You are planning

on staying in Flaherty, aren't you? Permanently?" Sam thought about it for the s.p.a.ce of ten seconds, then he realized there was nothing to think about. He didn't have to live in New York to write. He could take Sydney down to Seattle or San Francisco for a few weeks every now and then so he could do his research. There was absolutely no reason to leave.

His mother, his sisters, and his trust fund would survive quite nicely without him. "Yep." Sam nodded. "I am." "Then get on home, boy. And see what you come up with if you look hard enough." Sam took Joe's advice and headed home. He wasn't quite ready to accept the fact that he was the one Sydney was interested in, but there certainly wasn't anyone else in her neck of the woods. He'd go home and keep an open mind about things. Who knew what he would find out?

He entered the house quietly and immediately sensed that Sydney was in the kitchen. He followed the sound of her curses and walked in to find her in the middle of the biggest mess he had ever seen. Every bowl in the house was dirty. There was flour all over the floor, the counters, and the cook. And the cook was furious. "What," he asked in a strangled voice, "are you doing?" "I'm cooking," she snapped. "What does it look like I'm doing?" It looked like she was making a mess, but he wisely chose not to point that out to her. He crossed the room and put his hand under her chin, tipping her face up. He gently wiped the flour from her cheeks. "What are you making?" "A cake. But it isn't going well." "Want some help?" "Yes." "Let's clean up first. It'll be less stressful if you start with a clean kitchen." Sydney wasn't much better at cleaning than she was at cooking, but he had to admire her enthusiasm. He kept back the necessary bowls and put the rest in the dishwasher. Then he opened the cookbook, laid out all the ingredients, and proceeded to show her what to do.

"It says 'fold in the dry ingredients.' What does that mean?" she demanded.

"Here, turn the mixer back on," he said, standing behind her. "Take the spatula in your right hand and the bowl of flour in your left. Just dump in a little at a time and let the mixer do the work."

"But that's mixing, not folding."

"Same thing.'"

"Then why doesn't it say the same thing?"

"I don't know." He didn't. All he knew was that Sydney Kincaid was standing in the circle of his arms,

concentrating on something else, leaving him free to concentrate on her. The fragrance of her hair wafted up and forced his eyes closed. He breathed deeply, savoring the smell. "Now what do I do? Sam, are you falling asleep?" "No." "The cake's folded. What do I do now?"

"Preheat the oven, then pour the batter into the cake pans."

He leaned back against the counter and listened to her hum as she poured the batter into two pans, then slid them both into the oven. She set the timer, then turned and smiled.

"Now what?"

"Now you come over here and listen to me apologize for being such a jerk these past few days."

Her smile faltered. "You weren't, Sam. I'm not the easiest person to live with."

He reached out, took her hand and pulled her across the floor. "We're going to practice making up now,

Syd. An important part of any relationship. I'm going to say I'm sorry. You're going to listen, forgive me, then hug me. Got it?" She nodded. "I'm sorry." "I forgive you." "Now, hug me."

"But..."

"Hey, I need the practice, too. For Miss Sasquatchette. It's as easy as snuggling, only you can do making-up anywhere."

She moved closer to him, slowly. When she was close enough, Sam put his arms around her and drew her close. And he closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, he'd come home.

"Where did you go, Sam?" she asked softly.

"To have a root beer down at Joe's."

"I was worried about you."

Sam smiled into her hair. "I'm sorry, Sydney. I won't go like that again." He stroked her back. "I'll stay right here for as long as you want me to be."

"Miss Sasquatchette won't be angry?" Sydney asked, her voice m.u.f.fled against his shirt.

"Somehow, I just don't think so."

"Then you'll hold me for a few more minutes?"

"I sure will."

He held her for forty-five more minutes, to be exact. And he cursed the timer when it went off and pulled

Sydney away from him. Her toothpick came out clean, and she grinned as two perfectly baked rounds were pulled from the oven. Sam showed her how to put the cake on a cooling rack, then she made frosting. They waiting for the cake to cool, then Sam leaned against the counter and watched her frost her chocolate cake. He had to smile at the concentration on her face.

Then she stood back and admired her handiwork. "It's beautiful," she said reverently.

"No," he said, taking her hand and pulling her closer, "you are beautiful." "Sam..." He put his finger to her lips. "You're going to practice taking compliments. It's a skill I'm sure will come in handy in the future."

"You think so?"

He nodded. "I do." He put one arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, then smoothed his hand

over her hair. And he tried to find the words to say to tell her just how beautiful she truly was and what fools the men of Flaherty were never to have seen that. How could they have overlooked those haunting eyes, or that exquisite face? Her hair was soft and luxurious, hair that a man could bury his face and drown in without too much trouble. He met her eyes and saw the hesitancy there.

Or was it desire? He honestly couldn't tell, but there was one surefire way to find out. He lowered his head until his mouth was a mere inch from hers. "May I kiss you?" he whispered. "More lessons?" "Definitely."

"If you think it will come in handy in the future." His only answer was to cover her mouth with his own. He pulled her closer to him as he explored her lips. By the time he was finished, Sydney was shaking like a leaf. And it occurred to him, accompanied by the most Neanderthal rush of pleasure he had ever felt, that she had probably never been kissed before.

"Are we finished?"

Sam opened his eyes. Sydney's teeth were chattering.

"Do you want to be finished?"

She shook her head.

"Are you afraid?"

"Me?" she squeaked. She cleared her throat. "I've faced down grizzlies bigger than you and not broken

a sweat."

"Well," he said with a smile, "that says it all, doesn't it?"

She rubbed her arms. "I think I'm cold."

"I'll build you a fire. I'm getting pretty good at it, you know." He took her hand and led her out into the

living room. He built the fire quickly, then took off his shoes and pulled a blanket down in front of the fireplace. He looked up at Sydney.

"Join me?"

"Shouldn't I start dinner?"

"We'll have sandwiches later. We'll practice our cuddling tonight."

"Cuddling?"

"A completely different technique than snuggling," he said with a nod. "So get comfortable. We could be