In the Mood for Love (9 page)

“I have a problem with crowds,” she admitted. “With public places.”

“Since when?”

“Since last month. There was an incident. That’s what’s twisting me up. That’s what got me fired. Or at least contributed to my dismissal. It triggered this insane fear of random violence and mass killings.”

“Is that why you’ve been glued to CNN? Are you looking for a pattern? Trying to find reason in senseless attacks?”

Harper crossed her arms so as not to stroke her bracelet. Her insides churned and her head thrummed. This subject was dangerously close to Andrew’s tragic meltdown. She didn’t want to go there. Hard enough dealing with the incident in L.A.

“We need to talk about this, Harper. I can’t subject Ben and Mina to whatever crisis you’re going through if I don’t know the details.”

She got that. And, seriously, part of her wanted to confide in Sam. She’d tried everything to get a grip on her intensifying agoraphobia short of weekly visits to a shrink. Spewing her guts to a professional psychiatrist was akin to undergoing brain surgery sans anesthesia. Thank you, but no. That said, she was desperate to regain control of her life.

“I won’t think you’re crazy,” Sam said, speaking to her earlier concern.

Harper studied Sam as he slowed his truck at the last intersection before town. Her breathing eased as she soaked in his calm and grounded strength. She couldn’t talk about Andrew, but she could talk about the spa shooting.

“Pull over, Rambo. Someplace private. And give me back my phone.”

EIGHT

Grenville’s Overlook.

Sam made a U-turn, backtracked a mile, turned left then crossed the historic covered bridge to get to the other side of Sugar Creek—the river, not the town. He parked his truck near a copse of trees at the slope’s edge, affording them a prime view upriver. The water sparkled and rippled, a gentle current conducive to canoeing, kayaking, and inner-tubing. As a boy Sam used to cannonball off the covered bridge with his cousins. He doubted Ben would be so adventurous. Mina was another story. Sam dreaded that day. For now his kids were happy with an occasional rafting expedition.

“Let me guess,” Harper said as he keyed off the ignition. “You used to bring girlfriends here to make out.”

Sam’s lip twitched. “That was a long time ago.”

“Your wife?”

“Paula was fond of moonlit picnics.”

“That doesn’t sound like your cup of tea.”

“It’s not.”

“But you did it. For her.”

Sam didn’t answer, but he did look Harper’s way. She was studying him as though puzzling through a riddle. He felt the same way about her. “You mentioned someplace private and Grenville’s was close.” Anxious to know the details behind her sudden and peculiar fear of crowds, Sam unbuckled his safety belt. “Want to walk and talk?”

She leaned forward, peered out and around the wooded river as if searching for a lurking ax murderer or sniper—a psychopath in a hockey mask looking for a random kill. She pressed back against the seat, hunkered in. “I’m good.” She typed something into her phone, swiped the screen then passed him the android.

FIVE DEAD IN FIVE STAR LUXURY SPA SHOOTING

The article was dated a month and three days ago. The crime had taken place in Los Angeles, a chic fitness club near Rodeo Drive. Sam read for details, noting a man had strolled into an exercise class, pulled two guns, and started firing. Five dead, including the shooter. Seven wounded. Sam read every name. No mention of Harper.

“I was there,” she said. “With a client. We were in another room, indulging in pedicures and mimosas. We never saw him. But we heard the gunfire, the screams. Everyone in our portion of the salon scrambled for cover or an exit. Except me. I bolted toward the chaos. A male attendant tackled me.”

Thank God,
Sam thought.

“I hit my head and blacked out.”

“Better than getting riddled by bullets.” He pictured Harper barefoot with newly painted toenails, half tipsy on a champagne cocktail. “What were you thinking?”

“I wanted to help.”

“By putting yourself in harm’s way?” Sam couldn’t fathom her rationale. It wasn’t like she was trained in offensive tactics. Or was she? Another reminder of how little he knew about the woman he’d offered his name and protection.

“He could have been firing into the ceiling for all I knew,” she said. “A scare tactic. A warning. A threat. I thought if I could reason with him, talk him down…”

Spoken like the publicist who solved clients’ meltdowns on an hourly basis, a woman who got off on spinning disasters into moments of redemption or convoluted misunderstandings. Sam dragged both hands down his face. “Are you that confident? Or that naïve?”

“If you’re going to judge me—”

“Not judging. Trying to understand.”

“Never mind why I did what I did,” she said. “The last thing I want is to be psychoanalyzed. Just let me explain my present dilemma so you know what you’re dealing with for the sake of Ben and Mina. Not that it’s cause for concern, because I’m going to kick this problem’s ass.”

“Worried I’m going to retract the marriage offer?”

“Yes.”

Blunt and honest. “Go on.” Sam shifted, giving Harper his avid attention. In doing so, he was once again struck by her stunning features. Her shapely figure. Her stylish wardrobe. He tried imagining her going head to head with a crazed shooter, but couldn’t.

“I’m grateful to be alive, of course,” Harper said. “But I could have just as easily been in that fitness room. After I’d regained consciousness, my first thought was,
Why not me?
Survivor’s guilt, right? Totally natural, yes? But then that thought manifested into,
It could still be me.
Anytime. Anywhere. Mass shootings. Acts of terror. They happen all the time. In schools. Malls. Movie theaters. Work spaces. Military bases. You can’t predict when someone’s going to snap. You can’t avoid the possibility of being maimed or killed in a surprise attack unless you avoid all public places. Unless you hide out in a safe place.”

“And for you that’s the farmhouse,” Sam interjected.

“I told the firm I needed a short break to get my act together. I had plenty of holiday time. Plus I can work from anywhere. Yes, I teed off a few clients by dodging public meetings these last few weeks, but I’d promised to make amends. Firing me was bogus and I’m convinced they only used this momentary lapse as an excuse. Certain people in the firm have it out for me. As if being talented and motivated is a sin. I won’t apologize for being good at what I do. I won’t apologize for being detached. It keeps me sane and focused. I have to…”

She trailed off and Sam raised a brow. “Have to what?”

“Never mind. I’m babbling. I do that sometimes when I get fired up. I just—” She broke off and shook her head. “I’m haunted by the random senselessness of that shooting. I worry that something horrible could happen at any time. And I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m battling an intensifying case of agoraphobia. I’m petrified of venturing into Sugar Creek, a town that has a nonexistent crime rate.”

Sam absorbed her fear, her concerns and compassion. He marveled that, though they’d been involved sexually on several occasions, he’d never once sensed Harper’s softer side. She was sensitive. How had he missed that?

She took back her phone and tapped the screen. “I never realized how lax the gun control laws are in the state until I researched the other day. Lax as in
no
state gun control laws.”

She passed Sam the phone, pointing out a list of statistics. Statistics he knew well. Stats that didn’t faze him. Many were steeped in tradition, like the right to hunt, which was written into the Vermont Constitution.

“Vermont is one of four states that allows you to carry concealed without
any
permit,” Harper went on. “People as young as sixteen can buy a gun and carry concealed without parental permission! Any hormonal teen could have a bad day, get drunk, and go on a shooting spree.”

“My dad taught me how to hunt when I was ten,” Sam interjected. “He gifted me with a twelve-gauge shotgun when I was fifteen. I had plenty of bad days, got soused a few times with friends. I never went on a shooting spree.”

“You’re one person,” Harper said. Again she tapped her phone’s screen. “Close to fifty percent of Vermont households contain firearms.”

“A liberal, gun-friendly state,” Sam said, “with an impressively low homicide rate. Vermonters own guns to manage our natural resources, to maintain hunting traditions, to protect our homes and loved ones. The intent is not to maim or kill innocent people.”

“But it
does
happen!”

Sam didn’t argue. Yeah, it happened. Once in a blue moon. He dragged a hand through his hair.
Unbelievable.
His first real discussion with Harper and they were arguing gun control.

“Obviously you’re progun.” Harper took back her phone. “So naturally you think my fears are ungrounded and unreasonable. You may not think I’m crazy, but I’m sure you’re leaning toward hypersensitive or overdramatic.”

“You know I served in the marines, right?”

She glanced over, expression intense. Body rigid. “Your point?”

If he touched her right now, Sam was pretty sure she’d shatter. She was wound that tight. “Several years of combat,” he continued. “Several years of spontaneous and unexpected ugly.” He wasn’t fond of talking about his time in the field, but he sensed it was important for her to know that he understood her fear. “There were weeks when I spent every minute bracing for a violent assault. Ambushes. Land mines. Air strikes.”

She held quiet a long moment, as if envisioning those assaults, as if imagining the horror. “That must have been exhausting.” Her eyes sparked with something new.
Sadness? Compassion? Respect?
“Relentless terror. I think I’d crack. Some do, you know. Crack, that is. Some later than sooner.”

PTSS. Post-traumatic stress syndrome. Sam had never suffered that particular ill effect of war. But he knew soldiers who had. Did she? He thought about the spa shooting. An angry husband on a rampage. Former military, perhaps?

“How did you manage?” she asked.

“Mental toughness and cool confidence. Extensive training in defense helps. Living in constant fear is paralyzing, Harper. Instead of worrying about what
could
happen, learn to defend yourself in case something
does
happen.”

“Take control. Narrow the odds.”

“Increase the odds of securing your safety and the safety of others.” Again he envisioned her in that spa conflict. “Rushing into a hostile situation, unarmed and blind to the specifics, was—”

“Stupid?”

“Unwise.”

“Are you suggesting I enroll in a karate or kickboxing class? I’m not fond of group activities. That’s why I exercise alone.”

“I can give you some pointers. Teach you some techniques.”

“I refuse to handle a firearm.”

“The best defense is to avoid confrontation in the first place. It’s about being observant and aware,” Sam said. “When all else fails it’s about neutralizing an attack. I can teach you to do that with an umbrella.”

Her lip twitched. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You’re that good?”

“I’m that good. And you’re that capable.” He reached over and grasped her hand. He meant it as show of faith, but his heart tripped over itself as something warm flowed through his blood. Something akin to affection, which was crazy because, aside from sex, he wasn’t exactly
fond
of Harper. Or at least the Harper he’d been subjected to in the past. Last night he’d gotten a glimpse of her vulnerability. Today, she’d peeled away another layer, revealing a courageous though reckless streak. Sharing her fears and talking about something real, something more serious than a soap opera star with weight issues being crucified in a tabloid.

They’d had a lengthy discussion and even though they had opposing viewpoints on gun control, they’d never been more in tune. Sam felt it. And he knew Harper felt it because she didn’t pull away or make a sarcastic crack. She studied their hands then blew out a breath.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

Sam smiled. “With lunch.”

NINE

Harper wasn’t surprised that Sam had made lunch reservations at the Sugar Shack. Aside from it being Sugar Creek’s most popular restaurant and pub, the Shack was owned by Sam’s cousin Luke, and frequented by several other family members and friends. If Sam wanted word to spread fast about their “date,” setting the scene for their impulsive marriage, this was the perfect venue. One she would have chosen herself if she were vying for attention for a client.

Sure enough, Harper spied Luke tending bar just as a hostess escorted her and Sam to a cozy booth. Luke who was married to Rae, Harper’s client and Sam’s ex-flame. As Harper understood it, there’d never been anything intimate between Sam and Rae, but Sam had been attracted to the tenderhearted woman and that had caused a rift between Sam and Luke. That had been months ago, around the same time Harper had purchased the Rothwell Farm. Now Rae was married to Luke and pregnant with his child and all was forgiven and forgotten regarding the rift. Not that Harper had ever asked Sam, but she’d gotten the lowdown from Daisy who seemed to know everything about everyone. It occurred to Harper that Daisy would be the perfect resource if she wanted to get the skivvy on the dynamics of all the Monroes.

Or … she could ask Sam.

Something had shifted between them. She’d felt it last night when he’d talked her down and most keenly when they’d kissed. Then today when she’d spilled her fears and he’d commiserated. They’d talked, really
talked
. And though she didn’t agree with his stand on gun control, she respected his opinion based on his personal experience. Mostly she appreciated that he didn’t attack her own views and, instead of mocking her fears, offered to help her overcome them. For the first time in ages, Harper hadn’t felt alone and that sensation had bolstered her spirits as well as tempering her irrational anxiety.

“Why are you smiling?” Sam asked from across the table.

She glanced up from her menu. She’d been smiling? “I don’t know. I … I guess I’m happy. Happy that I made it into town. Happy I’m not stressing about an attack. I mean, nothing’s changed. The possibility still lurks, but I’m not obsessing on it. Instead I’m obsessing on you. Us.”