Maxwell's Smile (3 page)

It was just a regular business call, Sam kept telling himself as he navigated the quaint Birch Cove neighborhood to Rachel McHenry’s house. Knock on the door, introduce himself, head to the garage to inspect the damage, and draw up an estimate. All-business.

“Right,” Sam muttered as he turned onto a cul-de-sac that boasted hedgerows of lilacs in full bloom. He could smell the sweet blossoms through the open window on the passenger side of the rust bucket. Reminded him of his mom’s yard and hiding in the shrubs from her when he was little. No matter how angry she had sounded, she’d always smile when he’d appear with a slapdash bouquet of lilacs in hand.

“Business,” he muttered.

So why had he spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready this morning? The first three shirts he’d put on hadn’t been right. Too casual, too plaid, too fussy. He hoped this short-sleeved button-up in a shade of blue he’d always thought garish wasn’t too much. And since when had he last bothered with a scented aftershave?

“It’s more than work,” he confessed to his smirking subconscious. “She’s pretty, and I like her.”

It had been a while since he’d so quickly taken a liking to a woman, even one who had chewed him out for having corrupted her child with a kiddie movie. The fire in Rachel McHenry’s green eyes had made Sam smile inside, all the way to his heart. And he hadn’t stopped smiling since chatting with her in the grocery store over peppers and spilled smoothies.

Pulling up the driveway, he immediately noted the fallen ceiling through the open garage door. It looked
not good
in a very expensive way.

Grabbing his notebook, he jumped out and strolled over. A little red Volkswagen was parked on one side of the double garage, and it looked as if water had destroyed a good half of the sheetrock on the opposite side, judging from the chunks hanging down. Blame it on the inordinate amount of rain they’d experienced this spring.

Sam scanned the interior. No kids’ toys were stacked along the wall, which he thought odd. Most garages in family neighborhoods sported bikes and sports equipment at least.

He stepped back out onto the driveway and, shielding his eyes from the sun, leaned back to check the shingles. Not a quality product, judging from the loss of pebbles, and the black streaks indicated mildew. Probably a combination of ice damage, excessive rain and years of inattention. He knew single women rarely thought of things like house maintenance, which was why he had so many as clients.

“Sam!” a voice called from a screened second-floor window.

“Oh, hey, Maxwell! Your mom home?” “She’s out back planting flowers. I’ll be down in a bit, but I’ve got some work to finish first.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

The kid must work harder than an executive at a Fortune 500 company. Sam saluted Maxwell, then wandered around the side of the pink house, following the bright path of purple flowers to a concrete patio slab.

A vision in a flowered skirt and soft pink top squatted before a bag of mulch, intently reading the instructions on the plastic bag. Sunlight fell on her flushed cheek and Sam’s fingers moved at his thighs, as if eager to touch the rosy softness. Wasn’t every day a classy woman like Rachel McHenry came into his life. Not that she was
in
his life. But he intended to enjoy the moment.

He cleared his throat.

Rachel stood quickly and, at the sight of him, patted her hair, which was tied back with a floaty pink scarf. “Oh, Sam. I almost forgot you were coming over today.”

Really? Sam’s heart dropped. Ah well, so he’d get the estimate done, then head back to work and life as he knew it. He should have figured he’d never have a chance with a classy lady like Rachel McHenry.

“Maxwell called out to me from his window. Does that kid ever
not
have homework?”

“He’s actually working on the DVD project. And I believe you were the one who put that idea into his sponge of a brain.”

Sam wasn’t sure if that was an accusation or just a statement, but he intended to tread lightly until he could figure out the lovely Miss McHenry. She was about the only lady in this neighborhood who had not flirted or plied her wiles with him.

On the other hand, why hadn’t she?

It was the shirt. He knew he should have gone with the stripes. At least his hair was combed and he smelled a trifle better than eau de sawdust.

As if you have a chance in hell, buddy
.

“So you need some help with that?”

She hefted the bag of mulch. “Cocoa mulch. It’s very light. I’m going to spread it around the patio. Smells great when the sun falls on it.”

“Cocoa mulch? So it smells like…?”

“Chocolate,” she said, with a sweet roll of her eyes, as if she were enjoying the treat right now. “Made from cocoa bean husks.”

Man, he did love a woman who knew how to enjoy life’s treats. But spreading chocolate husks around her patio? Now, that sounded beyond decadent.

“The garage door is open,” she said, jarring him back to reality.

“Oh, right. I took a quick look inside. Water damage from the roof, I suspect, but I’ll have to grab a ladder off the truck and climb up to check for sure. Okay if I do that?”

“Go for it.”

* * *

Rachel followed Sam’s retreat around the side of the house. He had a distinct bowlegged walk, all lanky and a little curved, his strong hands swinging at his sides with casual ease. So sexy.

The mulch bag she’d been leaning on gave way and she plunged forward, landing on the half-empty bag in a sprawl. Rachel blew a strand of hair from her face and glanced toward the corner of the house where Sam had just disappeared. He hadn’t seen.

“What am I doing?” she muttered. “I’ve been around handsome men before. Why does that one put me off my game?”

Her game being a cold facade that announced to the single men in the world that she was picky about her relationships and wasn’t about to let anyone nudge their way into her life—and that of her son’s—until they’d passed her rigorous requirements.

Thing was, she’d never really established what those should be.

The man had to be good with children. And kind. Smart and employed were two important qualifications. But the real test seemed rooted in her heart, some indefinable quality Rachel sensed she would know only when actually experiencing it.

No matter. She’d been with the guy all of a dozen minutes total. It was far too early to start picking out sexy dresses and planning dates.

She glanced up toward the window of Maxwell’s room, overlooking the backyard. The delight in her son’s eyes when they’d run into Sam in the grocery store had been undeniable.

What did he see in Sam Jones that her own blinders were blocking?

* * *

A half hour later, Rachel wandered around to the driveway to find Sam leaning against the hood of his truck, jotting numbers in a notebook.

“So what’s the bad news on the garage?” she asked.

“It’s going to cost a couple thousand in materials, for sure. But I can give you a deal on the labor.”

“Yikes.”

He shrugged. “Building materials are spendy. And you really should reshingle, but that’s another job entirely. Your house is old, like mine. This little town boasts a lot of 1960s homes. There’s a point when repairs get unwieldy and maybe you should consider looking for something newer.”

“You’re telling me, a real estate agent, that? I’d love to find something newer, and less costly when it comes to repairs, but good housing is expensive.”

“You’re a real estate agent? That’s cool. I’m looking for some land.”

“Is that so? To build on?” “Yep. I would love to find a plot north of the cities, with lots of trees, maybe a creek to attract wildlife. A place to build my dream house and raise a family. Maybe even get some goats. I like goats.”

The man liked goats. And he had a dream. Nice.

“I’d like to help you make that dream come true. Are you working with a Realtor?”

“No, haven’t gotten that far yet, but if you’re offering, I’m in.”

“Depending on how much acreage you’re looking for, I think I can find a few properties for you to look at next week, if you’re interested.”

“That would be awesome.” He slipped a business card from a paper clip on the notebook and handed it to her. “Give me a call when you’ve got some places in mind,” he said with a hopeful smile.

From around the corner, they heard the echo of giggles from a nine-year-old boy.

“Maxwell?” Rachel called. Her son was sitting in the side door to the garage.

He got up and wandered out to the driveway. When Sam offered a high five, Maxwell met it with a hearty return slap. “Can I ask Sam a question, Mom? It’s about my project.”

“Sure, Maxwell.”

Blocking the sun from his eyes with his hand, Maxwell looked up at the tall man. “I was wondering if you could help me plan my campaign, Sam.”

“Oh, Maxwell, I don’t know—” Rachel started.

“Is that for the DVDs for the hospitals?” Sam asked.

“It is. And after consideration, I realize I need a wish man.”

“Uh, I think you mean wing man, buddy.”

“Oh, right. Wing man.” Hands clasped behind his back, shifting from side to side a little anxiously, Maxwell asked, “Would you be my wing man, Sam?”

“Two great offers in less than five minutes?” Sam flashed Rachel a wink. “Today is my lucky day. Deal.”

“Awesome! I have a presentation prepared. Do you have time to come look at it?”

“I, uh…” Swiping a palm down his chest, Sam looked to Rachel for approval.

She appreciated that.

“That would be fine,” she said. “But don’t keep Sam too long, Maxwell. I’m sure he’s a busy man.”

“Great! It’s only a couple minutes,” Maxwell assured him as he took the man’s hand and led him toward the house.

“Bring your stuff out to the patio,” she called. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

It was Sam who saluted her before he disappeared into the house behind her son.

Rachel leaned her elbows on the truck hood and sighed. Sawdust, goats and sexy winks. That man was dangerous to a woman’s heart. Especially a heart that hadn’t realized it was wanting until now.

The next day, Sam was back at the McHenry household, but he didn’t have a tool belt buckled around his hips. Instead, he wielded a green crayon and studied the poster design Maxwell had created in his PowerPoint presentation. Thanks to the McHenrys’ pastor, who lived three houses away, the industrious boy had already gone ahead and secured the local church’s parking lot to hold the DVD drive. He planned to put up posters advertising the event throughout the neighborhood and at his school.

“I’ll need you to be my delivery and shipping man,” Maxwell said as he went over a checklist on the iPad screen before him. “Can I count on you for that, Sam?”

“Of course you can, buddy.”

“That means you’ll have to take all the movies we collect and box them up and ship them to the Kid Flicks office in California. And you’ll be responsible for shipping charges as well. Is that okay? I don’t have much in my petty funds account after buying a new app for the iPad. It’s a 3-D brain. So cool.”

“Maxwell, shipping expenses will be my contribution to the cause. Am I doing this right?”

The boy leaned over Sam’s shoulder and inspected the poster he was working on. They planned to put this one on the street in front of the church the day of the event. “Nice. But maybe outline the green with black to make it stand out.”

“Good call.”

Out in the hallway, the vacuum cleaner sounded as Rachel moved into a nearby bedroom. She’d stayed close, never farther than a room away, which Sam found admirable. The woman had no reason to throw caution to the wind and trust him alone with her son, though she shouldn’t worry so much.

On the other hand, he liked her being close by. Every so often, he caught a whiff of her rose-scented perfume and had to tuck his head down to hide his appreciative smile from Maxwell.

When the vacuum stopped and they heard the door close on the master bedroom, Sam figured she was making the bed with the stack of sheets that had been piled in a basket in the hallway.

“So.” Maxwell sat across the writing desk from Sam, putting up his feet and clasping his hands behind his neck in a comical version of the office boss. He whispered, “You like my mom, Sam?”

Sam sat up straight, glancing out the open doorway. She couldn’t have heard that. Sneaky kid. “I, uh…I do. I think she’s very smart—well, she has to be with a son like you—and she puts chocolate in her garden.”

“Doesn’t that stuff smell awesome? I do my homework outside in the spring and fall.”

“You really need to cut down on all the homework, buddy. Don’t you have a swing set or a bike?”

“A swing set?” Maxwell rolled his eyes. “That’s for babies. Besides, I’m not athletic. I prefer mental gymnastics.”

Sam shrugged. If the kid never tried anything remotely sportslike, how could he know what he liked and didn’t like? But Sam wouldn’t push. Maxwell might remind him of Jeff, but they were two entirely different people. Jeff had always wanted to come along on his jobs and watch Sam work. They’d built a birdhouse together once, and it still hung in the willow tree in his backyard.

“I could teach you how to put up a ceiling,” he suggested.

Maxwell tapped his chin, considering. “Too risky for a kid my age and of such a tender constitution.” He patted his right side. “I’m still recovering, you know.”

“I know.” Sam held back his smirk.

The kid was a character, and there was nothing at all wrong with that. He scanned the walls of the boy’s room, noting a chart of the human brain, the periodic table and a poster of a giant cicada. Not a team pennant in sight. Jeff’s room had been filled with sports pennants. Both he and Sam had enjoyed going to the Vikings games with their dad when he was alive.

“So just you and your mom, eh? You ever wish you had a father?”

“That’s a very forward question, Sam.”

“Yeah.” Sam sat back and tossed the crayon onto the stack. “Sorry, buddy. It’s just, I don’t know…every boy needs a dad.”

“Actually, that’s not true.” Maxwell leaned forward and turned the iPad around to type in something. “Statistics show that a majority of boys brought up by a single mother tend to thrive.” He turned the tablet computer to face Sam. It displayed a graph, but Sam didn’t study it too closely. This wasn’t a topic best discussed with graphs or charts; it should come from the heart.

“I mean,” Maxwell continued, “look at the president. He was raised by a single mother. And look where he is now.”

“You got me there. Your mom raised you well. I’d be proud to have a kid like you.”

“You would? Well.” The boy studied the poster, his fingers toying with the stack of crayons. “I can’t say I wouldn’t mind if Mom fell in love someday. Of course, I would also have to like the guy, but my liking him would hinge on her liking him.”

“That’s very generous of you, buddy. Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.”

“Mom and I have discussed this. She’s not desperate for a husband, nor am I desperate for a father. But she would like to fall in love, and I want that for her. Are you going to kiss my mom, Sam?”

“I, uh…” Wow. That one had come from out of left field. Sam straightened on the chair and rubbed his neck.

“Because I’d be okay with it,” Maxwell said. “In fact, I give you permission to kiss my mom.”

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I think I should go after that coffee she offered earlier. How about we take a break?”

Maxwell checked his wristwatch. “Yep. Time for a break. Meet you out on the patio?”

“Deal.”

* * *

Maxwell fell asleep on the hammock with a dripping Popsicle stick in his hand. Rachel carefully removed the purple-stained stick and set it on the iron table before joining Sam, who sat on the bench beneath the willow tree. Her yard was small and she shared the willow with the backyard neighbors. She’d love to find a bigger lot where Maxwell could run around, but truth was, he was more into mental play than physical.

Of course, she could entirely imagine her son tossing a baseball with Sam. That thought made her blush and she looked aside so Sam wouldn’t notice. What was with all the blushing lately?
Get a grip, Rachel
.

“Did you and Maxwell get a lot done?” she asked.

“Yep. We started the posters, and one of the sisters at Kid Flicks emailed some guidelines for how to handle the drive. Maxwell plans to put up posters at his school and church, and I’ll take some around for grocery stores and community bulletin boards. Your son is one smart little man. Too smart for me, I think.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? Maxwell did tend to intimidate most of her dates. If it wasn’t because the man couldn’t imagine taking on a girlfriend with a nine-year-old son, it was because said nine-year-old was often smarter than the adults and wasn’t afraid to show it. She’d never admonish Maxwell for his intelligence. If a guy couldn’t handle the kid, then he wasn’t the right man for her or her son.

And really? This was not a date. So what was she thinking?

“He really needs to learn how to play,” Sam suggested. “All work and no play makes for a dull boy.”

“You think Maxwell is dull?”

“Far from it. There’s enough going on in that kid’s brain to entertain masses. What I mean is, well, I shouldn’t say anything. I’m not a parent.”

“No, you’re not.” She had raised her son just fine without unwanted advice from the peanut gallery.

“Right, though I do have some experience with kids. My younger brother, Jeff… Well, I feel like kids need to run around, toss a ball, maybe fall off a bike once in a while. Heck, Maxwell is only nine and he thought he was too old to watch a cartoon.”

“He said it was about a toaster who could talk.”

“Yeah, but did he tell you about the toaster’s awesome quest? And the blankie? Such a great actor, that blanket.”

“Still. Like you said, you’re not a parent, and I think my experience trumps yours.”

Sam’s heavy sigh tweaked Rachel’s conscience. She’d been direct with him, but it was a practiced defense. The fact that it bothered her was a revelation.

Take it down a notch, Rachel,
she admonished herself.
Just chill.

“You know what happened first time I hit a ball?” Sam asked.

“Something worthy of
Funniest Home Videos?
”

Sam chuckled. “No crotch shots, but I did take out my mother’s gnome. Sheared that ugly red hat clean off the bugger.”

Rachel laughed and Sam slid his hand into hers. When he pulled it up to rub her fingers against his cheek, she suddenly went quiet.

“You smell like a grape Popsicle,” he said. He looked down and smirked, as if he’d just thought of something funny, yet wasn’t sure if he could share.

“What is it?”

He kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll have you know your son gave me permission to kiss his mother.”

“Is that so?”

Her cunning little boy was playing matchmaker? She would have words with him later about his sneaky tendencies.

Or perhaps not. Could she rush right from being cold, her emotions walled up, into open and ready for a kiss? Everything about Sam oozed sensuality, from his liquid brown eyes to that soft smirk and his wide, strong hand clutching hers.

A kiss? Kisses never harmed anyone.

“So, Handy Sam, what are you going to do with that permission?”

“Let’s see.”

He kissed the side of her hand, where she knew he could taste the sticky grape juice, and then leaned closer. She followed his cue, her heart thudding as the warm masculine heat of him invaded her pores and his breath hushed over her lips.

The kiss was slow and tender, and it felt right, like the summer sun when she took her first step out onto the grass in the morning. Sitting beneath the breeze-tossed willow leaves, she felt she was in a dream she’d never had before, because it would have seemed silly to even imagine such a moment. But there was nothing silly about Sam Jones and his unrelenting kindness toward both her and Maxwell. Or this delightful kiss.

Behind them, they heard Maxwell whisper triumphantly, “Yes!” and the kiss was broken as their mouths opened to laughter.

But Rachel’s quickly faded. It had been irresponsible to take such a step with her son so close. And with her heart feeling tender right now, so…out of sorts. Sam Jones toyed with her carefully erected walls, and even though he’d just knocked down a few bricks, she wasn’t about to surrender. She’d been there before, and a failed romantic relationship always ended up hurting Maxwell more than her.

“That was too fast,” she whispered, glancing toward her son.

Sam seemed momentarily perplexed, then nodded. “Probably. Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“I did encourage it. I just…”
Need to go slower
. “It’s getting late. I have to start supper.” She stood up, collected the Popsicle stick and left Sam sitting beside Maxwell while she hurried into the house.

Too fast,
the logical part of her brain insisted. Yet that impetuous, wanting part of her that she tried to keep locked away began to unfurl and flutter within her heart.