Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (21 page)

She took a step toward Caden, her hand reaching out.

Caden snapped her head toward the TV, an old
SpongeBob
episode Sam knew she was no longer interested in. She was only eleven, and a much younger eleven than Sam had been. Sam had to keep reminding herself of that.

There was anger in the set of her daughter’s shoulders, even in the tears that trailed down her face. Sam had to say something, undo what she’d done. But how? Sam never knew what to say anymore. How was she going to handle the teen years if she couldn’t deal with Caden now? But maybe all the attitude had nothing to do with adolescence and everything to do with Sam.

The thought was like swallowing a cold stone. “Caden . . .” Sam drew a breath and let it out. “Why don’t we paint together today? It might be fun. Then we can go to the beach on Saturday.”

Sam would paint all night if she had to. What was a little sleep other than a chance for her past to haunt her?

Caden crossed her arms. “I don’t want to go with you.” Her words wobbled like fury on stilts.

Sam sighed. So much for trying to accommodate. She felt her own ire rising. “Well, I’m all you’ve got, kiddo.”

Caden looked at Sam, her chin raised in defiance. “I’m going to ask Landon to take me.” Her freckles disappeared on her flushed cheeks.

Heat gathered in Sam’s temples, where a sledgehammer began to pound rhythmically. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am! You can’t stop me.”

Sam had to get a handle on her. She took a breath and forced a calm tone. “You’re grounded from TV.”

Caden sprang to her feet. “I don’t care! I’m telling Landon he’s my uncle!”

Sam sucked in a dry breath. It settled heavily in her lungs. “Caden Elaine Owens.” She stared at her daughter in shock. Caden sassed her and gave her attitude, but she’d never been this defiant. The girl’s face twisted in an expression Sam hadn’t seen before, and Sam didn’t doubt she meant what she said. “No, you won’t.” Sam’s voice was firm, covering the fear Caden had planted in her.

“You can’t stop me.” Caden turned and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door.

Even as the sound echoed in her head, Sam realized what Caden said was true.

Twenty-two

W
orking alone, the painting went slow. Trimming out the house took most of the afternoon, and by the time the sun was sinking in the sky, Sam was glad for an early supper. She and Caden ate in silence on the porch, away from the paint fumes, her daughter ignoring her attempts at conversation.

After Caden put her plate in the sink, she came back out and trotted down the steps. “I’m going for a ride.”

Her earlier threat played in Sam’s mind. What would stop her from riding down to Landon’s house and dumping her secret on his front porch? If he found out about Bailey, it would only be a matter of time before he found out about her part in Bailey’s death. The thought jerked Sam from her apathy.

“No, Caden. Stay in the yard.”

Caden whipped around, glaring, her hands poised on the handlebars, her foot ready to swing over the seat. “Why?”

“Because I said so.” It would have to be enough, because Sam wasn’t giving her a better explanation.

Caden pressed her lips together, and Sam wondered if she was going to defy her. Instead, Caden dropped the bike, letting it thump onto the ground. “Fine.” She gave Sam one last glare, then strode through the long grass and toward the shoreline, arms swinging stiffly by her side, her tawny hair blowing behind her. When she reached the water’s edge, she stepped up onto the pier and walked down its length. At the end, she sat, her back toward Sam, her feet dangling over the edge.

Sam needed to go back in and paint, but she wondered if she should leave Caden on the pier without supervision. Sam had done nothing but say no all day, and the thought of another fight made her tired. Besides, it was only waist deep there, and if Caden fell in, she was a good swimmer. Anyway, her daughter wouldn’t get in without her swim cap, and Sam could keep an eye through the window.

She retrieved a new rolling pan and roller from the shed, casting a look in the direction of Landon’s house. She hadn’t seen him since that morning, when she told him to stay away. She wondered if he’d listen. The thought of not seeing him the next seven days brought an ache to her middle. When she and Caden left the island, they may never see him again. The hollow spot inside of her seemed to stretch out, growing, enveloping more of her.

That’s the way you want it, right?
She gathered the supplies and left the shed, remembering Landon holding her outside the shed, the rain pouring down on them. She remembered how safe she felt in his arms. He was a refuge in the storm.

All the more reason to keep away from him, Sam. You don’t need
that kind of false security.

Back in the house, she poured paint in the pan and ran the roller through it.
Stay focused on the task, Sam, and forget everything else.
When had worrying done any good?

Sam peeked out at Caden periodically.
Her daughter didn’t move from her spot on the end of the pier. How many hours had Sam spent in that same spot? Often with Landon at her side, splashing her legs with his foot. Caden would be okay once they got back to Boston. Sam wished she could fast-forward through the week and be on the ferry back to the mainland now. She imagined the freedom she would feel as the island grew small on the horizon.

Suddenly Landon appeared in her daydream, waving good-bye from the shore.
Stop it, Sam
. She shook her head as if to dislodge the picture, then climbed on the ladder to reach the ceiling. The white paint went on smoothly, covering years of dirt and grime, obliterating evidence of Emmett’s smoking habit.

A few minutes later, she checked on Caden, reloaded the roller, and climbed the ladder, bracing her thighs against the top. The breeze had died down, leaving the air inside hot and still. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. Outside, a mower roared to life, and the scent of cut grass drifted through the window.

She extended the roller upward, and it hit the corner of the bedroom door, falling from her hand. Instinctively, she reached out, hoping to catch it before it hit the floor. Her hand grabbed at air. The movement unbalanced her. She clutched at the ladder, but it was too late.

Sam untangled her feet from the ladder, and they hit the floor first. But one foot landed on the roller handle and turned outward.

She heard a snap. A jolt of pain shot up her ankle. She smothered a groan. Sinking to the floor, she pulled her knee to her chest and rocked, squeezing her eyes shut. Sam focused on breathing.
In
and out. In and out.
Her breath caught every few seconds as if her body had forgotten how to breathe.

Sam eased her foot to the floor, wondering if she’d broken her ankle. At the very least, she’d snapped a ligament or tendon. She peeled off her sock inch by inch, shuddering at the pain the movement caused.

The flesh had begun to swell. She needed to get ice on it, quick. She couldn’t afford a trip to the doctor, but if it was only a tendon or ligament, she could handle it herself.

Sam’s ankle throbbed angrily. The kitchen seemed a mile away. How would she get all the way to the refrigerator? She lay back against the rug and moaned. The thought of moving her foot an inch was enough to make her cringe.

She needed Caden. After catching her breath, she propped herself up and sucked in air, releasing it with her daughter’s name as loudly as she could. She stilled, listening. All she heard was the mower that had started up awhile ago. With the noise of that, Caden wouldn’t hear her calling.

The phone. A quick scan of the living room told her it was only a couple of yards away, on the coffee table. She could get to that. She propped her weight on her palms and used her good foot to propel her backward. Her right foot dragging, she moved like an injured crab.

Sam clamped her teeth against the pain. She had broken one bone—her big toe, when she caught it in Landon’s bike tire—but this was worse. Her joint throbbed so hard, she could feel the injury in her head.

When she neared the table, she stopped and reached for the phone. She had two options, and one of them held no appeal. She punched in Miss Biddle’s number, then propped her foot on the coffee table to elevate it while the phone rang. She grimaced as her calf connected with the edge of the table.

The ankle had swollen to the size of a softball, and the flesh had deepened to a shade of purple. She thought she remembered hearing someone at Caden’s gym saying that swelling was good. Maybe she hadn’t broken it after all.

Sam realized the phone had rung at least a dozen times. Miss Biddle wasn’t home, apparently. She jabbed the off button. The mower hummed in the distance. Even so, she drew a breath and called Caden’s name again. Maybe she was near enough to hear now.

After calling three more times, Sam gave up. Elevating her foot had eased the pain to a bearable degree. Sam laid her head back against the sofa and caught her breath. She could call Melanie. She was sure Melanie wouldn’t mind coming over. Though it would take longer, it was better than having to call Landon to rescue her again.

Then she realized it was Sunday. Open-house day for Realtors. She punched in Melanie’s number anyway and let it ring.
Please, please
pick up
. She wet her dry lips and stared at the refrigerator across the house and wished she could beam over the ice tray. Even once she got the ice on, then what? Would she be able to walk? Given the way her foot ached now, she couldn’t imagine it bearing her weight.

When Melanie’s machine clicked on, Sam hung up. There was no getting around it now. She turned the phone on and dialed Landon’s number.

“Hello?”

Sam paused, gathering her courage. “It’s me.”

“Sam.” His tone was so hopeful, she hated having to tell him the reason for her call.

“I need your help. I’m hurt.” Her foot slid downward an inch, and the edge of the table cut into her ankle. She sucked in her breath.

“I’ll be right there.” A click sounded in her ear.

She punched the off button and used her hands to reposition her ankle.
Please don’t let it be broken.
How would she finish the house if it was? Even if it wasn’t broken, how would she manage? And her job. Would she be back on her feet in seven days? She couldn’t afford more time off. Her credit card was nearly maxed, and her savings was gone.

Sam laid her head against the couch and closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain. Ten seconds later, Landon barreled through the door.

“What happened?” He was at her side before she could blink.

“My ankle. I fell off the ladder.” She felt stupid once the words rolled off her tongue. Who falls off an indoor ladder? There were only five steps on the thing, and it wasn’t like she was doing a high-wire act.

He looked at her foot, taking care not to touch the injury. What an idiot she was. Last night she got drunk, and Landon rescued her. Today she fell off a ladder, and Landon rescued her. It was a disturbing pattern.

Her independent streak rebelled. She didn’t want to be rescued. She wanted to take care of herself. She didn’t want to need him or anyone else.

You can’t even get to the fridge, Sam.

“Be right back.”

Sam watched him stride to the kitchen and open the freezer door. He wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off his V-shaped torso and muscular arms. Was it only last night that she’d planted kisses on his arm and snuggled against his neck?

She tore her gaze away from him and studied her ankle. It didn’t look like an ankle anymore. It looked like a bloated purple balloon. And it ached like the dickens.

He returned with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a paper towel.

Sam gritted her teeth when he set it on her ankle.

“We need to take you to the ER.”

She shook her head. Regardless of what her insurance might cover, her deductible was high and hadn’t been met. “It’ll be fine. The ice will help.”

He lifted the cold pack. “Look at it, Sam. It needs an X-ray.”

She tried to sit up, leaving her leg at a ninety-degree angle. She regretted the movement. “I think it’s just a ligament or tendon. I heard something snap.”

“What if it was a bone?” He adjusted the placement of the pack, wrapping it around the outside.

“Can’t you tell if it’s broken?”

“I’m a vet, not a doctor. It needs an X-ray.”

Sam huffed. “So examine it. I’ll bark twice if it hurts.” Okay, so the pain was affecting her attitude. Why didn’t he ever listen to her?

He stood and walked to the door. “I’ll get my Jeep.”

“I
never said I’d go,” she called as he left. The screen door slapping in place was her only answer.

Sam wanted to get up and lock the door. She was sure it wasn’t broken. She could just prop it up and rest, pop a couple of Advil, and it would be fine by morning. But she couldn’t get up. Even the thought of getting to his Jeep made her groan.

She knew there would be no deterring Landon at this point, and she was hardly in a position to fight. Sam was going to the ER whether she wanted to or not. She would have to charge her co-pay and worry about the rest of the deductible later. Maybe the house would sell quickly.