Never Too Late (25 page)

“Damn,” was all he could say.

 

As Christmas drew near, Sam's life was changing. Ten years of tension fell from his shoulders and a mysterious smile played so often at his lips that cop friends asked, “What's up with you, man?” All he could do was grin.

The first day he'd seen her on the slopes, he warned himself about getting mixed up with another one of these McCarthy women. Especially this one—clearly the most beautiful. The sexiest. But instead of pushing him away, Sarah seduced him and in her arms, in her body, he found a thrill like nothing he'd ever known. She was an incredible lover.

He started calling her every day, stopping by the shop, buying her little things. He found a green cashmere sweater that just lit up her eyes, and lit up his eyes when he took it off her. He found some cloisonné combs for her pretty hair. He took her to dinner in Lake Tahoe and halfway through the meal, slid a room key across the table to her. They didn't finish dinner.

When he had her in his arms, he felt like the world's
greatest lover. She melted to him like hot butter and he found that hardly any effort was required to bring her to climax after shattering climax, the sound of her purrs and sighs, the sound of his name as she reached her pinnacle again and again, causing him to answer with a deep, lusty laugh. It filled him with some kind of male pride to work her body so well. And brother, did she have a way with his body. It caused him to shiver involuntarily in the middle of the day. He wasn't sure he'd ever been with a woman so passionate; he'd never had so much sex in his life. He thought he'd been cursed with an overactive libido until Sarah; hers was a definite match.

As he held her in the aftermath, looking down into those bewitching green eyes, he said, “You like sex, don't you, baby?”

And she laughed.

“Is that funny?”

“Sam, I haven't had sex in years….”

“Huh?” he said, stunned.

“In the last twelve years I've had two boyfriends. One for five years, one for five weeks, and neither of them could hold a candle to you.” She touched his face. “I haven't been with a man in ages. Whew. I had no idea what I was saving up for.”

“I'll be damned,” he said. “You're practically untouched.”

“Not anymore,” she said.

Monday nights they stayed over at Lander's Pass, but there were other times. There were rooms available in Breckenridge, and he frequently found himself at that art shop for some groping and kissing, and sometimes more. That little table in the back room was getting a workout.

While he was in bed with her one night, looking down at her, smoothing her hair back from her face, he asked, “Have you told your sisters about us?”

The question clearly took her by surprise. “No,” she finally said. “Why?”

“I thought you three told each other everything.”

“Not everything,” she said.

“Why haven't you told them about us?”

“I don't know,” she answered. “Maybe I just want you all to myself. Why are you asking me?”

“Well, I'm not trying to keep you a secret, but I have something to tell you,” Sam said. “To explain. It's about my daughter. She's just a kid, you know. Molly doesn't have a mother in the picture, and she'd like one. That's why I can't…” He struggled, so he stopped talking and just kissed her. Then he said, “I can't let her get attached to you until…I can't have her get all hopeful and then it doesn't work out between us. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but the look on her face told him he had just frightened her. He smiled into her eyes. “We've only been together a few weeks, Sarah. And I don't have any reason to think it won't be a lot longer. But once, some years ago, the first serious relationship I had after Molly came along, something went wrong. I'm still not sure what happened. Roxanne and I were together a couple of years and then she decided it wasn't what she wanted. Molly was crushed. I think she took it harder than I did.”

“Oh, the poor little thing,” Sarah said. She touched his face with her hand. Finally she said, “You're going to wait for two years?” she asked.

He laughed and kissed her, bit at her lip playfully.
“That's not why I'm telling you this now. I have to spend Christmas with my family. If it weren't for Molly…Or if she were quite a bit older, I'd invite you to join us. I would have already brought you home to meet the family, but she's so young. I have to be so careful with her feelings. Her expectations. She's tenderhearted.”

“It's okay, Sam. I'll meet them soon enough. I've already met them, actually. Remember? Homecoming.”

“I mean as more than a friend. You know.”

That made her smile. “I know.”

“But I want to see you. I want to be with you. If I get us a place—will you meet me? Christmas night? After all the family stuff is over?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Will you spend the night?”

“The whole night,” she said.

 

Pete went to Clare's house, just two days before Christmas. She let him into the house and into her embrace. She gave him a little kiss, nothing passionate. Jason was just down the hall. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him.

“I'm sure,” he said. “Is he home?”

“Right in the family room. Nervous?”

“A wreck. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Coach,” she said. As he headed for the family room, she gave him a swat on the butt.

Pete found Jason half sitting, half lying on the couch. The boy had awfully long legs, he found himself thinking. Huge feet. “Hey, bud,” he said.

Jason straightened up. “Coach?”

“Got a minute?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Wassup?”

Pete sat on the love seat that made an L with the couch. “I want to ask you something. Permission, as a matter of fact.” He cleared his throat. “I wonder if it would be all right with you if I date your mother?”

That really put a rod in the kid's spine. “Huh?”

“Your mother, Jason. I'd like to date your mother. But only if it's okay by you.”

“Why you asking me?”

“Well, because it's just you and your mom here. And then it's you and your dad over there,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward another place, another home. “I don't want to disrupt your family life. You know?”

Jason got a goofy grin on his face. “What if I say no?” he asked.

Oh, he's going to torture me, Pete thought. And enjoy every second of it. “I was counting on you saying yes,” was all the answer he could think of.

“Yeah, I don't care,” he said. “Man, that's too weird. Having some guy wanna date your mom!”

“Thanks, bud.”

“How come you never dated her before?”

“Simple. She was never available before.” He stood up and put out his hand. “Thanks, man. I'll let you get back to your show there.”

Pete left the family room most gratefully. He met a grinning Clare in the foyer. “So?” she asked.

“Whew,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “He really made me sweat. I wondered how I was going to get around it if he said no.” He kissed her. Then he kissed her again. Then he wrapped his arms around her and really gave it to her.

“Hey!” Jason said.

They broke apart and looked at him.

“I said you could date! I didn't say nothin' about
that!
” But he had a stupid grin on his face.

“You date your way,” Pete said. “I'll date mine.”

T
he first two hours of Sam's shift was like a mini crime wave, in the nastiest wet weather they'd had in a while. He worked swings—2:00 p.m. till ten, and he'd already helped recover a stolen car, stopped a fight in the Target parking lot and booked a man who'd been knocking his wife around. Sometimes he thought that rain made people do things.

As he drove through Breckenridge, he looked up at the mountains. Snow. A soft fresh blanket. It made him think about Sarah. The last really good snowfall had been two weeks ago at Christmas. The memory of that night made his pulse race a little. It had been perfect.

For reasons primarily nostalgic, he had taken Sarah to the inn on Lander's Pass where the snow had cooperated beautifully by falling in thick white drifts, closing the pass. Sarah had made an excuse to her family that she was going to the house of a fellow artist in Reno for a Christmas evening open house and would stay the night there. So Sam brought champagne and gave her a beautiful gold bracelet, which was the only
thing she wore as she pushed him back on the bed and, leaning over him, said, “And now it's time for your present….”

It had only been a little over a month they'd been intimate, but in his mind it seemed as though he'd been born in her arms. It was as if they had a long, long history when in fact it was all new. And he loved that she was getting bolder with him—a little aggressive from time to time. When she made some lusty move on him, it would cause him to laugh in loud, surprised delight and let her have whatever she wanted.

He looked at his watch—almost five. The winter sun would be setting soon. He pulled into the grocery to get a drink and some flowers for Sarah. He was standing at the checkout with bottled water and a bouquet wrapped in cellophane. Peeling a few dollars out of his clip, he glanced up into the security mirror. Aw, Jesus, he thought. There were a couple of teenage boys loitering near the liquor department. They were fidgety and goosey; they were about to commit a smash-and-grab for a six-pack.

Sam said to the cashier, “Keep this here, I'll be right back.”

The boys had obviously entered the store ahead of Sam. Had they seen the squad car out front, they would've crossed this particular store off their list. He went around a store display of canned goods, staying out of sight. He circled around to the back of the liquor aisle, coming up behind them. His timing was perfect. Just as one of the boys grabbed a six-pack, he grabbed the collar of the other. Boy number one dropped the six-pack and fled the store while he shook boy number two as he would a bad puppy.

“What're you doing, boy?” he demanded. He turned the kid around and came face-to-face with the startled expression of Jason Wilson. “Oh, brother,” he said.

“Hey, please. I didn't do anything,” Jason pleaded.

“I'm not buying that,” Sam said.

The store manager was upon them at once. “What's going on?” he asked.

“Just a close call,” Sam said. “There's your beer. The thief got away and his accomplice here is going to come with me.”

“Aw, Sam,” Jason whined. “Come on, man…”

“I'm gonna let go of your shirt, Jason, and if you run I'll be waiting at your house for you when you get home. I'm not chasing you in this rain, but I
will
get you. You copy?”

“Yeah,” he said in total disgust. “Yeah, I
copy!
”

Sam kept a hand on Jason's elbow as he went to the cashier to retrieve his water and flowers. Then he took the boy to the car, but he put him in the passenger seat rather than the back. The flowers he threw in the back. “So,” he said to Jason, “gonna have a little after-school party?”

“We just wanted a beer,” Jason sulked.

“Drink a lot of beer, do you?”

“No! We don't!”

“I have a choice here,” Sam said. “I could just take you to the station for petty theft. Or I could take you home.”

“I think I'd rather go to jail,” he said. “It's going to be prison one way or another.”

“Let me ask you something, Jason. Why didn't you boys just pilfer a little beer from the icebox at home? Why'd you decide to steal some from a store? Which, by the way, is a misdemeanor.”

“Because Stan's old man doesn't drink beer, and my mom drinks so little, she'd know if some was missing.”

“There you go,” he said. He put the squad car in gear. “Where is Mama today? The store? Home?”

“Can I just go to my grandpa's?” he asked.

“Nope.”

Jason sighed and got smaller in the seat. “She's at the old house she's fixing up.”

“Address?”

“I don't know.”

Sam gave him a little swat in the arm.

“Jefferson Avenue. Fourteen something.”

That old house, he thought. He keyed his radio. “Control, DP-thirty-five, I'm out at fourteen-fifty Jefferson Avenue, returning a juvenile to his mother.”

“DP-thirty-five, copy.”

As they rode, Sam said, “You might want to go ahead and think about what you're going to tell her. Since I'll be right there, eavesdropping, start with the truth.”

“You're killin' me, man.”

“No, snookums,” he grinned, and he hoped he grinned meanly. “I'm taking you to the woman who's gonna kill you.”

By the time they pulled up to the old house, Jason was so small in the seat next to Sam, he was all but disappearing. “Come on, pal,” Sam said. “Let's get this over with. You'll feel better.”

“I doubt that,” Jason said, getting out of the car.

“Look,” Sam said, “it's not like your mom has it that easy. You might try cutting her some slack. At least keep your skinny ass out of trouble, huh?”

“What do you know about it?”

“I lost my dad when I was just a kid, younger than you. My mom did it alone. It's hard. At least you have a dad around.”

“Yeah,” he said, hands plunged into his pockets, walking toward the house, head down. “And when she's done killin' me, he's gonna start.”

“That's comforting,” Sam said, not displeased. This was not what Sam would consider a serious crime—not compared to what he dealt with daily. But it was a golden opportunity for the parents to get control right here, right now.

Jason pushed open the front door. “Ma?” he called.

She was working in the living room but apparently hadn't seen Sam pull up to the house. She had a ball cap on, a sweatshirt and jeans and wore heavy work gloves. In her hands she held a crowbar. Lying around the floor were pieces of baseboard that she'd pried off the wall. A fire blazed in the hearth. “Jason?” she said, confused. Sam stepped into the house behind him. “Sam?” she said, even further confused.

“Ma, I'm in a little trouble.”

“What?” she asked, shaking her head.

Sam just stood back by the door, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh at this kid's predicament, but he wasn't about to crack a smile. He kept his expression stony, drawing his brows together.

“Hey, Mom—could you lose the crowbar? Makes me a little nervous. When I tell you what I did, you might, you know, snap.”

She took two steps closer to her son. She did not put down the crowbar. And she was wearing an expression that Sam had never seen on her face. Whoa, that was the
mother-look if ever there was one. Very scary to be fifteen right now.

“Me and Stan, we were going to pinch a six-pack of beer, but Sam caught us.”

“What?” she said again. “Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

Jason took a breath. “Because we couldn't buy it.” He shrugged. “I swear, it was Stan's idea.”

Now it became actually hard for Sam to keep a straight face. He looked down at his feet to regain composure. Oh, sucks to be Jason, he thought.

“Is that it?” she asked. “Where were you going to drink this beer?”

“We thought maybe Stan's. His folks don't get home till like after seven.”

“Oh crap,” she said. “Sam? Is he going to be charged?”

Sam shook his head. “I figured you could take it from—” Behind her, on the floor near the fireplace, he spied a rolled-up sleeping bag. It was wider than normal. He knew what it was—it was two sleeping bags zipped together. It was very doubtful that Clare was taking naps or spending the night in this old wreck of a house. He looked back at her eyes, but he knew his expression had changed. “You can take it from here,” he said. “You might want to call Stan's parents. He got away from me.”

“You bet I will.” She looked over her shoulder, more or less confirming that she had seen what he had seen. “Jason, go wait for me in the car. I want to talk to Sam.”

Jason skulked out the door and Sam said, “I recommend you not let this slide, Clare. It's just a dumb-shit fifteen-year-old boy stunt, not nearly as scary as some
of the stuff I deal with every day. But, you don't want this to be the beginning of a bad streak. Take a firm hand now and it might save some heartache later. Get his dad involved—let Jason know you have a united front.”

“Sam,” she said, walking toward him. “I want to tell you something.”

“You don't have to tell me anything,” he said.

“You can give me a minute. I think it's important. It's important to me, anyway, that you know I never lied to you. When I went out with you, when I broke it off with you, there was no other man in my life.”

“What could it possibly matter now?” he said, knowing he sounded sarcastic.

“It matters a great deal to me. Sometime after the Homecoming game, I started dating Pete. After you and I—Well, I just want you to know I didn't lie. That day in the park—Pete and I really were talking about Mike. His brother.”

“Why worry about it? We've moved on. So?”

“So? So the look on your face says that I just hurt you. Again.”

“Let it go, Clare. You made yourself clear. And I haven't bothered you.”

“No. You haven't.”

“You and Pete,” he said, laughing hollowly. He shook his head. “You don't have to be psychic to have seen that one coming.”

“I didn't,” she said. “We were like best friends in high school, Sam. When I was engaged to his brother. It somehow makes strange sense. And it's kind of stranger that we didn't discover each other sooner.” She tilted her head. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Course not,” he said. “So—you found what you
wanted. Good for you. I gotta go. Take it easy,” he said. He turned back to her. “Don't take it easy on Jason.”

Sam left the house, then the neighborhood. He had some kind of an ache in the back of his throat that he couldn't explain. They had moved on. So? If she was telling the truth, and he had no reason to think otherwise, he had found Sarah as quickly as she had found Pete.

But there was something hurtful about the days and weeks and even months he'd invested in trying to woo her, unsuccessfully, only to have her go to Pete so easily. Is it just pride? he asked himself. Ego? Because that's stupid. After all, as reluctant as Clare had been, Sarah had molded to him like soft clay in his arms—sweet, responsive and pliant. He'd never been more comfortable. Or fulfilled. Wasn't this better? For everyone?

Still, the ache. If not for Clare, then for the expectation that had been Clare, and had been wiped off the slate somewhat painfully. And maybe, just maybe, some concern that Sarah would tire of him.

He drove to the art store almost out of habit. When he walked in, there was a customer, so he hid the flowers behind his back and pretended to poke around, looking at things. Sarah took the customer's money, bagged the merchandise and said goodbye. He brought the flowers out from behind his back.

“Isn't this a sweet surprise,” she said. “I'll get a vase.”

He followed her into the studio. While she filled the vase with water, he embraced her from behind. He nuzzled her neck, drank in the sweet smell of soap and vanilla lotion.

She put the flowers in the vase, the vase on the counter and turned in his arms. “Are you having a little coffee break?” she asked.

“I'm having a crappy day. Let me hold you.”

“Would you like me to go lock that door out front?” she asked.

“No, I just want to hold you.”

She laid her head on his chest. “What's the matter, Sam? Is something wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to want to hold you? Just be still a minute.” He inhaled her fragrance, felt her small frame inside his arms. Sometimes he thought she was so little she might break and other times she reminded him that she was actually very strong, very powerful. Powerful enough to bring him to his knees. He kissed her neck and she put her arms around him.

He couldn't feel her against him while he wore his vest. But what he felt inside surpassed that. The sight of those sleeping bags drifted further and further from his mind and he knew he was in the right place. Home. This was where he belonged; this woman wasn't going anywhere. There was no ache in his throat. “Sarah,” he said against her neck. “I'm starting to have a better day already. Where will you be when I get off work?”