Dad In Blue. Shelley Cooper
breath did little to restore Carlo’s equilibrium, or lower his heart rate. “It’s settled, then.” He turned to Jeffrey. “I’ll bring it with me on my next visit.”
Jeffrey didn’t say anything. Still, Carlo couldn’t help feeling a faint glimmer of hope.
Samantha pulled a tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. Lowering her face, she basked in the warmth of their heat and breathed in their comforting aroma. Some people ate when they were nervous. Others wore out the carpet with their pacing. Samantha baked.
How was it going in there? she wondered as she closed the oven door. From her position at the kitchen’s center cooking island, she could see into the den if she leaned forward far enough and craned her neck like a contortionist. She did so and saw Carlo reading a book to her son. Though Jeffrey seemed to be paying more attention to the car he continued to push around on the floor, every once in a while he grew still as he listened. She could swear that, when Carlo read the part about the evil witch getting turned into a toadstool, Jeffrey actually smiled.
Her heart ballooned with hope. This was the first time her son had responded to someone outside their immediate family. She had done the right thing by going to Carlo Garibaldi. She could feel it in her bones. If things continued to go well, she just might get her miracle. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she wasn’t afraid to trust that everything would turn out okay.
Ignoring the growing crick in her neck, her gaze returned to the man who had occupied so much of her thoughts over the past couple of days. Everything about him was larger than life: his broad shoulders, his muscled arms, his stubborn chin. The faded jeans that fit his thighs like a second skin, and the white cotton shirt that he wore with the sleeves rolled back to his forearms only accentuated his maleness. He was definitely the most forceful man she had ever met.
He turned the page of the book, and she followed the movement with fascination. His fingers were long and capable looking. Without consciously summoning the memory, she vividly pictured the way they had moved so expertly over the piece of wood he’d held earlier. From there, it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine how they would skillfully caress a woman’s body. Samantha’s stomach fluttered at the unbidden thought.
It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. She could easily think of two or three movie stars who made her feel the same way when she watched them on screen. She didn’t lose any sleep over them, and she wasn’t going to lose any over the new man in her son’s life.
Carlo chose that moment to look up, caught her watching him and flashed her a grin. Samantha went all hot inside. Resisting the urge to fan herself like a menopausal woman in the middle of a hot flash, she pulled back out of view and busied herself removing the cookies from the tray.
She shouldn’t be looking at him that way, she told herself. She had no business looking at any man that way, had never been tempted to, until she’d met Carlo.
She’d never felt this way when James looked at her. She’d never burned inside like a forest fire raging out of control. She’d never yearned…for exactly what she couldn’t say.
Her love for James had been gentle and sweet. It had been quiet and steady, a rock upon which to depend in this crazy, topsy-turvy world. It had been real and lasting. There had been nothing frivolous about it.
And every thought she had about Carlo Garibaldi that didn’t relate to her son definitely fell into the frivolous category.
Even though the attraction was purely physical and meant nothing, it still felt like a betrayal. She loved her husband. She missed him with every fiber of her being. How, then, could she fantasize about the touch of another man?
The love she and James had shared was a love to last a lifetime. But it hadn’t lasted a lifetime. Because of a cruel twist of fate, they’d had only ten short years together. She wasn’t about to sully James’s memory by giving in to a foolish infatuation.
It was time for more baking, she told herself, and began mixing up a batch of snickerdoodles. Wryly she acknowledged that if she didn’t calm down soon, the welcoming committee at church was going to have more than its share of refreshments for their reception tomorrow.
She didn’t hear Carlo enter the kitchen. When she turned and nearly collided with his warm, hard body, she let out a gasp and her hand went to her heart.
“I did call your name,” he said with a smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t hear.” Then, after a steadying breath, which helped slow her heartbeat appreciably, she asked, “Done already?”
“I think that’ll do it for today,” he confirmed. “I don’t want to push my luck.”
“What’s Jeffrey doing?”
“Watching a Disney movie.”
Because she didn’t know how to act around him, and because he made her feel so unsettled, Samantha picked up a plate mounded high with cookies and clumsily thrust it at him. “Would you like one? They’re fresh from the oven.”
“Thanks. They smell delicious.” He took a bite, chewed and his smile widened. “Incredible. Is that real butter I taste?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She watched in fascination while he quickly devoured three cookies, then demurred when she offered him a fourth, saying he didn’t want to spoil his appetite for lunch. The appreciation in his eyes warmed her heart.
Then he spoiled it all by reaching out a hand and brushing it across her forehead. Samantha nearly dropped the plate of cookies in her haste to get away from the contact.
“Don’t!” she cried.
“Sorry,” he said stiffly, pulling his hand back, and she knew she had offended him. “You had some flour on your forehead. I was just brushing it off.”
She forced an uneasy laugh. “I’m the one who should apologize. I don’t know what made me overreact like that.”
But she did know. It was Carlo and the way she had no control over her body’s response to him. And the guilt that swamped her because she couldn’t.
“Forget about it,” he dismissed, adding what had to be the understatement of the year. “We’re both a little on edge today.”
“You did a good job in there,” she told him, feeling more in control now that she wasn’t standing so close to him. “I think you made some progress.”
Carlo gave a short laugh. “That depends how you measure progress. To my way of thinking, I made a millimeter’s worth of headway, and we still have miles to go.”
“Baby steps,” she said.
“Baby steps?”
“You take one step forward, teeter for a bit, fall down on your butt and climb back to your feet. Over and over again, until you get where you’re going. Baby steps.”
“Baby steps,” he repeated with a nod. “I think I get it.”
“And I think, based on what I saw this morning, given time Jeffrey will come to trust you. If we’re lucky, he’ll even open up to you.” Samantha felt her throat close with emotion and drew a ragged breath. “And then I’ll have my son back.”
“You really think I can do all that?”
“Yes,” she answered softly. “I really do.”
His eyes darkened with emotion in the seconds before he tore his gaze from hers. “I hope your faith in me is justified,” he said gruffly.
The oven timer went off. Thankful to have something to occupy her attention, Samantha bent to remove a tray of cookies.
“Who’s the photographer?” she heard him ask as she scraped snickerdoodles onto the wax paper she’d spread across one counter.
“What photographer?”
“The