Daddy Says, ''I Do!''. Stacy Connelly
heartbeat. For a crazy moment, she imagined him pulling her closer, his eyes darkening as he kissed her.
“He’ll be fine.”
It took a moment for Kara’s mind to refocus on Sam’s words instead of his touch. “You don’t know that.”
“I know if we rush out there and start hovering over Will, it will only make that bruised foot feel worse.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
He gave a short laugh at that. “Because it’s guy logic. You’ll have to trust me on this one. If we pay any attention to him right now, it’ll hurt his pride and embarrass the he…heck out of him. For a kid like Will, that’s worse than broken bones any day.”
As if proving the truth—logical or not—of his words, the high-pitched whine of machinery resumed as Will went back to work.
“Will’s shy and quiet, but he’s tough in his own way.”
A hint of pride and admiration filled Sam’s voice. Admiration for the teen’s toughness? Kara wondered.
A toughness that Timmy, with his reluctance to hit and his fear of monsters, didn’t possess.
“He’s just a boy,” she protested, not sure if she was talking about Will or Timmy. “Do you really think ignoring pain is the best way to deal with it?”
Half expecting some quick response about rubbing dirt on a wound and getting back in the game, Kara was surprised when Sam gave her question some thought. “Admitting you’re hurting makes you vulnerable. Hiding that pain’s a pretty good way to make sure no one can make that hurt even worse.”
Memories of her own hidden pain pushed to the surface, but Kara forced the thoughts aside even as she wondered if she and Sam might have something in common. “I wasn’t exactly suggesting that you go out there and slam Will’s hand in a car door to make him forget about his foot.”
Sam laughed and the moment was broken, the quick grin on his handsome face almost enough to wipe away the thought of this big, strong man being vulnerable to anything—or anyone. “As far as distractions go, I can think of a few that would be more enjoyable.”
Kara barely had time for a blush to rise to her cheeks before he turned his focus to business. “Now, if I can take a look at your driver’s license, I can use that into to get you into the computer.” Jiggling the mouse on his desk, a screen popped up marked with blanks.
Information Sam was waiting to fill in. Information like her last name and where she was from. Pieces of a puzzle that might become a clear picture if she told him anything more about herself. She glanced over at the toy box where Timmy was carefully guiding his car along the well-worn edge. On some level, Sam had already picked up on her resemblance, faint though it was, to Marti. Add in the last name they shared and the city where they’d both lived, and he was bound to put the pieces together.
“Kara?”
Sam gazed at her from across his desk, waiting for her to hand over her license. Nerves shook her stomach as she realized she’d been wrong. She’d thought telling Sam he was Timmy’s father might be the biggest mistake she could make. But having him figure it out before she told him would be so much worse.
Without letting herself stop to think, she said, “What about that dinner I owe you?”
Her forced smile started to tremble along the edges as Sam’s slightly surprised gaze met hers. Did he see right through to her ulterior motives? Or could she fool him into thinking her nerves were due to accepting his date?
His green eyes lit with pleasure, and Kara’s stomach pitched in a slow, shaky roll. Were her nerves more about going out with Sam than she wanted to admit? She’d have to worry about that later. For now, she breathed a sigh of relief when Sam moved his hand away from the mouse.
“Tonight?”
“Um…” His eager question caught Kara off-guard. If she didn’t know better, she might think this “date” really mattered to Sam. But she did know better, didn’t she?
He’s interested in you.
“Sorry,” he said, his smile turning a little embarrassed and slipping further past her defenses. “I forgot you just got into town. You probably want to take it easy and get Timmy settled. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Hey, I eat dinner every day, so take your pick.”
Kara couldn’t help giving a startled laugh at Sam’s dogged pursuit. With his good looks and quick smile, she’d assumed a man like Sam Pirelli treated everything in life as easy come, easy go. But in the past few minutes, he’d shown a depth and determination she hadn’t expected.
“And I can ask Hope Daniels to babysit Timmy,” he added. “She’s a friend of the family who watches my niece, so you don’t have to worry about her. She’s very reliable.”
But as they finalized plans for their date the following night, Kara was already worried. She just couldn’t decide what concerned her more—the idea of Sam’s single-minded focus on Timmy…or on her.
Chapter Three
“Hey, Sam!”
Pausing outside Rolly’s Diner after closing up his shop for the evening, Sam turned to see Billy Cummings climb from his truck. An old friend from grade school, the two of them had shared a friendship and rivalry for the past two decades.
“Someone said they saw a piece-of-crap ’Vette limping down the highway this morning. You didn’t get that pile of junk running, did you?” Challenge rose in the other man’s expression, and Sam knew the sheriff’s son was ready for anything—a hearty slap on the back or a sharp jab to his jaw.
Sam went with his first instinct and chuckled even though he hadn’t completely forgiven the other man. “If you knew a thing or two about cars, you would have realized what a prize that ‘piece of crap’ really is.”
The car’s original owner had first contacted Billy, knowing how Cummings liked fast cars, but Billy didn’t have the skills needed to get the Corvette back in prime condition and he knew it. When he passed on making an offer, the owner had called Sam. He’d jumped at the chance to buy the classic only to end up in a bidding war with Billy, who might not have wanted the car but didn’t want Sam to have it either. In the end, Sam bought the ’Vette, but thanks to Billy, at a much higher price.
“Have you decided what color to paint it?”
“I’m sticking with red.”
Billy shook his head. “You might as well paint it black now, since you’re gonna end up selling it to me.”
“Yeah, right.” Sam scoffed. He had bigger plans for the car than handing it over to his friend. The year and model were rare enough that he had a good idea what the restored car would draw at an auction. He wasn’t new to auctions or the kind of crowd and car enthusiasts they attracted. As much as he liked working at the garage, restoring classic cars was his true passion and his dream for the future.
Clearville was home, and he had no plans to leave, but the thought of traveling around to car shows throughout the state, buying “pieces of crap,” restoring them and then selling them for a small fortune…yeah, he liked that idea a lot.
“You missed your chance to own that car, my friend,” he told Billy. “You’ll be lucky if I even let you ride in it.”
Climbing back into the cab of his truck, Billy vowed, “Just wait.”
“For what? A cold day in hell?” Sam laughed as his friend pulled away with an obnoxious honk of his horn. He was still smiling as he pulled the door to the diner open and walked into the familiar scents of fried food and strong coffee.
A waitress greeted him and asked,