Finding His Lone Star Love. Amy Woods
I rambling too much?” she asked, heat rising to her cheeks.
“Absolutely not,” he said, his eyes reassuring. He seemed to be telling the truth from what Lucy could tell, which she admitted wasn’t much. She wasn’t used to interacting one-on-one with men who weren’t employees at the observatory. And, though she loved the scientists, they were a different breed altogether—one she understood, at least, thanks to her dad. “It’s nice to see a woman who’s passionate about her work. I feel the same way about my own.”
Lucy grinned, his compliment holding more weight than it should. “Did you always like to cook?” she asked, hoping to guide the conversation away from herself. She wasn’t sure she could take much more of Sam’s intense gaze on her. It felt as if he could see straight through her skin and bones and right down to her rapidly beating heart.
An emotion that Lucy couldn’t identify crossed Sam’s face, before passing just as quickly as he looked away, and she found herself wanting to ask him what he’d just been thinking of. She reminded herself that she barely knew him. She didn’t trust the way she was able to talk to him so openly, and the way she felt almost as if they’d known each other for ages.
She needed to focus on the facts.
Guys like Sam didn’t go for girls like Lucy.
It was that way in high school, and that way still. Some things in life didn’t change. She’d learned to live with that and most of the time she was pretty happy with the way things were—or at least...comfortable. She refused to get her hopes up just to have them smashed back down.
“Yes, I came to love cooking, once I figured it out,” Sam answered.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, growing up, I always thought that you had to have a recipe, and that’s just not my style. I got a job as a sous-chef, by chance really, and once I started practicing and playing with food, so to speak, I realized that it’s more of an art than a science, and I was able to put my own spin on things. I started creating my own dishes and experimenting with different ingredients just to see what I could come up with. That’s when I realized that cooking is actually a lot of fun. It can be a way to express yourself just like any other art form,” Sam said, his eyes lighting up as he talked about his work.
Lucy understood what he meant about experimenting with things, but expressing herself was another animal altogether, for which she shared no familiarity.
“So did you start the job straight out of high school?”
“Actually, no. I worked in restaurants while I went to college. I studied anthropology, of all things. Mostly because I couldn’t decide what else to concentrate on and, well, what’s more interesting than people? So I settled on that.”
Lucy could list many things more interesting to her than people. She preferred her stars and planets. Their mathematically calculable rules and patterns made more sense to her than those of human beings, but she decided to keep that to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was offend Sam.
“Did you enjoy it?”
Sam laughed and shook his head.
“The school part, no, not really. I was more of a goof-off. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time in class.”
“Ah, I know the type,” Lucy said. She’d known plenty of guys like him, had been made fun of by more than a few, and she’d formed an opinion of them early on.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, I just mean, well, it’s just that—” Lucy tugged at her glasses, suddenly nervous and tongue-tied “—guys like you...” She stopped talking before she said something off-putting.
“Guys like me?” Sam abruptly stopped walking and faced her. “I just met you, Ms. Monroe, and, forgive me, but you don’t know enough about me to be able to size me up and categorize me with other men you’ve known.”
He was right, and Lucy blushed at his surprisingly blunt correction. She didn’t know what to say so she kept silent and just kept walking.
Sam caught up to her but he was quiet, and when she stole a glance his way, his brows were knitted and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Lucy was surprised at how strong the urge was for her to ask what he was thinking, but she reminded herself that it wasn’t any of her business. Still, the intensity she saw in the set of his jaw made her strangely sad, and she found herself wishing for something that would break the spell she’d unintentionally cast.
Thankfully, they had covered most of the grounds and were at the front entrance, where Shiloh’s bus would drop her off. They were lucky the bus came all the way to the observatory, several miles from the outskirts of town. The school had made a special arrangement for Shiloh since Lucy was her only guardian and couldn’t drive into town each day to pick up her niece. The bus driver was a sweet lady, who loved Shiloh, and Lucy was grateful she had someone she could trust to drive Shiloh home every day in her place. Shiloh hated the special treatment, as she hated all such things, and she didn’t like being the last one off the bus when everyone else, even the kids who lived farther out of Peach Leaf, was already off by the time they reached her stop.
Sometimes Lucy didn’t know what to do to please the child. She was twelve now—spunky—and had a mind of her own, and a mouth to go along with it; there were some days when Lucy wished her niece would return to being the kind darling she had been as a little girl. But she loved her so much and couldn’t be angry with her for anything for very long. Lucy just hoped Shiloh’s habit of shutting out her aunt was a phase she’d get through soon.
Dust billowed around them as the bus lumbered to a stop. Lucy waved at Mrs. Stevens and waited for the driver to unfasten Shiloh’s wheelchair and lift her down. She turned and saw Sam’s face as he realized that Shiloh wasn’t going to walk out of the bus on her own two legs.
Lucy was accustomed to people catching themselves staring when they saw a child in a wheelchair. It wasn’t that they meant any harm—it was just a human reaction to someone who was different than most. But there was something odd and unusually powerful about the way Sam’s mouth straightened, and his eyes clouded. Surely the man had seen a kid with a disability like Shiloh’s before.
“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked. She hoped Sam would be honest. People usually tried to skirt around the subject, but she’d found she preferred if they asked questions or talked about what they felt, rather than try to ignore what anyone could see with their own two eyes.
“No, no, nothing at all,” Sam said, shaking his head. He turned to grin at her and the strange, concentrated expression she’d seen a moment ago was gone. “It’s just that I didn’t know that your niece used a wheelchair to get around. You didn’t say anything about it.”
Lucy searched his eyes.
“Of course, you didn’t have reason to,” Sam said, understanding the question in her features. He turned and smiled as Mrs. Stevens pushed the lever to lower Shiloh down from the bus. Shiloh raised both hands as though she were on a roller coaster and Lucy melted at the old inside joke they shared, glad there was a trace of the sweet little girl in there somewhere.
“Who’s this dude?” Shiloh asked, sizing up Sam.
Shiloh had a knack for saying exactly what she was thinking, just like her mom, Jennifer—Lucy’s sister. People had always joked that neither mom nor daughter had been born with a filter.
“Well, hello to you, too, sweetheart,” Lucy said, brushing a strand of hair out of Shiloh’s eyes, before her hand was promptly swatted away, just as she’d suspected it would be.
“Shiloh, meet Sam, our new...trial chef.”
Shiloh stared up at Sam, hooding her eyes with her hand. “Hi, Sam,” Shiloh said, her tone completely unreadable.
Sometimes Lucy understood her niece, and other times she couldn’t remember ever having been as nonchalant about everything