Foolish Notions Read online

  “Stop fussing and sit with me for a minute.” She gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

  James pulled a chair next to hers and sat. It wouldn’t hurt for her to be out for a little while, he determined. “For what?”

  “For calling Samantha, for asking her to be my nurse.”

  “I didn’t ask her to be your nurse,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Maybe not directly.”

  “Not at all.”

  “But you got her over here so I could ask her.” Marie was quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t sure the deal was still on.”

  He looked at her. “What? Couldn’t overhear much from the top of the stairs?”

  “Not really,” she said sourly.

  “I’ll make sure to speak louder when I’m having a private conversation.”

  “I wasn’t sure she was even in the house until she came in to say good night.”

  “Did you think I’d throw her out?” he said as he took a sip of his coffee.

  “No. I raised you better than that. However, after you demanded that you speak alone with her, I thought she might run out the door and never look back. You looked a little unsettled.”

  “Unsettled, is that how I looked?”

  “I should have called and told you she was going to be here.”

  She adjusted the blanket. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You surprised me all right.” His tone was gruff and little irritable, too.

  “I realize now that that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.” She glanced at him. “You’re not happy about her being my nurse, are you?”

  He stared down at his coffee.

  “You can tell me how you feel about this. After all, it’s your house.”

  “I want what’s best for you.” It was the truth, he thought, as he reached for her hand. “And if you feel Samantha is the best person to help you get through your treatment then I have no qualms about it. Besides, we both know she is an excellent nurse.”

  “Yes, she is. And you’re okay with her living with us?”

  “We’re all adults.”

  “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home.”

  “I won’t be.”

  Marie nodded and then raised her hand. “Look over there.”

  James’s eyes followed the direction of his mother’s pointed finger. In doing so, he spotted Samantha several yards from them on the beach. Her hair tumbled around her face and formed soft tangles in the wind as she bent over to pick something up. Her left hand rested on her thigh and held a handful of the red cotton dress she wore. The remaining material danced around her calves. The hem was slightly wet from the water. Red toenails peeked through the sand as her fingers rooted around beside them. She was breathtaking.

  As she stood, the morning light outlined her body and caused warm hues of sunlight to spread through her hair, growing lighter toward the tips. The rising surge had her quickly gathering more of her dress into her hand to keep it from getting wet. The small movement caused a long, golden leg to appear as the dress inched further upward. His gaze followed the shapely curve of her calf to the firm contour of her brown-sugar thigh. From there the lightweight material clung gently to the curve of her bottom.

  James silently groaned as he remembered all the times he had casually touched, gently kissed, or passionately loved the areas he was looking at.

  “Isn’t she just a vision?” Marie turned and looked at her son.

  “James?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “She looks angelic with the ocean behind her and the wind looking like it could scoop her up and carry her away.”

  His body hardened at his mom’s words. He had been thinking the exact same thing.

  “Do you think she has any idea that she looks that radiant?”

  James simply shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so.” Her gaze moved between James and Samantha. “If she knew the way the sunlight filtered through her dress revealing her figure I’m sure she’d be self-conscious of it.”

  James silently agreed.

  Marie smiled. “I think that simple fact makes her all the more beautiful.”

  He didn’t want to take his eyes off Samantha, but he tore his gaze away and tossed a stern looked at his mom when her overly innocent tone registered with him. “What do you think you’re doing, Mother?”

  “Don’t call me Mother. You only call me Mother when you’re mad.” She gave him a condescending look. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I also call you Mother,” he said the word slowly, “when you’ve overstepped your bounds.”

  Her eyes flickered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was merely pointing out that she’s very beautiful.”

  “Mother—”

  “Oh, stop. I’ll mind my own business,” she promised cordially.

  * * * * *

  Samantha caught sight of James from the corner of her eye when he stepped out of the house. She was glad she had worn her sunglasses so he couldn’t see her gaze. As she watched him she couldn’t help but notice the power that oozed from his magnificent body, which was clad in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. The stark material stood out against the mute colors of the house and the beach. It wasn’t just the material that made the distinction. He would have stood out no matter what he was dressed in. She watched him as he sat next to his mom, holding her hand, flashing his disruptive smile, sipping his coffee. She absorbed the sudden sentiment, reminding herself that she was here as a professional, before she started toward them.

  “I found three more,” she said as she climbed the redwood stairs. She walked past James and handed Marie the shells. “These are prettier than the last bunch.”

  “Darling, they’re just beautiful.” After inspection, Marie put the shells in a pile with the rest. “Now, we just have to figure out what we’re going to do with them.”

  Samantha dusted the sand off her hands and looked over at James—after all, she couldn’t just ignore him. “Good morning. We’re just about to eat. Would you like to join us?” She looked toward Marie. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up and we’ll eat out here. It’s too nice of a morning to eat inside.”

  Samantha moved toward the door, not waiting for James to give her an answer. She didn’t really care if he ate with them; she was just trying to be polite.

  James excused himself and followed Samantha to the door.

  “Why is my mom outside?”

  “Because she wants to be.” She raked her feet over the twine mat as she slid the door open.

  “She can’t do everything she wants,” he pointed out.

  Samantha stepped into the house and turned. He was inches from her. Had his eyelashes always been that long . . . the colors of his eyes that deep . . . she’d never noticed him swallow before . . . Quickly, she moved into the kitchen. “She woke up this morning and said she wanted to walk on the beach and collect seashells. We compromised. I would collect the shells if she sat on the deck and enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine.” Pausing, she put her hands on her hips. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  “Well, I do. It’s cold.”

  She slipped her sunglasses off and tossed them on the counter. “Cold? Are you joking?”

  His voice was deep and weighty as he stepped toward her. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  No, he didn’t. However, that didn’t take away from the fact that what he was saying was ludicrous. “I have two words for you: Southern California.”

  “The doctor said she must stay in perfect health. Even a slight cold could—”

  “Who is the nurse here?” Samantha paused as she fought for a little poise and self-control. After their confrontation last night she had vowed to herself she wouldn’t fight with him again. She was not only above that; she was beyond it, too. “I know what a cold can do.”

  “She starts her chemo—”

  Her eyes narrowed; he was making it very hard to maintain the res
traint she dug deep for. “I know when she starts her chemo.”

  “If she gets sick—”

  “I know what can happen if she gets sick,” she bit out angrily.

  “Then why is she outside?” he demanded.

  “For fresh air, sunshine, and a change of scene. It appears you’ve kept her cooped up in the house for the last week and a half.”

  “I call it safe and healthy.” His hand slapped the counter and his voice was a low growl. “Damn it, Samantha, this is one area I will not back down on.”

  The look on his face wrapped around her heart like a vice, squeezing all anger from her. She didn’t want him to back down. The protectiveness that he was showing was a part of him. She understood how important this was to him. They were dealing with his mom’s life, for God’s sake. If the shoe was on her foot, she wouldn’t back down either, especially if she thought her mom wasn’t getting the proper care. But that wasn’t the case now. He was going to have to turn over some of the control he held on to so tightly, so she could do her job. “I understand.” She softened. “But you can’t fight me every step of the way.”

  “I don’t want to fight.” His voice was weary and honest.

  “Let me do my job, James. If you have any questions about decisions that I’ve made then ask me about them. But don’t doubt my capabilities as a nurse.”

  “I want what’s best for her.”

  “And so do I.”

  He shook his head regretfully. “I know you do.”

  “I’m the one with the training. That is why you hired me, to monitor and maintain her health. You need to let me do that.”

  He pinched his eyes shut momentarily.

  “If this is going to work you’re going to have to let go and give me the responsibility for her health. You’re also going to have to put a little faith in me.” When he opened his eyes, she continued. “As a professional, I say she’s well enough to go outside and enjoy the sun.”

  “Okay.” He raised his hands in defeat. “You’re right. If you say she’s fine, then she’s fine.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  For a very long moment he just stared at her.

  “What? What is it?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He turned. “I need to go. I have an appointment.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “I’ll grab something on the way.”

  “You always used to eat breakfast with me . . .” The words faded as she realized what she was saying.

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

  “That’s not . . . I’m sorry . . .” Samantha watched him as he turned swiftly away from her. He went outside to say goodbye to his mom. Through the window she watched him as he gave Marie a quick kiss on the cheek before he reentered. He didn’t speak a word as he walked past her. The click of the front door closing was the only thing left in his wake.

  Chapter Seven

  When James arrived home that evening, he found Samantha in the kitchen, sitting at the bar as she artfully glued seashells onto a terracotta flowerpot. Soothing instrumental music flowed through the house and the light scent of burning candles filled the air. The sliding glass door was open, allowing the roar of the ocean to mix with the relaxing ambiance. “Good evening.”

  Samantha looked up from her project. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Has my mom turned in already?” James asked as he strolled into the kitchen, looking at two flickering candles.

  “Yes.” She turned her wrist and looked at her watch. “About an hour ago.”

  His head popped up. “That’s a little early. Is she okay?”

  “Yep.” She smiled gently. “She was just a little tired, that’s all.” She fiddled with a small shell while she scrutinized the clay pot from several angles. “We had a busy day of getting things in order.” She looked up. “But we are all organized. How was your day?”

  “Good.” James worked off his tie as he studied her creation.

  “What is that?”

  Samantha’s gaze slid away from James to what she held in her hands. “What do you mean, what is it?” She tried desperately to collect the long, stringy strains of glue that were draped all over the pot, her hands, and the glue gun. Once the majority of them were contained, she spoke. “Isn’t it self-explanatory?”

  He shook his head, enjoying her antics. “Not really.”

  “This is a one-of-a-kind, hand-crafted flowerpot, with genuine seashells collected by,” she gave him a brilliant smile, “yours truly.” She held the pot in the air with pride.

  He stared at the pot quietly for several moments, before saying, “One of a kind, that’s the truth.”

  She squinted as she glared at him. “Are you mocking my creation? It’s a work of art.”

  “A work of art, that’s a stretch.”

  “Okay, craftiness isn’t one of my finer talents. However, I think Marie will love it.”

  “Yes, she will, and no it’s not.” He seized a long strand of glue that had found its way into her hair. He allowed his fingers to glide down the length, enjoying the slight contact with her. After he rolled the string into a ball, he flicked it into the trashcan and watched her for a moment. Damn the wind for tousling her hair like that. Damn the sun for giving her skin that magnificent glow. Damn the air for making her smell sweet and heavenly. He took a step away from her. Waking up to her presence in the house this morning had been hard, but being with her right now was torture.

  “I’ve been working on this for almost an hour.”

  “Really, that long?”

  She lifted the pot, careful not to damage any of the shells, and regarded it. “Do you know how hard it is to glue onto a round surface?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” he said dryly.

  She adjusted a few shells. “It’s not that bad.”

  “If you say so.” He picked up the mail on the counter.

  “You have to have an imagination,” she explained. “Picture it with a beautiful flowering plant of some sort in it. Glossy green leaves cascading over the edge.”

  “For some reason the vision just isn’t coming to me.” He dropped the mail and moved around her to the pantry. “I bet for twenty bucks you could go and buy one of those so-called one-of-a-kind pots at the local florist’s with a plant already in it.” Her expression, one of complete exasperation, made him smile, so he carried on. “Hell, I think they sell them down on the boardwalk for ten.”

  “You’re mean, do you know that?”

  “No, I’m honest.”

  “You’re cruel.” She pulled the pot close, shielding it. “Besides, homemade is always better.”

  He tore open a bag of potato chips and stuffed a handful into his mouth. “Not always,” he said, watching her search through the pile of shells on the counter to fill the remaining empty hole.

  After trying several, she decided on a small silver dollar that nestled nicely with the others. She coated the backside with a huge glob of glue, and then pressed it to the pot.

  “Ouch.” The glue gun dropped and landed on the ceramic tile with a loud tap; the legs of the stool sputtered across the floor as she jumped up.

  James dropped the bag of chips on the counter and grabbed for her hand, which she was shaking wildly. “Let me see it.”

  She batted his hand away. “No, don’t touch it, it hurts.”

  “Samantha, we have to get the glue off your hand or it will just keep burning.” He pulled her by the arm toward the sink and put her hand under the cold water. After a few minutes he looked at her. “Is it feeling any better?”

  She nodded. “Yes, a little.”

  “Do you want to take it off or should I?” James asked as he looked at the dab of clear glue on her skin. Somehow he managed to integrate a smile into the question.

  “I’m not touching it.” Her eyes narrowed. “And would you please quit looking so smug.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ob
viously, the thought of torturing me appeals to you or you wouldn’t be looking so amused right now.”

  “Do I look amused?”

  “Yes, you do,” she snapped.

  He raised a brow and said absolutely nothing as he stared at her lips.

  “Ugh, you’re impossible.”

  Carefully, James reached for her hand. “If you’re not touching it, then I’ll do the honors.”

  Samantha pulled her hand close to her and then took a step back. “No, you won’t.”

  “Samantha, you can’t leave it there.” He moved toward her. “Stop being a baby—you’re a nurse, for crying out loud.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? I may be a nurse but that doesn’t mean I like pain.”

  “Pain?” he scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s a small dot of glue.” His eyes drifted gently over her face. “I don’t remember you ever being this much of a sissy.”

  As she looked down at her hand, her bottom lip protruded into a pout. “That isn’t small. It’s at least the size of a penny.”

  He frowned. “Maybe a small pea.” He cornered her against the counter and refrigerator. “I have a plan.”

  She looked back up and stared at him. “So do I.”

  He disregarded her words with a shake of his head.

  “You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say.”

  “I don’t need to hear it to know it’s not going to be a good plan.” When her eyes turned threatening he blew out a long breath and said, “By all means. Let’s hear your plan.”

  “I think I should let it wear off.”

  “Really?” He watched her with fascinated interest. “I take it you didn’t think that plan all the way through.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “Okay, now we can move on to plan B, which should have been plan A in the first place.” Carefully, he took her hand in his. “Don’t pull away. I just want to look at it.” He turned her hand over. It was still very red. The clear bead was thick and completely dry. “If I were a nurse and I had a patient with this type of injury I would—”

  “Not call her a sissy and a baby,” she offered, her brows angled defiantly. “It’s called good bedside manner.”