Any Man Of Mine (20 page)

Sam let go of her hand and smiled. “Amen. Great prayer.”

“Especially that part where you channeled Rodney King,” Vince added.

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” all three asked at once

“Pass the mash potatoes.”

“Pass the mash potatoes who?”

Conner shrugged. “Pass the mash potatoes to me. I’m starving.”

Sam shook his head as he spooned potatoes onto Conner’s plate. “You’re going to seriously have to work on your jokes.” He spooned some for himself, then handed the bowl to Autumn. The tips of her fingers touched his before she pulled back.

Usually on holidays, Autumn dressed for comfort, but today wasn’t a usual holiday, and she’d dressed in a fitted white blouse and a black pencil skirt that hugged her body and made her look like a fifties pinup model. She’d had mixed feeling about dressing up because Sam was coming to dinner. On the one hand, she didn’t want him to think she’d squeezed into her skirt because of him. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to see her in old sweats. Once she opened the door and seen Sam, she was glad she’d made the effort. He looked cool and hot at the same time in black wool pants and gray V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt beneath. Not like the last time when she’d seen him, all sweaty and scruffy radiating body heat.

“Aren’t you Canadian?” Vince forked sliced turkey on his plate.

“Yeah.”

“So why are you here?”

Autumn kicked him under the table. “Be nice, Vin,” she warned.

Vince turned and looked at her. His eyes wide and innocent. “I’m just asking. I’m sure Sam doesn’t mind answering a simple question.”

“Not at all.” He looked across the table and give Vince a big kiss-my-ass grin. “Autumn and Conner were gracious enough to invite me.”

Which wasn’t really true. She hadn’t even planned to make Thanksgiving dinner. Conner was supposed to be at Sam’s and Vince at work.

“I thought you were going to spend a quiet day alone packing,” Vince reminded her as he took the potatoes from her.

Which she had, until a few days ago, when she suddenly learned that Conner was bringing Sam to Thanksgiving at
her
house and
she
was cooking. She still wasn’t quite sure how that had all transpired. Naturally, she’d had to invite Vince, who fortunately, or unfortunately—depending on how she chose to look at it—had an hour free for dinner. Just enough time to drive to her house, eat, stir things up, and go back to work. She supposed she should just be thankful that Vince would be there less than an hour. Not nearly long enough for Sam to get all comatose on L-tryptophan so that Vince could go commando on him.

“Where are you and Conner going tomorrow?” Sam asked, and forked turkey on and his and Conner’s plates.

“I’ve rented a beach house in Moclips.” Autumn added a little cranberry to her plate. “It’s about a two-hour drive from Seattle.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s probably because you spend your vacations in the upper rooms at Scores,” Vince said.

Sam raised a brow. “What do you know about those upper rooms at Scores?”

“Just what I’ve read.”

“Giving your fifth-grade education a workout with big words like
lap
and
dance
?”

“Yeah. And with letters like
f
and
u.
”

“Little ears.” Autumn lifted her finger off her fork and pointed to Conner. “We rented the same house last summer and really enjoyed it, but I’ve read that it’s kind of stormy this time of year.” She talked about clamming and sitting on the beach. She talked about Conner flying his kite and the little Moclips museum. She’d never talked so much in her life, but she kept it up until both men retreated back into their caves and shut the hell up.

“Are you about through talking?” Vince asked her before he took a bite of his croissant.

“Are you?”

“Not by half.”

“Then I’m going to have Conner fill your ears with nonstop knock-knock jokes.” She held up one hand. “I swear to God, Vince.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, defeated for the moment. Sam laughed, and Vince shot him a look that said he was retreating, but the war was far from over.

“Knock knock.”

“Not now, Conner. Just eat your dinner please.”

“Where’s the green bean casserole?” Conner asked.

Of course the one thing she didn’t make was the one thing he asked about. Since she was leaving in the morning, she hadn’t gone all out. She’d cooked just the basics, and not a ton, so she wouldn’t have a lot of leftovers to rot in the refrigerator. “We’ll have it at Christmas.”

Vince poured gravy on his potatoes and turkey and looked across at Sam. “How’s that shoulder?”

“About 60 percent.” Sam lifted his elbow away from his body and grinned. “Thanks for asking, frog squat.”

Conner laughed, Vince’s gaze narrowed, and tension pulled at the back of Autumn’s skull. She didn’t know what a frog squat was. She was sure Conner didn’t know either, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t nice. She pointed to Sam. “Did you hear what I said to Vince?” She knocked on an invisible door. “Until your ears bleed.”

He tilted his head back and laughed like everything was just hilarious. Then he settled in and ate as if he was on death row, and this was his last meal. He seemed happy and relaxed, like he ate dinner at her house every day. Like they were friends. Like they hadn’t been going at each other’s throat a few months ago, and like her brother wasn’t staring holes through him. He didn’t seem bothered by anything, and several times she caught him watching her as if he was looking for something.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Not a thing.” He reached for more turkey and stuffing. “You’re a very good cook. I didn’t know that about you.”

Why would he? “Thank you.”

“Hey, Dad, you should move in here.” Conner pushed his peas beneath his roll as if his mother wouldn’t notice. “We have a bedroom downstairs.”

Autumn’s forehead got tight and achy.

Sam chewed and swallowed as if giving it some thought. “I don’t know. I have a lot of stuff. And where would I put that water wall you like so much?”

Vince muttered something under his breath that sounded like an impossible suggestion for where Sam could put the “water wall.” By the time dinner was over, Autumn was so tense her spine felt brittle.

Vince looked at his watch and placed his napkin beside his plate. “Gotta get back to the grind.”

Vince was her brother, her friend and protector. Besides Conner, he was the only family she had, but she was relieved to see him go.

“I drew you a picture, Uncle Vince. It’s in my art center.” Conner jumped down and ran from the room

Vince stood and tucked his Titan Security shirt into his Dickeys.

Sam leaned back and pointed to Vince’s belt. “Where’s your gun, cowboy?”

“I don’t need a gun, asshole. There are more than a hundred ways to kill someone.” He smiled. “And a hundred ways to dispose of a body in places it will never be found.”

Autumn knew he was kidding. Kind of. “Well, I hope you come over while I’m gone and eat the leftover turkey. Or do you want to take some with you. Pie?”

Vince ignored her. “I wasn’t around the last time you hurt Autumn. I’m here now, and it’s not going to happen again.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest and leaned the dining-room chair back on two legs. “I heard you the first time.”

There’d been a first time? Where had she been? She stood and followed her brother into the living room. “What was that about?”

He gave her a big hug, the kind of deep squeeze that settled in her bones and let her know how much he loved her. The kind of love that would last forever. No matter how much he made her mad. “Call me when you get to your beach house tomorrow, so I know you’ve made it.”

She didn’t tell him not to worry about her. He would anyway. “I will.”

“Here it is.” Conner walked into the room and handed Vince the picture. “We’re playing putt-putt like last year.”

“Yep. There you are.” Vince pointed to the little blond figure, then folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket. “I’ll study it at work.” He gave Conner a quick hug, then moved down the stairs. “I’ll come over while you’re gone, check up on things, and eat the leftovers.”

“Thanks.” She raised her hand as he walked out the door and shut it behind him.

She felt like a half-ton brick had been lifted from one shoulder. The other half ton was still in the dining room. “Are you going to help me clean up?” she asked Conner.

He shook his head. “I gotta draw Dad a picture.” He took off down the hall to his bedroom. Typical. “Tell me when it’s dessert time,” he called out over his shoulder.

Autumn walked into the dining room and stopped in her tracks. Sam stood at the kitchen sink, the spray nozzle in one hand. Autumn’s gaze stuck on the stretch and pull of his thin sweater across his wide shoulders and big arms as he reached for a plate on the counter. He whistled as he rinsed in one side of the sink and bent over to put the cleaned plates in the dishwasher. No man had ever done her dishes. Sam towering over her sink, squirting water all over, then bending over, was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life.

He rose and looked across his shoulder. “That was fun.”

“That was the dinner from hell,” she said as she grabbed the basket of croissants and moved into the kitchen, the heels of her red pumps lightly thudding across the vinyl floor. “I wouldn’t have guessed you knew how to load a dishwasher.”

“Growing up, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. After my dad died, my mom went to work full-time, so Ella and I had to split up the chores.”

She’d never thought of Sam as a kid, losing his father or stepping into his dad’s shoes. A lot like Vince. Only their father hadn’t died. He’d run off.

“Most of the time I paid Ella to do mine.” Sam chuckled. “Which used to make my mom livid because then I’d have to ask her for more lunch money.”

She’d met his mom a few times when she’d come to Seattle to spend time with Sam and Conner. “How’s your mother?” she asked, as she set the basket on the counter.

His blue eyes looked across at hers and slid to her mouth. “Good.” His gaze slowly moved down her body, over her breasts and the curve her waist and hips in the tight skirt, all the way to her red shoes. “She’ll probably be here for Christmas.”

“That will be nice for Conner.” She ignored the tingle in her pulse and opened a drawer by his right hip, pulling out a roll of tinfoil. “You don’t have to clean up.”

“It’s the least I can do for inviting myself.” He raised his gaze to hers and dried his hands on a dish towel.

She’d cleaned as she’d cooked, so there wasn’t much more to do. “I thought Conner invited you.”

“Conner’s five.” One corner of his mouth lifted, and fine lines appeared in the corners of his eyes. “I might have planted the suggestion in his head.”

She paused in the act of tearing some tinfoil. “Why?” Why was he there? Rinsing her dishes, filling up her kitchen with his big shoulders and bigger presence. Running his gaze up and down her body and making her stomach take a tumble.

He flipped the dish towel onto her shoulder, then moved into the dining room. Her gaze took a journey of its own, moving down the back of his gray sweater to the back pockets of his black wool pants. There were just some men on the planet who filled out a pair of pants to perfection. Sam was one of those guys.

“Curious,” he said as he returned with the turkey.

“No.” She wasn’t curious. She’d seen his butt, and even though it had been a while, she imagined that it was as tight as ever. The kind of tight that came from serious exercise.

“What?”

“What?” She looked up into his eyes and tore off a big chunk of tinfoil.

“You asked why I’d invited myself.”

Oh yeah. She tossed the roll into the drawer and shut it with her hip.

He set the turkey on the counter. “And I said I was curious.”

“About?”

“About what you and Conner do on Thanksgiving.”

That’s right. She’d allowed herself to get distracted, but in her own defense, she was a bit unnerved. “Probably the same thing you do. Only on a different day.” She covered the platter with the tinfoil, scrunching it around the edges.

“I haven’t done the whole Thanksgiving thing in years.” He closed the dishwasher with his foot. “Here or in Canada.”

“That’s sad.”

“Not really. I’m never sure where I’m going to be on that Monday or Thursday.”

That explained his presence. He had nothing better to do. “You really don’t have to stay and clean up.”

“The quicker the dishes get done, the sooner I get pie.”

“Seriously?” She’d been so tense, still was, that she hadn’t eaten much, but Sam hadn’t suffered from nerves. He’d eaten more than anyone. “You want pie?”

“Honey, I always want pie.” He looked into her eyes and reached for the dish towel. Slowly, he pulled it from her shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve had good pie.”

Somehow, she doubted that. “No pie jokes.” She lifted a hand and rubbed the back of her neck.

“I never joke about pie.” He tossed the towel and moved behind her. He pushed her hand aside. “Pie is serious business.”

“What are you doing?”

“You’re all knotted up.” He pressed his thumbs into the base of her neck and pushed inward. “You were so tense during dinner, I thought you were going to shatter.”

She’d thought she might shatter, too, and his hands felt good. So good, she almost moaned out loud. Totally inappropriate, though, and she’d stop him in a minute. “That might have had something to do with you and my brother acting like idiots.” Then he pressed his thumbs into the base of her skull, rubbed in tight circles, and she put her hands on the counter to keep from melting into a puddle by his size-fourteen loafers.

“It could have been worse.”

She dropped her head forward and her hair fell across her cheeks. “Yeah. You two could have jumped across the table and stabbed each other with butter knives.”

He laughed and slid his thumbs beneath the collar of her blouse. “Unbutton your shirt.”

“Are you high?”