Before the Storm Read online

  “What? Of course not—”

  With a small shake of her head, she took the check from her apron pocket and added it to the deposit bag on the counter. She didn’t look at him. “I’m sure someone with your kind of money must be used to getting whatever they want. Who they want. But I need to make something clear—”

  “Samantha.” Mark stepped forward and gently touched her arm, causing her stomach to flutter. Her eyes returned to his face.

  “I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t mean it that way. But in retrospect, I guess that’s probably how it sounded.” He appeared genuinely distressed. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair before dropping it down to his side again. “Look, the offer about the gift shop stands regardless of whether you turn me down or not. You have good products. The guests at the St. Clair are the perfect demographic for your business. Going with me to the reception…that’s a completely separate matter. I made a mistake rolling the conversations together. It’s been a really long time since I’ve done anything like this.”

  She pressed her fingers briefly against her face. Clearly, she’d overreacted.

  “I’m sorry I misunderstood,” Samantha conceded. “But why me? Why can’t you ask someone else?”

  Clasping the back of his neck, he stared at the floor. “I know this is going to sound unbelievably immature, but it has to do with Carter. He told me he was planning to ask you. So I sort of freaked out and told him you were already going with me. It was an impulse move. I feel like an idiot.”

  “You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” she noted somberly.

  His blush deepened. “I was advised it was bad form.”

  He seemed so off-balance that Samantha felt her resistance crumbling.

  “I know what you said the other night about us only being friends. I haven’t forgotten it,” he added a little hoarsely. “Going with me to the reception…it doesn’t have to change that. I don’t…I wouldn’t have any expectations. It would be completely platonic. And you could make some good business contacts.”

  “What would you tell Carter if I refuse?”

  He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. To be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Fess up that I lied and eat crow, I guess. Or maybe tell him you came down with the flu at the last minute. I hear there’s something going around.”

  He added self-deprecatingly, “I’m feeling a little ill myself right now.”

  Samantha studied him. Then she took a deep breath, deciding against her better judgment. “So what would I need to wear for this platonic arrangement?”

  A short time later, he escorted her to the bank on the town square, waiting as she made her deposit through the nighttime security slot. Then Mark walked her to the Camry that was parked in the alley behind the café and made sure she was safely on her way home. She studied him in her rearview mirror, still standing there, as she pulled onto the street. Driving to her apartment, Samantha allowed herself to think about the prospect of attending such a fancy reception. Mark had seemed so appreciative of her agreement to go with him. And despite her best effort, the idea of spending an evening with him caused a small knot of pleasure to form inside her.

  She was playing with fire.

  Don’t fall for him, she cautioned herself again.

  They could attend the reception together and simply come away as casual friends, couldn’t they? He’d said as much himself. Mark was a civic leader. Going with him was a good business decision.

  But he’d already told her once that he was interested in her—there was no getting around that. Even if he was too much of a gentleman to push the point. Samantha frowned. After losing the love of his life, he’d had the remarkable bad luck of her being the first woman who’d captured his attention.

  Carter’s arrival had prompted Mark to come out of his shell, apparently. If she’d turned him down, how far might she have set him back? She tried to cling to the belief that she’d done the right, decent thing.

  It can’t go anywhere. You can’t allow anyone in like that. It would be too easy for him to see the missing spaces and start asking questions.

  It wouldn’t be safe for him, or you.

  Hopefully, their outing would give Mark the nudge he needed to put his personal tragedy behind him and get on with his life. He would meet another, much more suitable woman, she rationalized. But as she parked her car in one of the vacant spaces outside her apartment building, Samantha relived the sensation she’d felt at his touch. She admitted again to herself that she felt a strong physical attraction to him, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  It worried her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Carter slowed as he drove past the town square, fairly certain it was Samantha he saw lounging on one of the wrought-iron benches under the shade of a century-old live oak. She sat absorbed in a magazine, a curtain of sleek, dark hair partially obscuring her features. He was headed to an old high school pal’s beach house to hang out with some friends for the afternoon, but on impulse he wheeled his rental—a bright yellow, open-air Hummer—into an available parking spot.

  “Samantha?” he called as he crossed the courtyard, heading toward her. She looked up from the magazine.

  “I thought that was you.” Carter smiled as he reached her. She had on a white, fitted T-shirt emblazoned with the Café Bella logo on its front pocket. Her long, tanned legs stretched out from a pair of khaki shorts. “Taking a break?”

  “The lunch crowd’s over, and there’s a breeze, so I thought I’d sit out here for a little while and catch up on my reading. Aren’t you filming today?”

  “I’m not on set until tonight—I’ve got the day free.” He noticed the magazine’s cover. It was a foodie publication with a photo of what looked like a rustic pizza with arugula and grilled shrimp on top. “Professional research?”

  “I like to keep up with the trends.”

  Taking a seat on the bench beside her, he leaned back and pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head. Carter wore swim trunks under his golf shirt and flip-flops.

  “If you ask me, you don’t need any tips. What I had at your place the other day was pretty amazing.” He patted his stomach. “It’s a good thing I’m just here for the movie, or I’d become a regular and eat myself right out of a job.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, you could always go from leading-man status to character actor. A little paunch would work well for you.”

  He chuckled lightly. “I’m glad business is going well, Sam. Thank God for tourists, right? Most of the locals around here think a pork chop with a parsley sprig is haute cuisine.”

  Her caramel-brown eyes assessed him. “I doubt that. Charleston is known for its world-class restaurants, and it’s only a short drive away. And from what I’ve heard, the St. Clair’s restaurant is pretty top-notch. Mercer says it stays busy even in the off-season.”

  “It’s good, but a little conventional. I’ve talked to Mark about jazzing up the menu, but he can be pretty conservative about changing things.”

  Samantha said pointedly, “All of this culinary sophistication is interesting, especially since Mercer claims your favorite food is Chef Boyardee.”

  Carter shook his head good-naturedly, feeling his face heat. “When I was ten.” He stared across the courtyard, focusing on the large, blossoming magnolia and tiered fountain in the square’s center. Two children, their hands loaded with pennies, were tossing coins into the water and loudly announcing their wishes as a gray-haired woman, probably their grandmother, supervised from a nearby bench.

  “So I’m busted, thanks to my motor-mouthed sister. I was trying to impress you,” he admitted. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he squinted up at her. “The truth is, I do know my chèvres from my Gruyères. I’ve been living in New York for a while now, and despite what Mercer may have led you to believe, I eat more than pizza and bagels up there. Talk about some great restaurants, not to mention the street food.”


  Samantha gave a nod of agreement. “There was a Vietnamese food truck that would set up near my apartment. I’ve never had anything better, anywhere.”

  “Which leads me to something I’ve been wanting to ask…” Carter was genuinely curious. “New York’s the epicenter of the culinary world, at least on this continent. After getting a big-time chef’s degree, why leave there to set up a little café in Podunk, USA?”

  She paused before answering.

  “I was never really that happy in New York, I guess. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I’m still a small-town Southern girl at heart. It’s also way too expensive there to open a business. I studied the demographics here, and it seemed like a good choice.” She brushed back a few strands of hair the sultry afternoon breeze had blown into her eyes. “Besides, I hardly consider this place Podunk. Trust me, I grew up in Podunk.”

  She peered out over the square. “I also visited here once as a child and never forgot it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Carter conceded quietly. Sitting back against the bench again, he took in the lush scenery, aware of the twittering sound of birds and scent of gardenias wafting in the warm, heavy air. He had loved growing up here, and despite pretenses otherwise, he missed it. “Hey, I hear you’ve got a date with Mark on Saturday night.”

  Her hands fluttered nervously over the magazine, smoothing its glossy cover. “Well, sort of a date. Mark…he asked me to go with him to the reception.”

  “That is a date,” he pointed out. “Isn’t it?”

  It was her turn to blush. “Yes, of course it is.”

  “Well, I won’t hold this”—his grin widened as he drew quotation marks in the air with his fingers—“date with my brother against you.”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “Relax, Sam. I’m just messing with you. It’s great you’re going with Mark. And it’s good he’s finally getting out again. He deserves some fun—he works way too much this time of year. We’ll all have a good time together, despite Mom’s attempts to turn it into something pretentious.”

  He focused briefly on a clump of Spanish moss overhead, dangling from a tree bough. “I just thought of something. I’m headed to a buddy’s beach house out on Folly Island. He’s having a little party this afternoon—some of the old gang. We’re going to throw back a few beers, grill some steaks and float around on the water. Want to come along? I’ll introduce you around, since you’re new here. You can make some friends. Hell, bring some business cards and hand them out.”

  She shook her head. “I need to get back to work.”

  “C’mon. What’s wrong with a little toes in the sand, drinks in hand?” he pressed easily. “You said yourself the lunch rush is over. Let someone else handle things. We can stop by your place for your swimsuit.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll let the old gang reunite without a stranger showing up. Have a good time, Carter.”

  The refusal was polite but firm. Samantha stood, then bent to tighten the strap on one of her sandals. Picking up her straw tote bag that lay next to the bench, she took off in the direction of the café, giving him a small wave good-bye over her shoulder.

  Carter studied her as he returned his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. He felt a stab of guilt for testing the waters, unsure as to why exactly he’d done that, considering Mark had already staked a claim. Based on her awkwardness concerning their date, he’d thought maybe she wasn’t all that interested. But she had accepted Mark’s invitation, while she’d had no hesitation in turning his down. It wasn’t often that a woman refused him, and he almost respected it.

  Carter was also aware that despite several conversations with her now, Samantha still remained pretty much a mystery, demure and unwilling to divulge much about herself.

  He had noticed something else about her, too. When she’d bent to fix her shoe strap, the raised hem of her tee had revealed the expanse of her slender lower back. He’d gotten a partial glimpse of a rather large, exotic tattoo. It was something he hadn’t expected, not on someone who seemed so reserved. It intrigued him.

  Carter watched as she disappeared from view. He had a sixth sense about women. Something told him there was more to Samantha Marsh than met the eye.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The new psychiatrist Emily had been referred to was African-American and younger than Mark expected, with a mass of curly hair and stylish, tortoise-shell glasses. He’d been watching through an observation window as she sat with Emily on the floor of her Charleston office, using finger puppets and an elaborate three-story dollhouse that vaguely reminded Mark of his mother’s home. His cell phone rang, but instead of answering, he switched off the sound, intent on trying to discern some action in their play that might provide insight into Emily’s emotional status.

  In almost every way, she seemed like a normal child. Emily’s motor skills and development levels—with the exception of verbal—were right on target, according to the specialists’ assessments. Mark released a labored breath. Before the accident, Emily had been a talkative toddler who’d asked more questions than a wise parent should be willing to answer. Now he would give everything he had just to hear her utter a single word. Even when she cried, which wasn’t often, tears would streak silently down her cheeks. Her voiceless sobs would cause Mark’s heart to shatter.

  He tensed as the psychiatrist finally stood. Through the glass, he could hear her praising Emily and thanking her for her time. Mark prepared himself to learn the results of this latest evaluation.

  “I’d like to start seeing Emily twice a week,” Dr. Richardson said once she had entered the area where Mark was waiting. He continued to watch his daughter, who remained in the office, still absorbed in the dollhouse and its miniature people and furniture.

  “Do you have an initial assessment?”

  The psychiatrist’s curls bounced as she shook her head. “It’s really too early, I’m afraid. But I’ve been through Emily’s charts. She’s a bright child, obviously. But her inability to communicate verbally makes it more difficult to elicit information from her, which is why it’s important to engage her in play and make observations.”

  “Did you observe anything notable today?”

  Dr. Richardson hesitated. “Both the puppets and dolls are used to represent family. There’s a daddy doll, a mommy doll, and a couple of children. In both play situations, Emily took immediate ownership of the mommy doll. In fact, she refused to share it with me, even when I asked her twice. There was some obvious anxiety about relinquishing it.”

  Mark rubbed his forehead, a familiar ache inside his chest.

  Her eyes were sympathetic. “Mr. St. Clair, I’m aware of the situation surrounding your wife’s death and that it triggered Emily’s muteness. These things—extremely traumatic events in a young child’s life—can take time to work through.”

  “She’s been in extended therapy before,” Mark pointed out. “With two other child psychiatrists.”

  “I know, but I do things a little differently.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “Maybe the third time will be the charm. The key is not to give up too early. Since today was our first session, I wanted to get to know Emily alone and get her to feel comfortable with me. The next time, I’d like to observe her interaction with you.”

  Mark nodded. “Of course.”

  Dr. Richardson looked over her shoulder at Emily, making sure she was still busy with the toys. “How does she react around others?”

  “She seems fine.”

  “What about strangers?”

  “She can be a little standoffish,” Mark admitted, but then thought of Emily’s easy interaction with Samantha. In fact, it was Emily who had initiated their meeting at the Founder’s Day parade. There and at the baking party, she had seemed immediately comfortable, happy even, in Samantha’s presence. Emily had been very much okay with Carter, too, but she saw him often since he and Mercer Skyped regularly, and she had been to visit him in New York. H
e was hardly a stranger. In fact, Carter always asked to speak to her whenever he called home.

  “Well, shyness around people she doesn’t know isn’t unusual for a child her age. I’m looking for extremes in reactions.”

  “I think she behaves pretty normally.” Mark hesitated before asking the question he’d been dreading. “Emily’s supposed to be starting kindergarten—next month, actually. I’ve already gotten her registered, but…”

  “We can talk more about it after we’ve had a few sessions, but right now I doubt that Emily would fare well in a classroom. Most teachers aren’t trained to deal with children with…emotional difficulties. Holding her back a year might be advisable.” She touched the bridge of her glasses, pushing them higher on her nose. “Ideally, we’ll be able to make some progress over the next few months.”

  Dr. Richardson’s statement wasn’t entirely surprising since Mark had already considered the possibility. Still, hearing it from a professional was harder than he had expected.

  “I think a treat might help,” Mercer noted from behind the wheel of her convertible. She’d accompanied Mark and Emily to Charleston and had gone to the open-air City Market to browse the vendor stalls while they were at the psychiatry office. They’d taken her convertible and put the top down to enjoy the gorgeous Wednesday afternoon.

  Mark used the mirror on the sun visor to peer at Emily in her booster chair in the backseat. The wind whipped her golden curls.

  “Emily seems fine,” he said.

  “I’m not talking about Emily.” Mercer gave him a pointed glance. She’d tied her long, honey-blond hair into a ponytail, but it still flew around her face. “You’ve been gloomy since we left Charleston.”

  Mark didn’t respond, although he sat up a little straighter, not wanting Emily to pick up on his mood. It was a forty-minute drive back to Rarity Cove, and they were traveling along the scenic highway that ran adjacent to the ocean. Private beach homes lined the road, a few visible from the car but most of them shielded by high wooden fences. Several of the residences had signage at their driveway entrances, bearing names like A Shore Thing and The Crab Shack. Mark had been on this stretch of road so many times he knew each of them by heart. As they went past, he caught occasional flashes of white sand and the green plane of ocean in between the beach properties.