Page 29 of Tell Me Again
CHAPTER SEVEN
Several days later, Trevor was the one doing the avoiding. Although maybe he wasn’t the only one. Maybe that afternoon had shifted Sam’s world as well. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.
Nope. He was too busy shoring up all the cracks in the walls he’d built around his heart. He lifted a piece of drywall into place in the kitchen, thinking it was easier to rebuild a snow-damaged cabin than manage his own shocking response to being with Sam.
How had things gone so sideways? He was a single dad, which made him discerning in his partners, but he wasn’t a monk. He liked sex. Hell, what man didn’t like sex? He’d spent more time than he cared to admit through the years wishing that things had gone further with Sam when they were together, that he’d had that memory to carry him through.
Now he realized being with her when he was a teenager would have ruined him for any other woman.
He felt ruined.
And it pissed him off.
Sam Carlton wasn’t for him.
She was a thorn in his side, a fact that had been highlighted with laser-beam focus by his daughter, who he’d found Googling the websites of well-known modeling agencies last night when she was supposed to be studying for a science test.
He and Grace had gotten into a huge fight, one that ended with her slamming the door to her bedroom. He’d stood on the other side of the door and listened to her make a call. To Sam, of course.
He’d stomped away before he heard Grace’s response to whatever Sam was saying on the other end of the line. Even if Sam was undermining him, he knew it wouldn’t change his pounding need for her. He’d only feel like more of an idiot for wanting her.
Avoiding was easier.
Grace had begged to spend the day at the camp, helping Sam repaint the girls’ bunkroom. Balancing the schedule for the repairs with running his company was more difficult than he’d first guessed it would be, so he welcomed a chance to get ahead on the kitchen. He enjoyed losing himself in the work, the exertion and concentration it took to get everything right.
He spent too much time these days glad-handing potential clients and catering to the whims of the ones he had. He loved the craftsmanship that went into building custom homes but not always the customers who hired him. His business was close to the point where he could be more discerning in the people he chose to work for, but that hadn’t always been the case. Despite what his daughter believed, everything he did was for her, even the things that made her hate him.
Not for the first time he wished his nana was still with him. Janet Kincaid had been a lifeline for a nineteen-year-old kid raising a baby on his own and had remained his best ally until a sudden heart attack claimed her life almost two years ago.
She’d had the uncanny ability to remain calm in any situation. He’d certainly given her plenty of reasons to lose her cool once he’d come to live with her, but she never did. He needed a little of that serenity in his life and desperately wished for someone to bridge the gap that had formed between Grace and him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the way he’d seen his grandmother do a hundred times over the years when he’d challenged her.
A sound came from the doorway and he turned, half expecting to see her ghost come to visit him from the great beyond, his own bizarre version of Ebenezer Scrooge’s nighttime visions.
Instead a curvy woman with dark curls surrounding her face stared at him, a girl who looked to be a year or so older than Grace at her side. The woman gave him a tentative smile. “Hi,” she said. “You must be—”
“Is Sam in there?”
The dark-haired woman took a few steps forward as a tiny redheaded woman came barreling into the kitchen. A preteen boy, who had brown hair but was otherwise a spitting image of the redhead, followed her. Another taller woman, who looked familiar to Trevor, although he didn’t think they’d ever met, came in at the tail end of the group.
The redhead tipped her head toward Trevor. “Where’s Sam?” While it was posed as a question, it sounded like an accusation, the implication being that he might have her locked in a closet.
“She’s painting the girls’ bunkhouse,” he said, and dusted off his hands on the front of his canvas work pants.
“Is her niece with her?” the first woman asked, her voice gentler.
Too bad Trevor didn’t feel gentle right now. “My daughter is with her,” he answered.
The woman opened her mouth to respond but the redhead shook her head. “I thought you must be the one,” she said, definitely an accusation now. She turned to the two kids. “You guys find Sam and introduce yourselves to Grace. We’ll be over in a few minutes.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed at the familiar way this stranger spoke his daughter’s name, as if she knew her. As if her connection to Sam trumped the fact that he was Grace’s father.
The two kids disappeared and the tall brunette, who Trevor suddenly recognized as Kendall Clark from her role as a morning news anchor, came toward him, a friendly—if distant—smile on her face. “You must be Trevor,” she said, extending her hand.
“No, he’s the Easter Bunny,” the redhead muttered, and Kendall threw her a glare.
“I’m being polite, Jenny. You should try it.”
