Page 53 of Wishing Hearts

“It’s taking forever,” she whines.

Sam grins my way before grabbing a plated sandwich from the counter. “Good things take time, li’l miss,” he says. Looking my parents’ way, he adds, “Thanks for the sandwiches, Mr. and Mrs. Bailey.”

“Oh, Sammy,” my mom says, walking over and squeezing Sam’s shoulder. “Aren’t you just precious?”

Sam’s nose wrinkles up with his smile, and I cover my laugh. My God, he is precious. Among many other things.

As everyone takes a seat around the big kitchen table, Sam and my dad chatting about the Houston Astros, of all things, I have a brief moment of suspended disbelief. The sun shines in from the southern-facing window, adding light to the white pine table. There’s a bird chirping not far off outside, its cadence happy among the rustle of wind. And in front of me sits my family.

My family and Sam, who looks entirely at ease after spontaneously meeting my parents just this morning. Sam, who has a big smile on his face, and who, without skipping a beat, convinces my daughter to eat a carrot because I bet I can get mine to crunch louder than yours, li’l miss. Sam, this man I wasn’t expecting, who looks like every wet dream of mine brought to life, but who cares in a way I haven’t let myself dream about in a very long time.

I think I could fall for Sam.

“Gonna join us, Harrison?” the very man asks, head tilted, grin out in full force.

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing the last sandwich and heading to the table. “I’m here.”

“Good Lord,” Sam says, leaning against the wood plank in his hands. “I haven’t sweat this much in forever. Even the sheep weren’t this exhaustin’.”

I give Sam a once-over. “I didn’t know you were capable of tiring out,” I admit.

Sam huffs a laugh. “Perfectly capable. Why, were you thinkin’ of testin’ my stamina?”

He waggles his eyebrows, and I shake my head. Sam has been running his beautiful mouth all day.

Haven’t minded it one bit.

“We should call it soon,” I say from my spot on the ground before cutting the final wall board to size. We’ve been working on constructing the walls, getting them put together so once the base is built, we can assemble the rest quickly. The base has to wait until the cement is dry, so we’ll be doing that another day.

“Yeah, we should,” Sam agrees, looking toward the back of the house. “It’s nearly suppertime. Your folks… They really don’t mind helpin’ out, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” I tell him, standing upright and wiping my hands on my jeans. “I feel guilty relying on them so much, but they do love being around, and they watch Winnie every day after school. They actually moved here just after Winnie was born. Wanted to be close.”

“That’s real nice,” Sam says softly. “I’m glad Winnie has ’em. Glad you do, too.”

“Yeah,” I agree, watching Sam closely. His eyes look a little hazy, and I wonder what he’s thinking about. “Did you…have anyone you were close to growing up?”

Sam’s lips twitch into a sad smile. “Not really. I had foster carers, like I told you, all over the state.”

“Including in Plum Valley when you were nine,” I recall.

“Mhm.” Sam nods, seemingly pleased I remembered. “But none of my placements lasted very long. There were foster siblings, too, but it was the same thing. No one stuck.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” I say gently.

“I appreciate that, Harrison, but it’s been a long time since I was in the system. I’m not hangin’ onto those memories in a bad way. It was what it was, and there were positives. Learned a lotta neat tricks.”

“Like rodeo?” I ask.

“And how to wield a hammer,” he adds with a grin before sobering. “Besides, I’ve got Tilda and Carl now. They stuck, and I think that’s what counts, don’t you? Family isn’t given. It’s earned.”

I nod, swallowing down the tightness in my throat. Sam’s sentiment hits closer to home than I’m sure he realizes.

“Yeah,” I tell the softhearted man. “I think that’s what counts. You, uh, wanna help me get this saw back into the shed?”

“You got it,” Sam says, setting down the board in his hands. Together, we lift the portable saw and carry it inside. I’m about to head back out the door when Sam’s touch stops me. “Harrison,” he says, pulling me gently back his way.

I go willingly. “Yeah?”

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