“I told you, he’s a very smart dog. And it’s okay if he has a slice of French toast. Is the coffee ready yet?”
“Help yourself. Mugs are in there.” Sam angled his head to indicate the cupboard.
“Thanks.”
She opened the door of the cupboard and took down a mug. “Can I pour you another cup?”
“Yes, thanks.” He scrutinized her closely. “Any more dreams?”
“None that involved Grady Hastings, thank goodness.” She picked up the pot. “You?”
“None that involved Cassidy. I told you, we just need to perfect the experiment.”
“Mmm.”She poured the coffee, trying to think of what to say next.
“You’re not real good with the morning-after conversation, are you?” Sam said. “Yesterday I made allowances because your brother arrived.”
“Stepbrother,” she corrected automatically.
“But this morning we’ve got time to talk.”
She sipped some coffee. “I thought men didn’t like the morning-after conversation.”
He flashed her a wickedly sexy grin. “Depends on what actually happened the night before.”
She flushed. “In our case, there always seems to be a lot going on the night before. There was me almost setting fire to a red-hot book in my bedroom. A midnight intruder. Bad dreams. A vault full of weird paranormal rocks with unknown powers. To say nothing of the stress of some of our precoital activities, such as finding a body and escaping a carjacking and kidnapping.”
“Our relationship sure as hell hasn’t proceeded along a normal path. I’ll give you that.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Maybe that’s why I’m not sure how to have a morning-after conversation with you. Or maybe I simply haven’t had a lot of experience in that department. I’ve had a few relationships, including one or two that I thought might have the potential to go the distance. But they’ve never lasted long, and I somehow know that going in, so I try not to get overly committed. For some reason, not spending the entire night with someone has always been my way of drawing the line.”
“As long as you don’t have to face him at breakfast, you can tell yourself it was just a date, not a relationship, is that it?” Sam asked.
“Something like that, yes. According to the counselors at the Summerlight Academy, I have serious trust issues. My father the shrink says I have commitment issues. The combination makes for a one-two punch when it comes to relationships.”
Sam shoveled large stacks of French toast onto two plates. “Well, the counselors and your father sure got the diagnosis wrong, didn’t they?”
She sputtered on a sip of coffee. “What?”
He put the frying pan down on the stone counter. “You don’t have trust issues. You’re just real careful about whom you trust. And you don’t have commitment issues. You’ve made plenty of commitments, and you’ve stuck to them.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Years ago, you formed solid friendships with Gwen Frazier and Nick Sawyer. You’ve maintained those friendships for years. You trust both Gwen and Nick. You made friends with Thaddeus Webber, a reclusive, highly eccentric old man who trusted almost no one. But he entrusted you with his secrets, and you kept those secrets. You dutifully appear in book cover photographs to help your father uphold the image of the modern family by choice, even though it wasn’t yourfamily of choice. And last but by no means least, you are one hundred percent committed to your dog.”
She looked at Newton. “One hundred and ten percent.”
“See?” Sam set one slice of toast aside to cool. “You can and do make commitments. Ergo, the shrinks at the Summerlight Academy and your father have never fully comprehended you or your issues. But you already know that.”
She blinked. “Ergo?”
“It’s a technical term.” Sam carried the plates to the table. “Thus ends the lecture for this morning. Let’s eat.”
She went to the table, sat down and studied the French toast. Each slice was thick and puffy and golden brown.
“This is the most beautiful French toast I have ever seen,” she said.
“You are obviously hungry.”
“Yes, I am. Starving, actually.”
One thing about her association with Sam, she thought. She was getting plenty of exercise and burning a lot of calories.
She spread a large pat of butter on the French toast and poured some of the syrup over the top. Working carefully, she forked up a slice of the toast. She munched and swallowed. And immediately went back for another bite. And another.
They ate in a surprisingly companionable silence for a while, no conversation required.
Eventually, Abby put down her fork and picked up her coffee mug. “What about you?” she asked.
Sam paused the fork halfway to his mouth and gave her a look of polite inquiry. “Me?”
“You obviously know how to make commitments. You’re certainly committed to keeping the secret of the Phoenix stones.”
“So?” He ate the bite of French toast.
“What happened with Cassidy? You said yourself that the two of you were very involved, to the point where many people assumed that you were either engaged or about to be engaged.”
Sam lounged back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table. “The answer is that I did consider marriage for a time. Everything about the relationship with Cassidy seemed perfect, maybe a little too perfect. But something was missing. I kept waiting for the click, you know?”
“The click?”
“The sense that this is the one. I never got it with Cassidy. All I can tell you is that while I was away on that last job with the private contractor, I came to the conclusion that it was time to end things with her.”
“Instead, you came home to find her body in the lab.” Sudden comprehension flashed through Abby. “That’s when you made your real commitment to her. You committed yourself to finding her killer.”
“She wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t been dating me,” Sam said. “It was our relationship that put her in harm’s way. I’ve known that since the night she was murdered.”
“But if she seduced you and set you up for the theft of the stones…”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m the one who asked her out on that first date at the gem-and-mineral show. I’m the one who introduced her to Frye. And I’m the one who continued to date her, even after she was hired.”
“I understand.”
Sam watched her for a long moment.
“Yes,” he said. “I can see that you do. You’re the only one who does. I’ll get some more coffee.”
He went to the counter and picked up the pot. He used his free hand to toss a slice of cooled French toast in Newton’s general direction. Newton made an agile leap and snatched the toast out of midair.
Abby’s phone chimed. She picked it up and glanced at the unfamiliar number.
“I can’t imagine who this could be,” she said.
She stabbed the connect key.
“Yes?” she said.
“Abigail? Is that you?”
Orinda Strickland spoke in the same clipped, cold, supercilious manner that had frightened the thirteen-year-old Abby. Orinda was no less daunting now that she was in her eighties, but there was a faint rasp that betrayed her age and something else. It took Abby a few seconds to find the right word. Panic.It was Orinda who was terrified today, and trying desperately to conceal it.
Abby took a deep breath and silently repeated her mantra. Show no weakness.
“Mrs. Strickland. What a surprise. I didn’t know you had this number.”
“I got it from Dawson.”
“I see. Did someone die?”
“That is not amusing.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. I just can’t imagine any other reason why you would want to get in touch with me.”
“Nonsense,” Orinda snapped. “You’re family. Why wouldn’t I want to keep in touch?”