His mouth tightened into a straight, grim line. “Well, at least you have a sense of duty, if not love, for your family.”
His disapproval sent a quiver of shame through her. She was there out of a sense of duty. She’d known how difficult it was going to be to come home, but also knew she had no choice with her father having died.
She glanced at the door. What was taking Mom so long? Sitting here alone with Travis was making her twitchy and jittery. Not that being with her mother was any more comfortable.
She sipped her coffee, looked at Travis over the rim of the cup. He was watching her mouth purse on the edge of the cup, and her hand trembled, sloshing coffee over the rim and onto her skirt. She looked down at the wet spot on the pale gray fabric. Just what she needed, more embarrassment in front of Travis. As if she hadn’t been humiliated enough at his hands.
“Here.” He stood up and reached across the ottoman to hand her a pretty paper napkin that matched the bright coral and yellow of the Mexican pottery cups they’d been drinking from. She snatched it out of his hand and pressed it to the spot, heat sliding over her.
Why, why, was he affecting her like this? After all those years?
“Did you burn yourself?” he asked.
“No.” Like she’d admit if she had. She crumpled the napkin and tossed it onto the tray.
Mom returned at that moment, her eyes, nose and cheeks rosy. “Well,” she said, in her soft voice. “Alec and Hank are gone. That was nice of them to drop by.” She looked at Travis. “You too, Travis.”
“It’s no trouble, Dayna.” He stood and moved toward her. “Of course I’d come. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
She nodded, her mouth trembling a little. “And thank you for coming too, Samara.”
Samara lifted her eyes to the grief and gratitude in her mother’s face. Then she watched as Travis bent his head low and murmured something in Dayna’s ear. More memories, more hurt slashed through her.
“Where is your suitcase, Sam?” Mom now asked. “Travis will take it up to your room for you.”
Samara just stared at them blankly for a moment. “Oh. It’s still in my car. I won’t be staying here.”
Dayna’s face fell. “What? But of course you will! This is your home!”
“No. My home is my apartment in San Francisco.” She pressed her lips together.
“But...Samara...where will you stay?”
“At a hotel. I’m sure I can find a room somewhere in town.”
Dayna shook her head, her face pinched with hurt. “Oh, Samara. Please, stay here.”
Once again Samara felt an unwilling softening inside her. She didn’t want to stay there, but she read the fragility in her mother’s expression.
“Samara.” Travis’s deep voice snagged her attention, and she met his eyes. “You need to be with family at a time like this.”
“I’ll be fine at a hotel.”
Travis’s eyes flashed, and he tipped his head. “Maybe you’ll be fine, but what about your mother?”
He was standing there, beside her mother, taking her side, looking out for her, caring for her, and disappointment and hurt jabbed at Samara, a sharp blade slicing open an old wound. “I’m sure Mom will be fine without me. And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
“Samara!” Her mother gazed at her open-mouthed.
Samara pressed her lips together briefly. “I’m sorry. But I’m an adult, Mother, and I’ll stay where I want to stay.” The silence stretched out long and taut, the thudding of her heart loud in her ears.
“You’re right,” her mother finally said, straightening her small shoulders. “You are an adult now. But I’m your mother. I will always be your mother. And I will always tell you when you’re being rude, whether you like it or not, no matter how happy I am to see you, and right now you are being rude.” She met Samara’s eyes, and Samara blinked in surprise. Out of the corner of her eye, Samara caught Travis’s mouth twitching, and heat washed into her cheeks.
“Sam. Please.”
Samara couldn’t bear to look at the pleading in her mother’s eyes. She thought about Travis’s assertion that her mother needed her there. It was true. “Fine. I’ll stay here.” But she also knew that wasn’t all her mother was pleading with her about.
“Good,” her mother said quietly. “Travis, could you get her suitcase?”
“I can carry my own suitcase.” Samara stood.
“I’ll get it,” Travis snapped. “Give me your keys.”
She stared at him. “Um...pretty sure I already asked this question, and pretty sure I didn’t get a good answer, but who are you to tell me what to do?”
His narrow-eyed gaze pinned her, his square jaw stone-hard. “Please give me your keys, Samara, and I’ll get your suitcase for you. And you’re welcome.”
They stood there facing each other. Mom hovered nearby. They both ignored her. Travis held out a hand. And waited.
Samara fought down the surge of frustration. Her mother had chastised her like a child, and now Travis was ordering her around like he was her father. Damn him.
She reached for her purse, dug out her car keys and thrust them at him. Without a word he turned and left the room.
“We need to talk, Samara,” her mother said quietly. “Maybe now isn’t the time. But before you leave...”
Samara’s insides twisted in knots at the thought. She’d rather chew her arm off than have that conversation, but again, she had to put aside all that old crap and deal with what was important at that moment. “We’ll see,” she said, just as quietly. “What about the funeral? When will it be?”
“I thought Friday would be a good day. That will allow Greg and Leila and the kids time to get here from New York as well as any of the other out-of-town executives if they want to attend.” She paused, her head bent. “I’ll get Ava to make up the bed in your room,” she continued, her voice determinedly steady. “And I’ll just go let her know that you and Travis will both be staying for dinner.” She hurried out of the room, her small slender figure outlined in the black sleeveless dress she wore. She was still so perfect.
As a young girl, Samara had admired her mother— so beautiful and charming, graciously hosting dinners and parties in their home. She’d never had to work outside the home, thanks to the success of Cedar Mill Coffee, and had been able to devote herself to her husband and her daughter and the charitable organizations she and Parker had chosen to support. It wasn’t until Samara was older that she’d realized her mother relied so heavily on her husband. Other friends had mothers who worked outside the home, mothers who were lawyers or doctors or even just worked at Macy’s. Samara knew her mother didn’t have to work, and that was fine, but her mother didn’t make a single decision without her husband’s input. Her love and devotion to her husband and their life together had been wonderful, but Samara always wished her mom would be a little more independent. In a million years, never would Samara have worried about her mother cheating on her husband.
Alone in the room, Samara sank back down into her chair and took in a long, shaky breath. Well, that had gone well. Not. She snorted at herself.
She rubbed her forehead and squeezed her eyes closed, trying to focus on breathing. Dinner with Travis and her mom was going to be as much fun as dental surgery.
After a moment she had a feeling of being watched, and she lifted her head to see Travis standing there holding her suitcase.
“Are you...”
“Don’t say it!” She jumped to her feet. “I’m fine. I’ll show you my room.” Damn. That sounded disturbingly intimate. But trying to reword it would just draw attention to her poor choice of words, so she brushed by him to lead the way upstairs.