Chapter Thirteen
Robyn pressed Sam Wright's door bell a third time, straining to hear it above the monotonous whine of a leaf-blower being used in a neighboring yard. She wasn't sure, but she thought she could make out its distinctive ding-ding in spite of the racket. She waited, and still there was no movement from within the house.
Glancing anxiously at her watch she noted the time. A little after two-thirty. If they didn't leave soon they would be late getting Beth from school. Maybe he was inside waiting for her, and just couldn't hear the doorbell. She was already late, and with each passing second, getting later. Decision made, she retrieved his house key from her purse and slid it into the lock.
She pushed the door opened slowly, calling Sam's name as she went. There was no response. The house looked equally as still on the inside as it had on the outside. Closing and locking the door, she moved further into the house.
She found Sam's keys on the kitchen table beside the phone book and a pink and yellow receipt carbon. A cordless phone sat atop the phone book -- its low battery light was flashing. She reflexively picked it up and placed it back into its charger.
"Sam?" She called his name again as she moved throughout the lower level of the house. He was simply not there, and her anxiety level began to grow. Sam's truck had been parked in the driveway. And the school was too far to walk. Had he found it necessary to go someplace else on foot? Surely he would have called.
Having covered all of the lower level, Robyn started up the stairs, beginning to worry in earnest. The room that she'd pegged as his was at the top of the stairs and to the right. The door was slightly ajar, making a sliver of the dimness beyond visible. Beth's door, a bathroom and a guestroom were visible further along the short hallway. Those doors were all open. And empty.
The floor creaked slightly as she crept toward Sam's door, her steps seeming strangely muffled by the distant whine of the leaf-blower. Suddenly the sound of the leaf blower cut out. The absolute quiet caused Robyn to come to a complete stop. After all of the noise, the silence was almost shocking.
Then she heard it. A soft sound, almost a moaning, coming from the direction of Sam's room. It shot a jolt of urgency through her heart. Quickening her stride, she moved along the hall toward his door.
"Sam?" She called loudly, and threw the door open. It thumped loudly against something that sat behind it. She would later discover that it was one of Sam's shoes. But her immediate attention was caught by Sam, a towel wrapped around his waist, as he shot upright in bed.
Terror filled eyes met hers, and then he startled again, reflexively sliding backward on the bed, nearly losing the towel. He grabbed at it and came to a stop as sanity returned. But his chest still heaved as he tried to catch his breath.
Robyn stared, utterly speechless as she realized that she had frightened him out of a dream. His hair was still damp, and the room, in retrospect, still smelled of soap from a recent shower. Apparently he had sat on the edge of the bed after that shower and fallen asleep. Robyn felt like an idiot. And idiot who couldn't take her eyes off of him.
"I--um, we have to get Beth in twenty minutes," she managed, feeling her face flushing with heat. "Sorry. I'm be downstairs." Slamming the door shut before Sam could manage a reply, she made for the steps and the kitchen.
That was stupid, she chided herself as she went frantically about the task of straightening up the dining room and kitchen areas. She couldn't remember ever losing her composure so completely before. She was always calm and level-headed. And it wasn't as if she'd never seen a half-naked man before.
But Sam Wright was beautiful. Her hands stilled in the act of wiping down the counter as she remembered his chest: broad shouldered and nicely muscled, tapering down to a narrow waist and hips. The white towel contrasted with his naturally dark skin before offering a view of leanly muscled thighs and calves.
She was brought out of her musings by the man himself as he came noisily down the stairs. She spun toward the sound and fought to meet his gaze as he came into the kitchen. She was determined to be an adult about the entire situation.
His eyes, she noted, were a cloudy blue and there were circles beneath them. His gaze lingered for several moments, his expression absolutely unreadable. But it left her feeling almost as if she'd been touched. Then he looked downward and picked up his keys.
"I'll drive," he told her.
Robyn nodded her acceptance of the plan. "All right. We'd better get going."