unfinished business

Chapter Nine

Robyn glanced toward the clock as she quickly slathered another piece of bread with a butter and garlic mixture. If her calculations were correct, Sam should be home in the next few minutes. She'd hoped to have everything ready by the time he arrived. Not that it had been her intention to cook for him, per se. But Beth had been hungry, and it simply hadn't sat well with her to serve the child more cookies. Not that assembling something that resembled her idea of a meal based solely on the contents of the refrigerator was an easy task. But she'd managed despite the challenge.

Either she had stumbled upon another man, who, like her father, hated the grocery store, or else he simply didn't understand the concept. It amused her to think that he had that in common with her father, but she felt that reality leaned toward missing the point of the concept. For there was food in the Wright refrigerator. Lots of it. Most of it frozen and already cooked, waiting only for a microwave. She suspected that the top of the line model nestled on the cart in the corner got quite a work out. She hadn't any intention of touching a single button on its keypad unless popcorn was on the menu.

She made quick work of finishing up on the bread before sliding it, untoasted, into the refrigerator. She was place the large slices into the over as soon as Sam arrived. Her next task was to clean up the remaining utensils that she'd used during preparation. It wouldn't do to trash the man's kitchen. As she cleaned the items in the soapy water, she allowed her mind drift to the first minutes she'd spent in the Wright home.

The new key had worked perfectly, but she would definitely recommend an alarm system when she got the chance. A short foyer opened to a livingroom to the right and a formal dining room to the left. A flight of stairs and then the den lay farther ahead. Through the dining room a door way led to a large kitchen and then on to another entrance to the den.

She remembered thinking that it was a 'quiet' home -- nothing really jumped out at a person. But it still left her with the odd sensation that the furnishings hadn't been seriously considered in years. It was as if everything was in waiting. The refrigerator still contained a set of magnets in the shape of sunflowers bearing the laughing faces of a younger Sam and a beautiful blonde. This had to be the wife who'd fallen into drug addiction.

There were other items, too, that made Robyn feel as if they were from a past that still very much affected the present. The only room on the lower level that really reflected what Robyn perceived as the here and now was the den. It was alive with the personalities of the occupants of the house.

Pictures of Beth at all stages of growth were scattered about. Several trade magazines were stacked on a side table along with a half completed model airplane. Across from the sofa was an entertainment center that encompassed all of the wall space on that side of the room. It was filled with electronic equipment and an impressive collection of Disney movies and other recorded media. She could tell that Sam liked blues, classic rock and the occasional new age selection. Reading material tended toward political thrillers and mysteries. Off the den, another door lead to a laundry room, and a sliding glass patio door opened out onto a deck.

This was the room, she'd felt sure, where father and daughter spent a lot of time. There was warmth in this room, and it added to the list of things she was learning about Sam Wright. She liked what she saw. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The sound of keys in a lock brought her out of her thoughts. Sam was home.

The first thing that hit Sam was the smell. It was like stepping into an Italian restaurant. The aroma and the accompanying warmth washed over him in waves, making him feel, for just a moment as if he were being welcomed home to family and friends. He belonged. He was loved, cherished. The feeling was intense, completely banishing the mild edge of apprehension that had followed him all of the way from work.

He blinked and reminded himself that it wasn't real. He wasn't married; he didn't have a wife, or anyone else who would make sure that there was something warm and wonderful waiting for him when he got home. Robyn was the hired help, here to care for his daughter only. He had to make her see that. He couldn't afford any unnecessary entanglements.

Closing the door behind himself with renewed determination, he followed the smells toward their source. He found Beth first. She was seated at the dining room table, concentrating on forming her letters just so on the lined white paper. He stopped and just looked at her. Again the coziness of the atmosphere assailed him. A woman and his daughter there anticipating his arrival. He could almost pretend that there wasn't a deeper reason for the woman's presence in his home.

"Hi Daddy," Beth spoke without looking up. "Robyn helped me with my homework."

"Oh she did, did she?" Sam asked, looking beyond his daughter to where the object of the conversation had appeared at the doorway from the kitchen. She leaned slightly against the door frame, a towel clasped in her hand. She'd pinned her hair up, but wisps escaped to frame her face with auburn tendrils. An old apron was tied around her waist, accentuating her slimness. Below the hem of the apron thin slacks and bare feet were visible. Pale pink toenails were visible through translucent hose.

Something within him tightened. She looked so comfortable, so at home in his home. His eyes locked on hers and the tightness increased, he felt as if he were choking. All of his defenses kicked in, causing him to react with something akin to anger.

"Other room?" he jerked his head in the direction of the den. He kept his voice soft and low, hoping to disguise the emotions that were rushing through his system. He didn't want to upset his daughter. But she looked up at him curiously anyway. Sometimes she was too "old" for her own good.

"Okay." Robyn's response was equally soft. "Just let me get the bread out." She turned back into the kitchen where she carefully removed a sheet containing golden brown slices of garlic toast from the oven. Several other dishes were sitting out, ready and waiting to be served. Sam's rebellious stomach chose that moment to loudly declare where its priorities were.

Momentarily distracted, he blinked in surprise when she turned to face him and announced that she was ready. Removing the apron as she went, she led the way to the den. He followed, appalled at how much he liked the way she moved. That brought his irritation level back to where it was before he'd set eyes on the food.

Robyn spoke as she turned back to face him. "Before I forget. Your neighbor, Mrs. Parker, was very curious about my presence here. I only told her that I'm a family friend and that I might be in and out for a while. Stern woman. I think she'll be watching to see when I leave."

Sam's irritation was derailed again as he got a mental image of Mrs. Parker descending on Robyn Sommers. And he could imagine the older woman's reaction if she'd only managed to get that bit of information out of her. Stern was the understatement of the day. He was going to have to share that one with Mark.

"We refer to her affectionately as the neighborhood watch. . . er," Sam found himself confiding.

Robyn's mouth played at a smile. "Big mother is watching?"

"Something like that," Sam chuckled, but then forced himself to get back to the issue at hand. He was in danger of enjoying this little side conversation too much.

"The reason I wanted to speak to you privately," he started, "was to talk about your duties here. I don't expect you to cook dinner for me, and you're not obligated to help my daughter with her homework. You're simply here to keep her safe. And to be quite frank, I'm not even sure if that's necessary. My ex does tend to come to her senses eventually, and she'd never intentionally hurt Beth."

She stared at him a long moment before responding. "Sam, I'm not here to upset you. I'm here for your peace of mind. I apologize for overstepping my boundaries. I wouldn't want to do that.

"But, your daughter was hungry and it was late. I'm going to have to admit that its hard to give a child cookies at seven in the evening when I can just as easily cook dinner. But if that's what you want, I will. She's your daughter. I understand that. "

Sam could find no reasonable way to defend junk food. Besides, what reasonable parent wouldn't want their kid to have a hot meal? But that wasn't the point. The point was that she, Robyn Sommers, didn't have to go out of her way to cook it, and he told her so.

She smiled. "It was no problem, really. I love to cook. I have a cooking show fetish like you can't imagine."

Sam gave in and smiled back at her. There was no wind left in his sails, anyway. He'd simply have to make sure to be home on time in the future so that the issue wouldn't arise again. "I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you've done. I do appreciate it."

"I know you do," she assured him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "I could tell by the way you were practically salivating in the kitchen."

He stared at her a little surprised. He hadn't been expecting her to say anything like that.

She laughed, then smiled sweetly at him as she moved toward a corner and slipped her feet into her shoes. "Everything is ready. All you have to do is dig in." She moved about the room grabbing up her things, continuing to speak as she went.

"Oh, and the school wouldn't allow Mark to change your release preferences. You're going to have to go personally to authorize me."

Sam nodded, following her movements. "We can do it tomorrow." He felt an odd sensation, one that he hadn't felt in a long while. He didn't want her to go just yet. He told himself that it was because she'd cooked it would simply be poor etiquette not to invite her eat. That was his excuse anyway. He felt lightened by her acceptance.

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