Since there wasn’t a lot of stuff, Sam and Kyle didn’t have to haul any in Sam’s rental SUV or Kyle’s car, only Dad had to make the trip. So Sam loaded up our suitcases, I grabbed Memphis and we went right to Paula and Rudy’s. My car was already stowed in Mom and Dad’s back shed so I went with Sam.
In the SUV, I’d asked, “So, what was with the powwow?”
Sam’s reply?
“Later, baby.”
It was said gentle, sweet but still, it upset me. As far as I knew, he hadn’t had a face-to-face with them since we got there but I wouldn’t really know since he never told me anything. They’d talked on the phone often but one thing I did know was they had not approached the house. Not to mention, it wasn’t one of them, it was both.
This made me think they had something important to say.
And when Dad got to Paula and Rudy’s, I knew they did because Sam left it for approximately two point five minutes before he negotiated a private huddle with Dad and Kyle, sans me.
I’d let it go in the car because my head was hurting even more and I had to keep a lock on my reaction because I didn’t want to get emotional however that emotional might be, either losing it and snapping at him or losing it and getting teary.
After the huddle, even with my head still throbbing, I’d picked my moment and caught Sam when we could be alone.
“Is something up that I should know?” I asked.
Again gentle and sweet, he lifted his hand, cupped my jaw, his head dipped close and he whispered, “Now’s not the time, honey. Later.”
Then he’d kissed my nose, his hand fell away and then he moved away.
The good news was, he didn’t seem wired and worried. Neither did my Dad and Kyle. In fact, studying my father and brother, they seemed more at-ease then they’d been for ages.
So, clearly, nothing dire had happened.
The bad news was, if it was nothing bad, I didn’t get why Sam wouldn’t tell me.
As I stared out the window, I felt Sam fit his body to the back of mine and his arms went around me. Then I felt his jaw settle at the side of my head.
“Important day for you,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“It’s done,” he stated.
“Yeah,” I repeated.
His arms gave me a squeeze and didn’t let go. He was quiet. So was I.
I waited for him to say something. We had time. It wasn’t early, it wasn’t late. It was just us. Until we had to be at the airport to check in our bags and Memphis for our flight which didn’t leave until eleven, we had nothing to do but be.
He didn’t say anything.
Neither did I.
But I felt my head start pounding.
Before I could figure out what to say, Sam spoke.
“Get ready for bed, relax. I’m gonna take Memphis down and give her a walk. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s her leash?”
“In my overnight bag.”
His jaw went away and his lips swept my neck. Then he let me go.
I turned and watched him dig through my bag and nab the leash. Memphis went mental at seeing it, Sam clipped it on and then he gave me a smile and chin lift (Memphis gave me a yap) and he was out the door.
I turned back to the window but I closed my eyes against the view.
Everything Sam danced across the backs of my eyelids. All of it, except what happened last night, was beautiful.
I opened my eyes and stared at a view I knew cost more than the average room, something else Sam gave to me since he was paying for it, like everything else.
And seeing that view, knowing he knew I had a headache so he was taking care of my dog, surmising that he was giving me quiet time to reflect on my “important day”, thinking of all that was him and that very day getting rid of everything that had anything to do with the hell I’d lived in my years of Cooter, I could not believe I wanted more.
But I couldn’t help it.
I did.
When it came to Sam, I wanted everything.
And I was beginning to fear he wasn’t going to give it to me.
Chapter Eighteen
Rangers
My headache was gone.
And without the throbbing, a yard sale, my friends and family and with it being the next day, nothing but Sam and me, waiting around, standing in line, hanging in departure lounges (the swish ones where the rich and famous hung which was to say where Sam hung and, now, me) and sitting on planes, I was no longer confused and concerned and trying to talk myself into being fearless.
I was pissed.
This was because Sam had plenty of opportunity to bring up any of a variety of topics, first and foremost whatever he spoke with Lee and Tanner about the day before.
But he didn’t.
In fact, although still unfailingly courteous and demonstrative with affection – holding hands, sitting in the lounge with his arm slung around the back of my seat, reading his Sports Illustrated on the plane with one hand resting on my thigh – he was mostly quiet. He was doing that being aware of his surroundings thing again, this likely because he could not fly with a firearm and the bodyguard who was coming with us (the other one was driving) who, unlike us, was flying coach and couldn’t get into the rich and famous departure lounge, was also unarmed and not with us the whole time.
Though I guessed this, obviously, since Sam didn’t tell me he had any concerns.
I spent this time mostly thinking about everything that crowded my head.
Then I spent it getting pissed about it.
Firstly, it was my life in danger and I felt I should be kept apprised of that situation. Sure, I’d had a tough time with Cooter. And sure, when Sam and I met I’d had my fair share of dramas. But since Crete, I’d been me, moving onward, dealing with things, getting on with life and doing all of this totally drama free. Sam noticed everything, he had to have noticed things had evened out for me and, if I did say so myself, I was handling everything pretty freaking well.
Secondly, in the beginning I’d been clear several times when I didn’t feel like sharing. But Sam didn’t accept that. He pushed it and got what he wanted. When I pushed it, he shut me out.
Rudely and hurtfully.
And he didn’t even mention that night, turning his back on me, falling asleep at my side for the first time since we were together without me tucked close. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t explain. He just went on like it didn’t happen.
And as our plane touched down in Raleigh, I decided… no.
That was not acceptable.
I was not able to share my feelings with Sam as a captive audience in a car however. This was because Sam’s friend “Hap” was picking us up.
“Hap”, Sam had shared with me (a miracle!), was an Army buddy who was still in the Army. Hap had dropped Sam off when he went to Italy, Hap had looked after Sam’s house while he was gone and Hap was picking us up.
And Hap, I suspected (though wasn’t told) would be bringing Sam his hardware or carrying himself.
Hap’s nickname was short for Hap’s other nickname, “Happy”. Hap’s real name was George Cunningham.
And, waiting for us at baggage claim, I found Hap was a good-looking, five foot eleven, brown-crew-cut-haired, smiley-brown-eyed mass of compact but bulky muscle. So much of it, it had grown up his neck so he no longer had one.
“Dude!” he’d shouted so loud several people jumped and turned to look or, that was to say, those who weren’t already staring at Sam started staring at all of us.
Then he treated Sam to a man hug that included back pounding that was so hard I winced at the thuds. They separated and Hap stepped back a foot then faked a one-two punch combo to Sam’s body which Sam didn’t pretend to deflect, he just grinned down at his friend.
Then Sam turned and started, “Hap, this is –”
But he got no further, Hap’s dancing brown eyes came to me and he finished for Sam, “Your seriously fine piece of ass.
”
I blinked.
Sam tipped his head back to study the ceiling.
Before I could recover and decide whether to be amused or offended, two iron arms closed around me, I was lifted clean off my feet and shaken about seven times.
“For fuck’s sake, Hap, put Kia down,” Sam growled.
I landed on my flip-flops with a body jarring thud but could not get away even though Hap’s arms went from around me. This was because his hands clamped on my jaw and he grinned huge in my face.
“Babe, you… are… seriously… fine. Shit!” he declared.
“Uh… thanks?” I couldn’t help it. It came out as a question.
He didn’t answer. He let me go but didn’t step back, only leaned back, doing a head-to-toe and back again then he asked curiously, “Now, who would wanna take out a fine piece of ass like this?”
As I suspected, Hap had been briefed.
“Bud, let it go once, that’s twice. There won’t be a third time.” Sam was still growling but it wasn’t a semi-amused, semi-annoyed growl. This one was full on annoyed.
Hap stepped back and tossed Sam a big smile.
Then he looked back at me and stated, “Luci says you’re not only not hard on the eyes but also you’re the freakin’ shit.”
“That’s nice since I think the same way of Luci,” I replied.
“Everyone does,” he told me. “When Gordo landed her…” he trailed off and whistled, feeling this said it all because he strangely (and crudely, I might add) went on with, “Couldn’t even jack off to pictures of her anymore. Gordo could sense that shit and he’d rip your dick off but he’d use your throat to get to it.”
I wasn’t sure but I thought my mouth had dropped open.
Hap finished with, “Sucked.”
“I, uh… bet,” I agreed.
“All right,” Sam got close and claimed me with an arm around my shoulders, curling in and tucking me to his hard side, “not sure you noticed but we’re in baggage claim, not a locker room. And even if we were in a locker room, not feelin’ happy vibes you’re not checkin’ that shit around my woman. So, I’ll say it once, be cool.”
“Dude, calm down,” Hap, apparently and surprisingly unafraid of Sam’s tone, replied at the same time pressing his hands down. “Kia and me, we’re just gettin’ the feel of one another.”
“Since I got a choice, and I do, I’ll tell you to give Kia a different feel for you, one that doesn’t make you look like an asshole,” Sam returned.
Hap turned his unwavering grin to me. “He wants me to make a good impression so you don’t think he’s a dick because I’m a dick.”
“Yeah,” Sam concurred, “that’d be good.”
“He’s not a dick,” Hap assured me.
“I, um… kinda already noticed that,” I replied.
Hap’s grin got bigger. Sam’s arm got tighter.
“Me, the jury’s still out seein’ as I haven’t nailed down a fine piece of ass like you or Luci,” Hap shared.
“Just a bit of friendly advice, you want one, you might want to stop calling us pieces of ass,” I shared in return.
Hap smiled wide.
I couldn’t help it, this guy was so rough around the edges he was jagged. Still, I liked him.
So I smiled back.
Luckily at this juncture the baggage claim started rolling.
We got our bags, or, I should say, Sam and Hap got our bags. I didn’t even carry my carry on and this was because Hap divested me of it. Then we walked to the counter where we could claim Memphis.
They put her doggie crate on the counter and I leaned down to coo through the gate at her.
Memphis yapped, her body vibrating and her tongue trying to lick me through the metal.
There it was. Just like Memphis, her first plane ride didn’t faze her. She was clearly no worse for the wear.
On this relieved thought, I heard Hap exclaim, “Jesus, what the fuck is that?”
I straightened and looked him. “It’s my dog, Memphis.”
“That is not a dog,” Hap declared and I stared at him.
“She is. She’s a King Charles Spaniel,” I informed him.
Hap didn’t tear his eyes away from the crate when he announced scornfully through a lip curl, “She’s a big, brown and white rat with creepy eyes.”
Ohmigod!
Memphis’s eyes weren’t creepy! They were cute!
“She is not,” I returned.
Hap looked at Sam. “Are you sayin’ that thing is gonna be in my truck?”
I put my hands to my hips. “She’s not a thing, she’s a dog. My dog.”
Hap’s eyes came to me. “Babe, you got bad guys after you. A rat won’t do shit to a bad guy unless it’s got fleas or is carrying the plague. You need a dog with balls. A German Shepherd. A Doberman. A Rottie.”
Memphis yapped though I couldn’t read if her yap was agreeing with Hap or if she was offended.
As for me, I decided I was pissed again, this time at Hap.
Before I could give Hap indication of my mood, Sam stepped in.
“First, yeah, Hap, Memphis is gonna be in your truck. Second, we got folks bearin’ down on us and I’m not in the mood to sign autographs. I’m in the mood to sit on my deck and drink a beer. And last, we got a dog who’s been cooped up for awhile so we need to get her some time with some grass.”
I glanced around and saw two huddles of people eyeing us. One had decided on an approach and had instigated it, one was still considering it.
I turned from them and gave Hap a glare. Hap gave me a grin. I ignored it, grabbed the handle to Memphis’s crate and stomped with Hap and Sam to the parking garage.
We luckily escaped the approach of the autograph seekers and made it to the garage unmolested. Sam and Hap loaded our bags in the back of Hap’s SUV. I loaded Memphis and I in the backseat. Sam climbed in front, Hap behind the wheel and away we went.
It was, unfortunately, over a two hour drive from Raleigh to Sam’s place at Kingston Beach which was outside Wilmington. After his time being stationed in Georgia, Sam had been, and Hap still was, stationed at Fort Bragg in Fayetteville where Hap lived. Sam had a place there when he was active duty but also had his place at the beach. Since Sam was discharged, he’d sold his place close to the base and now just had the house in Kingston.
As soon as he could, Hap stopped so we could let Memphis have a wander and take care of business. And, since I’d never been to North Carolina, the first half hour of the trip was interesting. This was not only taking in the passing landscape but also listening to Hap gab nonstop to Sam, filling him in on stuff that had happened with mutual friends while Sam had been gone, hearing names I’d heard in passing from Sam.
Then, when Hap ran out of news and both men in the front fell silent, as I was prone to do on car rides, I got bored.
Memphis did not. She stood back paws to my thigh, front paws to the window ledge on the door, nose to the crack in the window, drinking in North Carolina with her doggie senses. I knew she liked it because she licked her chops often and wagged her tail even more.
Finally, we hit Kingston and I instantly fell in love. It was not a mix of old and new, it was just old. The main street consisted of two sides of two-story, sturdy, red brick buildings decorated with American flags and pots of flowers. There were some graceful white-columned structures with rolling lawns on big lots that were stereotypical of the South. There were also some houses built close together and painted in bright pastels that were really cool. And last, you could smell the sea air and hear the cry of the gulls. It was just busy enough to seem populated and friendly but not overwhelming.
I could totally see why Sam picked this place. It was awesome.
Hap took us slightly out of the town and turned onto a narrow road that managed somehow to be attractive while at the same time not inviting strangers. This was because of the big sign that said, “Private Road. Private Beach. Homeowners Only.”
Although it was a p
rivate road that led to houses on a private beach, the homes were surprisingly mostly older and small-ish, not the grand manses I would have suspected a rich, famous hot guy to live in. They were also built relatively close together. Every once in awhile you could see someone bought a couple of lots, scraped the old houses and put up modern, starkly designed (but cool) beach houses. But mostly the houses seemed vintage and established.
As we closed on the dead end, Hap lifted a hand and nabbed a remote from his sun visor. He hit the button then tossed it to Sam who caught it. Then he slowed and turned.
It was then I realized that regardless of my mood, I was excited to see where Sam lived. He called it his house. He talked about his deck. But he had not described it. I knew he had a place in Indy when he was playing for the Colts but sold it when he quit. I knew he had a place in LA while he was playing for the Colts where he lived outside football season and he sold that too. Ditto with his place by the base. This was now his only property.
And I suspected it would be everything, as the tall, black, attractive but not entirely imposing gate swung open and Hap drove through, I saw that it was not.
It was not a huge, modern, starkly designed (but cool) beach house on a triple lot.
It was a small, established, charming beach house on a single lot with a similarly small, established beach house close to it on one side, nothing but sand dunes and grass on the other.
There was a short, curving, black asphalt drive that grew wide and led to a two car garage. The drive also swung along and up the side of the house. I could see the dune that the house was built into jutting out from the house on either side. And all the green space around the drive was set with cool, tall, what I would guess were native grasses in bunches. The house was wide, squat and had two stories. And there was a white-painted, narrow walkway that wrapped around the house.
Hap drove up the side of the drive and we unloaded. As the men got the bags, I stood carrying Memphis’s crate with a Memphis I’d reloaded in it. Then Sam led us toward the front of the house facing the ocean.