“But it’s late and you have to work in the morning and …”
“Babe, trust me, I’ve been up far later than this and still managed to work the next day. Even hungover, I’m a good mechanic.”
She didn’t question his work skills. From everything she’d heard from Nichole and Rocco, Sam knew his way around an engine.
He paused and his gaze narrowed as he studied her. “You look different.”
So he’d noticed her hair and makeup.
“I like it.”
Beth couldn’t have quelled her smile had she tried.
Sam pulled out a chair, sat down, and balanced his calf across his knee, then dug a pick out of his jacket pocket. “What were you listening to?” he asked, noticing her phone and the earbuds.
“‘Bravery’ by G. P. Telemann. Ever heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have.” He strummed a few bars and then glanced up at her.
“Are you taking requests?” she asked.
“Don’t know Mozart or Telemann, but I do a mean Rascal Flatts.”
Beth’s smile was so big that her mouth hurt.
“I’ll play for you a bit.” He strummed a chord or two and then picked up the rhythm. The music was wonderful and it surrounded her, filling her up. Her playlist had helped. Sam helped a lot more.
“You sleepy yet?” he asked.
Not in the least; not with Sam sitting next to her bed, guitar in hand. “Nope.”
“Settle back and close your eyes,” he suggested.
Relaxing as best she could, Beth leaned back, wincing at the pain in her ribs. “Know any cradle songs?” she asked.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she teased. “Johannes Brahms.”
“I should have guessed.” He grinned at her. “I can do a little Garth Brooks, but that’s about as close to a lullaby as you’re gonna get out of me.” Sam chose a song she didn’t recognize and sang softly. His voice was deep and melodic; Beth was mesmerized. An hour earlier she’d been ready to pack her bags and return to Chicago with her tail between her legs and admit defeat. Now she was riding high, overwhelmed at the man sitting by her side. She’d mentioned ever so briefly that she hadn’t been able to sleep well, and now here he was, playing and singing to her. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. No one.
He sang her two songs, then paused, his hands poised above the guitar strings. “Are you sleepy yet?”
She wasn’t about to waste a moment of his visit by sleeping—not if she could help it. “Keep singing—that will put me to sleep.”
“It’d help if you closed your eyes.”
“Not happening.” Then, because she had to know, she asked, “Do you play in a band?”
He grinned. “Nah, I’m not that good.”
“You underestimate yourself, Sam. I’m a music teacher. I know good when I hear it.”
“Whatever,” he said, continuing with another song, clearly unwilling to believe her. When he finished he looked up. “If you aren’t sleepy, are you in pain?”
She had to stop and think about it, and surprisingly, she wasn’t. “Not at the moment. An hour ago I was miserable, fighting off tears.”
His mouth tightened. “How long before you can have another pain pill?”
“My last pill was at ten.”
“You mean to say you were close to tears even after the pain meds? They need to up the dosage.”
“It wasn’t physical pain,” she clarified. “I was depressed and overwhelmed with everything that’s happened. I don’t want to leave Portland and move back to Chicago, but I may have to.”
“I don’t see why. You have friends to help you. And what about your aunt? Rainbow, wasn’t it?”
“Sunshine.”
“Right. I’m sure she doesn’t want you to move away.”
“Probably not, but I don’t want to be a burden and that’s what I see myself becoming.”
“Not to Nichole and not to me.”
“Oh Sam.” Her throat thickened and she was at a loss about what to say. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. I think you might have saved my life.” At the time of the accident she was convinced she was going to die. He’d been there, maintaining eye contact, grounding her, reassuring her. His presence had meant everything in those agonizing moments before the Aid Car had arrived.
Again he brushed off her compliment. “Come on, Beth, don’t give up so soon. I came here to help.”
She felt tears of gratitude fill her eyes and quickly blinked them away.
“I’ll be back,” he promised. “If you want, I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”
Her disappointment was almost impossible to hide. “I won’t be here. I’m being transferred to the rehab facility.”
“Where?”
She gave him the name but didn’t know the address. Setting aside his guitar, he reached for his phone and found it. “I’ll come visit you there. Deal?”
“Deal.” It was hard not to show how pleased she was.
“Now close your eyes. If this doesn’t put you to sleep, then I’ve made a wasted trip.”
To satisfy him, Beth lay back and obeyed.
“Good girl,” Sam whispered, and continued to play.
Beth thought it would be impossible to sleep, but Sam’s voice softened and before long she felt her body relax as she started to drift off. She fought sleep, but it did little good. The pain meds and the fact that her body needed rest in order to heal eventually lulled her into dreamland.
When Beth was half asleep, Sam gradually stopped playing and singing. If he didn’t need to work in a few hours she might have pulled herself out of the near sleeping state. She didn’t want him to go, but it would be selfish to hold him up any longer.
When he scooted the chair back, it made a light scraping sound. She’d waited all day for him and had to admit, he’d been worth the wait.
Then something happened. Something even more unexpected than his midnight visit.
Sam leaned down and brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed her there. His mouth was soft and warm against her skin.
Oh yes, he’d been well worth the wait.
Chapter 8
Sam
Sam was busy looking at the electrical system on a 2011 Cadillac when he saw Rocco pull into the garage towing a vehicle. It wasn’t unusual for his friend to deliver a car to the dealership, but it wasn’t all that common, either.
Straightening, Sam grabbed hold of the rag tucked in the back pocket of his overalls and wiped his hands clean. While he worked to keep his nails and cuticles free of grease, it was an endless task. He thought about Beth’s hands so perfectly shaped, soft and small. He marveled that she could play the piano with hands that delicate. Funny thing, he barely knew her, but she never seemed far from his thoughts. It’d been a long time since a woman had stayed in his mind the way Beth did.
Rocco handed the paperwork off to one of Sam’s crew and then approached him.
“Hey,” Rocco said.
“Hey.” He responded with their traditional greeting.
“How’s it going?”
Sam continued to wipe his hands. “Good. You?”
“Good. You got a minute?”
“Sure. What you need?”
Rocco walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. He motioned toward Sam, silently asking if he wanted one.
Sam shook his head. “No thanks.” His friend didn’t seem himself and looked uncomfortable. Sam noticed how Rocco glanced around as if to be sure they had privacy.
“You sure everything is okay?” Sam asked, curious now. “Matthew’s ear infection over?”
“Yeah, yeah, all’s well.” Rocco leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. He seemed to find something interesting to look at in the cup.
Knowing him as well as he did, Sam figured his friend was gathering his thoughts. Rocco’s frown thickened as if he wasn’t sure where to start.
Sam waited, thinking if he gave Rocco enough silence the guy would eventually get around to what he wanted to say.