Текст книги "Crazy Ever After"

Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Six

Samara stalked through the den and outside onto the patio, far enough away from the kitchen that they couldn’t see her, a string of curses trying to escape her mouth. Damn him!

Why did he get to her so much? Why did he refuse to see that she was an adult now who could help with the business? Why had his comment about how skinny she was hurt so much? Why wasn’t she over him? This was ridiculous!

She couldn’t stay here. Not with them.

She sank down onto the wicker swing, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The thick cushion absorbed her weight, far nicer than the one that had been there when she was a child. She gave a gentle push with both feet and started rocking, the movement rhythmic and calming. The cool night air brushed over her bare skin with a touch of dampness. The quiet and peace settled around her, the only noise a faint squeak of the swing and a distant chirruping of crickets. After a few moments, her heart rate had slowed, and her breathing evened out. She sighed.

Her father was gone, and she couldn’t get him back. Planning his funeral made it all more real. Being here with her mother and Travis was driving her crazy. For all these years she’d carried this hurt around inside her. She’d hoped, with all the time that had passed, it would be easier, but it wasn’t.

She looked up at the sky. The setting sun brushed the clouds with peach and rose, the sky shades of lilac. She would just have to go stay at a hotel. She’d deal with the funeral arrangements, get this ordeal over with, and then get the hell back to San Francisco.

In the den, a dark figure appeared at the doors then stepped outside. Travis.

His face was somber, his mouth a straight slash, his square jaw tense.

“Hey,” he said, hands in the pockets of the jeans he’d changed into, shoulders raised. Mother of Godfrey, the man looked good in a pair of jeans. His T-shirt clung to his wide shoulders, muscled chest and flat stomach, just meeting the low-slung, softly faded jeans.

She turned her head away from him.

He walked across the patio to the low stone wall that ran along one edge. Big clay pots overflowing with flowers sat beside it. The landscape lights in the garden began to glow as dusk approached. He sat down on the wall, one foot hooked around the back of the other leg so that he faced her.

“I came to find you to apologize,” he said, his voice low and velvet-rough.

She looked at him.

“I shouldn’t have been so antagonistic,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a rough time.”

She opened her mouth to dispute that then closed it, realizing how ridiculous that was. She was working on that stupid tendency she had to argue, but he seemed to bring that out in her. His sympathy, or whatever it was he was expressing, grated on her, irritating her like nails on a chalkboard. She didn’t want his sympathy. Not now, and not seven years ago when he’d humiliated and hurt her. That was the last thing she wanted from him.

“I’m going to go stay at a hotel,” she said.

He stared at her then rolled his eyes. “Oh, Christ, here we go again.”

“What? Why would I stay here?” She sat up straight on the swing seat. “You and my mother are both treating me like a child. Telling me to eat my dinner because I’m too skinny, for god’s sake.”

“Maybe because you’re acting like a child.”

“I am not!” She glared at him, breathing fast. “You...you...” For once in her life, she was speechless. “If I’m acting like a child, you’re acting like an arrogant, bossy prick.”

They stared at each other through the twilight, the air charged with an electric energy that shimmered between them.

“Don’t hold back, Samara,” he murmured suddenly, his mouth kicking up at one corner. “Tell me how you really feel about me.”

Her own lips quivered with reluctant amusement, and then she fell back into the swing, setting it in motion again. She blew out a long breath. She hated being like this. They had sounded like two children bickering. Why were she and Travis always at odds? Why couldn’t she act like a mature adult around him?

“Look. I know we have some...history...” Travis began.

Samara’s heart leaped at him bringing that up. That was the last thing she wanted to talk to him about. But maybe it was best to take control of this discussion. “History? Oh yes. You mean the time I humiliated myself by coming on to you. When you rejected me and made me feel like a speck of dirt on the floor.”

Travis shifted on the stone wall and set both feet on the patio. “Um...yeah.” He coughed. “Samara, you were only seventeen years old—way too young for me.”

She looked at him now across the patio through the dusky light, the remembered pain just as acute as it had been then. “So you said.” Though she knew that hadn’t been the only reason. “Forget it. It’s not that big a deal. Really. I had a little crush on you, just a silly teenage thing.” She waved a hand, forcing a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“Then why are you still so pissed off at me?

* * *

She stared back at him, then her gaze slid away. “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.” Travis almost laughed but didn’t want to hurt her feelings again. “Jesus, Samara, since you’ve walked in here, you’ve practically bitten off both our heads, mine and your mother’s. I have no idea what happened between you and her, but hell, I know what happened between us, and you’re clearly still mad at me.”

She pressed her pretty lips together and met his eyes defiantly. “You don’t know what happened?”

He frowned. Between her and her mother? He had no fucking clue. He sighed and shoved his hand into his hair. “Look. Your father would want me to look after you. Can’t we just forget about what happened seven years ago?”

She sighed, fatigue drawing her features down, but she straightened her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. She spoke in a calm and quiet tone that made him listen. “I told you already I don’t need to be looked after. I’m a grown woman, even though you don’t seem to realize that. I’ve been on my own for seven years, and I can look after myself.”

Oh, yeah, he knew she was a grown woman. He was disturbingly aware of that particular fact.

“Fine. I won’t look after you. But we still have to get along for the next couple of days.” When she continued to hold his gaze, he sighed. “I’ll go stay at a hotel,” he said gruffly. “You stay here with your mother. She’s your mother, flesh and blood. She loves you, and she’s hurt by the way you’ve treated her.”

“The way I’ve treated her?” Samara’s voice rose again, her fingers curling into her palms. “After what she did...oh for the love of Gilbert Godfrey.” She paused and visibly drew in a deep breath. The way she was trying to control her temper and her silly curse made his lips twitch. “Oh never mind. It’s all history.”

Travis’s head started to hurt. He rubbed away the tension between his eyes. “What did she do to you?” he asked, bewildered.

She stared at him. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her gaze dropped to the stone patio. “Never mind,” she muttered.

What the hell could Dayna have possibly done? Fuck, he didn’t have it in him to press her right now. “You need your mother, Sam,” he said. “Whether you want to or not. I know you’re all grown up now—”

“No, apparently you don’t,” she interrupted.

“At a time like this, family needs to come together. If nothing else, with Parker dying, you should be thinking about how you’d feel if your mother was gone. Samara...you really need to reconcile with her.”

She was silent, nibbling her bottom lip.

“Hell. I’m sorry. I sound like an old man preaching at you.” He shook his head. He stood and brushed his hands off. “I guess it’s none of my business. Just think about it, okay, Sam?”

She glared back at him mutinously. Shit. He should know better than to tell her what to do. She’d just do the opposite. Her defiance and the strength of her convictions had always driven him crazy but also added to her appeal, making him crazy for her, crazy to get his hands on her, his hands and his mouth and... That hadn’t changed. The breeze teased tendrils of her long hair back from her face, a pale oval in the deepening gloom, her big eyes dark shadows.

Her took her silence for refusal, and his patience evaporated with his rising urges to grab hold of her and kiss her senseless. “Okay, don’t think about it.” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t ever think that someone else might know something you don’t. Don’t think about anyone’s feelings but your own. I know you were spoiled rotten. Hell, teenagers are supposed to be self-centered. But, by your age, you’d think you’d have a bit more empathy, that you’d know that life isn’t all black and white.”

“Oh for the love of Gilbert Godfrey.” She stood too, stalked over to him and jabbed him in the chest. “Spoiled rotten? I have never been spoiled rotten! Do you think it was easy starting a new life all on my own? Do you think I’ve ever taken a penny from my parents after I finished college? That I’ve ever had any special treatment because of who I am? And I am sick of you lecturing me!” He was horrified to see her lower lip quivering. “I’m not self-centered. I do have empathy!” She moved as if to hit him again, and he instinctively grabbed her hand and held it away from him. He grabbed her other one for good measure, in case she decided to swing at him with her left.

Her words pierced his heart with a sharp stab. Dammit! Once again, she’d pushed his buttons, and once again, he’d let her get to him. He’d gone too far and now—once again– he’d hurt her feelings.

She tried to wrestle away from him, and he tugged her closer. Ah, sweet Jesus. She felt so good in his arms, soft breasts flattened against him, the scent of warm vanilla and woman filling his nostrils. Her long hair trailed over his arms, tickling him. His body hardened, and he resisted the urge to push his hips against her.

She struggled more, then she kicked him—kicked him!—in the shin. Luckily her small foot in the flimsy flip-flop didn’t even hurt; in fact, it probably hurt her more.

“I know self-defense,” she muttered, wriggling against him and making him go even harder. “I’ll knee you in the nuts, so help me god. Let me go!”

He wanted to laugh. Some threat. He probably had seventy pounds on her. He thrust a knee between her thighs to prevent her from damaging his junk, and then she went still, making a funny little noise somewhere between a sob and a moan. He was suddenly aware of the moist heat he felt against his thigh, only the thin cotton of her dress and his jeans separating his flesh from the hot softness between her legs.

She moved against him, a small tilt of her pelvis that told him she was aroused too. Oh Christ. Oh hell. He’d resisted her the last time he’d held her like this; where the strength had come from that time he had no goddamn clue because now he was hot and hard, and the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this had disappeared like the sun below the horizon.

“Samara,” he groaned.

“Travis.” She fell against him, pressing her face into his neck. He felt the wet tears and released her hands to encircle her shuddering, small-boned body with his arms. He wrapped his arms around her so gently as she sobbed against him. “Oh, Travis.”

One hand slid up her back, encountering bare flesh above the top of the dress, smooth and hot. He rubbed her back slowly, up and down, up higher to the nape of her neck, into her silky hair. He pressed her face against him as she cried, his cheek against her cool, silky head. and closed his eyes as she wound her arms around his neck and clung to him.

His chest ached, and the rest of his body throbbed painfully. He wasn’t going to push things any further, but dear god, if she did, he didn’t think he’d be able to resist.

He dug deep for control, dragging in a long breath. He knew all the emotions she’d been assaulted with the last few days were engulfing her. She was grieving for her father, vulnerable and emotional, and that was probably pissing her off as much as she was pissed off at him about what had happened years ago.

All good reasons that nothing—nothing—should happen between them.

She’d stopped sobbing but still quivered and sniffled in his arms, her wet face pressed to the side of his neck. He breathed in her warm scent and held her for long moments as she calmed herself and regained control of her breathing. Then she pressed her lips to his neck in a long, open-mouthed kiss.

Heat shot straight to his groin. He fisted a hand in her long hair and tugged her head back so he could look into her face—her tear-streaked, pink-nosed, swollen-eyed face. Mascara smudged under those big eyes made her even more of a mess. Still, she was a beautiful mess.

“Samara...” He wasn’t sure if he was asking a question or telling her something. Their eyes met and held, something pulling between them, connecting them, drawing out fine and fragile. For once they were on the same page about something, the unwilling attraction they both felt creating a shared understanding.

The last time he’d done the right thing, the hard thing– but he’d hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt her again. It had damn near killed him last time.

“Travis...” His name was a whisper, her lips barely moving. The urge to kiss her escalated inside him.

He stared back at her. God, he wanted her. He closed his eyes briefly at the heat surging through his body then met her eyes again. “Samara. This is a really bad idea. Colossally, monumentally bad.”

* * *

She wanted to hate him. She had hated him for what he’d done to her, the rejection, the betrayal. It baffled her that she could still want him so much, and she dragged up those memories and used them to give her the strength to wrench out of his arms.

She sucked in a painful breath, rubbing her bare upper arms. She tried to speak, but nothing came out, so she swallowed and tried again.

“You’re right,” she said, but the words sounded weak and shaky, not firm and definite. She shivered in the cool night air. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually the weepy emotional type. I guess this is all getting to me more than I realized.” She inhaled and straightened her spine. “I just want to get this over with and get the hell back to my life. And I’m sure you want the same.”

“Sure.” His mouth was a hard line, his jaw tight.

“Good. Then we can just stay away from each other until after the funeral.”

He nodded. “That’s probably best.”

“Fine, then.”

They stood there still staring at each other, and Samara had to drag herself away from the magnetic force field that pulled her back to him. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Good night.”

He didn’t reply as she all but staggered into the house then walked on shaky legs through the den and upstairs.

* * *

Dayna walked into the breakfast room the next morning where Travis was sitting reading the Tribune and finishing a bagel smeared thick with cream cheese.

“Travis, you have to join us.”

He looked up at her. “Huh? Me?”

She nodded. “Wade says you should be there too.” Wade Burnell, Parker’s lawyer, had arrived.

Travis looked at her, then folded up the paper and wiped his hands on his napkin. “Okay. Sure.”

He picked up his coffee mug and followed Dayna into the den where Wade and Samara sat. His eyes went straight to Samara. She looked just as tired as she had yesterday, and guilt again nudged him. Tired, but beautiful, dressed in another casual dress, white cotton, strapless and form-fitting. She had pulled back the front pieces of her fiery hair into a clip at the back of her head so that it all fell straight and thick down her back, the sweep of long bangs angling across her face.

He’d beaten himself up about what had happened between them the night before. He never should have touched her. He’d made that promise to Parker, and it hadn’t taken him long to want to break it. He looked up to heaven, where Parker might be. Was he watching down on them, seeing what had happened? That was enough to squelch any desire. Or maybe not so much. Hell, he’d been on fire for her last night.

“Good morning, Travis,” Wade said, standing and moving forward to shake his hand.

Samara’s eyes met his, and a shock wave vibrated between them. Travis was surprised everyone else in the room didn’t feel the jolt. Jesus.

“Have a seat,” Dayna invited.

Ava appeared with a tray of coffee and cups. Travis eyed the spot next to Samara on the sofa and decided it would be wiser to sit in an armchair across from her.

They drank coffee and made small talk about the funeral until Samara set her cup down sharply on the table.

“Could we get on with it?” she asked tightly. “We have a lot to do today.”

Wade glanced at Dayna, who nodded, and also set his coffee down.

“Of course,” he murmured, and reached for his briefcase. “The terms of Parker’s will are quite straightforward.” He nodded to Dayna solemnly. “I’m sure this isn’t surprising to you.”

They all nodded, Travis still unsure why he was there.

“Travis, you’ve been named as the executor,” Wade told him.

Oh. Well. That was fine. He could do that for Parker.

“Dayna, Parker left almost everything to you.”

They all nodded.

“Almost everything?” Samara asked.

“Your father had extensive assets,” Wade replied. He glanced at Travis. “This house, the property on the coast, his investments… all goes to Dayna, except his shares in Cedar Mill Coffee Company.” He paused. “Those go to you, Samara.”

Travis kept his mouth from falling open with difficulty. Parker’d left all his shares to Samara?

Well. He sucked in a breath. That shouldn’t be that surprising, but Travis had assumed Dayna would inherit everything.

He could see Samara’s quick mind working, turning things over. “My father owned forty percent of the shares of Cedar Mill,” she said to Wade slowly. “Is that correct?”

He nodded. “That’s correct.”

Wheels were turning, and suddenly a rock had materialized in Travis’s gut.

Samara looked across the room at him, wide-eyed. Then she smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Burnell.”

Oh Jesus. She could not be thinking what he thought she was. Wade went over a few more things, asked Travis to call and arrange a meeting the next week, and expressed his condolences again.

Dayna showed Wade out, leaving Travis and Samara alone again. Her eyes were sparkling, green flecked with glints of gold.

“Spit it out,” Travis told her.

She grinned at him although she looked a little dazed. “What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“What do you think I’m thinking?” she asked saucily. He narrowed his eyes and stared her down. Just then, Dayna returned.

“Well,” she said in her soft voice. “That was quick and to the point.” She smiled at her daughter. “No surprises. I knew your father wanted you to be involved in the business some day.”

“No,” Samara agreed, shaking her head, her auburn hair sliding over bare shoulders. “No surprises.”

Travis’s gut clenched tighter.

“Just this one,” Samara said, standing. “I’ll be staying here in Portland.”

Dayna gaped at her daughter, and Travis kept his face carefully expressionless.

“You...you will?” Dayna put hand to her throat.

“I will. I’ll be taking over Dad’s role in the business.”

Chapter Seven

Travis ground his teeth. “Samara.”

“Someone has to be CEO.” She looked at Travis. “Dad was CEO, and he left me his shares. Obviously, that’s what he wanted.”

“I don’t think it’s that obvious.”

He didn’t even know where to start with this epic headache. He glanced at Dayna and saw the worried look on her face.

“Well, who do you think should be CEO?” Samara’s green eyes challenged him.

Now that she mentioned it, he knew the answer clearly. He hadn’t given much thought to replacing Parker—Jesus, the man had only been gone days—since he’d been so busy dealing with the fallout his death had caused. But it was patently obvious to Travis that the next CEO was going to be him.

He met Samara’s gaze but said nothing. Her own eyes widened. “No!” she exclaimed.

“Samara,” Dayna put in. “Just hold on here.”

Samara turned hostile eyes toward her mother, and Travis sighed. Was this going to deepen the rift between mother and daughter? He rubbed his face.

“This isn’t just up to us,” he said heavily. “Replacing Parker is a decision that needs to be made by the entire board of directors.”

Samara narrowed her eyes. “Doesn’t what Dad would have wanted come into it?”

“Samara, we don’t know what he wanted,” he pointed out. “He left you his shares, but he never stated that he wanted you to be CEO.” He paused. “Think about it. You don’t just jump from regional manager to CEO of the company overnight.”

She firmed her lips, her stubborn little chin dimpling. “I don’t see why not.”

She was the most frustrating female he’d ever met, goddamn it. Pressure built behind his eyes. “Look, Sam, I have no doubt that Parker wanted you to move up into an executive position some day. He talked about that. He was so damn proud of you getting your degree and the things you accomplished.”

She nodded tightly.

“You’re not ready for that,” he continued softly.

“I am ready,” she insisted stubbornly. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

He considered that. Was he biased? Admittedly, now that the subject was out in the open, he was beginning to realize how important this was to him. He’d helped Parker build the company. It had been his life ever since he and Parker had joined forces and especially since he’d moved to Los Angeles. After that, he’d had to prove himself all over again to Parker, desperate to get back his approval, his trust. He remembered his fear when Parker had been so pissed off at him that he’d screwed up the only thing he’d ever accomplished in his life, and felt that fear again. He wasn’t going to lose it. This company was his, and he would run it. No question.

“You just want the job for yourself,” she flung at him.

“Yes,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “I want that job for myself. This is my company too, and I’m the most logical one to do it.” He glanced at Dayna. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, her fingers twisted together in her lap.

“Travis...”

He nodded to her then turned back to Samara. “It’s only logical, Sam. Parker and I were partners. It only makes sense that I would step into that role.”

“Why should you have all the control?” She jumped to her feet and started pacing in front of the French doors. “You don’t hold all the shares in the company. Only forty percent.”

He took a deep breath. That was only too true. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I can’t handle all the responsibilities of my job and Parker’s. We’re going to have to restructure our executive management. Maybe divide some things up differently.”

“And where do I fit in there?”

It was a helluva question, actually. He thrust a hand through his hair.

She smiled at him. “Gotcha.”

No effing way. Not only did he have a vested personal interest in this, he had to consider the good of the company. They couldn’t have a twenty-four-year-old inexperienced CEO taking over.

His only consolation was that he knew there was no way the others would allow that to happen. And if it came to a vote, his forty percent plus their ten percent equaled fifty percent.

Leaving fifty percent in the hands of Samara...and her mother.

* * *

Samara and her mother met with the minister, made arrangements with the caterer and answered the door to continual deliveries of floral arrangements, but frustration ate at her that she was running around attending to those things when where she really wanted to be was at the office.

After hearing the news yesterday that she now owned her father’s shares in the company, it was crystal clear to her what she had to do. Ever since she’d arrived she’d felt a powerful need to go to the office, to step in, take charge, to know what the communications people were saying, to talk to staff and reassure them that their jobs were safe. But now she knew she had a right to step in. Not only a right, but a duty and an obligation. It was what her father would have wanted, she was sure of it, and she was filled with determination that she was going to take over.

Meanwhile, Travis was the one who was at the office, taking control.

She was not going to go back to San Francisco. She’d figure out what they’d do about her position there next week when she had time to sit down and think about it. They could easily cover her work in the short term, and for the longer term, well... Barry could be ready to move up.

Dealing with Travis could be a problem. He clearly thought he was the one who’d take over for Dad. He did know a lot about the business. But she was family. She was the best one to know what her father would have wanted. Travis still affected her, but surely enough time had passed that she could deal with him on a business level and keep things professional. She’d done that for the last seven years, not letting people get too close to her. She’d had a few relationships, but they’d never progressed to anything lasting. Her business relationships were just that—business. She could do this.

Except right now she was all tied up in the details of planning a funeral. For her father.

More grief washed down through her, nearly overwhelming her, along with a feeling that was near anger at her father for doing this to them. But that only strengthened her determination to step in for him.

Mom had told her they’d eat dinner at six. She’d find out more from Travis then about what was happening at the office. An eager anticipation simmered inside her, and she knew it wasn’t just because she wanted to talk business with him.

But Travis wasn’t there. He’d gone out for dinner, Mom told her. Disappointed, then annoyed because she was disappointed, Samara picked at her food. Who was he having dinner with? Why hadn’t he taken her mother with him? Maybe it was another woman. He probably had lots of friends...including old girlfriends in Portland he hadn’t seen for ages. Maybe it was clients. That bugged her just about as much as thinking about him with another woman.

Or maybe he was just abiding by their agreement to stay away from each other. Damn him.

“What are you going to wear Friday?” Mom asked over dinner. It was just the two of them. Samara would have skipped it except her mother had set the table, and she just couldn’t find it in her to be that rude.

The age-old female question. Samara didn’t want to admit she’d been thinking about that too. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I didn’t pack a lot. I was kind of in shock.” The idea that she’d needed to pack something for a funeral had almost paralyzed her.

“Do you need to borrow something? Or go shopping?”

Samara was not going to wear her mother’s clothes to the funeral. “I’m sure I have something that will do.” She tried to sound offhand.

“After dinner we could have a look,” Mom tentatively offered. Samara opened her mouth to refuse the offer then caught the look on her mother’s face. Nervous diffidence, as if she were fearful of being rejected. Again, Samara couldn’t bring herself to hurt her mother’s feelings.

She nodded, her throat rigid, and lifted her fork to her mouth. She had no idea what she was eating; she chewed and swallowed without tasting a thing.

They went to her room after dinner, and Samara opened the closet door. She’d unpacked the few things she’d brought with her and hung them up. “Um...the room looks nice,” she said, reaching for the hangers. “I like how you redecorated it.”

“Thanks.” Mom smiled. “I didn’t want to change it too much, but it looked a little...juvenile.” She pursed her lips. “I’m glad you like it. I kept hoping—”

“This is what I have.” Samara interrupted her mother, not wanting to hear what she’d been about to say. She was afraid her mother was going to try to have that talk she’d said they would have, and she was so not ready for that yet. It was bad enough that they were being all girly friendly and looking at clothes.

She held up a black wrap dress with cap sleeves in her left hand, and a black suit in the other. The suit was a business suit, with a simple pencil skirt and tailored jacket.

“Um...you might be warm in the suit,” Mom said. “It’s supposed to be eighty-five degrees.”

Samara nodded. “If you think the dress is okay, that’s what I’ll wear.” The truth was the wrap dress was one of her favorites. The cut was flattering, and the V neck was a good style for her. “Um...do you think it’s too low cut?”

Her mom eyed the neckline. “It’s hard to tell on the hanger. Do you have a camisole you could put under it?”

“No.”

“Try it on.”

Reluctantly, Samara pulled her T-shirt over her head and unzipped the cotton skirt she was wearing to stand self-consciously in her underwear in front of her mother. She was wearing lime green lace boy short panties and a matching push-up bra. What did her mother think of that?

She pushed her arms through the sleeves and did the dress up, tying it at her waist, then looked down at herself. The push-up bra definitely enhanced her cleavage. “I have a black bra,” she muttered.

“Then you’re fine,” Mom said, studying her. “The green shows a bit, but black will work.” She smiled, and the fact that she looked a little teary gave Samara a little jolt. “You’re so beautiful, Samara.”

Samara swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

“You could show up wearing a bathrobe, and you’d look gorgeous,” her mother said with a little laugh, touching a fingertip to the corner of one eye. Samara laughed, warmth expanding in her chest. “How about shoes?”

Samara reached into her suitcase for the only black pair she’d packed, her favorite Jimmy Choo stilettos. She looked at her mother inquiringly. Then she let out a huff. Who cared what her mother thought? They were the only shoes she had, and she was wearing them.

“Oh, those are darling,” her mother said, moving closer and taking one from her. She held up the black kidskin pump. “I love Jimmy Choo.” She sighed. “I should take you to this new little shop that opened in the Pearl District. They have some gorgeous shoes.”

She and her mother had always had a love of shoes in common. It almost made Samara smile, but she clamped down on any soft feelings and said, “I don’t need any more shoes.”

Her mother’s smile faded. “Oh,” she murmured. “Well. You’re all set then.”