Chapter Five
"It occurs to me that your problems seem to center on one basic theme." Dr. Jack Brown leaned back behind Samuel's desk.
"I thought problems were more accurately labeled opportunities."
"Cut the crap, Crane. You are allowing your opportunities to become problems. How long do you plan to dance around the main issue in your life?"
"So you're telling me that I won't be able to fully win Amanda's trust until I learn to trust Wolfe. That ship has sailed. How am I supposed to trust the person who turned his back on me in the very darkest moment of my life?"
"You told me back then that he had good reason to doubt your motives, even though the actions were planned. You came to me knowing that you had deliberately pushed John away. What's changed?"
"Five years ago, he handed me a new identity and a plane ticket and sent me off to sink or swim on my own. I believed he was gone for good. And I could live with that. Now he's here, in my home, my kitchen, in my face, trying to get in my bed... Can you forget that I said that?"
"Samuel, the issue isn't what is or isn't happening in your bed, but what it's doing to your head."
"I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them, Sam I am."
"I wonder if you would have liked that book as much as a child, if you had actually been 'Sam' at the time... Now stop trying to avoid this conversation. What would you tell a client?"
"Trust with your 'ex' is too big a hurdle to take on first thing. Start with a simple issue or a less pivotal relationship."
"And how can you apply that to your own circumstance?"
"Troy..."
"Yes, perhaps the four calls that I know about this morning, and the five others I suspect you made, were a bit excessive. No?"
"I..." But there was really nothing to say to that. He was wrong to push his insecurities onto Troy.
"Samuel, I didn't clear my schedule and fly to the edge of civilization to pass judgment on your life. Will you stop trying to cover your butt and let me help you?" Yet another test of his trust.
Jack continued, "Yes, I know. It's been the crux for you as long as we've known each other. Troy offered to take me riding this afternoon, but I'd rather take a nap. Maybe you could make use of a saddled horse and captive audience."
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Dusty, saddle sore, and emotionally raw, Samuel found his way into the dining room as Jack was setting the table. "Did you enjoy your nap?"
"I completely forgot about the nap, but cooking with John is quite enjoyable."
"You set me up, you old coot." But there was no heat behind the words. "Do I have time to clean up?"
Jack wrinkled his nose. "Please, take all the time you need. Troy said it would take him a few minutes as well."
Samuel paused to look at the table. It was set for four. "Amanda?"
"She's taking the night off, but I'll have a plate ready for her in a few minutes. Do you want to take it in?"
Five minutes later he was in clean clothes with his hair still damp from the shower. "I don't like being managed, old man."
"Think of it as a friendly kick in the pants. There's more chicken if she wants and lots of green beans."
Amanda was definitely subdued that evening, but thankfully, she responded to questions and looked Samuel in the eye when she thanked him for the plate. He thought briefly of the discussion the night before.
"Would you like to join us in the den after dinner? Troy keeps an unusually large assortment of music in his car. I'm sure he would like to debate the talents of modern musicians with you."
"Stuffy much?"
"Are you offering a reward for that missing verb?"
"Touche. I'll think about it." And she gave a tiny smile.
"The money or the company?"
"Both."
"Acceptable. I'll see you after dinner either way."
And by the time they had loaded the dishwasher, light was spilling out of the den. Amanda had chosen a chair in the corner and one of his dusty tomes by Forrester. Samuel couldn't tell if she was actually reading or just hiding behind the book.
Troy had taken a quiet suggestion, bringing in a small stack of silver music disks and tinkering with the stereo.
"Samuel, did you know that you can adjust the balance to these speakers? You can also... oh, never mind, just leave it where I'm setting it."
Samuel wondered then why he hardly ever played the stereo. It lent a warm serenity to the room. Maybe he would have a reason to use the fireplace as well this winter.
John settled on the couch with Samuel, folding the newspaper open to the crossword, and Jack brought in a large travel bag that he settled between his feet.
Samuel snorted. "Is that the same sweater from two years ago?"
"I knit to enjoy the fiber; I'm not in a race."
Amanda's eyes popped up over the top of the book, and she continued watching Jack with rapt attention as he slowly moved soft brown yarn from one needle to the other.
The four men chatted easily as the evening wore on, but as Amanda continued to watch Jack's hands, she set the book aside, and Samuel noticed that her fingers were moving along sympathetically.
When Jack followed Samuel's gaze to Amanda, his face lit with pleasure. "Amanda, do you knit?"
The nod was tiny, and then she was looking at her shoes, reaching for the discarded book full of very dry prose. But Jack was already digging into his bag and pulling out a ball of pale gold yarn and a pair of wooden needles.
"I always bring more projects than I can possibly work on." And the lure of soft wool and sticks drew Amanda out of the corner.
Samuel was used to Jack's slow, steady knitting whenever the man could just sit and listen. But this seemed to be a new experience for John. He watched, enthralled, as the cloth grew with each added stitch and by Amanda's intense focus as she drew the yarn over her fingers thoughtfully.
Samuel was more interested in the motion and flexibility of her hands than her infatuation with the fiber. Her brows were pinched together in concentration, and she moved with the careful focus of one trying to execute a once familiar task. She seemed confused about how she wanted to hold the yarn, switching it from one hand to the other, but with each pass, the motion gained fluidity, and soon she had the yarn threaded through her fingers, and her hands seemed to fly through a motion as comfortable to her as breathing.
Samuel realized that he was as mesmerized as everyone else. The strip growing from her needles reminded him of some of the more intricate sailor's knot work he had once seen in a lighthouse museum. With no instructions to work from, Amanda must have been calculating this design in her mind. She smiled as she studied the results, and Samuel reminded himself to breathe. He had the beginning of an idea, but he wanted to watch events unfold in the next few hours.
Troy said goodnight as the sun was setting, and Samuel was shocked to realize it was almost ten. Jack yawned and shuffled off to bed, and Amanda slipped off to the room next to John's.
Suddenly he was alone with the man he'd been trying to avoid all day.
"I don't remember you ever being this patient." The brown eyes were serious, but the tone was playful.
"Yes, many impatient people can brew a potion over an entire moon cycle," Samuel scathed.
"I meant with people, and I do mean it to be a compliment. I'm so glad that Amanda feels safe here."
"Amazing what I can accomplish with a pharmacy at my disposal. You do understand that I don't want to medicate her indefinitely?"
"You know I trust you completely. Samuel, please look at me. Is that what's bothering you? You think I didn't trust you?"
"Intent. You know there had to be intent."
"You're right. But I knew, even then, that you had no other acceptable options."
"I should have died for my friend." The howl of his grief echoed in the den.
"No! You promised me that you would live. You promised. I'm glad that you're alive. Even if you never open up to me again, I have the satisfaction of knowing that you're free to chase your goals, settle down in a little town, find someone to make you happy. If it's not me, that's okay."
"Why would I want anyone else? You haunt me, Wolfe. I can barely sleep knowing that you're here, sleeping under my roof, just down the hall. I want..." But he couldn't say anything more as John was pressing him against the back of the couch in a possessive kiss. He found himself surrendering to five years of grief and loss and need. And when they pulled apart, gasping for air, Samuel felt tears in his eyes.
"Just one thing, John. You don't call all the shots this time."
"I noticed as much."
"I won't be anyone's scapegoat. Not anymore."
The eight steps down the hall felt vaguely surreal. After five years of longing, familiar hands were tracing familiar paths along his back. Samuel could feel his pulse kicking faster as two fingers found their way up the back of his neck and circled behind his ear, and the hand wrapped around his hip threatened to be his undoing. His shoulder brushed against the door frame, and Samuel realized that they were standing outside his room.
This time he didn't turn John away.