Never Too Late Read online

  It took them a few minutes to get down and when he pulled up beside her, she was laughing.

  “You’re good,” Sam said. “You were showing off.”

  “I was,” she chuckled. “I wanted to see what you had.”

  “No,” he said, the smile huge. “You wanted me to see what you had. You could be a little more careful.”

  “Why? I had a ski patrol on my tail. I felt safe as a kitten. Should I meet you there?”

  “I have to change out—You’ll beat me.”

  “Take your time. I’m sure the fire is warm and cozy.”

  “See you in a while,” he said. And she watched him as he made his way to the patrol station.

  Sarah’s heart was high as she drove down the pass to the pub. He didn’t appear to be dying of a broken heart. It was good that he was going to follow her in a few minutes. She’d use that extra time to fluff her hair and make sure her makeup was perfect, concerns that hadn’t even occurred to her a couple of months ago. It would also give her time to slow the hammering of her heart and appear composed, though she was far from it.

  By the time Sam arrived, she was sitting by the fire in the pub, nursing a glass of white wine. Sarah reminded herself not to sigh in longing just at the mere sight of him. It completely escaped her how Clare could give him up. Sarah had not been this moved by a man in her life. Now, if the angels were on her side, the snow would fall, the pass would close and they’d be stranded for the night.

  He pulled off his gloves, stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket and hung it on a peg inside the door. There weren’t many people in the bar and she had secured a cozy, private spot near the fire.

  “This is a good idea,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “I like this place. Do you come here very often?”

  “Only once in a blue moon. I’m usually in a rush to get home and relieve my mom of Molly, but I called and she said to take my time.”

  “When do you work at Afton Alps?”

  “Mondays. Then I try to take Molly skiing on Saturdays or Sundays. Saturday, Sunday, Monday are my days off from the department.”

  “Do you like being a cop?”

  “I love it. Almost as much as skiing. Policing is good work. And how long have you been an art teacher?”

  “About eight years—but teaching isn’t my primary job. The studio, store and my own art is how I really support myself. I have some of my work hanging at the Afton Alps Lodge. That big tapestry? I did that.”

  “No kidding? You made that? That’s amazing.” The waiter appeared and Sam ordered a beer. “I’m surprised I haven’t run into you before now. If you ski a lot.”

  In fact, she hadn’t before she went on the Sam hunt, but she was blessed with a skill that looked as if she was there a lot. “You only work one day a week, Sam,” she said.

  Sarah asked him questions about Molly and his mother, told him about her work and exhibitions. They talked a little bit about where they went to school, who their friends were in town, and not wanting it to end, Sarah ordered a second glass of wine. But Sam didn’t have another beer. She sipped slowly, hoping he would, but after a little more than an hour had passed he said, “I guess I better get going.”

  “Me, too. I suppose.”

  “Let me get the tab and I’ll walk you out.”

  “It should be my treat,” she said. “I invited you.”

  “Naw, get your coat,” he said, disappearing toward the bar.

  She stood by the door, watching his back, his shoulders broad under his heavy sweater. God, he was magnificent. And sweeter than a puppy. Those hands, large and strong and neat. He turned toward her and smiled. With that face and body, he should be on a coin.

  I don’t stand a chance, she thought.

  “Ready?” he asked, grabbing his jacket.

  He took her arm as they walked to her car and she thought, this is probably going to be the most I ever get from him. A little friendly conversation, a walk to the car. But I’ll take it.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for not asking about Clare.”

  He shrugged. “I assume she’s fine?”

  “Great.” She pulled her jacket tighter. “I think I’ll plan on Mondays being ski days. Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

  “I’ll watch for you,” he said, opening her car door. “I’ll follow you down the mountain. Make sure you don’t have any problems.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ve been down this pass a million times.”

  “It’s narrow in places. And I already know you have a need for speed.”

  “Just on the slopes,” she laughed. “I trust skis a lot more than cars.”

  “That’s probably smart,” he told her, shutting her door.

  All the way down the mountain she grinned like a Cheshire cat. And asked herself how she could last until the next Monday.

  The next two Mondays were like heaven at Afton Alps. Sarah managed to find him during the day, let him know that she was there, even ski with him a bit and ride the lift up with him a few times. She longed for a phone call during the week, but it appeared those Mondays of skiing with a beer afterward were all the time he had for her. She tried not to be discouraged, but it was hard. She wanted to ask him if he was seeing anyone, but fear of the answer kept her silent.

  She cautioned herself not to pursue him too dramatically; there was an expression that sometimes crossed his features that told her he could be frightened away easily; there was definite caution in his eyes. Besides, Sarah was still a little shy with him. Her renewed style had helped her gain some confidence, but not so much that she could summon the courage to throw herself at him, which she thought was a good thing. While they had their drinks, she did manage to work into the conversation questions like why hadn’t he married, and answered the same question with, “I’ve been too consumed by work. But I’ve decided it’s time now to venture a little farther from the studio, be a little more social.”

  When he left her at her car, she would tilt her face up toward his, ready. But he would only open her car door and say good night.

  The last Thursday of November was Thanksgiving, held at George’s house as usual. It was the typical loud affair with three teens, six adults, televised parades and football. When dinner was done and the sisters were cleaning up, Maggie said to Clare and Sarah, “Something’s going on with you two.”

  “What?” they asked in unison.

  “Oh, now that was almost guilty. Someone’s having sex.” Both displayed heightened color on their cheeks. “Oh!” Maggie exclaimed. “You dogs!”

  “I’m not!” Sarah insisted. And she thought, damn it!

  But Clare looked away.

  “Clare?” Maggie said.

  She looked back and in a whisper said, “I haven’t told Jason yet. Or anyone for that matter. Can you keep it quiet until I do?”

  “Of course! What are you hiding?”

  “I’ve been seeing Pete Rayburn.”

  Dead silence answered her. Maggie finally asked, “How long has this been going on?”

  “Well, hard to say. We reconnected last August when I took that teaching job. We got together for coffee, had a few conversations, and it just sort of grew from there. Out of friendship. It came into full bloom Homecoming weekend.”

  Maggie leaned closer. “Are you sleeping with him?” she asked in a whisper.

  Clare smiled devilishly. “There’s hardly any sleep involved.”

  “Is it…? Is it…?” Maggie couldn’t make herself form the question.

  “It’s unbelievable,” Clare said with an involuntary shiver.

  This news caused the sisters to squeal. Sarah couldn’t have been more relieved—this meant that Clare had moved on and had no lingering feelings for Sam. But Sarah wasn’t talking. She didn’t want to jinx it. Her mind was made up, she wasn’t going to tell about Sam until he professed his undying love for her. And at the rate they were going, that could be a while. She just hoped and prayed it would occ
ur to him to kiss her before the spring thaw. So far there had been only the touch of his hand on her arm as he walked her to her car.

  Another Monday of skiing came and went. Then, a couple of days later, early in December, Sam came into the shop and she beamed with pleasure when she saw him. It was the first time he’d made any contact with her besides those Mondays. He was on duty and she almost fainted at the sight of him in that dark blue uniform. “Oh Sam, look at you,” she said. “Are you propositioned every time you try to give a woman a parking ticket?”

  He favored her with a wide smile. “That’s against the law, Sarah.”

  “That wasn’t an answer, Sam,” she said.

  He ducked his head a little, as if shy. “I wonder if you could help me out. I’m shopping for Molly’s Christmas and I heard you say she liked art. Maybe you could pick out something I could give her? A painting set? Markers? I don’t know….”

  “I know exactly what to do. I can make up a kit for her—the right kind of paints and brushes, charcoals and paper, stuff that matches her skill level.”

  “Will it take long? I have to get back,” he said, glancing out the door toward the squad car.

  “You can come back for it later, or tomorrow. How much do you want to spend?”

  “Fifty? Is that enough?”

  “That’s great. When do you get off work?”

  “Not until ten. Maybe I can swing by before then, if there’s a break in the Breckenridge action.”

  The twinkling of an idea made her smile. “You don’t have to. I’ll be here till after ten. Come after work…If you can….”

  “I thought you closed at six.”

  “I do. I go home, have dinner with Dad, and come back here in the evenings. Sometimes I teach a class when the shop is closed, sometimes I just enjoy working without the interruption of customers. I often stay till midnight. Right now, I’m working on a painting. I’ll make you up something special. It’ll be ready for you tonight.”

  For the rest of the day she prayed he wouldn’t find time to pick up the kit any earlier. She didn’t rush back to the shop after dinner because what she wanted was for him to be finished working when he came in. Tonight, she vowed, she would somehow let him know that it was all right to kiss her, to touch her. To be in his arms for just a moment would be like a dream come true.

  She primped and changed into a crisp white blouse and midi-length lightweight skirt, something she hoped looked feminine. As she was leaving, George asked, “You going out, honey?”

  “I’m going back to the shop,” she said. “I think I’ll be late.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “You don’t usually shower and change before going back to work.”

  “It was a gritty day. I needed a little pick-me-up,” she returned, finding it curious that her dad even noticed.

  That night as she painted, she didn’t get lost in the work. Instead, she watched the clock and her heart sank as ten came and went, then ten-thirty. At eleven she assumed, in complete disappointment, that he had probably gone home and planned to pick up his daughter’s present the next day. Maybe he just isn’t interested in me in a romantic way, she thought. It hadn’t been hard to coax him into a friendship, but he gave no indication he wanted to go any further.

  Just as hope had all but vanished, there was a knock at the shop door. She came out of the studio and saw him standing there, wearing civilian clothes.

  “I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he said. “We had a little fender bender right at ten. Tied me up awhile.”

  “You’re fine. Come in. I think you’ll like it.” She bolted the door behind him and he followed her to the back room. There on the counter amidst a lot of supplies was a green metal box that she had painted some sweet little flowers on earlier in the day. She opened it for him and gave him a little inventory. Brushes, pastels, water-colors, charcoals, a booklet on drawing. Under the box, a couple of small stretched canvases and a drawing pad.

  “This is great, Sarah. You take plastic?”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment. He was going to pay and dash.

  Sam pulled his wallet out of his pocket and, looking over her shoulder at a painting on an easel, he said, “You doing that?”

  “Uh-huh.” It sat next to her still life of an empty bottle of wine, two glasses, a white linen napkin, a papiermâché loaf of bread. “Wine, bread and thee,” she said.

  He moved closer to the painting. “You’re really good. I can’t even draw a straight line, much less something you’d recognize.” Without really planning to, she was reaching toward his back, his shoulder. Reaching out to touch him. Aching to touch him. “I admit, I haven’t tried to paint anything but a wall, but…” As he turned around to face her, her hand was stretched toward him. “Sarah?” She started to pull back but then, seizing on what little courage she could muster, she put her hand on his chest and looked up into his amazing blue eyes. Then she took a step toward him, so close she could feel his breath on her face. Another step brought her against him and she thought, if he pushes me away, I will die. She laid her head on his chest near his shoulder. “Sarah?” he asked. She didn’t move. Her cheek lay on his shoulder next to her hand. He just stood, his arms at his sides.

  Sam put an arm around her waist and she drew in a contented breath. He held her for a long moment, then lowered his head to her hair and deeply inhaled the scent. He moved lower and, lifting her hair away, softly nuzzled her neck, bringing a sigh from her. She felt his lips on her neck, under the collar of her blouse. She felt his tongue there and she trembled. “Sarah,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You’re delicious.”

  Sarah turned her head and rubbed her cheek against his. His other arm went around her and he held her closer, nibbling at her neck, then burrowing farther, to her bare shoulder beneath her blouse. Her sighs filled the studio and she embraced him, held him to her. He lifted his head and softly touched her parted lips. “Sarah, what are we doing?”

  “Mmm,” she murmured, claiming his mouth again.

  He pressed his lips harder against hers, pulling her closer.

  “You’re delicious, too,” she whispered.

  “Should we be doing this?” he asked her.

  “I think so, yes,” she said, a little breathless, her eyes closed. And his mouth moved, opened, his tongue probed, kissing her deeply. Passionately.

  It was exactly as she dreamed it would be, to be in his strong arms. Her emotions soared and the heat of desire filled her. The feel of him, the smell, the texture of his mouth—how could it be so familiar when this was her first taste? His hands caressed her back while his mouth devoured hers. Then his lips were on her neck again, kissing and teasing her. He moaned with deep pleasure, then took her mouth again. And again, and again. This is what she had lived for. Never in her life had she wanted something so much.

  She pulled away from him slightly and looked into his eyes, his hands still on her hips as though to keep her from getting away. He wasn’t smiling, for once. “You’re full of surprises, Sarah.”

  Her fingers, trembling slightly, went to the buttons on her blouse. She undid the first, the second, his hand grasped her wrist as she touched the third. “Do you want to think about this?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think.” He let go of her wrist and she undid the third, fourth and fifth.

  “Are you sure?” he asked her. “Because I can not think, too. In fact, I’m probably better at it than you.”

  Her eyes softly closed. “We’ll see,” she whispered.

  He didn’t hesitate. He put his hands inside the blouse and spread it. Eyes closed, she dropped her head back and let out a long slow breath as she felt his hands on her breasts. Then his lips were there as he kissed, nibbled, then sucked and her knees threatened to give out. He tongued her lips apart again, in a long demanding kiss. “I think we’re playing with fire here,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered against hi
s mouth. “Oh, God, I know.” And then she demanded as much of his lips as he had of hers.

  He pulled away from her to shrug his jacket from his shoulders to the floor. He ripped his sweater off over his head and held her again. He turned with her in his arms and flipped the light switch so that the large overhead light was out and the room was lit by only the soft glow of the night-light under the supply cupboard. He pushed the blouse from her shoulders, letting it drop, and crushed her against his bare chest, both of his hands on her buttocks so that she could feel his desire, too, had risen. Then he began to crunch her skirt into little fistfuls of fabric in his hand until he had raised it and beneath he found the warm flesh of her thigh. He explored her, finding nothing more than a thong to get in his way. “God,” he whispered. He pushed it down easily and it rested around her ankles, so she stepped out of it. Then she dared put her hand over his erection and he groaned against her open mouth, pushing against her hand.

  They stood, rocking, fondling, their mouths locked together in a hot wet kiss that seemed to go on forever. He dug his hands into her hair, pulling her face hard against his, then under the skirt again, caressing her soft bum and lower, to her delicate insides. Pleasure shot through her as he touched her there. She enjoyed the sensation of the smooth muscles of his chest under her fingertips, his flat, muscled belly. His breathing was labored and excited as she struggled with the snap on his jeans and finally, getting inside, slipped her hand down, closing it around him in a firm caress that caused his breath to catch in his throat. He answered by grinding closer to her as he kissed her.

  Sam embraced her again, looking down into her eyes. He lifted her onto the worktable and stood between her spread knees. He lifted her skirt to her thighs, rubbing them. Pulling her to the edge of the table, he kissed her again. “I can still stop, Sarah,” he whispered against her lips.

  “If you stop, I will die.”

  “Someone should put out this fire,” he said.