Never Too Late Read online

  Clare, Sarah and Jason were excused from Sunday dinner at George’s and up the mountain they went, with Roger.

  Roger was pretty good on a pair of skis, Clare was a little better, but she was playing it safe because of her pelvis injury—wouldn’t want a repeat of that. It was Sarah who could cut it up. So Jason, who fancied himself an extreme snowboarder, hooked himself up with her and wanted to do the big runs. He was wedging it down the advanced Black Diamond slopes with speed and ease. She could still stay ahead of him. She regretted that it took Sam in her life to rediscover this sport—out there on the slopes with the wind in her face and speed under her skis, she felt alive, exhilarated. And not worried about what was going to become of her.

  They took on the advanced slopes, then moved to the expert hills.

  “Let’s go over there, where it’s new powder,” Jason begged.

  “No way, buster. Red flags. It’s restricted.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Jason said. “C’mon, Aunt Sarah, don’t be a wimp. You can handle it.”

  She grabbed the front of his jacket. “Listen, bub. That’s no game, the red flags, the warning signs. There’s no ski patrol over there. It could be junk on the hill, a weak snow ridge threatening avalanche, anything. You never cross the flags. Never.”

  “Wuss,” he said.

  “Tell you what, if you can handle this expert hill, I’ll stand amazed.” She popped her goggles on. “Last one down is a rotten egg.” And she shoved off. She gathered speed, skated the skis, bent over and got her center of gravity low, tucked the poles and went for it. She shifted her weight and cut right and then left around a mogul, but the next one she jumped, going several feet into the air and landing soft and sweet on her skis, perfectly. She tucked and flew. She chanced a glance and to her delight, Jason was right behind her, wedging around the moguls skillfully; the snowboarders didn’t jump them. She was going to slow down and let him have the race. Aw, but then she just couldn’t. She went for it. Forty miles an hour. She felt as if she was sailing. Flying.

  When she got to the bottom of the run, Jason came up alongside her. “Aunt Sarah, you’re hot.”

  “And you’re not—beat you by a mile.”

  “By a few feet.”

  “Okay, so this hill is good—you don’t need anything past the flags.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Jason moved off toward the lift and a skier came up fast and hard from behind her, showering snow as he stopped. He flipped up his goggles. “What the hell are you doing?” Sam asked her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Sarah, for God’s sake—do you know how fast you were going? And jumping? Jesus—what are you thinking? If you fell—”

  “I wasn’t planning to fall, and air is a lot softer than hard pack, which is why I jump. Why are you here? Are you following me?”

  “I brought Molly out. We get lift tickets on all the local slopes—just for being part of the search-and-rescue team. She’s taking a lesson. Do you understand, I just don’t want anything to happen to you? To the baby?”

  She took off her glove and put her hand against his frosty cheek. “Sam, I’m going to ski while I still can. I’m not going to hurt the baby.”

  He took a breath. “I think I’m getting too old for this,” he said. “You scared me to death.”

  “Let’s go up,” she said. “I’ll race you down.”

  “No! I’ll go up with you for another run, but only if you promise not to race me, because first of all, if I apply myself, I can beat you. And second, if you fall, you could do some serious damage.”

  “Okay, let’s go up. You can race Jason down—he’s still getting it figured out.”

  “I saw him. He’s got it pretty well figured out.”

  The three of them went up. Jason and Sam pushed off while Sarah lagged back a bit. Then when they were ten feet in front of her, she launched herself, and with all the strength in her arms and legs, working the poles and skating the skis, she went for it. When she approached their backs, she let out a woo-hoo, got to their left, took a small hill, got down and dirty and, tucking her poles, left them in her dust. She heard Sam behind her as he said, “Shit!” She didn’t have to look to know what was happening—he was coming after her. Her laughter almost cost her the race she wasn’t supposed to be having. They came in—Sarah, Sam, Jason.

  Sam moved his goggles to his head atop his stocking cap. “Woman, you are going to drive me to an early grave.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle at him. She made the L sign with her thumb and index finger on her forehead for loser. Sam, at a loss for words, grabbed her and kissed her. Kissed her hard. And long.

  “Whoa!” Jason said. “Aunt Sarah! What is going on here?”

  They broke apart and Sarah said, “Just compensating the loser, kiddo.”

  On Tuesday afternoon, Sam went into work and dressed out for duty. When he was on his way to briefing, his sergeant snagged him and said, “There’s a lawyer here to see you.”

  “What case?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I put her in interrogation. You can catch up on the briefing from one of the other officers.”

  It never occurred to Sam that anything was wrong. The officers went to court regularly to testify on their arrests and therefore had lots of traffic with attorneys. They were in constant touch with the D.A.’s, being prepped for court.

  But that wasn’t it. He opened the door to interrogation and there sat Maggie, prim and proper in her lawyer suit. Seeing her there, so sternly serious, so attractive, what came to mind was George. How had he done it? Raised these beautiful, hardheaded daughters and kept his sanity?

  He entered and closed the door. “Well, I guess the family knows.”

  “The family knows,” she said. “Be glad I insisted on talking to you alone. Clare basically wants to kill you.”

  “Please tell Clare that my death right now would be a disadvantage to her sister. Much as Sarah resists me, she’s going to need my help.”

  “Sit down, Sam. There are a few things you don’t know about my little sister.”

  As he sat, he touched his lower lip. He could still almost feel the spot where Sarah bit him as she came to a crashing climax in his arms. And he thought, I bet there are lots of things you don’t know about your little sister. “Shoot,” he said.

  Maggie’s lips curved. “You shouldn’t say that to the older sister of a woman you just made pregnant. What you should say is ‘don’t shoot.’”

  “Are you here to chew my ass? Because if you are, let me assure you that I feel as bad about this as you do. We didn’t plan it.”

  She stared at him hard, then shook her head in frustration. “What were you thinking?”

  He leaned toward her. “Maggie, obviously I wasn’t thinking about anything I can share with you.”

  “Well, that much is obvious. Okay, I came here to tell you that Sarah is more complicated and vulnerable than you realize. Fragile. You better watch yourself.”

  “I’m doing everything I can to support Sarah. I won’t abandon her.”

  “Has she told you about her nervous breakdown? Ah, I can see by the look on your face that she hasn’t. Our mother died of cancer, quite suddenly, when Sarah was only twenty-one. Prior to that, Sarah and Mom were locked in a pretty fierce contest of wills—not that unusual for young women who are testing their independence at the expense of their mother’s strong desire that they settle down and act like proper young ladies. They didn’t exactly get that issue resolved when Mom died. It threw Sarah into a terrible depression. She had to be hospitalized.”

  This was hard for Sam to grasp. Sarah didn’t seem to be vulnerable, other than the recent occurrence of pregnancy tears. Sure, she had been shy with him at first, but that hadn’t been a weakness in his eyes. And she’d become bolder. More self-assured. In fact, she seemed to be stronger than most women. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. She went after him—chased him until he caught h
er. When she was with him, she wasn’t shy anymore, wasn’t hesitant. She was like a comet in his arms. It could make him shiver in the middle of the day, just thinking about her.

  “She went through a complete personality change at that time,” Maggie went on. “When she was young, she was a wild child. Sexy, adventurous, a risk-taker.”

  He felt something in his chest expand. That’s my Sarah, he thought.

  “When she came out of her depression, she lost herself in art. She was consumed by it. Got her degree and opened that shop and studio. And in the process, she gave up most of her interest in the outside world. I’m not sure if it was her art or some notion that she could yet gain Mom’s approval by giving up her old ways, but she just got frumpier and frumpier. It drove me and Clare crazy. We finally gave up trying to get her to pay closer attention to how she looked, because she seemed at least happy, if a little lonely.”

  That made him frown. He didn’t know that frumpy person. Sarah was sexy and alluring. Gorgeous.

  Maggie smiled at him. “You don’t remember what she looked like when you first met her, do you? Well, your sights were pretty locked on my other sister. And Sarah was practically invisible. Let me jog your memory—she wore a gray, loose dress. Her hair was straight and uninteresting—probably pulled back and clipped. No makeup. Her beautiful green eyes were hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses that were held together on the left side by a piece of duct tape.”

  “I remember the glasses….” he said.

  “Well, here’s how it went down. It all made sense once I knew the time line. She took one look at you and Clare and became inspired. She had a hard stare in the mirror and got herself together. She pulled the contact lenses out of storage, got her hair fixed up, bought makeup for the first time in years and new clothes, more stylish and flattering than what she used to wear. All spruced up, and bam. She made you notice her.”

  “I noticed,” he said. “She’s very beautiful.”

  Maggie leaned toward him. “I don’t want her heart broken. I don’t want you to hurt her any more than she’s already hurting. She tells us she is declining your proposal of marriage because you don’t love her.”

  “Maggie, with all due respect, that’s between me and Sarah.”

  “Are you getting my drift here? Because if my little sister is thrown into some terrible depression because you just can’t step up to the plate, I’m going to let Clare have a crack at you.”

  “You McCarthy women,” he said. “You’re all a pain in the ass, you know that? I’m doing everything I can to step up to the plate here.”

  “Somehow, that’s not entirely convincing.”

  “Well, you’re not the one I have to convince,” he said. He stood up. “That all?”

  “One more thing, Sam. Clare. Does this hesitancy Sarah is worried about—does it have anything to do with your feelings for Clare? Because with sisters…”

  Sam’s expression darkened and he drew his brows together. “Sarah is having my baby,” he said. “I can assure you, I’m over Clare.”

  Sam saw the studio light on in Sarah’s shop and pulled the squad car up in front. He tapped on the door and she came from the back. She opened the door and said, “Hi. Coffee break?”

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said.

  “Sam, you don’t have to check on me so much. I’m not sick.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I wanted to kiss you.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “That’s all for tonight,” he said. Oh, he could get into the idea of more, but he wasn’t going to throw her around the studio with their baby in the middle. He was feeling more protective than that. It had become important to him that she be comfortable. Safe. Plus, he wasn’t at all unhappy with the new tempo of their lovemaking. “I don’t have that much time,” he lied. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

  She smiled and took him by the hand, leading him to the back. “You’re such a liar. You don’t care what I’m working on.”

  “I care,” he said. But the second they were in the back room he drew her into his embrace and covered her mouth with his. Her arms went around his neck as she yielded to his powerful kiss. Heavy breathing, hot tongues. He was instantly hard. This was the only part he didn’t particularly love. God, but she turned him on. There wasn’t anything he could do about it tonight, under the circumstances.

  “This vest,” she said, pounding on his chest. “It makes you seem so much bigger than you already are.” She put her hand over his erection. “Oh, Sam, what you do to yourself.”

  “Actually, I think it’s what you do to me.”

  She tickled him under his chin. “I know the cure.”

  “I know you do. I’ll let you show me Saturday night. I’ll take you to dinner, get us a room.”

  “All these rooms—it must be depleting your fortunes.”

  “You live with your father, I live with my mother. It’s money well spent. Believe me.” He kissed her and asked, “Have you given it any more thought? Getting married?”

  “I think about it a lot,” she said.

  “Have you reconsidered?”

  “A couple of times a day I do,” she said.

  “Well, we’re making progress, I guess.” He kissed her again and said, “I’d better get going.”

  “Okay. I don’t mind, you know. That you stop by, get me all worked up and leave me. Although, I think I sleep better when you finish what you start.”

  “Yeah? Me, too.”

  He took her hand so that she might walk him out, lock the door behind him. When they got to the studio door he turned suddenly and asked, “What are you working on?”

  “That,” she said, pointing to a painting. “Another still life.”

  “Nice,” he said, turning to leave. He gave her a little peck at the door. “I don’t think I like you here, alone, late at night.”

  “I’ve only been assaulted once today. Now go.”

  “Lock the door. If you have any problems—”

  “I’ll call the police.”

  “You do that.”

  Sam actually had more time than he let on. His mission was to see where Sarah was, and knowing she was in her shop, he drove to George’s house. He rang the bell and when George answered and saw Sam, his frown was unmistakable. Well, Sam thought, he’s pissed at me. Small wonder. But he’s in his sixties, I can probably take him if it gets ugly.

  “Sir, I wonder if you have a minute to talk,” he said.

  George left the door open and walked back into the house. Sam followed. In the living room George sat in what was clearly his favorite chair. Sam looked around and found a chair facing George. He sat on the edge.

  “Sir, I want you to know that I won’t abandon Sarah. I take full responsibility for the pregnancy and I’ve asked her to marry me.”

  “I heard,” George said.

  “She isn’t ready for that, I guess. It’s up to her. But no matter what she does, I’ll stand by her. You should know that.”

  “You’d better,” George said. “Weren’t you seeing my other daughter?”

  “Well, that. That was over before this…It turns out that Clare and I were only friends. Not—Well, suffice to say, this situation could not have occurred with Clare. Believe me, sir, I was never seeing two sisters at the same time.”

  George gave a nod. “That’s good. Because I might have to kill you for that.” Sam sat up straighter, kind of surprised. “Okay, maybe not that. I might have to file a complaint or something. It has to be against department policy.”

  “I’m pretty sure it would be frowned on,” Sam said. He stood up. “I just wanted you to know that I intend to act responsibly toward your daughter. I hoped that at some point we could be friends.”

  “I’m not quite ready to be your friend,” George said. “She’s still my little girl.”

  “I understand.” He shuffled a little uncomfortably. Mission accomplished, he told himself. Sam didn’t expect him to be
happy. “I’ll say good night.”

  Sam turned to go and to his back George said, “Maybe someday.”

  He turned around.

  “Lot of adjustments to make right now. But maybe when the dust settles, we’ll get along all right.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sam said. And took his leave.

  Sixteen

  Bob Traviston gave Maggie a diamond necklace for Valentine’s Day and she was moved to tears. Maggie had been getting consistently more emotional since Lindsey’s and Hillary’s escapades, and since Sarah had gone public with the pregnancy. And, he thought secretly, there might be a little something else going on with her.

  Maggie had been asking Bob to see the doctor about his apparent lack of interest in sex, but Bob—being a man—preferred to see a doctor only if a limb were actually falling off. “I’ve been to the doctor,” he said. “I’m in perfect health.”

  “But you’ve never mentioned this,” she argued.

  “How do you know?” he returned. But he was thinking, of course I never mentioned this! Besides, it wasn’t as though he didn’t have erections. Well, in reality, he rarely had them anymore, and they were usually those early-morning events that went away pretty quick.

  But because Maggie had been getting a little tearful lately, and Bob had to admit that he’d almost completely lost interest in sex, he made an appointment. For a checkup. The prospect of telling the doctor he wasn’t getting it up anymore surpassed daunting. He could face Congress with less tension.

  At the doctor’s office, all his vitals were checked, he peed in a cup, an order for routine blood work was written up. “Anything else we should check?” the doctor asked.

  “Hmm,” Bob said. “Let me think….”

  “Anything your wife wants us to check?”

  Bob sighed deeply. “My wife has been complaining about the infrequency of…” He couldn’t go on.

  The doctor flipped through the chart. “How infrequent?” he asked without looking up.

  “Never,” Bob admitted. What the hell, he thought. It’s going to come out eventually.

  “Hmm,” the doctor said. “Hmm. Here’s one thing. Let’s change that blood pressure medicine you’ve been taking the past couple of years. And if there’s no improvement, we’ll get you to the urologist. You’re too young to give up erections.”