Part 5 (1/2)

Sam froze, fighting the desire to scoot away from him.

With a sigh, he let his hand drop without touching her. ”By the end of the summer, you'll be back to normal,” he said with a firm nod of his head.

She didn't know if his statement was for her benefit or his.

His eyes strayed to the clock on the nightstand. ”Look at the time. Lawrence wanted to leave by one.” He stood and looked down at her. ”I'm leaving the car here. Anne has the keys along with a spare key to the cabin. That way she can come and go without disturbing you.”

”I don't like that.”

”Why?”

”How do you know she won't make copies?”

”She's not going to make copies,” he replied with a snort. ”We wouldn't have hired her if she couldn't be trusted.”

”What if she loses the key?”

”Sam, you're being silly,” he said, blowing her off. ”Are you going to come out and say good-bye?”

Easing down in the bed, Sam pulled the covers up to her chin and curled on her side. ”No.”

With a sigh, Jackson sat back down on the bed, careful not to crowd her. He was silent for a moment while a mixture of emotions flitted across his face-irritation, disappointment, and finally resignation. When he did raise his head, Sam caught the sadness in his eyes. ”Samantha,” he began slowly.

She drew in a sharp breath as her fears from the night before came cras.h.i.+ng back. Here it comes . . . he's had it . . . he's going to break off the engagement. Part of her longed to throw her arms around him and beg him to stay.

”Samantha,” he said again, ”I hate seeing you and your father at odds.”

She exhaled in a rush and waited for him to continue.

Turning his face away from her, he stared off into s.p.a.ce. ”I've told you how my childhood was filled with family strife . . . my mother . . . my father . . . the affairs . . . the constant conflict. That's not what I want in our life.”

Surprised at the mention of his parents, Sam rose up in bed. ”Jackson, he's not allowing me any independence.”

”He agreed to let you spend the nights alone.”

”As long as I'm a good girl,” she said bitterly.

”I'll talk to him-”

”No!” she exclaimed. ”I think you talk to him a little too much. Why did you tell him about the nightmare?”

”He had a right to know.”

She felt her temper flare. ”And you took it upon yourself to tell him. You say I need to trust you, but how can I when you report everything to my father? Exactly where does your loyalty lie?”

”My loyalty?” he sputtered, his face turning red. ”After I've stood by you through this horrendous ordeal, you can question that?”

Too late she realized that she'd gone too far and leaned toward him. ”Jackson, I'm sor-”

Shooting to his feet, he stared down at her. ”Loyalty? Ha! It's a question of love. Your father loves you, and you take it for granted. You don't know how lucky you are. Try having parents like mine!” he exclaimed. ”You've never had to suffer the embarra.s.sment of watching your mother carry on with young men. You've never been a p.a.w.n in a marital tug-of-war.”

”But-”

He whirled and paced over to the window. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his shoulders drooped. ”I can't stand this fighting. Between us-between you and your father. Is it too much to ask for a little peace in my life?”

Sam struggled out of bed and crossed over to him. Hesitantly she placed a hand on his shoulder. ”I'm sorry. I don't like fighting either. And I'm sorry if it brought back bad memories.”

He turned and Sam saw the stress on his face. Silently she promised herself to be more understanding. Jackson had suffered an unhappy childhood. His mother had died when he was sixteen and left him with a storm of conflicting emotions. He'd loved his mother, but he'd also hated her for the way she'd used him against his father. And any time conflict erupted between Samantha and him, he always brought up the bitter experiences of his past. She rubbed her forehead. Now she did have a headache.

Jackson's face cleared. ”You'd better take something for your headache. I'll get you a gla.s.s of water.”

Moving to the bed, Sam crawled under the covers and waited.

He returned a few moments later, but instead of a gla.s.s of water, he held the picture from the nightstand.

Sam sat up. ”What are you doing with that?”

”I found it hidden in a drawer.” He jabbed the picture toward her. ”Why did you hide it?”

The muscles at the base of her skull tightened and her head began to throb. ”I didn't hide it.”

”No one else has been in the bedroom, so how did it get into the bathroom?”

”Ah . . . ah,” she stumbled, ”Mom was . . . after I cut my hair . . . maybe she moved it.”

”Sam, I was with her the whole time . . . She never touched the picture.”

Drawing her knees to her chest, Sam rested her forehead against them as the blood pounded at her temples. ”Then I don't understand how it wound up in the bathroom.”

”Neither do I,” he said in a tight voice.

She raised her head and stared at him.

His lips tightened in a thin line. ”Obviously you don't want it, so I'll take it with me.” He glanced down at the picture. ”I think Dr. Weissinger needs to know about these periods of forgetfulness.”

”I remember exactly what I did this morning and it doesn't include-”

A sharp rap at the door stopped her.

”Jackson, we need to leave if we're going to beat the traffic back . . .” Her father paused as he picked up on the tension in the room. ”What's wrong?”

Jackson glanced down at the picture in his hand. ”Nothing.” His gaze moved toward Sam. ”I'll call you this evening.” Pivoting, he left the room.

Her father's eyes followed him. ”Do you want to explain?” he asked Sam.

”No,” she said, lowering her head and ma.s.saging her neck muscles. ”I'm sure Jackson will tell you all about it on the way home.”