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  Owen grabbed the sleeve of Rocco’s shirt and jerked it. “Hell’s a swear word.”

  “I am not paying you a dollar for hell,” Rocco muttered.

  “You said it again. That’s two dollars.”

  Rocco groaned. “It’s in the Bible, and any word in the Bible can’t be considered a swear word.” Glaring at Sam, he said, “See what you’ve done? You’re the one who started this.”

  “And I’ve paid through the nose.”

  “You can use other words instead of bad ones,” Owen helpfully supplied.

  “True, but do you know the looks I get when I swear saying mother-forklift?”

  Rocco burst out laughing.

  “You think it’s funny, do you?” he asked, but he smiled himself. These days he’d gotten inventive when it came to swearing. He had Owen and that glass jar of his to thank. The jar now stuffed full of his dollar bills. And actually, Sam didn’t mind. He’d gotten into the habit of letting swear words fly without thinking. It’d taken Owen calling him to task for him to notice.

  “Please come,” Owen pleaded.

  “It’s important to Nichole,” Rocco added. “You know I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”

  Sam angled his head toward the sky. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. “You owe me for this.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” Rocco promised.

  Rocco would make it up to him. Sam would make damn sure he did.

  Oh damn…he wondered if he owed Owen a dollar if he swore in his thoughts.

  —

  After Rocco and Owen left, Sam immediately regretted agreeing to this blind date. He wouldn’t do it for anyone other than Nichole. But when the time came, he showered and combed his shoulder-length hair back and tied it at the base of his neck. He hated getting his hair cut just about as much as he hated shaving, which is why he wore a beard. Examining his reflection, he noticed his beard had gotten a bit scraggly looking. He reached for a pair of scissors and he trimmed it back. Sam sincerely hoped Nichole appreciated all the trouble he was going through for this dinner idea of hers.

  Shuffling through his closet, he chose a shirt with a button-down collar and put on a clean pair of black jeans. This was about as fancy as he got. If this teacher was looking for some suave dresser, then she was out of luck.

  One thing Nichole did right was cook his favorite dinner. He was a sucker for her applesauce cake and he’d never tasted a better cordon bleu than what Nichole made. To be fair, hers was the only homemade cordon bleu he’d ever tasted, but he suspected few would compare. Being single, he frequently ate out and his meals usually consisted of something he was able to pick up at a drive-through on the way home from the car dealership. Either that or tavern food he got at The Dog House, where he often hung out. Not as much now that Rocco had married. Sam had other friends, but none as close to him as Rocco was.

  Sam arrived at Rocco and Nichole’s place at around five-thirty. He had a few questions he wanted to ask Nichole before this teacher friend of hers arrived. Besides, he’d volunteer to hold the baby while she put the finishing touches on dinner. Knowing Nichole, she’d be fussing over every detail.

  He sincerely hoped she wasn’t putting any stock into something developing between him and this teacher friend of hers. From the little bit he knew about…what in the world was her name again? Brenda? Brittany? Something like that. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. No matter what her name was, he already knew it wasn’t going to work. He had no intention of getting involved in a relationship.

  Owen had the front door open by the time Sam had climbed out of his truck. “Hi, Uncle Sam.”

  “How ya doing, kid?”

  “Good.” Owen held the screen door for him.

  Sam ruffled the top of his head as he entered the house. Right away a mixture of delicious scents greeted him. If nothing else, he was getting a home-cooked meal out of the deal. Otherwise, it was destined to be a complete waste of his time and this teacher’s, too.

  “Sam,” Nichole greeted him as she came out of the kitchen dressed in a pretty pink blouse and black slacks. She looked good. The baby fat had disappeared or was cleverly disguised. He didn’t know which. She kissed his cheek and held on to his forearms. Her eyes were warm and full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I hope Rocco told you I’m not interested in having friends set me up.” Usually it turned out to be a huge disappointment on both sides.

  “I know. I know. Rocco wasn’t happy about it, either, but I swear you’re going to like Beth.”

  Beth, that was it.

  “Owen said she’s into classical music.”

  “She loves all kinds of music.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  Nichole slapped his upper arm. “Get rid of the attitude. You’re going to have a lovely evening.”

  Sam sincerely doubted that, but saying so would only irritate Nichole. He liked his friend’s wife. He hadn’t been sure about the two of them when Rocco first brought her around. It wasn’t long, though, before she’d managed to worm her way into his heart, not that he was in love with her or anything. She’d won him over because of the way she loved Rocco. The changes in his friend were huge after Nichole came into his life.

  There was a time when Rocco had been pretty wild, boozing it up and getting into scrapes with the law. He’d been free and easy with women, too, which was how Kaylene had come into his life. Hard to believe Kaylene was eighteen now and a high school senior. Everything changed for Rocco when he got custody of his daughter. That was when he settled down and became a responsible citizen. Eventually he took over ownership of Potter Towing. It was through the towing company that he’d met Nichole, when he pulled her out of a ditch.

  It didn’t take Sam long to realize how strongly Rocco felt about Nichole. She had him hook, line, and sinker almost from the first day they met. It surprised Sam that a classy woman like Nichole would marry Rocco. Far as he could see, they were still head over heels about each other. Sam doubted there was anything Rocco wouldn’t do for his wife. She brought Owen into the marriage and now they had Matthew, and from what Rocco said, in a year or two Nichole wanted to have another baby. Good for them. Sam enjoyed being an adopted uncle. He’d always loved kids.

  “You ready to meet Beth?” Owen asked.

  “I’m ready to settle down in a rocking chair with Matthew,” Sam said, seeing that the infant was asleep in the fancy baby contraption set up in the living room.

  “Not now,” Nichole warned. “I just fed him and got him down. With luck he’ll sleep through dinner.”

  Sam was disappointed, but there’d be plenty of opportunity later. “Need any help?”

  “You can help me with the wine,” Rocco said, coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of chardonnay in his hand.

  “I’d rather have beer.”

  “We’re having wine tonight,” Nichole informed him.

  “I can’t have a beer?” He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

  “Later,” Rocco mouthed.

  Sam managed to hide a smile and winked back at his friend.

  Nichole braced her hands against her hips. “We’re serving wine with dinner.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Sam knew better than to argue with the woman of the house.

  The doorbell rang and automatically Sam stiffened.

  It was about to start: the awkwardness, the polite exchange of chitchat. She would look him over and he would check her out. Not that he was interested in knowing anything more about her than he already did. Him and a classical music teacher. Not happening.

  “I’ll get it,” Nichole said, automatically heading for the front door.

  Rocco stood next to Sam and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Relax,” he breathed. “How bad can it get?”

  Sam stiffened. “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Nichole let her friend into the house and then with a smile she gestured toward Sam. “I’d like to introduce my frien
d, Beth Prudhomme. Beth, this is Sam Carney.”

  This was even worse than he thought. Her gaze shot to him and her eyes widened. He had much the same reaction. She was exactly what he’d expected, what he dreaded most. Everything about her—from the way she stood, shoulders and back straight—spoke of education and breeding. He saw it in how she moved, how she carried herself, in her clothes.

  He’d met her type before, women who brought their cars into the dealership who hardly looked at him because he was the mechanic and far beneath their social status. Maybe he wasn’t being fair, but he saw the look in her eyes and suspected they reflected the look in his. This would never work. Just as he’d feared, this evening was already doomed and it hadn’t even gotten started.

  “Beth,” he said, dipping his head.

  Like Owen claimed, she wasn’t ugly. She was no raving beauty, either. In a word, she was ordinary, more on the plain side than beautiful. Small breasts. Skinny legs. Nothing to make her stand out in a crowd. He could only speculate what there was about her that made Nichole think they would ever be compatible. Looking at Beth, he couldn’t see a single thing. Her eyes told him she thought the same thing about him. No way.

  “Hello, Sam.” Her voice was cultured and educated as she stepped forward and offered him her hand. Her touch was light, delicate, the same as she was.

  “You remember my husband, Rocco,” Nichole continued.

  “Hi, Rocco.” Beth turned away from Sam and looked at Rocco, offering him the same polished smile.

  Oh yes, this was going to be a l-o-n-g evening.

  Very long indeed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Beth

  The start of the evening hadn’t gone well. Everyone seemed to be on edge. Beth did her best to pretend everything was fine, although she knew otherwise. Nichole tried, too, speaking animatedly.

  “Why don’t we all sit down,” her friend suggested.

  Sam pulled out the chair at the dining room table as if he was more than eager to get this dinner over with as quickly as possible.

  “I was thinking we’d sit in the living room first for appetizers and conversation,” Nichole suggested, looking expectantly toward her husband to rescue her.

  “Yes, good idea,” Rocco said, sounding overly enthusiastic as he headed for the other room as if he couldn’t get there fast enough.

  Sam looked like his best friend had just stabbed him in the back.

  “Now, Mom?” Owen asked, looking expectantly toward his mother.

  “Now would be perfect,” Nichole told her son as she gestured toward the living room, ushering Sam in that direction.

  Beth hadn’t been in the house ten minutes and already she could tell this evening was going to be torture. For her and for Sam. How foolish she’d been to put any stock in this night. No one needed to tell her Sam had been an unwilling victim. Everything he said and did told her he would give just about anything to have escaped this farce. While Beth appreciated her friend’s efforts, surely Nichole could see this wasn’t working.

  It demanded restraint not to lean over and whisper to Sam, “You want to get out of here and pretend this never happened?”

  She didn’t, of course, but the temptation was there.

  Nichole took the chair by the fireplace. Rocco hesitated and then sat down in the chair on the other side, which left the sofa open for Beth and Sam. Sam sat down first, at the farthest end possible, almost as if he would be infected with Ebola if he strayed too close to her. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, Beth would have given in to a fit of laughter.

  Nichole glared at the other man.

  Sam glared back.

  While he’d obviously agreed to this dinner, he felt compelled to let Nichole and Beth know he was here under protest.

  Beth resisted sitting as far from Sam as she could. Again, her upbringing came into play, and she sat in the middle of the cushion, her hands primly folded in her lap. Her back was as straight as a light pole. She felt like a grade-schooler called into the principal’s office to be reprimanded. This evening seemed like punishment and she was sure Sam felt the same.

  “Beth recently moved to Portland, isn’t that right?” Nichole said once everyone was seated.

  Beth nodded.

  Silence.

  “Where did you move from?” Rocco asked, glaring at Sam. Apparently Nichole’s question was Sam’s cue to pick up the conversation.

  “Chicago.”

  “Why here?” Sam asked in a way that sounded like Why me? His question suggested he would have been saved this awkward dinner if she’d chosen some other city.

  “I’m close to my aunt and she lives here. Sunshine was the only one I knew in town before I started teaching at the high school.”

  Owen appeared, carrying a cheese platter with thin slices of cheese and crackers. Rocco leaped to his feet as if his chair had sprung him upward. “I’ll get the plates and napkins.”

  Beth guessed he would have done just about anything to escape the tension in the room.

  Nichole’s husband returned just as Kaylene bounced her way down the stairs. The teenager had dyed her hair purple and she wore matching colored sneakers and a bright smile. “Hi, Sam,” she said, hurrying over to kiss him on the cheek.

  Beth watched as Sam relaxed and smiled back at the girl. It was nice to know he could smile. The truth was he was attractive when he did. Beth regretted that she wasn’t likely to see one of those smiles directed at her. Her one hope was that he understood she had been an unwilling victim herself.

  Nichole gestured toward Beth. “You remember Beth, don’t you?”

  “Sure. I’m in one of her classes. Hi, Miss Prudhomme.”

  “Hello, Kaylene.”

  Rocco returned with the plates and napkins, and paused when he saw his daughter. “Be home by midnight.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she returned in a singsong voice.

  “And call if you leave Maddy’s house.”

  “Okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “He forgets I’m eighteen and will be away at college next year.”

  Kaylene looked to Beth. “Nice to see you, Miss Prudhomme.”

  “You, too.”

  With that the teenager was out the door. As if he’d been practicing all day, Owen stepped forward with the cheese plate. “The yellow is cheddar cheese and the white is Monterey Jack,” he announced.

  “Good job, Owen,” Nichole said, praising her son.

  Owen went to Beth first, holding out the platter as if he were offering her a fine delicacy. She accepted the small plate from Rocco and selected one slice of the Monterey Jack and a Ritz cracker.

  Owen moved to Sam next and he took no less than ten crackers and about six slices of cheese. She was about to comment that he must be hungry and then decided better of it. Anything she said would sound judgmental. He was a big guy and probably had a big appetite.

  Owen went to his mother next and then to Rocco.

  “The cheese is made locally,” Nichole said, clearly looking to generate conversation.

  Silence.

  “I told Sam that you like Mozart,” Owen supplied, as if he felt it was his responsibility to stir the conversation. “He asked me if you’d ever heard of George Strait.”

  “I have.”

  “What about Carrie Underwood?” Owen asked.

  “Her, too.” She glanced toward Sam and struggled not to smile, but one twitched at the corners of her mouth. He probably saw her as a prissy music teacher like Marian, the librarian in the musical The Music Man.

  Their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments before he blinked. She saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

  “I want to learn how to play the piano. If I take lessons, will you be my teacher?” Owen asked.

  “I’d be happy to,” Beth said.

  Seeing that Owen was dominating the conversation, Nichole spoke up. “Why don’t you see if anyone would like more cheese?”

  “Okay.”

  She stood. “I’ll check on din
ner.”

  “I’ll help.” Eager to make her own escape, Beth followed her friend. She did feel slightly better. That one moment of nonverbal communication between her and Sam had helped. That didn’t mean, however, that she wanted to be left alone in the room with Sam and Rocco. From the look the two men exchanged, they were just as glad to see the women go.

  As soon as Beth and Nichole were in the kitchen, Nichole whirled around. “Beth, I am so sorry. I want to slap the two of them.”

  “It’s fine.” Still, she was curious. “What did Rocco have to do to coerce Sam into coming to dinner?” The poor man looked absolutely miserable.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Frankly, Beth felt much the same. If she had more experience with this sort of thing, she might be able to pull it off and find a way to extricate them both from this uncomfortable situation.

  This evening was vaguely familiar. Nearly every date Beth had ever been on had been arranged by her mother. At least the men Beth had previously dated hadn’t been pressured into meeting her—not that she knew of, anyway.

  “I so hoped this evening would work out,” Nichole said, her shoulders sinking. “Sam is such a great guy.”

  “Does he date much?”

  “I…I don’t know. He’s never introduced me to anyone, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve seen him with women. There’s one in particular, Cherise, I think her name is. She hangs around The Dog House—that’s a tavern Rocco and Sam stop by every now and again. I’ve seen Sam with her a time or two, but it’s nothing serious.”

  “What made you think I’d be a good match for Sam?” Beth couldn’t help being curious. Anyone looking at them could see how ill-suited they were.

  “I like Sam,” Nichole said, “and he needs someone like you in his life. Owen loves him, and you should see him with the baby. He’s so natural with them both. I thought…I hoped if he met the right woman that he’d…oh, I don’t know what I thought.”

  “Nichole, please, don’t worry about it.”