Love Came Just In Time Part 41

"You're pitiful, you know?"

"Yeah, that's what I hear."

"Try kindling under the log, Sam. Newspaper and twigs. Works every time."

He used too much paper and wasted half a dozen matches getting the blaze going, but she didn't

complain. He sat back on his heels with a smug smile.

"Piece of cake."

She nodded solemnly. "Of course. Now come eat your dinner before it congeals."

He followed her over to the couch and sat down, looking at the tray on the coffee table. "It's a feast!"

"Well, at least it won't kill you."

Once dinner was consumed, she cleaned up, then went back into the living room. Sam was relaxing on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table and a blanket over his legs. He smiled when she came in.

"There are so many channels, I don't know where to start."

She sat down on the opposite end of the couch. "Pick whatever you want. It doesn't matter to me."

Sam started to flick through the channels, then he slid a glance her way.

"You know," he said, "we're missing out on a perfect opportunity."

"How's that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "For snuggling practice. It's my understanding that the skill can never be too

refined."

"Really." Was that her voice sounding so breathless?

"From what I understand."

"I'm sure Melanie already knows how to snuggle."

"I'm not interested in Melanie."

Sydney didn't want to know who he was interested in. But her mouth had a different idea.

"Are you interested in someone else?"

Sam looked away. "Yes."

"Oh," Sydney said. Funny how there was that little cracking sound when your heart broke. She'd never

expected to have it hurt so badly.

"What about you? Planning on making Frank Slater a wonderful wife?"

She looked up and met blazing green eyes. She blinked.

"Frank?"

"Yes, Frank, d.a.m.n it."

"I'm not interested in Frank."

"Oh." He looked taken aback. "Then, are you interested in anyone?"

"Yes."

He looked like she'd slapped him. Then he started to scowl.

"Whoever he is, he isn't good enough for you. I want to meet him. What's his name?"

"That's none of your business." "It sure as h.e.l.l is my business. Who is he?" "What do you care?" she retorted. He growled. And he scowled some more. Then he thrust out his hand. "Come here. We might as well get on with this snuggling business. I'm sure the fool will appreciate it eventually."

"I think he might." If Sam only knew!

He took her hand and hauled her over to him. Sydney found herself pinned between his heavy arm and

his hard chest. He dragged her arm across his waist and pushed her head down against his shoulder. "This is snuggling," he grumbled. "And that's Singing in the Rain on TV. I hope you like both because I'm not giving you a choice about either." Sydney didn't care what was on television. They could have been watching a televised correspondence course in advanced calculus and she would have been perfectly content. After a few minutes, Sam relaxed, and she relaxed against him. She closed her eyes and sighed as he began to trail his fingers over her back. She snuggled closer to him and pressed her face against his neck.

"That feels good."

He cleared his throat. "Compliments are, of course, always appreciated. As are comments about the

snuggling partner's warmth."

"You're very warm, Sam."

"Yes, like that," he said gruffly. "You're getting the hang of it."

"No, not quite yet. I think it might take another couple of hours."

She could hardly believe the words had come out of her mouth, but it was too late to take them back

now.

"Yes, well, it might." Sam sounded positively hoa.r.s.e. "We'll see how it goes tonight. We might have to

do this often. Just so you perfect your technique."

"Of course."

"And so you can please Sasquatch. Or whatever the h.e.l.l his name is."

"Right," she agreed.

"I don't want to know who he is."

"I wouldn't think of telling you."

She felt the weight of Sam's head come to rest against hers. "Are you comfortable, Syd?" he murmured, the annoyance gone from his voice.

"Very," she whispered. "This is nice. Thank you, Sam."

He sighed deeply. "It's the least I can do for the woman who's going to take her life in her hands and teach me how to change the oil in my Range Rover."

"You'll do a great job."

He said nothing, but tightened his arms around her.

Sydney closed her eyes and smiled. She didn't think about whoever it was that Sam was interested in.

She was the one in his arms at present, and if his embrace was any indication, he didn't want to let her go. There was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind about the ident.i.ty of Sam's woman, but she pushed it away. There would be time enough tomorrow to be irritated and miffed.

For the moment, Sam was hers.

Chapter Eight.

Sam swung the axe down, and it split the wood with a satisfying crack. Yes, there was something therapeutic about chopping wood. Especially when you could do it and not worry about losing toes in the process. He didn't need to chop any wood, but it was keeping him busy. And it was certainly the only positive thing in his life at present. His revisions were worse than the first draft, and his plan to woo Sydney was turning out worse than his revisions.

And it had everything to do with her mystery man.

He finished his stack, put the axe back in the shed, and walked into the house. Sydney was lying on the couch, her nose stuck in a book on trail guiding. He wished for once she would read something else. Something he'd written maybe. The woman claimed she wanted to learn how to cook. A little foray into a cooking magazine wasn't too much to ask, was it?

She looked up as he clomped by. He glared at her. She returned his look coolly.

"Ready for our lesson?" she asked, her tone as icy as her look.