Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(85)

Sure, it could be said that just two weeks ago I, too, acted like a big dork when faced with sharing breathing space with Sampson Cooper but just then, I was jetlagged, tired and my mother, father and closest friends were meeting my new boyfriend for the first time and he just happened to be an internationally known and beloved hot guy. Even at the best of times and with a new boyfriend who wasn’t an internationally known and beloved hot guy, this would put me on edge. These weren’t the best of times so I didn’t have the patience for it.

But as time slid by, it penetrated that Sam was a practiced hand at this. He was friendly, accepting and had an ability to make people quickly feel at-ease.

What I didn’t know was if this was taxing for him.

This was because, almost the minute we hit my parents’ deck, after Sam met Dad, Missy, Rudy and our elderly widowed neighbor, Mrs. O’Keefe, Sam deposited me in a chair that was resting against the siding at the back of my parents’ house, bent to me and whispered in my ear, “We gotta be outside, you’re gonna stay right there.”

He lifted his head, looked in my eyes, his were serious so I nodded.

Clearly, if someone was insane enough to shoot at me in my parents’ yard during a barbeque, my position as decreed by Sam gave them a not-so-good shot.

Also clearly, Sam was not taking any chances with someone being insane enough to shoot me at my parents’ barbeque. That said, to actually be a hit man, you had to have some screw loose so obviously caution was a good way to go.

So, holding court in my chair at the back and with Sam called to meet half the town, I hadn’t had a second even to speak with him much less take his pulse.

Luckily, this died down but I still didn’t have a chance to make sure Sam was cool. This was because we got down to the business of a welcome home, everyone looking at the display on the back of my digital camera as they clicked through photos, them asking questions, me telling stories and giving out presents and those who meant the most to me in the world getting used to having me home and becoming comfortable with Sam.

This was until Ozzie, in uniform, popped by. I suspected Ozzie was there to see Sam but I also suspected he was there for other reasons, namely to see if I was still breathing.

What I knew was, the minute Sam saw him in uniform, got his name and shook his hand, Ozzie’s visit was going to take on a whole other meaning as defined by Sam.

Ozzie, being Ozzie, clocked this immediately and as he sat enjoying a Coke, his eyes often strayed to Sam.

Sam, being Sam, didn’t delay in sorting out what he felt like sorting out.

And this was done at three sips into Ozzie’s Coke (I counted) with a, “Ford, Sheriff, let’s have a minute inside with Kia.”

Ozzie sighed, unsurprised.

Dad’s eyebrows shot together and he looked at Sam then me.

“Is everything all right?” Mom asked.

Since it wasn’t, Sam didn’t answer. What he did do was get out of his chair next to mine then gently pull me up.

“All’s well, Essie,” Ozzie muttered, also straightening out of his chair and Dad followed suit, looking slightly bemused and not-so-slightly concerned.

“I’ll come with,” Mom decided and popped up.

Ozzie gave Dad a look, Sam gave Dad a look, Dad took in these looks and looked at Mom.

“Give me a minute with Oz and Sam, hon.”

“I don’t –” Mom started.

“A minute, Ess,” Dad stated firmly, Mom’s mouth got tight, her eyes started shooting daggers and I held my breath because I’d had twenty-eight years of this.

Dad was a man’s man, through and through. He poured cement for a living. He had his own business doing this, he did the best job of anyone in three counties and he didn’t employ slackers and that was known throughout town, maybe even statewide, seeing as your ass was fired on the spot if he found you not working to his exacting standards. Also I knew of two bar brawls he’d gotten into in town though I didn’t know the reasons he had them but, to me, bar brawls for any reason screamed man! He hunted (even though Mom, and then me when I was old enough to have and voice my opinion, hated this). Further, interrupting him during the Super Bowl, the World Series or the NBA playoffs was punishable by death; I didn’t know this for a fact mainly because I, like everyone else in my family, never interrupted him. He drank beer, not wine, not cocktails but if he felt like branching out, he might drink bourbon but only neat. You didn’t even look at the grill with the intention of using it because that was his domain. He mowed the lawn, he serviced the cars. And, on occasion, what he said went.

Mom, on the other hand, although they met and married relatively young, was independent and strong-willed. She’d been a Mom and a housewife and still went to night school when I was a kid so she could get her degree then moved on to get her Master’s. It took eleven years but she did it. Through this she worked part-time, finally getting a full-time job in the field she’d studied, Speech/Language Pathology. Yes, she cooked. Yes, she cleaned. Yes, in our household, Dad never did any of this. And yes, she did all this without complaint. But she had a say in her children’s lives and a definite hand in our upbringing. She might have been busy but she was not absent.

No, strike that, she had a say and an opinion about everything and didn’t mind voicing it.

And, on the occasion my Dad had something to say that he thought went, and Mom disagreed, things could get hairy.