For Sam: A new-girl small town cowboy romance

Chapter 18 Tommy

Of course I’m ten minutes early for our date, but Sam is always ready with plenty of time to spare so it shouldn’t be an issue. We’ll get to watch more previews this way.

Who am I kidding? I feel like a kid in a candy store who can get anything that fits in his basket.

I unbuckle and pocket my phone, deciding to just use the buzzer to let her know I’m here since I’m too antsy. When I’m out of the truck, I shake out my limbs to try to calm my nerves and then shut the door. Before I can buzz her place, someone pushes the door open.

“Hey Tommy, what are you doing here?” Caleb asks.

“Picking up Sam for a movie,” I say, trying to not make it sound like a date.

“Nice,” he says. “Head on up, I’ve never seen her late for anything so I can’t imagine she’s not ready.”

“Where are you off to?” I ask, passing into the building.

“Groceries. Your brother now sends me lists each week.”

That sounds like Matt. “You guys hanging out tonight?”

“I think I might be able to convince him to keep me from destroying my dinner tonight.” He winks as he walks to his old pickup. I’ve always been confused about that truck. This guy brought in cash hand-over-fist steadily for almost a decade before his injury, but he’s always had that beater. I take the stairs two at a time and when I reach the hallway for the second floor, I hear it roaring to life. I’m surprised the windows don’t shake.

Sam’s deadbolt is thrown so the door is cracked open, which is odd. I knock all the same, not wanting to intrude.

“I’m in the bedroom so you can come back here!” Her voice is muffled and it sounds strained and my heart races.

My mind wars with itself, trying to figure out if she’s in danger or not.

No, not likely, she sounded calm, like she was expecting someone.

My gut sinks.

No.

No. I clench my fist to ground myself. She isn’t waiting for someone else. Sam isn’t Maisy for fuck’s sake. She’s not already seeing someone.

There’s a reasonable explanation for this.

Trust her.

I open the door while taking a deep breath to try to reset myself and I’m enveloped by the smell of her perfume. It’s not overwhelming, but it gives my heart a different reason for beating as fast as it is.

Quickly stepping out of my boots and walking to her room, I’m about to tell her that it’s me, because I’m not sure what’s actually going on, when she says, “I can’t thank you enough. Tommy’s going to be here soon and these hit out of the blue.”

I’m in her bedroom doorway in two strides and at her side in three more. She’s curled completely in a ball around a pillow on top of her bed with her eyes shut tight in pain.

“What’s wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?” I ask, looking for injuries and afraid to touch her in case I aggravate something. I swear under my breath as she lets out a groan that sounds suspiciously like the word no.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” I try again.

“No, no, no.” Her eyes stay closed so tightly that her nose scrunches up. “You aren’t supposed to be here yet. You aren’t supposed to see me like this.”

“What do you mean like this?” I ask, panic building that something’s terribly wrong. “Sam, I’m about five seconds from scooping you up, putting you in my truck, and taking you to the hospital.”

Her eyes fly open and it’s clear she’s cried recently. A primal-like rage fills my chest, something that’s so unlike me. If someone made her hurt like this, I’m ready to throw them into a wall.

“Oh my goodness, no! This is mortifying.”

I fall to my knees in front of her, putting my hand on hers, which are holding the end of the pillow in a death-grip. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Another groan escapes her. “They’re only this bad about once a year and I have meds, but I forgot to get more when I moved.”

My thumb traces a small path on the back of her hand as I wait.

“This is so embarrassing,” she whispers, still clearly in pain. “It’s cramps.”

Her eyes close again, and this time not from pain.

“Hey,” I say, gently. “No hiding, remember?”

One eye opens and she must see something reassuring. The murderous feeling in me has subsided and my gears are already turning.

“I may have four brothers, but my two oldest friends in the world get cramps. And even if they didn’t, there’s nothing embarrassing about them.”

“Of course that’s what you’d say,” she says, her facial expression softening before scrunching up again. “I’m ruining our date.”

“You most certainly are not. In fact, I heard that Maybel’s is booked for a bachelorette party.”

“It was not,” she says, attempting a smile.

“Okay, maybe not, but let me get you settled and then give me twenty minutes in your kitchen.” I stand up and look around, already making lists in my head. “Do you have a heating pad?”

“I have a hot water bottle.”

Of course she would have something a grandmother would keep on hand. God, I want to kiss this woman so badly.

“Where is it?” I ask.

She starts to uncurl herself from the pillow, wincing. I put my hand on her hip. “Just tell me where to get it.”

“The cupboard in the bathroom on the top shelf.”

“Stay put,” I tell her and I walk out of her room to the bathroom, turning on the hot water in the sink before opening the upper doors to the cupboard. It’s right where she said, of course.

Once it’s filled with steaming water, I screw the top plug in and wrap it in a hand towel I find on another shelf.

Thankfully, she’s right where I left her.

“You don’t have to do this. Greta from down the hall is bringing me something.”

Ah, so that explains the ajar door and the strange greeting.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” I tell her, only lying a little. I actually feel like I need to take care of her. Like she’s mine to take care of. Or that she could be if she let me. “Hold this between the pillow and yourself.”

She lets me tuck the hot water bottle in and I unfold the throw blanket at the end of the bed. The small amount her face relaxes has me feeling more and more confident that I’m being helpful. As I adjust the blanket, I realize that half of her hair is in curlers and that she’s wearing a robe and slippers. Images of her joining me for breakfast dressed just like this pop into my head. Wow, that’s something I haven’t done in a long time…I fully pictured a future moment with someone.

Kneeling once more, I lean the rest of the way over so I can place a kiss on her cheek and that’s when I notice a fresh tear.

“What happened? Did it get worse?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “This is not how our date was supposed to go. We had plans and those plans ended with a kiss.” Covering her face with one hand she adds, “I’m sorry, I’m all over the place right now and whining, apparently.”

My shoulders relax, I tilt my head down so it practically mirrors hers, and she peeks at me through her fingers. “Who said the plan was that we had to wait until the end of the date?”

And then I weave my fingers through hers and carefully tug her hand away from her face. She searches my expression as I close the gap and ever-so-gently, finally, kiss Samantha Davies.