Zeke nuzzled his hand. Adam reached absently for the black Lab's morning treat and tossed it to the other side of the kitchen. He did the same for Rufus, the aging, deaf springer spaniel who pranced in circles around his more sedate counterpart. For good measure, he threw several more into the hall beyond them. Neither dog needed to catch sight of the visitor. The last thing he wanted was to let the noisy canines announce his presence before he figured out what to do.
What to say.
Whether to say anything at all or just head for the hills.
He drummed his fingers on the tile and watched her shift positions. Honey blond hair, gathered into a ponytail and caught up with a simple white ribbon, framed a face whose features he could recite from memory. Brows a shade darker than her hair, eyes the color of a gray winter's sky, and a nose so straight you'd never know it had been broken in junior high at the last basketball game of the year when she'd dropped her pom-pom and ...
He shook off the stupid memory and reached for his coffee.
Think, Chambers. Think!
Lifting the cup to his lips, Adam took a sip and let the strong brew slide down his throat before he realized he hadn't added his customary three spoonfuls of sugar. He made a grab for the spoon and stabbed it into the sugar bowl. Where had things gone wrong?
The day had started just like any other. He rolled past each detail of his comfortable routine in his mind: Every morning, he awoke at precisely four forty-five and had his half hour of one-on-one time with the Lord. At a quarter past five, he threw on his shorts, sweatshirt, and sneakers to run the three-mile perimeter of his property with his dogs then poured a cup of black coffee and went to sit on his eastward-facing deck to watch the sun rise over the pines. By seven on the dot, he'd showered, shaved, and begun the three-mile drive to town. The only variation to his day came on Sundays, when he would turn his well-loved Ford pickup toward Tierra Verde's Blessed Family Church on Main instead of his clinic at Park and Elm.
This morning, the first day of October, the alarm sounded as usual, the Bible's words touched him as they always did, the air felt crisp with the promise of an early winter, his run was invigorating, and the coffee tasted fine as he'd headed for the deck. Unfortunately, that is where his familiar routine fell apart, for right there in his rocker, the very one he'd sat in until the outline of his posterior could be seen in the sagging seat, sat a woman.
And this wasn't just any woman. No, of all the females who'd ever arrived at his doorstep-not that the number was high, by any means-this one was the least welcome of all.
Why, after all these years, would Amy Foreman plant herself in his rocker on his porch? Better yet, why was the woman of his dreams-lately the female of his nightmares as she seemed to be smiling back at him from every movie billboard, television show, and women's magazine in existence-sitting here at all? Shouldn't she be in Malibu deciding which script to turn into her next blockbuster hit? After all, it was practically the middle of the night back in her state of choice.
With the first rays of light sliding over purple mountains to peek through the pines, Adam watched Amy take in the view. She snuggled into the oversized hooded sweatshirt, tucked over knees bent to her chest, and Adam realized she must be freezing. From what he recalled from world geography class, California never quite reached the depths of temperature that an early fall here reached.
How'd she get here? He'd certainly seen no unusual vehicles on his run around the property, although had she driven, her car probably sat outside the locked gate. Parked along the road, it would have been hidden by the stand of pines and underbrush that shielded his home from the street.
He checked his watch. Half past six. She must have slept there. No wonder she looked cold. A gentleman would ask her inside, offer her a cup of coffee, maybe even build a fire and offer to let her warm up before she went on her way-and she would definitely be on her way just as quickly as she'd arrived.
Adam heaved a sigh and took another sip. No, there would be no worries of having Amy Foreman wear out her welcome. She had a track record of leaving even when he begged her not to.
You should thank her for that, you know.
Placing the cup on the counter, Adam crossed his arms over his chest and watched a breeze kick up the end of Amy's ponytail. Thank her? He'd never thought of things quite that way.
Somehow he'd never managed to convince himself that Amy had done him a favor by choosing Hollywood over a quiet life as the wife of a veterinarian, even though his buddies had tried. After all, they reminded him regularly that she'd practically assured him certain victory in gaining his part of the sum that had grown under Uncle Willard's supervision since childhood.
What his friends couldn't know is that she'd all but assured his permanent membership in the Bachelor Club since not a single woman alive could compare to Amy Foreman. He paused to chuckle. Hadn't Oprah said as much the last time Amy had been interviewed on her show?
The subject of his thoughts snuggled deeper into the dark blue sweatshirt and adjusted the hood so that all Adam could see was the top of her head. Another niggling stab of guilt almost sent him outside with a blanket and a smile, but something stopped him. Was it the money? No, while the sum wasn't anything to sneeze at, he certainly managed nicely as the owner of the only veterinary practice in town.
It was the principle of the thing. Yes, that's it. He'd waited this long, gone along with the terms of the club for more than two decades. Why jeopardize his membership now with the end so close in sight?
That's it. You're no quitter, Chambers. You can't possibly take a chance on losing what you've come so close to winning.
Indeed, with less than two months to go until his thirtieth birthday on New Year's Day, the last person he needed to cozy up to was the one woman he'd ever been willing to risk his stake in the Bachelor Club fund to marry. And yet, there she sat.
Rufus saw her initially, although Zeke was the first one to bark. Before Adam could step away from the door and quiet the dogs, she turned around and spied him.
He froze.
She smiled.
* * *
Later she would probably wonder why she smiled, or rather how she managed it, given the direction her thoughts had turned in those cold hours before the dawn and Adam Chambers arrived. The insincere smile, she decided, was a habit gleaned long ago from one too many boring Hollywood premieres or perhaps learned earlier as a girl who wanted everyone to think life was perfect in her little corner of the world. No matter how you felt, whatever the situation, you plastered on a smile and waited for the cameras to flash.
When had her life been reduced to this? Worse, when had she decided this was her life?
People in Hollywood smiled because it was expected of them. Here, in Tierra Verde, they smiled because they meant it.
So why wasn't Adam smiling? Hadn't he wished her well the day she left? Surely he'd forgotten all about their near miss with the altar by now. No matter that Amy hadn't been able to accomplish the feat.
"What are you doing here?"
The same words, expressed by someone else, might have sounded harsh and unwelcoming, but Adam spoke them with something akin to wonder. She realized her artificial smile had been replaced with a real one.
Welcome home, Amy Foreman.
"Hi, Adam."
Not the great soliloquy of introduction she'd planned in the wee hours of the morning, but a good beginning, nonetheless. She tried to rise but found her legs stiff and uncooperative. Leaning forward in the rocker to massage her calves, Amy let her attention wander back to Adam.
He wore gray shorts, running shoes, and a green sweatshirt with his alma mater, Colorado State, emblazoned on the front in block letters. He also wore a frown. As Adam leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, Amy searched for traces of the old Adam, the love of her life she so stupidly left behind.
Somewhere under the frown and matching furrowed eyebrows was the man who could always make her laugh and whose memory always made her cry. Today, however, he'd buried that man under layers of irritation, or so it seemed.
A mismatched pair of dogs complained at the door, and he took a step forward to release the latch and allow the screen to fly open. The animals, one a sleek black Lab and the other a fluffy black and white springer spaniel, made a beeline for her. The Lab stuck a warm but wet nose in Amy's hand while the springer danced around her and barked. Amy tried in vain to pet them both, but the springer's hyperactive pacing wouldn't allow it.
Adam retrieved a stick from the deck and threw it into the shadowy trees. The yelping pair took off in pursuit, leaving Amy to wipe her hands on her sweatshirt. She took a deep breath of fresh air, scented with nothing more than pine and the slight tinge of acrid smoke from someone's fireplace.
Fall in New Mexico. She'd almost forgotten how it felt.
"What are you doing here?" This time the words held less wonder and more worry.
She swung her gaze to meet his. "I suppose that's a fair question." But how to answer it? Nothing but the truth would do. Still, there had to be a way of phrasing the truth where all of it didn't come spilling out at once.
"I came to see you," she finally said.
Her answer seemed to take all the fire out of him. Rather than lean, he now stood and then began to pace, finally stopping to place both hands on the deck rail and stare across the pines to the purple mountains beyond.
"Why now, Amy?" He turned to face her, eyes narrowed. "Why'd you have to show up now?"
Another opportunity to tell the whole truth; another chance to parcel it out in pieces. "I've been asking myself the same question all morning."
One of the dogs barked off in the distance, a temporary distraction at best. Too soon, silence fell between them, rising thick as the morning fog clinging to the ground beyond the deck.
Clearing his throat, Adam shook his head then ran both hands through his close-cropped dark hair. "You got any answers to go with that question?"
She'd freeze before she could finish a story as long as the one that led her to Adam's front door-or rather to his deck-but pride kept her from saying so. Instead, she gathered the borrowed sweatshirt around her middle and stuffed her fists into the warmth of its pockets.
The Lord got me this far. He'll do the rest.
"Why don't I start at the beginning, then?"
Adam checked his watch and exhaled a long breath. "How long's this going to take?"
"Awhile," she answered. "Depends on whether you want the whole story or just the abbreviated version."
"I have a morning of surgery ahead of me, starting in less than an hour. Give me whatever version gets me to the clinic on time."
"All right."
This time when she attempted to rise, her legs obliged. She squared her shoulders and prepared for the biggest performance of her career. With more preparation, she might have pulled off a much grander performance. Instead, she winged it.
"Adam, I need a job."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Bachelor Club by Rhonda Gibson Bev Huston Janet Spaeth Kathleen Y'Barbo Copyright © 2005 by Rhonda Gibson, Bev Huston, Janet Spaeth, & Kathleen Y'Barbo . Excerpted by permission.
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