Unsanctioned Memories. Julie Miller

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      “Attacker?” She spun around. “I never said he…”

      Jess’s temper and posture sagged as if the switch that kept her running had been suddenly turned off. Sam heard the crunch of gravel the same time her eyes fixed on a point in the distance. Harry barked. He, too, had noticed the teal-green van cresting the hill and slowing as it neared the entrance to Log Cabin Acres.

      “Expecting someone?” Sam angled himself toward the approaching vehicle and made some quick mental notes. Two people—the driver and a passenger—inside. Missouri plates. His protective hackles rose, his senses fine-tuned with a hyperawareness of the intruders as they drove between the brick pillars at Jess’s front gate. “It’s after six.” He glanced back over his shoulder to remind her of the excuse she’d tried to use to dismiss him last night. “You want me to tell them you’re closed?”

      “We can’t turn them away. They’re my parents.” As the van came up the main drive toward the parking lot, Jess released the dog who was pacing back and forth at her feet. “Go, boy.”

      Harry took off at a lope to greet what must be a familiar vehicle. His bark and gait were considerably more joyful than the protective charge with which he’d greeted Sam’s arrival.

      But releasing the dogs, so to speak, was a stalling tactic, Sam realized. While Harry ran ahead to meet their visitors, Jess was smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt, pinching her cheeks, finger combing her hair. More than that, she was breathing deeply, preparing herself. For what? Sam watched her transformation from defensive and upset to welcoming and wondered what was going on. Was she hiding something from her parents, too?

      As the van’s doors opened, Jess pasted a serene smile on her face and turned to greet them. “Hey, Ma. Dad.”

      Sam hung back and watched the scene unfold. A stocky man, six feet in height, with silver at the temples of his tobacco-colored hair climbed out from the driver’s side and clapped his hands. Harry instantly propped his front paws on the man’s shoulders and proceeded to lick his face. “That’s my boy.” The man grunted a sound that seemed to excite the dog even more.

      Where were the bared teeth the dog had shown Sam?

      “Good grief, Sid, you haven’t even kissed your daughter yet.” A tall, slender woman with soft, silvery curls framing her face climbed out the passenger side. She carried a covered dish.

      The stocky man answered back with a laugh. “It’s all right, Martha. Jessie and I like our dogs.” He winked. “Don’t we, sweetie?”

      Sam’s gaze immediately caught the elegant sway of Jess’s backside as she strolled up to her father and greeted him with a hug and a kiss. “That’s right, Dad. How are you feeling?”

      “I’m feeling fine, thank you very much.” He patted his hand against his chest. “Healthy as a ham.”

      “Hambone, you mean,” chided Jess’s mother.

      Not to be outdone on the welcoming committee, Harry bounded around the van and met Martha Taylor halfway. He obeyed her “Down” command and was rewarded with a thorough scratch around his ears, some blown kisses and an indulgent, “How’s my great big grand-doggie today?”

      Harry ate up the attention.

      “Hey, Ma.”

      “Hey, sweetie.” The dog returned to his good buddy, Grandpa, while the women hugged.

      Sam noted that genetics ran strong in the Taylor family. Jess was a younger version of her mother, matching her classic lines and height inch for inch. Yet she’d inherited her father’s rich dark hair.

      Jess’s smile never wavered as they traded information about their drive from the city. And she still wore that mask of not a care in the world when she stretched out her arm and invited him over to join them. “Ma, Dad, I want you to meet my new hired hand, Sam O’Rourke. These are my parents, Sid and Martha Taylor. They live in the city. Just north of downtown.”

      Sid Taylor immediately stepped forward and gripped Sam in a firm handshake. “O’Rourke.”

      Sam understood that he was being checked out for his suitability to spend time in his daughter’s company, even as an employee. Sam had done the same thing himself with his sister’s dates and co-workers.

      It was the one man he hadn’t met who’d torn his life apart.

      “Mr. Taylor.” He could appreciate Sid Taylor’s protective instincts and respected the way he sized him up.

      Martha Taylor wasn’t shy, either. She handed the dish she carried to her daughter and insisted on shaking hands. “I’m Martha,” she smiled. “So tell us about yourself, Mr. O’Rourke. Where are you from? What kind of work are you doing for Jessie? Do you like antiques?”

      “Ma.”

      “Martha.”

      Reprimanded on both fronts, she shrugged off her family’s warnings and smiled. “Pay no attention to them. You look like a healthy eater. I’ve brought some of my homemade lasagne. It’s a low-cholesterol recipe for Sid’s heart, but the whole family eats it up.”

      Sam slowly withdrew his hand. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

      “Does your wife cook for you?”

      “Ma!”

      “Martha.”

      This time she answered their warnings. “I can’t help it.”

      Jess’s cheeks bloomed with color, but Sam could only laugh. So Martha had been checking him out, too. But for entirely different reasons. “I’m not married, Mrs. Taylor.”

      “But you do like antiques?”

      “I’m no expert at finding them. But I like working with my hands, rebuilding and refinishing old furniture. That kind of thing.”

      Sid Taylor wasn’t so easily charmed. “That’s not your regular job.” He inclined his head toward the bridge of Sam’s nose. “Your sunburn’s fresh.”

      “Dad, he’s the hired help. Nothing more. I checked his references.” Jess intervened before the inquisition got fully underway. She slid in between Sam and her parents, bringing her close enough to breathe in the herbal scent of her shampoo on her hair. Sam retreated a step before his libido could get in the way of his duty again. “Sam’s just working here for a month. He’s passing through on his way to San Diego.”

      Sam? What happened to Mr. O’Rourke and keeping a polite distance? Why was she defending him?

      “Is that so?” Sid challenged, glancing above his daughter’s head. His brown eyes looked as doubtful as Martha’s were intrigued. “You’re a drifter?”

      “Only part-time,” he joked. Sid didn’t laugh. “I’m on a leave of absence from my regular job. In Boston. I’m traveling the country, working my way when the money runs short. I ran short when my car broke down yesterday.”

      “I see.”

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