haven’t seen a close-up picture”—Madeline held out the photo she’d been zealously guarding—“this is Sloane.”
Shock and disbelief rocked through his system as he glanced at the picture, and into the eyes of the woman he’d taken to bed the night before.
CHAPTER FOUR
Y orkshire Falls was the opposite of the nation’s capital. Small-town USA was an apt description, Sloane thought. Her own hometown was a wealthy community with stately mansions and equally formidable trees. But as she walked down First Street, she took in the small shops and the people who’d congregated to talk, and she liked the homey, close-knit feel. And with each older man she passed, she wondered if she’d just seen Samson. Her father.
She’d left D.C. twenty-four hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime, thanks to the drastic change in scenery. With butterflies in her stomach, she entered a coffee shop named Norman’s, located next to Charlotte’s Attic, a store owned by the same woman her stepmother had befriended and wanted to introduce her to. A woman who crocheted handmade sexy bra-and-panty sets. If Sloane weren’t in such a rush, she’d check the store out here. But she’d come on a mission to warn Samson he was in danger and she intended to accomplish her goal.
Inside Norman’s, she was surrounded by a bird motif. Birdhouses, photos and paintings of bird species, all with a light, airy feel.
A large gray-haired woman walked up to her, menu in hand. “Can I get you a table?”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone.” Sloane smiled. “This seemed like a logical place to start.”
“Honey, everyone who’s anyone in this town comes into Norman’s sooner or later. Who are you looking for?”
“A gentleman by the name of Samson Humphrey,” Sloane said, the name still sounding foreign on her tongue.
To her surprise, the woman burst out laughing, covering her face with a menu and attempting to feign coughing.
“Is something amusing?” Sloane asked, affronted and uncomfortable.
“Oh no.” The woman placed a hand on her shoulder as if they were old friends. “No, honey. Forgive me, please.” She coughed for real this time, then wiped her eyes. “It’s just that Samson’s been called many things, but no one’s ever referred to him as a gentleman before.”
Unsure what to make of the comment, Sloane felt her insides clench hard. “Can you tell me where to find him?”
“First, come sit and have a soda. Then I’ll fill you in on Samson. No one comes into Norman’s and leaves with an empty stomach,” she explained as she ushered Sloane to the swivel stools by the counter. “Drink’s on me.”
“Who’s me?” Sloane asked.
The woman wiped down the place in front of Sloane. “Oh, forgive my manners. I’m just not used to many strangers coming through. I’m Izzy. My husband, Norman, owns this place. He makes the best burgers. Just ask those Chandler boys. They live on them.”
Sloane laughed at the woman’s rambling. She had a hunch this was just the beginning of the gossip and friendliness she’d find were she to stay in this small town. Recognizing that she might have to cozy up to Izzy before getting information, Sloane decided to accept her offer. “I’ll have a diet Coke. Please.”
Izzy placed her hands on her generous hips and tsked with her tongue. “A little thing like you could use some calories. Hey, Norman,” she yelled to a graying man who stood in the kitchen, visible from a pass-through. “Get this lady a Coke.”
So much for the customer always being right, Sloane thought wryly.
Only after she was seated with a Coke in front of her and Izzy beside her, did the woman get back to the reason for Sloane’s visit. “So what do you want with Samson?”
It didn’t escape Sloane’s notice that she still hadn’t told her where the older man lived. “We have personal business.” She twirled the straw in her soda without meeting Izzy’s gaze directly, glancing out of the
Shock and disbelief rocked through his system as he glanced at the picture, and into the eyes of the woman he’d taken to bed the night before.
CHAPTER FOUR
Y orkshire Falls was the opposite of the nation’s capital. Small-town USA was an apt description, Sloane thought. Her own hometown was a wealthy community with stately mansions and equally formidable trees. But as she walked down First Street, she took in the small shops and the people who’d congregated to talk, and she liked the homey, close-knit feel. And with each older man she passed, she wondered if she’d just seen Samson. Her father.
She’d left D.C. twenty-four hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime, thanks to the drastic change in scenery. With butterflies in her stomach, she entered a coffee shop named Norman’s, located next to Charlotte’s Attic, a store owned by the same woman her stepmother had befriended and wanted to introduce her to. A woman who crocheted handmade sexy bra-and-panty sets. If Sloane weren’t in such a rush, she’d check the store out here. But she’d come on a mission to warn Samson he was in danger and she intended to accomplish her goal.
Inside Norman’s, she was surrounded by a bird motif. Birdhouses, photos and paintings of bird species, all with a light, airy feel.
A large gray-haired woman walked up to her, menu in hand. “Can I get you a table?”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone.” Sloane smiled. “This seemed like a logical place to start.”
“Honey, everyone who’s anyone in this town comes into Norman’s sooner or later. Who are you looking for?”
“A gentleman by the name of Samson Humphrey,” Sloane said, the name still sounding foreign on her tongue.
To her surprise, the woman burst out laughing, covering her face with a menu and attempting to feign coughing.
“Is something amusing?” Sloane asked, affronted and uncomfortable.
“Oh no.” The woman placed a hand on her shoulder as if they were old friends. “No, honey. Forgive me, please.” She coughed for real this time, then wiped her eyes. “It’s just that Samson’s been called many things, but no one’s ever referred to him as a gentleman before.”
Unsure what to make of the comment, Sloane felt her insides clench hard. “Can you tell me where to find him?”
“First, come sit and have a soda. Then I’ll fill you in on Samson. No one comes into Norman’s and leaves with an empty stomach,” she explained as she ushered Sloane to the swivel stools by the counter. “Drink’s on me.”
“Who’s me?” Sloane asked.
The woman wiped down the place in front of Sloane. “Oh, forgive my manners. I’m just not used to many strangers coming through. I’m Izzy. My husband, Norman, owns this place. He makes the best burgers. Just ask those Chandler boys. They live on them.”
Sloane laughed at the woman’s rambling. She had a hunch this was just the beginning of the gossip and friendliness she’d find were she to stay in this small town. Recognizing that she might have to cozy up to Izzy before getting information, Sloane decided to accept her offer. “I’ll have a diet Coke. Please.”
Izzy placed her hands on her generous hips and tsked with her tongue. “A little thing like you could use some calories. Hey, Norman,” she yelled to a graying man who stood in the kitchen, visible from a pass-through. “Get this lady a Coke.”
So much for the customer always being right, Sloane thought wryly.
Only after she was seated with a Coke in front of her and Izzy beside her, did the woman get back to the reason for Sloane’s visit. “So what do you want with Samson?”
It didn’t escape Sloane’s notice that she still hadn’t told her where the older man lived. “We have personal business.” She twirled the straw in her soda without meeting Izzy’s gaze directly, glancing out of the
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