“What’s with the country-bumpkin act? One minute you’re talking like you barely finished elementary school and the next minute you’re civilized and speaking to me like a proper gentleman.” She leaned toward him. “Why the cover?”
“It should be obvious,” he muttered. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what looked like a pack of gum. “Want some?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you, and it isn’t obvious to me.”
“Your mother and I had dreams. We’d both finish school; she’d work until she got pregnant; I’d get a job with an antiques dealer until I could start a business of my own and support us.” He shifted, the nylon jacket he wore making a loud, crinkling noise in the otherwise quiet tree house. “I was majoring in art history, you know.”
“I didn’t realize.” No one had given her his background or history and she hung on his every word.
“No reason you should. I gave up those dreams when I gave up your mother. The day her father arrived, proof that my father was indebted to a loan shark in one hand and the solution in the other.”
“What do you mean?” His last explanation had been in gruff Samson-speak. Sloane wanted to hear the truth now. All of it.
And Samson seemed willing to provide the answers. “He offered me a check to pay the loan shark off. My father agreed to sign the house over to me if I took the deal. What could I do? My mother wouldn’t live in fear of losing the roof over her head anymore.
My father wouldn’t have his kneecaps blown off.” He shook his head and let out a rough rumble that resembled a laugh.
But Sloane didn’t find the story amusing and neither could he. “Nobody blows kneecaps off anymore,” she said.
“No, they just blow up houses.” He lifted his gaze from the warped wood floor. “You grew up sheltered, thank God. That’s one of the reasons I took the money and let Jacqueline go. To protect her from my family and my life.”
“Not to mention the fact that my grandfather made that one of his conditions, right? The money in exchange for letting Jacqueline go?” Sloane asked through gritted teeth.
“As it turned out, it was an excellent deal for your mother. She had a wonderful life.
Short as it was.”
This conversation had turned more emotional than she’d planned. But Samson didn’t seem to be running away, so Sloane pressed her advantage. “How do you know Jacqueline wouldn’t have had a better life with you? The man she really loved?”
Samson shrugged. “She didn’t have a choice and neither did I. Your grandfather made it clear that if he didn’t supply the funds to pay off the loan shark, my father would probably be found dead in an alley. The bank would take our house and we’d be out on the street.” He ran a hand through his already windblown hair. “Added to that, my mother had cancer. We couldn’t afford treatment and she was going downhill fast. I wanted to make her final days comfortable ones at least. I needed more money for that.”
Sloane swallowed over the lump in her throat, unable to believe the painful saga he was revealing. “Please don’t tell me you told my grandfather about your mother’s illness and he used that as leverage.”
Samson nodded. “He added to the check without blinking and told me to stay the hell away from Jacqueline. What else could I do except take it?” Samson rolled his shoulders in a nonchalant gesture, as if the story were old news, but the ravaged look in his eyes and his life history told her he’d never gotten over his decision.
“You said earlier that you went back for Jacqueline, in a manner of speaking. What did you mean?” She wiggled her ice-cold fingers, trying to get the blood flowing again. Her entire body had grown cold.
“At first I didn’t go back. Didn’t look in on her at all. I had my hands full with my mother’s illness and I needed every last penny your grandfather had given me. I couldn’t afford to rile him. And then my mother passed away.”
“I’m sorry.” At the mention of a grandmother she’d never met, Sloane swiped at the tears falling from her eyes. So much of her life she’d never known about and would discover only second-hand.
All because of one man’s selfish need to control everything around him. She wondered if her mother’s father ever had regrets for altering and playing with the lives of everyone around him.
But nothing could change the facts, so she turned back to Samson. “So what happened then? Your mother was gone and your father—”
He cleared his throat. “Had disappeared anyway. He wasn’t one for taking care of people, in sickness or in health. He bailed on my mother in her last days.”
She opened her eyes wide. “He had a funny way of showing gratitude, considering what you’d done.”
“He thought creating me meant I owed him.”
She shook her head but knew words of sympathy would be meaningless. “So your parents were both gone. Why didn’t you go back for Jacqueline?”
“Your grandfather was a senator and a very smart man. He made me sign a loan agreement. I had to take the bastard’s word that he wouldn’t come after me to pay him back. Unless I went after Jacqueline.” He shook his head, dejection and regret evident in the slump of his shoulders and the raw pain emanating from him in waves. Pain for things he’d done—and not done. “And let me tell you, that was one whopping sum of money I took. I wouldn’t have been able to pay it back in ten lifetimes.”
Sloane exhaled, realizing for the first time her breath came out in visible puffs. Drat the open window , she thought, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Not even her jacket made a difference now.
“You need to know that money threats couldn’t have kept me away from Jacqueline.”
Samson seemed focused on their conversation, oblivious to the chill. “But when I went to check on her, she was married. She looked happy and I knew she was well cared for. All things I couldn’t give her. Not anymore.” He, too, wiped his eyes with one sleeve. “So I came back home.”
“And withdrew from life.” Sloane understood him now. Understood everything about him and why he’d turned into a recluse.
“It was easier not to be around folks in this town.” He slashed his hand through the air, as if cutting people out of his life. “But they persisted. Pearl brought brownies by and Izzy and Norman sent food after my mother died. But I didn’t want their sympathy. And when polite manners didn’t do the trick, I started turning them away with gruff, rude talking.”