Sloane immediately noticed the gleam in his eyes, more apparent now that his face was visible and his hair freshly washed, cut, and styled. He accepted who he was—then and now. He was about to find out, so did she.
A lump settled in her throat, but she forced herself to speak over it. “I didn’t care what you looked like,” she said truthfully. “I just wanted to meet my father.”
He treated her to a warm smile and she was struck for the first time just how handsome and distinguished-looking he actually was.
Reaching over the blanket that covered her, he extended a shaking hand. “Your father’s right here.”
Sloane met him halfway, and using her uninjured arm, she placed her palm inside his larger, callused one. When she looked at him now, she saw a different man from the gruff one she’d met; she saw the one Jacqueline, her mother, must have fallen in love with, the one who’d sacrificed his entire life for his gambler father and sick mother. And though he had his share of regrets, he never admitted them to the outside world.
Sloane was scared to ask the question that hovered in her mind, because now that she’d found this man, she didn’t want to say good-bye. “Where do we go from here?”
“That’s up to you.”
She smiled, realizing that like Chase, he might be a man of few words, but also like Chase, Samson would, in fact, be okay. He wasn’t going to push her away anymore, which meant she now had this gruff, enigmatic man in her life. Relief and happiness washed over her, making her almost giddy.
A knock sounded at the door and a nurse walked inside, tray in hand. “I have your morning medication, Ms. Carlisle,” she said in an efficient voice that set Sloane’s nerves on edge. She wanted out of here.
“Can you come back in a little while, please?” Though she’d called for medication, she needed absolute clarity while she and Samson talked.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s no crime to accept a little weakness.”
Sloane laughed while the nurse hovered, waiting for an answer. “I’m sure. And I promise that when we finish talking, I’ll take the painkillers. I’m not going to be a martyr. I just want this time with my father.”
Samson glanced over his shoulder at the nurse. “You heard my daughter,” he said with pride. He looked back to Sloane, the need for her approval so obvious in his eyes.
Happy, she squeezed his hand, giving him everything he’d asked for. But he hadn’t answered her question. They’d established a biological bond and had just begun to make an emotional connection.
Where did they go from here? she wondered. “Where will you live?” she asked him when the nurse walked out. She still vividly recalled the ashes and destruction that were the remains of his home.
His gaze darted back and forth, nervousness evident as he pulled his hand back and twisted his fingers together. “What I have to say is going to shock you,” he warned.
“I can’t imagine how,” she said. “Life’s thrown me so many curves, I’m used to them.”
“Oh yeah? I’m wealthy.” As he made his statement, he locked his stare on her face.
He’d been right. He’d floored her, she thought, and sucked in a startled breath. He certainly didn’t live or act like he had money. “You’re what ?”
“Wealthy,” he repeated. “I have money saved.”
“But . . . how? And what about the run-down state of your house before the explosion?
The mooching sandwiches from Norman’s? The ratty clothes?” Her head spun.
But even as she asked the questions, she recalled Earl and Ernie discussing Samson’s money and who’d inherit after he was gone.
He sighed. “Remember how I explained it was easier to keep people away from me by being surly and nasty, by dropping refinement and pretending I was the low-class bum everyone wanted to believe I was?”
She nodded, still stunned.
“Once I established myself, people ignored me without guilt. The human psyche is an amazing yet sad thing.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I figured if I was going to use the poor-Samson bit as a pretense, why not live that way too? At the time, I didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. And who was left in my life to impress?”
Sloane wanted to answer, to say he should have wanted to impress himself, but she couldn’t. Through his slumped shoulders, his embarrassment was already clear. So she swallowed hard and remained silent.
“Much as I hate to admit it, I began to wallow in the truth I created. The truth the town accepted.”
“I understand the motivation.” And it saddened her. “But the money? Where did that come from?”
“A few months after your senator grandfather died, an envelope arrived at my house.”
Sloane’s eyes opened wide. “And?”
“Your grandfather had provided enough money to compensate me for my sacrifice. At least that’s what the low-life snake’s letter said. Fat good the money did me after he stole your mother and ruined my life.” Though he sounded bitter, he’d also accepted the way life had turned out.
Which, Sloane supposed, was the story of his life. “But you refused to spend his money?”
she guessed, since he said he was wealthy.
Samson shrugged. “Why give the man any satisfaction? He thought he could rule the world, even from the grave. Sent me blood money when it was too late, when your mother was already gone. It certainly wasn’t like I could go after her then. So I just invested and let it build up.”
“So Grandfather Jack had a conscience,” Sloane said bitterly. “One he defined by his own terms, as usual.”
“Exactly.”
Tears filled her eyes, yet she couldn’t waste time worrying about the past. “But you’re willing to use his blood money to rebuild your house?” she asked Samson.
He nodded. “I want a place my daughter can come visit and be proud of. A place she can bring her own family,” he said, hope lacing his gruff voice.
She glanced down, unable to face him, knowing she’d be disappointing the man who’d already suffered so many letdowns. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up on the family angle,”
she told him. She looked at him from the corner of her eye.
He squared his shoulders, obviously upset. “Does that Chandler boy have rocks in his head? I told him to get off his ass and see what’s in front of him before it’s too late. I told him life’s too short to waste with regrets and could-have-beens.” He let out a low growl.