Star-Crossed Parents. C.J. Carmichael

scene, but now Leigh turned to him, certain that he had to support her on this point at least.

      “Maybe we should leave these kids alone for a bit.”

      “What?” As far as Leigh was concerned, their discussion had barely started.

      “Just give them some space,” Sam added, holding out a hand as if he expected her to go with him. “I’m not leaving without my daughter. Come on, Taylor. We can continue our discussion in the car.” The keys were still in her hand. She didn’t relish tackling the freeways in the dark, but she supposed she would have to manage.

      She started for the door, then stopped when she realized Taylor wasn’t following. “Taylor?”

      “No.”

      Josh moved behind her, planting both of his hands on her shoulders. Leigh took a deep breath. “Okay, we don’t have to go back to the city. I’ll find us a room and after we have a good night’s sleep we’ll be able to—”

      “No, Mom. I won’t go with you. Josh invited me for the weekend.”

      “Taylor, this is crazy. We don’t know these men. Come with me and—”

      “No, Mom. I’m staying. You want me to, right?” She glanced over her shoulder at Josh.

      “Sure.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Mrs. Hartwell, we haven’t officially met, but—”

      “Ms. Hartwell. Not Mrs.” Leigh tried not to be swayed by the boy’s charming smile. It was a lot like his father’s, without the crowded bicuspids. He’d probably had the braces his father had done without.

      “Oh. Sorry. Anyway, we haven’t met, but I’m Josh Wallace and I do care about your daughter. I didn’t trick her into coming to Jefferson. She wants to be here.”

      “Josh, you’re a nice-looking kid and I’m sure you have a lot of friends who think you’re great, but what you’re doing with my daughter isn’t right.”

      “I have to disagree. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. This is my place and I’m sorry, but I’m asking you to leave.”

      “What?” This kid—this boy who had lured her daughter hundreds of miles from home—was kicking her out of his house?

      Sam crossed the room. Took her arm.

      “Let go of me.”

      He immediately did so. “You going to exit on your own steam?”

      Obviously, she had no choice. She gave her daughter one last look, but Taylor wouldn’t meet her eyes. Leigh fought a sudden urge to cry. “If you need me, dial my cell, Taylor. I’ll keep it on all night.”

      It was pitch-dark now and Leigh had to rely on Sam to guide her as she stumbled along the dirt path in her high heels toward their parked vehicles. By the time they reached her rental car, tears were streaming down her face. She averted her head so he wouldn’t see.

      Taylor had never talked to her that way before.

      Was it Josh’s influence that was making her do so now? Or was this the result of some parenting mistake Leigh had made along the way? Had she been too protective? Too controlling? Had she somehow forced Taylor into this act of rebellion?

      “So,” Sam said. “You heading back to New York City now?”

      Was he crazy? “I can’t just leave her.”

      “Why not let her stay the weekend, like they planned? I’ll drive her to the bus on Monday morning.”

      How could he say that? “You don’t see anything wrong with what they’re doing?”

      “I admit I’m not one-hundred-percent happy about the situation. But that’s not the point.”

      “It is the point. They’re just kids. We have to stop this.”

      “But they’re not kids, Leigh.” Sam’s voice was now gentle.

      “I don’t care about the technicalities. My daughter demonstrated more good sense when she was ten.”

      Sam surprised her by smiling. “Love can do that to a person.”

      There was that word again. In Leigh’s opinion people used it far too frequently. Far too easily. “They’re young and attracted to one another. All the more reason for us to step in. Their judgment is seriously impaired right now.”

      “Maybe they’re not the only ones.” Sam passed her a tissue from his pocket.

      Despite the dark, he’d noticed her tears. Leigh blotted them, then sighed. She was so tired. And confused.

      “Want to come in for a minute and regroup?” Sam offered.

      His house had no lights on, save a dim glow near the front door. In contrast, Sam’s son’s cottage was ablaze with light. As Leigh watched, first one light, then another, went out. The last one off was in the upstairs loft area.

      The bedroom.

      Oh, God. Could she really leave Taylor alone like this?

      “Leigh? It’s okay. Really. I saw the way Josh looked at your daughter. He does care about her. And if you’re worried about diseases or pregnancy, don’t. I’ve been very open with my son and Josh knows how to protect her.”

      Leigh was glad of the dark. Glad that Sam Wallace—new-age dad of the open communications era—couldn’t see her blush. “I had those same talks with Taylor.” At night. In Taylor’s bedroom. In the dark it had been easier to say all the things that needed to be said.

      “Good. Then you know we don’t need to worry.”

      As if. Leigh had known, naturally, that one day her daughter would put all that good advice into practice. She’d just hoped that it would be later. And a little more discreetly.

      “I need a place to spend the night. Can you recommend someplace nearby? An inn or maybe a bed-and-breakfast?” She’d seen dozens of signs along the highway. There had to be something available in Jefferson, even if it was the smallest town she’d ever been in.

      “That’s a good idea. It’s too late for you to drive all the way back to New York City. Come on inside and we’ll phone around.”

      He cupped her elbow, and she felt it again. That sizzle of awareness. To counter the effect, she tried to picture him in a dental chair with drool dripping down his chin.

      The feeling wouldn’t go away.

      “Is there a decent place nearby?”

      “Several. But it is summer. Tourist season. Finding a vacant room is going to be a long shot.”

      She let him lead her down a cobblestone walk toward his home. The delicious aroma of stewing meat and vegetables met them at the door.

      “Is your wife at home?” Funny she’d been cooking in the dark, though.

      “No. I’m a widower.”

      “I’m so sorry.”

      “It’s been six years,” Sam added, his tone a little softer. “That’s my dinner in the Crock-Pot you’re smelling.” He flicked on a series of lights and she saw immediately that the interior of this house was as welcoming as the exterior.

      Family pictures on the walls, a hand-crocheted afghan resting on a footstool, candles on the tables.

      “Wait there. I’ll be right back,” he promised as he disappeared down a hallway that ran parallel to a set of stairs leading to the second story.

      She took a closer look at the surroundings and saw that the scene wasn’t quite as perfect as it first appeared. The potpourri in the crystal bowl near the entrance looked more like dust than dried flowers and pinecones. The curtains in the living room were likewise dusty…and frayed in one corner. The mirror in the entrance