He reached it milliseconds after a young woman, who was obviously their mother. Near hysterics, she shifted the toddler she held onto her hip and yelled to her youngsters, ordering them to sit still.
They didn't. Both scrambled to the side nearest their mom. And, of course, the canoe tipped.
Their shrieks of terror mingled with their mother's frantic screams.
Sam stepped out of his shoes, shoved his glasses at the woman, and dove into the familiar waters.
He surfaced beside the canoe, just in time to see one of the children sink. Grabbing the one in sight, he tossed her, squalling, atop the overturned canoe. "Stay!" he roared, hoping he'd scared the kid into lying still.
He dived. At first he saw nothing, but as he rotated, he caught a glimpse of something white, drifting slowly downward. Two strong strokes took him to the other child, limp in the water. He grabbed the boy's t-shirt, used his other hand and both legs to propel himself upwards. When they exploded out of the water, he laid his ear against the small chest and gave thanks for the faint heartbeat. He was about to share a breath when the little boy choked, vomited, and began screaming.
By then, he was surrounded by Turner men, who quickly righted the canoe and helped him get both children to shore. Sam staggered as he crawled out of the water moments after and nearly fell over when the kids' mom threw herself at him. Crying, she thanked him again and again before a couple more Turners managed to coax her to the pavilion. Libby kept her distance until he was free, when she ducked under his arm to help him walk.
By the time the last Turner had patted Sam on the back and wandered away, he and Libby were at his oak tree. She threw her arms around his midsection with elation born of an emotional high. He took a quick step behind the massive tree trunk, hugging her back.
"You're amazing—"
He swooped in for a celebratory kiss, moving his mouth over hers, first tenderly, then with raw hunger. His tongue teased, invaded, leaving her weak and trembling in his arms.
Lost in his kiss, yet intensely aware of his lean, soaked frame, Libby slipped her hands into his back pockets to pull him even closer. He responded with a husky moan that danced up her spine and lodged in her heart.
He slid his hands downward over the thin fabric of her dress, tracing the curve of her hips. His mouth trailed across her neck to nibble her ear and nuzzle her neck.
"Ahem."
They sprang apart instantly. Her father was coming across the rocky ground toward them. Libby hoped the tree had concealed the position of Sam's hands. From the flush on his face, so did he.
If Jesse had seen, he graciously didn't reveal it, but merely handed Sam a dry bath towel he'd conjured up from somewhere. "We've cut the wedding cake your mother made, Lib. You two want some?"
She looked at Sam, who quickly shook his head. She was pretty sure he was in no fit state for bright lights and curious relatives. Besides he'd probably had enough excitement tonight, not to mention canoes, lakes, and six-foot-four fathers.
"I think I'd better drive Sam back to Wildwood." She glanced down her own dress, soaked from the body-to-body contact with her dripping boss. "We're both wet."
Jesse searched Sam's face for a long moment before laying an arm across his shoulders. "That's one very happy mama over there eating cake with her kiddos. You did a good thing."
"Thanks."
Jesse released him and looked Libby dead in the eye. "You take extra special care of our guest tonight. He needs a little TLC."
Libby gulped audibly. "I will."
Jesse squeezed Sam's shoulder, gave Libby a kiss on the nose, and left.
An awkward silence followed his exit. Sam, evidently disgusted by his inability to keep his distance, dried his face and hair with the towel. He thrust it at Libby, who was busy wringing out the hem of her full skirt.
She swiped her clothes before handing it back to him. "Ready to go?"
"Almost." Sam took the towel and did a little clothes swiping of his own before managing one step in the direction of the parking lot. All at once, Friday night's wreck and tonight's grueling swim seemed to slam him. Libby could easily imagine every muscle revolting. On top of that, he sneezed again.
"Are you okay?" She slipped her arm through his.
"Fine." But he draped his arm over shoulders.
Rain splashed onto the windshield just as Libby parked at the resort some fifteen minutes later. She switched on the wipers so she could see the way to Sam's cabin, remembering the last time the two of them had driven in a downpour together. She had barely known the man beside her then. Now she loved him. Tomorrow he'd be gone for good. Life was really unfair.
"Tired?" Sam said.
"Sort of." She wasn't quite ready to admit the real cause of that wistful exhalation. So he wouldn't get wetter—as if that mattered at this point—she stopped the van at the edge of his porch. "How are you really?"
"Dead on my feet, and I've got water in my left ear."
"Still got the headache?"
"That, too." He reached for the door handle, but hesitated. "You do remember that I'm leaving tomorrow and will need a ride to my car?"
"I remember." Somehow she mustered a smile. "It's been a hell of the weekend, hasn't it?"
The sound he made wasn't quite a snort. "To say the least."
Sam knew he should open the door, but instead he turned to look at Libby. She was staring at him. He reached out, cupped her chin, ran his thumb over her bottom lip. So soft.
She captured his hand in both of hers and pressed a kiss into his palm.
Sam caught his breath and jerked his fingers free. "I've, um, enjoyed every minute of my stay here, Libby, and that includes the visits with your ghosts. I just want you to know that they've shown me the error of my ways. I understand that romance is critical to love and that love is critical to a successful marriage. I'm not going to sell out. I'm not going to change Wildwood. You win."
Before she could respond to that unexpected statement, he stepped out into the rain. A heartbeat later he disappeared into his cabin, closing the door behind him.
"I won." Libby waited for the exhilaration of triumph, the rush of a job well done. But her leaden spirit refuse to soar, and victory was bittersweet. All she could think about was Sam's imminent departure.
How will I ever be happy without him?
Mechanically, she drove the short distance to her own cabin. She was still asking herself the same question at midnight. Wide eyed and wide awake, she lay in her bed, knees bent to accommodate Fetch. Gale-driven rain splashed against the window panes, as stormy as her thoughts.
For about the tenth time, she vented her misery on her feather pillows. Once they were fluffed to perfection, she plopped down again, stuffing one under her head and hugging the other one tightly. How she wished she held Sam instead of a stupid pillow. She was that far gone.
And where, exactly, was that?
Nowhere, she realized, and abruptly abandoned the pillows. She paced up and down the dark room, with her brother's cast-off football jersey swishing about her thighs with each pivot. How in the world she could stop Sam from leaving?
Sure he'd still be her boss if he didn't sell, but a long-distance one. And something told her that once he got back to his real world of divorce court, he would be lost to her.
What could she possibly say or do to ensure a place in his life after Monday? Surely there was something.
Surely.
"Sex might do the trick." Her dog perked up his ears at that, watching her with eyes that shone iridescent in the night. "Don't you say a word, Fetch Turner. I know the 'rents would flip out if we skipped a wedding and went right to the honeymoon. But this is the twenty-first century. Things are different now, and contrary to every lecture I've given Sam this weekend, marriage is actually becoming a thing of the past."
But was a no-strings sort of relationship really the answer? Of course not, she admitted a second later, zinging right back to her forever-after roots like red rubber ball to its toy paddle. Sex, no matter how exciting, would never be enough to keep opposites like her and Sam together for long. Libby wanted longer than long from Sam Knight. She wanted forever.
Forever? From a man she'd known a little over forty-eight hours? She almost laughed at the crazy direction her thoughts had taken. Obviously Sam was right. She had gotten hung up on weddings and lost her perspective on reality.
Well, she was about to get a grip on it again. Though she'd done a fantastic job convincing Sam of the merits of romance, love, and marriage, he was by no means ready to walk down an aisle. Especially with a woman he'd just met, might desire, but certainly didn't love.
"I guess I got a little carried away with this Knight stuff, huh? So much for white steeds, castles, and love at first sight. I barely know the guy. What I feel for him is just physical attraction. And why not? He's utterly gorgeous, and I haven't had sex in forever. Thank goodness he has no idea what I've been thinking. From now on it's strictly business between us. I'm keeping my distance."
She jumped nervously when lightning suddenly lit up the room. A split-second later thunder rattled the windows. So much for sleeping, at least until the storm passed. All she needed was another lightning strike and more repairs.
"Libby!" Bang, bang. "Let me in!"
Was that Sam?
As soon as she opened it, Sam pulled her into his arms and kicked it shut.
"Thunder woke me up. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just jumpy, is all."
He led her to the couch and sat. She started to sit beside him, but he nixed that by guiding her onto his lap.
"One of my partners has a daughter who's scared of storms."
"The storms are fine. It's the fireworks that worry me." Ignoring his wet clothes and skin, Libby shamelessly made the best of this last chance to cling to the man she probably loved.
The clock chimed one before the lightning dimmed and the thunder died to a distant roll. Sam, now minus his wet shirt, sat on the couch watching Libby. She lay on her back with her head resting on his thigh. Her eyes were closed, and she'd relaxed noticeably in the past hour—maybe even to the point of actually getting some sleep. He'd done the opposite. His nerves were as taut as violin strings; his heart pumped double time.
And no wonder. The faded fabric of the jersey, which had ridden up around her hips, revealed a tantalizing glimpse of lavender bikinis and every shapely inch of her smooth, bare legs. He swallowed convulsively and forced himself to look away, even as he wondered what Libby would do if he gave in to his need to kiss and touch her awake.
Better not to know. He clutched his hands into tight fists to keep them in line. She'd spent her whole life waiting for a man who could give her more than a one night stand. He was leaving tomorrow.
So think of something else.
Sam made an honest effort to do that by inspecting her living-slash-bedroom. It looked like all the others at Wildwood, except for touches that made it distinctly hers: a ledger, a calculator, and pencils piled on the bedside table attested to her secondary, practical nature. A dog-eared romance novel— the kind with a busty heroine on the front and the happy ending inside—was a testament to her dominant, not-so-practical nature.
Which side did he like best? The businesswoman? The dreamer? Or the intriguing combination of both? He still wasn't sure.
He was sure he'd miss her like crazy when he finally got into his car and headed home. Somehow in the past two days she'd become a part of his life. He couldn't imagine a moment without her cheerful optimism and sunny smile. Memphis was going to be damned dull.
"Sam? You asleep?"