9781618857613SacredWaterMichaels Page 2

  Sam was never referred to as anything beyond cute. She supposed she had that American girl-next-door thing going for her. Plain, straight brown hair, boring brown eyes, skin that only burned and freckled in the sun, and dusty colored eyelashes. By the time she was sixteen, she already accepted that no amount of makeup would hide the freckles that covered the crests of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She was plain, pure and simple. She wondered if Braydon’s family would question what he was doing with such a girl.

  She didn’t even own makeup. She wore Chap Stick, but she didn’t think that counted. Going to school in the more metro section of Philadelphia brought out a lot of impulses to appear more sophisticated, but it was too much, on top of school and worrying about her parents, to keep up with the Joneses as well.

  She’d resigned herself to being a cotton-blend kind of girl. While the rest of the world fought to squeeze their hips into skinny jeans, Sam decided her worn in boot cut ones were just fine. They were only clothes. What mattered was what was on the inside.

  But if that was true, why was she suddenly wishing she brought a more impressive wardrobe with her to meet the McCulloughs? She was being ridiculous. Having never suffered from superficial insecurities before, it didn’t make sense, at age twenty-four to give such silly doubts space in her mind. She supposed it was hearing Braydon refer to her earlier as his girlfriend that triggered this unusual train of thought.

  Was she his girlfriend? He hadn’t asked her out. They hadn’t slept together. When she met him four months ago he asked her if she was going to an event being sponsored by Villanova at the student union building. She was and of course told him so.

  It was through the interference of mutual friend that she found herself sitting next to Braydon for the day of the event. A week later they were having lunch together at a local brewery, but, again, friends had orchestrated their meeting. It wasn’t until they’d been set up several times that Braydon finally asked for her number. And once he had her number it took a week for him to use it.

  At that point there was no lengthy phone call that left her exhausted the next morning or with butterflies in the pit of her stomach. No. When he’d used her phone number it was simply to text her and ask what time she was heading to the cafeteria for dinner on a random night. Their lackluster acquaintance progressed as such over the following weeks.

  She wasn’t dense and she wasn’t sending mixed signals, so of course she was surprised that Braydon wanted her to come home with him. Apparently he felt a stronger connection, or at least was assuming one, more than anything she felt between the two of them so far. Not to say the possibility of a strong connection didn’t exist Sam just hadn’t sensed it yet. Perhaps these upcoming weeks would deepen their connection. She should probably be nervous at the possibility of becoming more with Braydon, but all she could muster was a curious sense of indifference. She liked him, but their chemistry was…manageable. She wasn’t concerned with losing herself in the moment or having a sudden attack of butterflies in her stomach. Maybe there was something wrong with her.

  She enjoyed Braydon’s company, but the bottom line was that she was a realist. They simply hadn’t spent enough time together to truly know one and other and, as far as casual sex, well, Samantha had never been that type of girl.

  She’d be willing to see how things progressed, but she wasn’t some hard-up romantic prepared to settle for the shell of a relationship lacking any depth. If Braydon expected her to actually be his girlfriend then he’d have to open up a bit more, let her see what exactly was ticking in that head of his. Because, to be perfectly honest, half the time Sam had no idea what he was thinking. It wasn’t until he walked her back to her apartment late one night at school and kissed her that she realized they were courting more than a friendship.

  After that night Braydon frequently slipped in a kiss here and an affectionate pat there, but it was all very meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It was nothing she thought to worry about. Until now.

  She was graduating at the end of summer and Braydon still had a year to go. Whatever they were entertaining for the time being, Sam didn’t see it lasting. She was surprised he even made the offer for her to come with him for their break.

  She felt mildly like a snob for being so taken off guard by the invitation. Braydon seemed to genuinely care that she’d be going home to an empty house if she went to her own home. She hadn’t given much thought as to how he would spend the three weeks. She supposed coming from a large family like he did, the idea of being alone was intolerable to him. She was used to the solitude.

  Since she was fourteen, it had been just her and her parents. They were close, but never overbearing. After her father suffered a massive heart attack two years ago, he gave up his job at the mill and her mother turned in her resignation at the local elementary school and the two of them finally followed their lifelong dream of opening a bed and breakfast.

  The change of pace suited them. It kept them occupied with frequent bouts of business yet also allowed them to schedule time for themselves. This was the first time Sam could ever recall seeing her parents take time for an extended vacation together. It was good for them and Sam was glad for it. If she would've gone home her mother would have fretted over not being there with her daughter and her worrying would’ve spoiled their trip. It was better for everyone that she was spending this time in the mountains with Braydon. Her mother was pleased to hear Sam would use this time with friends. Sam didn’t see the necessity in telling her mother Braydon was little more than a stranger.

  She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew the lulling, paved back roads and undulating hills gave way to a gravelly drive worn by time and weathered with deep ruts.

  “We’re here.” Sam heard the exhaustion in Braydon’s voice.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven-thirty. My mom will be waiting for us, but everyone else is probably asleep by now.”

  Sam reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her Chap Stick. After rubbing some on her lips she ran her fingers through her hair. Her belly flip-flopped with anxiety and she laced her fingers together over her lap so not to give away her nervousness.

  Everything was black. If she squinted she could vaguely make out a canopy of evergreens trimming the drive. Stars winked in and out of the dark feathery green covering. She looked ahead, but there was only blackness. They followed a bend in the path and she gasped. They were at a higher altitude, but good grief she never saw so many stars before in her life. It was as though she could catch one if she only stood on her tiptoes. And there were so many, surely the gods wouldn’t mind if she slipped one into her pocket.

  Her fanciful thoughts were distracted when a large house came into view. The structure was impressive even when its size was partially cloaked by shadows. Only a few windows glowed here and there and there was a porch light burning, illuminating a wide set of wooden steps.

  Evenly spaced pillars portioned out a long wraparound porch encased in a spindled railing. She suddenly remembered a dollhouse she and her sister used to play with as children, but quickly pushed the thought away. This was not a time to think about her childhood. She needed to stay focused and in charge of her emotions.

  Braydon parked behind a Jeep Cherokee that appeared to be in surprisingly good shape considering the model was over twenty years old. He plucked the keys from the ignition and let out a groaning stretch. “Why don’t we head in and say hi then I’ll come back and grab our bags?”

  Sam nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt. They’d been in the car for hours and her legs were screaming for her to stand up and stretch. Braydon opened his door and Sam followed suit. She climbed out and extended her arms far over her head and followed Braydon toward the house.

  There was almost a deafening hum of wildlife filling the air. The combination of crickets chirping and locusts trilling in such a symphony-like roar told her how expansive the dark woods behind them were.

  She wishe
d it were daylight so she could see more of her surroundings. Subconsciously, her mind had already decided the McCullough home was beautiful. The moment she realized it was a traditional log cabin she admitted it was love at first sight. When had she become such a slut for architecture? She supposed it was the novelty of a real life log cabin that tapped into some nostalgic memory of Lincoln Logs and Little House on the Prairie and in turn released a secreted, unrequited longing for country living. Suddenly excited to be there, she wanted to thank Braydon for bringing her.

  The heavy wood door at the top of the steps opened and a woman with fiery copper hair stood smiling with her hands clasped tightly at her heart. “You’re here!”

  Braydon smiled.

  “Hi, Mum. Sorry we’re so late. We couldn’t leave until almost eight o’clock.”

  She waved away his excuses and pulled him into an affectionate embrace. She was no small woman, yet the sigh she emitted when hugging her son told Sam she was soft and loving despite her aggressive handling of others. When she had her fill she stepped back and held Braydon at arm’s length, her wide fingers holding him in place.

  “You’re in need of a haircut, you are,” she rebuked, her sternness bellied by her cheery expression and the glassy sheen of merriment dancing in her eyes.

  “Do you not like my hair, Mum?”

  The sudden change in Braydon’s speech caused Sam to do a double take. The cadence of his words picked up a clipped lilt and sounded almost Gaelic. Mrs. McCullough laughed and smacked an affectionate kiss on her son’s cheek.

  “Don’t you go getting too cheeky now. Kelly will get jealous. You know how he likes to pretend he’s the rogue of the clan.”

  “How is Kelly?”

  Mrs. McCullough smirked and rolled her eyes as if she were laughing over a well-known secret. “There’s enough time to talk about your brother and his reprobate ways later. For now why don’t you introduce me to this lovely lassie?”

  They turned and faced Sam as Braydon said, “Mum, this is Samantha Dougherty.”

  “Dougherty.” Mrs. McCullough pronounced her name the proper Irish way sounding like Doe-hearty, lacking the hard G most American’s used when speaking the name. “Well, that’s a good strong Irish name. I believe you’ll fit in nicely around here.”

  Before Sam had a chance to answer, she was smothered in the woman’s arms and being hugged near the point of suffocation. When Sam was released she quickly grasped the railing behind her to prevent her body from stumbling down the steps.

  “Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. McCullough.”

  “Oh pish, you call me Maureen, love. Let’s head on inside; it’s hot out tonight.”

  “Why’s it so warm here? I was expecting it to be at least twenty degrees cooler than the city.” Braydon commented as they followed Mrs. McCullough, no, Maureen, into the house.

  “We haven’t had a bit of rain in over two weeks. The woods are growing dryer than a nun’s tits. We won’t be having any bonfires this side of the forest any time soon, that’s for sure.”

  Braydon’s mother’s language jerked Sam’s attention away from her inspection of the house. She couldn’t remember ever hearing her own mother say tits. Her mother could barely say breasts and that included discussing a cut of chicken for dinner.

  Sam kept up with the two, keeping an ear open for comments pertaining to her, as she eyed her surroundings with covert curiosity. A grin flourished across her face when she realized the log home was authentic inside and out. The perfectly stacked logs matched the wooden tongue and groove planks covering the floor and ceiling.

  Following the others into a kitchen, she was impressed by the wooden cabinetry. Sam could tell immediately, even with no architectural background, that the woodwork was all custom made. The designer, whoever he was, clearly took a lot of care in carving out every detail down to the mortise and tenon joints that interlocked the sturdy framework.

  She took a seat next to Braydon at the large farm table filling the enormous kitchen while Maureen informed her son of the family’s current events, speaking with agreeable frankness.

  “Kate’s here, but she couldn’t wait up. Her sciatica’s been bothering her something fierce this time around. Not that I minded her making her excuses early. I’ll warn you now, Bray. Your sister’s been leaving air biscuits in every room. You know, with Frankie it was her ankles, with Skylar it was the heartburn, with Hannah it was her sciatica, with this one it seems it’s her arse. She’s all those ails and now farts too! She’s makin’ my house smell like a pile of cabbage shite, that’s what she’s doing.”

  “Mum!”

  “Well, she is. But don’t tell her I told you so. She’s weepier than a willow tree this pregnancy. There’s no wonder why Anthony decided to wait until tomorrow to get here.”

  Sam had no idea what to make of Braydon’s mother. Maureen continued to speak with hybrid comments filled with loving and crass observations about the McCulloughs while she bustled about the kitchen heating leftovers.

  Sam noticed a microwave tucked between two raised cabinets, but Maureen continued to pull out pots and pans as she heated up food. Sam was willing to make the assumption that a women like Maureen never used a microwave. In just the brief few minutes she’d been in her presence, she could already tell Maureen McCullough was a woman who took great pride in working hard for her family and would scoff at shortcuts.

  When the food was heated she placed a hefty bowl of stew in front of Braydon and Sam. There was also a bowl of roasted potatoes seasoned in rosemary and a basket of homemade biscuits wrapped in a dishcloth with red ticking that looked hand sewn.

  The food was different than anything she ever tried in the city or anything she ever saw her own mother make, but it was still quite good. As Maureen prattled on about Frank, Braydon’s father, Sam watched Braydon shut his eyes in pleasure as his mother’s cooking settled into his belly.

  Sam smiled. Most comfort food was embellished because it came from a mother’s love. Braydon obviously tasted more than just stew with each bite. He tasted recipes shaped by traditions and was likely remembering memories of being in this familiar place. She was happy to witness this settling side of him. She liked watching Braydon at home.

  Once she finished her supper, Sam pushed her bowl away. Without pausing for even a syllable, Maureen chattered on as she stood and carried the dishes to the sink and began washing them. The kitchen was clearly her domain. She navigated through the motions of tidying up without ever taking her eyes off Sam or her son.

  It occurred to Sam that her anxiety about being here had disappeared the moment she met Maureen McCullough. She analyzed the women and wondered what magical gift she held that made her able to put guests at such ease. Maurine was a natural when it came to hospitable courtesy, even if she didn’t necessarily follow propriety.

  As they all laughed at an anecdote Maureen shared about a woman at the butcher, Sam decided that for as much as she loved the McCulloughs' log cabin, she loved their mother more.

  Contrary to her first impression, Samantha saw the beautiful woman that was Maureen McCullough. She imagined her hair was once a fiery red to match her spicy personality although now it was more fawn colored with natural highlights in the deepest shade of orange. Laugh lines softened her dark green eyes. Her clipped un-manicured fingernails spoke volumes about how no nonsense she was when it came to taking on the labors of mothering seven children.

  At first her brisk mannerisms made Maureen come off as abrasive, Sam would now describe her as soft. Not due to her round bosom or generous curves, but because of the way Maureen would titter and giggle in between stories with absolute femininity, her eyes twinkling like a little girl's. It didn’t matter how many times she said bollocks or cock in a sentence. It was all just noise coming from a sweet, loving woman with a dirty mouth.

  They talked until well after one in the morning. After such a heavy meal and four hours of travel, Sam was ready to call it a night. They still had to carry
in their bags from the car. The idea of carrying anything at this hour made sleeping in her travel clothes tempting.

  Maureen said, “Well, I’m off to bed. I’ll see you two in the morning for breakfast.” And with that she was gone.

  Braydon’s mother bustled out of the kitchen and climbed the steps. When Sam turned back to Braydon, he was smiling.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What do you think?”

  Seeing no need to lie, Sam smiled and admitted, “I love her.”

  He beamed and Sam was certain he was about to kiss her, but the front door opened and someone yelled, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph has the prodigal son returned?”

  Braydon pulled back and groaned as he stood from his seat when a young man with rakishly spiked hair and sharp crystal blue eyes came into the kitchen.

  “Kelly,” he greeted as he embraced his younger brother in a backslapping hug.

  Ah, so this is the loner.

  “It’s good to have you home, my brother.”

  “Good to be home.”

  They broke apart and Kelly turned to Sam. He leered at her with faintly sinister amusement while she tried not to bristle under his scrutiny.

  Whoa. That expression should be photographed and put in the dictionary under the word smolder.

  “Well, hello, pretty lady. I see you’ve come with the wrong brother, but I’d be glad to remedy that for ya and make sure you come again.”

  Braydon shoved his brother out of the way. “Kelly, this is my girlfriend, Samantha.”

  “Braydon, don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking with the lassies. How long are you here for, beautiful?”

  Sam wasn’t sure if Kelly realized he was pissing his brother off, but she didn’t really want to get in the middle.